Page 64 of Cowboy in Colorado

“Let me ride you.”

He hesitates. “Anything for you.”

“Tell me you love me while you fuck me senseless,” I whisper, nearly inaudible, as broken as I’ve ever been, fraught with need, ravaged by emotion, racked with vulnerability, blasted helpless with love.

“God, Brooklyn,” he growls. “It is killing me to wait. I hope you realize that.”

I writhe against his erection. “I feel it.”

“Dammit, how much fuckinglonger?” Will snaps.

The vehicle halts, and the intercom crackles. “We’re here, Miss Bellanger. Service entrance. If you don’t mind, I took the liberty of having the elevator waiting open for you.”

Will shoves open the car door, scrambles out, reaches in and hauls me roughly across the seat, scoops me into his arms, and marches for the elevator.

I glance at the driver as we enter the elevator. “Thank you, Reg.”

He tips his hat. “Anything else I can do?”

Will lifts his chin. “Tell security or whoever to guard the elevators. No visitors. None. Not God, not Jesus, not the Pope or the president.”

“Got it.”

I giggle at the expression on Reggie’s face, burying my face in Will’s chest. And then the elevator is moving. “Penthouse, I assume?” Will says.

I nod. “The whole top floor.”

“You have condoms there?” he asks.

I nod again. “Lots.” I feel a need to clarify. “I take them with me when I go out, just in case. No one has ever been to my penthouse. It’s my sanctuary away from everything else.”

He smiles. “Thanks for that. Good to know.” He glances as the floor display slowly climbs. “Longest elevator ride ever.”

“Soon,” I whisper.

“Not soon enough.”

“Soon,” I whisper again, and this time, I wriggle my hand between our bodies and find his zipper. I slide it open, and release the button to find him waiting thick and silky soft and hot. The floors beep—twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…twenty-nine, thirty…thirty-one.Ding. “We’re here.”

The doors open into my apartment. My bed is waiting, a California King wreathed in white silk and a down comforter, a glass ceiling above revealing the sky. Floor-to-ceiling windows—tinted privacy glass—show the Manhattan skyline in all its glory.

Will throws me onto the bed, not at all gently. “Now.”

He sheds his jeans; climbs over me while I fumble at my bedside table for the condoms, find a string and toss them at him. He leaves them where they lay and begins peeling away my skirt, unbuttoning the blazer to bare my breasts. He tugs my skirt off, and I’m naked with him, and his beautiful erection bobs and sways with each motion, and I reach for him, stroke him.

“Now, Will.”

He sheathes himself in the condom. “God, Brooklyn.”

I catch his wrist, halting him. “One thing first.” I sit up, bring us together in a warm skin-to-skin embrace, and press my lips to his ear. “I’m in love with you,” I whisper. “I love you.” It scares me senseless to say it. “You should hear it before this happens again.”

His hands clasp my cheeks, and he pulls me in for a rough, wild kiss. “Doesn’t seem like enough, does it?” he mutters through the kiss. “To say, ‘I love you.’ Should be something stronger.”

I guide him to me. “There is.”

He arches an eyebrow, demanding the answer.

I slide him into me. “This.”