Page 261 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“What now?” she asks.
I brush a tender kiss across her lips. “I am so fucking sticky.”
She laughs.
“I think there’s honey in my ass crack.”
She laughs again. “There’s definitely honey in my ass crack.”
I run my finger over the side of her face. “And I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
I kiss her and wish we could roll up and stay here forever.
“There’s a key in the basket,” she says.
“A key?”
She nods. “Apparently, there’s a little guesthouse next to us, and I’ll bet there’s a shower.”
I drag her to her knees, kissing her the whole way up.
43: I WANT TO TASTE YOU
JADE
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BRA, PANTIES, AND jeans in one hand, my other hand clutches Hart’s as he guides me out of the gazebo.
My insides are still tingling from his touch. At this point, I don’t know if they’ll ever settle down. And I don’t want them to.
Especially not when he’s beside me, wearing nothing more than his briefs with his clothes and my boots tucked under his other arm.
And damn, his body is a masterpiece.
I’ve been around cowboys my whole life—lean, rugged, sunburnt men who carry their strength in the way they walk, in the way they work.
But him?
He’s something else entirely. A mountain of beauty carved from raw muscle and quiet intensity. Broad shoulders, hands that look like they’ve wrestled the earth into submission, and a jaw that could cut glass.
But he doesn’t act like his looks are some ticket to take whatever he wants from the world. He walks through life like he’s just a man doing his best.
Alright, maybe I would’ve thrown that in his face a week ago, accusing him of being an arrogant, smug prick who thought he was entitled to whatever the hell he wanted.
But I knew even as I said it, it wasn’t true.
He’s not conceited. He’s not even fully aware of the effect he has on people.
We stop at a little wooden sign with an arrow carved into it.
“I suppose we’re headin’ that way.” He doesn’t move, so I glance up at him.
“I suppose we are—” I stop when I catch him staring at me with a smirk that lights up his face.
It’s been years since I’ve seen him smirk or smile. He’s always snickering, always grumpy, and always frowning. And I wonder if that’s been his life? Holding this grudge, staying away from me, and punishing himself daily.
“What?” I ask.
