The True Cowboy of Sunset Ridge (Gold Valley #14)(81)

She had been changed by it.

Into the woman before him. The woman who had saved him.

“Thank you,” he said.

“What?” she asked, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts, her eyes darting back and forth. She looked afraid.

She looked afraid, and he had felt guilt for that before. He had felt the desire to put her at ease. But he knew now that he had to push her through it. Because he knew her now. And he understood. It was their connection that terrified her. It was the feelings that were rising up inside of her. She wasn’t ready.

Well, she could join the club. Because he hadn’t been ready for this either. Hadn’t been looking for it, hadn’t wanted it. Not in the least. But he loved her.

And he hadn’t gotten to choose.

But of all the things in this damn world that he hadn’t gotten to choose, at least this was beautiful. At least it was bright. At least it healed rather than destroyed. It was a gift.

And he’d been dished out enough bullshit that he didn’t take that for granted. And he wouldn’t let her run away from it, not without a fight.

Not without a bloody-knuckled fight.

“For getting dressed up for me,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re so beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“You keep saying that,” she said, her voice trembling.

“I already told you. I’ll say it now. I’ll say it again. I’ll say it forever, Mallory.” He cupped the back of her head, smoothing his thumbs along the line of her jaw. “I’ll say it until everything the world made you believe about yourself is gone. Until I can build something new inside of you. Until you start to see everything I see. Until you believe it.” He moved his thumbs down her delicate throat, paused at the base of it, feeling her pulse thundering wildly beneath his touch. Then he moved down between her breasts, fanning them outward and teasing her nipples through the lace. He felt them get hard. Even in her fear, even in her uncertainty, she wasn’t immune to him. Not even close.

She was held just as captive by this as he was, and she had been from the beginning. That was the thing. It had always been bigger than the two of them. And it had always gotten them both. It had always been them together. And he needed to get her where he was now.

He traced down her rib cage, her waist, and she breathed sharply, her breasts pitching upward. And he couldn’t help himself, because he was only a man. He lowered his head and kissed her, right on the plump curve of one breast. Licking the edge of that place where lace met skin. Then he closed his lips over the top of one distended nipple, sucking her through the bra. She arched, wiggling, and he held her steady, smoothing his hands down to her hips, his mouth following that same path. Then he tipped her back on the couch, moving her thighs up over his shoulder.

“I...”

He had done this for her a few times, and every time, she got uncomfortable. She screamed at the end, but was hesitant in the beginning. He had to get her mindless before she could be okay with it.

“He never did this, did he?”

Her body went red, her cheeks a deep shade of pink. “I...”

“Of course he didn’t,” Colt said. “Because he’s an idiot. Because he didn’t want you like I do. Because I love you. And I love everything about you. Damn, woman, I crave your taste. You have no idea. I’d rather do this—” He turned his head and kissed her inner thigh. “I’d rather taste you than have you go down on me any day. If I had to choose. If I didn’t have to choose, obviously I’d take both.” He moved down lower, hovering right above that lace. “But this, this I couldn’t live without.” He kissed her there, featherlight over the fabric, and she squirmed. She closed her eyes and threw her arm over her face. “No,” he said. He reached up, grabbed her wrist and pinned her arm down to the back of the couch. “Watch me,” he said.

Her eyes flew open wide in shock. And he leaned in again, kissing her there. She wiggled, and he could tell that she was aroused, tell that she was trying to fight it. “You watch me taste you,” he commanded. “And you believe it when I tell you that I want you. That I’m crazy for you.” He nuzzled her tender flesh, and relished the whimper of desire that escaped her mouth.

With his free hand, he traced the crease where her femininity met her thigh, then slipped his finger beneath the elastic there, finding her wet with desire for him. He teased her, before slipping one finger inside of her. And she gasped. Then he gripped the edge of her panties tighter, popping them free of her body.

“You’ve got to quit doing that,” she said. “I liked those.”

He felt a brief step of regret. “I liked them too. But I like this more.” And then he was tasting her. Unencumbered by any clothing. Just her. Her desire. Her need for him. That essential part of herself that he felt was... For him. Because she was for him.

This was for him.

There had been other women in his bed, but never in his life. And there had been another man in hers, but it had never been this. He knew it. Down in his bones. Because this moment, this pleasure, it was all theirs. And it didn’t matter who had come before.

Because it was never this.

Nothing else ever could be.

He tasted her, sliding his tongue through her folds, zeroing in on that sensitized bundle of nerves there. And he pushed two fingers inside of her, teasing her as he continued to taste her. And she gasped, her hips bucking up against his mouth. He looked up at her, and their eyes met, and she burst into flame. He could feel her climax rippling through her entire body, in the way that her thighs tensed, in the way that she cried out his name, her fingernails digging into his shoulders.