Page 44 of Country Music Cowboy
Since the kitchen was clean and chess was a two-person game, she tried not to show how disappointed she was as she excused herself and headed to her guest room.
It had a very hotel feel to it—not in the least bit homey but one hundred percent functional. The bed was comfortable. It was definitely the centerpiece of the room. King size. A large, upholstered headboard. Pillows piled high. Some silky soft quilt she’d happily cocooned herself in the night before. She stared at the bed, all the tingles and aches and craving she’d been fighting against crashing in on her.
She pulled her anything-but-seductive pajamas from her travel bag and carried them into the guest bathroom. The glass-enclosed shower had dual waterfall showerheads, a marble bench, and a collection of exfoliators, gels, and moisturizers for use.
She showered, brushed her teeth, paced her room, picked up one of the novels from the stack of artfully arranged books, then paced some more.
Did chess normally take this long?
Was she supposed to go to him?
She grabbed the doorknob, pulled the door open, and stepped into the hallway—and into Travis’s chest.
His hands closed on her upper arms, catching her. “You look like a woman on a mission.”
She swallowed. “I was just…”Getting a glass of water. Wondering what the holdup was? Coming after you. “Getting impatient.”
He nodded, his smile teasing. “We can get started right here if you want—”
Yes, please.Whatever thoughts she’d had on seduction went out the window. All she wanted was her lips on his. To touch and taste him. She reached up, twining her fingers in his model-perfect curls to tug him down—closer—until his lips sealed with hers.
His broken growl rolled over her, setting every single nerve aflame. With three long steps, he had them in her room—kicking the door shut behind him—and pressing her against the cool wooden surface. She hooked one leg around him, drawing him closer.
“Dammit,” he rasped, grabbing her thigh and lifting her against him, fitting her close. So close that his breath was hers and the only thing remaining was the feel of him.
Hard. Solid. Gripping her fiercely. Kissing her softly. The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her mouth, coaxing her lips apart.
She didn’t recognize the sound she made; only that the slide of his tongue against hers was the cause. Slow and primal, stroking her in a way that made her body tighten and throb for more.
His fingers slid beneath the edge of her pajama top and up the sides of her spine. A long, slow caress that had her arching into him.
She absorbed every hitch and groan, the spasmic tensing of his grip on her leg as she ground against him, the slight nip of his teeth on her lower lip, and the calloused tips of his fingers tracing along the skin of her side. The higher his fingers traveled, the harder it was to breathe. She was already gasping, already frantic, so the featherlight stroke of her nipple made her wild.
Her head fell back against the door, desperate for air.
His fingers grew more insistent. Stroking until the peaks were tight. Cupping the full weight of her breast and nuzzling the tip through the cotton of her pajamas. His lips brushed against her nipple while one large hand rested between her shoulder blades—holding her in place as his mouth began a true assault on her senses.
His lips traveled up her throat, sucking her earlobe into the hot recesses of his mouth while his fingers worked the buttons of her pajama top free. But the cold air was instantly replaced by his touch. One breast cradled in his hand, the other worked over by his lips and tongue.
The door was replaced by the bed beneath her, and she reveled in the weight of his body, heavy, against her.
She tugged his shirt up and over his head, moaning aloud at the feel of his skin against hers. The slide of his hand over her stomach triggered a series of electric pulses. When he tugged her pajama bottoms down and off, the press of his lips to her hipbone had her hands fisting in the silk-like comforter beneath her.
His fingers were magic, teasing her senseless before his tongue took over.
“Travis,” she pleaded, gripping at his shoulders. “Travis, please.”
His breath was ragged against her inner thigh. “Tell me what you want.”
She propped herself up on her elbows, staring down at him. In her dazed state, she’d no idea she was laying on the edge of the bed or that he knelt between her legs or that her fingers had tangled in his perfect model curls… Her desire was too insistent for her to feel anything else. And now that she saw him, red-cheeked and breathing hard, her craving for this man consumed her. “You,” she whispered. “Now.” This was new. The desperate ache that only he could fill.
He stood and stared down at her, unbuttoning his jeans. He was solid muscle. His arms. The balls of his shoulder. His hard plane of chest. His contour lines dividing up the muscles of his stomach. The indents along the inside of his hips, cutting deep.
She wanted to explore every ridge and angle of his body. After…
He slid his jeans down and off, kicking aside jeans and boxer shorts and leaving nothing left to the imagination. Even without his hands on her, the heat of his gaze left her panting.
Thankfully, he had a condom. Watching him roll it on was sexy as hell—even more so because he was shaking. As he climbed onto the bed, he pressed kisses along her hip, her stomach, the underside of her breast, her nipple, and the hollow of her throat before he was braced over her.
