Page 22 of Dear Santa, Send Me a Cowboy
Sweeping his thumb along the contours of my face, his stare never left mine.
“Maybe I was always meant to find you, Diana. That dropping off your tree wasn’t just a coincidence, and reading your Dear Santa letter only solidified my belief." Now tracing his thumb over the outline of my lips, I felt the air slowly being vacuumed from my lungs. “Everything you wrote, every desire and longing, every hope and wish, it practically read, ‘I need Lawson Boone,’ without you even realizing it. And I’ll be damned if I let that go.”
My jaw dropped in shock. This impossibly arrogant, sinfully handsome cowboy actually thought that my “Dear Santa” letter had come true—that he, of all people, was the one who was the answer to the desperate words I had written.
He genuinely believed that we were meant to be.
That he was the cowboy I wished for.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said, his voice dripping in impatience as he dipped the tip of his thumb inside my mouth. Then scraping it along the tops of my teeth, he hooked his fingerinside and gradually widened my mouth. “Tell me that I wasn’t exactly what you imagined, darlin’.”
As my tongue brushed against his finger, I noticed the heat clouding his gaze.
With his body sprawled back against the couch, he leaned in close, his stare fixated on my lips as if he couldn’t believe I was allowing this to happen.
“Jesus, Diana…” He used the thumb still in my mouth to gently pry it open wider. In a matter of seconds, his eyes went dark. “You goin’ to let me fuck this mouth later? Or is it too sore from all that arguing you were doing with me?”
I quickly snapped my mouth shut onto his finger, firmly biting down onto his thumb, until I got my point across. Grinning like a psychopath, he not once tried to pull away from my gnawing teeth. Instead he took the opportunity to grab ahold of my waist and squeeze.
“Did that set you off, darlin’? Or are you just hungry?” he teased, a wicked smirk turning on the corner of his mouth, sending my insides into a gooey mess.
God, why did he have to be so good-looking?
Growling in frustration, I released his thumb and attempted to slide off his lap. But the grip he had on my waist tightened, a firm warning that I shouldn’t test him any further than I already had.
“Yeah, hungry for blood.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“That right?” He did another mind-numbing swivel of his hips, this time pressing the edge of his buckle right up against my clit. “You sure you’re not hungry for anything else?”
Fuck.
Of course I was. What woman wouldn’t be? But that wasn’t the problem. The real problem was that this self-assured, dangerously charming cowboy was challenging the carefullyconstructed life I had built—one of solitude and raising Silvan on my own without the help of a man.
Yet, beneath my defensive exterior, there was a longing for nights like these. Filled with endless pleasure and intimacy that I’ve been deprived of.
And Lawson Boone was the perfect man to have me question everything.
“Quit overthinking and focus on me.” He brought me back with a firm, upward thrust. “Focus on how good this feels.”
My palms used his shoulders as leverage and he began to rock himself into me.
“Lawson…” My breath caught as he established a rhythm of forceful thrusts that sent tingles down my whole body. “What are you— Oh!” with a firm hand on my waist, he expertly guided his buckle in a slow, teasing figure-eight motion.
Even through the soft fabric of my pajama bottoms, every contour and ridge came alive beneath me.
It was nothing short of fucking divine.
Throwing my head back, I couldn’t stop the moan that fell past my lips.
“Fuck yeah, Diana. You look absolutely breathtaking right now,” he grunted, relentless in his mission at making me obsessed. “Tell me—how long has it been for you? Tell me the last time a man had you like this.”
Never.
No man had ever made me feel so alive with longing, but there was no way I was going to admit that to him. He didn’t need any more fuel for his already inflated ego.
“A while,” I panted.
