A Cowboy for Christmas by Em Petrova Read Free Book Online

her body deeper, and they shared a primal noise. “Move!”
    He withdrew almost to the tip before slamming back inside. She cried out. He tugged her hips up to receive him more fully, his mind mush. He could only think of one thing—stretching her tight, wet sheath until he heard her make that insane sound again.
    Fire spread through his groin and tingled along his spine. He was so damn close. Too close. He was going to embarrass himself if he didn’t slow down.
    Reaching around her, he toggled her clit piercing. She cried out. “You’re so fucking wet…and…tight.” He churned his hips to find that point to send her over the edge. Locking his arms around her, he drew her into his every thrust. She turned her face hard on the pillow so he glimpsed her pink cheeks and eyes half-closed in bliss.
    “Dustyyyy.” Her gasp walloped him—she said his name the same way each time she came. Jesus, a man could get used to hearing that. His cock throbbed. He groaned.
    And then he was pounding her, mindless to anything but the quick clench and release of her pussy around his cock and the look on her beautiful face as she came apart for him.
    He pushed deep and came. Four spurts extended into seven. Just when he thought she’d milk him dry, his arms buckled and he collapsed against her. Weighting her to the bed, kissing her throat.
    “How was that mistake?” he rasped.
    “It made me forget that terrible, annoying song.”
    He chuckled and felt her own mirth vibrate under him. His smile spread over her skin. “Sugar, I think it made me forget my own name.”
    * * * * *
    On the opening day of Cowboy Christmas, Avalee knew three things. First, nobody really liked the Coldspring Canyon bars that Dusty said tasted like vomit. She’d sold out of all the Arroyo Anchos but she had ten cases of Coldspring Canyons.
    Second, despite that irritating song playing everywhere she went, she was really starting to catch the Christmas spirit. Now that she had a good memory to associate with the tune, she found herself smiling.
    And lastly, she was terrified of seeing Dusty again.
    She’d managed to avoid him after their one night of bliss. He’d come looking for her, but she’d spotted him—and his trail of fans—moving through the place like a tornado through a trailer park, and she’d quickly ducked out.
    But today was the photoshoot, and there was no more escaping him. She dragged in a deep breath of cinnamon-and-pine-scented air. She could do this. She was a mature woman. So they’d slept together. Sure, they’d strayed from the rules of lust by having sex several times. They’d thoroughly enjoyed each other during the course of the night, but she had no reason to be embarrassed.
    She pushed her hair off her face. Who was she fooling? She wasn’t embarrassed—she was afraid she’d take one look at him again and end up riding his cock like a cheap drunk on a mechanical bull. Except her alcoholic high came from a single look into Dusty’s dark eyes.
    “Miss Byrd, can I have a second of your time to ask you a few questions?” The young male reporter had a pen and notebook. He’d been asking her questions for two days, none of them seeming important enough to print in a magazine or newspaper. She suspected he bothered her because he had a bit of a crush. Either that or he was hungry. Maybe he could take home some of the Coldspring Canyon bars.
    Brushing her hair over her shoulder, she turned with a smile. “Sure.”
    He dimpled as he moved closer. “This is your family business, am I right?”
    “Yes, it is. My father started the company a decade ago. The operation began in our own kitchen and expanded to a big factory kitchen right here in the USA.”
    He scrawled her reply, and it hit her that most reporters these days wouldn’t be writing notes longhand.
    She narrowed her eyes. “Who do you write for?”
    He glanced up and dimpled more. Damn, the guy had one in each cheek. He’d make some woman happy, but not her.