Page 129 of Westin

He slides down my body and uses his head to shove my thighs apart. My slip falls back, exposing my sex. He touches the lace trim, turning it in his rough fingers.

“So pretty,” he murmurs.

My mouth is dry. I’m not sure what’s going on with him, but it scares me a little. He glances up from between my legs, and his eyes are bright but distracted. One hand slides up my belly, and I weave my fingers through his. In the dark, I run my fingertips over his scars.

Sometimes, I feel much older than twenty-one. Other times, I feel just that.

Tonight is the latter.

I forget that he has thirty-seven years hidden away behind those bright eyes. If I had to guess, there’s a lot of heartache in him. I think a little bit of it came in on him with the cold tonight.

I close my eyes. His grip tightens, and his tongue slides on my pussy. He licks it—not like he’s trying to get me off, but like he wants the intimacy of oral. I must be right, because with his other hand, he pushes up my thighs so they close around his head. Then, he uses his tongue to touch me, his lips to kiss me, and his breath to tease.

It feels like hours later when he resurfaces, but it’s only a few minutes.

I’m drenched from his tongue and my own arousal. He moves up and pushes my legs open. Silently, I let them fall slack, giving him access. He braces his knee, I feel him reach between us. Then, his cock slides in, stretching me slowly as he pushes to the hilt.

I moan, biting my lip.

“Good girl,” he says.

He pushes himself up on the heel of his hand. In the shadows, his hard abdominal muscles ripple. I wince, savoring the little twinge as he bottoms out.

Jaw gritted, he pulls out and thrusts hard and slow back inside me. He’s still in his pants, pushed just below his groin. A handful of white wrapped candies fall from his pocket.

He keeps fucking, hard and slow. My body tightens at first, but then it loosens, and my pussy takes him easily. I’m soaked now. I hear it, feel it as he fucks. I can’t bite back the soft moans. Maybe I love him like this, stern and holding back his natural violence.

He sweeps the candies aside with one hand. They clatter on the floorboards.

Before I realize what’s happening, he pulls from me and flips me to my knees.

“Hands on the headboard,” he says.

Obediently, I grip the leather and wood with both hands. He takes hold of it too and lifts my hips with his other hand. His hot, hard chest presses to my back, and I feel his groin against my ass. Then, his blunt cock pushes into my pussy, and I let my head fall back against his shoulder.

He pumps, deep.

“I’m not what you want,” he gasps. “I’m selfish…destructive.”

My stomach goes cold.

“But I’m just selfish enough not to give a fuck,” he breathes. “Goddamn it, darling, have me anyway.”

I’m frightened now. His hand comes up and grips my throat, holding me as he fucks. Something changed.

I cling to him, cowed. I don’t understand men, don’t know why they do what they do, how they can be so cold and rough but so driven by their desires. So hard on the surface. So soft under their armor.

My eyes flutter shut.

The gunslinger is deadly, but the gunslinger begs for me in the dark.

He takes a branding without saying a word. He shoots men off their horses, blood running down his back. Then, all it takes is the little lace slip he likes best, and he’s desperate.

Maybe he’s not the one with the power in this contract.

I’m drunk off that thought. His pace picks up, his grip firm around my neck. His cock drives hard into me, stroking up against my G-spot.

“God, I can’t get enough of you, you pretty whore,” he pants. “You drive me insane.”

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