Page 66 of Tempted By the Broken Cowboy
Beck tugs me closer with a mischievous tilt of his head. “Dance with me.”
Without waiting for an answer, he’s already leading me into the crowd. His hand settles low on my back, his other wrapping around my fingers, and suddenly the world shrinks to just us—his steady warmth, the scent of smoke and cedar clinging to his shirt, the soft rasp of his breath near my temple.
We move together, swaying more than dancing, but it doesn’t matter. The night hums around us.
“You look happy,” Beck murmurs, searching my face as if he’s memorizing every curve of my smile.
“I am,” I admit, my heart thudding. “Tonight feels right.”
His grip tightens, pulling me flush against him. “It’s more than right. Quinn, I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m not letting go.”
The words cut straight through me. His voice is low, fierce with honesty. My throat burns. I want to tell him, spill it all—that I love him, that it’s not just a game anymore, not a deal or a ruse.
Instead, I lift on my toes and kiss him.
It starts slow, a brush of lips that’s supposed to be light, careful. But then he deepens it, his hand sliding to cradle the back of my neck, and suddenly it’s fire. The music fades, the laughter blurs, and all I know is him—his mouth claiming mine, his chest solid against me, his heart pounding in sync with my own.
“Quinn,” he whispers against my lips. “You’re everything.”
The kiss burns through me, every second stretching, every heartbeat louder than the band’s fiddle. His hands tighten at my waist, urging me closer, and heat coils low in my stomach.
“Beck…” I murmur, breathless, but he doesn’t let me go.
His forehead presses against mine, his voice ragged. “Let’s get out of here.”
I don’t argue. My fingers lace with his, and we slip through the crowd, ducking past groups of neighbors and cousins, the bonfire and laughter. No one stops us—they’re too caught up in the music and food. My pulse thrums with anticipation, need, and hunger.
He pulls me into the barn, and the door bangs shut behind us. The air is thick with hay, leather, and horses—earthy and raw, grounding even as my pulse races out of control. Light spills in soft threads through the gaps in the wood, dust drifting lazily as though this whole place is holding its breath, waiting for us.
Beck doesn’t wait. His mouth crashes onto mine the second we’re alone, desperate and consuming. I whimper into him as he pins me back against a beam, his body flush to mine, all hard muscle and heat. His hands grip my hips, then slide up, rough palms dragging over my waist, my ribs, until he’s cupping my breasts through my shirt, squeezing as if he wants to memorize the shape of me.
“Fuck, Quinn,” he rasps against my lips, his breath ragged. “I can’t stop. I don’t even want to.”
I tug his head down, kissing him harder, teeth clashing, tongues tangling until I’m dizzy. His hand fists in my hair, pulling my head back so his mouth can scorch down my neck, biting hard enough to leave marks that will bloom tomorrow. I moan and claw at his back, yanking at his shirt until he tears it over his head and tosses it aside.
God, he’s beautiful. Broad chest, inked and scarred, hot to the touch. I drag my nails over his skin just to hear the groan rip from his throat. He doesn’t give me long to admire—his hands are already under my shirt, dragging it off me, shoving my bra down to suck one nipple into his mouth. The wet pull of his tongue sends shockwaves down my spine, and I gasp, arching against him.
“Please,” I whisper, though I don’t even know what I’m begging for.
He grins against my skin, wicked and dark. “You want my mouth on you, sweetheart? Or my hand between your thighs first?”
Heat floods me so fast it’s dizzying. I can only nod, and that’s enough for him. His fingers slide under the waistband of my jeans, cupping me through my panties. He presses down, slow at first, then harder when he feels how wet I already am.
“Fuck, you’re dripping for me,” he growls, biting my shoulder. “I’ll ruin these.”
And then he does, shoving my jeans down far enough to get access, pushing my panties aside, fingers sliding through my slick folds. I cry out, gripping his arm as he circles my clit—slow, relentless, teasing me until I’m writhing against him.
“Beck, please—“
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, kissing me again as he pushes a finger inside me, then another. The stretch, the way he curls them just right—I’m a mess, grinding against his hand, moaning into his mouth. He fucks me with his fingers until I’m trembling, right on the edge, then pulls out, leaving me shaking with need.
Before I can protest, he sinks to his knees on the barn floor, yanking my jeans down to my boots. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wide, and then his mouth is on me—hot, wet, merciless. His tongue flicks and circles, his lips sucking my clit until my legs nearly give out.
“God, Beck!” My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling, holding on. He groans against me, the vibration sending me over the edge, pleasure crashing through me in violent waves.
He doesn’t stop until I’m shaking, pushing at his shoulders with a weak laugh. “You’re going to kill me.”
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking up at me. “And I’ll follow you right into the afterlife.”
