Page 12 of His Big Hometown Cowboy
Wyatt
The familiar shapeof the ranch house rose against the night sky, silhouetted and solid.
But pulling into the driveway with Timmy beside me, his hand resting high on my thigh like he belonged there… everything felt different. Sharper. Like seeing it for the first time through his eyes, wondering if this place, my life, was something he could ever truly fit into.
I cut the engine, the silence suddenly loud.
His hand squeezed my thigh, a gentle pressure that sent a jolt straight through me. “Well, here we are.” His eyes found mine in the dim light filtering from the porch. “I love this old place.” A pause, loaded with meaning. “I’m glad I’m here, tonight, withyou.”
I reached across the seat, my hand cupping the back of his neck, pulling him toward me. His surprised sound melted into a low groan as my mouth found his. He pressed closer, fingers digging into my shoulders, returning the kiss with an urgencythat matched my own. Years of pent-up longing ignited between us, fierce and immediate.
“Inside,” I managed, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak.
We practically fell out of the truck, hands finding each other, bodies bumping as I steered him toward the porch steps. He’d crossed this threshold countless times, tracked mud across this floor, raided this fridge.
But never like this. Never as mine.
The thought tightened my chest, and I was rock hard.
My hands shook, fumbling with the damn keys. Timmy pressed against my back, his lips a searing trail along my neck, teeth grazing my earlobe.
“Hurry up, cowboy.” His breath hitched. “Or I might have to take you right here on this porch.”
The key finally slid home. I shoved the door open and spun, scooping him off his feet in one fluid motion. His startled laugh morphed into a moan as I backed him against the entryway wall, kicking the door shut behind us. The solid thud echoed the finality of this moment. No turning back now.
“You like that?” I growled, hoisting him higher until his legs instinctively wrapped around my waist. He felt solid, clinging to me. “Being manhandled?”
His pupils were blown wide in the dim light filtering from outside, hands fisted tight in my shirt. “God, yes.” His voice was thick. “You have no idea how often I’ve thought about your strength.”
Felt easy carrying him. Easier than carrying the weight of wanting him all these years, hiding it behind jokes and distance. I navigated the darkened house by memory, moonlight spilling through the tall living room windows my only guide.
Didn’t need lights. Knew this house blindfolded. Timmy’s mouth worked magic on my neck, distracting, making it hard to focus on anything but the feel of him in my arms. Finally,here.
My bedroom door banged against the wall as I shouldered through. Timmy laughed against my skin, the sound vibrating through me.
“Eager much?”
“You have no idea.” I set him gently on his feet by the king-size bed, my hands lingering at his waist. Need pulsed through me, sharp and demanding. “Been thinking about getting you in this room, in this bed... like this... for years.”
His eyes widened at my raw confession. Something vulnerable flickered across his face before desire surged back, hotter than before. I stepped back, needing a breath, needing to see him. I flicked on the bedside lamp. The soft glow spilled across his skin, highlighting the flush spreading down his neck, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
He looked like every fantasy I’d ever had, standing there in the middle of my room. Mine.
“Strip for me,” I said, the words dropping into a lower register, rougher. A command born of years of denied want. “Want to see every inch of you. Naked. Ready for me.”
Timmy didn’t hesitate. Not a flicker of uncertainty. He met my gaze, a spark of challenge in his eyes, as he pulled the henley over his head in one smooth motion. The lamplight sculpted the lean muscle of his chest, the flat stomach, the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.
Beautiful. More beautiful than I remembered, than I’d allowed myself to imagine.
“Your turn.” His voice was steady, but his hands trembled slightly as they moved to his belt buckle.
I took my time. Let him watch. Each pearl snap came undone with deliberate slowness. My eyes locked on his. His gaze followed my fingers, licking his lips.
When I finally shrugged the shirt off my shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, his sharp intake of breath was pure satisfaction. A primal surge of pride went through me.
“Fuck, Wyatt.” His voice was a ragged breath, eyes sweeping over my chest, my shoulders.
A low chuckle rumbled in my chest. “Like what you see?” I rolled my shoulders slightly, the muscles flexing under the skin. Couldn’t resist.
