Page 56 of Tempted By the Broken Cowboy
The door swings open, and there he is—shirtless. Bare tattooed skin lit soft by the lamplight, his hair mussed from his own hands. For a second I forget why I came. My throat dries, and my fists tighten at my sides.
Beck blinks at me, surprised but not startled, his mouth curving into the slow grin that always undoes me. “Couldn’t stay away?” His voice is rough, lower than usual.
I clear my throat, pretending to have the composure I don’t feel. “My zipper’s stuck.”
His eyes flick down to the dress, then back up to me. Something unspoken sharpens in them. He steps closer, filling the space between us with heat. “Turn around.”
The command is quiet, but it makes me shiver.
I obey, lifting my hair out of the way. His fingers find the zipper with ease, callused but careful as they brush against the bare line of my spine. I suck in a breath at the contact, unprepared for how much a single touch can unravel me.
“There,” he murmurs, the zipper sliding smoothly down. His knuckles graze my skin on purpose this time.
I turn back to face him, heart pounding so loud I’m sure he hears it. Neither of us moves away. The air feels heavy, electric, alive with something that’s been waiting all night—maybe longer.
And then he kisses me.
It’s neither cautious nor testing. It’s a claim, hot and desperate, as if he’s been holding it back for too long. My fingers press into his bare shoulders, pulling him closer, and he groans against my mouth.
So much for staying away and avoiding complicating things between us.
I forget about the zipper, the dress, the fact that I came here for help. There’s only Beck—solid and burning beneath my hands—and the ache that’s been building between us finally spilling over.
The night belongs to us now.
His mouth devours mine, and the force of it knocks every thought clean out of my head. One second I’m standing in the doorway of his room, and the next my back hits the wall, the coolness of it biting through the satin of my dress as Beck presses against me. His body is solid, burning, impossible to ignore.
I gasp, and he takes it as an invitation, deepening the kiss until I’m dizzy. His hands bracket my waist, rough palms sliding over satin, tugging me closer like he can’t get enough. I can feel the tension in him, the restraint he’s fought with all night, and it’s snapping, unraveling under the weight of us.
“Beck…” My whisper is half warning, half plea.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark, his jaw tight. “You drive me crazy, Quinn.” His voice is low. “All night, all I could think about was this.”
And then his mouth is on my throat, hot and hungry. I tip my head back, a shaky moan escaping as his lips trace fire down my skin. My hands fist in his hair, holding him to me, silently begging him not to stop.
The zipper of my dress is already undone, and he doesn’t waste time. He drags the straps down my shoulders with aching slowness, his callused fingers skimming bare skin until goosebumps erupt across me. The satin pools at my waist, and suddenly his mouth is there too, pressing heated kisses along my collarbone, down to the swell of my breasts.
I’m trembling—not from fear, but from the way desire coils tight and sharp inside me. He drops to his knees before me, the sight of him there—broad, shirtless, reverent—making my breath catch. His hands grip my thighs as though I might vanish, and then he looks up at me with that raw hunger that makes my knees go weak.
“Tell me you want this,” he says, voice rough.
I don’t hesitate. “I want you. I always want you.”
Something in him shatters at my words. He groans, burying his face against me as his hands push my dress down further, until it falls away completely. I’m bare under his gaze, exposed and trembling, but I’ve never felt more powerful. His eyes roam over me, not with judgment, but with reverence so fierce it steals my breath.
His mouth is everywhere—thighs, hips, stomach—each kiss a brand that sears into me. By the time he rises, pulling me up against him again, I’m already lost.
We stumble toward the bed, tangled in heat and desperation, his mouth never leaving mine for long. When he lays me down, his body covering mine, the world narrows to the press of his weight, the scrape of his stubble against my skin, the sound of both of us unraveling.
He takes his time, teasing, touching, drawing out every gasp and moan until I’m shaking beneath him. My nails rake his back, urging him closer, harder. When he finally pushes into me, thebreath is punched from my lungs, a cry caught in my throat. The ache, the stretch, the sheer rightness of it is overwhelming.
“Quinn,” he groans, his forehead pressed to mine, his hips moving slow, deliberate, as though he wants me to feel every inch of him.
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper. “Don’t hold back,” I whisper, because I don’t want restraint. I want all of him—every rough edge, every hidden feeling he won’t say out loud.
And he gives it to me.
His rhythm shifts—harder, faster—driving me higher with every thrust. My nails claw into his shoulders, my voice breaking on gasps of his name. He kisses me desperately, pouring every unsaid word into me through his mouth, his hands, his body.
