by Maisey Yates
And then he went back outside, leaving her standing in the middle of the cabin, alone and not in his arms, which gave her a moment to pause.
Was she really about to do this?
She didn’t have any experience with casual sex. She had experience with sex only in the context of a relationship. And she had never, ever felt anything this intense.
It was the intensity that scared her. Not so much the fact that it was physical only, but the fact that it was so incredibly physical.
She didn’t know how this might change her.
Because she absolutely felt like she was on the cusp of being changed. And maybe that was dramatic, but she couldn’t rid herself of the sensation. This was somehow significant. It would somehow alter the fabric of who she was. She felt brittle and thin, on the verge of being shattered. And she wasn’t entirely sure what was going to put her back together.
It was frightening, that thought. But not frightening enough to make her leave.
He returned a moment later, a stack of wood in his arms.
And she watched as he knelt down before the woodstove, his muscles shifting and bunching in his back as he began to work at lighting a fire.
“I didn’t realize the cabins were so...rustic.”
“They are a bit. Giving you second thoughts?”
“No,” she said quickly.
If he changed his mind now, if he sent her away, she would die. She was sure of it.
He was kneeling down half naked, and he looked so damned hot that he chased away the cold.
“It’ll take a bit for the fire to warm the place up,” he said. “But I can keep you warm in the meantime.”
He stood, brushing the dust off his jeans and making his way over to her.
She had meant to—at some point—take stock of the room. To look around and see what furniture it had, get a sense of the layout. But she found it too hard to look away from him. And when he fixed those eyes on her, she was held captive.
Utterly and completely.
His chest was broad, sprinkled with just the right amount of hair, his muscles cut and well-defined. His pants were low, showing those lines that arrow downward, as if pointing toward the most masculine part of him.
She had never been with a man who had a body like this. It was like having only ever eaten store-bought pie, and suddenly being treated to a homemade extravaganza.
“You are... You’re beautiful,” she said.
He chuckled. “I think that’s my line.”
“No. It’s definitely mine.”
One side of his mouth quirked upward into a grin, and even though the man was a stranger to her, suddenly she felt like he might not be.
Because that smile touched her somewhere inside her chest and made her feel when she knew it ought not to. Because this should be about just her body. And not in any way about her heart. But it was far too easy to imagine a world where nothing existed beyond this cabin, beyond this man and the intensity in his eyes, the desire etched into every line of his face.
And that body. Hot damn, that body.
Yes, it was very easy to imagine she was a different girl who lived in a different world.
Who could slip away to a secluded cabin and find herself swept up in the arms of a rugged cowboy, and it didn’t matter whether or not it was on brand. Right now, it didn’t.
Right now, it didn’t.
This was elemental, something deeper than reality. It was fantasy in all of its bright, brilliant glory. Except it was real. Brought to life with stunning visuals, and it didn’t matter whether it should be or not.
It was.
It felt suddenly much bigger than her. And because of that, she felt more connected with her body than she ever had before.
Because this wasn’t building inside of her, it surrounded her, encompassed her. She could never have contained so much sensation, so much need. And so it became the world around her.
Until she couldn’t remember what it was like to draw breath in a space where his scent didn’t fill her lungs, where her need didn’t dictate the way she stood, the way she moved.
She put her hands on the tie around her waist.
And he watched.
His attention was rapt, his focus unwavering.
The need between her thighs escalated.
She unknotted the belt and then undid the buttons, let her coat fall to her feet.
She was wearing nothing but a red lace bra and panties and her black high heels.
“Oh, Little Red,” he growled. “I do like that color on you.”
The hunger in his eyes was so intense she could feel it echoing inside of herself. Could feel her own desire answering back.
No man had ever looked at her like this.
They had wanted her, sure. Had desired her.
But they hadn’t wanted to consume her, and she had a feeling that her own personal Big Bad Wolf just might.
She expected him to move to her, but instead he moved away, walking over to the bed that sat in the corner of the humble room. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his thighs splayed, his eyes fixed on her.
“I want you to come on over here,” he said.
She began to walk toward him, her heels clicking on the floor, and she didn’t need to be given detailed instruction, because she somehow knew what he wanted.
It was strange, and it was impossible, that somehow this man she had barely spent any time with felt known to her in a way that men she’d dated for long periods of time never had.
But he did.
And maybe that was something she had overlooked in all of this.
What she wanted to happen between them might be physical, but there was a spiritual element that couldn’t be denied. Something that went deeper than just attraction. Something that spoke to a more desperate need.
His body was both deliciously unknown, and somehow right and familiar all at the same time.
And so were his needs.
She crossed the room and draped an arm over his shoulder, lifting her knee to the edge of the mattress, rocking forward so that the center of her pressed against his hardness. “I’m here,” she said.
He wrapped his arm around her waist, pushed his fingertips beneath the waistband of her panties and slid his hands down over her ass. Then he squeezed. Hard. And she gasped.
“I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that part of the attraction you have to all of this is that it’s a little bit rough.”
She licked her lips, nodded when no words would come.
She hadn’t realized that was what she’d wanted, but when he said it, it made sense. When he touched her like this—possessive and commanding—she knew it was what she needed.
“That suits me just fine, princess, because I’m a man who likes it that way. So you have to tell me right now if you can handle it.”
“I can handle whatever you give me,” she said, her voice coming out with much more certainty than she felt.
Rough.
The word skated over her skin, painted delicious pictures in her mind and made that place between her legs throb with desire.
Rough. Uncivilized. Untamed.
Right then she wanted that, with a desperation that defied explanation.
She wanted to be marked by this. Changed by it. She wanted to have the evidence of it on her skin as well as on her soul.
Because somehow she felt that tonight, in this bed, it might be the only chance she’d have to find out what she was.
What she wanted.
What she desired apart from anything else, apart from family and social expectations. Tonight, this, had nothing to do with what anyone else might expect of her.
This was about her.
And on some level she felt like if she didn’t have this, the rest of her life wo
uld be a slow descent into the madness of wondering.
“If anything goes too far for you, you just say it, you understand?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I want to make you scream,” he said. “But I want it to be the good kind.”
She had never in her life screamed during sex.
The promise, the heat in his eyes, made her suspect she was about to.
That was when he tightened his grip on her and reversed their positions.
He pinned her down on her back, grabbing both wrists with one hand and stretching her arms up over her head. He had his thighs on either side of her hips, the denim rough against her skin. He was large and hard and glorious above her, his face filled with the kind of intensity that thrilled her down to her core.
She rocked her hips upward, desperate for fulfillment. Desperate to be touched by him.
He denied her.
He held her pinned down and began a leisurely tour of her body with his free hand.
He traced her collarbone, the edge of her bra, down the valley between her breasts and to her belly button. Before tracing the edge of her panties. But he didn’t touch her anywhere that she burned for him. And she could feel the need for his touch, as if those parts of her were lit up bright with their demand for him. And still, he wouldn’t do it.
“I thought you said this was going to be rough.”
“Rough’s not fun if you’re not good and wet first,” he said. And then he leaned in, his lips right next to her ear. “And I’m going to make sure you get really, really wet first.”
Just those words alone did the job. An arrow of need pierced her center, and she could feel it, molten liquid there in her thighs. And that was when he captured her mouth with his, kissing her deep and long, cupping her breast with one hand and teasing her nipple with his thumb.
She whimpered, arching her hips upward, frustrated when there was nothing there for her to make contact with.
He touched her slowly, thoroughly, first through the lace of her bra, before pushing the flimsy fabric down and exposing her breasts. He touched her bare, his thumbs calloused as they moved over her body.
And then he replaced them with his mouth.
He sucked deep, and she worked her hips against nothing, desperate for some kind of relief that she couldn’t find as he tormented her.
She would have said that her breasts weren’t sensitive.
But he was proving otherwise.
He scraped his teeth across her sensitive skin. And then he bit down.
She cried out, her orgasm shocking her, filling her cheeks with embarrassed heat as wave after wave of desire pulsed through her core.
But she didn’t feel satisfied, because he still hadn’t touched her there.
She felt aching and raw, empty when she needed to be filled.
“There’s a good girl,” he said, and her internal muscles pulsed again.
He tugged her panties down her thighs, stopping at her ankles before pushing her knees wide, eyeing her hungrily as he did.
Then he leaned in, inhaling her scent, pressing a kiss to the tender skin on her leg. “The better to eat you with,” he said, looking her in the eye as he lowered his head and dragged his tongue through her slick folds.
She gasped. This was the first time he had touched her there, and it was so... So impossibly dirty. So impossibly intimate.
Then he was done teasing. Done talking. He grabbed her hips and pulled her forward, his grip bruising as he set his full focus and attention on consuming her.
She dug her heels into the bed, tried to brace herself, but she couldn’t. She had no control over this, over any of it.
He was driving her toward pleasure at his pace, and it was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
She climaxed again. Impossibly.
It was then she realized he was no longer holding her in place, but she had left her own wrists up above her head, as if she were still pinned there.
She was panting, gasping for breath, when he moved up her body, his lips pressing against hers.
She could taste her own desire there, and it made her shiver.
“Now I want you to turn over,” he said.
She didn’t even think of disobeying that commanding voice. She did exactly as she was told.
“Up on your knees, princess,” he said.
She obeyed, anticipation making the base of her spine tingle as she waited.
She could hear plastic tearing, knew that he must be getting naked. Getting a condom on.
And when he returned to her, he put one hand on her hip, and she felt the head of his arousal pressed against the entrance to her body.
She bit her lip as he pushed forward, filling her.
He was so big, and this was not a position she was used to.
It hurt a bit as he drove his hips forward, a short curse escaping his lips as he sank in to the hilt.
She lowered her head, and he placed his hand between her shoulder blades, drawing it down her spine, then back up. And she wanted to purr like a very contented cat. Then he grabbed hold of both her hips, pulling out slowly, and slamming back home.
She gasped, arching her back as she met him thrust for punishing thrust. She pressed her face down into the mattress as he entered her, over and over again, the only sounds in the room that of skin meeting skin, harsh breaths and the kinds of feral sounds she had never imagined could come from her.
He grabbed hold of her hair, and moved it to one side, and she felt a slight tug, and then with a pull that shocked her with its intensity, he lifted her head as he held her like that, the tug matching his thrust. She gasped, the pain on her scalp somehow adding to the pleasure she felt between her legs.
And he did it over and over again.
Until she was sobbing. Until she was begging for release.
Then he released his hold on her hair, grabbing both her hips again as he raced her to the end, his hold on her bruising, his thrusts pushing her to the point of pain. Then he leaned forward, growling low and biting her neck as he came hard. And she followed him right over the edge into oblivion.
Six
By the time Emerson went limp in front of him, draped over the mattress like a boneless cat, the fire had begun to warm the space.
Holden was a man who didn’t have much in the way of regret in his life—it was impossible when he had been raised with absolutely nothing, and had gotten to a space where he didn’t have to worry about his own basic needs, or those of his family. And even now, it was difficult to feel anything but the kind of bone-deep satisfaction that overtook him.
He went into the bathroom and took care of the practicalities, then went back to stoke the fire.
He heard the sound of shifting covers on the bed, and looked over his shoulder to see Emerson lying on her side now, her legs crossed just so, hiding that tempting shadow at the apex of her thighs, her arm draped coquettishly over her breast.
“Enjoying the show?” he asked.
“Yes,” she responded, no shame in her voice at all.
“You might return the favor,” he said.
She looked down at her own body, as if she only just realized that she was covering a good amount of the tempting bits.
“You’re busy,” she said. “Making a fire. I would hate to distract.”
“You’re distracting even as you are.”
Maybe even especially as she was, looking timid when he knew how she really was. Wild and uninhibited and the best damn sex he’d ever had in his life.
Hard mattress notwithstanding.
She rolled onto her back then, stretching, raising her arms up above her head, pointing her toes.
He finished with the fire quickly, and returned to the bed.
“I couldn’t do it again,” she said, her eyes wide.
/> “Why not?”
“I’ve never come that many times in a row in my life. Surely it would kill you.”
“I’m willing to take the chance,” he said.
It surprised him to hear that her response wasn’t normal for her. She had seemed more than into it. Though, she had talked about the tepid chemistry between herself and the man she was engaged to.
There was something wrong with that man, because if he couldn’t find chemistry with Emerson, Holden doubted he could find it with anyone.
“Well, of course you’re willing to take the chance. You’re not the one at risk. You only... Once. I already did three times.”
“Which means you have the capacity for more,” he said. “At least, that’s my professional opinion.”
“Professional ranch hand opinion? I didn’t know that made you an expert on sex.”
He chuckled. “I’m an expert on sex because of vast experience in my personal life, not my professional life. Though, I can tell you I’ve never considered myself a hobbyist when it came to female pleasure. Definitely a professional.”
“Well, then I guess I picked a good man to experiment with.”
“Is that what this is? An experiment?”
She rolled over so she was halfway on his body, her breast pressed against his chest, her blue eyes suddenly sincere. “I’ve never had an orgasm with a man before. I have them on my own. But never with... Never with a partner. I’ve only been with two men. But... They were my boyfriends. So you would think that if it was this easy they would have figured it out. Or I would have figured it out. And I can’t for the life of me figure out why we didn’t. Myself included.”
“Chemistry,” he said, brushing her hair back from her face, surprising himself with the tender gesture. But now she was asking him these wide-eyed innocent questions, when she had done things with him only moments ago that were anything but.
“Chemistry,” she said. “I thought it might be something like that. Something magical and strange and completely impossible to re-create in a lab setting, sadly.”
“We can re-create it right now.”
“But what if I can’t ever re-create it again? Although, I suppose now I know that it’s possible for me to feel this way, I...”
