Page 152 of Saddle and Scent
Her lips curled. “You realize you’re still hard, right? Kinda feels like you’re the one who needs rest and hydration.”
I nearly choked, but managed to keep my voice even.
“Occupational hazard. Besides, watching you come undone is better than anything I could do for myself.”
She pursed her lips, considering.
“Is that a dare?”
There was a time I would’ve flinched at that, pulled back before I embarrassed myself. I used to think daring was a thing that belonged to other people—people who could afford to make a mess, people who didn’t have to clean it up after. But something about her, the way she looked at me like I was an open field instead of a locked gate, made me want to risk it. To let her see the part of me that wanted and wanted and never thought it was allowed to ask for more.
So I didn’t answer. I just looked at her, meeting her challenge with one of my own, and wrapped my arms a little tighter around her waist. If she needed me to be the boundary, fine. If she wanted to see what happened when she bulldozed right through it—well, I’d built it sturdy just for the pleasure of watching her try.
She tsked, shaking her head with mock disappointment, but the spark in her eyes said she was already plotting. With a sudden whip of motion, she rolled on top of me, knees bracketing my hips and palms splayed flat on my chest, pinning me with the full force of her confidence. Her hair tumbled forward, curtain-soft and silvery in the dying barn light, and for a second all I could do was stare.
“Careful, Bell,” I said, voice raspier than I meant. “You keep climbing me like this and I’m not responsible for what happens next.”
She grinned, slow and wicked, and leaned forward until her nose brushed mine. “That’s the whole point, dummy. You’re always so damn careful. I want to see what you do when you stop holding back.”
I could feel every inch of her, the heat between us building again—not as frantic and messy as before, but deeper, steady as a wildfire that knows it has all night to burn. Her weight pressed me into the mattress of hay, and I realized how much I liked the contradiction: being strong enough to lift her, and being just as happy to let her pin me down.
Bell cocked her head, thoughtful, and ran a finger along my jaw. “So what if I said I wanted to drive this time?” she asked, not as a tease, but with a sincerity that punched straight through my chest.
I surprised myself by laughing—really laughing, the kind that felt like a release, not a defense. “Junebug, you can take the wheel anytime you want.”
She searched my face for a beat, making sure I wasn’t bluffing, then nodded once. Decision made. She kissed me, slow at first and then with a force that would have knocked me flat if I hadn’t already been laid out for her. Her hands mapped my shoulders, then my arms, then my sides, tracing the shape of me with a kind of reverence I’d never known from anyone.
My own hands, eager but patient, settled on her thighs, thumbs stroking up and down while I let her set the pace. If she wanted to climb, I was more than happy to be the thing she climbed. If she wanted to bite, I’d bare my throat and let her leave her mark. Because for once, I wasn’t afraid of the claim—I craved it.
Bell broke the kiss, breathless, and smiled down at me with a look that was all mischief and no apologies. “You’re a good man, Callum. Even when you’re not trying to be.”
I swallowed, throat dry, but found my voice.
“That’s funny. I was just thinking you’re a menace to society.”
“Damn right,” she said, and ground her hips against me in a way that short-circuited every coherent thought I’d ever had. I gripped her tighter, fighting the urge to flip her beneath me and show her what happened when I really stopped holding back. But something in her posture told me she needed this—to be in control, to write the story her way for once.
So I let her.
She leaned in and nipped my ear, then whispered, “Don’t you dare go gentle. I want to remember this.”
She didn’t have to ask twice.
Juniper’s fingers traced the outline of my zipper with deliberate slowness, her gaze never leaving mine, as if daring me to flinch before she did. She palmed me through denim, her touch unhurried but full of promise, and I felt my hips jerk up, helpless against the jolt of sensation. I’d barely gotten used to the idea of her in my lap before she was unzipping my pants, grinning at the way my breath hitched, her hands sure and unembarrassed as she fished out the length that had been straining against its prison for the last ten minutes.
Even with the air sharp on my skin, I went fever-hot all over as she wrapped her hand around me, her grip confident and unapologetic.
She stroked once, slow, and I almost lost it—not because it was the first time she’d had her hands on me, but because of the look in her eyes: hungry, pleased, a little bit mean in the way she liked best.
Juniper Bell, hellbent on getting what she wanted and doing it on her terms.
She lined me up, slick and ready, her other hand braced on my chest like she needed to keep me pinned.
I felt every drag of her palm, every flex of her fingers, and I realized there was no amount of self-restraint in the world that could keep me from giving her what she demanded.
She angled her hips, rolled her weight down, and I nearly blacked out when she sank onto me in one smooth, merciless motion.
Fucking hell.
