But it’sMillie.
Just the sight of her relaxing and doing nothing but simplybreathingblanks out every warning. It’s like a switch gets flipped, and the sane version of myself dissolves on the spot. All the sense in my head just… disappears and leaves behind the man who gives in at the simplest of pushes.
One look her way, and I’m picturing how she’d feel pinned against the stable wall, or flattened out in the pasture somewhere. I want to map the curves of her body with my mouth, learn every sigh and whimper I could draw out of her. Would her fingers curl into my shirt? Would my name be thefirst thing she’d whimper out, or would she finally beg me to give her what she needs?
I think that’s why I keep teasing her. I can’t help it. The power that comes with her needing me is a sensation that’s too addictive.
How long can I chase this fantasy, pretending it won’t end up blowing in my face? I should cut this clean now before the want becomes a necessity, and both of us end up hurt in ways that can’t be undone.
But the mere thought of saying goodbye sinks claws straight into my chest. If I told her I could let her go, it would be a lie. At least right now, it’s still possible.
Even if every night is worth experiencing a loss I’ve never known, it’s still possible.
By the end of the season, that will no longer be the case. Deep down, the truth is an ugly thing that will be harder and harder to hide the longer I keep caving to this hunger that pops up every time we get near each other.
I don’t just want her. I want to keep her. Make hermine. The age gap, the judging stares, from the whole town—I’d silence it all if it meant she’d belong to me.
Would she ever leave this ranch if I asked her to stay? We’d be too lost in each other to notice anything else. I could make her forget there was ever an outside to begin with.
Now that’s a thought that chills the heat. That’s my conscience, nudging at me with an air horn.
She hasn’t even figured out who she is yet. She’s all possibility and open roads, and I’m a man used to fences who decided this would be his life. Claiming her now wouldn’t save her. It’d be caging a bird that’s barely tested its wings.
That’s exactly what Jerry would remind me of if he ever found out.
A low curse grates out of me. This conflict is tearing me in two. Now, here I am about to take her out to the diner, and everyone will see this lone cowboy has a date. I can’t let it get to my head any more than I already have.
I need to say something to her. Something that steers us in the right direction. Before this craving turns into something that’ll leave us both wounded.
Pushing her door open, the words are on my tongue. They’re right there… until I get a good look at her.
My angel is beaming, glowing in her dress and a smile that could knock a man to his knees. Hell, mine feel like they’re ready to give out.
There’s no room to feel bad when one thought swells up to take up every inch of room in my head.
Millie lets out a light laugh when I approach her. She holds her hands out, already anticipating me, and every shred of my better judgment dissolves the moment my hands find her waist. I lift her, settling her on the edge of the dresser, and gently push her knees apart to make room for myself.
The thin cotton of her summer dress is no barrier at all; I can feel the radiating warmth of her thighs against my hips.
“Dad called—” A visible shiver rolls through her as I tug her closer to the edge, leaving her no stable ground, nothing to cling to but me. She doesn’t hesitate, her arms winding around my neck, fingers threading into the hair at my nape. “He’s worried about me.”
“He’s worried about everyone he cares about,” I mutter, the words a rough sigh against her hair. The familiar internal war reignites. I need to say it. The words to make things more realistic here. “Millie—”
She lifts her head, and her eyes, unwavering, make a liar of me before I can even start. Then her mouth is on mine, not thinking twice about pulling me down to her level.
She’s learned too well, too fast. Her tongue flicks against my bottom lip, a teasing, maddening stroke that coaxes a low groan from deep in my chest.
“Cyrus.” Purring my name, it’s the exact thing needed to drown out all those other thoughts, leaving the one thing burning through me to consume everything in my head.
My hands move of their own volition, stroking up her sides, plucking at the flimsy fabric of her dress. Half of me wants it gone, a crumpled heap on the floor. But that’s the same, desperate half that wants to toss her onto the bed behind us and sink into her until neither of us remembers our own names.
Can’t do that. Not now. Not while we have plans.
My mouth seals over hers again, deepening the kiss, my tongue sweeps in to taste her.
A sharp, breathy sound escapes her, and she squirms against me, her body arching into the contact. The feel of her, soft and pliant and eager, is a devastating fuel to the fire. Then I feel it—the hook of her ankles locking at the small of my back, pulling me flush against the aching heart of her.
As much as I like seeing her in these summer dresses, the only thing I can picture myself doing is tearing them off. It’s a miracle I’ve yet to shred the threads.
