Cowboy Christmas Blues. Maisey Yates

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СКАЧАТЬ sensual kiss that he hadn’t allowed himself in the bar. Devouring. Raw and hungry, his tongue creating a slick friction against hers.

      He didn’t normally enjoy kissing, because as far as he was concerned it was just the sad appetizer that came before your steak. But this kiss was the exception. It was wet and hot, as soft as the rest of her.

      Kissing wasn’t his kind of thing, and come to that, this woman wasn’t usually his type. He often went for leggy, willowy types in miniskirts and backless tops.

      He didn’t do challenging. He liked obvious. Bright, blonde and sleek, with glitter on top.

      Jukebox Girl was different. Soft, curvy, a little bit more to hold on to. And he was damn glad to have his hands full of her.

      She whimpered, arching against him, her full breasts pressing against his chest, as he slid his hand down to grab her ass.

      Yeah, she was one sweet handful.

      He kissed her all the way back toward a bedroom—maybe it was hers, maybe it wasn’t, he didn’t care—and then sat her down on the edge of the bed. He pulled back, jerking his T-shirt up over his head, more than ready to have her hands on his skin.

      Her mouth dropped open. “Don’t you eat McDonald’s?”

      “What?”

      “You live on the road all the time—it seems like you would subsist on French fries and hamburgers.”

      “I kind of do,” he responded. “Though I typically prefer bar food.”

      She waved her arm up and down. “Then how is it you don’t have any fat on your entire body?”

      He looks down at his flat stomach. “I work outside. It’s hard labor.”

      Her face turned pink. “I’m wearing Spanx.”

      He frowned, not sure what that had to do with anything. “Okay.”

      “I’m not skinny.” She said it like she was announcing her status as a convicted killer.

      He passed his hand over the front of his jeans, over the very obvious bulge there. “Do I look like I care?”

      She looked down. “Some men care.”

      Irritation spiked in him. She had mentioned an ex-boyfriend, and he had a feeling the ex was responsible for the horrible, crestfallen look on this beautiful woman’s face.

      He leaned forward, flattening his palms on the mattress on either side of her. “You,” he said, “are hot as fuck. Spanx or no Spanx. Though, I have to tell you, I would prefer no Spanx right at the moment.”

      She flushed, a pretty pink color, and he gripped the hem of her shirt, pulling it up over her head and revealing breasts that were as generous as he’d been hoping they might be, shoved up a bit higher like they were an offering to him thanks to the black contraption she had on underneath, a one-piece-looking jumpsuit with a deep neckline that scooped just beneath her bra.

      He pulled one strap down from her shoulder, then pushed the other down, tugging it to the top of her skirt waistband. Then he flicked her bra strap down, then the other. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, all that soft, glorious cleavage.

      She sighed, her head falling back, her self-consciousness clearly forgotten. It didn’t take much work to get her skirt, and the rest of that foundational garment, pulled off her beautiful body, leaving it mostly bare for his inspection. Generous breasts, a nipped-in waist, and rounded hips and thighs.

      Everything looked great to him.

      “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen a long time.”

      Her blush extended from her cheeks on down. “That can’t be true. There are...the other women. The ones you’ve...also seen naked.”

      He grinned at her. “Other women? Can’t remember them.”

      “Well. The town is all decorated for Christmas. It’s awfully pretty.”

      “Not as pretty as you. Trust me. Christmas trees and white lights, tinsel... Doesn’t interest me at all. You, on the other hand... I find you very interesting. Now, I want you to take that bra and those panties off.”

      Her blush intensified, but she obliged him, reaching behind her to unhook her bra, casting it to the side before pushing the black lacy panties down her shapely thighs and kicking them to the foot of the bed. His stomach felt hollowed out, his arousal ramped up to such an intense degree that he was in physical pain.

      “I don’t have abs,” she pointed out, shrinking back further onto the bed.

      “You have everything that I need,” he said, leaning forward, planting his palm on the bedspread and kissing the top of one of her thighs. She shivered and then moved away from him.

      “What are you doing?” she asked.

      He huffed out a one-note laugh and then gripped her hips, holding her still. “If you have to ask, then you just answered one of my questions.”

      “What?”

      “Your ex is an asshole, I take it.” He leaned in then, parting her thighs and tasting her right at the apex, sliding his tongue through slick folds until she whimpered. Her pleasure, her flavor, was salvation. A respite from the dull pain that had crawled inside his chest and hammered out a large yawning space inside him over the past week. Hell, maybe over the past eight years.

      That terrible grief that was always there, that had pushed its way up to the foreground recently and refused to go away.

      It had no place here. No. This was all about them. The world, the town, the damned Christmas lights...they had all fallen away.

      It was just him, her and this bed. Her body. His desire.

      He continued to pleasure her, sliding two fingers inside her as he worked at that most sensitive place with his tongue. She was panting, gasping, and he thought that she might try to get away from him again, so he held on to her as tightly as possible, his blunt fingertips digging into those lush hips.

      When she came, it was like the clouds had broken open and he’d gotten his first hit of sun in months. The first bright thing. The first good thing.

      He moved away from her, shucking his jeans and underwear, kicking them on the floor. “Condoms?” he asked.

      “Um... In the bathroom?”

      That was more steps away than he cared to take. He bent down and grabbed his wallet, producing protection and rolling it on as quickly as possible. She was staring at him, wide-eyed, and he felt that like a physical touch. Then she sat up, clamoring to the edge of the mattress. She curved delicate fingers around his hardened length, glittering brown eyes looking up at him in wonder as she squeezed him.

      He groaned, flexing his hips forward, thrusting upward into her grasp. She held him like that for a while, exploring his length, testing him.

      “I’m done playing,” he said, grabbing hold of the back of her head and bending down, kissing her hard as he pressed СКАЧАТЬ