Page 17 of Wild Horses

The evening has been hours of foreplay: every kiss, every teasing touch, every heated look. I can see he’s as affected as I am, thanks to the fit of the jeans he’s wearing.

“Yeah, I want to get a room.” I skim my nose down his jaw while my hand slides higher up his thigh. “To spend the night with you.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. Watching this man swallow is like erotic art. The thought of War on the bed beneath me, moaning as I lick a path over his bare skin, sends desire burning through me.

Until, like a bucket of cold water, I realize he still hasn’t answered. A sliver of doubt slithers through me, and I pull away and move my hand from his leg. “Shit. I’m sorry. I thought…” I hold my hands up. “If you’re not feeling this or don’t want to fu… sleep with me?—”

He silences me with his lips. There’s depth to this kiss, ayearning. A shiver slinks from my scalp to my spine as his tongue smoothly strokes mine. I lean into the caress of his hands as they wander from my arms to my shoulders before settling on my back, holding me tight. I’m not misreading the situation. He wants this. Wants me.

War’s lips hover over mine as he rasps, “Trust me when I say I’ve been thinking of how good it would be between us since I laid eyes on you last week.”

I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck and suck on the pulse point there. “If you haven’t figured it out, I hate going slow, but be honest. Am I moving too fast?”

“Maybe I need someone to encourage me to pick up the pace.” He smirks and lifts my chin. “How about we get out of here?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I sweep my hat off the table and plop it onto his head. His eyebrows quirk. “Claiming me, sweetheart?”

“You know the saying. Wear the hat, and the cowgirl rides you.”

He lets out a loud laugh that draws attention from the people around us. “That’s not quite how I remember it.”

Shrugging, I lay cash on the table to cover our tab and meal, plus a generous tip for Dolores. “Hmm, your memory is slipping in your old age. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

War frowns at the cash, then me. “Laramie?—”

“I asked, so I pay. Plus, this is one more way for you to practice giving up some of that control.” Moving closer to him, I add, “Once we get to the room, I have a few more ways you can practice.”

His responding growl is a direct line to the warmth building in my stomach. I want to make him pant and moan and keen. For me. To have him on his knees with his groansburied in my pussy. For my noises of satisfaction to come from around the thick length of his cock.

My heart thrums, the rhythm echoed by the throbbing between my thighs. I lace our fingers together and drag him out the door. The crisp December air does little to cool the fire scorching my blood. In an instant, I’m on War. Lust riding me hard.

He’s used to leading, but I give as good as I get, running my tongue over his teeth, nibbling and sucking his bottom lip into my mouth.

“Fuck, Laramie,” War pants.

“Yes. That’s the idea.” I tug on his hand again as we stumble across the gravel parking lot toward The Rusty Spur. The ancient neon sign flickers, half the letters burned out so onlyh usy purremain.

“Welcome to theHussy Purr, Pretty Boy.”Shit, maybe I should have stopped at three shots tonight.No, it isn’t tequila I’m drunk on; it’s War Phillips.

I fight off a snort of glee at the shock and disgust on War’s face. He blinks, then blinks again as if this will change the questionable exterior of the motel into five-star accommodations.

“This is where you want to stay?”

Elbowing him, I tease, “Don’t be a snob!”

He squints and waves at the dingy building, where the night clerk is visible behind the plexiglass of his office. “It’s not about being a snob. I-it’s about standard health regulations. This is how people get bed bugs.”

I nudge him, mindful of our shoulders. “Come on, where’s your sense of adventure? I have a spare turnout blanket in my truck.”

“Trouble, you are living up to every inch of your name.”

My smile pulls at my cheeks, impossible to hold back. “Did I steer you wrong on the steak fingers?”

“No, but?—”

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