On the other side of his house, white board fencing shimmered in the moonlight. “Do you have horses?”
“Gotta have horses.” He held the door open.
He was such a cowboy. Smiling, she stepped into the living room. The décor was rustic, with Native American accents. In a wall of stone, the fireplace still held a few glowing coals. A red, brown, and white geometric patterned rug warmed the dark hardwood floor. Red pillows on the squashy-looking leather couch matched the brick-red armchairs.
The six-feet wide flat-screen TV said a man lived in the place.
Atticus kissed her cheek and walked through the small dining area, past the bar island, and into the kitchen. “Beer or wine?”
“Wine would be wonderful.” As she slid onto a leather-covered barstool, he opened a bottle and poured. His big hand made the wine glass look absurdly delicate as he handed it over and poured one for himself.
“You have a comfortable home.” She sipped the full-bodied cabernet and nodded to the black and white photograph over the fireplace. “Is that you and Sawyer?”
“Good eye.” The two mud-streaked teenagers held their horses’ reins, while behind them unfolded the action of a rodeo arena. “We were at the Cody Stampede. I was in ROTC in college and planning to head into the Marine Corp; Sawyer was still in high school. Few years later, when I was in the military police, he enlisted in the Navy. Didn’t come out the same person.”
Her heart ached for the innocent boys they’d been. A decade and a half later, they wore the self-possessed, dangerous look of men who’d seen death. Who’d dealt death.
And Atticus had a cop’s cynical eyes that said he’d seen the worst of human nature.
What was she doing with him? As his gaze lingered on the picture, she studied him. So tough. Yet, the lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes were from laughter.
He could be gentle.
She’d seen him reassure the little girl on the climbing wall. “Take a breath, baby.” And then he’d encouraged the child to do more than she’d thought possible.
Gin had seen his love and loyalty to Sawyer—and his ability to say he loved him.
Yes, this man was special.
And she wanted him more than she’d wanted anyone before. She frowned into her drink, and when she looked up, he was watching her, sipping his wine, and waiting.
With some of her dates, she’d felt their impatience, as if they tired of wading through the getting-to-know-you phase before they could get some. Atticus displayed no urgency, just the quiet patience of a very experienced man.
The knowledge increased her low-key arousal.
Far, far sooner than she should have finished, she drank the last of her wine.
“Nervous, pet?” he asked.
She nodded. Although the air was chilled, her body felt like a heat pump, and her stomach quivered with nerves. She hadn’t had many lovers and no one since meeting Preston. No one after.
He studied her for a moment, eyes narrowed. “Talk about mixed signals,” he said. “I can take you back to your car, sweetling, if you like. Or I can light a fire, and we can sit and talk.”
“Or we can go for the third option.” She set her glass on the island, grasped his hand, and pulled him down the dark hallway. Hopefully his bedroom was at the end of it. “Let’s get this out of the way.”
“You make sex sound like a trip to the dentist.”
“There have been—” Her mouth snapped shut. Blushing, she stopped dead, not believing what she’d started to share.
“I see.” His chuckle was low. “I’ll try to make this feel better than a long, hard drilling.”
The suggestive words delivered in his deep baritone sent tingles over her skin.
With his hand on her stomach, he backed her into a room, even as his mouth covered hers, taking possession. The minute her arms wrapped around his neck, he curved one hand under her ass and pulled her up on her toes. His thick erection pressed against her pelvis.
When he lifted his head, she was breathless.
Her skin simmered with heat. She glanced at the bedroom and saw no interesting kinky shackles or piles of rope or handcuffs. “So we’re going to do this the old-fashioned…um, vanilla…way?”
“Mostly.” He undid her bustier. “I’m not going to tie you down, sweetheart. Not until you know me better.”
“Oh. Okay.” That surely wasn’t disappointment she felt. The sensation of his scarred knuckles brushing each newly bared inch washed the emotion away.
She glanced up at him and saw his half-smile and the comprehension in his expression. He knew…
Flustered, she lifted her hands to undo his shirt. “You’re overdressed.”
He caught her wrists and eased her arms down. “Hands stay at your sides, pet.”
His voice didn’t raise—not an iota—but the ruthless quality made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Her arms went limp.
The Dom didn’t need ropes to bind her.
Without a second’s pause, he unzipped her skirt and tossed it onto a chair. “Now stand right there, Virginia. If you move, I won’t be happy.”
Why did the growled, almost threat, make her so wet?
He disappeared to her left, and she heard the strike of a match as he lit one candle. Another and another, until their soft glow filled the room.
When he opened the window, a breeze billowed the drapes, and the candles flickered. The lush fragrance of the pasture grass wafted into the room. The swishing of wind through the trees joined the rumble of thunder in the distance.
“Storm moving in.” He returned to stand in front of her and simply look at her. She was completely naked; he was fully dressed. The contrast made her feel exposed and so, so excited. Her heart was trying to bang right out of her chest.
“Tonight, I want you to remember two things, baby.” He caressed her breast and made her toes curl. “One: I’m going to take what I want from you, and you’ll have no choice but to please me…so don’t worry about disappointing me. Two: a clear no will stop me; nothing else will.”
Her knees almost buckled. “Atticus.”
“Mmmhmm.” With a hand between her breasts, he moved her backward until the backs of her legs hit the bed and her butt landed on the old-fashioned quilt.
From a sitting position, she looked up at him.
“Put your hands under your ass.”
She blinked. And he waited. Oh. Okay.
When she shoved her hands between her still tender bottom and the quilt, her weight pinned them there.
Bending over, he set her feet on the edge of the mattress so her knees were raised. Firmly, he pushed her knees down toward the mattress until the bottoms of her feet were forced together. Opening her.
Heavens above.
“This is new,” he murmured, tracing a finger over her bare pussy. “I rather thought I saw shaved skin earlier.”
Her face felt bright red—again. “Um, yes. For tonight. Kallie said a lot of Doms prefer…bare.”
His jaw turned stern. “Right here, your only concern is one Dom.”
“I…” She’d imagined him touching her with every swipe of the razor. “If you don’t like it, then—”
“Oh, little counselor, I do like it,” he said. “You can keep your beautiful pussy just like that for me.”
He liked it. Thank heaven, he liked it. She’d seen how the heat in his gaze increased, and yet he didn’t move, just studied her.
As he stroked a finger up and down her damp, clean-shaven skin, the sensation was strange. Intense. What would it feel like when he actually took her? Her clit throbbed a demand, and she wiggled slightly.
He smiled and went down on one knee. His hand curled around her feet, keeping the soles together, as he leaned forward and ran his tongue up one outer labia, over her mound, and down the other side.
Her pussy engorged to achingly swollen between one heartbeat and the other.
He licked her again and again until she throbbed with anguish
ed need, and then he nipped her inner thigh. The sharp sting made her jump, and her legs tried to move—and his grip didn’t budge. He had her pinned down and held open. The feeling of being controlled made her moan.
His tongue washed the tiny hurt before he bit her on the other side, laved it away. He nibbled the crease between her hips and pussy, then circled her clit with unerring precision and teased the infinitely sensitive area under the hood. The whole area swelled to the point of pain.
The strength ran out of her arms and she realized she’d fallen back, hands still trapped beneath her bottom.
His tongue flicked over her clit again.
“Oh, Atticus.” The words came out in a moan. “Please. I need—”
“Uh-uh, sweetheart. You need what I will give you when that time comes, and not a second before.”
Fuck, she was a beauty. Her skin gleamed in the candlelight, sheened with a light moisture. Her rosy nipples had spiked into dagger points with need. The cords of her neck were rigid, her eyes holding nothing but him and what he was doing.
He licked over her clit, pleased with the shiny pink pearl, fully out from the hood and straining with need. Under his hand, her legs trembled.
Time to send her over…for the first time. Ever since the camping weekend, he’d craved seeing her come again, this little uptight submissive who looked so surprised that she had needs.
With a smile, he slid his finger through her swollen, drenched folds and inside, imagining how the hot silk would feel around his cock.
She gasped; her hips jerked upward.
“No, baby, I won’t let you move.” Holding her feet in place, he squeezed his hand. Reminding her that she was under control.
And the way her cunt spasmed around his finger made him chuckle.
Finding a submissive who turned him on and who suited his needs was like a gold miner discovering a giant nugget in his pan.
He bent and teased her clit, enjoying the slick taste of her on his tongue, the delicate muskiness.
In the tender area near her hipbone, he smelled her body lotion. Vanilla and light lavender, he decided.
When she moaned a plea, he lingered there, brushing his lips against her skin. Such a beautiful voice. He’d enjoy gagging her someday—but here and now, he wanted to hear how her liquid southern accent thickened when she said his name.
He could feel her trembling and straining upward, so he pushed two fingers inside her cunt and curled his fingertips forward to the puffy ridged area inside the enveloping hot satin walls. Mercilessly, he rubbed the small spot, taking a moment for a few thrusts, then rubbing again.
Her quivering halted as her muscles tensed.
Almost there. Her face was flushed, her eyes closed, right there with him. He drew the moment out because he could. Because he wanted to. Fuck, she was gorgeous.
Be nice, Ware. With a sigh of resignation, he leaned down and pinned her clit between his teeth, flickering his tongue right over the top. No escape, sweetheart.
Her hips lifted, her breathing stopped, and the squeezing spasms began around his invading fingers. “Atticus.”
Yeah, that accent could make a dead man rise. His cock fucking wanted to be inside her right then.
Before she could recover, he rose and grabbed a condom from the bedside table. Opening his jeans, he sheathed himself and planted one hand beside her shoulder on the bed. “Look at me, Virginia.” He waited until she opened dazed eyes. After swirling his shaft in her juices, he pressed in.
Not fast and rough the way he wanted—not until he knew how well they’d fit—but slow and steady.
Her eyes widened delightfully. “Atticus.” Her neck arched sweetly as her pussy stretched to accommodate him.
Finally, he was buried to the root, and her cunt gripped him like a hotly oiled fist. “Jesus, you feel good.”
She swallowed, eyes a little shocked. “You too.” Her words sounded strained.
“Been a while, pet?” She wasn’t a virgin, but damn, she was tight.
Her nod confirmed his supposition, and he tried to suppress his satisfaction. Instead, he lifted her hips. “Hands out, Virginia. I’d like to feel them on me.”
Her lips curved with pleasure. She didn’t hesitate to run her palms over his arms, his chest. She liked to give as much as receive, and her enjoyment of his body added to his.
After a kiss to show his approval, he ran a finger over her flushed cheek. “You’ve had time to adjust. I’m not going to be rough, sweetie, but I’m going to take you.”
Her answer was to tilt her hips up.
She was a treat. His bed was precisely the right height, and he took full advantage, pumping into her heat, strong and steady, then taking time to rotate and tease her every nerve awake.
When her fingernails dug into his skin, he grinned.
His need to come started deep inside him, centered at the base of his spine, growing almost as fast as his desire to see her climax again.
Why the fuck not? He took her mouth again, invading, feeling like a conqueror, above and below. Leaving her lips, he straightened. The breeze from the window cooled his heated skin. The arm beside her shoulder bore his weight as he pushed her right knee away from her body, opening her further so he could reach her clit.
His first touch on the nub made her gasp, and the way she clenched around his erection made his balls contract with a force that almost sent him over.
He huffed a laugh—he loved when a woman had unmistakable signals—and sliding his finger over her clit, he drove her right back up to need.
“I can’t,” she whined, even as her inner thighs quivered and the flush rose in her cheeks. “Don’t.”
Ah, little submissives shouldn’t try to give instructions—because the temptation was too much to prove them wrong. He held her gaze as he deliberately slowed his pumping and concentrated on her clit, watched her focus disappear, her eyes close.
Her back arched beautifully right before her cunt convulsed, battering at him. Her cry revealed as much surprise as it did fulfillment.
Jesus, she was beautiful. He ran his hands over her body, feeling her heart pounding, the softness of her breasts. And then he forced her knees up for still greater penetration and hammered into her.
Her little hands closed on his arms, holding him as firmly as did her cunt. Her hips tried to lift to help his strokes. A sweetie, all right.
At the base of his spine, the pressure increased. His own climax fisted his balls, and as he relaxed his control, jetted out his cock in a long, hot, mind-blowing release.
Jesus, she was liable to kill him.
He tucked her legs around his waist and dropped forward so he could nuzzle the hollow of her throat, taste the light sweat on her neck, kiss her. Her lips were soft and responsive and welcoming.
Her arms had wrapped around him, her legs scissored his waist, her cunt was snug and warm—and she kissed like an angel.
He might be in trouble here.
* * * *
Gin woke at dawn, disoriented. There was heat and movement along her back—the dog? But her head lay on something much firmer than her pillow. The warmth behind her wasn’t Trigger, but Atticus who, to her surprise, had pulled her into his arms to cuddle her. Or, maybe not cuddle as much as claim. He was curled around her, his arm heavy over her waist, and his hand holding her breast.
Her mind might be awake, but her body didn’t want to move. Not after he’d wakened her in the middle of the night, ignoring her half-awake protests, pinning her arms over her head as his mouth and teeth and fingers worked her into a frenzy of need. Until she was begging him to take her.
And he had, making sure she was satisfied first, and then enjoying himself, putting her into positions she hadn’t thought real people even used. If he’d been thinking only of himself, she might feel less disconcerted, but he watched her during sex as carefully as he had when he’d roped her up. He knew before she did when an angle or position got to her, and he’d smile…and work her, right the
re until her fingernails would claw at the quilt…or him.
“Can’t sleep?” she heard, his voice a dark rumble, his breath warm on her hair. The hand cupping her breast squeezed lightly, and his thumb stroked her still swollen nipple, sending tingles through her.
“What time is it?”
His head lifted. “Around seven. But it’s Sunday. We don’t have to be at the Lodge until around nine.”
She stiffened. “The Lodge. But…” She’d heard the Hunts mention breakfast.
He moved her hair aside to nip at her nape. “You need to pick up your clothes, right?”
“Um. Yes.” Walk into a roomful of people that had seen her leave with him? She turned in his arms to face him. “Atticus, I don’t know anyone there very well. It would be awkward.”
He propped himself up on one elbow, sending a flush of heat through her as he played with her as he’d done in the pavilion. Stroking her breasts, running a finger over her collarbone, her lips.
“Baby, it might be awkward, but most new situations are. I’m not exactly a lifetime resident of this place either; I’ve only known Logan and Jake for a year or so.”
“I thought you’d been here for years. On a ranch. Sawyer mentioned it.”
“The ranch is in Idaho.”
“What in the world brought you to California?”
He ran a finger along the side of her face, moving the strands of hair away. In the faint dawn light, his face was carved of shadows, with darkness edging his jawline. “Sawyer. He was here visiting a buddy, got in that accident, and was sentenced here. Wasn’t doing well in prison, so I moved close.”
He’d left his home to provide emotional support to his brother. Her heart went all squishy. “Oh. And your family was good with you leaving?”
“My other brother was good. Mom died soon after Sawyer’s discharge from the SEALS—part of why he was having trouble, I think.”
“And your father?”
“He died when I was seven.”
Master of Freedom: A Mountain Masters Novella Page 10
