Page 4 of Kicking Up Dust

“I believe you.” I swallow hard, stomach flipping again but this time, it’s not a good sort of flip. “I’m going to kiss you now, darlin’. If you don’t want that, you’d better speak up.”

“I want that.”

His lips quirk again. “Good,” he mumbles against mine, using his hold on my face to pull me closer. My hands grip his tattooed forearms for only a second before I’m on my tiptoes, winding my arms up around his neck instead. He doesn’t let me strain my calves for long, gripping my thighs and hoisting me up.

The journey from him standing with my legs around his waist to me being naked and underneath him on the bed passes in a blur. I don’t think I’ve ever kissed someone this much, even during sex. My head—and let’s face it, my vagina—is usually much more impatient for the main event, but Colt kisses like it’s gonna make him millions.

I almost whine when his lips leave mine to trail down my neck, but I manage to stop myself… until they wrap around my nipple, that is. My breasts are on the smaller side and I’ve always been a bit insecure about them, but right now, I can’t remember why. Not when Colt’s hand completely engulfs one, squeezing it gently while his tongue does wonderful things to my other nipple. I don’t think I have a size kink… at least, I’ve never noticed having one, but the hand-to-tit ratio and the way it’s making me squirm needily against this questionably clean motel bed says otherwise.

“Colt,” I breathe out, ready to tell him to leave my tits alone and focus on the ache between my legs, but he slips his hand down right where I need it like he can read my mind.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re so wet for me already.”

I nod against the pillow. “So we can skip the foreplay, cowboy.”

Colt chuckles, pulling away from my chest and shimmying down the bed.

“I never skip foreplay. Besides, I’m starving.”

It’s the only warning I get before he’s gripping my thighs and tossing my legs over his shoulders. I squeal in surprise, which would be embarrassing enough on its own, if it weren’t for the fact the squeal turns into a moan pretty quickly.

“Oh, god.” His curls are perfect to hold onto.

A long lick up my center, and then he pulls away just enough to say, “I usually go by Colt, but I’m down for a good roleplay every now and then.”

I snort out a laugh, but it’s cut short as he gets to work.

Colton Whittaker is a certified munch. The way he grips my thighs, pressing his face between them like he’s scared I’m going to try and back away, only adds to the appeal.

A few minutes later when my orgasm hits, it becomes clear his grip is more about keeping me still so I don’t somehow break his nose with my pelvis. One of my hands clenches around the bed sheets and the other grips his hair. I try to buck against his face, too overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through me, but he pins me to the bed, forcing me to lie there and feel every second of pleasure.

“Colt,” I whimper when the suck-and-lick combo he’s treating my clit to becomes too much.

“Sorry,” he mumbles against me, which is unfairly sexy. He presses a kiss to my mound and then to my thigh before coming to hover over me again. “Let me see those gorgeous green eyes, pretty girl.”

I blink them open slowly, still panting from the aftershocks of pleasure that hit every few seconds. His cocky, dimpled grin stares back at me.

“Think you got more in you?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a big ego?” I ask him with a snort.

“Among other things.” He pulls back and I’m already prepping an apology for offending him when I realize he’s just undressing.

I prop myself up on my elbows to watch as he tugs his shirt over his head. I’d seen the bull head tattooed on his throat at the rodeo, but his chest and sides bear more tattoos. Born to ride runs up his left side, which feels like a wild thing to get tattooed on you since it can be taken in so many different ways, but who am I to judge his tattoos? The others are smaller, so they’re more difficult to see in the dim light of the motel room, but there’s what looks like a burn on his chest in the shape of a W and an R.

It’s not my plan to feed that ego, but when his jeans fall and I see his cock bulging the front of his boxer briefs, my jaw drops a bit. I’m never going to beat the size queen allegations.

He palms it through the material. “Now you see why I’m such a big fan of foreplay.”

He shucks off his briefs and in the little bit of light the motel lamp offers, his cock… glints.

“It’s pierced?!”

“Yep,” he says proudly, like taking needles to your genitals isn’t a really wild decision to make.

I flounder for a response.

“Should I just go down the list of frequently asked questions? Yes, it’ll fit. Yes, I have a condom big enough. No, the piercings won’t break the condom because I purchase extra-thick ones. Yes, they’ll make you feel really good. No, they don’t hurt… anymore.”