Slow Burn Cowboy

by Maisey Yates

  He knew. He knew who she was. And he was still hot for her. Still hard for her.

  “You are so hot,” he said, pressing his hand flat to her stomach and drawing it down slowly, his fingertips teasing the sensitive skin beneath the waistband. “And you don’t even know it, do you?”

  Part of her wanted to protest, wanted to fight back, because that was what she did. Instead, everything inside of her just kind of went limp. Melted into a puddle. “N-no.”

  “You should know,” he said, his voice low, husky. A shot of whiskey that skated along her nerves, warming her, sending a kick of heat and adrenaline firing through her blood. “You should know how damn sexy you are. You’re the kind of woman who could make a man lose his mind.”

  “I could?”

  He laughed, but it wasn’t full of humor. It sounded tortured. “I’m exhibit A.”

  He shifted his hips forward, his hard length pressing up against that very aroused part of her that wanted more of him. Needed more of him. She gasped. “Soon,” he said, the promise in his words settling a heavy weight in her stomach. Anticipation, terror. Need.

  He continued to tease her, his fingertips resting just above the line of her panties, before he began to trail his hand back upward. He rested his palm over her chest, reaching up and tracing her lower lip with his thumb.

  She darted her tongue out, sliding the tip of it over his skin, tasting salt, tasting Chase. A flavor that was becoming familiar.

  Then she angled her head, taking his thumb into her mouth and sucking hard. His hips arched forward hard, his cock making firm contact, sending a shower of sparks through her body as he did.

  “You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, every word raw, frayed.

  “I might say the same about you,” she said, her voice thick, unrecognizable. She didn’t know who she was right now. This creature who was a complete and total slave to sexual sensation. Who was so lost in it, she could feel nothing else. No sense of self-preservation, no fear kicking into gear and letting her know that she needed to put her walls up. That she needed to go on the defense.

  She was reduced. She had none of that. And she didn’t even care.

  “You’re a miracle,” he said, tracing the line of her collarbone with the tip of his tongue. “A damn miracle, do you know that?”

  “What?”

  “The other day I told you you didn’t look like a miracle. I was a fool. And I was wrong. Every inch of you is a miracle, Anna Brown.”

  Those words were like being submerged in warm water, feeling it flow over every inch of her, a kind of deep, soul-satisfying comfort that she really, really didn’t want. Or rather, she didn’t want to want it. But she did, bad enough that she couldn’t resist.

  But it was all a little too heavy. All a little too much. Still, she didn’t have the strength to turn him away.

  “Kiss me.”

  She said that instead of get the hell out of my house, and instead of we can’t do this, because it was all she had strength for. Because she needed that kiss. And maybe, just maybe, if they didn’t talk, she could make it through.

  Chase—gentleman that he was—obliged her.

  He angled his head, reaching up to cup her breast as he did, his mouth crashing down on hers just as his palm skimmed her nipple. She gasped, arching up against him, the combination of sensations almost too much to handle.

  Yeah, she did not remember sex being like this. Granted, it had been a million years, but she would have remembered if it had come anywhere close to this. And her conclusion most certainly wouldn’t have been that it was vaguely boring and a little bit gross. Not if it had even been in the same ballpark as what she was feeling now.

  There was no point in comparing. There was just flat out no comparison.

  He kissed her, long, deep and hard; he kissed her until she couldn’t breathe. Until she thought she was going to die for wanting more. He kissed her until she was dizzy. And when he abandoned her mouth, she nearly wept. Until he lowered his head and skimmed his tongue over one hardened bud, until he drew it between his lips and sucked hard, before scraping her sensitized flesh with his teeth.

  She arched against him, desperate for more. Desperate for satisfaction. Satisfaction he seemed intent on withholding.

  “I’m so close,” she said, panting. “Just do it now.” Then it would be over. Then she would have what she needed, and the howling, yawning ache inside of her would be satisfied.

  “No,” he said, his tone authoritative.

  “What do you mean no?”

  “Not yet. You’re not allowed to come yet, Anna. I’m not done.”

  His words, the calm, quiet command, made everything inside of her go still. She wanted to fight him. Wanted to rail against that cruel denial of her needs, but she couldn’t.

  Not when this part of him was so compelling. Not when she wanted so badly to see where complying would lead.

  “We’re not done,” he said, tracing her nipple with the tip of his tongue, “until I say we are.” He lifted his head so that their eyes met, the prolonged contact touching something deep inside of her. Something that surpassed the physical.

  He kissed her again, and as he did, he pulled his T-shirt over his head, exposing his incredible body to her.

  Her mouth dried, and other parts of her got wet. Very, very wet.

  “Oh, sweet Lord,” she said, pressing her hand to his chest and drawing her fingertips down over his muscles, his chest hair tickling her skin as she did.

  It was a surreal moment. So strange and fascinating. To touch her best friend like this. To see his body this way, to know that—right now—it wasn’t off-limits to her. To know that she could lean forward and kiss that beautiful, perfect dip just next to his hip bone. Suddenly, she was seized with the desire to do just that. And she didn’t have to fight it.

  She pushed against him, bringing herself into a sitting position, lowering her head and pressing her lips to his heated skin.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, his voice rough. He took hold of her wrist, drawing her up so that she was on her knees, eye to eye with him on the couch. “We’re not finishing it like that,” he said.

  “Damn straight we aren’t,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to get a little taste.”

  “You give way too much credit to my self-control, honey.”

  “You give too much credit to mine. I’ve never...” She stared at his chest instead of finishing her sentence. “It’s like walking into a candy store and being told I can have whatever I want. Restraint is not on the menu.”

  “Good,” he said, leaning in, kissing her, nipping her lower lip. “Restraint isn’t what I want.”

  He wrapped his arm around her, drawing her up against him, her bare breasts pressing against his hard chest, the hair there abrading her nipples in the most fantastic, delicious way.

  And then he was kissing her again, slow and deep as his hand trailed down beneath the waistband of her pants, cupping her ass, squeezing her tight. He pushed her pants down over her hips, taking her panties with them, leaving her completely naked in front of him.

  He stood up, taking his time looking at her as he put his hands on his belt buckle.

  Nerves, excitement, spread through her. She didn’t know where to look. At the harsh, hungry look on his face, at the beautiful lines of muscle on his perfectly sculpted torso. At the clear and aggressive arousal visible through his jeans.

  So she looked at all of him. Every last bit. And she didn’t have time to feel embarrassed that she was sitting there naked as the day she was born, totally exposed to him for the first time.

  She was too fascinated by him in this moment. Too fascinated to do anything but stare at him.

  This was Chase McCormack. The man that women lost their minds—and th
eir dignity—over on a regular basis. This was Chase McCormack, the sex god who could—and often did—have any woman he pleased.

  She had known Chase McCormack, loyal friend and confidant, for a very long time. But she realized that up until now, she had never met this Chase McCormack. It was a strange, dizzying realization. Exhilarating.

  And she was suddenly seized by the feeling that right now, he was hers. All hers. Because who else knew both sides of him? Did anyone?

  She was about to.

  “Get your pants off, McCormack,” she said, impatience overriding common sense.

  “You don’t get to make demands here, Anna,” he said.

  “I just did.”

  “You want to try giving orders? You have to show me you can follow them.” His eyes darkened, and her heart hammered harder, faster. “Spread your legs,” he said, his words hard and uncompromising.

  She swallowed. There was that embarrassment that she had just been so proud she had bypassed. But this was suddenly way outside her realm of experience. It was one thing to sit there in front of him naked. It was quite another to deliberately expose herself the way he was asking her to. She didn’t move. She sat there, frozen.

  “Spread your legs for me,” he repeated, his voice heavy with that soft, commanding tone. “Or I put my clothes on and leave.”

  “You wouldn’t,” she said.

  “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

  That was true. In this scenario, she really didn’t know him. He was a stranger, except he wasn’t.

  Actually, if he had been a stranger, all of this would’ve been a lot easier. She could have spread her legs and she wouldn’t have worried about how she looked. Wouldn’t have worried about the consequences. If a stranger saw her do something like that, was somehow unsatisfied and then walked away, well, what did it matter? But this was Chase. And it mattered. It mattered so very much.

  His hands paused on his belt buckle. “I’m warning you, Anna. You better do as you’re told.”

  For some reason, that did not make her want to punch him. For some reason, she found herself sitting back on the couch, obeying his command, opening herself to him, as adrenaline skittered through her system.

  “Good girl,” he said, continuing his movements, pushing his jeans and underwear down his legs and exposing his entire body to her for the first time. And then, it didn’t matter so much that she was sitting there with her thighs open for him. Because now she had all of him to look at.

  The light in his eyes was intense, hungry, and he kept them trained on her as he reached down and squeezed himself hard. His jaw was tense, the only real sign of just how frayed his control was.

  “Beautiful,” he said, stroking himself slowly, leisurely, as he continued to gaze at her.

  “Are you just going to look? Or are you going to touch?” She wasn’t entirely comfortable with this. With him just staring. With this aching silence between them, and this deep, overwhelming connection that she felt.

  There were no barriers left. There was no way to hide. She was vulnerable, in every way. And normally she hated it. She kind of hated it now. But that vulnerability was wrapped in arousal, in a sharp, desperate need unlike anything she had ever known. And so it was impossible to try to put distance between them, impossible to try to run away.

  “I’m going to do a lot more than look,” he said, dropping down to his knees, “and I’m going to do a hell of a lot more than touch.” He reached out, sliding his hands around to her ass, drawing her forward, bringing her up toward his mouth.

  “Chase,” she said, the short, shocked protest about the only thing she managed before the slick heat of his tongue assaulted that sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. “You don’t have to...”

  He lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting her. “Oh, I know I don’t have to. But you got to taste me, and I think turnabout is fair play.”

  “But that wasn’t...”

  “What?”

  “It’s just that men...”

  “Expect a lot more than they give. At least some of them. Anyway, as much as I liked what you did for me—and don’t get me wrong, I liked it a lot—you have no idea how much pleasure this gives me.”

  “How?”

  He leaned in, resting his cheek on her thigh. “The smell of you.” He leaned closer, drawing his tongue through her slick folds. “The taste of you,” he said. “You.”

  And then she couldn’t talk anymore. He buried his face between her legs, his tongue and fingers working black magic on her body, pushing her harder, higher, faster than she had imagined possible. Yeah, making out with Chase had been enough to nearly give her an orgasm. This was pushing her somewhere else entirely.

  In her world, orgasm had always been a solo project. Surrendering the power to someone else, having her own pleasure not only in someone else’s hands but in his complete and utter control, was something she had never even thought possible for her. But Chase was proving her wrong.

  He slipped a finger deep inside of her as he continued to torture her with his wicked mouth, then a second, working them in and out of her slick channel while he teased her with the tip of his tongue.

  A ball of tension grew in her stomach, expanded until she couldn’t breathe. “It’s too much,” she gasped.

  “Obviously it’s not enough yet,” he said, pushing her harder, higher.

  And when the wave broke over her, she thought she was done for. Thought it was going to drag her straight out to sea and leave her to die. She couldn’t catch her breath as pleasure assaulted her, going on and on, pounding through her like a merciless tide, battering her against the rocks, leaving her bruised, breathless.

  And when it was over, Chase was looming over her, a condom in his hand.

  She felt like a creature without its shell. Sensitive, completely unprotected. She wanted to hide from him, hide from this. But she couldn’t. How could she? The simple truth was, they still weren’t done. They had gone only part of the way. And if they didn’t finish this, she would always wonder. He would, too.

  She imagined that—whether or not he admitted it—was why he had come here tonight in the first place.

  They had opened the lid on Pandora’s box. And they couldn’t close it until they had examined every last dirty, filthy sin inside of it.

  Even though she thought it might kill her, she knew that they couldn’t stop now.

  He tore open the condom, positioning the protection over the blunt head of his arousal, rolling it down slowly.

  She was transfixed. The sight of his own hand on his shaft so erotic she could hardly stand it.

  She would pay good money to watch him shower, to watch his hands slide over all those gorgeous muscles. To watch him take himself in hand and lead himself to completion.

  Oh, yeah. That was now her number one fantasy. Which was a problem, because it was a fantasy that would never be fulfilled.

  Don’t think about that now. Don’t think about it ever.

  He leaned in, kissing her, guiding her so that she was lying down on the couch, then he positioned himself between her legs, testing the entrance to her body before thrusting forward and filling her completely.

  She closed her eyes tight, unable to handle the feeling of being invaded by him, both in body and in her soul.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  And once more, she was completely helpless to do anything other than obey.

  She opened her eyes, her gaze meeting his, touching her down deep, where his hands never could.

  And then he kissed her, soft, gentle. That kind of tenderness that had been missing from her life for so long. The kind that she had always been too embarrassed to ask for from anyone. Too embarrassed to show that she needed. That she desperately craved.

  But Ch
ase knew. Because he was Chase. He just knew.

  He flexed his hips again, his pelvis butting up against her, sending a shower of sparks through her body. There was no way she was ready to come again. Except he kept moving, creating new sensations inside of her, deeper than what had come before.

  It shouldn’t be possible for her to have another orgasm now. Not after the first one had stripped her so completely. But apparently tonight, nothing was impossible.

  There was something different about this. About the two of them, working toward pleasure together. This wasn’t just her giving it out to him, or him reciprocating. This was something they were sharing.

  She focused on pieces of him. The intensity in his eyes. The way the tendons in his neck stood out, evidence of the control he was exerting. She looked at his hand, up by her head, grabbing hold of one of the blankets she had been using, clinging tightly to it, as though it were his lifeline.

  She looked down at his throat, at the pulse beating there.

  All these close, intimate snapshots of this man that she knew better than anyone else.

  Her chest felt heavy, swollen, and then it began to expand. She was convinced that she was going to break apart. All of these feelings, all of this pleasure. It was just too much. She couldn’t handle it.

  “Please,” she begged. “Please.”

  He released his grip on the blanket to grasp her hips, holding her steady as he pounded harder into her, as he pounded them both toward release. Toward salvation. It was too much. It needed to end. It was all she could think. She was begging him inside. End it, Chase. Please, end it.

  Orgasm latched on to her throat like a wild beast, gripping her hard, violently, shaking her, pleasure exploding over her. Ugly. Completely and totally beyond control.

  And then Chase let out a hoarse cry, freezing above her as he thrust inside her one last time, shivering, shaking as his own release took hold.