Page 47 of Wild Love, Cowboy (The Portree Cowboys #1)

Mia

I blink up at him, still holding him in my hand, and holy hell—did I block out just how big he is? I must have. Because there’s no way I’d forget this level of intimidation. Or anticipation.

He's watching me like I'm a storm rolling in—like he’s ready for the destruction I’m about to unleash. That cocky smirk on his face only makes me want to wipe it clean… with my mouth.

“Well, princess,” he drawls, voice low and teasing, “what’s the plan?”

I lick my lips. That smug bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.

I brace my hands on his thighs, the muscle flexing under my palms, and lean in, letting my breath fan over his thick length in front of me. I swear I feel him twitch, and I smile. Just a little. Just enough to make him tilt his head and murmur, “Teasin’ me already?”

I don’t answer, instead I drag my tongue all the way from his base along his length, pressing a kiss to the very tip of him.

He jerks—sharp, involuntary—and groans low. “Fuck, Mia.”

I don’t look away—not even for a second—as I move higher and my tongue traces the line of his lower abs, teasing, tasting, making him clench his fists at his sides to keep from completely losing it.

“Baby,” he chokes out as I take him back into my wet mouth and lick slow, teasing circles that make his thighs contract. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

My smile is wicked. “Good.”

His grip tightens as I take him deeper, sucking gently, pulling back only to swirl my tongue around the head.

“Shit, Mia. You’re… you’re gonna be the death of me,” he rasps, hand tightening in my hair. “You sure you can take all of me, baby?”

I pull off just enough to smirk up at him, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, breathless but absolutely certain. “You built me a swim facility in a damn river, cowboy. I think I can handle this.”

He barks a laugh, but it ends in another hiss as I take him back in, I push past the sting in my jaw, past the stretch, because the way he groans my name like it’s a prayer? Yeah. I’m addicted.

And I’m not stopping until he shatters .

I hold his gaze. Steady. Unblinking.

And then I take him fully into my mouth again—warm, deliberate—letting him feel every inch of the stretch as I sink down, down, deeper , until he hits the back of my throat.

His eyes blow wide, his breath hitches like I’ve just punched the air from his lungs, and he bites down hard on his fist, knuckles white. But I still hear the sound he tries to muffle—a deep, helpless groan, so loud his brotherly neighbors might hear.

“F-fuck baby, you feel so good,” I say with ragged breath. “So damn good.

Seeing him this out of control drives me crazy and I have to clench my thighs from the sheer ache pulsing between them—hot, insistent, and absolutely impossible to ignore.

His other hand fists in my damp hair, but he doesn’t pull—he just holds, anchoring, his chest rising fast, nostrils flaring like he’s barely holding on.

And me?

I don't look away for a second.

I want him to see this. To know exactly what he does to me. To feel just how badly I want to wreck him.

My hands following the motion of my mouth, creating a rhythm. His lips part. His jaw clenches. Sweat beads at his temple, as I pull him back sucking deep, then sliding down again, letting him watch the way I take every inch of him like he’s mine to devour.

I’ve never felt anything like this—raw and sacred and primal all at once.

“ Fuuuck ,” he breathes when I hollow my cheeks, sink lower.

He groans, a deep, guttural sound that goes straight to my core.

I shift, trying to relieve the ache building inside me, but I’m too far gone now.

All I can do is focus on the way he tastes, the way he sounds, the way he’s barely holding on.

His head drops back, jaw clenched, chest rising hard and fast. “Mia…” It’s a warning.

Or maybe a plea. But I don’t stop. I don’t want to.

Because this? This is how I make him feel what he does to me.

This is mine—his groans, the tension rippling through his body, the heat in his eyes when he finally dares to look down at me again.

“Mia, baby… fuuuuck, ” he growls, breath hissing through his teeth.

In one swift motion, with a sharp breath, he grips my arms and hauls me to my feet like he’s reached his breaking point. His mouth crashes onto mine, tasting himself on my tongue, devouring me with a hunger that sets fire to my bones.

“You think you’re in control, darlin’?” he growls against my mouth, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

“Think again.”

He hooks his fingers under my swimsuit and drag the straps down my shoulders, slow and steady till my swimsuit drops to the floor with a thud and I’m standing naked in his study.

Dropping a kiss just below my ear he drags his tongue all the way down my body stopping at my breasts, taking in one pebbling nipple into his mouth, flicking, sucking and teasing it with his tongue, whilst stroking his thumb over my other nipple.

My head rolls back on my shoulders and a deep sound leaving my throat.

“Grant.” I breathe out.

He releases my nipple and traces his tongue further down, kneeling before me until his tongue is all the way to the apex of my thighs, pulling me open with his thumbs as he drags his tongue through my wet pussy once, twice.

“Fuck I love the taste of your sweet pussy.” He says against my skin and I let out a deep all consuming moan.

“I need you,” I whisper, barely recognizing my own voice.

“I know,” he says roughly. “I feel it too baby.”

Without saying another word, he spins me around and bends me over the desk, not caring that his paperwork skitters to the floor. I brace myself on my forearms, heart pounding, breath ragged.

His hands slide up the backs of my thighs, slow and possessive. I feel him behind me, hard and ready, his body pressed along mine like he’s trying to fuse us together.

He leans over, his chest to my back, lips brushing my ear. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

I shake my head, desperate. “Not enough.”

His growl is pure gravel as he slides his hand between us, teasing my clit with slow, maddening pressure. My hips buck, a needy sound escaping me.

“You’re soaked,” he says, low and reverent. “Did all that teasing get you this worked up, Mia?”

I can’t even form words—I just nod, eyes fluttering shut, but he reaches forward and cups my chin, turning my face so he can see me.

“No,” he murmurs. “Eyes on me.”

And when I do—when I lock eyes with him over my shoulder—everything else falls away. There’s no desk. No room. Just this overwhelming need that crackles like a live wire between us.

“I’m not letting you forget what you mean to me,” he says. “Not after this.”

He slides his hand to the front of me and slips two fingers into my slick heat that’s waiting just for him.

My body jolts, eyes going wide with a gasp.

The friction of his fingers is exquisite.

His touch is confident, knowing. Like he’s learned the language of my body in whispers and mapped every reaction in the dark.

And now, he’s reading it back to me, one stroke at a time.

I brace myself on the desk, palms splayed, trying to breathe through the fire building under my skin.

His other hand wraps around my waist, anchoring me to him, steadying me against the tremble in my legs.

I don’t have the words for what’s happening.

I just feel—him, us, this storm of heat and reverence and the maddening ache that only he can soothe.

My breath stutters when he presses closer, lips grazing the back of my neck. “You okay?” he murmurs, low and rough, like gravel soaked in honey.

I nod, too far gone for words.

The pressure builds slowly, every movement of his hand driving me closer to something I’ve been craving since the moment he first looked at me like I wasn’t a passing tourist. Like I was something to stay for.

His fingers move with maddening precision, and I moan, soft and sharp, as the edge creeps closer. There’s nothing in the world but his touch and my need and the sound of his name on my lips.

“Let go for me, baby,” he says against my skin. “I’ve got you.”

And I do.

The world tilts. My muscles seize and I release, a cry tearing from my throat as everything shatters and melts, leaving me boneless and burning in his arms. He holds me through it, whispering things I can’t even process yet, his lips brushing my shoulder like a promise.

Before I fully recover from the high, his hands are everywhere—steadying, claiming—his touch firm against my hips as he positions himself at my entrance. The thick head of him nudges against me and I gasp, because God , I forgot how big he is.

No—I didn’t forget. I just didn’t let myself remember what this stretch feels like. Because if I dared to replay the feeling of him inside me, I’ll never have enough of him and I’ll never let him go, when I should.

He pauses, eyes locking with mine, and it hits me—this man, this wild, golden, maddening cowboy—is being so careful with me right now. Like I’m something he’s scared to break.

“Easy,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “We’ll take it slow, baby.”

I nod, biting my lip. My breath stutters in my chest as he pushes in—slow, deliberate, thick. A ragged breath leaves my mouth as my body stretches around him, and it’s a lot , but I don’t want him to stop. I want all of him.

“I’ve got you,” he breathes, watching me like I’m sacred. “Just breathe baby. Let me in.”

I exhale, forcing my muscles to relax, gripping the edge of the desk like it might save me. He eases in deeper, inch by glorious inch, and I feel everything— every part of him.

“Grant…” His name rips from my throat on a ragged gasp.

He stills, buried halfway, panting against my neck. “You’re so tight, Mia. So fucking perfect.”

“I want it all. I want you .”