Page 20 of Her Cowboy Prince Charming

And she let there be nothing. Nothing but the warmth. Nothing but the pleasure. Nothing but the touch of his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, his hands. Nothing but the pleasure that he brought her as he moved his big hands up her body, skimming his thumbs over her nipples before taking one into his mouth again. It was impossibly intimate, and it was Damien.

This is Damien.

It was Damien, and it was her fantasy made reality. And this was the miracle she hadn’t thought to ask for. So she would simply take it. Allow it to exist at face value, and ask for nothing more.

She couldn’t afford more.

That was a damned fact.

His hands moved down, his fingers sliding beneath the waistband of her underwear, as he pushed them down her thighs, trailing them past her ankles and onto the floor. She wasn’t embarrassed. She hadn’t been fully naked in front of him that first time. And she also hadn’t known that it was him. Everything was different about this. About this moment. About this desire. Everything was different.

But her need was just as intense.

He moved his hand between her legs and began to stroke her, finding her wet and hot and ready for his touch.

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted him.

It was her turn to strip him entirely naked, and this time she gloried in him. The look of him, the feel of him. The knowledge of who he was.

She had wondered, occasionally, when her fantasies about Damien had heated up, if it would actually be uncomfortable to be with him. Given how well she knew him. Given who he was. But no. It wasn’t. It was everything, and so was he. Like she had been made for this moment. And if that felt weightier, more terrifying than it should, she wasn’t going to examine it. She wasn’t going to do anything but enjoy the sparkle. Enjoy the warmth.

’Tis the season.

She wrapped her hand around his hardened length and pumped him. Then she lowered her head, slowly, taking a tentative taste of him with her tongue.

He groaned, his hand coming up to grab her hair, holding her fast as she took him in deep. Her body shuddered as his did. His response to her the sensual boost that she needed, and she was lost in it. In the way she could make him growl. In the way she could make him lose himself. She was lost in everything. And she loved it.

“My turn,” he growled. And she found herself lifted bodily away from him, flat on her back on the bed, her thighs parted.

And then he forced them apart, holding her knees wide with his hands before lowering his head and swiping his tongue across that sensitized bundle of nerves there. “Mine,” he said, before burying his face between her legs and consuming her in the white heat of desire.

She clutched his shoulders, her fingers digging into his skin.

And his word echoed between them.

Mine.

Mine.

What did it mean to belong to somebody? Could you even trust such a thing?

In this life, in this world, where things could be ripped tremendously away from you, how can anything ever truly be yours?

She didn’t know the answer. And right now she didn’t want to try and figure it out. Right now all she wanted to do was luxuriate in the feel of him.

It was all she could manage.

So she arched against him and silenced her mind, riding the wave of pleasure that was beginning to crest inside her. He pushed a finger inside her, and then another, pumping them in time with the movements of his tongue. And her orgasm broke over her like a stunning tsunami.

It left her spent, breathless, lost. With no way to find the shore. But she didn’t have time to mourn that. Because he was there. He was there, so she couldn’t really be lost.

He was there. So it would all be okay.

He was there. And he was everything.

He gathered her close, kissed her on the lips, kissed her until her need was at a fever pitch. Then he positioned himself between her thighs, and thrust home.

She gasped, lifting her hips up, her internal muscles gripping him tight as he claimed her.

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