by KJ Reed
She tried to speak, but nothing came out but a croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Ah. Good plan.”
He lifted his head and smiled down at her, white teeth gleaming in the dark. “You think?”
Chapter Four
Mary Ellen’s breath caught as the slick fabric of the dress slithered to the floor, leaving her in just the white thong and heels. For the first time in, well, ever, she felt nervous. Self-conscious. And an annoying urge to shield her chest from Brice’s gaze, even as his attention dampened the thong.
“Christ.” His voice was hoarse and he reached out with almost reverent hesitancy. One hand covered each breast. The sight of his darker hands over her milky skin made her shiver with excitement.
She wanted to reach up, undo his tie. Strip him down so he was as vulnerable as she was. But her arms remained useless by her sides. Damn it. She was always the aggressor. She chased after the guy she wanted, and she let them go when she was finished.
So why now, of all times, was she about to slip into some shy, virginal maiden routine?
Because it matters.
“I could stand here and look at you all night.” He kissed the side of her neck, hands kneading her breasts. There were echoing tugs low in her belly. “This body has been driving me crazy for years.”
“And here I thought it was my smartass personality.” She held back a moan when he bit on her collarbone.
“Your smartass nature pushed me well past crazy long ago.”
That sounded closer to the truth. She reached up and started to undo his tie but one large hand clamped around hers.
“No.”
She wiggled the knot playfully. “Come on, now. You’ll have to get naked eventually. That’s usually how this thing works.”
“When I’m ready.”
Maybe he was trying to slow them down a little. But she was about to burn up with need. How could he stay so calm? “I’m naked and you’re still dressed. Give a girl a chance, huh?”
His eyes dropped to her heels, then her thong, which was growing more wet by the minute. “Not quite naked. Still wearing a few things.” He picked her up by the waist and tossed her on the bed. “I’ll fix that though.”
She reached down to the elastic bands to pull her underwear off, but he growled.
“Let me.”
A man with a plan. No problem there. She lounged back and watched him undress. No hardship there, either. First the suit jacket, then the tie.
She’d seen him without a shirt on countless times. Mostly when he was pulling lifeguard duty at the camp lake during the summer, or working on the landscaping. Watching sweat run down his hard, light-brown chest, down the six-pack abs, and dip into the waistband of his workout shorts or swim trunks had always been a nice, private thrill for her.
But the intimacy of the moment, him unbuttoning his dress shirt, baring his chest in the quiet of the cabin, made breathing a little difficult. They were taking a step that couldn’t be undone. Did she still want it? Want him?
Oh God yes.
He could do this. Stay cool, relaxed, and do this. Not fly out of control, not push too hard. She was putty in his hands. Wasn’t even putting up a token of a fight. Maybe—holy shit, maybe—this could work.
Could he still keep his cool, all the way, even when she was clawing the sheets? Or would she fight him every step of the way for dominance in bed, just like she did every day at work? Would the sight of her beneath him snap him, make him lose it?
This was definitely a new problem for him. Then again, every woman he’d been with before knew the rules upfront. He had the upper hand, complete control, and if they didn’t like it, there’s the door. They were just women. His life wouldn’t end if one left.
But this was Mary Ellen. He wasn’t ready to explain his driving need for authority, for control at all times in the bedroom. And now that they were taking this massive step forward, going back wasn’t an option.
Tread carefully. And keep the upper hand.
“You can touch, you know.”
“Huh?” He paused, thumbs hooked in his waistband.
A soft smile curved her lips, but he wasn’t fooled. Even when she looked sweet as honeysuckle, Mary Ellen was still sassy as a snapdragon. “You’re staring at me like you can’t remember what I’m doing here.”
He snapped out of his own musings. He toed off his shoes and socks then unbuckled and unzipped his pants, but left them on. Easiest way to keep control and not lose it is to keep as many barriers between him and his partner.
Physical and emotional.
Mary Ellen wasn’t having it. “Get these off.” She laughed as she reached for his waistband and tugged until he willingly fell over her, forearms bracing him inches above her body.
The laughter died from her eyes as he captured her wrist and brought it above her head, mirroring the movement with her other arm. Her breasts thrust up, her shoulders rolled back, and her mouth shaped into a pretty “O”.
“These stay here. Always.”
He caught the hint of defiance in her eyes and didn’t give her time to speak. He kept her mouth busy, sweeping in for a kiss to steal her thoughts. She responded immediately, using her tongue to sweep in, learn him, taste him.
Damn, why had he held off for so long on getting here?
He released her wrists with one hand and ran it down her side. She shivered, as if his touch made her cold, and her nipples puckered against his chest. Well, if they wanted attention, who was he to deny?
The moment the tight bud hit his mouth, she moaned as if his touch was painful. He pulled back.
“Did I hurt—”
“No. Don’t stop.”
Not pain. Pleasure. “Ask nicely.”
She bared her teeth at him in defiance.
He blew over her breast, watched the tip distend farther, goosebumps forming on her silky skin.
“Bastard. Please.” The words came through her teeth, and she almost popped her shoulder out of place rolling up to meet his mouth with her chest.
Not the most submissive of poses, but he wasn’t going to quibble. He nipped her once as a reminder the one on top was in charge and sucked her into his mouth. She moaned again, rolling back to the bed and sighing with satisfaction. Skimming down her ribs, over her hip, he fingered the little strip of lace that was supposedly called underwear.
“Off. Oh God. Take them off,” she added, almost as a plea. “Please.”
He was about to, but doing so now would only reinforce her idea that she had some sort of control in the game. So instead, he switched breasts and toyed with her more. She tasted like cream. How did she do that? The mysteries of a woman.
His fingers teased her through the lace, drawing light lines down her pussy. Barely any pressure. He could feel the dampness soaking through the fabric, couldn’t wait to explore further. But he was prepared to hold off. Not his favorite idea, when he was hard enough to drive nails through brick. But he would.
She groaned, grunted, wiggled. But stayed silent.
Good. Time to reward them both for their patience. He tugged and flicked his wrists until the lace was down around her knees. He worked his way down her body until his head was between her thighs. Small adjustments draped her legs over his shoulders, panties dangling from one ankle.
She started to reach down. “Heels. Gotta unbuckle.”
“Leave them on.”
She stared at him, eyes wide as an owl. Her hair was spiked up on one side, starting to flatten on the other. “What? Why?”
He gave her a smile, brief and quick. “’Cause when I’m pounding into you, you’re gonna want the traction.”
“Oh,” she breathed and dropped her head back. He stared at her hard, and she brought her arms back over her head.
Somewhere, Mary Ellen had turned into the perfect bedmate. And he wasn’t about to argue. Dipping down, he paused right above her wet center, taking a moment. He could almost see her quivering with anticipation. One long, slow lic
k up the seam of her pussy, pausing just a split second over her clit, confirmed it.
She wanted it hard and fast.
So he would take his time.
Another long pass with his tongue, just to please himself, and then he truly dug in for her. Her hips rolled with his pattern, trying to figure it out, to predict his movements. It only made him all the more random. If she wanted a pattern, he’d give her none. Mary Ellen was the textbook definition of instant gratification. If she wanted it a certain way, he could almost guarantee it was because it was her fastest path to orgasm.
This was a slow burn, not a flash fire. Because he said so.
He circled her clit, dipped down low to thrust in deep, then back up to her sensitive nub. Fingers, one then two, deep inside anchored her, confused her, kept her guessing.
Off balance. Because she needed it.
And it was a struggle. He could see it written all over her face. In the way her body moved. She was the aggressor. She was the one calling shots. That was her comfort zone.
Not anymore.
Her heels scratched his back. Didn’t care. Couldn’t care. He judged the timing, then concentrated on her clit, sucking and flicking his tongue in the pattern she’d been silently begging for until her legs tightened around him, her body vibrated and she screamed. Her palms pounded against the headboard until she lost strength and he slowed, then stopped his tongue.
She lifted her head, then dropped it back to the pillow. As if the simple effort was too much. He crawled back up her body and found her face almost serenely peaceful. Very un-Mary Ellen-like.
Her lashes fluttered up and she smiled. “That was…yeah.” She drifted back off, eyes closing again as if keeping them open was too much effort.
Brice always enjoyed the look of a well-loved woman. Content, satisfied, sated. But seeing that expression on Mary Ellen’s face—and knowing he was the one who put it there—did something to his chest that burned. The good sort of pain, the type of pain he wouldn’t mind growing accustomed to.
And he was getting ahead of himself. Mind slipping, which he never let happen before. Couldn’t lose it just because it was Mary Ellen. Especially because it was her. He reached into his nightstand for the unopened box of condoms.
Cause yeah, it’d been that long. He was discerning, and half the time he couldn’t think for wanting to strangle her anyway. Who can find satisfaction in a woman when another one was always on his mind?
She murmured and wiggled a little under him, her belly brushing against his hard cock. He sucked in a breath. But when her arms started to drift down, he gently touched her elbows and she raised them back up.
Almost too easy. Which made him more alert as he rolled on protection. Mary Ellen never made anything easy on purpose. But for now, he could enjoy it.
Nuzzling into the warm skin of her neck, he wrapped her legs around his back and pushed in. Her pussy was wet—so wet—warm and waiting for him. She shifted when he hit a moment of resistance, angling her hips to give him better access. And as he slid all the way in, cock completely surrounded by hot woman, she sighed as if she’d been handed the key to the Pearly Gates.
“You still with me?”
“Mmm hmm. All the way.” She opened her eyes again, staring right at him. And for a moment, the sincerity of her gaze took him aback.
It meant something to her too. A hell of a lot. Brice had known Mary Ellen since she had knobby, scabby knees. Knew her every facial expression. And as the thought of how much it meant to them both broke over him, he lost his tentative hold on his control.
Bucking forward, he surged farther in still, deep as he could, and ignored her gasp. If it hurt, she’d tell him. Fuck reserve. He picked a rhythm that worked, made him sweat, made him forget to take care of her.
Made him come.
With a grunt for warning, his climax slammed into him. Faintly, he felt her pussy convulsing around him, drawing the ecstasy out longer than he’d ever experienced before. And all he could think was…thank God she got there by herself, because he damn sure wasn’t capable of carrying her over the orgasmic finish line anymore.
With the last little bit of consciousness, he rolled to the left to avoid squishing her like a bug. She followed and wound her arms around his back.
“I scratched you,” she mumbled into his chest.
He patted her arm, then slipped into a deep, extremely satisfied sleep.
* * * * *
Mary Ellen woke slowly. Warmth coated her left side. Odd, she was normally so cold in the…
Oh my God.
Bridesmaid dress. Heels. Brice. Between her legs.
That very spot tingled with the memory. Oh God, how had she forgotten even for a second? The warmth next to her snored, and she bit back a giddy smile.
Brice was still dead to the world. She shifted to see the clock and he didn’t twitch. Seeing it was already past the normal time she would head to work, she used her stealth ninja skills to slip out of bed. Not that she had to bother. A bull horn announcing her intentions wouldn’t have woken him up.
Debating her wardrobe options—and not wanting to put her bridesmaid dress back on—she did a quick inventory of Brice’s clothing. One zip-up hoodie and basketball shorts—which went almost to her ankles—later, she slipped her heels back on. Not the cutest look, workout clothes with super-high heels. But a girl had to improvise.
One more glance to see if Brice was close to waking up—big negative there—and she slipped out the door and made a break for her own cabin. Luckily it was still too early for anyone else to be up after such a late night to see her looking like a mile of death and doing the walk of shame.
Her babies would already be missing her though.
She entered her cabin, changed and headed back out. The moment she could smell straw and horse, the tension leaked out of her shoulders. Tension she hadn’t known was there.
“Guess I wasn’t as cool as I thought,” she said to Fred, first horse to poke his head out of his stall. She gave him a good scratch between the ears. “Makes sense that I’d be nervous about it, right? I mean, how was I supposed to feel? Years of wanting him, being rebuffed, and then suddenly it happens. That’s a lot to take in.”
Fred nickered softly and tossed his head.
“Oh, what do you know? You were gelded in the nineties.” With one last pat she moved on to give some love to Ethel, Fred’s next-stall neighbor.
She’d given Jessica, one of the local teens that helped out at the stable, the day off, so she was alone with her babies and her thoughts. Dangerous, really. To avoid overthinking, she turned on the radio in the stable office to her favorite eighties station. She sang some Pat Benatar while she mucked out the stalls, shook her ass to White Snake while she groomed Ethel and crooned along with Aerosmith as she gave Fred some love.
But she had to turn the tunes off once she slipped into the office to fill out order forms. For once, she missed Jessica’s teenage chatter and Buck’s semi-dirty jokes. At least they would have cut through the silence and given her something to focus on.
After about ten useless minutes staring at the order form, she tossed down her pen with a grunt. No helping it, apparently. The memory of Brice’s face over hers, his weight pressing her into the bed, her arms almost captive above her, leaving her with the feeling of helplessness… The newness of not being in charge had been exhilarating. Putting that trust in Brice for the night, knowing she was safe and cherished and taken care of, had been almost as powerful a feeling as knowing she was the one calling all the shots. She squeezed her legs together to cut off the throbbing. Okay, she had to stop that or she’d burst into flames in the office chair.
She gave up attempting productivity and saddled Cosby. Of the camp horses, he was one of the few with a kick in his step. Most were older, gentle as a butterfly, and placid as a lake. If Fred could get up past a trot, she’d die of shock. Perfect for youngsters still learning the reins.
Mary Ellen convinced the Winstons th
at the camp needed at least a few younger horses that could give some of the older children more of a challenge. And also those adults from the business retreats they hosted through the off-season.
But truth to tell, she truly enjoyed taking the younger horses out for rides herself. She rationalized that they needed the exercise, and that was true. But a good, hard-paced ride in the crisp air could clear her head like nothing else. And a clear head was exactly what she needed, so she guided Cosby toward the trails that ran the perimeter of the camp property and would give them a nice, long, uninterrupted ride.
Only problem with that is the rocking of the saddle rubbed places that reminded her too much of the night before. Damn it. Could she not just have five minutes of mental peace? She urged Cosby into a trot, then a full gallop, hoping speed would do the trick.
Ninety minutes later, they returned sweaty and relaxed. But the feeling wasn’t going to last.
Brice watched her approach, one shoulder propped against the stable door, waiting.
Chapter Five
She was unbelievable. Brice watched as she maneuvered the horse up to a trough and hopped down. Mary Ellen was a small woman, just as far as women went. But standing next to a horse, she was downright tiny. Almost fragile looking.
“Hey!” When the horse gave her a nudge, she pushed back hard enough to jar the animal a few steps. “Watch yourself, mister. Manners.”
The horse, for his part, looked suitably intimidated.
Fragile. Riiight. Just another reminder Mary Ellen was someone who liked being in charge just as much as him. Which was why he held off as long as he had on making the move. They were two alphas, and Brice didn’t do the sharing control thing.
But last night… Last night was something unbelievable. She’d immediately responded to his commands, giving no fight. Interest obvious.
So maybe things were going to be looking up.
