His tongue strokes against mine, over and over as the kiss grows deeper, more intense.
My nipples harden, rubbing against the soft flannel shirt in an erotic dance. Wetness floods my core. I arch my hips against his, needing him there.
He grips my hip in one big hand, angling my body until his hard length presses against me.
Bronco breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead to mine. “Shit, you feel good, princess.”
“Don’t stop,” I beg. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull him back down for another kiss and spread my thighs until he settles between them.
The weight of his body, the thick length pressing where I need him, makes me moan against his lips. I wrap one leg around his hip instinctively, anchoring him there.
His hips flex, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my core.
I cry out and grip him tighter. It’s everything. This kiss is everything I need and not nearly enough.
Bronco kisses me harder, deeper. One hand skims up my side, lingering at the edge of my breast.
“Yes,” I breathe against his mouth. “Touch me, Bronco.”
He hesitates only a moment. “You sure, princess?”
I take his hand and place it over my breast, molding it around me. “Yes. Don’t stop.”
He cups my breast over the flannel, squeezing it gently.
I slide my hands over the breadth of his chest and the soft hair there, marveling at the strength beneath my fingers. I trace scars I can’t see in the darkness. Tattoos I can’t quite make out.
Tomorrow, I promise myself. When I can see him properly, I’m going to touch and taste every part of his body. Trace the scars with my lips and claim them the way he’s making me his.
Bronco’s mouth moves across my jaw to the tender spot beneath my ear.
“So fucking gorgeous,” he growls softly, nipping my earlobe.
The sting sends another wave of pleasure through me. I grip his hair, holding him tighter.
He feathers his lips down my throat, sucking and nipping my skin. His fingers work a button free on the flannel, then another. The fabric parts beneath his lips as he traces my collar bone.
His eyes find mine, silently asking if I want more as his fingers slide beneath the edge of the shirt.
I want anything he’ll give me. Tonight. Always.
I’m not sure when my feelings for Bronco tipped from safety to desire, and then the edge of love. I’m not sure I know what love is. Only that I’ve never felt for anyone what I began to feel for him as we worked at the fence under the wide-open skies.
I tighten my leg on his hip and arch against him. Rubbing that sensitive spot against his hardness. Needing more. Rising up an inch, I kiss him again. Telling him the only way I know how that I choose him.
A rumble of pleasure comes from deep in his chest, echoing through me.
Bronco slides his hand under the flannel, the rough pads of his fingers finding my breast and my pebbled nipple. He breaks the kiss to press his forehead to mine.
“Jesus,” he whispers. “Camille—” Then he’s ripping the shirt open wide and cupping my breast, skating his palm over the peak. His eyes are wild with need when he kisses me hard, then rips away and sucks my nipple into his mouth.
I arch off the bed, clawing at his back. Nothing has ever felt so good.
No one has ever touched me this way.
His beard scrapes my sensitive flesh, heightening my pleasure. He drags his lips across my skin, shoves the fabric aside and latches on to my other breast until I’m writhing beneath him.
“Bronco,” I breathe.
