Page 7 of September’s Bad Boy: Cooper (Bad Boys of Mustang Mountain #9)

RILEY

Cooper groans against my mouth, and I feel his resolve crumbling. His hands slide up my back, fingers tangling in my hair as he deepens the kiss.

When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, tension radiating through his body—the war between want and restraint.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks one more time, his voice barely a whisper.

Instead of answering with words, I reach for the hem of his t-shirt and pull it up.

He helps me, lifting his arms so I can toss it aside.

My hands explore the tats wrapping around his arms and chest, the ink that I've only glimpsed before when he worked shirtless in the yard during those hot summer days.

He's beautiful in a way that makes my chest tight—broad shoulders, lean muscle, a few scars that tell stories I want to learn. When my fingers trace over one near his ribs, he sucks in a sharp breath.

"Riley," he says, my name like a prayer on his lips.

His hands find the hem of my shirt, pausing there. The question in his eyes is clear, and I nod, lifting my arms.

He slowly lifts my shirt over my head, his eyes darkening as he takes me in. I'm suddenly grateful I wore my lacy black bra today instead of one of my comfortable cotton ones.

"God, you're gorgeous," he whispers, and the heat in his voice makes me flush.

His hands hover over my skin, not quite touching, memorizing me. When his fingers finally make contact, trailing along my collarbone and down to the edge of my bra, I shiver.

"Cold?" he asks with a hint of a smile.

"Not even close," I breathe.

He leans in, pressing his lips to the curve of my neck, then lower, to the swell of my breast above the fabric.

My head falls back, eyes fluttering closed as sensation washes over me.

This is nothing like the few fumbling encounters I've had before.

Cooper touches me with certainty, mapping my body with every caress.

His hands move to my back, fingers finding the clasp of my bra with practiced ease. The fabric falls away, and the cool air hits my skin just before his warm palms cover me. I gasp at the contact, arching into his touch.

"So responsive," he murmurs against my throat, his thumbs brushing over sensitive peaks. "I love the sounds you make."

I didn't even realize I was making sounds, but now I'm hyperaware of every breathy sigh, every soft moan that escapes. He seems to catalog each one, using them as a map to drive me higher.

His mouth follows the path his hands blazed, and when his lips close around one nipple, I cry out, my fingers tangling in his damp hair. The sensation shoots straight through me, pooling low in my belly.

"Cooper, please," I whisper, though I'm not even sure what I'm asking for.

He lifts his head to look at me, his lips swollen from his ministrations. "Tell me what you want, Riley."

The demand in his voice sends another wave of heat through me. I've never been good at asking for what I want, always too worried about seeming needy or pushy. But the way he looks at me—like I'm the only thing that matters in this moment—makes me bold.

"You," I say simply. "All of you."

His eyes flash with something primal, and he captures my mouth again in a bruising kiss.

His hands slide down to the waistband of my jeans, fingers working at the button.

I help him, lifting my hips so he can peel the denim away.

The counter edge presses into the backs of my thighs, reminding me that this is real, that this is happening.

Cooper steps back enough to work at his own pants, and I watch the play of muscles across his chest and shoulders. When he's down to his boxer briefs, he pauses, hands resting on the counter on either side of me.

"Last chance to change your mind," he says, though his voice is strained with the effort of holding back.

I reach for him, my fingers tracing the waistband of his underwear. "I'm not changing my mind."

He groans and captures my mouth again, and this time there's no hesitation, no holding back.

His hands are everywhere—sliding up my thighs, skimming over my hips, wandering, searching, and all that exists is his touch.

When he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my shorts and underwear, I lift my hips without being asked.

The fabric joins the growing pile of clothes on his kitchen floor, and suddenly I'm completely bare before him.

"You're even more beautiful than I imagined," he says, roughly.

I reach for him, pulling him back to me. "Your turn."

He smiles, that slow, devastating smile that makes my heart stutter, and sheds his boxer briefs in one fluid motion. My breath catches in my throat. Cooper is all lean muscle and sharp angles, and he's gloriously, intimidatingly aroused.

"Like what you see?" he asks, a hint of mischief in his eyes despite the tension in his body.

"Very much," I whisper, reaching out to touch him.

He hisses when my fingers wrap around him, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "Fuck, Riley."

His hand covers mine, showing me how to touch him, guiding my rhythm. The power I have over him in this moment is intoxicating.

"Wait," he groans suddenly, stilling my hand. "Not like this.”

He steps back, and I feel the loss of his warmth immediately. But then he's scooping me off the counter, his hands gripping my thighs as he lifts me. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, gasping at the feeling of him pressed against me, skin to skin.

"Bedroom," he murmurs against my neck. "I want to do this right."

I hold on to him as he carries me down the hallway, my heart hammering in my chest. His lips never leave my skin, trailing fire along my throat, my shoulder, anywhere he can reach.

When he lays me down on his bed, the sheets cool against my heated skin, I feel vulnerable in a way I never have before.

Not just because I’m bare before him, but because of the way he's looking at me—like I'm precious, a feast to be savored.

He stands at the edge of the bed for a moment, just looking, and I fight the urge to cover myself.

"You're staring," I whisper.

"Can't help it." His voice is raw with emotion. "I've thought about having you in my bed for so long, I need to make sure this is real."

"It's real," I whisper, reaching for him. "I'm here."

He lowers himself over me, settling between my thighs, his arms braced on either side of my head. The first press of his body against mine pulls a gasp from my lips. He's so warm, so solid above me, his skin like fire where it touches mine.

"I need to get protection," he says, his voice strained.

I nod, watching as he leans over to the bedside drawer. His muscles shift under his skin as he moves, and I give in to the desire to run my hands along his back, feeling the subtle ridges of his spine. Taking the condom, he tears the package open with his teeth.

"Let me have it," I say, taking it from him.

My hands tremble slightly as I roll it on him. His sharp intake of breath when I touch him sends a thrill through me. When I finish, he catches my wrist, bringing my hand to his lips to kiss my palm.

"Are you nervous?" he asks, his eyes searching mine.

"A little," I admit, surprised by my own honesty. "It's been a while for me."

His expression softens as he brushes a strand of hair from my face. "We can go slow."

Shaking my head, I pull him closer. "I don't want slow. I want you."

A dangerous spark flashes in his eyes as he captures my mouth.

This kiss is different—searing, fiercer.

He's finally letting go of his restraint.

His hand slides between us, fingers finding where I'm already slick with want.

I gasp against his mouth when he touches me, my hips arching instinctively.

"God, Riley," he groans, circling that sensitive bundle of nerves with just the right pressure. "You're so wet for me already."

His words send another rush of heat through me. I've never been one for dirty talk, but coming from Cooper, it makes me dizzy with desire. When he slides one finger inside me, then another, I moan his name, clutching at his shoulders.

"That's it," he encourages, his thumb still working magic against my clit. "Let me hear you."

His fingers curl inside me, finding a spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. I cry out, my back arching off the bed. He watches me with hungry eyes, his breathing as ragged as mine.

"Please," I gasp, beyond caring how desperate I sound. "I need you now."

Cooper withdraws his hand slowly, and I whimper at the loss. He positions himself between my thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance. Our eyes lock as he pushes forward, stretching me almost too much.

"Breathe," he whispers, his thumb stroking my cheek.

I inhale shakily, forcing my muscles to relax. He slides deeper, filling me inch by delicious inch until he's fully seated inside me. We both freeze, adjusting to the sensation.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.

Unable to form words, I nod. My hands grip his biceps, feeling the tension in his muscles as he restrains himself.

"Move," I finally manage. "Please move.”

Cooper groans, moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that coils heat low in my body. Each thrust sends waves of sensation through me unlike anything I've ever experienced. My eyes flutter closed, overwhelmed by the feeling of him inside me, around me, consuming me completely.

"Look at me," he commands softly, and when I open my eyes, his dark gaze burns into mine. "I want to see you."

The intimacy of his stare steals my breath. What’s unfolding between us is more than physical—it’s raw, consuming, and threaded with an emotion I don’t dare try to name or define.

He picks up the pace, and I match his rhythm instinctively. My hands roam his back, feeling the flex of muscle as he moves above me. When he shifts the angle slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside me, I gasp his name.

He holds the angle, each thrust deliberate and precise. The pressure builds low in my belly, coiling tighter with each movement until I can barely breathe. Instinct takes over—my legs wrap around his waist, dragging him deeper still.

"I can feel you getting close," he murmurs against my ear, his voice like gravel. "Let go for me, Riley."

His words push me higher, the tension building until I'm trembling beneath him. When his hand slips between us, thumb circling my clit with just the right pressure, I shatter. My back arches off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over me, his name a broken cry on my lips.

Cooper's rhythm falters as I clench around him, his breathing harsh against my neck. He thrusts once, twice more before he follows me over the edge, his body tensing above mine as he groans my name.

For a moment, we stay like that, connected, breathing each other's air. His weight presses me into the mattress, but I don't want him to move. I want to memorize this feeling—the heat of his skin, the way his heart hammers against mine, the slight tremor in his muscles.

Eventually, he shifts to the side, careful not to crush me. His arm stays draped over my waist, keeping me close as we catch our breath. I turn toward him, and rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

He kisses my hair, his voice low. “I’ve waited years to touch you and not hate myself for it.”

I lift my head, meeting his gaze. “And?”

He smiles, tired and tender. “It was worth the wait.”

I press my lips to his again, and it’s as if the universe aligns, reminding me I’m exactly where I was always meant to be.