Page 36 of A Christmas Baby for the Cowboy
“I haven’t. I’m not a liar, Ramona.”
She smoothed her fingers over the place where a frown was introducing itself between his eyes. “That wasn’t an accusation. I only wanted to tell you that we don’t need a condom. Not for me. You know I’m on the pill.”
And she didn’t say the rest—that maybe she hadn’t trusted that he wasn’t sleeping with other people the last year and a half, because he’d maintained that either one of them could do that at any time.
He looked almost stricken, for a moment.
“In case it wasn’t clear, I haven’t slept with anyone else either, Knox,” Ramona said, distinctly. Had she not told him that directly? She couldn’t remember. “I thought you knew that.”
His breath seemed to leave him in a rush. She could see emotion in that bright gaze of his, but then his mouth was on hers, his hands on her face again because he liked to keep her jaw where he wanted it. Because what he wanted was to practically eat her alive.
And even as he did that, he was moving his hips and finding his way—but not fast enough.
Ramona reached down between them and wrapped her hand as best she could around the thick width of him, then guided him inside of her at last.
At last.
But he still wasn’t moving fast enough for her, so she threw her legs around his hips and pressed her heels against his butt, then slammed him home.
They both groaned.
Because it had always been this hot. It had always been the same almost too tight fit for one breath. Another. Then he moved, and she met that movement, and it tipped over into pure, impossible heat.
Only this time, there was no barrier between them.
It was only him.
That great, big, hard length of him as he began to move. As he tested this magical fit, sinking inside of her so very slowly, then pulling back out again.
So slowly she began to quiver. So slowly that she thought she might die.
“Please…” she whispered.
And he laughed, because he knew.
He always knew.
But he picked up the pace.
And it was all about the way he thrust deep and the way she met that thrust. They rolled over and over on the soft bed, and maybe she bit him on his shoulder. Maybe the grip he had on her hips left marks.
None of that mattered.
It was like they were fighting—to get close enough that they could slip their skins entirely and become one.
Anything to chase that fire until it burned them both enough that they couldn’t tell where one of them stopped and the other began.
Somewhere in there, she stopped pretending that she could control the pace. She stopped pretending that she could control him either. And then there was only that wild, restless rush to the edge.
Until he finally thrust deep enough that it sent her flying, and he leaped out into the same stretch of starshine behind her.
She felt him scald her, deep inside, and found herself shattering all over again almost before she finished the first go-round.
He was murmuring her name in disbelief, and wonder, again and again, as they scattered into too many pieces to count.
And they fell asleep like that, him inside her, her body wrapped around him.
Sometime in the night, they woke up and did it all over again. This time it seemed almost more urgent, as if they couldn’t believe they’d woken up in the same bed again.
