Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(2)

As soon as she’s done trembling, I grab two handfuls of her pert ass and spin her around. I get her on her hands and knees on the bed and let loose an animalistic groan. That’s goddamn it. I have the best view in the world. Her pussy, pretty and pink and wet, aimed right at me.

If it’s even possible, I unravel further. This girl has me by the balls.

With a growl, I fold myself over her and grip her hips, hard, then slam into her slick channel with savage lust.

With a delighted squeal, she throws her head back. I fist her hair and tug. Her long lashes flutter. “Yes, Davis,” she purrs. “Yes, yes.”

“You feel so fucking good.” She whimpers as I drive my cock deeper into her, her muscles flexing around me like a vise. “Fuck. Fuck.”

There’s nothing but us tonight.

We have to last. Because in less than twenty-four hours, it’s all over.

Dakota moans, a husky sound that has me picking up the pace. Skin slapping skin, her breasts bounce as my hips smack her ass. Reaching around, I stick my fingers in her mouth. She takes them deep, sucking on them.

The cabin fills with moans, the smell of sex. I fuck her hard, cleaving onto all that creamy white flesh, savoring these last moments with this girl. It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. Not with Dakota.

Tonight, she’s mine. I’m taking her. Let her go into the world smelling of my cum and knowing I’ve been the last one to touch, to taste her.

Dakota reaches back and palms my face. Pressure builds in both of us. I’m already fucking shaking like a teenager.

I grip her hard around the waist and yank her into me. Flesh against flesh, her bare back against my chest. She throws her head back against my shoulder, and I nip at her throat. Arching on tiptoes to get deeper, I thrust harder, working us both into a frenzy. Can’t control it. A shudder rolls down my spine and into my cock, and then I’m roaring my release. Seconds later, Dakota’s small moans follow mine.

When the quaking between our bodies stops, I gather her in my arms and pull us down into bed.

With a content sigh, she curls into me, all warm and soft like the last light of the evening sky. “I’m not going to be able to walk after tonight,” she says with a little laugh.

I grunt. “Baby, you won’t be able to crawl.”

She’s staying in this bed until we run out of moonlight. I’m not letting her go without fucking her senseless. As long as I have tonight, I have Dakota. And I plan on taking my goddamn time.

“Mmm,” she hums, tracing a hand up my bicep. Her wild mane of hair curls around us like a dark cloud of smoke. “Let’s hope not.”

“Where’s your first stop?” I force the question out. Force myself to keep a cool head even if it’s the last thing I feel.

“I’m in San Antonio for two semesters. And then…the future…it’s wide open.” She stretches her arms out over her head, baring her breasts, dark rosy nipples I can’t wait to get in my mouth again. “Goodbye, Resurrection. Hello, sweet, sweet freedom.”

“Will you miss it?”

“I’ll miss my sister. My dad. The mountains.” She hesitates, then her gaze drops to my face. “I’ll miss you,” she whispers.

“I’ll miss you, too.” Emotion knots my throat, and I tug her into my arms. “Miss kickin’ your ass in pinball.”

She scoffs and slaps my chest. “Davis Montgomery, I know you’re not rewriting history.”

I drag a hand over her arm, kiss that little freckle on her lip. I never miss it. I could find it in the dark, blindfolded. “Who’s taking you to the airport tomorrow?”

“Stede,” she says, her expression flushing with guilt.

No one knows about us. Not her father. Not my brothers. Maybe Ford, my twin, has a clue, but wisely, he’s kept his fat fucking mouth shut.

For the last six months, we’ve been sneaking around, and I hate myself for it. Maybe because the girl in question is the dark-haired daughter of Stede McGraw. A man I consider a father to me and my brothers. Maybe because I should know better, and yet, she breaks every ounce of my self-control.

Don’t know how this woman slipped her way past my cold wall. Intelligent. Disarming. Beautiful. Somehow between the sex, the dreamless sleep, our conversations, she dragged it all out of me. We’ve only known each other a year, but it feels like I’ve known her for five lifetimes.

In those blissful hours we spent together, I forgot about my responsibilities. My brother wasn’t losing it. My mission hadn’t gone to shit. My team was still alive. I didn’t have to keep it together. All that exists is this bright force of a woman who’s breathed life back into my battered body. Has me feeling more like a man, less animal.

Dakota slips out of bed, and I watch her, my cock resuscitating itself at the gentle sway of her hips and ass as she takes a tube of lotion out of her purse.

I push myself up on my elbows and shake my head. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Shut up.” She slips in bed behind me, reclining me in her arms. “Enjoy it. It’s the last time I’ll do it.”

The singular thought has the power to destroy. My heart hammers, and I look to the window like I can stop the sun from rising. At dawn, she’ll be gone, and there’s not a thing I can do about it.

Slowly, methodically, like she’s done all summer, Dakota rubs the lotion on my bullet wound. I relax into her, wanting to tattoo her touch onto my body. Her graceful hands knead the scar tissue as gently as she kneads one of her breads.