Page 38 of Perfect Cowboy

Our past and present are colliding and it’s intoxicating.

The hum of the generator should be audible inside the cabin, but I can’t hear any external noises outside of the bubble I’m in with Gavin.

It’s like a vacuum where I’m only aware of his breathing, his tense movements, his masculine scent.

And the blatant need pouring off his body.

Maybe it will be easier for both of us if we aren’t looking at each other.

We’re going to be stuck together in close quarters at least overnight and probably longer. And what better way to break the ice than to fall back into what we used to love doing best?

Not that either of us had any idea what we were actually doing back then, but we were fueled by love and the desire to please the other person, which makes all the difference.

I’m sure we’ve both upped our games in the skills department, but that thought only makes me sad. We could have been exploring together, and his body could be the only one that I ever knew, ever touched, ever loved.

But instead, we were living two very separate lives that neither of us knows anything about. He thinks it was what I wanted, but it wasn’t.

Not even close.

My fingertips trail down Gavin’s strong, muscular back and then slide under his hoodie, moving up to massage his shoulder blades while he stirs a dinner that I no longer give a shit about.

Gavin was always pretty vocal whenever we did something intimate, but he’s deathly silent now and paying an awful lot of attention to a task that doesn’t require it.

I miss his voice telling me how good I’m making him feel, how he will never get enough of me, and how badly he wants me.

Surely, he must want me right now.

There’s only one way to find out.

I massage my way down his back, and his soft sighs of pleasure are – everything.

“Is it okay?” I whisper against his shoulder blades.

I need something from him.

Anything.

“Yes,” he admits. “Thank you. But you don’t have–”

“Shhh,” I soothe. “I want to touch you. Let me make you feel good.”

I glide my hands around to the front of his body, and when my fingertips brush along his abs – Jesus, this guy isfit– his entire body shudders.

“Ashley,” he warns roughly.

I’ve never been especially good at heeding warnings.

I tentatively hook my thumbs in the waistband of his jeans, pressing my breasts into his back, and he doesn’t pull away.

As a horny teenage guy, Gavin was almost always the initiator in our past life. I was hesitant because I always thought I’d wait until marriage, but once we got started down the path of crossing bases, I couldn’t stop. I wanted him more than I wanted air.

But he’s not going to let himself pursue me now, even if he wanted to.

If anything remotely fun is going to take place within the four walls of this tiny cabin, it will be because of me.

And I’m okay with taking what I want.

Him.

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