Twins For The Rebel Cowboy. Sasha Summers
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lips parted hers, the tip of his tongue touching hers. Her fingers dug into his leather jacket, clinging. His mouth lifted from hers, the rough pad of his thumb brushing across her lower lip.
Ryder. She was all hot and bothered. Over Ryder.
“Ready to go, Princess?” Ryder’s voice was gruff.
She shook her head, trying to shake the fog of desire from her brain. Why wasn’t he kissing her anymore? Wait. What the hell was happening?
“Princess?” he repeated.
Right, he was asking her something. “‘Go’?” she managed, staring up at Ryder. Was he serious? And if he was, did he mean what she thought he meant? They may have flirted for years, years and years, but he’d never touched her. Besides, it would have been weird, since he was Greg’s best friend.
“She’s not going anywhere.” Troy spoke up. “We just made a bet, didn’t we, Annabeth?” Troy might be grinning, but he wasn’t happy. The change in his stance was subtle but clear. Troy was bracing for a fight.
And Ryder was ready. His sky-blue gaze fixed on Troy, the slightest tick in his jaw muscle revealing his agitation. She shivered, stepping closer to Ryder warily.
Ryder’s hands rubbed her arms, his attention returning to her. He arched an eyebrow, smiling his I’m-going-to-rock-your-world-tonight smile at her. She’d seen it in action, many times. Not that she’d ever been on the receiving end of it...before. Was he serious? Or was she having a reaction to the tequila?
“What’s it gonna be, Princess?” His lips brushed her brow while his fingers threaded through hers. “You want to finish your game? Or you ready to go?”
His scent filled her nostrils, further clouding her mind. She blinked, the slightest tremble running down her spine. “Now?”
He bounced his eyebrows playfully, his gaze focused on her mouth. “Now.”
And then he kissed her again. It wasn’t a soft, slow sort of kiss, either. He twisted her hair through his fingers, tugging her head back as his mouth devoured hers. She went from light-headed to holding on for dear life. His breath, his tongue, his soft little growl as he deepened the kiss. She was drowning and she loved it.
He broke off slowly, breathing hard. He seemed just as stunned as she was. Could he want her the way she was wanting him? “Ready?” His voice was gruff.
She managed a nod. She was ready. Until this second, she hadn’t realized just how ready she was. And never in a million years had she expected to do this with Ryder. But now, yes please, she was ready.
“Night, boys.” Ryder touched the brim of his cowboy hat in mock salute, threw some cash on the bar, slid his arm around her waist and led her to the door.
It was frigid outside, but all she felt was the slow burn in her belly and the startling heat of Ryder’s palm against her side. By the time he’d loaded her into his truck and climbed up beside her, Annabeth was buzzing with anticipation. She didn’t think about why he’d decided tonight was the night or what might happen tomorrow. Nope, she climbed into his lap, knocked his black felt hat into the backseat, cradled his face between her hands and kissed him. It had been so long...so damn long. And she was lonely.
Ryder was Ryder. She’d never thought about having a hot one-night stand but, if she was going to, Ryder was probably the best candidate. He knew what he was doing, according to his conquests, and he didn’t want complications.
“Princess,” he growled.
“Shh,” she answered, sliding her hands under his shirt to feel the rock-hard abs beneath. She shivered, frantically sliding his belt free and unbuttoning his pants. “I need this, Ryder. I need you.”
* * *
RYDER HAD TO stop this.
Seeing Annabeth with Troy Clark, knowing the way Clark operated, had goaded him into action. He was running on a couple hours of sleep, so he wasn’t in the best condition for a fight. Kissing Annabeth seemed...easier. Clark was an ass, but he’d back off if he thought Annabeth was with Ryder. Ryder never guessed she’d react this way—that he’d react this way.
This was Annabeth. The Annabeth who’d defended him from bullies in first grade. The Annabeth who’d helped him with hours of English homework. The Annabeth he’d taught to drive stick. The Annabeth who’d married his best friend. She was Greg’s widow—off-limits, the “princess.” She was a good girl, too good for him—and always would be. He had no right to touch her.
But she said she needed this, needed him.
And, damn him, he’d always wanted her.
Her hands slipped into his hair, tugging frantically. He groaned, pressing her to him, savoring the feel of her. One hand slipped beneath her sweater, greedily cupping her full breast. The weight of it in his palm made him moan. She shook, a broken little sob spilling into the cold air. It was his kiss she craved, grasping the back of his neck and pulling him closer. And his touch that made her breathing hitch and her entire body tremble. He watched, letting her move against him. She was lost, pulling his hair, eyes closed, her long neck arched back as she came apart on his lap.
His heart was pounding. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Hair a mess, lips swollen. His fingers traced the seam of her mouth as she sighed, her arms wrapping around his neck. He couldn’t wait. His hands were relentless—stroking, touching, pushing her long skirt past her thighs to her waist. With one tug, her underwear ripped free. Nothing separated them. And he couldn’t wait. She was warm, encasing him deep inside her. Her ragged whisper of “Oh Ryder” drove him on.
His hands slid up her back, the silk of her skin and the brush of her soft curves inflaming him. He smoothed her hair back, his hands exploring her body, her curves, her softness. His nose brushed along the length of her neck, inhaling her scent. His lips latched on to her earlobe, making her gasp. Her hands moved up his chest, sliding along his shoulders to cradle his head. She arched against him, groaning hoarsely as they fit more deeply together. It was her groan that struck some sort of primal chord inside him. All at once, she was everywhere, holding him, overwhelming his senses. He gritted his teeth, fighting for control as she lost herself in the passion. Her body bowed, every inch of her tightening around him.
Her release sent him over the edge. His climax hit hard, rocking him from his boots to every hair on his head. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think... All he could do was hold on. He gripped her hips, desperate to keep her tight against him. Even when it was over, he couldn’t ease his hold on her, couldn’t let her go—he didn’t want to. He wanted to etch the feel of her, the smell of her, into his mind before she slipped away. His hands tangled in her hair as he kissed her. He’d do whatever he could to hold on to this intimacy before the reality of what had happened sank in.
Annabeth ended the kiss, shaking her head. “Ryder...” she gasped, her voice unsteady.
How could he make this better? He smoothed her hair, but couldn’t look at her. He didn’t know what to do. But he knew he needed to do something.
“Ryder?” There was already regret in her voice, he heard it.
“Annabeth—” But that was all he managed to whisper. What could he say? He was banging his dead best friend’s wife in the cab of his truck. His head fell back against the seat. He’d ruined everything—like he always did. “Shit,” he murmured, still gasping for breath. As soon as the word slipped out, he knew he’d sent the situation from bad to worse.
She tried to climb off his lap but wavered, her skirts pinned beneath him. He caught her, cradling her close and breathing in her scent. He wasn’t used to feeling uncertainty, or panic. But something about her pushing away from him, almost as if she couldn’t bear his touch, filled him with bone-deep loss. He pulled her skirts free and let her go, watching her smooth her clothing into place. She sat stiffly at the end of the bench seat, looking just as dazed and confused as he felt.
He started