He laughs, low enough that it vibrates along my cheek. I wiggle closer just so I can feel more of him.
The night settles around us, cool and gentle, and the whole world feels paused, like it’s holding its breath so we can have this moment without interruption.
We go on like that for a while, giving constellations stupid names, making each other laugh, letting our hands drift without thinking.
His thumb strokes over the inside of my wrist, sending small sparks through me that I try to pretend I’m not reacting to.
Then his fingers slide beneath my jaw, tilting my face up.
The kiss starts soft. It always does with him. He likes to savor, likes to trace the shape of my mouth with his to see how long it takes before I melt.
And I do melt. Every single time.
The kiss deepens, slow and warm, and I curl my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer because I need more. I need him.
His other hand slips along my waist, skimming under my shirt, the heat of his palm spreading across my skin. I breathe his name against his mouth, and the way he responds—the little hitch in his breath, the way he cups my hip to pull me over him—makes everything inside me tighten.
Touch becomes need. Need becomes urgency.
And somewhere in the tangle of kissing and hands and whispered promises, I’m the one asking for more, pulling him down to me, my voice shaking as I tell him I want him, that I want all of him.
He pauses only long enough to ask if I’m sure, and the only words I can form are yes and please and thank you, because it feels like coming home after being gone too long.
I need to know that my delay in responding to his proposal won’t change a thing between us.
Billy’s mouth crashes back onto mine, his tongue sweeping in deep.
His fingers dig into my hip, grinding me against the hard bulge in his jeans, and I gasp into the kiss, my pussy already throbbing with want.
The blanket beneath us crinkles as I shift, my cowboy boots scraping against the soft earth, but I don’t care about the dirt or the chill in the air. All I feel is him, his flannel shirt rough against my palms as I clutch at his shoulders.
“Sedona,” he murmurs, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down my neck, nipping at the skin just above my collarbone. His breath fans hot over me, sending shivers racing down my spine.
I arch into him, my T-shirt riding up further, exposing more of my stomach to the night breeze. But his hand is there, sliding higher, thumb brushing the underside of my breast through my bra.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”
I whimper, my hands fumbling with the buttons of his flannel, popping them open one by one until I can shove it aside and feel the heat of his bare chest. His skin is flushed, muscles flexing under my touch, and I rake my nails down his sides, loving the way he groans low in his throat.
“Billy, please... touch me. I need your hands on me everywhere.”
He doesn’t make me wait. His fingers hook into the waistband of my jeans, popping the button with a flick of his thumb.
The zipper rasps down, loud in the quiet night, and then he’s shoving the denim down my hips, along with my panties, exposing me to the cool air. I kick off my boots in a hurry, helping him tug the jeans free, my legs bare now except for the grass tickling my calves.
Billy’s eyes darken as he stares at my pussy. I can imagine that I’m already slick and glistening in the moonlight filtering through the trees by the lake.
“Fucking hell, look at you,” he breathes, his voice rough.
He pushes me back onto the blanket, settling between my thighs, his own jeans still on but strained against his erection. His hands part my legs wider, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, inching closer to where I ache most.
I’m panting already, my T-shirt bunched up under my arms, bra pushed aside so my breasts spill free, nipples hard and begging for attention.
When his fingers finally brush my folds, I cry out, hips bucking up. He circles my clit slowly at first, teasing, gathering my wetness on his fingertips.
“So wet for me, Sedona. All this slick just from kissing?”
He slides one finger inside me, then two, curling them against that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. The stretch is delicious, his calluses rough against my walls as he pumps in and out.
