Page 39 of Cowboy Mountain Man

His fingers are silk, slick with my arousal. His tongue is sorcery, inching me toward release, pushing me to the very edge. Then changing rhythms, speed. Anticipating what I need before I even know I need it.

“So wet,” he grunts, making a meal of me. “So delicious.” His soft beard tickles the insides of my thighs.

But it’s the heat at my center that has me in its grip. I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Legs shaking. Heart racing. Body squeezing him again and again.

This is not what I thought sex was. Had no clue.

He lifts his head, beard slick with my arousal. “This what you need?”

My pussy walls grip him again. The only answer I can give. Heat burns in his gaze.

“Please,” I gasp.

He finds me again, licks and claims every inch of me. His fingers go deeper, more insistent, the stretch perfection.

God.

Breath flees my chest. I spasm around him uncontrollably—lower ab muscles jumping, legs trembling, thighs squeezing his head.

And I come.

Hard.

So damn hard.

I can’t even hear my scream. I just know my mouth’s open, and air no longer moves through my lungs.

Harlan doesn’t stop. Doesn’t back away until I’m a melted pool atop the bed. Jointless. Careless. A languid smile all I can muster.

“Come here,” I whisper, reaching out my arms.

He stands slowly, eyes shifting to the ground. That’s when I notice the wet spot on the front of his jeans. “Hold that thought. Gotta clean up.”

He’s halfway to the door when I manage, “Let me clean you up.”

His hand freezes on the knob. The air crackles between us. He shoots me a sideways glance. “You sure about that?”

“God, yes.”

“Never do this,” he excuses, moving hesitantly toward me. “I’ve usually got way more control⁠—”

“Shh,” I whisper, elbowing up onto the bed. “I want you, and I want this.”

Jeans button. Zipper. He’s still at full attention when I slide down his pants and boxers—cock shiny and slick with cum.

He opens his mouth, his face still hesitant.

But my hand’s already around him, shocked by his girth, loving the feel of his slick need in my palm. I cover him with my mouth and groan. His dark flavor dances across my tongue.

I need more. All of him.

“God,” he gasps, head rolling back as I twist my tongue around him, then suck, drawing him deeper.

His hands lock on my shoulders.

“Fuck.” It comes out softer. Like surrender.

I slide him in and out, playing with the depth, the pace, the pressure of my hand still wrapped around his base.