The Virgin Cowboy Billionaire’s Secret Baby(89)

She broke the kiss and swept her tongue across her lips. “Maybe we should take this upstairs.”

His smile—all nerves and desire along with the shine of tears in his eyes—almost dropped her knees out from under her. “I thought you’d never ask.”





Chapter Twenty-Five


Fifty miles of striped blacktop from the country club in Goldmount to Dara’s driveway had felt like five hundred, every mile stretching out farther than the last, and he’d been halfway out of his mind as he’d followed his high beams down that familiar expanse of interstate and back roads. The never-ending drive had finally ended, and he was finally here, and now it was like he’d never been away from this place. Like he’d never put on that tux that was now scattered across her bedroom floor on top of her T-shirt and sweats.

As he sank onto her bed, wrapped up in her arms with her hair falling beside his face and her skin against his, that drive became a dream, and the wedding a distant memory—there was no more feeling of needing to get away from something or needing to be someplace else, because he was right where he needed to be. He was with the woman he’d wanted and needed all along, barely believing there’d ever been a time when he thought he belonged anywhere else.

He rolled her onto her back, kissing her and cradling her head as he eased her onto the pillow. Without breaking the kiss, he trailed his fingers downward and slipped his hand between her legs. Gently, just the way she’d showed him, he drew slow, soft circles around her clit.

She gasped and arched her back but didn’t break the kiss. They made out, and he teased her, and he was in no hurry at all. It had taken too long—too many years—to get to this night; he wasn’t about to rush anything.

He wasn’t about to slow it down either, especially not when she started to fall apart. Her nails dug into his shoulder and she rubbed her clit against his fingers, her breathing getting faster and sharper as her body trembled beside his. She squeezed her thighs together, keeping his hand right where it was, but still letting his fingers move just a little. Just enough, if her muffled whimpers were any indication.

Then she broke the kiss with a gasp, and he immediately descended on her neck, letting her voice thrum against his lips as gasps became moans and moans became curses.

“Oh fuck!” she cried out loud enough to wake the neighbors. “Oh my God, oh my God…holy—” She gasped again, arching and thrashing beside him, until with a sigh, she collapsed back onto the bed, her thighs parting and releasing his hand.

Without a word, he got on top. There was no clumsiness, no awkwardness as he guided himself to her. That first stroke seemed to take longer than the drive from the country club, and he couldn’t breathe again until he was all the way inside her. And then he could barely breathe because he was inside her. God, this couldn’t be real.

She pulled him down to him. Their lips met. Their bodies moved. Even more than the very first time, he had no idea what he was doing—how to move, how fast and how deep, how to breathe between breathless kisses—but it all happened the right way anyway. When it was clumsy, it didn’t matter, because everything they he felt was perfect, and every whisper of “do you like this?” was met with a kiss that said yes, yes, she liked it, and so he didn’t stop, and God, but he liked it too. He loved it—every stroke, every brush of her hard nipples against his skin, every kiss that fell apart because he was just too overwhelmed to remember how.

As his climax closed in, driving him into her again and again, he tried to hold back because he didn’t want this to be over, but he felt too damned good to hold back anymore, so he surrendered. He buried his face against her neck and groaned, and she took over—she rocked her hips, squeezing him and riding him, and everything turned white. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought he heard himself whisper “Fuck…” just before that first shudder rippled through him, and then he couldn’t make a sound. He couldn’t breathe. All he could do was tremble and try to get just a little deeper inside her as the room spun around him.

Then he exhaled and relaxed. He panted against her neck, and as she combed her fingers through his hair, her nails grazed his scalp and gave him goose bumps.

He lifted his head. Their eyes met—his heavy-lidded, hers dilated—and they both smiled. She touched his face.

How was I ever not in love with you?

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, and then they settled into bed, Dara on her back and Matt on his side.

He rested his hand just below her navel. She was barely starting to show, and from what all those books said, it would be a while before he’d be able to feel the baby move, but that slight swell was still enough to make his heart skip.