Page 19 of Westin

Her thighs stiffen, and she fucking moans into my mouth. My entire body burns. We break apart, and she’s so pretty, all flushed and panting in my lap.

“Can I have that again?” she breathes.

She could ask me for the moon, and I’d drag it down for her. I grip her by the nape of her neck as my other hand moves up between her breasts, cradling her face, holding her head steady so I can lean in and really kiss her this time.

Her hips buck.

I die a little inside, knowing she’s feeling things between her thighs that I can’t see, taste, or touch. My head spins, and my heart thumps so hard, I feel it in my mouth.

She tastes like sweet lightning.

Like she’s going to fuck me up, good and hard, and I’ll just keep drinking because she’s so good. I swear that, as her lips part and she offers me the tip of her soft tongue, the ground shakes.

Something good is coming.

And so is something cataclysmic.

Mindlessly, recklessly, I flip her onto her back on the bank. She gasps as my mouth runs down the side of her neck. My teeth graze her collarbone. My hand slides down, down, down to the hem of her dress.

I pause. I’m so horny for her, I didn’t put all the pieces together until now. If she hasn’t been kissed, she definitely hasn’t been fucked.

I pull back and her dark eyes are dreamy with desire. Her full mouth pants as her breasts heave under her thin dress.

She’s my judgment day, my test of what kind of man I am.

She probably thinks I’m a good one, but she doesn’t know about the tin cans, the bodies in the ground, or the list of names carved into my bed. Names I’ve been scratching off, one by one, as I take care of them.

I should let her go—tell her I’m no good for someone as sweet as her—but I don’t. Instead, I slip my hand up under her skirt.

She gasps, and I catch it in my mouth. This time, the kiss goes on and on as I move my hand back and forth over the seam of her panties right below her navel.

She moans, her hips riding up. I break contact.

“Is it too much too soon?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Don’t stop,” she begs.

Her thighs shudder and my heart thumps. We’re on the shore, her on her back with her thigh cocked. Our bodies mold together, and I swear I can feel the blood pump in her veins.

I shift my hand, slipping my fingertip under the seam.

“What are you going to do?” she whispers.

I move over her, keeping my weight up so I don’t crush her frame. My mouth runs over her throat and goes lower, kissing the faint swell of her cleavage. I should stop right now, but I can’t—I don’t want to.

I want to push her skirt up and eat her out, right here on the riverbank. It’s summer, and I haven’t gotten laid in forever. I’ve been like a bull on the other side of the cow pen since we met, all tied up in knots and hornier than I’ve ever been in my life.

Something changed in that kitchen, a shift strong enough that it made me set aside my guilt about how young and vulnerable she is. For the first time, I’ve met a woman who looks at me, really looks at me, like I’m a man who could love her right.

Like I’m more than just a gunslinger.

My hand dips down, and I feel a little patch of trimmed hair. Then, there's soft, naked pussy and, God—my fingertips slip over her wetness.

Fuck me.

Her thighs tremble, and a gasp slips from between her lips as her nails pierce my chest. My hands tighten on her panties, and Ineedto go down, to taste all that sweet arousal on her cunt. But she bats my arm away, and I drag my gaze up to wide eyes.

“What are you…going to do?” she whispers.

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