Page 18 of Curvy Girl and the Single Dad Cowboy

Vincent breaks the kiss, his breathing ragged.

"Charlotte," he whispers, my name sounding like both prayer and plea on his lips. "Tell me to stop."

"I don't want you to stop," I confess, my voice barely audible.

His eyes search mine for any hesitation. Finding none, he reaches for the hem of my tank top. I lift my arms without hesitation, allowing him to pull it over my head. The cool night air pebbles my skin as I stand before him, bare from the waist up, my breasts exposed to his gaze.

Vincent stares at me, his mouth slightly parted, eyes traveling over my naked torso with such raw appreciation that I should feel self-conscious but instead feel powerful. My breasts rise and fall with each quickened breath, and I see his hands flex at his sides, as if he's restraining himself.

"What do you think?" I ask shyly, surprising myself with my boldness.

He swallows hard.

"Beautiful," he utters, the single word filled with such genuine reverence that warmth floods through me. "God, Charlotte, you're so beautiful."

His hands reach for me again, this time cupping my breasts with careful wonder. His thumbs brush across my nipples, sending sparks of pleasure down my spine. I can't contain the soft moan that escapes me.

The sound seems to ignite something in him. He pulls his t-shirt off, revealing a body carved from years of physical labor—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, defined pectorals, and a perfect six-pack that only a hardworking cowboy couldhave. A light dusting of dark hair trails down from his navel, disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

I reach out to touch him, tracing the ridges of muscle with trembling fingers.

"Now who's beautiful," I murmur.

Vincent steps forward, his skin hot against mine as he kisses me again, deeper this time, more insistent. He guides me backward until my legs hit the bed, then gently lowers me onto the mattress, following me down without breaking our kiss.

His weight above me feels perfect—solid and masculine, but careful not to crush me. He trails kisses from my mouth to my jaw, then down my neck. When his lips close around one nipple, I arch into the sensation, fingers tangling in his dark hair.

As his hand slides down my stomach toward the waistband of my shorts, I suddenly tense. Vincent immediately notices, pulling back to look at me with concern.

"I—" I start, then falter, unsure how to say this. "Vincent, I should tell you something."

He props himself up on one elbow, giving me his full attention. "What is it?"

I take a deep breath. "I've never... I'm a virgin."

Surprise flickers across his face, but it's quickly replaced by understanding. He brushes a strand of hair from my face with gentle fingers.

"Oh! We don't have to do anything you're not ready for," he says softly. "We can stop right now."

The sincerity in his voice makes my heart swell. He’s the right one. I’m sure of it.

"That's the thing," I say, finding courage in his tenderness. "I know this is odd. I've had boyfriends before, but none felt right. I waited so long for the right person, and now it feels like destiny has just fallen upon me.” I touch his face, memorizing the contours with my fingertips. "If you want more than just casual, I'll offer myself to you. All of me."

Vincent's expression grows serious. He takes my hand from his face and presses a kiss to my palm.

"Charlotte, I want your heart," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "The rest is just details."

Before I can respond, he's moving down my body, pressing kisses to my collarbone, the valley between my breasts, my stomach. His hands hook into my shorts and underwear, looking up for permission. I nod, lifting my hips to help him remove them.

Now completely naked beneath him, I fight the urge to cover myself. Vincent's gaze is lovely as it travels over me.

"Perfect," he murmurs, settling between my thighs. "Let me show you how much I want you."

His head dips down, and at the first touch of his tongue against my already wet pussy, my world splinters into several fragments. His hands hold my hips steady as he worships me with his mouth, alternating between gentle licks and more focused attention that makes me gasp and writhe.

I've never experienced anything like this—the building pressure, the way each stroke of his tongue brings me closer to some precipice I can feel but can't quite visualize. My hands clutch at the sheets, then at his hair, holding him against me as pleasure builds to an almost unbearable intensity.

"Vincent," I moan, unsure if I'm begging him to stop or never stop.

---