Page 18 of Wild Horses

“Then trust me. I promise to ask for the nicest room they have.” Chucking his chin, I add, “I’ll even let you pay.”

War crosses his arms, but when he sighs and rolls his eyes, I know I have him.

Sliding up to the window, I rap against the glass. “Hey, Mel, we need your best room.”

“Mel? As in Dolores and Mel?” War glances between the bar and the motel.

“One and the same.”

Mel ambles toward us and slides the small partition open, his wizened face lighting up at the sight of us. “Laramie! Good to see ya, girly. Did you say hi to Dolly? She’ll have my hide if you came here without stopping in.”

“Don’t worry; you’re in the clear. We had dinner first. Can we get a room? My date’s getting cold.”

Mel looks over at War and winks. “Nice hat.”

War’s hand flies to my Stetson, still resting on his head, and pink colors his cheeks.

“No reason to be embarrassed, young man. How do you think Dolly and I started out?” Mel lets out a raspy laugh.

With a grumble, War hands over his credit card and gets the old-fashioned metal key, complete with a palm-sized plastic keychain attached.

“Room 101. You two enjoy!”

“Don’t worry, Mel, we will,” I shout as War pulls me away and laughter overtakes me.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” War mutters. As we reach the door, his arm bands around my waist, and he twirls me so my back meets the faux-stucco wall outside our room. The key clattersto the ground, and his fingers weave into my hair, guiding my head where he wants me. From beneath the wide brim of my hat, he kisses me. Lips firm and punishing, not bothering to wait for my answer. A ragged moan spills from my throat when his thigh slips between my knees. Waves of pleasure crash over me, and I drop my head back, not minding the bite of pain where it hits with a thud.

I ache to guidehimexactly where I want him most. For now, I settle for rocking against his leg, searching out that wonderful friction. Like I’m a puppet, he pulls my strings, maneuvering my hips, marshaling my pace. It’s not quite enough. While the coarse seam of my jeans hits just right, I need more. Faster. Harder. A slightly different angle. I squirm and roll in desperate circles.

I’m so close.

Heat pools at the base of my spine and spreads, raising prickles along my skin. That glorious edge is in sight.

Ready to fall.

Ready to expl?—

“Not yet.”

I groan when I lose purchase on War’s leg—and my orgasm. Jutting my lip out, I reach for his hand, but he spins me and presses his front to my back. The length of his cock twitches against me, so I do what comes naturally and press back.

“Shit. You are going to kill me.” He pins my ass against his hips and thrusts once. “You’ve been running this date all night, teasing me about giving up control, but it’s time you gave up some instead.” Leaving one hand digging into my waist, the other fists my hair, tugging it to the side before his mouth travels the length of my neck, leaving a burning trail of love bites.

For a heartbeat, we’re apart as he snags the discarded key, fumbling it against the lock until it clicks open. Together, wecrash through the door into a heap of arms, legs, teeth, tongues, and longing.

It’s a mad dash—a flurry of buttons andzips. A race to see who can undress the other faster, as if the winner will retain control over the other’s pleasure. Ultimately, no matter how this plays out, we’ll both be winners.

I strip away his pearl snap shirt, snap his belt from the loops, and tug off his jeans until War is left in only his tight, black boxer briefs.

He’s exquisite.

I soak in the masculine lines of his lean but well-muscled body. The veins in his forearms, where he still wears the fancy timepiece. The smattering of reddish-brown hair that dapples his chest, tapers off, and then reappears, darker and thicker, below his navel. The ridges of his stomach and… I lick my lips, every atom of my being hyper-focused on the way his cock strains against his boxer briefs, a deliciously thick treat begging to be tasted.

When I finally tear my eyes away, I find him appreciating me in the same way. The heat of his stare is like a beam piercing through me. Can he see my failures? My ambition? How much I want him? How much I wish I’d met him in another life so I could keep him? I shift my weight, reminding myself of who I am and why I’m here, before taking a breath, tossing my hair, and arching my back.

The bright red panties with black cats all over them and the non-matching sheer orange bra aren’t landing me a lingerie ad anytime soon, but War doesn’t seem to mind. Especially when I toss the bra at his head.

It’s as if we’re in a high-noon showdown, each of us standing and staring. Silently demanding the other to take the next step.

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