Page 38 of Cowboy Bull's Promise

Just from her mouth.

Her taste.

The way she responds to me.

I could honestly bust a nut inside my jeans just from her.

The windows fog, the air inside the truck thick with heat and want and her, but I pull back.

I have to.

Because if I don’t, I’ll take her right here in the cab of my truck, and she deserves better than that.

She deserves better than me.

So I force myself to slow down, to gather the broken pieces of my restraint.

I kiss her eyelids, her cheeks, her flushed skin still warm from the fire between us, and I breathe her in like I’m memorizing the moment.

“I mean it, Mo Chroí.”

She’s still catching her breath, her eyes hazy with lust when they flick up to mine.

“Everything I say to you, I mean.”

She doesn’t answer.

But she doesn’t have to.

Because it’s my kiss that put that look on her face.

And something about that?

It wrecks me.

“Wait for me,” I murmur and slide out of the truck, circling around to her side like I’ve done this a hundred times.

I open her door, help her down with hands that linger just a little too long on her hips.

She’s soft and warm, and I want to pull her in, bury my face in her neck and tell her all the shit I shouldn’t feel.

But I hold back.

Barely.

Because this thing between us, it’s more than anything I have ever felt. Way more than lust. Stronger than animal instinct.

It’s her.

And she means more. She means everything.

So I walk her to the door, take her keys from her trembling hand and unlock it, pressing the cool metal back into her palm.

Then, without thinking—because thinking would stop me, and let’s face it, I am low on oxygen to my brain right now—I touch her cheek.

So fucking soft.

“Will you let me take you out tomorrow?”

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