Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“Just getting by is depressing.” Wyatt’s jaw tics.
“Exactly.” I step forward on unsteady legs. Hold up the cigarette. “You can have this back. But I’m not gonna stick around to watch you smoke it.”
His nostrils flare as he looks from me to the cigarette and back again. I need to make sure he wants to cross this particular Rubicon too. Actions speak louder than words. And so far, all he’s given me are, well, admittedly very sweet, alarmingly sexy words. But still, they’re just words. He also hasn’t made a move.
“Take it.” I press it into his chest. “I’m sorry I said that about kissing. I’ve already asked you for too much.”
He grabs my wrist, my blood rioting at the firm, confident way his fingers grip me. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Assume that the answer’s no before you even ask the question. Ask the damn question, Sally.”
My lips twitch, even as I wonder vaguely if I’m going to faint. “Assuming does make an ass out of you and me.”
“Ask.”
Now it’s my voice that shakes when I say, “Kiss me?”
“How do you like it?”
“I don’t know. How everyone likes it?”
He sucks in a sharp, short breath through his nose. “I ain’t asking you again, Sal. You gotta be specific, or you ain’t gonna get what you’re lookin’ for.”
I think for one panicked heartbeat, then another. Stay out of your head. Go all in. “I…want to feel something. I want to feel like time has stopped and I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Like I don’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else, because the experience of the kiss is so freaking delicious. I want to fall into it. I just…yeah, I want to feel.”
“Ah. So you just want transcendence, then.” He uses the knuckle of his first finger to tip back the brim of his hat, the way he did inside.
The teasing gleam in his eye makes me feel slightly less shaky.
“Something like that, yeah.”
Since when did leaning into this man feel so natural? We don’t normally stand this close.
Then again, we don’t normally talk about kissing each other after a very flirty, touchy-feely game of Texas Hold’Em either.
Tonight is a night of firsts, that’s for damn sure. Which is kinda cool. I feel like I’m getting a shot at my firsts all over again in a way. First date. First time meeting the parents.
And now, first kiss.
“Lucky for you”—oh God, oh God, Wyatt is slipping a hand onto my face, using his palm to angle my mouth up toward his—“I’m tight with God, and I’ll have you saying his name often. Eventually though, I’d like you to say mine instead.”
I love how this man seems to know when to make me laugh just when I need it.
My blood is rushing, and my head is spinning, and I’m so nervous that I feel like I’m literally going to burst. But there’s something about this touch—the gentle, easy caress of his palm against my skin—that is both calming and wildly, indecently arousing.
I laugh, and then he’s leaning in. The gorgeous, masculine slant of his neck is the last thing I see before he presses his lips to mine, his bottom lip positioned expertly between my own.
CHAPTER 12
Sally
COWBOYS MAKE BETTER LOVERS
Wyatt captures my laugh in his kiss.
His slow, soft, deliciously warm kiss that’s already so exquisite two seconds in that I have to close my eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation of being kissed by Wyatt fucking Rivers.
Holding me in place, he licks into my mouth. It’s a deep, indulgent, almost lazy sweep of tongue. A bolt of lust cracks me in half, the heaviness between my legs almost unbearable in its intensity.
He sucks my top lip into his mouth at the same time, urging me to open up to him.
For a second, I hesitate. I wasn’t lying when I said I forgot how to do this.
What if I’m slobbery? What if I’m too eager or not eager enough?
What if I just suck at kissing, plain and simple?
Wyatt, though, doesn’t seem to have any qualms about his ability. Or mine. He continues to kiss me deeply, patiently, like we have all the time in the world. Like he’s not afraid of spit, or slobber, or someone seeing us.
What if someone saw us? What excuse would we have then? Beck is long gone by now. Clearly, this kiss has nothing to do with him and everything—everything—to do with us. Me and Wyatt.
His beard scrapes against my chin and cheek. I love the feel of it, how intimately rough the contact is. Without thinking, I reach up and press my fingertips into the thick, wiry hair.
A low, dark rumble rolls through Wyatt’s chest. He likes that.
I do it again, running my fingertips over the hard ridge of his jawline, stopping to feather my pinkie along the top of his neck.