Maisey Yates - Hold Me, Cowboy

She was right. This weekend could be out of time. It could be a moment for them to indulge in things they would never normally allow themselves to have. The kinds of things that he had closed himself off from years ago.

Softness, warmth, touch.

He had denied himself all those things for years. Why not do this now? No one would know. No one would ever have to know. Maddy would see to that. She would never, no chance in hell, admit that she had gotten down and dirty with a man who was essentially a glorified blacksmith.

No way in hell.

That made them both safe. It made this safe. Well, as safe as fire this hot could be.

She bit his lip and he growled, pushing his hands up underneath the hem of her shirt, kissing her deeper as he let his fingertips roam to the line of her elegant spine, then tracing it upward until he found her bra, releasing it with ease, then dragging it and her top up over her head, leaving her naked from the waist up.

“I...” Her face was a bright shade of red. “I...I have lingerie. I wasn’t going to...”

“I don’t give a damn about your lingerie. I just want this.” He lowered his head, sliding his tongue around the perimeter of one of her tightened nipples. “I want your skin.” He closed his lips over that tight bud, sucking it in deep.

“I had a seduction plan,” she said, her voice trembling. He wasn’t entirely sure it was a protest, or even a complaint.

“You don’t plan passion, baby,” he said.

At least, he didn’t. Because if he were thinking clearly, he would be putting her top back on and telling her to go back to her ice-cold cabin, where she would be safe.

“I do,” she said, her teeth chattering in spite of the fact that it was very warm in the kitchen. “I plan everything.”

“Not this. You’re a dirty girl now, Madison West,” he said, sliding his thumb over her damp nipple, moving it in a slow circle until she arched her back and cried out. “You were going to sleep with another man this weekend, and you replaced him so damn easily. With me. Doesn’t even matter to you who you have. As long as you get a little bit. Is that how it is?”

She whimpered, biting her lip, rolling her hips against him.

“Good girl,” he said, his gut tightening, his arousal so hard he was sure he was going to burst through the front of his jeans. “I like that. I like you being dirty for me.”

He moved his hands then, curving his fingers around her midsection, his thumbs resting just beneath the swell of her breasts. She was so soft, so smooth, so petite and fragile. Everything he should never be allowed to put his hands on. But for some reason, instead of feeling a bolt of shame, he felt aroused. Hotter and harder than he could ever remember being. “You like that? My hands are rough. Maybe a little bit too rough for you.”

“No,” she said, and this time the protest was clear. “Not too rough for me at all.”

He slid his hands down her back, taking a moment to really revel in how soft she was and how much different he must feel to her. She squirmed against him, and he took that as evidence that she really did like it.

That only made him hotter. Harder. More impatient.

“You didn’t bring your damn candy and forget the condoms, did you?”

“No,” she said, the denial coming quickly. “I brought the condoms.”

“You always knew we would end up like this, didn’t you?”

She looked away from him, and the way she refused to meet his eyes turned a throwaway game of a question into something deadly serious.

“Madison,” he said, his voice hard. She still didn’t look at him. He grabbed hold of her chin, redirecting her face so that she was forced to make eye contact with him. “You knew this would happen all along, didn’t you?”

She still refused to answer him. Refused to speak.

“I think you did,” he continued. “I think that’s why you can never say a kind word to me. I think that’s why you acted like a scalded cat every time I walked into the room. Because you knew it would end here. Because you wanted this. Because you wanted me.”

Her expression turned even more mutinous.

“Madison,” he said, a warning lacing through the word. “Don’t play games with me. Or I’m not going to give you what you want. So you have to tell me. Tell me that you’ve always wanted me. You’ve always wanted my dirty hands on you. That’s why you hate me so damn much, isn’t it? Because you want me.”

“I...”

“Madison,” he said, his tone even more firm, “tell me—” he rubbed his hand over her nipple “—or I stop.”

“I wanted you,” she said, the admission rushed but clear all the same.

“More,” he said, barely recognizing his own voice. “Tell me more.”

It seemed essential suddenly, to know she’d wanted him. He didn’t know why. He didn’t care why.

“I’ve always wanted you. From the moment I first saw you. I knew that it would be like this. I knew that I would climb up into your lap and I would make a fool of myself rubbing all over you like a cat. I knew that from the beginning. So I argued with you instead.”

He felt a satisfied smile that curved his lips upward. “Good girl.” He lowered his hands, undoing the snap on her jeans and drawing the zipper down slowly. “You just made us both very happy.” He moved his fingertips down beneath the waistband of her panties, his breath catching in his throat when he felt hot wetness beneath his touch. It had been way too long since he felt a silky-smooth desirable woman. Had been way too long in his self-imposed prison.

Too long since he’d wanted at all.

But Madison wasn’t Elizabeth. And this wasn’t the same.

He didn’t need to think about her. He wasn’t going to. Not for the rest of the night.

He pushed every thought out of his mind and instead exulted in the sound that Madison made when he moved his fingers over that place where she was wet and aching for him. When he delved deeper, pushing one finger inside her, feeling just how close she was to the edge, evidenced by the way her internal muscles clenched around him. He could thrust into her here. Take her hard and fast and she would still come. He knew that she would.

But she’d had ten years of celibacy, and he was pushing on five. They deserved more. They deserved better. At the very least they deserved a damn bed.

With that in mind, he wrapped his arms more tightly around her, moving his hands to cup her behind as he lifted her, wrapping her legs tightly around him as he carried them across the kitchen and toward the stairs.

Maddy let out an inelegant squeak as he began to ascend toward the bedrooms. “This is really happening,” she said, sounding slightly dazed.

“I thought you said you weren’t drunk.”

“I’m not.”

“Then try not to look so surprised. It’s making me question things. And I don’t want to question things. I just want you.”

She shivered in his hold. “You’re not like most men I know.”

“Pretty boys with popped collars and pastel polo shirts? I must be a real disappointment.”

“Obviously you aren’t. Obviously I don’t care about men in pastel polo shirts or I would’ve gotten laid any number of times in the past decade.”

He pushed open the bedroom door, threw her down over the simply appointed bed that was far too small for the kind of acrobatics he wanted to get up to tonight. Then he stood back, admiring her, wearing nothing but those half-open jeans riding low on her hips, her stomach dipping in with each breath, her breasts thrust into greater prominence at the same time.

“Were you waiting for me?” He kept the words light, taunting, because he knew that she liked it.

She had always liked sparring with him. That was what they’d always done. Of course she would like it now. Of course he would like it now. Or maybe it had nothing to do with her. Maybe it had everything to do with the fact that he had years’ worth of dirty in him that needed to be let out.