Happy Monday my lovelies! Here is the second half of the scene I shared 2 weeks ago from Meant to be Different, the second in the series about the Carlisle clan, that is releasing in July. These two are something special and were a TON of fun to write.
“Three of a kind.” He spread three Jacks on the barrel serving as their makeshift poker table with a cocky smirk. Damn him. The overly confident air that radiated off him was nearly as irresistible as the mischievous twinkle in the deep blue eyes that had haunted her far more than she’d ever admit.
Georgia sighed dramatically, laying down a pair of tens. “Shame I only have two of a kind.”
He smacked the wooden surface with a bark of laughter then motioned her to stand from the black leather office chair he’d rolled over to place opposite his seat on the couch. “Hot damn, Gigi, lose that shirt.”
Over the course of the past hour she’d won far more hands than him and the result was her still retaining possession of her panties, bra, and t-shirt while Wyatt sat across from her in only boxers, jeans, and his hat. Which he’d heatedly argued counted as an article of clothing.
She lifted one brow and countered with a wicked smile of her own. “Not so fast there, Cowboy. See, my pair just so happens to be accompanied by three two’s.” She laid her remaining cards beside the others. “I believe that’s called a full house and means that round goes to me.”
When he stood and flicked open the button on his pants she wasn’t sure she should gloat too much. The muted grind as he slowly unzipped the fly shot fire and ice through her veins. His thumbs hooked beneath the waist band and pushed the denim down his legs at a tortuous pace.
His penetrating stare caused her heartrate to kick up a notch, but she couldn’t look anywhere but at the length of thigh being revealed inch by excruciating inch. Her tongue darted out to trace along her parched lips. She hadn’t even realized what she was doing until his deep groan broke through the haze of lust blanketing the air between them.
“Are you trying to kill me, Gigi?”
He kicked his jeans across the room and flopped back onto the sofa. His head falling back against the exposed wood wall, but not before she caught sight of the thickening bulge straining against the front of his boxer briefs.
A strangled laugh escaped her mouth as Georgia collected the cards and began shuffling them with shaking hands, commanding her body temperature to drop to something back in the double digits. “I was just gonna ask you the same thing, Cowboy.”
He pulled the cards from her grasp and began dealing them out. “My turn to deal, Angel.”
Never, not if they lived to a hundred, would Wyatt ever understand the power of that single nickname on every part of her. It didn’t just ignite her raging libido. That happened simply from sharing the same air space with him. No, it spoke to the tender place in her heart, the one that iced over with the terminal prognosis her mother was given and didn’t thaw until a stupid freaking cowboy waltzed into her life.
Georgia shook her head and cleared her throat, picking up the five small rectangles and investing far too much emotional energy in the cards she held in her hand. And promptly swore in her head. It would take a miracle to win. She laid more than half of them down. “Three.”
The corner of his mouth curled up and his eyes bounced from the cards in his hand to the ones she’d set down to her. He plucked a single one and set it on the barrel next to hers. “Just one for me.”
She swallowed down a growl as he dealt her three more cards and himself one. Another litany of curses she was certain would make the man sitting across from her chortle with delight ricocheted through her mind as she managed to scrape together exactly two cards that matched. Fours. Dammit.
“Whatcha got there, Gigi?”
Her lids narrowed into slits for a brief second and his answering laugh was proof enough that her poker face sucked. She lifted her chin at him. “You first.”
An exaggerated, and clearly fake, frown accompanied a shake of his head. “Ladies first. My mama raised me to be a gentleman.”
Both of her brows lifted. “And would your mama be proud of her darling little boy to know he was up at midnight playing strip poker in his barn?” If she was destined to lose, she could at least stall a little.
Wyatt chuckled and shook his head. “You can’t distract me that easily, Angel. Show me what you’ve got.” He leaned in, eyes simmering with lust. “And if you bring up my mama one more time this night might not end the way I’ve been planning.”
Him? The pulsating need that ached between her legs was begging her to forfeit the game, rip the small patch of fabric that still remained on his body, and satiate her overwhelming desire. Although history had taught her that would last for approximately fifteen minutes before she’d be drowning in need again. Nothing was ever enough. Not with Wyatt.
She laid her pathetic hand on the barrel. “Pair of fours.”
He tossed his cards down as he stood, thumbs beneath the elastic waistband of his boxers. “I think this means you win, Angel.”
Georgia rose, rounded the barrel, and stood in front of him, one hand on his bare chest. Right over the tattoo she’d never admit meant the world to her. “You’re going to let me help you?”
His grin faded and face sobered. “I came back for you. I planned all of this in Asheville instead of Texas or Colorado for us and for our future.” He shook his head and wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, her hips bumping against his. “Dammit, I know I screwed up, but I’m back for good, forever, and I’ll do whatever you need to fix this. I wanted to do this on my own, but if there is anyone I’d let help me it would damn sure be my Dark Angel. She’s kinda been bailing my sorry ass out since I was seventeen.”
She pushed lightly against his chest, stepped out of his embrace, and peeled her shirt over her head. “Pretty sure this means we both win, Cowboy.” She motioned to the cotton barely containing his rapidly growing length. “Lose the boxers and tell me you’ve got a condom close by.”
He fished a foil packet out of the pocket of his discarded jeans and dropped his underwear in the space of a heartbeat. With more confidence than any man should possess, he turned back to her and stole any oxygen that remained in her lungs.
Georgia flattened her palm on his abdomen and pressed lightly. “If I win that means I’m in charge, Cowboy.”
He fell back onto the couch and sucked in a breath as she removed the two remaining pieces of clothes separating them. “I’d never argue with a lady.”
Too many days had passed with no contact. After a dozen years apart, seeing him on a damn near daily basis, touching him, tasting him, they were things that had become needs rather than wants. And she didn’t have the self-control to draw this out.
She straddled his lap, grinding against him and reveling in his answering groan. His mouth moved to her neck and made a path down the front of her as she leaned over to grab the condom. Her teeth ripped the foil packet open as he landed one of the hardened nubs, his lips wrapped around it and sucked lightly. His thumbs made circles on her hip bones as she rocked against him.
The brim of his hat bumped her shoulder. Just as he reached up to remove it, she planted a hand on top of it. “Don’t you dare, Cowboy.”
Her hand dove between them and she wrapped it around his shaft, stroking up and down a few times until a frustrated growl erupted from his chest. Georgia pressed her mouth against his as she slid the condom on him. She lifted up on her knees slightly before lowering herself onto him.
“I love you, Angel.”
All of her intentions to go slow flew right out the window as he filled every part of her. Her lips met his again and every ounce of desperation bled into the kiss. Desperation for his body. Desperation for relief. And desperation to not confess just how much she still loved him too.
She raced up the mountain of desire and paused at the pinnacle, dangling on the edge of climax. His fingers snaked between their sweat slickened bodies and he teased the tiny bundle of nerves with his thumb, making her lose every ounce of control. She moved her hips three more times before he screamed his own release. Their cried mixed, mingled, and filled the small room, echoing off the walls.
Georgia laid her damp forehead on his shoulder, trying to catch her breath. “Listen, Cowboy,” she panted the words between gasps, “spending the night on this thing is a non-negotiable point.” She sat back up, resting against his slightly trembling thighs. “Hotel? We can get a decent night’s sleep and have a mediocre continental breakfast in the morning.”
The damned grin curled his lips as his fingertips stroked up and down her spine. “A decent night’s sleep and… round two?”
She climbed off his lap, snatched her shirt off the floor, and tossed him his boxers. “I’ll flip ya for it, Cowboy. Clearly poker doesn’t work out for you.”
A light smack collided with her ass when she bent down to retrieve her panties and she spun on her heel to find herself greeted with an unabashedly grinning cowboy. “I’d say it works out pretty damn well.”