Page 46 of Cowboy and the Convict

His mouth crashed over hers as he ground against her, needing more friction. More of her against more of him.

He’d already removed his vest on the way over, feeling optimistic about how the evening would go. Even then, his optimism was limited to spending a little time with his mouth between her thighs, wringing a couple orgasms out of her before heading home.

But those plans had changed. Drastically.

Janie didn’t need to know how good he was—though he’d love nothing more than to show her—she needed to see how good they were. To feel how in sync they really were. How perfectly they fit.

And she seemed to realize it too.

He fought with his shirt, her hands frantic as they came to help, fingers working the buttons as he yanked at the fabric, trying to get loose. Her teeth bumped his lip, making it sting as he tugged his undershirt free of his pants, barely breaking contact to peel it off before claiming her mouth again.

Grabbing her own shirt, Janie wiggled under him as she worked it higher, grunting when it tangled at her armpits.

Pushing up to his knees, Devon snagged her by the arms, bringing her along with him before relieving her of the long-sleeved T-shirt she wore to work at The Baking Rack. Keeping her upright, he took advantage of her exposed back, reaching behind her for the clasp of her bra. When his hand met smooth fabric, he leaned to peer over her shoulder. “How do you get this thing off?”

Janie laughed, her head tipping back on the light sound. “It’s a sports bra, nerd.” She hooked her fingers into the elastic band at the bottom. “It goes over my head.”

He frowned at the tight fit. “It’s a fucking straitjacket is what it is.”

“Only when I’m sweaty.” She contorted her arms as she wiggled the stretchy garment up, making it about halfway before he dipped his head to pull the dark bud of one nipple into his mouth.

Janie moaned, her movements going still as he sucked in a steady pulse, pausing to flick at the tight pucker before drawing against it again.

He reached up to find the stretchy bra, picking up where she left off as he moved to the other nipple, teasing it as he worked the difficult to remove undergarment free. Once it was off, he pushed her back to the mattress, palms coming to cup the small mounds of her tits, pressing them together so he could move between them more easily. When her hands tangled in his hair, pulling tight, he groaned against her spit-slicked skin. He could spend all night on her tits, sucking and pinching and licking to see if he could make her come from that alone.

And one day he would. Not today though. He had an agenda and he needed to stick to it.

Lifting his head, he moved back to her lips, tongue sliding against hers as he worked the fly of her jeans open, pushing them down her hips, taking the panties underneath along with them. His reach ran out when they were in the middle of her thighs, forcing him to lean back on his heels to get them all the way off. Once they were on the floor, he let his eyes roam over her, taking in every inch of her. She was long and lean. Narrow hips. Willowy limbs. Slim thighs. Almost delicate. A stark contrast to the personality packed into the body.

A body that had clearly been through some things.

He reached out to trace along a scar low on one side of her abdomen. “What happened here?”

“Appendix.” Her eyes went to where he followed the path of silvery skin. “It ruptured when I was sixteen. I almost died.”

The possibility hit close to home and brought on a storm of conflicting emotions. He moved away from the spot, needing to put it out of his mind, and found another, smaller scar just above the dark hair of her pubic line. “And this one?”

“Surgery to remove endometrial tissue a few years ago.” She traced across a matching scar to the left of the one he noticed. “They did it laparoscopically.”

It was evidence of one facet of her suffering. One point of her pain. He leaned down, tracing the small line with his lips. Repeating the process with the one under Janie’s finger. Lifting his eyes to her face, he asked, “Any more?”

She slid her finger to another small, barely noticeable line. “There.”

He pressed a kiss to the scar, keeping his lips on her skin as he met her eyes again. “More?”

She shook her head. “No more.”

As much as he loved the feel of her skin under his lips, he was relieved there were no more scars. None that could be seen, anyway. He suspected Janie had still been broken many times, doing her best to reassemble the pieces. But there was no missing the cracks that remained, sometimes splitting wider when they were stressed. No amount of kisses would fix those. Only time. Time and patience.

Devon slid lower, hands curving under the backs of her thighs, spreading her legs wide. He kept his eyes on her face as he dragged the flat of his tongue up her seam, stifling a groan at how slick she was.

When he was younger and most of his friends were obsessed with fucking, he was obsessed with this. His mouth buried in the wet heat of a willing pussy, licking and sucking as a pair of soft thighs clenched around his ears.

Unfortunately, the single partner he'd had in his life up to this point hadn't been quite as interested in it. It was another sign he ignored. Pretended didn't matter. But it was another thing that sat between them. Slowly growing. Widening the gap he didn't see until it was too late.

It didn't appear he'd have that sort of issue with Janie. When his tongue settled on her clit, one hand came to fist in his hair while the other grabbed at the blanket beneath her back. The narrow line of her hips worked in small, rolling movements, chasing everything he gave.

His dick was so hard it was throbbing, the urge to thrust against the mattress nearly overwhelming. Next time. Next time he could come like this, the hard bud of her clit against his tongue, drowning in the taste of her.

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