Page 32 of The First Day of Breeding Season
“Kissing you wouldn’t be a distraction.” And this time when she tugs on my shirt, pulling me down to her level, I don’t resist.
She reels me in, until I’m curved over her, until my arms are around her, holding her tight, because if I don’t she’ll fall.
She trusts me too much.
Somehow, holding on to the thinnest thread of self-control, I don’t kiss her.
She swipes rain out of her eyes, and I shift closer still. Just to cover her face with the brim of my hat, I tell myself.
Not to bring her into a tight little cocoon of my body. That’s an accident.
Except it feels pretty fucking intentional the way I plaster every soft inch of her to my wet chest.
And she knows it.
Searching my face, Brynn licks her lips, fire spiking in her determined gaze. “My secret is that I like how you look at me. I like how you find me a challenge. I likeyou, and I want your attention. When you look at me it makes me want to twirl in circles, so fast my dress flies up and shows you my panties.”
“Last night…” My voice is hoarse. “You showed me…”
“I tried, Drew. I tried to show you. Because…” She laughs a little, her eyes wild now. “I poured over those sketchbooks for years, and I always came back to a frayed rope in the middle of one of the books. I knew that was the one. I knew you were the one, too.”
“The one for what?”
“For me.”
Those two simple words shift something deep inside me. The rain pounds against my shoulders, but I barely feel it.
She’s looking up with wide, trusting eyes that see right through every wall I’ve built.
I should warn her off again.
Maybe I should make good on my threat to turn her ass pink.
Her tight hold on my shirt relaxes, and her hands push up and around my neck, leaving trails of fire despite the cold rain.She rises on her tiptoes, bringing her lips so close I can feel her breath mingling with mine. “Kiss me, Drew. Stop fighting this.”
I break like a bursting dam, crashing my mouth down on hers. Her lips part instantly beneath mine, eager and welcoming, and I’m lost. I’m starving for her, like half a day is too long already.
I back her against the nearest tree, shielding her from the rain with my body, one hand tangling in her wet hair while the other grips her hip. Every boundary I’ve set is crumbling, every promise I made to myself shattered by the way she melts against me, the way her tongue slides against mine.
And when she makes a small, desperate sound against my mouth, I tilt my hips to give her the hard ridge of my cock, hoping that will sooth her primal need.
Instead, it lights her on fire.
She claws at my shoulders, moaning my name as her head tips back against the tree.
Breathing hard, I press my face into the long stretch of her neck. “You need that, sweetheart?”
She moans again.Yes.
And it’s permission of a sort. This isn’t for me. I’m not taking. I’m not pushing her into the mud and rutting into her like a mad bull.
Make it good for her.
“Spread your legs for me,” I rasp. “Hitch up high, I’ve got you.”
She wriggles in my arms, lifting her thighs, letting me hold her against the tree.
I lick and suck at her neck, feeling her pulse against my tongue, listening to her pleasure. The little gasps and moans she makes are the only sounds that matter in this world. They’re my guide to getting this right.
