Cowboy Heat

by Delilah Devlin

  “This is wrong.” The muscles in his arms bunched as he struggled against the restraints.

  His words halted her movement, and she rested one knee on the bed frame. Wrong? This simple act could not compare. “Wrong was my kidnapping when I was a child. Wrong was stealing my innocence when I should have been stitching my first sampler. Wrong was taking away my—” Tears burned the backs of her eyes, and she sucked in a breath to combat the loss that had hardened a piece of her heart.

  Forcing a smile, she waved a hand at his erection that now stood stiff like the pole of a tepee. “Your interest is evident.” She slid beside his body, reveling in his heat. Her hands moved over taut skin, feeling the coiled strength of muscles that performed hard work. Hours in the saddle made strong thighs and rock-hard calves.

  “Can’t help my natural reaction.” His body tensed. “Don’t do this.”

  For a moment, her hand rested on his abdomen, feeling the bugles and valleys between each muscle. “Why not? I’ve been a wife, and now I need a man.” Her head shot up, and she glared into his eyes. All her adult life she watched as people took from her what they wanted, ignoring her wishes. For once, she wanted something, and she had worked to get him here. His words would not stop her.

  He met her stare, his gaze narrowing a bit, but he remained mute. His whole body was as taut as a bowstring.

  Meghan pushed herself to her knees and lifted her hands to cup her breasts. “Do you not want to touch me? Am I not… fit?” She swallowed back the word “pretty” because that wasn’t important. She was a woman who needed to be fucked and here was a fine specimen to do just that.

  “Not like this.”

  What did this cowboy know? Closing her eyes, she caressed her body with long strokes to the rhythm of a remembered chant taught by a wise Indian woman who’d befriended her. The chant lifted Meghan away into a world where pain couldn’t reach.

  With gentle tugs, she plucked her nipples until they stood pert and pointy, the sensation zinging straight to her core. Her pussy clenched and dewy drops trickled along her nether lips. Without another thought, she straddled Bo’s hips and centered her pussy over his cock, circling and lowering herself inch by inch onto the broad shaft. At first, his girth burned her channel, and she sucked in a breath until her body relaxed and accepted the invasion. Then pleasure overtook her senses as she rocked her body along his length. Too long had she gone without feeling filled, too long had her agile fingers provided her only release.

  Bracing her hands on his stomach, she rode his cock hard, pumping her hips and hearing the slap of her asscheeks against his thighs. Her breasts swung and bounced with each thrust, keeping her nipples tight. Arousal tightened her clittie, and she angled her hips to grind that sensitive pearl against his crisp groin hairs. A move that had always achieved the desired result. But this time, her orgasm wouldn’t explode. The arousal deep in her belly slowly unwound and dissipated.

  What had just happened? A sense of deep shame constricted her chest. Breaths rasped through her lips, and tears clogged her throat.

  When she was sure her expression was under control, she glanced at Bo’s face. His jaw was clamped tight, and his cheeks were rigid as he stared to the side, out the window. An all-too-familiar posture—one she’d adopted many times at the beginning of her capture.

  With a strangled sob, she stumbled off the bed, tossed a blanket over her shoulders, and dashed outside. Only then did she let the emotion wash through her and allow the tears to stream down her cheeks. Too many years of self-preservation had twisted her heart. Maybe she deserved to be on her own, maybe this place on the fringe of society was all she’d be allowed.

  “Meghan, come back. Talk to me.”

  Bo’s words held no rancor but just a hint of need. No man wanted to feel vulnerable, and hog-tied and naked was about as vulnerable as one could be.

  Using the edge of the blanket to wipe her face, she heaved a sigh and stepped back into the cabin. She swapped the blanket for her dress, shoved her feet into her moccasins, making sure to slip a small knife inside her right boot. Then she stood several feet from the bed, head bowed. “I’m ready to free you, but only if you promise not to punish me.”

  “Meghan, look at me.”

  Shame and guilt filled her, and she wasn’t brave enough to look again into his dark eyes. Gone would be the laughing expression she’d been drawn to at the pool. Instead, they’d be filled with retribution and blame, and that wasn’t the way she wanted to remember her cowboy. She moved to the foot of the bed and loosened the knots in the thongs, keeping her gaze focused on her task. Next she untied his left hand, saving his strong hand for last, and shuffled back to the foot of the bed.

  His hand dropped to the mattress with a thud and Bo let out a groan. “Damn, my arm’s on fire.”

  Meghan moved to the right side and bent over to slip out her knife when a strong pull on the back of her dress toppled her onto the mattress. Right into an iron-hard embrace.

  “If you won’t look at me, maybe I can get you to listen.”

  As best she could, she struggled, trying to free her arms, but he was too strong. Her back was clamped tight to his chest, and she was trapped. Blood pounded in her ears, and her heart raced. When she kicked backward, he threw a leg over hers and tightened his thighs.

  “Shh, relax. I won’t hurt you, Meghan.”

  His warm breath moved the wavy hair that escaped her braid and tickled her earlobe. Even if for the wrong reasons, she relished the simple act of being held by another person, especially by this handsome man whose clasp didn’t crush, just held her secure.

  “That’s good. Now just listen. I can’t take away what’s been done to you. By the looks of the scars on your back, you’ve been mistreated.”

  His low tone soothed the upheaval of her thoughts. In an instant she knew in her heart he wouldn’t hurt her. Meanness wasn’t part of his spirit. A wave of weariness washed over her and her muscles went lax.

  His hand ran the length of her arm in a slow caress. “I don’t hurt women. No matter what happens.” He fingered her hair, tucking stray tendrils behind her ear. “And I can say that I have never tied one to a bed frame.”

  Meghan stiffened and twisted to glance over her shoulder. “Sorry.”

  A chuckle sounded. “Though I might have to reconsider because I can see definite possibilities. Only if both parties are agreeable, that is.”

  His hold loosened enough that she scooted until she faced him. His leg lowered over hers to keep her still. Nothing in his calm expression made her worry for her safety. “This is your fault, you know.”

  Bo’s eyebrows shot up, and his mouth gaped. “My fault?”

  With a tentative move, she lifted her hand to run her fingers along his shadowed jaw. “You showed me kindness.”

  His eyes widened farther. “And for that I get conked over the head, taken who knows where, and tied up? I don’t understand.”

  Meghan’s throat tightened. She ducked her chin, unable to hold his questioning gaze. “Your kindness opened a need deep inside, and I wanted more.” A finger lifted her chin until she had to face his dark eyes.

  “Tell me what happened. What else did the Indians take?”

  Tears welled in her eyes, and this time she let them fall. “My son. The beautiful honey-haired baby that I carried in my body, and then nursed at my breast. For ten months, Little Eagle was my whole life. Everyone loved him. Until the chief’s wife got jealous and took him for her own.” Her chest felt like it was about to burst, but she wanted Bo to know everything. Swallowing back a sob, she forced out the words. “Then a few months later, my heart was ripped out when he died after falling into the fire during a ceremony.” Meghan nestled her cheek against his chest and sobbed out the sorrow that had eaten at her soul for years.

  His arm drew her close and rocked her, whispering soothing sounds in her ear.

  When she roused, reddish light streamed through the window and the scent of warm male skin tinged w
ith leather filled her nostrils. A rumbling snore sounded close by, and for just a few more seconds, she savored being in Bo’s embrace. Then she slipped from under his arm and rolled over the edge to land on her hands and knees. When he didn’t move, she found her discarded boots, wrapped her fingers around the knife hilt, and cut the last thong binding him in place.

  She would be ever grateful to this man for his part in helping ease her aching heart. With a careful move, she laid the blanket over his exposed legs and walked out the cabin door. The release of her anguish lifted off a weight that she’d barely known had become her life. Everywhere she looked, the colors seemed brighter, the air smelled fresher—and she welcomed the change.

  A rustling sounded behind her and with a gasp, she whirled.

  Bo stood in the doorway, his hair tousled from sleep and the blanket wrapped around his hips. “My clothes?”

  With a smile, she moved to the mesquite bushes where they were drying and gathered them into her arms.

  “You washed them? How long was I knocked out?”

  “Long enough. Besides I thought I was repaying a service.” Heat filled her cheeks, and she held them out.

  Instead of taking the clothes, Bo clasped her hand and drew her close. “About that service…”

  Her gaze tangled with his, and she saw the heat in his dark eyes that had watched her at the waterfall.

  With each statement, he took a backward step, pulling her along. “Yes, I want to touch your breasts. Yes, you are fit. Yes, you are a desirable woman. And hell yes, I want to bed you.”

  Giving only token resistance, she followed, intrigued by his words.

  Bo dumped the clothes on the wooden table, unwrapped the blanket, and stripped off her dress—seemingly all at the same time. He enclosed her in an embrace and lowered his head to capture her mouth in a gentle kiss that explored her lips with soft nibbles.

  Meghan stiffened, unused to such soft caresses, and then she relaxed and welcomed the swipe of his probing tongue. Her hand explored his chest and wrapped around his neck.

  Then he lifted her, laid her in the middle of the mattress and stood, his gaze taking in her length. A grin spread his lips. “Beautiful.”

  She looked at him, enjoying the steady rise of his cock. Then looking wasn’t enough, and she spread out her arms, beckoning him closer.

  Bo covered her body with soft kisses and gentle caresses; he teased her nipples with his swirling tongue, drawing them into the warm cavern of his mouth to suckle her until her back arched off the mattress. His fingers slid along her wet cleft and circled the tight pearl.

  Blood pounded through her veins, flowing to all the places on her body where his touch enticed and excited her senses. Never had so many feelings happened inside her before a man entered her body. She pressed her thighs tight and arousal swirled in her pussy. Her hands clamped around Bo’s cheeks, and she angled his head from where he kissed her belly. “I want you inside me.”

  An eyebrow lifted. “Bossy, aren’t you?”

  His teasing surprised her, and she grinned. In her past experiences, this act had meant only duty. Her fingers ran through his thick hair, urging him closer.

  Bo rose over her, his knees spreading her legs, and then his cock pressed against her entrance. With a slow flexing of his hips, he pushed inside until his entire length was sheathed in her tight heat.

  A moan slipped from her lips, and Meghan grasped his shoulders. Tingling arousal shot through her pussy. She wrapped her legs around his hips to keep the sensation building. His strength overwhelmed her, and her body slid along the mattress with each powerful stroke.

  His mouth covered hers, and his tongue swept inside, inviting her response. With slow strokes, and then with more passion, she tangled her tongue with his until they broke apart breathless.

  Gasps filled the air, and they worked in a rhythm that excited and inflamed their senses until fiery ecstasy engulfed her pussy. “Oh, ahhh,” she cried out her release, digging her fingernails into his back as her hips still pressed against him.

  Then he rolled to his back, his hands clamped on her hips, and pulled her against the length of his cock. His gaze burned with dark desire, and he watched her body move, his features tight with control. A hand stroked her belly and a thumb dipped into the dewy moisture of her release. He brought his hand to his mouth and licked his thumb clean. “Hmm.”

  Being the object of his attention renewed her arousal. Her heart pumped fast, and she flexed her hips with quick moves. A broad hand cupped her breast, thumbing her nipple and sending zings of pleasure straight to her pussy. When his hands stroked her back, she stiffened and arched away from his touch. No one touched her scars.

  “It’s okay. I want to touch all of you, Meghan.”

  His reassuring tone took away her fears. She relinquished herself to the sensations his touch created and her orgasm hit, stealing her breath.

  Bo rose, placed her feet flat on the mattress, and embraced her back, grunting as he powered in his last thrusts and let out a resounding groan of satisfaction.

  Meghan dropped her forehead to his shoulder and reveled in the glow of their lovemaking. He eased them down to the mattress and covered them with the blanket.

  Hours later, the flap of a bird’s wings woke Meghan. The scent of coffee filled the air, and she opened to eyes to see Bo outlined by the breaking dawn. “Heading out?”

  “Work to be done.”

  She struggled to sit up. “Here, let me cut off that thong.”

  “Don’t. I’m keeping it.”

  “Why?”

  “To remind me who binds my heart.”

  BACKSTAGE PASS

  Cynthia D’Alba

  I glanced around my assigned hotel suite with a mixture of awe and gratitude. While I might have given myself the birthday trip to Las Vegas to see Cody Jarrod—my absolute favorite country singer—in concert, my bank account couldn’t have begun to pay for these accommodations.

  The plush one-bedroom corner suite with floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a 180-degree panoramic view of the Las Vegas strip with all its gaudy loveliness, was a birthday present from my best friend, Leslie. Fifteen hundred square feet. Deep-pile beige carpet. Enormous living room with overstuffed sofas and chairs. Dining table for six. Master bedroom with a raised platform, king-sized bed and thousand-thread-count sheets. Marble master bathroom with a two-person whirlpool and a glass-enclosed shower. It boggled my mind to imagine all the wicked things I could do in this suite if only I had someone to do them with…and maybe I would.

  My friends worried about my solo travel to Vegas. I’d tried to convince everyone that I was fine alone. However, I had to admit I’d gone through a sex dry spell. It wasn’t entirely my fault. Real men couldn’t hold a candle to my fantasy man, Cody Jarrod.

  I made my way back to the bar in the living room where Krug champagne chilled on the bar’s marble top, icy drops of sweat running down the neck. I turned the bottle a couple of times while I studied the nibbles hotel catering had supplied—fresh strawberries, whipped cream, grapes, small sandwiches and a cake. Being a foodie, I was in heaven, but my friends had promised me there would be more to the evening than food and liquor.

  Leslie had planned something special to make this a birthday to remember. I worried a little about her gift. One of her fantasies was sex with a professional male escort. A man who knew his way around the female body. I’d told her she’d watched Richard Gere in American Gigolo too many times. She’d laughed and told me to answer the door and enjoy the evening.

  I twisted out the cork on the Krug champagne and filled a crystal flute. My hand shook a little as I lifted the glass to my lips.

  While she’d never confirmed my guess, I knew Leslie well enough to suspect she was indeed sending a male escort to my room for the night. While I was nervous about the idea, my dry spell had gone on long enough. I was getting a man who knew his way around a woman’s body. Could there be a better present…or better friend?

  I
moved to the windows, taking my champagne with me, and watched the flashing neon lights of the strip. From this height, they all looked like gems winking under the fluorescent lights of a jewelry store.

  A doorbell rang, and I startled. Sudden awareness of what I was doing dampened my thong with arousal juices. Could I have sex with a stranger, no matter how professional he was?

  The breath caught in my lungs at my first glance into the hall.

  Dressed in worn jeans that cupped his groin like a lover’s hand, a yoked snap shirt, and holding a cowboy hat in one hand stood the man my friend had hired for the evening. The lips surrounding my pussy swelled in response.

  His brown hair fell in silky strands of waves and curls along his neck and behind his ears. One lock hung casually over his brow, and I clenched my fingers to keep from pushing it back.

  My friend had found Cody Jarrod’s doppelganger as my evening fuck. My fantasy combined with hers. Thank you, Leslie.

  Piercing green eyes glanced at me, the only difference between this guy and the real Cody Jarrod. I’d read his eyes were hazel, but the rest of him was dead-on perfect. The man looked down at the piece of paper in his hand.

  “Are you Faith Myers?” His deep voice was thick with a Southern accent, not exactly a match to Cody Jarrod’s voice but close enough for me. His chiseled cheeks brandished a five o’clock shadow, a style the country singer was known for. The thought of the gentle scratch of that beard against my inner thighs sent a shiver running down my spine.

  My gaze slid from that delicious curl over his brow down to broad shoulders and a firm chest covered by a shirt that seemed to beg to be unsnapped. Yeah, I could do that. I let my eyes roam down to a set of dusty, worn cowboy boots. I smiled. This guy had gone all out to fulfill my fantasy.