Page 25 of Her Grumpy Cowboy
“Breathe,” he soothes.
“Trying,” I grunt.“But you’re bigger than all the illustrations they showed us in Sex Ed.”
His laugh is half-humor, half-torture.His hips shudder as he holds himself still inside me, every muscle in his body straining.“Don’t say shit like that unless you want me to lose it.”
“You’re the one trying to park a yacht in a canoe,” I point out breathlessly.
Grady drops his forehead to mine, laughing hoarsely.“You're gonna make me blow before I even move.”
My thighs tremble around him, stretched wide, every nerve ending lit.“Then don’t talk.Just… please… move.”
He lifts his head, eyes locked on mine, and the humor fades to something molten.“You sure?”
I nod, clinging to him, trusting him.“I want to feel all of it.All of you.”
Grady groans like a man dying and pulls out, pushing back in with slow, devastating purpose.My breath stutters.He watches every flicker of sensation across my face like he’s watching a sunrise.
“That’s it,” he murmurs.“Let me give it to you, sweet girl.Let me show you what it’s supposed to feel like.”
And God, hedoes.
Each stroke is a lesson, every movement slow and deliberate, like he’s drawing out the pain and replacing it with something molten.Stretch becomes pressure.Pressure becomes heat.Heat spirals into something deeper, something that has my hips lifting to meet his without thinking.
“There you go,” he breathes, voice raw with reverence.“That’s my girl.Take me.Just like that.”
The ache doesn’t disappear—it transforms.I feel full.Stuffed.Claimed.But more than that, I feelseen.Every touch says I’m wanted, not tolerated.Cherished, not endured.For a girl who grew up in the system, it’s everything.
My fingers curl against the taut muscles of his back.I can feel how hard he’s working to hold back, to give me time, to make it right.
“Grady,” I whisper.
He groans, hips grinding down in a slow, perfect circle that makes my toes curl.“Feel that?”he growls into my ear.
I gasp because yes, Idofeel it.Everywhere.Not only in the rhythm of his body, but in the rhythm ofus.The way he reads me, answers the needs I didn’t know how to voice.The way hewaitsuntil my moan turns from shocked to shameless before he thrusts a little deeper.
“Christ,” he grits out.“So goddamn perfect, wrapped around me like this.I’ll never be the same.”
Neither will I.
I arch into him, chasing more.More pressure.More heat.More ofhim.I’m shaking, not from pain anymore, but from the intensity of the pleasure curling through me like a storm about to break.
My mouth finds his shoulder, biting down to keep from screaming as he moves faster and deeper.Every thrust hits something inside me that lights sparks behind my eyes.
“Grady,” I whimper.
“I know,” he pants.“Let me feel it.Give it to me, Angel.Look at me while you fall apart.”
I meet the gray I once thought was stone and find heat and care and quiet intent, and I swear something in him falls with me.
The pleasure is sharp and loud andutterly consuming.My body clamps around him, waves of pleasure crashing through me while he growls my name and drives me through every sensation.
He follows a heartbeat later, spilling inside me with a groan that sounds like surrender.
After, he doesn’t rush.He breathes me through the aftershocks, mouth at my temple, palm broad and steady over my ribs.The praise gets quieter.The filth turns to sweetness without losing its heat.He holds me close, still buried deep, his hand stroking my hair as if I’m breakable—but also his.His to soothe.His to keep.
“You’re mine now,” he murmurs roughly against my temple.“Every inch of you.Every breath.”
I nod, too full of everything to speak.
