Page 87 of Whiskey Proposal

“I want to fuck you all the time, Emerson Langley. There isn’t a moment I don’t want to be buried balls deep in that warm, wet pussy of yours.” Her lips part and I trace their bow shape. “But I also want to know what’s going on in that head of yours. I want to know why chickens. I want to know why marketing. I want to know why fucking red velvet. You fascinate me. I want to get to know you. I want to own you. I want you to be mine.”

“I’m a passing fascination.”

“You’re scrappy, but I’m not letting you fight me. Not about this.” I trail my fingers down her side and enjoy her little shiver. “You’re not letting yourself feel how powerful this is.” I reach her hip and sweep inward. “Your body knows.”

“That’s hormones.”

“Is it?” I slip my hand between her legs. She widens her stance. I delve my fingers into the wet heat between her legs. “You’re soaked, Em. You ever been wet like this before?”

She lifts her chin. “Yes.”

My chuckle gusts between us. She’s always forgetting how well I can read her. “With anyone but me?”

Her mouth forms a mutinous line.

I circle her clit. “Your subconscious knows what you keep resisting.”

Her eyes glaze over. “And what’s that?”

I lick a drop of water off her cheek. “That this pussy is mine.” I push through her seam and shove a finger inside. So fucking wet. A moan leaves her. “Those sounds are mine. Every single time you shout a name when you come, it’ll be mine.” My mouth hovers right above hers. “Because you are mine.”

Her eyelids flutter against the rhythm I set with my thumb and finger. “Yes.”

Desire clouds my own thoughts, but not all of them. She was right about the hormone thing. She’ll give herself to me over and over. That’s when she’ll come close to admitting how right we are. The rest of the time, that beautiful mind of hers will get in the way.

There’s nothing I can do about that now. I maneuver her against the wall of the shower. Using one hand, I lift a leg so I can stick my cock where I fit the best. I keep working her clit as I enter her.

“Lane,” she groans. She hangs on and hooks her ankles around me, trapping my hand between us.

It doesn’t take long. The time between the valley overlook and now has been an eternity. I need her, and she goddamn needs me.

“Your cunt fits me like a glove.” I pump harder.

Within seconds, we’re both shattering. My feet slip an inch on the floor of the shower, but I grip her harder. She convulses between me and the wall, water raining down on us, keeping us warm.

She bucks one last time, and I take my finger off her clit. We’ll have to separate eventually. I’ll finish my shower. Then we’ll join the outside world, where she’ll keep trying to convince herself that she’s not perfect for me. For now, I’ll hang on to her a little longer.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Emerson

Hillary runs through Cruz’s backyard, playing fetch with his corgi, Rufus. She’s laughing and giggling and running after the ball as much as the dog is.

Brooks stands in the corner of the porch, watching her with a content, yet wistful look on his face. He’s looking like my teen older brother in his jeans and T-shirt. The cowboy boots he bought shortly after he arrived are clean but no longer brand-new looking. He’s been working outside every day, fixing fence, repairing equipment, and trying to make the property more habitable than before.

“Looks like you’re in the market for a dog, my dude.” Cruz flips the burgers. He’s got the same working cowboy appearance. Lane too.

Brooks grunts and shakes his head. “I was hoping to ease into country life more, but she’s diving headfirst.”

Our food is laid out on a long table and covered, but Cruz and Elodie are relaxed hosts. She’s kicked back in a chair at the round table opposite Brooks, her shorts and loose shirt more summery than country. I don’t feel like I stick out around her, sitting in the back between the table and the railing. Lane is next to me, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Cruz shooed him from the grill and told him to take a seat and not be in charge for once.

So Cruz sees what I do as well.

The orgasm from earlier hums through my veins. I shouldn’t have done that, but I can’t bring myself to forget it. It’s pointless to do anything else but enjoy the night and try not to think about his announcement.

Everything I do revolves around you, and I’m not sorry about that.

How can a simple sentence like that reach the deepest parts of me? How can it shine a light where it’s been so dark?