Wrangled by the Alien Rancher (Cowboy Colony Mail-Order Brides, #2)

by Ursa Dax

But Fallon didn’t give me a chance to feel afraid. Because he absolutely froze me with his next words. “Can I,” he groaned against the top of my head, his fingers rubbing my ass needily, “touch your clitorosaurus?” Clit…orosaurus… “My… My what?!” I asked, rearing back to look at him and bumping the back of my head on the wall. “Your clitorosaurus,” Fallon said, very patiently, as if trying to kindly educate me on something instead of saying the most astoundingly absurd thing I’d heard… well… ever. “I read all about it in my book.” “Have you got another book about dinosaurs that I don’t know about?” I cried. “You’re making it sound like I’ve got a T-Rex up my skirt!” “What’s a dinosaur?” Those maple-lightning eyes were so earnest. “Uh. Never mind.” I gently stroked my fingers over the bubbled muscles of his chest. God, he felt so good. So good I could almost forgive him for making my clit rhyme with Tyrannosaurus. “Alright. Say it with me now, Fallon. Clitoris.” “Clitorosaurus.”