Page 105 of Slow Hands Cowboy

Walker was frozen, looking at her with rapt attention.

“I haven’t been camping. Guess what else I haven’t done.”

He growled, large hand cupping her bare breast as he lowered his head and took her other nipple into his mouth. Not kissing her on the lips felt intentional. But it felt too good for her to care.

He lavished attention on her, right out there under the sky, as the sun slipped totally behind the mountain and bathed them now in twilight blue.

He teased her, tormented her, showed her that with just his mouth and her breasts he could bring her to the edge and back again and again.

He reached down and unbuttoned her shorts, pushing his hand beneath the waistband, finding her wet for him.

“You just want to do this out here? Where anybody could see?” he growled against her throat.

“Yes,” she whispered.

There were few things she had ever been so certain of. But this was one of them. Absolutely and completely.

She didn’t care if anyone saw, she didn’t think they would, but also, so what?

She wanted Walker, and she wasn’t ashamed of it. They were on his property.

She wanted him, and it was okay.

She had a sex drive, and that was fine.

She wanted him more than she wanted to be safe, pure, Good.

And those things were huge. Those were load-bearing belief systems shifting inside of her. It was painful, and it was beautiful all at once.

Just like his hands on her body, his mouth against her skin.

Just like the way he filled her when he thrust deep inside of her in the back of the truck, and she looked up at the stars, growing ever brighter while he took them both straight to heaven and over the edge.

As she lay there in the dark, letting him hold her afterward, she knew that she was going to be different after this. Forever. She was never going to be the same. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that yet, but she did know that it was necessary.

She was scraping away layers of issues that were borrowed from other people. Expectations that she had taken on when she was too young to understand what she was doing.

She was shedding. And that was a profoundly painful experience. For your skin to be too tight for who you were becoming.

But it was also wonderful. Glorious.

And she was practicing being okay with the unknown.

When she woke again to the sound of hoofbeats right as the rose-gold sun was beginning to peek over the mountains, he was there, though she couldn’t tell if he’d slept beside her.

He was awake, sitting there, shirtless, looking out toward the horizon line.

She sat up with him, and gasped.

“The horses.”

“There they are.”

More than a hundred of them, she was sure. Standing all around the truck. White, black, and brown horses.

Beautiful. Free.

“Don’t you think they should be allowed to stay out here?”