Page 22 of The First Day of Breeding Season
And my restraint breaks.
I manage to get the glass to the side table before I take her face in my hands and crush my lips to her, tasting the cool dropsof water that remain and the hot, needy woman who is instantly kissing me back.
“Drew, please,” she begs between licks.
I don’t know what she’s asking for. I’m so fucking afraid of breaking her.
“Just let me kiss you,” I rumble.
She whimpers and nods, going soft beneath me.
I lean over further and further, until she’s lying on the bed and I’m kneeling over her, very aware of her tits pressing against the elastic neckline of her sundress that looks like I could pull it down and kiss her somewhere other than her mouth.
We’re both shaking as I push my mouth against hers a little harder, hungrier. Trying to keepthisas just enough, because I can’t trust myself to do anything else—even though we both want it, both need it.
“Goddamn,” I whisper against her lips. “Didn’t see you coming, sweetheart. You’re so fucking sweet.”
She giggles.
I inhale her laugh, using it to stabilize my raging desire.
I can give her a bit more.
Just a little bit more pleasure.
I kick off my boots, thinking I’ll stretch out beside her, and then I hook my hand around her leg that wasn’t stung.
“No, wait—” She twists, protesting, but I’ve already tugged her remaining boot off.
She goes still as my gaze falls to black ink wrapping around her ankle.
My confused exhale is so fucking loud rasping into the quiet.
I tighten my grip on her leg and drag my hand down her calf, until the frayed rope around my wrist meets the matching frayed rope on her ankle.
Blood roars in my ears, dragging me back twenty-two years.
To a rickety wooden chair, made stable with a pack of matches shoved under one leg so it didn’t move while Blade moved his tattoo gun over my wrist. Being brave. Pretending it didn’t hurt, because I wanted ink. So fucking desperate to prove I was a man.
I’d been at Tenth Circle Ranch for a year, and I’d proven myself a hard worker.
At some point, Blade figured out I was lying about my age, and instead of ratting me out, he took me under his wing. He told me to stop chasing after women when I wasn’t ready yet, and focus on what really mattered.
I tied a rope around my wrist as a reminder of his wisdom, and when he asked me what I wanted for ink, I knew it was that.
How the fuck does this girl have the exact same design wrapped around her pretty little ankle?
With a rough tug, I haul her to the end of the bed, keeping a tight hold on her leg. Her sundress rides up to her waist, and she doesn’t push it down, doesn’t try to hide those intoxicating white panties that I shouldn’t be looking at. They stretch smooth from one lush hip to the other, pulling taut over a puffy mound.
I want to drop to my knees and press my face to that soft cotton cover.
I need her.
But I need answers more. So I crawl on top of her and pin her hands to the bed. “You recognized my tattoo.”
“I can explain,” she whispers.
“You better start.”
