Page 19 of Savage Reins
But I kiss her again, anyway, backing her against the wall of hay bales. She doesn't resist. Instead, she pulls me closer, her mouth fierce and demanding against mine. Every rational thought I have dissolves under the heat of her response.
Her back hits the hay bales, and I cage her in, one hand braced beside her head. She’s breathing fast, rainwater still dripping from her lashes. Her fingers press against my chest like she means to push me away—but they stay there, trembling.
“This is a mistake,” she says again, quieter now.
I lean in until our foreheads touch, until all she can see is me. “Then tell me to stop.”
She doesn’t. Her eyes flick to my mouth. Her silence says everything.
I kiss her again—rougher this time, dragging her bottom lip between my teeth until she gasps. Her hands slide up intomy hair before she catches herself and yanks them back down, curling her fists at her sides.
“You don’t understand,” she breathes.
“I understand perfectly.” My mouth grazes her jaw, her throat, the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. “You’re scared… of what happens after.”
Her breath hitches. “Your family?—”
“Isn’t here.”
Her lips part, and I take her mouth again, tasting every bit of the doubt she tries to hold on to. Then I grab her hips and lift her. She clutches my shoulders instinctively, locking her legs around me as I carry her across the barn.
The storm howls behind us, wind rattling the walls of the barn. My boots hit the iron stairs one at a time, each step louder than the last. She’s whispering something against my neck—I can’t tell if it’s resistance or confession—but I don’t stop, and I don’t let her talk herself out of it.
The loft door slams shut. I set her down beside the bed and start peeling her wet shirt away, slowly at first, then rougher when it clings too tightly. She doesn’t help, but she doesn’t stop me either.
“You gonna run again?” I ask, dragging the fabric over her head.
She swallows hard but she doesn't respond. I watch her hands shake and see the hunger in her eyes.
I drop the shirt and reach behind her for the clasp of her bra. “Tell me to stop.”
Her hands fist in the hem of my soaked button down. “I can’t.”
Her bra hits the floor. She stands there in nothing but her jeans, arms folded over her chest like it’ll protect her from what’s coming. Like she doesn’t already know she’s mine. Buther breathing gives her away—shaky, shallow, her pupils blown wide.
I step in close again, letting her feel it—the heat coming off me, the want. My hand brushes her cheek, then trails down her throat, her chest, her bare stomach. She doesn’t move.
“Look at you,” I murmur, my voice low. “You’re shaking, but you’re still standing there like you’re not the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
Her breath catches.
“You know what I see when I look at you?” I ask, sliding one hand around to cup her ass, dragging her hips against mine. “I see that tight little body soaked through and begging to be worshiped. You don’t even know what it’s doing to me.”
She exhales, soft and uneven, her hands twitching at her sides.
I pop the button on her jeans. She stiffens, but her eyes stay on mine. I drag the zipper down slowly, knuckles brushing her skin.
“I’m gonna take these off you,” I tell her, voice gravel-thick, “and then I’m gonna spread those pretty thighs and bury my tongue in that perfect pussy until you can’t remember your own name.”
She sways toward me.
“I’ll have you riding my face first, Mira,” I whisper, “then bent over this bed while I fuck you deep—so deep you’ll still feel me inside you tomorrow.”
She makes a soft, helpless noise in the back of her throat. I hook my fingers in the waistband of her jeans and start to pull.
“You want that?” I ask, kissing the corner of her mouth. “Want me to ruin you a little?”
Her nod is barely there, but I see it.
