Somehow, it makes everything else survivable.
Him… when he teases the hem of my panties, a finger running down the swatch of fabric so close to my heat that I tremble.
Him… when he blows heat on the front of my panties, and I realize how wet I am.
He kisses me through the lace. Then, licks over me, heat and anticipation building. Buries his nose, intoxicated by my smell.
I can’t breathe, hips arching when he pulls back the lace like the wrapping of a present, sliding my legs over his bare shoulders and disappearing between them.
My fingers grip the table. Eyelids squeezing shut, whole body throbbing and responding to the way he unravels me. Lapping, exploring, devouring.
“Yes,” I urge, fingers tangling into his locks again. Pressing him into me, greedy for more.
I float away, stars behind my eyes. Body clenching and pulsing until I break around him, free-falling. But he catches me. Big hands working me through it, never letting go until I lie dizzy and jointless.
Arlo swipes a hand over his beard, eyes simmering. For me.
Only me.
“Don’t want to take this further than you’re ready for, Leonora. Tell me what you need from me, Spitfire.”
“Spitfire?” I giggle, still drowsy and spent. But hungry, too.
“There any other name for a woman like you?” he asks, leaning forward to pull me back into him, helping me sit again. “Who brings a knife and a gun to a first date?”
“A first date?” I gasp. “Hardly. You haven’t even brought me flowers.”
His eyes go serious, voice throbbing. He strokes my cheek, whispering, “I’ve brought you my heart. That enough of a start for you?”
“Yes, Cowboy,” I whisper before scrunching my face. “Wait, are you a cowboy at all?”
“Am now. Am for you.”
“Really?” I ask, leaning back to stare into his face.
“Really,” he says, placing his hands on the table on either side of my thighs. “Not gonna lie. The work’s tough. Painful even. But worth it. One hundred percent worth it.”
My arms come up, caressing his muscular shoulders, fingers dancing over silvery seams of scar tissue, piercing thick lines of Marine tattoos. A bull-dog. Stars. An eagle. Valor written in flesh.
“Something tells me you don’t shy away from hard work.”
“Not when it comes to what matters. And that’s you now, Leonora.” He swallows loudly. “More than the badge. More than the job.”
Something cracks loose in my chest at his words, eyes pooling as they meet his. “Good. Because I don’t hate you, and I don’t want you to go. I want to make this work.”
“Me, too.”
“But first,” I say, running my fingers teasingly across his chest, down to his abs and lower, where my touch makes him tremble. “I want you, Arlo, whoever you are.”
He chuckles, forehead creasing. Worried, as he stands before me. “I’m from SoCal. Cop by way of Sacramento. Now, Sheriff’s Deputy, ranch hand, and cowboy, by way of you.”
“Gonna take more than a few rides to prove that,” I tease, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer.
“I’ll give you as many rides as you need, Spitfire.” My hand dips back into his jeans, grabbing and pumping him.
His eyes close, breath escaping, dark and untamed.
“I’m clean and on birth control,” I say.
