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I clung to Beau, breathless and gasping as I worked myself against his cock. He slid his hands up my back, callused fingers tracing the ridge of my spine as he coaxed me to move faster, harder, until we were moving together in a frantic, dry-humping frenzy. Every touch made the pleasure climb, build, and boil.
“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” Beau said softly. “You’re almost there.”
My mouth fell open as I tipped over the edge. He kept grinding up against me, his belt buckle digging into my stomach and his clothes rasping against my bare torso. Pleasure burst through me like fireworks.
Beau swore softly when he came, burying his face in my chest, crushing our bodies together.
Fighting to catch my breath, I sagged in Beau’s arms, content. He kissed my temple and swept a few wisps of hair away from my forehead. When he gathered me closer, I nuzzled into his neck and shoulder. The scent of beer was strongest, but there was a familiar hint of saddle leather, hay, and mountain air on his skin, too. Had he always smelled this good? Or was that the post-orgasm rush talking?
I didn’t know and I didn’t care. I would enjoy it until sunrise.
When the morning came…
Well, I had no idea what tomorrow would bring for Beau and me after this.
Chapter Nine
Beau
I woke with a splitting headache and a half-naked Rory in my arms. Her face was tucked into the crook of my neck, and her soft hand was gently curled around my ribs. After sitting on the feed room floor all night, my body was stiff and sore, but I didn’t dare budge an inch.
I trailed my knuckles down the smooth, sleep-warm skin of Rory’s bare shoulder. The memory of last night came flooding back—the hungry touches, the desperate kisses, the way she shattered so perfectly.
Would she hate me for it when those pretty green eyes opened and looked at me? Would she regret what we’d done?
I brushed my thumb against Rory’s cheek, sweeping a stray lock of hair aside. Then I skimmed my hand down her body and rested my palm on her hip.
I’ve never been happier in my life than this moment.
The distant echo of voices signaled that the barn would be crawling with cowboys soon. I glanced down at Rory, feeling sick to my stomach at the thought of waking her up. I wanted her to stay like this forever, safe and content with me. Despite the dim light of the feed room, I could still make out the shape of her—the slope of her neck, the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist where my hands fit so well the night before when I pulled her close.
Before I could bring myself to disturb Rory’s sleep, a firm knock came at the door, followed by the heavy thunk of the dead bolt sliding open.
“You’ve got five minutes to make yourselves decent,” Bowen said. “Breakfast is almost done.”
Rory’s eyes fluttered. Reluctantly, I grabbed her coat and pulled it around her shoulders. Why did I have the sinking feeling that she was slipping through my fingers like water?
“Time to get moving, darlin’,” I said softly.
Rory stirred, finally opening her eyes. It took a split second before she realized where she was. Then her cheeks went red and she tugged her coat closed.
“Oh my God,” she muttered, mortified.
Climbing off me, Rory grabbed her tank top, but she hesitated, glancing at me.
“No need to be modest now, sweetheart,” I said.
“Beau,” she replied, exasperated. “No peeking.”
I held up my hands in surrender and rose to my feet, turning my back to give her privacy. The rustle of fabric in the dim, small room sent a pang of disappointment through me. I wished I could be the one taking off the last of Rory’s clothes this morning. I wished I could have made her come for a second time—on my fingers, on my tongue—before she had to go.
“When can I see you again?”
The words tumbled out of my mouth before I realized I was thinking them. Rory sucked in a breath of surprise and went still, silent. When she didn’t respond for several seconds, I risked a glance over my shoulder. She was fully clothed now, frozen in the process of putting her coat back on.
“That hangover is making you say things,” she countered.
“I mean it, Rory.”
