Free For Love of a Cowboy by Yvonne Lindsay - For Love of a Cowboy Page B

the deep sash window, casting her bed in soft inviting light.
    Booth removed his Stetson and went to put it on the bed.
    “No,” she said softly, taking it from him and putting it on the chest of drawers pressed up against the wall. “Bad luck.”
    “You’re worried about luck at a time like this?”
    His voice was gravel and need so strong it made her go weak at the knees. Willow smiled. “We might squash it.”
    Booth pulled her to him, his mouth curving into a half smile. “Now that would be bad luck,” he said before bending down to kiss her again.
    Willow couldn’t help it, she moaned. Booth caught the sound with his lips, teasing hers, enticing her to open up to him even more. She couldn’t get enough of him. Her hands were busy, yanking his shirt from the waistband of his jeans and shoving it up so she could plant her hands on his skin.
    He was so hot he almost burned her. She skimmed her hands across those perfect abs she’d felt before, wanting to take her time to feel each indent, each sculpted swell of muscle—no city gym for this man, he was raw hard-honed cowboy all the way—but a demanding sense of urgency drove her to hurry. Her legs buckled, making her fall onto the bed. She pulled him along with her.
    Booth pushed her knitted cotton top up over her rib cage. She felt ridiculously tiny beneath his big strong work-worn hands, and deliciously turned on at the same time. She arched upwards as his hands found her breasts again, as he gently kneaded them before pulling at her nipples with determined fingers. Another jolt of pure need shafted through her, making her tremble, making her wet, making her want him with a craving that eclipsed anything she’d ever experienced before.
    “You feel so good,” he ground out against her mouth. “So very good.”
    His hands left her and she cried out in protest, only to swallow her words as he shifted lower and his mouth, hot and wet, closed around one aching aureole. She nearly came on the spot. The intense pull from deep inside of her built and built until she knew that all it would take was a single touch from him, that tiniest pressure on her clit, and she’d be over the edge.
    The roughness of his unshaven jaw rasped over her tender skin, leaving it hypersensitive to the softness of his breath, the rasp of his tongue. She clenched her thighs together, tightening all her lower muscles, desperate to reach the peak that her body promised her was so very close.
    “You racing ahead of me?” he asked, lifting his head and looking up at her.
    His eyes were glazed like rain-washed slate—desire making his pupils full and dilated, and leaving a flush staining the line of his cheekbones.
    “I can’t help it,” she answered. “You’re driving me there.”
    “Then let’s slow things down a little.”
    His voice was rough and she felt the strain in his body as he reached to stroke his hands over her breasts once more, playing again with her nipples, rubbing the tightly beaded peaks with the palms of his broad hands. The tide of desire that flooded her ebbed and flowed with his touch. Never receding enough to be comfortable yet not quite reaching that frantic point of no return, either.
    “Let’s get this off you,” he said, helping her up slightly so he could remove her top completely.
    He kissed a trail from her jawbone to her neck, and down across her collarbone. His tongue dipping and darting in the hollows at the base of her throat, before he trailed lower once more. Then his hands were at the snap of her shorts and pulling down the zipper. She lifted her hips to assist him in dragging them from her as he kissed a trail down between her ribs to her belly button. He flicked at the indentation with his tongue, swirling around and around it. His fingers were at the waistband of her panties, tugging them down, finally exposing her to his gaze, to his touch.
    He paused a moment, nuzzling the trimmed thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs, his breath hot