Chapter 23
Kade
Becca barks excitedly as I place my hand on Briana’s lower back, walking her to my front door. The moment we enter, my dog waits for her mandatory pat, then trots off to the kibble cabinet.
All at once, I see everything through a woman’s eyes. The last time she was here, it didn’t matter. Now, the sagging couch with the stained rug scream thrift store. If I had half a brain, I would’ve asked my sister to feed Becca and booked us a swanky room by the ski areas.
“Sorry,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “Not much of a decorator.”
While Briana scans the layout, her smile mimics my barely-contained desire. “You're kidding, right? Compared to my tent, this place is practically a palace.”
The old me wants her out—away from my space, my stuff, my mess. It’s too intimate. Too exposed. My cock votes otherwise. Vehemently. Show her the bedroom, dickwad. Do you wanna get lucky or what?
Holy crap. Now I’m arguing with an appendage. Can’t get more screwed up than that.
Thankfully, she’s already moved on to opening the cabinets like she owns the place. “Mac and cheese?” Bree says, holding up a box. “Can we?”
A man would be nuts not to love such a self-sufficient woman. “Sure. Knowing how well you take direction, perhaps I should do the honors?”
“Ha ha.” My guest rolls her eyes. “I think I can handle boiling some water.”
Before she can turn to the stove, I step in.
Caged between my arms, her breath hitches while she licks her lips. “What are we doing here?”
“Pretty sure we’re about to have sex.” Gazes locked, I position myself until we’re closer, but not quite touching.
“This is a terrible idea.” Her pupils dilate.
“The worst.” As my lower half presses tighter, her voice dips to a whisper.
“Promise you won’t regret it?”
“Pinkie swear.”
“Deal.” When Briana curls her littlest digit around mine, I crash my mouth onto hers. No thinking, no talking, just instinct.
She takes the lead, nimble fingers working my uniform buttons. Once she’s done, I break the kiss just long enough to yank her T-shirt over her head.
Our mouths meet again, hungrier than before. My tongue plunges between her lips. As she sucks it in response, my fingers grip her hips. Eager, determined, she fumbles at my belt.
Moments later, my khakis and briefs pool on the floor. Hell, I’m nearly naked and all I’ve managed is getting her top off.
“Slow down, Flygirl.”
“Nuh-uh. Not happening.” Her silky brown locks fly as she shakes her head. “Your phone’s gonna ring any second. I’m not taking that chance.”
My quick, sharp laugh fades when she tugs down her bra.
“You’re so damn beautiful.” Dropping to my knees, I worship her body on my way to her waistband.
She kicks off her shoes while I slide down her slacks—and gasp. Right in front of me, she’s pink, swollen, wet. Ready.
“Commando, huh?” I swallow hard over the thick, hot lump in my throat.
“Had to save money.”
“No complaints here.”
Standing, I lift her to the countertop. Thighs wide, hair wild, she leans back on her elbows— my every fantasy come true.
I must stare for too long because she rises onto one palm, tugs my beard, and growls, “Move it, Sheriff.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Chuckling, I lower my mouth to her inner thigh.
A kiss. A nip. A tease. I make my way to her glistening pearl.
She’s so close—one deep, lingering pull, shatters her.
“Kade!” She trembles as she slides to the edge of her perch.
With her thighs clamped around my waist, she reaches between us, guiding me to her entrance. The second I’m planted, she slams down, riding me hard.
If I thought I was in control, I was dead wrong. All I can do is grip her ass, slam her against the cabinets, and match her wild rhythm.
Buried to the hilt—I have no strategy, no thought. Just raw, desperate need. Harder, higher, I climb. Glutes clenched, my balls draw tight. Nirvana hovers, just out of reach—
Oh, God. My knees buckle as pleasure tears through me. It starts at my spine, then detonates from my tip. Once. Twice. Three, four times.
Holy fuck. I’ve never felt anything like this—mind-numbing, addictive, terrifying.
Somehow, I manage to pull out.
Flushed, gloriously sex-mussed, she unlocks her ankles and plants her feet on the floor. No regrets, no apologies, a wicked grin spreads across her face.
“Damn, Sheriff, you sure know how to handle your weapon.”
“How about a little more target practice—after a shower?” I try not to sound too hopeful—but hell.
She laughs, eyes gleaming. “Works for me. You sure you’ve got it in you, old man?”
I flash a grin. “How about you be the judge—see if my bullet hits the mark.”