Cowgirls Don't Cry(83)

She dragged her nails down his sweat-covered back, loving how the tactile sensation and the hint of pain always surprised him. Always drove him wild. Immediately his whole body shuddered as he started to come, bucking against her forcefully.

Brandt threw his head back and roared. God he was magnificent. Pure male animal.

Her interior muscles took over, tightening around his shaft, pushing her to the place where those rhythmic pulses reverberated throughout her entire being. She had the fleeting thought that this could easily become her sole reason for living—to find this sheer pleasure with this man. And she might’ve started speaking in tongues, because god knew she’d definitely been singing this man’s praises, even if it sounded like gibberish.

His deep thrusts slowed. But didn’t stop. Brandt buried his face in her neck and panted, still pumping into her. It was almost like he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t bear to break their connection.

Jessie ran her palms down his back of his flawlessly rounded butt cheeks. She pressed down in a silent signal for him to stop.

He lifted his head. His eyes were still wild.

She smiled. “Hey.”


But Brandt didn’t return her smile, nor did he bestow those yummy post-orgasm kisses she hungered for. No. A look of shock flitted through his eyes and he abruptly moved off her. So abruptly that his ass hit the floor. Hard. He jammed his hand across his scalp in a move that looked like he was adjusting his hat.

“Brandt?”


No answer.

“What’s wrong?”


“Just…give me a second, okay?”


She pushed up on her elbows and let her toes slide up his shin. “You out of breath or something?”


His gaze swept over her body. Almost clinically. “Did I hurt you?”


“No. Why would you ask me that?”


Brandt looked away.

Jessie reached up and grabbed his chin, forcing his gaze back to her. “Why?”


“Why? Jesus, Jessie. Because I lost it. Completely. I took you down and f*cked you on the kitchen floor, for Christsake.”


“So?” She stretched provocatively because she loved the way his focus immediately zoomed to her breasts. “You always mention my floor is clean enough to eat off of, why wouldn’t it be okay to f*ck on?”


He just stared at her.

Oh hell no. Was that…regret in his eyes?

“Don’t piss me off, Brandt.”


“Which brings up the question why aren’t you pissed off at me for attacking you?”


“Because I liked it. Actually, I loved it. Not only did I love that I made you lose control, I loved the fact you were so hot to have me right then, that you didn’t stop what you were doing, you didn’t second guess what you were feeling, you didn’t feel guilty. No. You f*cked me on the floor. Hard and dirty. It was f*cking spectacular and I don’t regret a single second.”


When he continued to wear that hangdog expression, she’d had enough. She started to get up, but Brandt brought her back down. Two hundred odd pounds of cowboy pinned her to the floor and got right in her face.

“For the record, that was the hottest sex ever. Ever. No regrets, Jessie. Just lookin’ at you calms me.

But just lookin’ at you also revs me up.”


She touched his face, letting the tips of her fingers follow that strong jawline. “That’s good to hear even when I know it’s hard for you to admit.”


“I can be rough.”