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Delaney parted her lips. Claire’s tongue swept inside, sliding against hers. Delaney’s hands dragged over Claire’s shoulders. She slipped her fingers into her hair and curled her fist. She pulled, just enough. A low, rough sound tore from Claire’s throat, shaking straight through Delaney’s ribs.

This was what she’d pictured in the round pen, through every hour of groundwork. Claire’s body against hers, no holding back. The older woman’s experience showed in every deliberate press of her hips, in the way she tilted Delaney’s head to deepen the angle, in the controlled power that made Delaney feel claimed and cherished at once. Delaney dragged her fingertips down the soft skin beneath Claire’s ear, feeling the heat humming against her touch. Claire shivered, a fine tremor rippling down her neck. God, Delaney wanted to undo her, to take her apart the way Claire had been doing to her for days.

Their breathing came ragged now, chests rising and falling. Delaney nipped at Claire’s lower lip, then soothed it with her tongue. Claire’s palm slipped under the hem of Delaney’s shirt, flat against the bare skin of her lower back. Delaney arched into it, legs wrapping around Claire to pull her closer. It turned hungry, mouths sliding, teeth grazing. She could feel how much Claire wanted this in the tremor of her arms, in the way she pressed forward like she couldn’t get close enough.

Delaney broke just enough to breathe against Claire’s mouth. “I’ve been dreaming about this for so long.” The words came out hoarse.

Claire’s eyes met hers. No guarded distance now, just raw want, her chest still heaving.

She wasn’t pulling away. The knowledge settled hot and heavy in Delaney’s stomach. Claire was right here, open, within reach. Delaney traced the line of her jaw with her fingertips.

12

Claire’s mouth found Delaney’s again, harder this time. The kiss carried the weight of every night she’d spent telling herself no, every glance she’d smothered, every time she’d turned away from the guest room door at the end of the hall.

Delaney’s lips parted under hers, warm and willing, and Claire let herself take what she’d been denying. The whiskey on Delaney’s breath mixed with the faint salt of her skin. She slid her hands up Delaney’s sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through the thin cotton of her tank top. Delaney arched into the touch with a soft sound that made Claire’s pulse jump.

Claire broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, “Upstairs,” against Delaney’s mouth. The word came out rough, like it had been dragged from her. She didn’t wait for an answer. She took Delaney’s hand, her fingers threading through Delaney’s, and pulled her toward the stairs. The wood groaned under their steps, the sound familiar and intimate in the quiet house. Delaney’s palm was warm, her grip sure, and Claire let herself believe this was real. That she wasn’t about to ruin everything.

Claire’s heart hammered against her ribs as they moved down the narrow hallway, every beat thudding in her throat. She put her free palm flat against her bedroom door, pushed it open, and tugged Delaney across the threshold into the dark room with her.

Claire let go of Delaney’s hand only long enough to turn and push the door shut behind them. The latch clicked into place, loud in the quiet upstairs. Her hand found the wall switch by habit, flicking on the low bedside lamps. The amber light spilled across the white comforter, and then it caught Delaney’s face, bare of makeup, freckles showing across the bridge of her nose, her dark hair loose over the shoulders of that thin tank top.

Claire’s pulse throbbed low between her legs. Her jeans felt too tight at the seam, damp heat already soaking through her underwear, so slick and obvious she was half afraid Delaney would smell it on her before they even got their clothes off.

Delaney didn’t give her time to second-guess. She stepped forward, crowding Claire against the closed door, her body pressing full-length against hers. Her hands found Claire’s waist, then slid up her sides, thumbs tracing the line of her ribs. Every point of contact burned—the heat of Delaney’s palms through her flannel, the press of her hips, the way her dark waves brushed Claire’s collarbone. Delaney’s mouth found hers again, urgent and demanding, and Claire kissed her back with everything she’d been holding in.

Delaney’s hands roamed over Claire’s shoulders, sliding beneath the loose flannel to map the muscles along her back. Claire felt each slow pass through the fabric, the pressure of Delaney’s palms finding every place years of ranch work had left her strong. No one had touched her like this in years. She had forgotten what it felt like to be wanted with this kind of unreserved, greedy focus, like Delaney had been counting down the days until she could get her hands on her.

Delaney broke the kiss with a gasp, her forehead resting against Claire’s. “God, you feel good,” she murmured, her voice rough.

Her hands slipped under Claire’s flannel, pushing it off Claire’s shoulders. The fabric pooled at her elbows, and Claire let it fall to the floor.

Claire’s own tank top stayed on. Delaney’s was thin, the straps barely there, and her fingers traced the edge of the neckline before sliding down to the hem and tugging it upward.

Delaney lifted her arms, letting Claire pull it over her head. The white fabric caught for a second on her dark waves before falling to the floor. The bra underneath was simple, black lace, the cups barely containing Delaney’s breasts.

Claire couldn’t look away.

She’d imagined this, but the reality was better.

Delaney’s skin was flushed, her chest rising and falling fast. Claire’s fingers slid up to the clasp of Delaney’s bra. One flick of her fingers and it came undone.

Delaney inhaled sharply as the bra loosened. Claire didn’t give her time to adjust. She pushed the straps down Delaney’s arms, letting the lace fall away. Delaney’s nipples were already hard, the peaks dark against her flushed skin.

Claire’s hands cupped her, thumbs brushing over the sensitive flesh, and Delaney’s head fell back with a soft moan. The wrecked little sound was entirely for her. Claire leaned in, her mouth finding Delaney’s collarbone, then lower, her tongue tracing a path down to one nipple. Delaney’s fingers tangled in her hair, holding her there, and Claire took her time, teasing with her lips and teeth until Delaney’s breath caught hard.

“Claire,” Delaney breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her hips pressed forward, seeking friction, and Claire obliged, grinding against her through the layers of denim. The pressure settled right where she needed it. Delaney’s hands slid down Claire’s back, fingers hooking into the waistband of her jeans, pulling her closer. Claire’s own hands found Delaney’s waist, then lower, gripping the firm curve of her ass.

Delaney gasped, her hips jerking forward, and Claire swallowed the sound with another kiss.

The door rattled under them, the old wood protesting. Claire didn’t care. She was too far gone for caution now. Delaney’s hands were everywhere—her shoulders, her back, her hips—like she couldn’t get enough.

Claire’s own touch grew bolder, her fingers slipping under the waistband of Delaney’s jeans, tracing the line of her hip bone. Delaney’s skin was warm, smooth. She wanted to know what made her gasp, what made her moan.

Claire’s breath stalled the moment Delaney’s fingers brushed the button of her jeans. The younger woman’s hands were trembling just enough to show how badly she wanted this, how little patience she had left, and that small, honest shake undid something deep in Claire’s chest.

The button gave way. The zipper rasped down, loud as a match strike in the hush between them. Then Delaney’s hand slid inside, palm pressing against the soaked cotton of her underwear, and every thought in Claire’s head narrowed to that single point of heat. She was already wet, embarrassingly so.