Chapter 9 #2
Maybe there was something to be said for having him be her first kiss, actually. Like cleaning your teeth really well before going to the dentist, or something. Gaining a little bit of experience before she was with the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
That felt jumbled up. Wrong, and yet part of her wanted to go ahead anyway.
“I’ve over-thought this,” he said, his voice hoarse.
He reached his hand out and brushed his thumb along her lower lip. “It’s the only reason I haven’t touched you yet.”
“This is touching,” she whispered.
“Oh, honey. You wouldn’t say that if you knew all the ways I could touch you. This would be nothing. Not even a blip on the radar.”
He moved away from her then. He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t extend the moment.
Her heart was beating so hard, she thought she might fall over.
“West …”
“Don’t. Just don’t.”
Her heart continued to throb as she got Stardust ready, mounted her, and then took off like a bat out of hell. She didn’t need to linger with West.
She got to the arena well before him, her heart thundering in her ears, and her hands trembling just slightly.
She heard the sound of West’s horse as he followed her. “Today is choreography. We are going to play a little bit of music.”
And from then it was Christmas carols, physical exertion, and a longing that was building and building inside her.
He would give her a set of moves to do, and she would do them. Then they began to piece everything together.
If something about her form was wrong, he would ride up beside her, give her fierce instruction.
“You’re the boss,” she gritted out as she extended her reach on a move.
“That’s right,” he said, his firm, decisive tone lighting a flame in the center of her belly that she couldn’t find a way to extinguish.
What was wrong with her?
Or maybe, what was right with her?
She genuinely didn’t know.
She was leaving on her trip with Dalton in two days. Two days.
Yet she was enormously wound up over this man.
Everything he said and did was like a prelude to something else. Something they were both trying to keep themselves from.
Why was he holding back?
That question made her brain stall out for a moment. Because it would be one thing if he just didn’t want her. That wouldn’t have surprised her. If he didn’t feel anything after that moment yesterday, or any of the moments before or since.
But he had made it clear in his text last night that he did. He did want her. Wanted to kiss her. Wanted to touch her.
He had said that he did. But he seemed to be holding himself at a distance.
He was … he was supposed to be a seducer of innocents. A bad boy on a whole other level, and yet he wasn’t acting that way toward her.
Likely because of Jessie Jane. Who would skin him alive if he stepped out of line, Cassidy imagined.
That was the painful thing. She wondered if everybody was just going to protect her to death. At least West didn’t coddle her.
West thought Dalton was jealous, and yet he hadn’t made a decisive move. Instead, he was hitting on some redhead in the bar. West claimed to want to kiss her, but he was protecting himself from the wrath of his sister. It seemed she wasn’t a big enough draw to spur either of them to action.
That realization had depressed her last night, and it felt depressing now. Even if she shouldn’t have any thoughts about West whatsoever.
But she did. A lot of them.
She needed to stop. West’s restraint was a good thing.
For both of them. Because he was right. She would’ve kissed him yesterday.
She would’ve kissed him today too. And it would have been stupid.
Kissing West would be a betrayal of what she felt for Dalton.
It would be embracing the worst parts of herself, commonalities she had with a mother who didn’t love her and a dad who had never met her.
She didn’t want to emulate either of her parents. She wanted what her brothers had. She wanted a real, everlasting sort of love. It was worth waiting for that. She knew it.
Dalton had been the one man she had wanted all this time. West was just a novelty. He had indicated interest, and it … Maybe she was just flattered.
Maybe.
“That’s enough,” he said, reining his horse to a stop beside her, breathing hard. “The only thing we’re going to add is a trick where I swing you onto my horse and we ride out together. But we’ll do that later. It’s not hard. You’ve got the difficult stuff down.”
She nodded. But she was imagining what that last trick would entail. West putting his arms around her and lifting her onto his mount.
It made her feel warm. Restless. It brought her back to her earlier weakness, and she had to wonder if that was why he was avoiding it. Because it was a bad idea for both of them. A very, very bad idea.
“Great. We’ll reconvene after my trip.”
“Yep. Your trip with Dalton.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Looking at horses?”
“Yes,” she said, maneuvering Stardust out of the arena with West following close behind her. “I’m good with horses.”
“I’ve noticed.”
A compliment.
Pretty ass.
The problem was, now she knew he might mean the compliment. The words slid beneath her skin like a knife’s blade making a quick, decisive cut.
She shook the thought off.
“Thanks.”
They rode on in silence, and when they got to the stable, they didn’t talk.
She took off Stardust’s bridle, her saddle. Checked her hooves. Gave her a brushing. Across the stable, West was doing the same for his horse.
When the animals were put away, she could feel his gaze on hers. She looked at him, those ice-blue eyes on fire.
His jaw was set in a grim line. He looked at her, moving toward her. Everything inside her went still.
“Is that your only plan for the trip?”
“What are you talking about?”
He took a step toward her, and she stepped back, her shoulder blades hitting the wall. “Are you going to fuck him?”
She curled her hands into fists, doing her best not to betray just how much those words affected her. The way they sent an arrow of shocked, shameful pleasure down between her legs.
Not because they made her think about being with Dalton that way. But because hearing that word come out of West’s mouth felt dangerous. Erotic in a way she couldn’t quite explain.
“I don’t know.”
“If he wants to?”
“Then yes.”
Her legs felt weak. Shaky.
West shook his head. “That’s a shame.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t want him.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Really? Then how come you’ve known him for so many years and it isn’t like this between you and me?”
His words battered the brick wall inside her, sent a flood of unexamined feelings roaring through her like an angry ocean.
“It’s not … because. Because of how long I’ve known him.”
“Right. Well. At least you have a good story for it.” He took another step toward her, and her breasts began to feel heavy, her nipples tightening, and she was afraid for a second he would be able to see the hard points through her shirt.
She wanted to cover herself. Not just her body, but her face, which she was sure was bright red, betraying her feelings.
Could he feel the intensity of her beating heart?
Could he sense the throb of desire between her legs?
“Cassidy Wilder,” he said. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
She could only stare at him, mouth open. She didn’t have a smart rejoinder. He was giving her a warning. She could say no. She could move out of the way. But all she could think of was the text he had sent her.
If I tried to kiss you, you wouldn’t stop me.
She wasn’t going to stop him. That was the last thought she had as he closed the distance between them, as he lowered his head and claimed her mouth with his.
It was like being caught up in a storm. As if all the air had been sucked from her body. As if every thought, every shred of resistance had been captured and carried away on the treacherous wind.
His mouth was hot. Harder than she would’ve imagined, more demanding than she had thought possible.
It wasn’t a slow easing in; it wasn’t an introduction. It was a claiming. He parted her lips with his, slid his tongue against hers, the friction slick and glorious, making that need between her legs intensify.
He pushed her back more firmly against the wall, his hard chest firm against her breasts, his large hands holding her hips so tight she was sure he would leave behind bruises in the shapes of his fingertips. She wasn’t mad.
Not at all.
She arched against him, and he shifted, wedging his thigh between her legs and dragging her forward, so that the needy, greedy place between her legs was held firm against his thigh.
She began to move her hips in time with the stroke of his tongue in her mouth.
Her need swelled inside her, so big she couldn’t fight it. So desperate she couldn’t deny it.
He let his hands drift up her waist, one coming to cup her breast, his thumb finding her tight nipple quickly, easily. He had seen. But it didn’t scare her now. She wanted him to know. She arched into his palm, following the trail her erotic need was leaving for her. She could scarcely breathe.
He separated his mouth from hers and trailed kisses down her neck, her collarbone.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“That’s right,” he whispered against her skin. “Come all over me.”
Then he kissed her again, his tongue delving deep, and he swallowed the scream that took her by surprise as her climax ripped through her body, his command sending her over the edge.
I’m the boss of you.