Page 34 of Craving Her Cowboy
That was all it took.
He reached for her, not gentle, not asking. His hands found her shoulders, then her face. She went to him, arms wrapping his neck, the force of it almost enough to knock him off balance. They crashed into each other, her mouth finding his, her body pressed flush against his, the porch column taking the rest of the impact. He kissed her like he was dying of thirst and she was the only thing that would save him.
Her boots thudded as she leaned into him, fingers digging into his back, the press of her body immediate and hungry. He let her in, let her take whatever she wanted. His hands roamed, mapping the planes of her face, the muscle at her jaw, the soft line of her neck. He wanted to ask if she was staying, but the words were too slow and the need too sharp.
She bit his lip, then pulled back just enough to breathe. They both stood there, panting, faces inches apart.
“You’re here,” he said again, as if his brain was still catching up with what his eyes were seeing.
She nodded, her lips swollen, eyes dark. “Yeah. I’m here. Are you happy?”
“More than you’ll ever fucking know.” He pressed his forehead to hers, closed his eyes, and breathed her in.
She leaned back, a smile lifting her lips. “You gonna invite me in, or you planning on making out on the porch all night?”
He grinned, the expression strange and unfamiliar on his own face. “Depends. I like the porch.”
She snorted, then kissed him again, slower this time. “Open the damn door, Gavin. Let me see this mini-mansion you have here. I still can’t believe this is your home. At the ranch, you seemed as if you were always meant to be on a ranch.”
The house was dark except for the foyer light. She walked in first, boots echoing on the hardwood, hands in her pockets. He followed, both of their bag forgotten outside. He watched her take it in. The sterile perfection of the entryway, the tall ceilings, the line of sight straight to the glass doors at the back of the house. She wandered to the living room, ran her hand over the surface of the coffee table, then dropped onto the couch like she owned it.
He watched her, unsure of what to do with his hands now that they weren’t on her. He flexed them, useless, then jammed them in his pockets.
She looked up. “You look like you haven’t slept since I left.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I haven’t.”
She patted the cushion next to her. “Come. Sit next to me.”
He did, the space between them too small for anything but the truth.
“I tried to stay away. I really did.” Asha had taken a couple days to really think about what she was doing. Showing up at a man’s house unannounced wasn’t her style.
“You didn’t have to. You never have to hold yourself back from coming to me. Hell, I was on the verge of hunting you down and kidnapping you.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re such an ass sometimes.” But she smiled, and the whole world felt lighter.
He reached for her hand and grabbed it in his. “You want a drink?”
She shook her head. “Not right now. What I need is for you to take me upstairs.”
He swallowed. “Oh, sweetheart. Your wish is my command.”
He led her up the floating staircase, the oak treads barely squeaking under their weight. The primary bedroom was at the end of a wide hall, bigger than any room he’d ever needed on his own. He watched her take in the space, the way her eyes lingered on the framed photos—his family, his dog from his childhood, and one shot of him on horseback in South Dakota.
She stepped out of her boots, peeled off her t-shirt, and removed her jeans. Standing in front of him in only her bra and panties, she looked at him, daring him to make the next move.
He closed the gap, hands finding her waist, pulling her close. She reached up, drew him down, kissed him hard. He shivered at the touch, at the simple reality of her. She unbuttoned his shirt with quick, sharp motions. Her hands were cool and sure, tracing the lines of his chest, the old burn scar at his side, the notch of his collarbone.
He let her lead, let her dictate the pace. She shoved him back onto the bed, and he landed with a laugh. She crawled over him, straddled his hips, then kissed down his jaw, his neck, hischest. Her hair fell around his face, curtaining out the world. She took her time, mapping every inch of skin, every scar.
When she reached his belt, she tugged it loose, then paused. “Last chance to back out,” she said, but her eyes said otherwise.
He shook his head, fingers threading into her hair. “That’ll never fucking happen. You’re here now and I don’t ever plan to let you go.”
She finished undressing him, her hands making quick work of his clothes. When they were both naked, she settled over him, her body hot and solid and absolutely real.
They didn’t rush. Every touch was deliberate, every breath shared. He kissed her shoulder, her throat, her lips. She shivered at the contact, the way he lingered on her old wounds instead of skirting around them. She bit his shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, then kissed it better.
