Wyoming Strong

It was obvious that she hadn’t had a lover who knew what to do with her. He shouldn’t be touching her, of course. He was only going to make things worse.

While he was considering that, his head was bending. He brushed his open mouth over hers, tenderly parting her lips. It was like that day in the pasture when he’d pulled her off the horse, terrified that she was going to kill herself. He hadn’t been able to get her shy response out of his mind. It haunted him.

He reminded himself that innocence could be faked. Ysera had taught him that.

His fingers stroked up and down her long throat, making her breath jerk, while his mouth gently explored her soft lips.

He was damaged. So was she, in some sort of way. Perhaps the man she’d taken away from her mother had been rough with her. He scowled, remembering that she’d sent a man to prison for being intimate with her. It disturbed him.

He lifted his head and looked into her wide, fascinated eyes. His own narrowed as the heat began to build in him. It had been a long time. Too long. He wanted her. He hated himself for it.

His big hand slid down over her breast and cupped it, teasing the nipple with a forefinger until it went hard, and her body stiffened.

That was when he lost it. His mouth crushed down over hers in a fever of hunger. She tasted like honey. Her body was warm and soft in his arms. He turned her, so that her breasts were crushed against his shirt. He groaned, on fire to have her.

She wanted to protest. But the feel of his mouth on hers was drugging her. She clung to him, whimpering softly as she felt her body begin to swell. She’d never felt anything like this, never wanted so much to have a man’s mouth on hers, demanding and insistent. She wasn’t even afraid. That was a first.

He stood up, with her in his arms, and his eyes were flashing like blue lightning. He couldn’t think past relief. He could put her down on the sofa in the next room, smooth his aching body on top of hers. He could jerk those tight jeans off and go into her, hard and fast, make her scream with pleasure.

Except that it was broad daylight, and he could see Ysera’s face, mocking, laughing. He was a weakling, she taunted while he died in her arms, a weakling who couldn’t control his desire, who looked ridiculous when his face went rigid, when his body corded over hers as he drove for satisfaction...

He shuddered.

Sara saw nightmares in his pale eyes. She’d been uneasy when he picked her up, afraid of what he might intend. They were alone, and she wasn’t really sure when Gabriel might come home. She’d never tried to be intimate with anyone. There were reasons why she might not be able to at all, and one was very physical, a reason she was too shy to speak of, especially to a man like Wolf Patterson.

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