Page 111 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
She’s completely naked. Wet. Shivering. Glorious.
And I can’t look away.
She’s all soft curves and pale, lightly freckled skin,flushed from cold and adrenaline. Her nipples are tight from the chill, and God, her breasts are bouncy and perfect. Full and high and made to be held, to be worshipped. A line of red curls leads down between her thighs, and just the sight of it makes my vision darken around the edges.
My mouth waters. My cock throbs so hard it’s painful. And still I don’t move. Not unless she asks.
Her voice is barely a whisper. “Your turn.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” Her fingers reach for the buttons on my shirt again as I get to my feet. “Please. I need… to feel warm. To feel alive. To know this is real.”
The hunger in her voice urges me on.
I let her unbutton my shirt, helping when her fingers falter. Every brush of her hands on my skin is electric, every second I spend standing still takes a Herculean effort not to drag her into my arms and bury myself in her warmth.
She pushes the shirt from my shoulders, and her hands don’t fall away. Instead, they slide across my chest, fingers tracing the pale scar down my ribs, then the puncture mark on my side. She’s memorizing me. Not flinching. Not pitying.
“Jesus, Sophia,” I rasp. “You’re gonna break me.”
She looks up at me, still damp, still flushed, completely naked and entirely the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Then break,” she whispers.
My jeans are next, and I have to help with the belt, the button, everything. Her hands are too unsteady. I take it all off, kick them aside. When I’m standing there in nothing, she steps closer, pressing against me, skin to skin.
The contact lights up every nerve ending. She’s ice cold but warming quickly, and I wrap my arms around her, trying to share my heat.
“You’re so warm,” she murmurs against my chest.
I grab a towel, starting with her hair, trying to focus on the task instead of how perfectly she fits against me. The towel moves down her shoulders, her back, and she makes this small sound, not quite a moan, not quite a sigh, that goes straight to my cock.
“Turn around,” I murmur. “Let me dry you properly.”
She turns, and I have to bite back a groan. The curve of her spine, the perfect roundness of her ass, the way her hair falls wet down her back. She’s going to be the death of me.
I run the towel down her back, across her hips, trying to be thorough but gentle. When I kneel to dry her legs, I’m eye level with perfection, and my control starts to crack.
“Ridge?” Her voice is soft, uncertain.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been aching for someone to touch me and make me feel wanted and alive.” She turns to face me,and I’m still on my knees, looking up at her like she’s a goddess. “Will you?”
My control doesn’t just crack; it shatters completely.
I surge to my feet, capturing her mouth in a kiss that’s all desperation and need. She responds immediately, opening for me, her tongue sliding against mine as she presses closer. She tastes like river water and sweetness underneath, and my head spins.
My hands tangle in her wet hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss. She makes a sound—half whimper, half moan—that has me pressing closer with need.
She gasps against my lips. “Please. I need?—”
“I know what you need,” I growl, walking her out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. “The question is whether you can handle what I want to give you.”
The corners of her lips curl upward. “Try me.”
The challenge in her voice triggers that primal side of me. The same rush I used to get right before the gate opened, eight seconds of adrenaline waiting on the other side. Except this time, I plan to last a hell of a lot longer.
