Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Or maybe that’s because Colton’s weight is pressing me into the mattress. His chest barrels out on deep, huge inhales as he comes, whispering my name against my temple.
Because he’s kissing away my tears.
Because I won’t let him kiss my lips, so he’s kissing me everywhere else. Literally.
Since when do I cry during sex?
Since when do I let emotionally unavailable cowboys in?
Only Colton made himself available in every sense of the word tonight. I know so much more of his story now.
I understand him in a way I didn’t before. And I kinda love everything about this man.
My already overworked heart seizes.
We do not say that word. Not when said cowboy is still inside you. The things men say during sex don’t count.
But what about the things men do during sex? Colton has made sure I’ve come first. He’s genuinely curious about my body. His touch is genuinely tender.
He also takes his time with me. When you think about it, tonight was just one long game of foreplay, wasn’t it? Him picking me up in a clean truck. Him being interested in my story over drinks. Him buying me dinner, then rescuing me from a mechanical bull at the world’s cutest dive bar.
And then the sex. Epic. Best ever. Life-altering. Soul-destroying. The way he said he was already going to miss me “like that”—
Holy fuck, honey, he’s into you.
The thought makes my stomach flip. Maybe because I’m into him too. Which is just great, considering there’s no real way we could have any kind of future together. My contract here is ending, and I don’t know where I’m going to end up. Mr. Firstborn Foreman here, however, has always known where he belongs.
Where does that leave us?
Does it even matter right now, though? We could stop while we’re ahead. Make this the first and last time we end up in bed together.
It’ll hurt less when I leave.
I think not having more sex like this, though, might hurt worse.
I’m already fucked. Why not enjoy the literal and metaphorical benefits of that?
His scruff scrapes against my cheek as he lifts his head.
“Dallas, I think we got a problem.”
Laughter bubbles up my throat. The contrast between that joy and the ache I feel behind my eyes and between my legs is the most exquisite mindfuck ever.
“What’s that, cowboy?”
My heart drops like a stone when I see the look in his eyes.
It’s the look. Soft. Full of yearning to the point of being almost mournful.
What the hell is there to do now except enjoy the excellent sex I’ve been searching for my entire adult life?
“I already wanna do that again,” he replies, leaning down to take my nipple in his mouth.
He really digs the piercing.
I feel his cum leaking out of the condom. Lots of it, then.
God, we’re making such a mess.
But my chest feels too tender and mushy to care about that now. I reach up to play with his hair. We’re both sweating.
“I think we both need to get out more,” I say around the tightness in my throat.
I am still shaking.
A fact he recognizes, because he frowns and says, “Aw, honey, you cold?”
“Yes. No.” I shake my head. “Just, I’ve never been…like that.”
Colton goes still. “What d’you mean?”
“You’re really good at that, Colt. Sex. And making me feel like a million bucks.”
The skin at the edges of his eyes crinkles. “My job here is done. Except, wait, I really hope we’re not done—”
“Of course we’re not done.” I press a finger to his lips. “I just didn’t know it could be like that. Like, it could be this good with someone I’ve known for all of, what—”
“Thirty days.” He rocks his hips, beginning to ease out of me. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
I laugh again, if only so I don’t burst into tears all over again. “You’re still inside me, and you’re already asking me out again?”
“Yes.” He says the word so matter-of-factly. Like us going on another date—spending more time together—is a given. “Come over for dinner. LEGO building optional.”
“I’m sorry, but I have plans.”
His turn to laugh. “No, you don’t.”
“You know me so well already.”
“I’d like to know more.”
“Do you have a death wish?” The unspoken thought hangs between us: This is ending. We’re playing with fire.
Also, sex like the kind we just had—athletic, intense, wrenching—takes a lot out of you.
“Long as I get to die with you, I’m all right.” He pulls all the way out.
There’s a pinch between my legs. Just uncomfortable enough to make me wince.
“Sore?” There’s a deep, deep divot in his forehead now, like the fact that I’m in pain seriously bothers him.
I shake my head. “I’ll be okay.”
“Tell me where your Advil is.”
“I can—”
“Nope.” Kissing my cheek, he rolls onto his back. “I got it. You stay put, yeah? I’ll clean us up.”
There’s a washcloth and a glass of ice-cold water involved. A quick trip to the bathroom for me. Two Advil placed right in the palm of my hand. A frown when he sees the beginnings of beard burn on my breasts.