She surged up against him again. If he hadn’t braced himself, they would have both tumbled to the bed. Her stiffened nipples thrust against his chest. Unbidden, his fingers curved to match the outer arc of her breasts. A perfect handful for his wide palm. He groaned and took her mouth in a hard kiss.
When he lifted his head, he thought he was tearing himself apart. “Adelyn,” he whispered.
“Josh,” she answered. For a heartbeat, he thought he heard a note of mockery. Or was that desperation? He had always done better reading the animals with their basic needs, the land with its regular cycles. Women were a mystery.
He let his hands slide down to her hips, to hold her back since he couldn’t grab her wounded wrists. He couldn’t help but notice, despite his good intentions, that unlike the dark wealth of her hair, down lower she was smooth, without even a shadow to hide the dusky plump flesh. “Whatever happened to you, this isn’t the way to forget or to pretend it didn’t happen.”
“You said this was a place to get away,” she reminded him.
She trailed her fingertips down his chest and raked lightly over his nipples. His sharp breath sucked in his belly, leaving a gap behind his belt buckle.
With one flick, she released the copper buckle. The etched metal swung open like a welcoming gate, and she unzipped his jeans.
Any last ounce of willpower he had was lost with the whisper of her fingers against his straining flesh. Long hours in the saddle were more comfortable without underwear seams that might chafe in sensitive places, but that common sense wardrobe choice left him no extra layers of defense now.
“Adelyn...” This time her name was not a protest but an enticement.
“Do you have a muse, Josh?”
“A what?” His voice was thick, like his cock swelling toward her.
“A muse. An inspiration. Something that...” She slipped her hand into the front of his jeans. “Something that arouses you.”
“A muse...” His grasp tightened on her hips, and he shuddered as she wrapped her fingers loosely around him. “You.”