Page 9 of His Big Hometown Cowboy (Bigger Is Best #1)

CHAPTER FOUR

Tim

A warm hand slid up my back, pulling me from a deep, satisfying sleep.

I blinked, the sunlight harsh against my eyelids, streaming through curtains that weren’t mine.

Then a sudden, intense flood of memory—Rainbow Night, the pulsing music, Wyatt’s hand on my back, the rough kiss against his truck, his bedroom… his weight over me, the unbelievable feeling of him inside me.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Wyatt’s voice rumbled, warm and close, vibrating through the solid wall of chest pressed against my back.

I stretched, a symphony of pleasant aches echoing through muscles I hadn’t realized existed until last night. Delicious soreness. Everywhere.

“What time is it?” My voice was scratchy.

“Almost eight.”

I rolled over, wincing slightly. He was propped on one elbow, watching me.

Those stormy blue eyes, usually guarded, were open, soft.

His dark hair was adorably rumpled, stubble already shadowing his jaw.

The sheet draped low across his waist, leaving that ridiculously broad chest bare.

The chest I’d mapped with my hands, my mouth, just hours ago.

“Eight?” I groaned, burrowing back into the pillow. It smelled like him. “That’s practically dawn.”

His laugh was deep, rumbling through the mattress. “Some of us have been up since five, city boy.”

“Doing what?”

“Rancher, remember?” His fingers caressed my bare chest, sending little shocks straight down to my groin. “Had my foreman handle the morning rounds so I could spend the day with you.”

He’d rearranged his life, his responsibilities, just like that? For me?

Warmth bloomed low in my belly, spreading outward, chasing away the last dregs of sleep. “A whole day, huh?” I let my gaze drift down his body. “What did you have in mind?”

His eyes darkened, following my gaze, heat flaring in their depths. “Plenty.” He cleared his throat, the spell momentarily breaking. “But first, I should probably get you back to Travis. Can’t have him thinking I’ve kidnapped his little brother.”

Travis. Right. Reality intruded.

“Travis won’t worry.” I stretched again, a deliberate, slow movement, letting the sheet slide further down my hips. Watching his eyes follow the motion was intoxicating. “He knows I’m a big boy who can take care of himself.”

“That you are.” Wyatt’s gaze was hot, hungry, lingering where the sheet now rested. “But I can’t very well take you back to your brother smelling like sweat and sex.”

“Is that your way of saying I stink?” I feigned offense, poking his bare shoulder.

He leaned in close, burying his face against my neck, inhaling deeply. His stubble scraped. Goosebumps erupted. “You smell like me. Like us.” His voice muffled against my skin. “And while I fucking love it, might be a bit obvious.”

Yes. Everything felt obvious this morning. I bit the inside of my cheek, considering. “Shower, then?”

“Shower,” he agreed, dropping a quick, hard kiss on my shoulder before rising from the bed. One fluid motion.

I couldn’t help but give a sigh of appreciation at the sight of him.

Wyatt. Naked. In the bright morning light flooding the room.

All six-foot-four of him, solid muscle, sun-bronzed skin, powerful shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist and that sinfully perfect ass. He turned, giving me the full-frontal view, and I swallowed hard.

“Like what you see?” He caught me staring, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face.

The same smirk from last night, full of confidence.

“Just admiring the view.” I didn’t bother looking away. No point pretending. “Gotta say, the reality exceeds the fantasy. And the fantasy was pretty damn detailed.”

He chuckled, extending a large hand. Rough palm, calloused fingers. Capable hands. “Come on. That shower won’t take itself.”

I let him pull me to my feet. Standing naked before him, I felt almost fragile next to his sheer size. But the heat in his eyes, the way they raked over me with raw, possessive desire… it banished any insecurity. He made me feel powerful. Wanted.

“Though I should warn you,” I said, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. “I’m a bit sore this morning.”

“That makes two of us.” He winced slightly, stretching and rolling his shoulders. “Not too bad for a first timer, if I do say so myself.”

My mind flashed back to him riding me, taking me, his face tight with pleasure and strain. “Wait.” My hand froze on his arm. “First timer? You mean that was your first time… being on the receiving end?”

A faint flush crept up his strong neck, staining his cheekbones. He nodded, looking almost shy for a split second. It was ridiculously endearing. “Yeah. Never… uh… never done that before.”

My stomach dropped. Surprise mingled with a pang of guilt. “Why didn’t you say something?” My voice came out sharper than intended.“That was your first first time?”

“What did you think I meant when I said,‘I’d been saving it for someone special’?”

“I don’t know. I was distracted by the huge sexy man riding me like a…”

“Bucking bronc?”

“Would you be serious?” I said, giving him a good-natured swat on the behind.“I would have been more careful, gone slower—I mean, I wasn’t exactly gentle?—”

“It was perfect.” He interrupted, his large hand cupping my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. His touch was grounding. “Last night was special, Timmy. That’s why… why I decided in the moment.” His gaze held mine, intense, sincere. “Wanted you to be my first.”

My breath hitched. He’d trusted me with that. With that vulnerability. “But you’ve been with other guys before.” I needed to understand.

“Yeah, but…” He shrugged, searching for words.

“It never felt right before. Not like… not like that.” His eyes were unwavering, filled with a conviction that stole my breath.

“With you, it did. Felt right. And as far as I’m concerned…

” His thumb stroked my jawline. “You’re the only one I’m ever interested in getting fucked by. ”

The raw honesty, the quiet possessiveness in his voice…

it tightened my chest, making it hard to breathe.

I leaned up, rising on my toes, and kissed him.

Slow. Deep. Trying to pour everything—the tenderness, the burgeoning connection—into that kiss.

“That’s a really sweet thing to say,” I whispered against his lips. “I’m honored.”

He led us into the bathroom, which was nicer than I’d expected. Expertly renovated. Slate tile, a big walk-in shower with glass walls and multiple chrome showerheads. Definitely not original ranch house chic.

“Impressive.” I nodded. “Didn’t take you for a home improvement guy.”

“Remodeled it last year.” He reached past me, turning on the water, adjusting the temperature with practiced ease. Steam began to cloud the glass. “Figure if I’m going to be stuck in this house for the next forty years, might as well make it comfortable.”

The casual certainty of his future here, mapped out on this land, sent a strange pang through me.

A little flicker of… something. Envy?

He had roots sunk so deep they were part of the bedrock. Mine felt shallow, temporary, easily pulled up.

He stepped into the billowing steam first, then held out his hand.

I took it, letting him guide me into the enclosure.

The hot water hit my skin, instantly soothing, sluicing over my shoulders, down my back.

I closed my eyes, tipping my face up into the spray, letting the heat seep into my sore muscles.

Large hands landed gently on my shoulders, kneading. Strong fingers worked out kinks I hadn’t even known were there. I sighed, leaning back against his solid chest. He felt like granite wrapped in warm skin.

He pressed a kiss to my wet hair. His hands slid down my arms, smooth and slick, then around to my stomach, pulling me more firmly against him.

I felt him harden against me.

Impossible to miss.

My body responded immediately, heat pooling low despite the soreness.

“Again?” I teased, turning in his arms to face him, pressing my palms flat against his wet, slick chest. Water streamed between us. “Insatiable, aren’t you?”

“For you?” His voice dropped to that gravelly register that vibrated straight through me, making my knees weak. “Absolutely.” A slow, hungry smile touched his lips. “Been thinking about bending you over in here since I installed this shower.”

“That right?” I traced the curve of his pectoral muscle with one finger. “And what exactly were you planning to do to me in this fantasy?”

His smile widened. “Why don’t I show you instead?”

He reached for the bar of soap—sandalwood—working it between those big hands until they were covered in thick, white lather. Starting at my shoulders, his touch was deliberate, thorough, firm but gentle. There was something profoundly intimate about him washing me like this.

Especially him. Wyatt Walker. Solid, stoic Wyatt, his hands moving over my skin with such focused care. Claiming me in a way words couldn’t.

“Turn around,” he murmured against my ear.

I obeyed, bracing my hands against the cool, wet tile, presenting my back to him. His soapy hands worked their way down my spine, over my shoulder blades, kneading away lingering tension.

When they reached my ass, the massage shifted. Less practical, more possessive. Fingers mapping the curves, squeezing gently. Then dipping lower between my cheeks, brushing deliberately over my entrance.

Still sensitive. Still tingling from last night.

A sharp gasp escaped me. I arched back instinctively, pressing against his touch.

“Sore?” His voice was a low rumble, his breath warm against my ear.

“A little,” I admitted, my voice breathy. “But… good sore.”

One finger pressed more insistently. Testing. A slight breach. The faint sting mingled with a wave of sharp pleasure, pulling a low moan from my chest.

“Want more?” His finger pushed deeper, the soap making the slide easy, slick despite my sensitivity.

“God, yes,” I breathed, pressing my forehead against the cool tile wall. Surrendering. “Want to feel you inside me again. Now.”