Braving The Storm: An Age Gap, Cowboy Romance (Crimson Ridge Book 2)
Braving The Storm: Chapter 33

“What is this?” I pant against Storm’s mouth as he carries me wrapped around him through the house. Somehow, we always seem to go from zero to a hundred in the blink of an eye. “What are we even doing?”

He sets me down, then roughly tugs my sweater over my head.

I allow him to do so, making no effort to stop where things are headed, even though the rational part of my brain is still protesting out loud. As the material pulls free of my hair, it leaves my eyes bouncing rapidly, taking in our surroundings.

We’re now in a part of the house that is a very fancy, fully tiled, modern bathroom.

“What am I to you?” My gaze fixes on his handsomeness, filling the space in front of where he’s seated me beside the handbasin. Is there any chance this man feels as deeply for me as I do for him?

“Does it matter?”

“After everything we just shared? I think it does now.” I’m in so fucking deep; this is the moment I’ve been dreading. The part where he realizes I’m not worth the hassle being with me will undoubtedly bring to his life.

His business. His livelihood. What would revealing our true connection do to all of that? I’ll undoubtedly ruin it all, just like I always do for anyone who has the misfortune of getting close, then this man is going to hate me just as deeply as everyone else in my life does.

Storm fists my hair, yanking my head back. “You’re mine. You belong to me, darlin’.”

That sharp tug sends a straight line to my pussy.

“Is that enough assurance for you?” His voice is low and gritty, churning my body into a fiery need for him.

“Where have you been hiding this sparkling art of conversation?” I toss him an exaggerated roll of my eyes. Absolutely being the brat because right now, this scalding tension between us feels like it’s about to boil over. “All those years of dating, and those are the best sentiments you can come up with?”

The man in front of me makes a rough noise, his eyes flashing with something entirely dangerous for my health. He’s sinfully hot, ruggedly so.

I want this man to do very, very bad things to me.

“Women don’t want to date me, darlin’.” He shoves my knees wide, wedging himself in between my legs.

“I’m the guy they rebound with after their ex dumped them.” Calloused fingers swoop around my ribcage, deftly unhooking my bra before dragging it off me.

“I’m the one night stand, revenge sex.” Leaning closer still, my nipples tighten and beg him to make contact as he hovers over me, our noses nearly touching.

“I’m the bad decision at one a.m. that your parents warned you about.”

“Lucky my parents don’t give a shit. Both are dead.”

“All the more reason for your uncle to warn you then.”

“But you’re not that… are you?”

Those two blue pools, lined with streaks of silver and the faintest hints of copper, stare down at me with sanity-stealing intensity.

“No. No, I’m not.” One hand returns to my hair, and the other slides over my chest until he collars my throat. Wrapping me in a firm hold with his name stamped in ink, settled over the column of my neck in the way I crave so much, a move that leaves me sucking in a ragged breath.

I love having his hand there.

I love the possessive weight of his cuff on my wrist.

I love him.

“Darlin’, I’m the man who is dreaming about you when I finally snatch a moment of sleep.” He licks a line of wetness across his bottom lip. “The rest of the time, I’m thinking about you every goddamn waking hour of my day.”

He squeezes and tenses his fingers ever so slightly, with corresponding unfurling petals of desire blooming within my core in response to his touch. Liquid heat pools and gathers to the point that I’m dangerously close to begging.

“I can’t tell you what this is, Briar, because I’ve never felt this way with anyone. What I can tell you is that I don’t want to let you slip through my fingers all because of some bullshit like worrying about what other fucking people might think. There’s been so much of my life already wasted because of that, but then again, maybe I was just waiting for you to come along and turn my entire world on its axis.”

His words hang in the air between us. My throat struggles to work down a swallow beneath his palm, and his pupils swell, feeling the movement under his fingers.

“That’s quite some speech you had tucked away there,” I whisper.

“We done talking?”

Biting down on my lip, I study him for a moment. Then nod.

“Thought so.”

His strong finger traces a line straight down my chest, between the valley of my breasts, down the softness of my stomach, until he reaches the high waistband of my leggings.

There’s so much dangerous heat behind the fixation he has on the path he’s just carved along my body, that I feel hollowed out and entirely at his mercy. He’s staring at the thin fabric as if it might simply combust beneath the weight of his stare, until he roughly shoves his fingers beneath the top, and my stomach caves.

“That first night…” With the tip of his tongue pressed against the front of his teeth, he blows out a long breath. That deep voice is rough, thrilling me and enthralling me as he digs his hold further down, inserting his tattooed knuckles between my overheated skin and the stretched fabric. “You took these off and fucking ruined me.”

It’s coarse. Harsh. This man sounds like he’s bound up in some sort of torturous trance, and I’m responsible for the hell he’s been enduring.

The way those words hit me, it sends goosebumps flying in all directions and a wicked desire winds tighter low in my belly.

Storm chooses that moment to strike. His grip is demanding; the rapid-fire punishing movements are just as ragged and desperate as my breathing when he damn near rips the leggings off me. My body rocks from side to side, and I swear I hear stitching tear at the seams as he pulls and shoves and manhandles me like his only purpose is to have me naked within seconds.

To use me.

Holy shit, that feeling is liquid and drugging. Being at the mercy of this man is a position I hope to hell and back that I’m able to remain in, gladly so.

The moment I’m revealed to him, left flushed and naked and on display, he balls the material up and throws it somewhere.

“You want to learn something, darlin’?” As always, when those words I’m addicted to hearing descend to a lower octave, my stomach swoops.

My tongue runs over my lips, and I make a soft noise of agreement in the back of my throat.

“Go and get your phone.” Blue eyes flare as he looks my naked figure up and down, then reaches out to rub one thumb over my mouth. “Got something to paint these pretty lips with?”

Well, shit.

I practically whimper, as a bolt of desire hits my clit and my heartbeat pulses between my thighs. Somewhere amongst everything, my chin moves in a semblance of a nod, and I slip off the counter to go in search of my bag. Perhaps my sanity while I’m at it.

This is how much of a perfect, obedient plaything I want to be for my cowboy, I’m butt naked and fully prepared to roam through this ranch in nothing but his leather cuff as I go in search of my belongings.

Except, this man. This. Fucking. Man. He’s already one step ahead of any game I might have been playing because I emerge from the freshly remodeled bathroom and see not only is the attached bedroom perfectly made up with sheets and pillows and a fluffy comforter, my bag sits on the bench positioned at the foot of the bed.

A smile dances on my lips as I ransack through the contents, seeing exactly what he requested, and it couldn’t be more perfect for this moment.

Turns out the tube of bright crimson lipstick I’d purchased on a whim, on a random Tuesday months ago—lipstick I’ve never actually worn, instead leaving it to roll around the bottom of my handbag because I felt insecure as soon as I walked away from the cashier—is going to make her debut in the most deliciously wicked manner.

My heart is hammering with excitement and nerves and a little trepidation as I reenter the bathroom. In the time I’ve been gone, Storm has ditched his shirt and is slowly working on loosening his belt.

I nearly stumble, my knees pretty much giving out, as my eyes race all over his naked chest, his tattoos, his v leading below the waistband of his jeans.

“Paint those lips for me.” The look he hits me with is pure sex. Occasionally, in brief moments like this one right here, I’m reminded just how experienced this man is compared to me. Before now, it might have faltered my belief that this cowboy actually wants me.

Tonight, I have no such lingering question marks hanging over my head.

Feeling the caress of his cuff, and his gaze, I walk over to the mirror and set my phone on the surface. Within a second, his muscled shoulders fill the reflection, looming prominently at my back.

I’m preening on the inside as my fingers tug the glossy black casing apart and twist the lipstick to reveal the untouched, perfectly crisp slant of the tip.

My eyes flick up to snag on his own in the mirror, and the pulse that was already hammering in my neck doubles down in intensity. He’s watching everything like a starving man presented with a feast after weeks lost in the desert.

In the mirrored surface, my breasts are full and heavy, with tightly furled nipples; his leather cuff is the only item adorning my body, and fuck, if it doesn’t look so sinfully good.

Bracing one hand on the marble, I lean toward the mirror, giving every bit of me that I know he wants to see on display, for him alone.

As I start to drag the brilliant rouge over my bottom lip, the arch of my spine sticks my ass out, and allows my tits to spill forward. They hang, rounded and aching and squeezed together in an act that I hope screams from the rooftops how desperately I want him to suck and lick and pinch the sensitive peaks until I can’t see straight.

When I move to glide the red over my top lip, highlighting that cupid’s bow, I hear it. The clank of metal signals the moment my cowboy is done with watching and waiting.

“On your knees.” He lets his eyes drop to the floor, where there’s a cloud-like plush mat cushioning my toes. Indicating exactly where he wants me.

I turn, then sink down in front of him and wait, eager and nervous, all in the same measure.

Storm grabs my phone and the lipstick I left on the counter, and just as I’m unsure why he needs the second item, he turns the camera on my bared breasts. Each nipple tightens immediately as my breath hitches.

With one hand he begins filming, while with the other, he marks across the center of my chest in bold, crimson strokes.

Mine.

A dark noise of satisfaction fills the echoing space, and he tosses the capped tube in the wash basin at my back.

“Look at you.” Strong fingers pinch my jaw as he examines my mouth. “Stick out your tongue.”

As I hastily let my jaw drop wide, and present my tongue for him, I can see he’s being careful with the camera. It’s trained down my body, more than up; whether or not my face is in the frame, I’m unable to tell, but it seems as if he’s purposely trying to avoid it. Not that I care, but it’s something that makes me fall even harder, tumbling wildly into deeper depths because he cares enough to at least ensure if someone were to see this, it’s not obvious that it’s me on video.

“You take my dick so well, did you know that?” he murmurs, and the inherent praise in those few words all but guarantees I’ll do anything he asks of me.

With his free hand, he pushes his briefs down, letting his cock bob free, long and veined, and tempting me into sluttier waters when I catch sight of his leaking tip.

The fact he’s already this turned on by me, for me, I simply can’t wait to show him what that means.

“Flatten your tongue, hold it there for me.”

Of course, I do just that.

Then he fists himself and glides across my waiting, gaping mouth. Allowing the velvety, musky heat of him to coat my senses and drive me insane because all I want to do is start sucking him, but he lets the weight of his cock rest there as he continues to thicken and lengthen and rub on me as if I’m nothing more than a hole for him to play with. It’s that image that unravels me real quick, I can’t help starting to make desperate little pleading noises.

“Goddamn. Your mouth was made for this. That’s it, wrap those perfect lips around me so I can make a mess of you.” As he speaks, the camera is positioned to focus on the place where his thick length enters me, and I allow myself to form a ring, closing around him as he lets out a groan. Now, I’ve got permission to blow him properly, and I’m determined to drive him out of his mind with pleasure.

I’m determined to put on a show.

My hands seek out his waistband, and I tug to drag his jeans over the slope of his firm ass, which allows me to peel his briefs lower.

Tilting my eyes up, I slide off his length and note, with a warm, glowing explosion of sparks inside my chest, that there’s a red ring left behind from where my mouth has been.

“Fuck, that looks so hot.” His words echo my thoughts.

I lean forward and suck one of his balls gently, drawing it past my lips, and his entire body jerks as he draws in a sharp breath. I let go, before allowing my tongue to sloppily trace the veined underside of his shaft, before dipping down to repeat the process on the other side.

“Put me back in your mouth.” He sounds more desperate now, like he’s unraveling, too. Even though my knees and thighs already start to burn a little, I’m nothing but determined.

With one hand curled around his waistband, now slung low on his pelvis, I wrap my fingers and guide him to my mouth. Taking my time to swirl my tongue over the leaking head, and roam my painted lips along the base before swallowing him down.

The noise he makes is filthy and delicious and I want to hear it so many more times.

“Your hot little tongue feels like heaven.” As I hollow out my cheeks and set to work, I feel his fingers slip into my hair.

Fuck, yes.

He must hear my sound of relief humming around his length because it’s the moment he takes over.

Now it’s all about him thrusting past my lips and pushing into my mouth as his fingers tense, stinging my scalp a little as he pulls on the strands.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me.” I do as he says, without hesitation.

His face is half in shadow, it might look severe if I didn’t know how much this is the way he adores me, even while I’m on my knees worshiping him. Before Storm, before any of this, I didn’t know what it was like to feel this way.

“Such a good girl.” His grip is ruthlessly tight in my hair, and I melt beneath that firm, possessive hold. “That face might look innocent, but you know how to be dirty, don’t you?”

This time, he plunges further into my mouth, filling me, hitting the back of my throat as I gag around him. Spit starts to collect at the corners of my mouth, and oh my god, my pussy is a throbbing mess of desire.

My cowboy keeps praising me, talking me through all the ways I look like his perfect little toy, how good I am at taking his cock, and how I’m so sexy just like this. All while continuing to fist my hair and fuck my throat until my eyes are watering and drool runs down my chin.

“Look at how your tits bounce for me, how those pupils blow out every time you choke around me. I can see how much you love being owned like this.”

I moan around his length, feeling him swell and pulse at the sensation.

“You always look sexy, but this might just be my favorite sight, darlin’. Puffy lips and smeared lipstick and tears just for me.”

With my eyes fixed on him, fingers clutching the base of him, and my other hand clinging to the fly of his jeans, I try to plead for relief. Everything is so tightly coiled inside me, it feels like I’m going to fly out of my head any second now.

“You’re wet, aren’t you?” His words roughen as he’s getting close. “Mmm, I bet you want permission to finger yourself?”