The True Cowboy of Sunset Ridge (Gold Valley #14)(57)

He wanted her so much.

The fierce growl that rose in the back of his throat as he opened his mouth wider to taste her deep proved that. And then his other arm came around her body, his palm pressed to her lower back as he let her feel the hard steel of his desire at the cradle of her femininity. He wanted her. And he couldn’t deny it. And she wanted him. And it wasn’t like a gentle, gauzy desire. It was something sharp that cut her all the way through. It was something that made her feel bright and brilliant. Angry and filled with joy all at once. And he was like a freight train. All muscle and testosterone and unstoppable desire.

She fed off of it.

Off of the way he made her feel both empowered and fragile all at once. Off of the way his masculinity consumed all that was soft and female about her.

The rain poured down on them, cold and insistent, but it did nothing to dampen the ardor between them. Nothing could. It could have been a whole bucket of ice and it wouldn’t have stopped this heat. Never.

It was an unquenchable flame, and she didn’t fear it. Not now. She wanted to be consumed by it. By him. By all of this and everything. And it didn’t matter if it was a terrible idea. Because nothing about what was happening was a good idea. Because all of these fragmented pieces of her new life were impossible. Disparate and insane, but one thing was certain. One thing was absolutely certain. She wanted him. And she wouldn’t be denied.

Because this was rare. This need. Like flecks of real gold shining at the bottom of the stream. Like the gold this valley was undoubtedly named for. Small little bright spots of fragile perfection that existed in a world full of bedrock. And why shouldn’t she live in it? Why shouldn’t she revel in it? Why not her?

Why should it be consigned to one night? A moment of pleasure.

It was that mindset that made her feel like small gestures of kindness were exceptional. Because she did. She limited herself out of fear. Out of fear that she might be alone. Out of fear that she might not be enough.

But hadn’t Iris just told her something entirely different? Hadn’t Iris just set her world on its head by suggesting that while she might not have been there for the ultimate outcome of Griffin’s healing, that she had been instrumental in it.

And that made her mindful. That perfection may not come immediately, but that every moment on the road mattered.

And so maybe this moment mattered. Mattered in ways she might not yet be able to know, so she had to seize it. Capture it and claim it.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, reckless now. Impassioned. They were slick from rainwater, and between her legs she was slick with need, and it was everything.

In this moment, it was everything.

He lifted her up off the ground and walked them both back up toward the porch. They made it up the steps, and he pressed her up against the side of the house, the sound of their breathing amplified in the covered space. He held her chin steady as he kissed her, his grip like iron, and it made her feel safe. Something about being held tight by all that strength, something about his certainty... It made her feel protected.

This was not a man she could control. This wasn’t a man who was dependent on her. But he was a man who needed her all the same. For this. In this moment.

And that made her wild.

He wrenched his mouth away from hers, kissing down her neck, his hands moving over her curves. Her dress was soaked through now, and it offered no protection from the searing heat of his hands. And she loved it. He moved his hands down her hips, down past the hem of her dress, and then he shoved it back up, the fabric peeling away from her skin as he yanked it up over her head, leaving her standing there in nothing but her bra and panties right there on his front porch.

“Colt,” she said.

But his gaze was that of a wild man’s, and she could see that he wasn’t in a space to be rational. And she wanted to join him there. And so she did. She just jumped right in. She didn’t care what happened. If someone saw. She didn’t care about anything but wrapping herself in this all-consuming need. He tore her bra away, leaving her breasts exposed, her nipples beaded tight from the cold and from desire. He lowered his head, sucking one deep into his mouth, the deep sound of satisfaction he made as he tasted her nearly pushing her over the edge right then and there. He cupped her with his other hand, teased her and toyed with her, and she squirmed, the wood rough against her back, Colt hot and amazing at the front.

He pulled her away from the wall and spun her around, and she couldn’t figure out quite what he was doing as he stood back and looked at her. “Damn,” he said.

“What?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“Just looking at you standing there, naked outside. The trees behind you, and your hair all wet. It’s like you’re magic. Made from the forest. I want to take you out to the middle of the woods and have you there. Just you and me.” The words were hot and desperate, and they sounded as if they had been pulled from somewhere deep inside of him. And she didn’t know why, but it made her want to cry. That open, frank appreciation that was like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Because he made her feel like she was created from those words. From that desire. He knelt down in front of her, slowly peeling her underwear off, leaving her entirely naked. And he looked up at her, his gaze filled with banked fire. He leaned in, angling his head, and he bit her inner thigh. Her breath hit his through her teeth, the pain on her tender skin a glorious shock. And then he was standing, picking her up like she was precious and fragile, moving his hand through her damp hair as he carried her into the house. And up the stairs.