Her First Christmas Cowboy by Maisey Yates

CHAPTER SEVEN

SHETHOUGHTTHATshe might drown. The sensations that were washing through her body were too much to comprehend. She had thought about kissing before. But she hadn’t known that it would be like this. All of this. The scent of his skin, freshly cleaned, the scrape of his stubble against her face. The sound of his breath, so close to her, and the feel of it, hot on her lips.

His touch, so rough and masculine, a sharp contrast to the way he’d held her just before. All leashed strength, in a gentle hold.

And she had seen him, all of him in the shower. Hadn’t gotten a very good glimpse of... Everything. But she had seen that muscular backside, his strong thighs. He was everything. And she wanted him.

Did it matter if it was right? Did it matter if there was a future? How could the future matter at all if she couldn’t get through this moment? And she thought that she might die if she couldn’t kiss him. She couldn’t have him. She was consumed with it. And thank God his mouth was now on hers, and he was kissing her, deep and hard and rough, and giving no quarter to her inexperience, his tongue dipping deep, his mouth ravenous on hers, and it was what she needed.

Because she had been denied so many experiences in her life, and much like the TV watching, she just wanted to jump in the deep end. Later, later maybe she would refine. She would figure out exactly what she liked and what she wanted. But right now she was just hungry for everything. For all. Right now she was hungry for him. She ran her hands down his chest, and he was so hot and rough and muscled, she just groaned with her need of it.

“I... I didn’t know,” she said, before kissing him again.

And he lifted her up off the couch, sliding his hands down to cup her butt, then lower still, gripping her thighs and wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her back down toward the hall, toward her bedroom.

He pulled her sweater up over her head and then started on her jeans, and she forgot to feel embarrassed. She forgot to feel anything but need. Maybe it was simply because... She’d had a bellyful of shame for most of her life, and now she just wanted to be. She just wanted to be Tala. And everything that she felt. Everything that she was. She was tired of closing down all of her needs.

She was tired of being only part of what she was.

A good daughter. A good sister. Then a good student, because that was all she could be. Because she had left those other things behind. A good advocate for herself, a protector of her own time and space. But not a friend. Not a lover.

And Clayton... With him, she had found something. With him, she had found something so unique and wonderful and reverent. It was friendship, and it was desire. And it was strength as much as it was weakness. And she wanted. With everything that she was, she wanted. And holding back since she had discovered how much she wanted him had been just another thing that felt like a lie. Another thing that felt like it wasn’t her.

But this... This felt like her.

And she wasn’t embarrassed. Not when he pushed her jeans down her hips, taking her underwear along with it. Not when he unclipped her bra and bared her breasts to his dark, intense gaze.

No, she wasn’t embarrassed.

She was free.

“I’m a virgin,” she said.

He let out a slow breath. “I was afraid of that.”

“I figured I ought to be up-front.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Are you going to not do it now?”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t turn back if I wanted to, ma’am.”

And she flushed all over and laughed. “Well, that’s good. Because I would be pretty mad if you took me this far and didn’t carry me the rest of the way.”

“I aim to get you there. I just... I wish it could be different. For us. For you. You deserve more.”

“No. I deserve what I want. And I want you, Clayton Everett. Bullet wound, shitty family and all.”

The corner of his mouth hitched up into a smile. “There’s something I don’t hear every day. Or even once.”

“Will you take your clothes off, please?” she whispered.

“Happy to.”

He unsnapped his jeans and pushed them down his narrow hips, revealing his arousal to her. It was thick, hard and ready.

And so was she.

Oh, she wanted this man. She wanted him so badly she ached with it. Burned with it. Couldn’t breathe for it.

Then he hauled her up against his body, every bare inch of her against every bare inch of him.

He was so hot. So beautiful. She pushed her fingers through his hair and studied his face. Those dark eyes, that square, outlaw jaw and the dark stubble there.

She moved her thumb over the scar on his lip. “How did you get this?”

“My brother,” he said. “I made him mad. He slammed my head against the side of a brick wall. My teeth cut right through my lip. This is not real,” he said, pointing to one of his front teeth.

And she kissed him. She kissed him, because if she didn’t she might cry. Because she wanted to take his past and erase it. Because she wanted to destroy anybody who had ever mistreated him.

Whoever had taken that perfect face and marked it forever. With violence.

And she just wished... She wished they knew each other some other way. That she were normal, whole and easy, and he was a nice guy that she met at a café or a bar. Instead of what they were. Instead of all this brokenness. Instead of all this... Anguish.

“You don’t have any scars, do you?” He moved his hand up the center of her back, his calloused fingers tracing a line there. “None so anyone could see.”

She shivered. “No,” she agreed. “None so anyone could see.”

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?”

She shook her head. “Not in a nice way. My mother said before that my looks would get me in trouble. I did my best to cover up my... My figure. I never wore makeup...”

“You should show your body off with pride. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I am not a virgin, Tala. I’ve seen my share of women.”

“I don’t think I want to think about that.”

“You were honest with me, so I’m being honest with you. And I want you to understand that even though I’ve done this before... It still means something to me. It’s still more than just...” He cupped her face. “Hell, sweetheart. You saved my life. How many men can say that to a woman they’re holding in their arms.”

And he made her feel strong. He made her feel brave and important. He made her feel right. Just as she was. And that was a whole kind of miracle she hadn’t known she needed. He picked her up and laid her back on the bed, spread her out before him and looked her up and down. “You are so beautiful. And what I feel... What I feel right now, it’s not shameful. This is the purest thing I’ve ever felt in my life.”

He bent over her on the bed and cupped her breast, traced one nipple with the edge of his calloused finger. Then she shivered. He leaned in and took the tightened bud into his mouth, sucking it in deep. And she gasped, arching up off the bed as an arrow of pleasure centered itself right in her midsection, tightened between her thighs.

She had read about this. But reading about it wasn’t anything like experiencing it. She couldn’t control this. The speed of it. The heights. She had no say over which direction this fantasy went. It was his world. His hands. His touch. Creating a symphony of need inside of her, and she had no idea where or when the crescendo might be. It was the most terrifying, exhilarating, wonderful moment of her life. As he continued to lick and kiss and suck his way down her body, she surrendered herself wholly to the moment.

He kissed his way down to her stomach, below her belly button. Then down between her thighs. She gripped his head, arching against him as he tasted her deep. He growled as he tasted her, and she lifted her hips up against him, writhing in time with the stroke of his tongue. She looked down and watched him, and he looked up, his eyes meeting hers. And she gasped, her orgasm breaking over her like a sudden wave that came from nowhere. Sweeping her out to sea, leaving her storm tossed and breathless.

And then again. And again. And it was like a gift for every moment in her life that had gone uncelebrated. For every little bit of pleasure that had been denied her by the stoic nature of her childhood. For every bit of fear that she’d been taught to feel whenever she wanted something.

This was the gift. His mouth. That wicked mouth, that outlawed touch.

He made her want to be bad, but perhaps even better, he made this not feel bad. He made it feel wonderful. He made her feel free.

And then he kissed his way back up her body, his mouth fastened to hers, as he positioned himself between her thighs, the blunt head of his arousal testing her there.

“Please,” she whispered.

He growled and thrust deep inside of her.

She clung to his shoulders, hoping to find something to anchor her to the earth. To help her breathe past the pain.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. And she believed him.

Then he began to move, and the pain started to fade. Pleasure building upon it, pleasure making her dizzy.

There was something more. Something that went beyond physical pleasure. She wasn’t alone. She was with him. He was in her. And it was something deeper and more profound than she could have ever imagined. He understood her. He knew what she wanted. He understood her body’s needs. She had never felt like she fit with anyone or anything in all of her life. Not her own family, not the people she had gone to school with. Not even the people here at Four Corners, however lovely they were. But he fit. He fit. And it didn’t matter that it made no sense, it simply was.

He was hers. Her everything.

Her outlaw.

And when his body began to shiver and shake with his own release, she held on to him tight, and when he fractured, she let go. And they were united in that moment. Where all was lost and found in equal measure. And then she rested her head on his chest and clung to his sweat-slicked body.

She put her hand right above the stitches, examining that spot. “I’m glad I didn’t hurt you.”

He chuckled. “It would be worth it. I’d stitch myself back up three times if it meant having you.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever wanted me enough to go to that kind of trouble.”

He pushed her hair off of her face. “I could say the same.”

“Sleep here,” she said. “Don’t go back to the couch.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want.”