The sight of her breasts in the lacy white bra, the pretty bloom warming her flesh, and rise and fall of her chest as she regards me—all of it unravels me. It banishes my reasoning, and everything else becomes an insignificant blur in the backdrop of her beauty.
All that matters is touching her, kissing her, and stripping that lacy obstacle from her body. I fumble with the clasps, trying not to shred the damn bra from her body, but the fastenings are too small and intricate. My hands are made for bucking hay, working heavy machinery, and driving cattle. Not delicate hooks on lace.
She laughs at me as I unlock the fastenings and toss the bra. Her tits fill my view, round and rosy. So fucking stunning. I have to remind myself to breathe.
When she reaches for me, I remember why we’re here and catch her wrists in my hands. Her rising panic is immediate—rasping breaths, trembling chin, and stiffening neck.
“Talk to me.” I tighten my grip, aching to draw her heaving tits into my mouth.
“Don’t stop.”
Christ, I love this girl. My pulse accelerates as I shift around her.
With her head angled toward the fence beneath the saddle, I gather her arms in one hand and raise them toward the hanging saddle strap.
“I’m binding your wrists.” I wind the leather strap once, twice, and tuck it through, leaving it nice and loose. “A hard pull and your hands will slip free.”
“Okay.” Her voice creaks, and tremors quake along her limbs.
She’s been home for five days, and we’ve spent that time focused on her trauma related to me and her dad. We have yet to ride out to the ravine or discuss the details of the rape.
I keep a close eye on her distress as I move along her body, touching her curves, teasing her flesh, and chasing away her fear. The hour-glass shape of her waist, the crescent curves of her breasts, and the ticklish terrain of her flat stomach—she’s a quivering, panting meadow of silky skin and temptation.
She moans as I caress her nipples, melts as I glide fingertips along her abs, and sighs as I remove her panties.
Kneeling between her legs, I cup the backs of her thighs and spread her open. It’s been three years since I tasted her in that barn. Six years since I’ve rested my gaze on her auburn triangle and tight pink pussy.
Excitement buzzes through my nerve endings, and I give myself a moment to soak her in.
“Jake.” She wriggles beneath my attention.
I travel my gaze up her body and find her watching me with the look she used to give me when we were younger, the one that tunnels so deeply into the core of me it unlaces my self-restraint, stitch by stitch.
Lowering to the ground, I settle into the apex of her toned thighs and inhale her sweetness. My cock swells and throbs, threatening to explode.
“I don’t want to be gagged.” Her eyes don’t move from mine. “Ever. Promise me.”
“You have my word.” I turn my head and bite her thigh, eliciting a yelp from her. “I love your sexy little sounds too much.”
“What else do you like? I know what turns you on when we kiss and when I used to…give you head. But when it comes to sex…” She nibbles on her lip. “We’ve only done it the one time, and it was dark and loud.” She coughs. “And quick.”
“Yeah, it was fucking quick.” I give her thigh another nip. “I was an amped-up virgin with the most beautiful woman in the world on my cock.”
Her eyes soften. “I love that I was your first.”
“Me, too.” I trail my nose along her slick slit, indulging myself as I consider her question.
What else do you like? She’s asking about my turn-ons. Because it’s in her nature to please. Because she’s thinking about the future.
Our future.
“Clearly, you’re into bondage.” She gives the leather strap a light tug.
“Bondage, yes.” I lick her clit. “And choking. Spanking. Dominating.” I bury my face and curl my tongue through her folds, delighting in the flutter of her lashes. “Anal.”
“No.” Her gaze snaps to mine. “Anal is a hard no.”
I keep my eyes on hers and push a finger deep inside her pussy, swirling and lubricating. She tracks the movement of my hand, twitching, as I slide it back and press against her tight ring of muscle.
“Jake. Please.” She clenches her ass, but something flashes in her eyes. Something heated and lustful.
Other than me, Miles York is the only man she’s willingly had sex with. After the conversation I overheard on the porch, I know she didn’t allow him anywhere near her ass.
“Relax.” I press in my finger to the first knuckle, not deep enough to cause discomfort. “That’s as far as I’ll go tonight.”
The tension in her legs slackens, and she blows out a breath. “I don’t want to ever experience that kind of pain again.”