Page 35 of The Rogue (Four Corners Ranch #11)

Her throat went dry and the place between her legs went liquid. His chest was broad and muscular, his stomach muscles shifting

with each hard breath. She had seen him shirtless countless times. But that was different. It was different, because even

though she had been able to tell that he was aesthetically beautiful, she had been intentionally not looking at him as a sexual

object.

Now she was.

She wanted to touch him. And she realized with a jolt that she could.

She took a step forward, and reached her hand out, putting it flat on his chest. He closed his eyes, a masculine grunt sounding

hard at the base of his throat.

“Justice,” she said, watching as her fingertips moved over his muscles. Watching herself touch him.

It didn’t feel wrong. It felt right. It felt like it was a long time coming. It felt like everything. She moved her fingertips

over his pecs, his abs, down to his belt buckle. And a slow, wicked grin crossed his face. “Getting impatient?”

“Is it impatient when you’ve waited more than twenty years for somebody?”

She realized how true it was once the words were there, sitting between them.

It was more serious than she meant to be, but she saw a spark of agreement in his blue gaze.

He felt the same way. He understood.

They were adults now. So it was safer. If they had done this when they were teenagers they might’ve broken everything.

Just trying to imagine taking these feelings, these feelings that felt too big for the adult woman she was, and transferring

them to sixteen-year-old Rue...? She would’ve combusted.

Thirty-two-year-old Rue was about to combust.

Teen her would’ve been terrified of this. It would’ve been the sure and certain sign that she was going to turn into her parents

and that she needed to run far away from Justice King. No. There was no way they could’ve had this before. There was no way

she could’ve had it before. It was only now. Only now that she could begin to grab hold of this.

“You’re beautiful,” she said. And maybe it was a foolish thing to say, but it was the only thing she could think to say.

He was just the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in her life. And she was awestruck by his beauty. But more than that, by

the reckless, wild feeling that was beginning to stir up in her stomach. Like a herd of mustangs galloping across the high

desert. A part of herself that she had never tapped into. A part of herself she had always been afraid of.

Then he did it. He reached down and started to undo his belt slowly. Kicked his boots off as he got rid of the belt, got rid

of his socks, unsnapped his jeans and unzipped them slowly.

“Justice,” she said.

A plea, she thought maybe. Definitely not a warning. Her hands were shaking as if she was the one undressing him as he pushed the denim down. First, she looked at his thighs. The muscles there. And it was only after that she let her eyes go to that hard masculine part of him that hung there.

She was not being dramatic to say that it felt as if the wind had been punched straight out of her stomach.

He was like art. If a person asked an artist to create the perfect ode to masculine beauty, the result would’ve been Justice

King. All heavy muscles and thick masculinity.

She shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that her best friend was well endowed and then some, especially not when the rumors

about him and his sexual prowess verged on legendary. Still, she hadn’t known what to expect, and her expectations were blown

somewhat all to hell.

“Well,” she said.

He moved to her then, and she could feel the shift. He’d been patient.

He was letting her see exactly what she was getting into, letting her see him. Letting her warm up. But when he wrapped his

arm around her, and gripped the bottom of her T-shirt, pulling it up over her head as he growled, that was when she knew his

patience was at an end.

He kissed down her neck as he reached behind her and undid her bra with one practiced hand. His hands cupped over her bare

skin, and the feel of his rough palms against her skin was such a revelation she could scarcely breathe.

She had been touched like this before. But it was like it had been an entirely different activity.

It was like she couldn’t think. Because Justice’s hands were everywhere. Because he pinched her nipples between his thumb and forefinger and made her cry out, spots blooming behind her eyes.

He kissed down her collarbone, to her breast, sucking one nipple deep in his mouth. And all the while he made that magic he

was dispensing with the rest of her clothes. She was dimly aware that she made all the right movements to help him. But only

just. She only became highly aware of the fact that all her clothes were gone when he cupped her ass with his hand and drew

her firmly against his body, completely naked, every inch of her bare skin pressed against every inch of his.

The need that was growing between her thighs was so intense it was foreign. It was an ache that she was entirely unfamiliar

with. She was slick with need, and he hadn’t even touched her there. She would’ve said that her breasts weren’t all that sensitive,

but Justice was making a mockery of that. Teasing her, toying with her.

First I’d touch you.

He claimed her mouth, plunging his tongue deep, and right at the same time he moved his hand between her legs. His finger

slipped through her slick folds, stroking that sensitive bundle of nerves there, before he pushed it deep, sliding it in and

out of her until her knees began to shake.

“Justice,” she breathed.

There was no way. There was no way that she was this close this fast. It was one thing to think that he might be more practiced.

More skilled. But this was something else.

Something entirely new. The way that he was bringing up pleasure in her body so far sur passed anything she’d ever felt before.

This knife’s edge felt better than any climax ever had.

Maybe she was making things up. Maybe she was exaggerating it.

But she didn’t have any time to think about that, because he was still touching her. Stroking her.

He had two fingers inside of her next, his thumb swirling around that most sensitive part of her. They were still standing

in the center of the room, completely naked, the windows open to the mountains. She looked up at him, at his blue eyes, and

she saw the view behind him. It reminded her of that moment up on the mountaintop, when she had been sitting on the picnic

blanket and he had been there fully clothed.

She had felt something. A pull toward him. Her friend. Justice. Who had his fingers buried inside of her now, who was feeling

how wet she was, who was responsible for how wet she was.

It was that moment, that image, then patched together with now, that sent her over the edge. She cried out, her knees going

weak, and just like he had done the night she was drunk, he scooped her up into his arms. But this time, when he laid her

down on the bed, he didn’t step away.

“I told you,” he said. “I told you just how I was going to do it. And I meant it.

He moved to the edge of the bed, and then, he put his hands on her knees and forced her legs apart.

She hadn’t been embarrassed to be naked in front of him, not until that moment.

Because this was... this was an intimacy that felt a little bit too far.

She tried to close her legs, and he forced them apart again.

“Don’t hide yourself for me. It’s been too many fucking years, Rue.

I want to see you. All of you.” He shook his head. “Damn, you’re so pretty.”

“I’m... I’m pretty? There?”

“Hell yeah,” he said. “I could come just looking at you. Do you know that?”

She had never particularly thought that a person was pretty right there. But he seemed to think so. So maybe it was true.

She looked away from his eyes, down at his masculine member. Well. He was beautiful there. It made it easier for her to believe

him.

But then she couldn’t think, because he kissed her ankle, the inside of her knee. Her inner thigh. And then closed his mouth

over her center, licking and sucking and kissing her deep.

She swore, her hips coming up off the bed, and he took that opportunity to move one hand beneath her, and pull her ass, lift

her up so that she was in even more intense contact with his mouth.

“Justice,” she moaned.

“That’s right,” he said. “Give it to me .”

She was panting, too turned on to be horrified.

“I’ve never... He never...”

“Fuck that guy,” he growled against her skin as he kept on licking her, pushing two fingers inside of her as he did.

And that was when she found her next orgasm, blinding and glorious, squeezing his fingers tight as she found her release.

“Please,” she said. “I can’t breathe.” But he didn’t stop.

Justice King was a man of his word. And the degree to which this was going exactly the way he had told her it would was both

terrifying and exhilarating.

The idea that this man could know her body so well that he had been able to map out a path to her pleasure before he had ever

seen her naked was like a miracle.

It probably spoke to the sheer volume of women he had sex with before, but she was choosing not to think of it that way. Because

this was them. He had told her that it could never mean nothing , so she was going to hang on to that truth. It could never be nothing.

It also couldn’t be everything. It was just a fact. She could never allow it to be everything.

But that thought evaporated in the recesses of her mind as he continued the pleasurable assault on her system, licking, stroking,

driving her higher and higher.

“Justice,” she said his name again.

“Come for me,” he growled.

“I don’t know if I can,” she said.

This was already practically six months of orgasms thrown at her in one day.

“You will,” he said, stroking her firmer, faster, his tongue working overtime.