Page 17 of Curvy Girl and the Protector Cowboy

I swallow hard, suddenly aware that what began as an impulsive kiss has rapidly evolved into something much more significant. This isn't just physical attraction—though God knows that's powerful enough.

There's something deeper pulling us together, something I can't quite name but can feel as surely as the ground beneath my feet.

As her shirt joins mine on the floor, I take in the sight of her—beautiful, vulnerable, brave. The woman who fled her own wedding to protect her child. The woman who cried in my arms just minutes ago. The woman who's now looking at me with equal parts desire and uncertainty.

I sit beside her on the bed, tracing my fingertips lightly along her shoulder.

"We can stop anytime," I tell her. "No pressure."

She shakes her head, a small smile playing at her lips. "I don't want to stop. I want..." She takes a deep breath. "I want to feel something good for a change. Something I choose."

The weight of her words settles over me. This isn't just about physical release for her—it's about reclaiming her power, her agency. Making a decision for herself after years of having choices taken away.

"Then let me make you feel good," I promise, lowering my mouth to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.

Chapter 6

I can't believe this is happening.

Twenty-four hours ago, I was running for my life in a torn wedding dress. Now I'm half-naked on a stranger's bed—except Cole doesn't feel like a stranger anymore. Not with the way he's looking at me, like I'm something precious and desirable all at once.

His body is incredible— perfect abs and toned chest from years of ranch work and rodeo training. I've never seen a man so perfectly sculpted, like something from a magazine but warm and real beneath my fingertips. When he hovers above me, the broad expanse of his shoulders blocks out everything else, creating a world that contains only us.

His lips press against my collarbone, then trail lower, mapping a path that makes my skin tingle and my breath catch. He pauses at the swell of my breast, looking up to gauge my reaction.

"Stop," I whisper, and he immediately pulls back, concern replacing desire in his eyes.

"Too fast?" he asks, his voice rough but gentle.

I shake my head, trying to find the words to explain what I need. "It's not that. It's just..."

Cole sits back slightly, giving me space. "We don't have to do anything you don't want, Luisa."

"That's just it," I say, finding my courage. "I want to do something. I want to be in control." I meet his gaze directly. "I know it might not be your thing, but I want to get down on my knees for you."

His eyebrows lift in surprise, then a slow smile spreads across his face—not mocking, but appreciative.

"I'd be a fool to say no to that."

Relief and anticipation flood through me. Ricardo never let me take the lead, always insisting on controlling every aspect of our intimate life. This—choosing what I want to do, when I want to do it—feels like reclaiming a piece of myself.

I slide off the mattress, the carpet soft beneath my knees as I position myself between Cole's legs. My hands tremble slightly as I reach for his belt, but it's from excitement, not fear. He watches me intently, his breathing already quickening as I toss the belt aside and lower his jeans.

The impressive bulge straining against his boxers makes me pause. I glance up, finding his eyes dark with desire but patient, letting me set the pace. I hook my fingers into the waistband and tug downward.

His cock springs free, thick and hard, bobbing slightly before my face. I wrap my fingers around the base, a thrill running through me at his sharp intake of breath. The power I feel in this moment is intoxicating—I'm the one making this strong, capable man react this way.

I lean forward, maintaining eye contact as I wrap my lips around him. The sound he makes—a deep, throaty groan—sends a rush of heat between my legs. His hands come to rest lightly on my head, not pushing or directing, just connecting.

As I take him deeper, I feel more empowered with each movement. This is my choice. My desire. My control. Cole murmurs encouragement, telling me how good it feels, how beautiful I am. His words wash over me, healing something broken inside.

His hips twitch slightly, restraint evident in the tension of his muscles. I pull back slightly.

"You can move my head," I tell him. "I want you to."

He gently tangles his fingers in my hair, guiding me down at a firm but considerate pace. His cock slides deeper into my mouth, and I relax my throat, taking him as far as I can.

He's careful, so careful, even as his grip tightens slightly. That's what strikes me most—how he manages to take control while still ensuring he's not hurting me or pushing beyond what I can handle.

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