“I think I can get you screaming louder than that, Sawyer. Let me hear it.” I suck on her clit and groan when I feel her pussy clamp down on my fingers.
“Wes, fuck! Oh my God.” She’s screaming in earnest now, and I watch in awe as she falls apart for me, slowing the rhythm of my fingers as she pulses around them.
“Gorgeous,” I whisper, watching her chest heave as she comes down from the high of her climax. She stares up at the ceiling and her hands stroke my arms absentmindedly.
I push up from my elbows and stand. Holding out my hand, I haul her up from the floor. Her smile is soft, but her blue eyes are full of fire.
“I want to see you,” she says as she thumbs the button at the top of my flannel.
I trail a hand up her bare ass and pull her towards me. “Good. Because I need to see every inch of you, too.”
I grab the box of condoms from the bag I’d set on the kitchen counter earlier. Our fingers twine, and she pulls me toward her bedroom, still naked from the waist down. I watch her ass as we go, and she looks over her shoulder to find me staring.
She lets go of my hand and steps away. “Come on then. Don’t be shy, cowboy,” she says, gesturing to my Levi’s. “Fair's fair. Take ‘em off.”
“Christ, Red,” I say, blushing at her forwardness.
She bites back a smile as I unbuckle my jeans and shove them down my thighs.
“Boxers too,” she says, snatching the box of condoms from me and tossing it onto the bed.
“Someone’s impatient. You just can’t wait to see this cock again, can you?”
She smirks at me in answer. Her gaze drops as I push my boxers down, my cock springing free, standing proudly between us.
I let her take it in, giving her a moment to appreciate the view while I unbutton my shirt, the fabric rustling as it slides from my shoulders and pools onto the floor.
“Didn’t your mama ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”
She tears her gaze away from my erection, her cheeks flaming. Her denim shirt drops to the floor and then she pulls her T-shirt over her head. She stands in her bedroom in just a plain white bra and nothing else. You’d think it was the sexiest lingerie in the world for how my dick responds.
I’m so damn hard it hurts, so I give myself a firm stroke to alleviate the pressure. She licks her lips and reaches around to unclasp her bra. Her breasts spill out and the undergarment hits the floor with a muted click.
Her body is on full display, but she doesn’t seem the least bit self-conscious. I hold myself back so I can fully drink her in. Her alabaster skin glows in the warm light of her lamp, like the comforting warmth of a campfire. I could bask in her glow all night.
My gaze settles on her chest, rising and falling with breaths that are weighted by my attention.
How have I not touched those perfect tits yet?
It's a damn travesty—one I plan to remedy immediately.
“Now who’s staring?” Her arms lift to cover herself, and I can’t possibly keep myself in place any longer. In two strides, my hand is on the back of her neck and I’m holding her hostage with my gaze.
“No hiding.” I loosen my grip and brush my fingers down her spine. Goosebumps crop up on her skin, and my hand skims over her arm to her wrist. I put it behind her back and collect the other wrist and place it in my right hand with the first. “I told you I want to see every single inch of you.”
My lips brush down her neck, kissing the line of freckles to her shoulder, and she squirms with need. She tilts her neck to the side and presses against me, offering herself to me.
She doesn’t fight against my hold, and I love that she’s letting me handle her like this. I claim her mouth with mine while my other hand skims over her ribs to fondle her breast. My calloused thumb ghosts over her nipple and she shudders, arching into me.
“Every inch,” I say, breaking the kiss and spinning her around to face the wall, keeping her hands pinned at the small of her back, while I look my fill. I study the colors on her white skin and click my tongue at her. “Sawyer Addams, what do we have here?”
“Never seen a tattoo before, cowboy?” she snarks.
I tighten my hold on her wrists in one hand and move her hair so I can see the image between her shoulder blades. My fingertips trace the tattoo, taking in the colorful flowers that decorate a bull’s skull and the words“Wild & Free”sprawling across the top of the piece.
“Gorgeous,” I say, mostly to myself. “I like you wild, Red.”
It’s meant to be a reassurance. I know enough about her now to understand what prompted her to get that tattoo. I’m not willing to bring thoughts of her ex-husband into the bedroom with us, but I want her to know I love that bit of wildness, and I’d never ask her to dull it.
