Chapter 9: The Tack Room

Orla's POV

The tack room was dark and smelled of old leather, and I did not care.

Cade's mouth was on mine, and every inch of me was on fire.

My back hit the wall beside the saddle racks.

He caught my wrists and pinned them there, not hard.

He pulled back an inch.

"Last chance," he said against my lips. "Tell me no."

"If you stop, I will hurt you."

His laugh came out cracked and rough.

"Understood."

He kissed me again. This time it was slower, and it was worse, because he was learning me.

His tongue stroked mine.

His beard scraped my chin.

I made a sound I had never made in my life.

I got my hands free and shoved them under his shirt.

His skin was hot over the muscle.

I felt him shiver and hold still.

I remembered the seven cuts and kept my palms away from them.

"Take it off," I said.

He pulled it over his head with one hand and dropped it.

I put my mouth to his collarbone.

He tasted of salt and pine.

His fingers dug into my hips.

"Orla."

"Again."

"Orla."

"Say it again," I told him. "Louder."

He picked me up, and I locked my legs around his waist.

He carried me to the horse blankets stacked under the window and went down on his knees with me.

My dress was thin cotton.

He got the buttons open one at a time with shaking fingers.

When it fell open, he looked at me for a long moment in the moonlight.

I had never been looked at like that.

"You're so beautiful it hurts," he said hoarsely.

"Then do something about it."

He put his mouth on my breast.

I arched off the blankets with a gasp.

His tongue circled my nipple, and then he sucked.

Heat shot straight down between my legs.

I was so wet it was embarrassing.

"Cade, please."

He moved to the other breast.

His hand slid up my thigh and found the edge of my underwear.

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