Page 24 of Frosty Cowboy
I hook my thumb and forefinger on the clasp of her bra, ready to pop it open… then freeze.
Because I want the first time I take her out here to be slow. Intentional. One of those memories she thinks about ten years from now and still blushes.
I pull back an inch and grin down at her, wicked and promising. “We’re not doing this against a fence, sweetheart. Not yet.”
Her frustrated whimper is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. When her nails dig in slightly with the tiniest tug, it sets my blood on fire.
“But,” I add, sliding my hand down the curve of her ass, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp, “I am gonna take you inside and make you forget your name, your bakery, and every damn cookie recipe you’ve ever memorized.”
“Colt…” Her hips shift forward, a subtle roll against mine that nearly shreds the last thread of patience I’ve been holding onto.
“Yeah, Cupcake?”
Her fingers curl into my shirt, eyes dark and pleading. “Take me inside.”
