Page 17 of July’s Cowboy Dallas

“Because if I touch you,” I said, “I'm not sure I'll stop when I'm supposed to.”

Her breath hitched. Then she closed the distance between us. Her hand fisted my shirt, and she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed me.

I froze.

One second.

Two.

Then I kissed her back.

And fuck. It wasn't gentle. Wasn't careful. It was years of wanting and waiting all burning away in the press of her mouth against mine. She tasted like salt and sun and something sweet underneath, and I was done pretending I could resist her.

My hands found her thick hips and pulled her against me like I could absorb her into my skin. She made a sound that was low and hungry, then her fingers were in my hair, her body arching into mine, and I was ruined.

This wasn't just want. This was need. And I'd been starving for it.

The alley wall was rough against my back as Sadie pressed me into it, her mouth never leaving mine. Her hands were everywhere from my shoulders, to my chest, and then to my belt, like she couldn’t decide what to grab first.

I groaned into the kiss, my fingers digging into her hips, pulling her flush against me. The heat of her, the weight of her, it was too much and not enough all at once.

She broke away just long enough to gasp, “We shouldn’t⁠—”

“I know.”

Then her lips were on mine again, and I didn’t give a damn about shouldn’t.

The rodeo noise blurred into static. The scent of hay and leather and her—something floral, sweet and warm—filled my head until there wasn’t room for anything but Sadie. I filed away every moment: the way her breath hitched when my thumb brushed the hem of her shirt and the way her nails scraped my scalp when I tangled a hand in her hair.

I turned us, reversing our positions, pinning her against the wall instead. Her back arched, her chest rising fast, and I dropped my mouth to her throat. When I bit down just enough to make her gasp, her fingers clenched in my hair like she was holding on for dear life.

“Dallas—”

“Tell me to stop.”

She didn’t.

Instead, her legs parted, her thigh hiking up against my hip, and I lost what little control I had left. My hand slid under her shirt, my palm finding bare skin, hot and smooth. She shuddered, her head falling back against the wood with a thud.

“Fuck,” she breathed.

“Yeah.”

I kissed her again, deeper this time, my tongue sweeping into her mouth like I’d never get enough. She met me stroke for stroke, her hips rolling against mine. I was hard as hell, aching, but I didn’t rush. Not when she was making sounds like that. Not when her fingers were fumbling with my belt buckle, her breath coming in sharp little gasps every time I dragged my teeth over her collarbone.

The first button of her jeans gave way under my fingers. Then the zipper. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

My vision went white.

“Sadie.” Her name came out rough. I slid my hand into her jeans, my fingers finding her wet and ready, and she moaned, her nails digging into my shoulders.

“More,” she demanded.

I gave her more.

I slid two fingers inside her, my thumb circling just where she needed it most. She came apart with a broken cry, her body clenching around me. I swallowed the sound with my mouth, my free hand gripping her hip to keep her steady as she trembled.

Before she could catch her breath, I had her jeans down her thighs, her boots kicked aside. I dropped to my knees in the dirt, my hands on her ass, and buried my face between her legs.