Page 20 of Wild Horses

“Trouble,” War grits out from clenched teeth.

“Tell me what you want.”

“You know what I want.”

I repeat my movements, rising and dropping just enough to take the first half inch of him into my core before pulling away. “No, be specific. Tell meexactlywhat you want.”

He grunts and swallows. “Fuck. I want you to ride me until I come inside your perfect pussy. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Good boy.” I reward him by sinking down, taking him inch by inch, loving thefucksandshit, sweetheartsspilling from his lips. Why are man moans so damn sexy?

I give myself a minute to adjust, enjoying the heat of his hard cock inside me. His thumbs press into my hips, and he grits as if fighting the longing to chase what he needs.

“So good. So patient, waiting for me to tell you to move,” I croon at him as I work myself up and down his length in slow, sensuous strokes. Leaning back against his raised knees, I purr, “Look at us. We’re a perfect fit.”

His honey eyes snap to where we meet, and at the plea in his wordless groan, I rotate my hips. And he lets out a wanton groan when I shift so my clit slides against the lowest part of his stomach over and over again. The world-warping sensation of him inside me, the pressure where I need it most, his scent, the twitch of his muscles—god, it’s glorious. I grip his shoulders, my fingers digging in like he’s all that’s tethering me to reality.

With each writhing circle I make, he thrusts up, watching me from below like I’m something special. Something he can’t live without. A primal urge comes over me, and I lean forward, capturing his lips with my own. Usually I’m not much for thislevel of intimacy during sex, but I can’t get enough of this man’s drugging kisses. Our tongues tangle and twist, another point of connection between us.

Chest to chest, mouth to mouth, locked together in the most ancient of ways.

My thighs burn as I grind and rock against him, chasing my climax and his. Each glorious press of his hard pelvis against my clit brings me closer to the edge. But I’m not going alone.

“Do it, War. Come.”

“Not until you do.” His hands glide along my skin, roaming from my hips, up my sides, and then down to grab my ass, spreading me wide.

“You feel so fucking good.” He mutters the praise against my mouth, his breath slipping into my lungs.

So does he. Full and thick and strong and warm. I clench my innermost muscles, wanting to bring War along with me. Not daring to leave him behind, not on this.

“Yes, just like that. Squeeze me.” War thrusts deep, and my muscles tense, my body simultaneously trying to pull him in and push him out.

“War!” His name is a battle cry, a triumph, an exaltation. Just as it’s been for centuries before, only this time, I’m the one conquered.

As if triggered by my orgasm, my Pretty Boy comes, the heat of his release tangible even through the thin latex of the condom. We collapse into a spent heap, his softening cock still inside me.

“Where it belongs,” one of my devils whispers.The other remains oddly silent.

War wraps his arms around me, my head cradled in the nook of his neck. Our chests rise and fall in unison as we work to come down from the high of our shared release.

“That was…” I trail off, not sure how to finish the sentence. How can it be like this? How can any one person make me feel so alight? So alive? So right?

Fingers comb through my hair and run over my body as if checking me for injury. Then, with a touch so careful, you’d think I was porcelain, War kisses me. This kiss, more than any other tonight, shakes something in me. It’s the one where I become irreversibly addicted to this man and break both our hearts.

Thankfully, War rises with a groan before I can dig further into those thoughts. He pinches off the used condom, knots it, and then tosses it into the nearby trash can. When he tugs on his boxer briefs and steps into the small bathroom, I wonder if he’ll be the one to suggest we part ways—making this easier on me.

Instead, he returns with a damp washcloth. A pang of affection warms me. This part of sex is one I’m less familiar with. I’m usually here for the flash. The bang. Not the cuddle and the cleanup.

While War tenderly wipes away the mess, I study the popcorn ceiling above our heads, gnawing my lower lip like it’s a bit. Unease and guilt knot in my stomach. This man doesn’t deserve alove ‘em and leave ‘emmoment. And certainly not one at The Rusty Spur.

What is he doing here with me? He should be drinking wine in Uptown with a leggy blonde who has soft hands and perfect nails. A woman who would concede to his dominance and be there for him in the morning. Not a speed-chasing cowgirl who doesn’t have room in her life for anything but getting better.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I miss him climbing into bed. It isn’t until his arms wrap around me and he presses his lips to my neck that it registers. He’s talking to me.

“Sorry, what?”

He chuckles. “What did Dolores mean when she said you’d have taken the title?”

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