Page 29 of Barbed Wire Hearts

He immediately pulls me against him, encouraging me to wrap my legs around his waist as he holds me up in the water. His large, rough hands span my waist, gripping tightly, holding on for dear life. I let him hold me, let him slowly caress my body. Things with Wiley don’t feel urgent. They don’t feel like I need to crash against him and let him consume me. Wiley feels like a calm summer day, like a creaky porch swing filled with pillows, like the sunshine shining through to warm your legs. Easy. Gentle. Caring. So when he leans in to capture my lips with an almost aggressive manner, it surprises me.

His lips crash against mine, his teeth immediately nipping at my lips. His hand slides up to thread into my hair, gripping it tightly in his fist to control where I move. I flood between my thighs, immediately desperate for more, eager to feel all of him. I expected him to be soft and gentle. This isn’t that at all.

He jerks my head back with the fistful of hair, exposing my neck painfully. With a groan, he dips down to trace his teeth along the column of my throat, his breath warm there.

“I’ve thought about this moment since the first time I saw you,” he groans against my skin. “About tracing these tattoos with my tongue. About bending you over and riding you until you scream.”

Oh, fuck, I think, my hands splaying along his shoulders, my nails digging in to hold on.

“Wiley,” I rasp, not sure what to do with myself.

“Keep saying my name like that, I’m gonna think you want the same things,” he warns.

I’d nod my head if I could, but his grip in my hair prevents me from doing so. When my lips part on a husky, “yes,” he groans and reaches above us to the dock. With muscled strength I’ll never be able to match, he pulls the both of us up from the water and sets me on the edge of the dock. He’s careful with me, making sure not to give me splinters as he ushers me back until he can crawl over me. He tugs my bra down, exposing my breasts to the cool mountain air.

We’re in the middle of nowhere, but suddenly, it feels very exposed. I can’t help my hands coming up to cover myself, but he jerks my hands away.

“Ain’t no one out here to see but me,” he groans. “And even if they were, lucky them, because right now, I feel a bit like I’m in Heaven.” He looks down at me, his eyes taking in the tattoos etched into my skin.

I flush at the compliment. I’m no virgin, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so thoroughly complimented and appreciated by a man before while naked. He takes his time trailing down my body, his lips dancing along my skin, pulling at my nipples, driving me insane. When I begin to mew in desperation, he still doesn’t stop, winding me higher and higher until I’m rubbing against him, eager for more.

“My little goth cowgirl,” he purrs as he traces the tattoo of hemlock on my hip. “Spooky and sexy. I’m here for it.” He traces the tattoo with his tongue, as if he’s literally drinking my poison. “You gonna cast a spell on me, city girl?”

“Maybe,” I pant. “If you don’t fuck me soon.”

He chuckles and it sends something straight into my core. That husky chuckle will live rent free in my head for years. “Am I not moving fast enough for you, witchy woman?”

“No,” I growl. “You’re not.”

He grins up at me from between my thighs. “Then allow me to rectify the situation.”

He presses his mouth against my core over my underwear, which shouldn’t be sexy, but somehow, he sucks hard enough to have my back bowing from the wood beneath us. As he does so, his finger hooks into the material between my thighs and in one fell swoop, he tugs them off. Like he’s done it a million times. Hell, he probably has. With eyes like that and the way he moves, this man is certainly a lady killer. I’m just the next lady ready to be killed, and I’m here for it.

I don’t know when he gets his boxers off. I’m barely coherent of anything but the way he swirls his tongue around my clit and sucks. I cry out but cover my mouth with my hand, afraid someone will hear and come investigate.

“Let the mountains hear your cries,” Wiley commands. “Let it echo back to me.”

He climbs over me, his cock pressing against my entrance, teasing. He holds himself on his arms above me, holding his weight so I don’t have to.

“What if someone hears?” I ask.

We’d ridden far, and probably were nowhere near the house, but maybe someone was out here besides the cows meandering around in the distance.

“Then they’ll be jealous of me because I’ve got the pretty little witchy woman washing me with her spells, gushing around my cock, screaming my name for all to hear,” he purrs before leaning down to kiss me. This kiss is sweet and unhurried, and at first, I think it’s because we’re going to go slow now.

I’m wrong.

As he kisses me slowly, his cock dances at my entrance and then slams inside. I’m so wet, it meets no resistance, but I still cry out at the feel of it. Wiley is large, but he’s not so large that I feel as if I can’t take it. When I cry out, he captures that cry with his sweet kiss, swallowing it down, and it does feel a little bit like a spell, like he’s drinking my poison. When he groans back, I do the same, until I’m writhing beneath him.

When he begins to move, I lose all sense, because boy, does this man know how to move. He rocks his hips into mine, alternating between fast and slow strokes, all while he kisses me senseless. I undulate beneath him, eager for all that he has, begging for more with my own rocking of hips. He only stops the kiss when I start to shake, only lets me breathe when he himself can’t. We gasp for air at the same time as his hand fists my hair again, wrenching my head back to expose my neck.

“Witchy woman,” he groans as he increases his speed. He fucks me hard and fast now, his body powering into mine, driving me insane as my legs shake and my climax rises. “You’ve put a spell on me since the first moment you arrived here in our little town.”

I don’t correct him, don’t tell him I’m not a witch casting spells. Fuck, if he wants to think I’m a witch, I’ll be his witch as long as he keeps fucking me just like this. The words that come out of my mouth are garbled and make no sense, and he enjoys the fuck out of that.

“Speaking in tongues,” he teases between moans. “I knew it. Let’s see how loud we can get them.”

He leans up and grabs my legs, forcing them back until he begins to hit the perfect spot inside me. I scream and shatter, gushing around him, making him groan in what sounds like pain as my pussy clamps around his length. He clamps my legs together, still fucking me relentlessly as I shake and cry out. I’m pretty sure my voice does echo into the mountains, but I don’t care. My nails claw at the wood of the dock beneath us as he lifts me further up, going deeper, stroking parts of me that haven’t ever been stroked so well.

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