Page 37 of Claimed By the Cowboys

My head tips back. “Tate.”

His nose dips to the side of my neck. “Yes?”

“No kissing,” I warn.

He snorts, and I shiver as his lips caress my throat. “I won’t kiss your lips, Piper. Not yet, anyway.”

I go to correct him, to tell him that there will be no kissingeverbecause friends don’t kiss each other, but the thoughts leave my head when he licks a long, firm line up my throat. I gasp.

“Shit. You’re so responsive, Piper,” he moans.

The hand that’s still anchored to the island moves to my hair. He gathers it in a fist, tugging my neck back. My throat is bared to him, and the hand that was on my ass drifts up.

He lightly collars my throat with that hand, and between the fist tugging my hair back and the hand on my throat, I feel trapped. But I don’t hate it. In fact, the opposite is happening, and I think I really, really like it.

Tate’s knee parts my thighs, and I gasp as the iron of his quad muscles hit the center of my arousal. I’m hot and wet for him, which he could probably tell through my thin leggings if he tried. He’s wearing jeans, though. Thank goodness.

Tate’s hands slide down my torso. They tug at my thin cotton shirt, and I hold my arms up so he can pull the material up and over my head. He pulls back slightly, standing so he can see me. I resist the urge to pull my arms to cover myself. Instead, I toss my hair back and meet Tate’s gaze.

His blue eyes are dark again. Slowly, he leans forward, patting his hand in the flour before he gently presses it over one of my breasts. The handprint that he leaves behind makes both of us gasp.

He looks up at me, his face all seriousness that’s so unusual for him.

“You’re mine, Piper.”

I don’t want to correct him. I’m not his. Even if I did want to… romantically pursue something with one of these guys, I couldn’t pick just one. I would have to be equal. And that thought is more than a little intimidating.

Tate moves. In one fluid motion, he grabs my hips, tugging the fabric down. He turns me around, bending me so I’m face-down on the butcher block. I gasp as he kicks my legs apart, and I feel him behind me.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, Piper,” he growls.

I whimper in response. His hands ghost up my sides as he slowly presses inside me, and he unsnaps my bra. I feel his hands tangle in my hair again, and he tugs, pulling me so that the tips of my nipples are just barely grazing the wood of the island.

“I can’t take it anymore,” Tate growls in my ear. I moan as the hand that wasn’t tugging my hair kneads my breast. “I have to be inside you.”

I’m not sure if he’s asking for permission, but he definitely has it.

“Please.”

I’m begging. I know I am. But I kind of don’t care.

Tate pushes slowly. He’s not as big as Dalton, but he’s thick, which makes me shiver at the intrusion. When he’s halfway in, I hear a loud noise from outside. I freeze.

“You okay, Piper?” Tate rumbles.

“Yeah. Um. Really good. But… what if someone comes in? What if Dalton or Brent walks in and sees us?”

Tate pauses for a second. He leans forward, his lips on the edge of my ear. I shiver as they move.

“Then they can join.”

CHAPTER 10

Tate

I’ve never felt so out of control in my life.

Piper is more decadent than anything I could ever make. The sight of her body, her tan skin covered in flour, in my handprint, is making me practically feral.

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