Page 4 of Haunted Spurs

He looks… captivated.

He leans over the table, his face inches from mine, completely invading my personal space. His voice drops an octave.

"Sounds to me like your heroes have good taste," he murmurs, his eyes fixed on my mouth. "But I'd guess the real challenge isn't tying a woman up." He strikes the cue ball without even looking at it. A dull thud, and the eight ball vanishes into the pocket. "The real challenge is finding a woman so stubborn, so used to having everything under control, and making her surrender willingly. Making her beg you to put those ropes on her wrists. And if a man can’t accept that a woman can dominate him right back, I just think he’s intimidated by her. Don’t you agree, author?"

My breath catches in my throat.

Holy Christ.

My heart is hammering against my ribs. My inner thighs quiver, flooded with heat.

Am I really that predictable? And yet… I’ve never met anyone who could satisfy me.

I slowly set the cue down on the green felt and step toward him, lifting my gaze to meet those scorching blue eyes.

"Okay, new cowboy..." I whisper. "Do you also have a truck?"

The windows are already completely fogged up. My bare back is pressed against the freezing leather of the bench seat, a sharp contrast to the heat blazing through my skin wherever Ron touches me.

My skirt is a bunched-up pile of fabric around my hips. Ron's flannel shirt has ended up god knows where.

I’ve always written about darkness as the place where true power hides, but the sheer size of this man—illuminated in flashes by the headlights of passing cars—is the most commanding presence I’ve ever seen. His broad chest glistens with sweat; the muscles in his arms tense as he braces them on either side of my head, caging me against the seat.

“How do you like it?”

No one has ever asked me that before. But I don’t say a word. After all, it’s just a one-night stand, and I’m not here to chat.

“Are you suddenly feeling insecure?” I shoot back.

That crooked smirk tells me he took the bait.

His erection glides against me with maddening slowness. When he finally slides inside, the fullness is so overwhelming it pulls a broken breath from my lips, my back arching as the seat springs groan beneath us.

Ron stays perfectly still, teeth clenched, giving me a moment to adjust to him. Then he starts moving.

It starts slowly, a deep, grinding friction that pulls a moan from my lips against his shoulder. But it doesn't last long. The rhythm shifts, fractures, accelerates—spiraling into something completely out of control, each hard thrust rocking the cab.

He buries himself in me. Again.

I feel every thrust reverberate through me, his hot breath against my skin, his heavy weight pinning me down, crushing me—and instead of satisfying me, it only makes me crave more.

My legs tangle with his, chasing a stability that simply doesn't exist in this cramped space. Ron’s hands slide up my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh with a raw confidence that makes me lose my mind. Every stroke radiates through my core, shooting up my spine until my whole body pulls taut. I can't hold back. I dig my nails into his shoulders as the pace turns dirtier, more brazen—the wet slap of skin on skin filling the air, drowning out everything else. He keeps pounding into me, never once breaking eye contact.

The climax hits out of nowhere, stealing my breath. My body surrenders, shaking with intense contractions. I feel Ron go rigid above me, a low groan vibrating in his chest as he follows me over the edge, his body tensing as he finishes with a force that leaves me trembling. He hovers over me, his hot breath fanning across my face as the outside world ceases to exist.

My racing heart takes a while to slow down. And only then, as the haze of pleasure begins to fade and the night’s chill creeps back between us, does it hit me how absurd this is.

Damn, I think, as he absentmindedly strokes my side, my one-night stand just made missionary the most erotic thing I've ever experienced.

I need to get out of here…

1

Howdy… I’m in—on my terms.

Ron

“Fuck, are you ever gonna take that cowboy hat off? You look ridiculous.”