Page 39 of Wild Love, Cowboy (The Portree Cowboys #1)

She laughs so hard she doubles over, followed by a wince as she continues to rinse herself.

“I think my dick’s gonna fall off,” I wheeze, bracing one hand on the sink as I double over.

“Your dick deserves to fall off,” she fires back, tears streaming from her eyes.

“How do two people manage to set their junk on fire separately but simultaneously?” she howls, doubling over again, the sound of her cackle vibrating through the bathroom, her hands still frantically splashing water between her legs.

“Great minds—or maybe just horny ones—really do think alike.” I chuckle out through the burn, teeth clenched in a grimace. I move toward the twin glass doors, each step a mix of agony and disbelief.

She turns slightly away from me, trying to shield herself, but her eyes—those damn eyes—stay locked on me the whole time.

Watching. Tracking every panicked move like she’s clocking how a cowboy strips under pressure.

And hell, I feel it. Her stare burns hotter than the Deep Heat still setting fire to my cock.

I kick off my jeans and violently chuck them to the side.

“Good thing you’ve got a twin shower. I'd suggest you use it before you suffer permanent damage.” she giggles.

I don't need to be told twice, as I yank open the glass doors and move to the shower opposite hers.

“Bet you built this with exactly this scenario in mind.” she says, voice tight with laughter as she gestures to the adjoining shower.

I bark out a laugh that sounds a little too unhinged, one hand cupping my junk like it’s a wounded soldier. “Hell no. My dad insisted on this setup. Said, ‘Son, one day you’ll thank me when you’ve got a wife hoggin’ the hot water and a ranch to run by six.’”

“Didn’t think it’d be me and my half-cooked dick blessin’ his wisdom.”

Mia barks out a laugh that ends in a whimper. “Your dad’s a prophet.”

“Prophet or sadist, jury’s out,” I mutter and dive for the shower head without another word. The initial cold water hitting my body and knocking the wind from me.

Mia winces and giggles all at once. “Well, your old man was onto something. Just didn’t know he was designing the perfect setup for synchronized injury via mutual masturbation.”

“Might put that on a plaque, nail it right over that mirror there,” I grunt Her gaze flicks to the side then back and I see it—her eyes drop down my body, a quick flick downward that’s meant to be subtle. But it’s not. Not even close.

She looked . And her pupils did that little dilation thing when her gaze snagged on my southern situation.

Despite the sting, my ego throbs just as much as everything else.

I step further into the cold spray and turn away letting the water hit me full blast. With my hands braced against the tiles, head bowed, water cascades down my front and my back as I groan into the wall. Relief and humiliation, equal parts.

The icy chill shocks my system and I vaguely register that this is most definitely not the best time to have an ice-cold shower. I wouldn’t want to leave her with the wrong impression here.

I mean, look; I’m a solid build, confident, good lookin’ southern man.

Ain’t like I’ve had much to ever be self-conscious about. I know what I’m packing. Always have—never exactly been a source of complaint. Hell, there’s even been an applause a time or two.

But today? Between the ice-cold water, the perfect conditions for shrinkage and the fact it feels like I tried to marinate my dick in lighter fluid... let’s just say, this ain’t my highlight reel.

My balls are somewhere near my kidneys, my dick’s still singin’ the national anthem of pain, and yet—

I glance down.

Relief slides through me like whiskey on a sore throat.

Still there. Still swingin’. Still hangin’ heavy, despite the trauma.

Hell, my guy’s resilient.

“ Good boy ,” I mutter under my breath as I clear my throat, because if anything deserved a damn medal tonight, it’s him.

I can feel Mia’s gaze on my back, and I shift slightly, and yep—there it is. He's not just surviving, he's showin' up like he’s now the third person in the shower with us.

I look over my shoulder and see her trailing her eyes down my body.

The way she’s watching me—hell, it’s not even fair.

Her cheeks are flushed from the heat of the water, that mouth slick and pink, parted just enough to make my thoughts turn criminal.

A few damp strands cling to her collarbone, drawing my eyes down to her covered breasts and my mouth goes dry at her golden skin and curves that won’t quit.

I swear, if she looks at me any longer, there’s a good chance he’s gonna start waving like he’s got manners.

Fuck.

My body’s still angled away, keeping my lower half strategically shielded.

I don’t need to see her to feel it—the weight of her gaze crawling up my spine, the kind that makes a man feel bare in all the ways that matter.

I stay still. Let her take her fill. Let her watch the way water tracks down my back, the way my shoulders flex when I brace against the tile.

Let her see what she does to me without laying a single damn finger on me.

Then I turn my head.

Just enough to catch her in the act. Her eyes lock with mine, wide and stormy, like she’s caught between a cliff and the jump. She turns away a second later, like she hadn’t been caught devouring me with her eyes, like that moment didn’t shake her to the core.

But I saw it. Every flicker of want written clear as day on her face.

My hand reaches out, twisting the tap off with a heavy clunk that leaves nothing but the sound of her breathing in the silence and I turn to face her.

Because I need to see it.

Every flicker of emotion. Every hesitation. Every truth she might not even mean to show.

I don't want to just hear the answer—I want to witness it dance across her face in real time. Raw, unfiltered.

Silence falls—thick, humming with unsaid things. I hold my breath, waiting, pulse hammering like I just rode a rank bull bareback.

My voice comes out low—too low—rougher than I mean it to.

“So,” I say, my voice low, rougher than I intend “Who were you thinking about, when you were touching yourself Mia?”

I revel in the sound of her sharp inhale and her eyes blowing wide. That pause. That charged silence.

After a beat, her voice comes out quiet, but it slices through me like a lightning strike as she turns to face me fully.

“You know who,” she says finally.

My throat tightens. “I want to hear you say it.” I say in a low growl.

A pause.

“Grant.”

My name lands in the air between us like a detonation. No game. No pretense.

“Say it, Mia.” I urge, barely above a whisper now, needing that final crack in her walls. Needing her to be as wrecked by this as I am.

She bites her bottom lip, hesitation flickering, before surrender takes its place.

“You,” she says. Soft. Like an exhale of truth.

Her throat bobs. “I was…” her tongue flicks over her lip “I was thinking about you, Grant.”

The confession hits me like a shot of adrenaline to the heart. All the heat I’d tried to rinse away comes flooding back heading straight south, crashing through my system like wildfire.

My heart pounds against my ribcage as I take a step forward.

“This is a bad idea,” she whispers, but she doesn't move. Doesn’t step back. Her body’s trembling, not from fear—but from the quiet quake of anticipation.

Another step toward her.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Controlled.

Like a man stalking the edge of a line he knows damn well he’s about to cross.

And still—she doesn’t move. Doesn’t waver. Her eyes track every inch of me, wide and dark, her breath catches when I get close enough for the steam between us to merge.

Her legs shift, just slightly, and I catch the tiniest shiver run through her. My body reacts instantly, drawn to her like gravity’s gone feral.

I close the distance, one slow step at a time. Every inch I draw closer, her pupils blow wider, her lips part just a little more.

“I was thinking about you too,” I whisper, closing the distance between us. “I can't stop thinking about you.” I murmur, my voice gravel and raw.

“All damn day. When I have my morning coffee, seeing you in those tight little shorts in my kitchen, having you under my damn roof, when I’m out driving cattle, on that couch, in the damn shower. You’re in my head all damn day, every day Mia. You drive me fucking insane.”

Her gaze flicks to my mouth. I watch the war in her expression—desire wrestling logic; lust battling self-control.

Her eyes drop lower—to my chest, down the defined line of my abs, lingering where the water trails past my hips. She doesn't look away. Not this time.

Her tongue traces her lower lip. “This is a very bad idea,” she repeats in a whisper, voice husky, but there's no retreat in her body.

“Probably,” I admit, stepping closer until the only thing separating us is willpower.

I reach up and brush a wet strand of hair from her face. Her skin is warm, flushed and soft against my fingers. Her breath hitches, and she leans into my touch.

“Do you want me to stop?” I ask, praying like fuck she’s as out of control and past the point of stopping as I feel.

Her gaze slams into mine, molten and sure. There’s heat there, but something else too. Resolve. Need.

Instead of answering, she tilts her chin—just a fraction—but it’s the kind of defiant little move that knocks the breath clean out of me, as she shakes her head.

My gaze rakes over her—water gliding over golden skin, curves that beg to be touched, admired, memorized. Her nipples are tight, standing against the cool air, and when she sees where my eyes land, she doesn’t hide or try to cover them.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” I murmur, like it’s the only truth I’ve ever known. My voice is hoarse, reverent.

Her eyes travel the length of my body with unconcealed appreciation.

“If we do this,” she whispers, “there’s no pretending it didn’t happen.”

She says it like she only half expects me to agree. Like maybe I’ll kiss her now and vanish by morning, blame it on the heat, or the adrenaline.

And hell no—that stops me colder than any ice shower ever could.

I lean in, so close my lips nearly brush hers. “Not interested in pretending darlin’.” I say, steady, but there's thunder just under my skin.

Because pretending?

Pretending I didn’t want her? That I haven’t wanted her every day since she crash-landed into my world like she hasn’t turned my whole damn universe upside down.

It would be insulting, if it wasn’t impossible.

She looks up at me then, those big baby blues flickering with something unreadable. Doubt, maybe. Or worse—experience. Like she’s known men who could love her with their hands and forget her with their mouth still wet from her taste.

The thought of it burns.

So I pull back—not away, just enough to really look at her. To make sure she hears me. “You think I’d ever want to forget this?” My voice drops, rough as gravel. “Forget you?”

Mia doesn’t answer, but her mouth parts and her breath catches like I’ve cracked something in her—something she's used to keeping locked up tight.

I shake my head, jaw tight. “You don’t know me— not really —if you think I could have you like this…

feel all of this… and then just walk away like it didn’t shake something loose in me.

” I pause, letting the words settle between us, raw and unflinching.

“If all we’ve got is a moment, Mia… then I’m gonna make damn sure it’s one neither one of us is ever able to forget.

” I lean in and kiss the spot just below her ear, whispering “I haven’t stopped wanting you—not for a second—and I won’t pretend like this is anything less than everything. ”

Her breath hitches and she blinks several times. I see it—the way her walls try to rebuild. The lift of her chin. That stubborn pride I admire way too much. But I don’t let her shut down. I reach out, fingers trailing the side of her neck, slow and grounding.

My hands trail lower down her body, finding her waist, pulling her against me. The feel of her naked skin against mine sends electricity dancing along my nerve endings.

“I've wanted this since the very first moment I saw you,” I confess, my voice rough with desire.

Her hands slide up my chest to link behind my neck. “Then what are you waiting for cowboy?”

It's all the permission I need. I let out a breath, shaky and so fucking relieved. Then I lean in and kiss her, hard, pouring everything I’ve been holding back into the seam of her lips.

The kiss is deep and hungry. She tastes like mint and desire, her tongue meeting mine in a dance that makes my head spin. I walk her backward until her back is pressed against the cool tile wall, her breath hitches, our bodies flush from chest to thigh.

I can feel her heat against my hardness, the friction making both of us moan into the kiss.

My hands can't get enough of her—stroking down her collarbone, cupping her breasts, my thumbs brushing over her nipples until she arches into my touch, desperate, needy, hands roaming my back, nails digging just enough to leave marks.

“Grant,” she gasps as I move my lips to her neck, finding the pulse point that makes her shiver. “Please…I..”

I lower my head taking in one nipple into my mouth sucking, pulling, licking. My dick twitches at the sound of her deep moan as her head falls back on the tile.

I drop to my knees like it’s instinct. Like worship.

Like gravity itself gave up pretending I’d ever stand a chance at resisting her.

Water pounding my shoulders, sliding my hands down her thighs, I hook her leg over my shoulder, opening her up to me, and look up at her, just to see her face as I taste her.

She’s breathtakingly stunning, displayed bare in front of me like this.

And then; I get to work.