Page 44 of Wild Love, Cowboy (The Portree Cowboys #1)

My hands find her waist beneath the water, and I lift her, pulling her flush against me. Wrapping her legs around my hips and it’s all I can do not to groan. She’s heat and softness, pressed to me like she’s not letting go.

My hands slide under the water, to cup the perfect curve of her ass, drawing her flush against me. I anchor her at the waist, and when her forehead rests on mine, the river and the world fade to nothing.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Mia,” I murmur, voice low and wrecked.

She shivers, breath brushing my jaw. “Then we’re even.”

She kisses me again, harder this time, and I bite her bottom lip with a tease, the sound she makes driving my blood pulse harder than it should.

I shift my grip, palm spreading across her lower back, grounding her to me.

She lets out a gasp, as her hips roll against mine, the contact lightning sharp.

The water laps around us. Crickets chirp at the edges.

Her skin tastes like all the most delicious things I never knew I was starving for. The river doesn’t care if I’ve been carrying guilt like a second skin for years. Doesn’t care that I stopped believing I could feel anything good. It just flows, steady and calm, like it’s been waiting for this too.

I nip and kiss down her neck, savoring every inch, and when she moans—soft, broken, raw—I nearly lose my damn mind.

“Grant…” she breathes, tilting her head back for more.

Yeah. That’s it. That’s everything.

I’m completely lost in this moment and so is Mia as she whispers broken curses, carried away by the light breeze. I’ve never wanted anything the way I want her right now.

Not in the bedroom. Not in a bed. But right here.

Here where it all began with the element that binds us together.

The river. The loss. And now— her and new beginnings.

I shift slightly, anchoring my feet against the rocks, water at my waist, her wrapped around me like she was made for this.

“You’re killing me,” I mutter, nipping at her jaw.

“You like it,” she murmurs, her breath hot against my ear.

“I like you. More than I probably should. More than I ever meant to.”

My voice coming out rough. Raw. True.

She moans as I press her against me, my hardness joined with all the places she is soft, her thighs tightening around my hips. Her hands roam my chest, my stomach, sliding lower with a hunger that turns the world to static.

“I want you,” I whisper against her mouth. “All of you. Here. Now.”

Her fingers fist in my hair, dragging me closer. “Then take me.”

And I do.

Right here, in the river that once haunted me. I let go of every ghost. Every regret. Every version of myself I’ve been trying to bury.

Because this version—the one touching her, holding her like salvation—this is the man I want to be.

The man she sees.

And when we move together, breath ragged, water rising around us, sun hanging low and gold, it feels less like desire and more like healing. Like being reborn in the place I thought had only taken from me.

The sun sinks toward the tree line, staining the sky orange-gold as I sink lower in the river, letting the water lap at my shoulders.

“Float on your back for me baby” I say, voice thick.

She releases her legs around my waist, and I guide her back, letting her float in the water.

Keeping one steady hand at the small of her back while she relaxes onto the water’s surface and I bring her legs to my shoulders, letting her thighs settle over them for balance, her skin warm against my neck.

The sight of her—body rising and falling with each careful breath—hits me low in the gut.

“Grant?” she whispers, eyes half-shut.

“I’ve got you, baby.” I answer, because I do. Because I will always.

I trace both palms up her sides, feeling every flex and shiver.

My thumbs brush the nipple peaks beneath her swimsuit; the sharp inhale she gives me is instant, high and sweet.

My cock pulsing under the weight of the water.

I circle again, slower, memorizing the way her lips part, the soft sound that escapes.

“Oh… Grant.”

I can’t hide my grin. That one, breathy moan feels like a medal pinned to my chest. I keep my touch gentle but sure, smoothing over her ribs, down her stomach, each pass slower than the last so I can watch her react—eyes fluttering shut, chin tipping back, a tiny tremor in her thighs where they rest on my shoulders.

Late afternoon settles around us. Crickets start their song in the reeds, a lone heron wings past, and the current whispers over smooth stones.

All of it feels hushed—like the land itself is holding its breath while I lower my mouth to Mia.

I kiss up her leg, the soft spot at her knees, her calf, before placing a kiss on her ankle.

I want to kiss, lick, taste and claim every part of her body, so that she’d know she’s mine.

She’s the single most beautiful woman, I’ve ever laid eyes on and she’s mine, whether she fully realizes it yet or not.

More than that—she’s letting me see her like this, open and trusting. Every second she floats here in my hands feels like a promise I have to earn.

I rest her leg back over my shoulder and trail my hands up the seam of her swimsuit, sliding the material to one side and I’m met with the sight her glorious bare pussy.

“Fuck, baby. You undo me just by breathing—seeing you like this finishes the job. You’re fucking incredible,” I say, the words scraping out rough. “You know that?”

Her gaze flickers up to mine, soft and shining. “Only when you look at me like that.”

“Well then, keep your eyes on mine, so you never forget, while I worship every inch of you.” I say, voice thick with hunger.

How am I supposed to think straight when all I want is to trace every curve I’m looking at with my tongue and never stop?

Hell, I don’t stop myself when I press a kiss to her inner thigh, tasting her warm skin. She lets out a soft, aching moan that echoes off the water and straight through my ribs.

Then I lower my mouth to her core like a mad man unleased in pure paradise. Spreading her open with my thumbs, I lick through her folds and a sweet sound escapes her throat.

I will never get enough of her. And if this is my only chance to taste her, I’m going to savor every second like it’s my last breath.

“You feel that baby?” I murmur against her, lips brushing her sensitive skin. The vibration making her let out a breathless moan.

“Your sweetness spells my name , clear as day and there’s no question—you taste like you’re mine .”

She gasps—and cries out as my tongue laps into her with a hunger and ferocity like a man possessed, needing to taste and lick every inch of her.

I flatten my tongue, slow and broad, savoring her taste; then I tighten the motion, tracing deliberate circles on her clit, feeling her hips twitch and her fingers spear into my hair.

The tug is sharp, perfect, and I lean into it—drinking in each sound she gives me, each tremor in her thighs.

“Grant,” she gasps, voice cracking. “Don’t stop—right there, please—don’t stop.”

Like hell I would.

I double down, licking and sucking with unrelenting precision, my grip on her thighs firm. She’s not going anywhere. Not while she’s coming apart in my hands. Not while I’ve got the privilege of watching her break wide open just for me.

Her hands reach for my forearms as I drag my tongue down her centre in long languid strokes and I don’t let up till her breath comes in ragged.

“Grant..I’m, I’m—”

She doesn’t get to finish the sentence when her thighs tighten around my shoulders and her whole body tenses, legs trembling, back bowing, her body arching out of the water—and I feel the wave crash through her before I hear it.

That sound she makes? That shattered, beautiful cry as she falls?

Yeah, I’ll be chasing it until the day I die.

I stay with her through it—gentler now, tongue softer, lips pressing reverent kisses along her thighs as she floats back down from the high.

When I finally rise from the water, she’s still panting, still stunned, her limbs loose and barely able to hold onto me. I drop my lips to her mouth—slow and deep and a little messy, letting her taste exactly what she gave me.

Her moan into my mouth sends my dick twitching in my jeans

And that sound? That wrecked, satisfied sound?

It ruins me. Wrecks me completely.

Because this isn’t just about sex. It never is.

It’s about showing her what it means to be worshipped. To be seen .

And right here, in this river that once carried all my guilt—I’m not drowning anymore.

I’m alive. Because of her.

I nearly lose it right here.

Her hands slide down to my waistband of my soaked jeans, tugging at my belt, but a voice cuts through the trees.

“Grant?”

Mia freezes. Her eyes go wide. I spin toward the bank, heart slamming into my throat.

Ryan.

He’s walking toward the river, I just about make him out in the distance, a rope slung over his shoulder, clearly searching.

“Grant, you down here?” he shouts again.

I haul Mia close, and we scramble for the river bank, water flying as she heads for her clothes.

I’m still catching my damn breath, heart thundering and blood refusing to redistribute where it belongs.

My jeans cling to me like a second skin, soaked through, heavy, and completely unhelpful given the rock-hard situation still going on below my belt. Jesus. I look like I’ve just won a wet-jeans contest and smuggled the trophy in my fly.

I shift, subtly trying to adjust myself so I don’t look like a denim-wrapped sundial at full noon. But jeans? Wet? No mercy. I might as well be pitching a tent with a neon sign.

“GRANT!” Ryan’s voice rings out, somewhere up the trail, too damn close for my liking.

Mia freezes mid-strap as I fling my wet shirt from my back pocket and wrestle it over my head.

I blink at her like a deer caught doing something unholy—which I was—and mouth a silent shit as I try to stand casual.

There is no casual. My dick is trying to play peekaboo with the damn horizon and my shirt is clinging to my chest, making zero effort to provide cover.

“Yeah, Coming!” I call back, voice higher than normal—then wince at my word choice. Great. Real subtle.

Mia bites her lip, shoulders shaking. “You sure are,” she whispers, entirely unhelpful.

I shoot her a look, but even I can’t keep the grin off my face.

She nods, swipes a hand over her still-damp dress, and gestures for me to lead the way. “Let’s go, trophy boy.”

Ryan rounds the bend, sees me standing like I just lost a bar fight with a fire hydrant, and halts. His gaze drops. Lingers. Tilts his head .

He blinks once. Then grins.

“Well,” he drawls, “either you were attacked by a very enthusiastic trout… or I just interrupted something that would make a priest blush.”

I cough. Loud. “It’s hot,” I say, which is not an answer.

His eyes narrow at my soaked jeans. “You swam… in denim ?” one eyebrow quirked.

I throw my arms out. “I was hot and trying to remain respectful in the presence of a guest , Ryan.” I gesture to Mia. “I layered. For modesty.”

Mia makes a choking noise behind me. Probably trying not to die laughing.

Ryan stares at me like I’ve grown an extra head. “ Riiight . Modesty. Wet jeans are known for their chastity-preserving qualities.”

I wave him off, and adjust the hem of my shirt strategically. “Did you need something or are you just out here giving fashion critiques like a cowboy GQ expert?”

He smirks. “Got a heifer tangled in barbed wire by the south gate. Figured my brother, the wet denim saint, might want to help.”

“I’ll be there in ten,” I mutter, desperate to usher him anywhere but here .

He throws me one last look—amused, all-knowing—and disappears back up the trail.

I turn to find Mia brushing down her sundress, shoulders shaking, still trying to contain her laughter. Her eyes are shining, her mouth curved like she’s tasting something she’ll never forget.

“Modesty?” she whispers, biting her bottom lip.

“What?” I say, mock offended. “I’m a gentleman .”

“You’re a menace.”

I step close, press a quick kiss to her temple. “And you, swim champ, are going to be the death of me.”

We walk back toward the house, the wet squish of my jeans reminding me of every bad life choice I’ve ever made. Still, I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything in the world.

Her fingers brush mine, and I take her hand, squeezing it once.

Our time’s limited. We both know that.

But damn if I’m not going to make every second count.