Page 25 of Craving Her Cowboy
They only broke apart when the room tilted from lack of oxygen. Asha slid off his lap, boots hitting the floor. Gavin’s hand stayed tangled in the back of her shirt, holding on like she might ghost him if he let go.
He drew her in for another kiss, this one slow and heavy, a pull that left her dizzy. She let him, let herself fall into it, hands roaming along his torso, mapping out the muscle and the rough terrain of his scars.
He suddenly stood bringing her up with him. Their mouths never broke. He walked her backward, step by awkward step, until they hit the bedroom door. She laughed into his mouth, then shoved him through first, not bothering to flick on the light.
The room was just as basic as hers. A bed, dresser, bathroom, but nothing else. Moonlight spilled through the window, casting everything in blue-white and shadow. Gavin reached for her waist, guided her to the edge of the mattress, then stopped. He just stood there, breathing hard, eyes locked on hers.
Asha gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him down on top of her. They landed with a bounce, and for a second they both laughed, the sound sharp and quick and stupidly necessary.
He kissed her again, this time softer. She opened to him, fingers sliding up under his shirt, nails scratching just enough to make him shiver. He tugged her tee up, baring her stomach, then let his mouth follow the curve of her belly, the shallow dip above her navel. She arched into him, a wordless signal.
He got her shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor. Regular bra, nothing fancy, but the way her chest rose and fell underneath it made him ache. He’d have painted her picture to see her like this for the rest of his life if he could. He peeled it off slowly, letting his fingers skim the line of her shoulder, the dip at her clavicle.
Asha didn’t hide. She never had. She just stared right back at him, daring him to look away first.
He didn’t.
She pulled at his shirt, got it off him, then ran her palms up his sides, pausing at every notch and line of ruined flesh. “You’re beautiful,” she said, then shook her head, like the word wasn’t enough.
He barked a laugh, surprised. “I’m not beautiful. I’m fucked up all over.”
“You’re beautiful to me,” she said, and kissed him again.
They fumbled with the rest, jeans catching on thighs, buttons refusing to pop, her sock getting stuck at the heel. By the time they were naked, both were out of breath, grinning like idiots.
Gavin eased her onto her back, propped up on his elbows above her. He went slow, giving her time, letting his hands roam. She was strong, everywhere. Her shoulders, legs, and her tight stomach. But he found the soft places, too. The inside of her arm, the smooth line behind her knee, the spot at the base of her throat that made her pulse jump.
He kissed her there, then lower, then lower still, taking his time, not just for her but for himself. He wanted to remember every second. Asha threaded her hands into his hair, pulled him up, then down, her breaths turning to ragged little moans that made him ache to hear.
He slid inside her, slow and careful, like navigating treacherous waters. She went still beneath him, eyes wide and mouth open in a perfect oval, a sound caught somewhere between pleasure and surprise lodged in her chest. He froze, muscles trembling with restraint, searching her flushed face for any sign of hesitation, but she nodded with a quick, desperate jerk of her chin.
"Don't stop," she said, her voice a low moan that vibrated through the moonlit darkness.
He didn't. He moved slowly at first, each deliberate thrust sending shockwaves through both their bodies. The mattress creaked beneath them, a rhythmic counterpoint to their ragged breathing. He locked his calloused hands on her hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there, anchoring her against the storm they were creating together.
Asha met every thrust with fierce determination, her body arching into him. She pulled him closer until their sweat-slicked chests pressed together, her strong legs locked around his waist like iron bands. Her nails carved burning trenches down his back, marking him as thoroughly as his scars already had. She took everything he gave and demanded more with wordless sounds that filled the cabin, her body a live wire beneath him, electric and gloriously unafraid.
He was close, dangerously close, pressure building at the base of his spine like a gathering thunderstorm. He gritted his teeth until his jaw ached, forcing himself to slow, to savor the velvet heat of her. He found her mouth in the half-light, kissed her deep enough to drown in, tasted the salt of exertion on her lips. He held her as tight as he dared without bruising, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse everywhere they touched.
She came first, sudden and violent as summer lightning, her whole body arcing off the bed as if electrified. She bit down hard on the muscle of his shoulder, muffling a cry that might have woken the entire ranch. He followed her over the edge not a second later, hips jerking uncontrollably, breath leaving him in a rush that felt like falling from a great height with no parachute, nothing but open air and surrender.
They stayed tangled together afterward, neither willing to break the connection, sweat cooling on their flushed skin in the night breeze from the window. He felt her heartbeat against his chest, racing then gradually slowing like a wild horse being gentled, her breath hitching in little aftershocks as she came down from the heights.
He rolled to the side, pulling her with him. She curled into his chest, head tucked under his chin. Her hand found his, fingers lacing like they were made for it. The moonlight painted her skin silver, lit the old scars like roadmaps. He traced one with his thumb, then another, memorizing the landscape.
They didn’t talk. Didn’t need to.
He closed his eyes, the taste of her still on his lips.
Hours later, the moon had slipped behind the trees and the room was dark except for the faint silver from the open window. The air inside was warm with their breath and the leftover heat of skin on skin, but the wind coming off the hills had cooled the sweat, raising goosebumps along Asha’s arms.
She lay on her side, pressed against Gavin, a single quilt tangled around their legs. His arm was heavy across her waist, hand splayed open over her belly like he was holding her in place. She didn’t mind. The weight was grounding. For the first time in a long time, she was content to just stay put.
His thumb drew lazy circles on her hip, the touch light enough that it made her shiver. She rolled closer, tucked her head under his chin, her nose full of the sharp smell of detergent and the old, sweet stink of ranch air. Under the quilt, her hand rested on his chest, fingers tracing the outline of the scar there, slow and methodical.
Gavin was the first to break the silence. His voice came out a half-whisper, like he was worried the moment might fracture if he said it too loud.
“You cold?”
