Page 33 of A Christmas Baby for the Cowboy
He ate at her mouth, and one of his big, callused hands moved to cup her cheek so he could guide her mouth as he kissed her. Like this was the first time.
Like they needed a beginners’ manual to figure out this chemistry when it had been nothing but explosive from the start.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and then he was moving. He lifted her up, still kissing her, so he could slide his hands beneath the cozy sweatshirt she wore. It was like he needed to reacquaint himself with her shape, or her skin, or maybe he was matching the memories he’d been carrying around to the reality.
Ramona couldn’t pretend she wasn’t doing the exact same thing. She pressed into him, because the wall of his chest was a kind of glory—hard and hot—and she’d believed she would never touch him again. She had vowed she wouldn’t.
And it was true that it felt lovely and intimate to sit around fully clothed with this man, sharing a bit of quiet together.
But the minute they touched, they incinerated.
Knox made a low, growling noise that had never once failed to connect directly to the greedy place between her legs that she sometimes thought had been made just for him.
And she didn’t know if she jumped or he hauled her up, but either way, she wrapped her legs around his waist and then he was carrying her.
But they didn’t make it far.
They never did.
He crossed out of the kitchen and into the living room, but then he stopped so he could hold her up against the nearest wall, and they stayed like that for a good, long while.
Knox got that sweatshirt up and off of her, but it took too long. They had to slam their mouths together again and lick their way inside, angling their heads to make it better, to make up for it.
They had to do that until it became necessary to breathe.
He moved so he could lean back a little, but he kept her legs in place around him. Ramona pressed her shoulder blades into the wall, because she knew what he wanted.
She wanted it too.
He wore a dark, glittering, intensely possessive look on his face as he smoothed his palms over her breasts. She was now completely bared to him from the waist up, and she could see how much he liked it.
She did too, especially when he began to play.
Though his version of play made her buck her hips against him, pressing herself as best she could against the heat of him. And better still, that hard, heavy ridge in his jeans that she knew was all for her.
“Do you know how hard it was to keep my hands off you for days beneath my roof?” he asked her, in that dark voice of his that made her shiver, everywhere.
“I hope it was torture,” she managed to get out as she arched her back to give him better access. “I hope it hurt.”
“You know that it did.”
Knox slid his hands around to grip her shoulder blades and then he lifted her straight up, so he could tease her nipple and suck it into his hot mouth.
And he broke her apart that easily, with one sharp, hard tug. It felt like lightning racing through her, crashing down, making her throw her head back while her whole body convulsed.
He only laughed, his mouth still too hot and she could feel it too well, and that made it go on longer. When she started to come down a little, he devoted himself to her other breast, sending her spinning all over again.
Knox pulled her away from the wall and spun around, and then they were down on their knees on her soft, plush, off-white rug. It was thick and cozy and was spread out before the greatest indulgence in this apartment. Her electric fireplace that she could turn on and off with the click of a button, rather than heaving about in the cold with axes and wood.
That is an abomination, Knox had said the first time he’d seen it. And though he’d been shaking his head, there’d been laughter in his eyes.
There’s a reason most lumberjacks are men, Ramona had replied. It’s about time, labor, and upper body strength differentials, but mostly I just want to be cozy.
He had rolled his eyes then and every other time he’d come here and found it crackling away in all of its electric glory. But he had to admit that it kept the house warm.
Which he didn’t seem to mind when he was doing the kinds of things he was doing now. Like peeling off her socks and leggings, then her panties. And taking his time as he did it, as if he was marveling over her body for the very first time.
“It’s been too damned long since I’ve tasted you,” he growled at her.
