Free Cowboy at Midnight by Ann Major

you.” She continued to trace the line of his jaw with the back of herhands with such tenderness his heart ached. What was it about her that made him feel so much so intensely so fast? They’d just had sex. He barely knew her, and he never wanted to let her go.
    He grabbed her hand and wove his fingers through hers. “Sally,” he murmured. “Sally.” Then he kissed her fingers, one by one.
    When he led her into the bedroom, he knelt on the floor while she sat on the bed. Together they removed her boots. Then he ripped off the spread and pulled back the covers, and they got into his bed, snuggling closer and closer until their bodies fit perfectly and they were spooning. Inside her or outside her, no woman had ever felt so right.
    She began to caress him, and soon her featherlight fingertips tracing the length of his spine had him buzzing. When he reached for her, she pushed his arms gently down on the sheets.
    â€œMy turn. I…I want to be in control this time. It’s very important to me.”
    He gazed at her across his pillow. Again he was aware of those ghosts haunting her.
    â€œAll right. Since you took off your boots.”
    She smiled. Then she began stroking the tip of his erection with her hand until he jumped every time she touched him, until he felt spirals of ever-hotter fire radiating throughout his body. Soon he was breathing hard and could think of nothing but burying himself inside her. Still those silky, warm fingers kept making those slow, erotic circles.
    More than anything he wanted to grab her hand, to force her to squeeze him harder, to rush her.
    But he didn’t. Aw, hell. He thought surely he would die a thousand little deaths before she finally kissed him on the mouth and opened her lips. When finally she climbed on top of him and straddled him, he tore another plastic package open—as a tiny hint. When she took the condom from him and put it on him, it was all he could do not to lose control.
    She laughed at his throaty moan and pushed her bottom down on top of him. Again she was tight and soft and warm and a perfect fit. When he started to pump, she splayed her hands against his chest and whispered, “No! My turn…”
    He groaned.
    â€œYou promised.”
    â€œI’m dying here, darlin’.”
    â€œOh no, you’re not. You’re very very much alive.”
    Then she began sliding slowly up and down on top of him, bouncing rhythmically, her own rhythm though, not his, and not quite at the speed he longed for, either.
    Still, it was great. He liked her long golden hair brushing his throat and shoulders. He liked the way she was crooning to herself and the way she seemed to be enjoying herself so much she stretched these moments of ecstasy into a long, feverish, almost unendurable and yet ever-so-delicious agony for them both.
    Finally the building pressure inside him was so fierce he had to close his eyes, clench his teeth and knot the sheets with his fists to wait for her. Somehow, and just barely, he hung on even when the desire for release lit every nerve in his male being. He felt like a bomb one instant before it detonated. She made second after second tick by—pulse beats of delicious wanting, wanting, wanting this gorgeous woman with an intensity that he’d never known before.
    When the explosion came, it was mutual. She screamed and clung, and he damn sure embarrassed himself by doing the same.
    Afterward, when she continued to clutch him, crying softly against his chest, he felt big and manly—protective. When their bodies cooled and he’d kissed away her tears, he couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go. For a long time while she slept, he held her, staring at the ceiling.
    Something cataclysmic had just happened in his life. Never before had he felt so utterly completed by a woman. Not even by Madison.
    Not even close.
    A great tenderness for the woman in his arms welled inside him. He knew