The Maverick Meets His Match (Hearts of Wyoming Book 2)(59)

She didn’t believe him, of course. It had been ten years since that incident at the creek, and he certainly never acted as if he wanted her more than other women. It was lust talking and nothing more. But tonight, lust was enough.

The prominent bulge in his pants, level with her face, beckoned her to explore.

“Strip,” she commanded in a voice that had suddenly gone hoarse. She would have done it for him if she had the strength.

She watched, mesmerized, as he did her bidding. Muscles rippled across his chest, bare except for the narrow ribbon of hair arrowing toward the denim waistband. Bronzed flesh glistened in the diffused light. He had a sculpture’s dream body of well-defined muscles, smooth skin, and long limbs. On his upper arms, where the muscles were most prominent, the tan lines of a man who worked outdoors were visible, separating the two shades of tan—one with the shirt on, one with the shirt off, all of it cosmically glorious.

He pulled on his belt buckle, the crinkles in his pants attesting to the ever-expanding bulge it protected. Belt ends drooped as he tugged down the jeans zipper, exposing white fabric wrapping a cylindrical object.

He stared at her as he slid the faded denims down his carved and muscled thighs, leaving just the underwear.

Something elemental tripped inside—as if her DNA had flipped an electrifying switch.

“Take it out,” he said, his voice gravelly, his tone urgent.

Not needing to be asked twice, she shoved down the waistband of his tighty-whities. His penis sprang free and dangled before her like forbidden fruit on a limb.

She grasped his long, hot shaft in her hand, the skin as smooth as polished marble. His groan was deep as he brushed hair from her face. He wrapped his hands around hers so she couldn’t move.

“All you have to do is touch me, and I’m set to go off. I don’t want to finish before I get started.” He kissed her forehead, and, reluctantly, she released him.

In one motion he dispensed with his clothes and, once again, straddled her, his knees capturing her hips.

From his broad shoulders, to his workout-defined torso, to hair-brushed thighs that supported the substantial symbol of his maleness, he was perfection.

She brushed her hands up his firm thighs, and his muscles bunched. Self-respect, she’d determined, was highly overrated.

“If we’re finally going to do this, really do this, Mandy, I need to put on protection,” he said, a tinge of regret in his voice as he looked down at her, his eyes so intense and stormy they belied the practical words he’d just spoken.

She nodded, at once glad and irritated he was still so clear headed.

He pulled a condom from the draw on the bed stand and pulled open the foil pouch. She watched as he expertly guided the condom over and down his thick, hard cock. With the condom in place, he slid between her legs. She was beyond caring about business and wills and anything that would keep her from him.

He began trailing kisses down her neck, behind her ear, and at the little indentation at her throat, all the while gently kneading her breast.

“You have beautiful breasts.” He was now kissing his way to her nipple. She wondered what made breasts beautiful to a man? After all, hers weren’t that large. He teased her nipple with his tongue. “And nice rosy nipples.” He suckled and she arched her back. His fingers played with her clitoris. Inside of her, tension coiled and desire engulfed her.

He kissed his way up her chest, past her throat, and stopped short of her lips. “Look at me,” he said.

She was looking at him, or at least his body. But she shifted her gaze to stare into his eyes, eyes that were dark, intense, dangerous. Eyes filled with so much heat, they melted her.

He placed his hands under her thighs, lifted them up. “I’m finally going to have you.”

One smooth thrust and he plunged deep inside of her as his hands pressed against her thighs. She gasped. He smiled. “I want you to know, to remember, what I feel like when I’m buried in you, Mandy.”

She’d never forget this wonderful combination of pressure and tension, this sense of being totally filled. He slowly withdrew, then thrust again, then again and again. He was building the delicious tension. Too slow. Agonizingly slow. She bucked as he pressed her thighs to her chest, encouraging him to go faster. “More,” she gasped out.

The rhythm increased as he kept thrusting. But it was still too controlled.

“Do you want me, Mandy,” he growled.

“Yes.” She did with every fiber of her being. She’d been denying it so long, she’d almost believed it. But she’d been lying to herself.

“Say you want me. Say the words.”

“I want you.”

“Say my name.”

“I want you, Ty.”

He slung her leg over his shoulder, growled her name, and thrust into her so deep she felt it in her belly. And then he was pounding against her. Faster, harder, pounding, pounding, as his hands tightly held her bottom. He slapped against her thighs like a nail gun on speed until the wave of tension broke in a torrential release that zinged within her body like a pinball hitting the jackpot. She trembled as she clenched around him. He growled something and then crumbled on top of her, his ragged breath sounding in her ear.





Chapter 14


Ty wrapped his arms around Mandy, spooning flesh to flesh as she slept, her breathing calm and even.