Page 10 of Rough Hands on the Prairie
“Elias, I?—”
He moves.
A sudden jolt, shifting to the edge of the bed like he’s lost all control. My heart slams into my ribs. A part of me flinches—but the deeper part, the dark part, therealpart of me?
I stay still. I want this.
“You know how long it’s been since I had a woman in my bed?” he murmurs, his hand sliding down my arm, fingers trailing sparks behind them.
“I… I don’t…”
“And then I wake up in the middle of the night…” His fingertips brush my jaw. “That dress clinging to you. That skin…”
He groans again, low and primal.
Then his thumb grazes my mouth.
I go still.
His hands are callused. But his touch? It’s worship. My breath catches. A pulse of heat surges through me, a deep throb between my thighs.
I’ve never let a man this close.
Neverwantedto.
But this isn’t just want.
This is a claiming.
Maybe this new version of me—the one who fell through time—is exactly the kind of woman who would crave this. Who wouldneedit.
I don’t know who moves first.
But our lips crash together, and then he’s on the bed, over me,onme.
His hands tangle in my hair. His weight presses me into the mattress. I feel the hard ridge of him against my hip, even through the dress.
And God, I want more.
He unbuttons me slowly. One by one. Until the fabric falls open around my waist. His breath catches as the dress slips from my shoulders.
His low growl is all man.
He kisses me again—deep, tongue claiming mine—as his bare chest meets mine. The heat of his skin makes me arch up, aching.
His hand slides between my thighs.
And I open for him.
He touches me like he knows I’m already his. No hesitation. No rush. Just possession. His fingers slide inside me, filling me, stretching me. Learning me.
My body clenches.
"Tell me, girl," he breathes against my lips, "You ever given yourself to a man before?"
I kiss him in reply.
I don’t want to ruin this moment with words. I don’t want to explain. I just wanthim.
