Page 112 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” I tell her. “I’m not gentle. Not soft. I take what I want, and right now, what I want is to make you scream until your throat is raw.”
Instead of fear, heat flares in her eyes. “Then why are youstill talking?”
Brave little Omega. She’ll soon meet the beast she’s provoking.
I spin her around, pressing her face-first against the wall beside my bed. She gasps, hands splaying against the wood, and I cage her in with my body.
“You sure about this?” I murmur in her ear, giving her one last out. “Because once I start, I won’t stop. Not until you’re marked, claimed, and so thoroughly mine that you’ll feel me for days.”
She pushes back against me. “Stop threatening and start delivering, cowboy.”
That’s all I need.
I grab the rope from my gear bag in the corner, not the rough stuff I use for the ranch, but the soft cotton rope I’ve had since my rodeo days. I always keep it close. Some habits die hard, and the need for control is one of them.
“On the bed,” I order. “On your stomach.”
She moves immediately, crawling onto my bed with a grace that leaves me drooling. The sight of her, all that pale skin still damp, hair falling like wet silk around her shoulders, it’s enough to drive a saint to sin.
And I’m no saint.
“Wrists,” I command.
She extends her arms toward the headboard, watching as I loop the rope around one wrist, then the other, securing both to the headboard with enough slack that she can move but not escape.
“Why do you like this?” she asks.
I run my hand down her spine, feeling her shiver. “Because you’re mine to pleasure. Mine to worship. Mine to wreck.” My hand reaches her ass, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. “And because you trust me enough to let me.”
She moans, dropping her head between her arms, lifting her ass so she’s on her knees. “I do trust you.”
“Good.” I move behind her, spreading her thighs wider with my hand. “Because I’m about to ruin you for anyone else.”
The sight of her like this, open, vulnerable, trusting, it feeds something dark in me. The same part that used to crave the adrenaline of riding bulls, the knife-edge between control and madness.
“You’re already so wet,” I observe, running a finger through her folds. She jerks at the contact, a whimper escaping. “From being at my mercy.”
She gasps. “Everything. You.”
I drop to my knees behind her, the sight of her all flushed, trembling, dripping with slick, burns into my brain. My hands grip her hips, thumbs stroking the soft curve where her ass meets her thighs. She’s shaking, not from cold now, but from anticipation that hums between us.
I part her slowly, deliberately, my thumbs coaxing her lips open until I can see every swollen, glistening inch of her.
“Look at you,” I murmur, my voice low and rough. “Perfect little Omega pussy, wet and ready for me.”
She lets out a breathy whimper, her fingers tightening on the bed blanket, knuckles pale.
I lean in and drag my tongue over her, from the very bottom of the swollen bud of her clit up to the slit, tasting her, savoring the shiver that runs through her. When I circle my tongue there, she cries out, hips jerking, but I hold her still, my grip firm.
“Stay right there,” I tell her, my mouth brushing her as I speak. “You move, and I’ll start over. And you don’t want me to start over, sweetheart.”
“Oh my God… Ridge…” Her voice breaks into a moan as I seal my mouth over her and suck gently, then harder, until her thighs start to quake.
I explore her with my tongue like I’ve got all day, because I do, mapping her with deliberate strokes. I find the exact pressure that makes her moan louder, the rhythm that makes her writhe faster.
“That’s it,” I growl against her. “Let me hear you. Louder.”
I slip two fingers into her, gradually at first, just enough to feel her squeeze around me. She’s so tight, so wet, it’s almost painful not to be inside her yet.
