Page 79 of The Rough Rider

“I’m in a great mood,” he said, grabbing the top of the beer bottle—which definitely required a bottle opener—and twisting it, not even grimacing as the metal cut into his hand. He got it open. He’d just injured himself doing it. Felt right. “Just a great mood.” And he took a swig of the beer.

“You are a salty pain in the butt,” she said.

“Maybe.”

“Anyway, here’s the roast.”

“You know what,” he said, flinging the beer bottle down onto the table. It clattered and splashed. “I don’t want any pot roast.”

“What the hell?” she asked.

“I don’t want pot roast,” he said, advancing on her. She maneuvered away from the oven, her back against the wall.

And he reached around behind her, and undid the tie on her apron.

“Gus,” she said, her voice a whisper.

“I want you.”

Then he grabbed hold of the apron, and tugged her forward with it, before he claimed her mouth with his own.

*

GUSWASKISSINGHER.Gus was kissing her. And not the way that he had kissed her at the wedding. Which had been controlled, amazing, but marked by rigid discipline. As if he had specific steps mapped out in his mind. How he was going to do it. The way that it was going to go.

This wasn’t like that at all. This was...

He was kissing her like he was starving. Consuming her. His tongue plunged deeper, sliding against hers, and she moaned, coming up on her tiptoes, all the better to meet him.

And she had no idea what was happening. No idea how all that fury that had been vibrating off of him when he had come in had erupted into this. And she had no idea where it was going.

His fury was like a balm for her wounds and she didn’t know why. Maybe because now that his mouth was on hers, she could taste it for what it was.

Desire.

She wasn’t afraid of him. He was Gus.HerGus. He’d never scared her once.

She didn’t know why she felt like this either. Because she had never...

She had never felt like her heart was beating so hard it was going to come straight out of her chest.

She had never felt like the hollow sensation between her thighs was akin to pain. She had never felt like she might die if she didn’t get a man’s hands all over her body.

When she had set out to lose her virginity, she wanted to do it for the sake of it. She wanted to gain sexual experience because she thought it might propel her into a place of maturity.

It hadn’t done that.

And one thing it had never been about was desire.

Not really.

She had thought that a few butterflies meant that she wanted somebody, and she’d been wrong.

This...this was desire. This intense, riotous pain that made her want to throw off her clothes and throw caution to the wind, and throw out every rule they had made. That made her want to dismantle all that they’d built between them.

This was that moment that she’d seen him dump the bucket of water on himself shirtless, but more.

Because he was touching her. With all that strength. And she knew what his body looked like. And she wanted it. Wanted her hands on it, wanted her mouth on it.

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