to feast on his own garden.
“Morning,” Holt says, slipping his arms around me from behind and motioning with a tilt of his chin for me to lift my coffee cup to his lips.
“Hi,” I say sinking back against him. “Nice,” I add, and he shakes his head and chuckles as his erection presses into me. “You’re insatiable, I’m insatiable, what are we gonna do about that?”
“I’ll show you,” he says, taking the coffee cup from me and leading me back into the house. His lips cover mine and the look in his eyes is seriously overheated, which can only mean one thing—he’s going to teach me the pleasure of being bound with his silken rope.
“Beauty,” he whispers, his hands tangle in my hair and he crushes my mouth to his, and then the fucking phone rings.
“Fuck,” he shouts and reluctantly reaches for the land line and answers gruffly, “What?!!”
He listens, nods, his forehead furrows, he leans back against the kitchen counter and rubs his hand across the morning stubble on his jaw. “Yeah, it slipped my mind, be there in twenty. Hey, have Lonnie Jim put a saddle on Sugar, would you? And cinch it up good and tight, I’m bringing the most beautiful woman in the world with me and there’ll be hell to pay if she falls off that horse and gets even one tiny bruise.”
I roll my eyes and lift the hem of the T-shirt I’m wearing so he can see the multitude of unintentional bruises his hands have left on my body. He takes one look at his handprints on my skin and the look on his face is breathtaking—raw, hungry, possessive… and just a bit bewildered. For the very first time, Holt Corrigan, former football star, hard-ass (literally) cowboy, and Texas alpha-male extraordinaire—blushes. I can’t help but laugh even as a wave of hot desire shoots through me as shame and confusion cloud his emerald eyes, seriously, doesn’t he realize he’s big and rough ?
“Sorry if I caused those, I’ll be more careful… I’ll go easier on you from now on,” he says stuffing his hands in the back pockets of his faded jeans as if to stop himself from touching me.
Holy moly! Just the sight of him standing there looking truly apologetic for fucking me so well that I’m ruined for any other man is enough to undo me. Combined with those low-slung jeans and the soft, dark trail of hair that leads from his naval down to that ever-present bulge….
“Don’t you dare,” I say, and my voice is barely more than a raspy whisper. “I’m… extremely fond of every one of these little bruises, and all the other parts you’ve left marked and achy. They make me think of you, of us doing what we do…..”
“Okay, Scarlet, stop right there or we’ll never get out of this house. We need to get dressed and get going, do you have boots you can wear today, just until we buy you a serviceable pair? Can you ride a horse? Do you want to?” He asks, springing into action, he scoops my hand into his and leads me to the bedroom where he deliberately turns his back on the rumpled bed and begins to get dressed.
“I have boots… but I don’t think they’re snake-proof. I’ve never ridden a horse, but how hard can it be?” I say, as I run a brush through my hair and twist the wild waves into two long braids, and then pull on jeans, tank top, socks and boots. He tucks a plaid western shirt into his jeans, buckles his belt, grabs a pair of worn, scarred boots from the closet.
“What’s going on, Holt? Who was on the phone?”
“That was Campbell, don’t know if you’ve met him, he’s Jon-Wylder’s older brother? Anyway, it’s amateur roundup time. Kids from the Lone Star Boys Ranch come to the Corazon Perdido on Sundays and we teach them to ride and rope, feed and groom the horses, shit like that. They’re kids who are battered, abused, abandoned, the State places them at the Boys Ranch for therapy before they transition to foster homes. It’s a good cause and the kids love it, working with animals seems to help
“Morning,” Holt says, slipping his arms around me from behind and motioning with a tilt of his chin for me to lift my coffee cup to his lips.
“Hi,” I say sinking back against him. “Nice,” I add, and he shakes his head and chuckles as his erection presses into me. “You’re insatiable, I’m insatiable, what are we gonna do about that?”
“I’ll show you,” he says, taking the coffee cup from me and leading me back into the house. His lips cover mine and the look in his eyes is seriously overheated, which can only mean one thing—he’s going to teach me the pleasure of being bound with his silken rope.
“Beauty,” he whispers, his hands tangle in my hair and he crushes my mouth to his, and then the fucking phone rings.
“Fuck,” he shouts and reluctantly reaches for the land line and answers gruffly, “What?!!”
He listens, nods, his forehead furrows, he leans back against the kitchen counter and rubs his hand across the morning stubble on his jaw. “Yeah, it slipped my mind, be there in twenty. Hey, have Lonnie Jim put a saddle on Sugar, would you? And cinch it up good and tight, I’m bringing the most beautiful woman in the world with me and there’ll be hell to pay if she falls off that horse and gets even one tiny bruise.”
I roll my eyes and lift the hem of the T-shirt I’m wearing so he can see the multitude of unintentional bruises his hands have left on my body. He takes one look at his handprints on my skin and the look on his face is breathtaking—raw, hungry, possessive… and just a bit bewildered. For the very first time, Holt Corrigan, former football star, hard-ass (literally) cowboy, and Texas alpha-male extraordinaire—blushes. I can’t help but laugh even as a wave of hot desire shoots through me as shame and confusion cloud his emerald eyes, seriously, doesn’t he realize he’s big and rough ?
“Sorry if I caused those, I’ll be more careful… I’ll go easier on you from now on,” he says stuffing his hands in the back pockets of his faded jeans as if to stop himself from touching me.
Holy moly! Just the sight of him standing there looking truly apologetic for fucking me so well that I’m ruined for any other man is enough to undo me. Combined with those low-slung jeans and the soft, dark trail of hair that leads from his naval down to that ever-present bulge….
“Don’t you dare,” I say, and my voice is barely more than a raspy whisper. “I’m… extremely fond of every one of these little bruises, and all the other parts you’ve left marked and achy. They make me think of you, of us doing what we do…..”
“Okay, Scarlet, stop right there or we’ll never get out of this house. We need to get dressed and get going, do you have boots you can wear today, just until we buy you a serviceable pair? Can you ride a horse? Do you want to?” He asks, springing into action, he scoops my hand into his and leads me to the bedroom where he deliberately turns his back on the rumpled bed and begins to get dressed.
“I have boots… but I don’t think they’re snake-proof. I’ve never ridden a horse, but how hard can it be?” I say, as I run a brush through my hair and twist the wild waves into two long braids, and then pull on jeans, tank top, socks and boots. He tucks a plaid western shirt into his jeans, buckles his belt, grabs a pair of worn, scarred boots from the closet.
“What’s going on, Holt? Who was on the phone?”
“That was Campbell, don’t know if you’ve met him, he’s Jon-Wylder’s older brother? Anyway, it’s amateur roundup time. Kids from the Lone Star Boys Ranch come to the Corazon Perdido on Sundays and we teach them to ride and rope, feed and groom the horses, shit like that. They’re kids who are battered, abused, abandoned, the State places them at the Boys Ranch for therapy before they transition to foster homes. It’s a good cause and the kids love it, working with animals seems to help
Similar Books
