That’s all I need. I stand, sliding everything on the table to one end with a sweep of my arm. Then I lift her, setting her down on top.
“What are you doing?” she gasps.
“Choosing you,” I murmur, lips finding hers again, pulling her by her hips to the edge of the table, where she straddles me. I devour her all over again, lost in the velvety heat of her mouth.
She arches against me, panting, as I grind between her legs, letting her feel me for the first time. Her boots hit the floor.
“You’re so big,” she exhales, and I can’t even find words. Because there’s no blood left in my head.
When I can’t fight her floral button-down cowgirl shirt anymore, I rip the last few buttons free, hearing the tink of pearl hit the floor. Her eyes round, and I manage, “Sorry,” eyes dipping to her lacy purple bra and ample breasts.
“No, you aren’t.”
“No, really,” I grunt, taking her longer and harder now. She melts in my arms like wax, like my heart in my chest.
But then, I catch myself. “You still okay with this?”
“Quit talking, Arlo Kincaid.”
“Never thought you’d say that.”
“Never thought I would, either.” Before I finish the last sentence, her bra sags unfastened to the floor between us, andher eyes ignite. Pure fire as I dip my head, sucking a rose-tipped nipple between my teeth.
“Yes,” she moans, legs wrapping tightly around my waist, hips arching toward me as I tease and please her. Learning how to set her body on fire.
Smoke still lingers in the air. Pure incineration when her hand slides beneath the waist of my jeans and boxer briefs, finding my girth.
“God,” I groan against the heat and softness of her hand. “Won’t be able to hold on much longer.”
“Don’t,” she whispers, dark and dangerous. “Give me everything.”
“Everything?” I ask, voice thick with need. Firelight flickers over her face, so beautiful I could die like this. Her hand squeezes and slides over me again. And I’m a goner.
But no. Not like this.
Instead, I pull her hand free, placing both of them palms down on the table.
“Don’t move,” I order as I unbutton and unzip her jeans.
She whimpers, and I throb.
“Let me make this right. Let me prove I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter
Eight
LEONORA
“Let me prove you want me to stay.” His voice is black velvet.
“Arlo,” I gasp, head lolling back, hands threading into his hair and beard. Softer than I had imagined. Silk.
His big, rough hands grip the waistband of my jeans, pulling them clean in one sure, brutal tug. Then, he kisses me backward until I lie on the warmed surface of the table.
My eyes flicker to the glow from the hearth. Too many feelings washing over me to process.
But all I want ishim.
