Promises Linger (Promise Series)

by Sarah McCarty

  She glanced at his face and immediately wished she hadn’t. He was looking at her. There. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed as if she could somehow block out the image of his expression. Hard. Intent. Lustful.

  Nothing could block out the sensation of his calloused fingertips drifting up her sensitive thighs until they reached her hips. She couldn’t suppress a shiver and the goose bumps that sprang up along the path his hands had taken. His thumbs drew circles around her hipbones, grazing the creases in her thighs. With each pass, little sparks of sensation migrated inward from the spot. Her woman’s flesh felt tingly and started to swell. The only thing that saved her from complete mortification was the fact that her pantaloons still preserved her modesty.

  She hadn’t even gotten the prayer of gratitude formed in her mind before that thin cotton was whisked away. Her eyes sprang open. Out of the corner of one, she saw the white fabric drift to the floor.

  “Oh my God!” she gasped in shock, her hands flying to cover her privates. “What are you doing?”

  As she watched, he lowered himself to his knees. His face was just above her hips, within inches of her most private place. Between the curves of her breasts, she met his hot gaze. Before her scandalized eyes, he tipped his hat back, and smiled. “Why darlin’, I’m planning on getting acquainted with your sweet little pussy.”

  “You most certainly are not!” She jerked to a sitting position, aided by the way his big hands anchored her thighs.

  He glanced up as she propped herself up on her elbows. “You planning on watching?”

  “Oh my…no!” She took a swing at him. All she accomplished was to knock off his hat.

  “A pity.” He was totally unrepentant. “I think I might have enjoyed that.”

  As she glared at him, he leaned forward. She felt his breath on her…pussy a second before the touch of his tongue.

  He touched, swirled, and then slid through the soft folds in a leisurely lap.

  It was like watching a train wreck happen. Her dignity and reputation were going to hell in a hand basket, and all she could do was stare. Fascinated.

  She thought he would be repulsed, but instead he seemed enthralled. Looking up at her, he ran his tongue around his lips, as if collecting every morsel of her flavor. His gaze was serious. He held hers as he leaned forward again. And very slowly, deliberately, he stuck his tongue out. It seemed to take forever for his tongue to reach her. Her breath caught in her throat as he rested it against the pink flesh swelling at the top of her pussy. She stopped breathing altogether when he fluttered it there, shooting a maelstrom of sensation from her groin through her body. She tried to shift away, but he followed, sucking the flange of flesh into the heat of his mouth. Her world reduced to a spiral of sensation that started out narrowed and intense, and spread outward like wildfire throughout her body. She wanted to pull away. She wanted to shove closer. She settled for a combination of the two, alternately pushing toward his mouth and then pulling away when the feeling got too intense.

  “What are you doing to me?” It took a tremendous amount of concentration to get the question out.

  He lapped at her pussy, delving, swirling and dipping through folds as if searching for every drop of moisture. “I’m making you feel good.”

  Lord was he making her feel good. “This has got to be a sin.”

  “Maybe.” He slipped his big hands under her rear, and pulled her down until her hips rested on the edge of the table. “Come here.”

  “Why?” She should have known the man would answer with complete embarrassing honesty.

  He tilted her hips up. “Because I want to lap up all the delicious cream I can convince you to give me.”

  “Oh God.” The back of her head made a soft thunk as it fell back to the table, just one more sensation in the cacophony going off in her body. “You can’t be serious.”

  She’d barely survived what he’d done so far.

  As if to prove he was serious, he ran his tongue from the base of her pussy to the top. Once. Twice. On the third pass, he paused here and there to wiggle, press and nudge. His voice, when it came to her, was muffled. “Never been more serious in my life. You, Mrs. MacIntyre, are one tasty treat.”

  And he proceeded to eat her from top to bottom. One excruciating inch at a time. She should have been appalled at what was happening. At the hot words he muttered against her creaming pussy. At the whole indecency of the situation. At the way she wanted him to go on. Instead, she closed her eyes and decided she was going to go up in flames. Her skin felt stretched too tightly to contain her body, while her woman’s flesh throbbed and ached with an unrelenting emptiness.

  His focus went from nibbling at her entire pussy to concentrating at the top. His tongue lashed a particularly sensitive spot, and the breath left her body in a soundless scream. He did it again, a firm wet tap, and she jerked up straight to fall back and writhe as he lashed it over and over. With every pass of his hot tongue, molten need poured through her body, until she was gasping his name with each breath. Pleading for something he kept withholding from her.

  “Just a minute darlin’,” he soothed, kissing her creaming flesh gently.

  She wasn’t waiting for anything. With a burst of strength she latched onto his hair and pulled his face back to her aching, sopping pussy. Acting on instinct. His laugh vibrated just to the left of where she needed it. She wiggled frantically, needing his lips and teeth to release her from this torment.

  His big hands stilled her hips. “No need to snatch me bald. I get the idea.” He blew against the sensitive knot of flesh.

  “Please…” He was killing her, leaving her stretched out on this burning, unfamiliar ledge.

  “I like you like this,” he murmured, lapping delicately at her folds, swirling his tongue in the thick juices weeping from her hungry slit. “All soft and generous.” He lapped again. “Needing.”

  He pressed his tongue against that one spot high up. Lightning streaked through her body arching her back off the table, driving her pulsing flesh closer to his face. Closer to paradise. Her hands clenched on the side of the table as he did it again. This time, her scream was a strangled plea for more. He didn’t give it to her. When her spine reconnected with the table, he pulled back and asked, “You liked that, huh?”

  Later, she’d smack him for sounding so smug. Right now, she needed him to do it again. “What was that?” she gasped, her hips helplessly lifting and searching.

  He stroked her softly with his tongue, as if to soothe the flesh he’d just driven insane. “That was your clit.”

  She could barely feel those tantalizing sweeps of his tongue. “My what?”

  He rested his chin on top of her mound. His morning beard pricked her sensitized flesh. The relentless demand in her body subsided to a dissatisfied howl.

  His smile was pure male satisfaction as he explained. “Your clit. A very tasty, sensitive little button that, apparently, likes to come out and play.”

  “Oh.” Now that the furor inside had died down, she was beginning to feel embarrassed again.

  Her feelings must have shown on her face, because he got a real determined look and said, “Oh no you don’t.”

  She didn’t get a chance to ask what he meant, as he moved his face. His prickly, bearded chin brushed her clit, and she almost leapt out of her skin.

  “Asa!”

  She only had time to register the surprise in his eyes as he paused. The tiny pricks of sensation were excruciating. Locked somewhere between pain and pleasure, she held her breath.

  “Easy, darlin’.”

  Asa trapped her hips tightly in his hands before he cautiously shifted his chin again. The effect on Elizabeth was immediate. Her fingers clenched tighter in his hair, dragging him closer.

  “Like that?” he asked.

  “Harder,” she begged. “Oh please, harder.”

  He did it again, tentatively adding a bit more pressure. He could tell from the way her head tossed that it wasn’t enough, b
ut damn, her woman’s flesh was so delicate, he didn’t want it cut up.

  Catching him by surprise, she yanked on his hair and threw her hips up at the same time, driving his chin into her swollen clit. “Yessss!”

  He almost came at the sound of her gratification. Using one hand to steady her hips, he slid the other down to his pants. He let her ride his chin however she wanted, while he pulled his cock free. He paused for a heartbeat to smear his hand with her copious juices. Wrapping his fist around his painfully aroused flesh, he started pumping while grinding his rough chin against her hard clit. He worried about hurting her, but she liked it rough, and anything less had her sobbing in frustration. Suddenly, with no warning, her body convulsed and she arched her hips into his face, grinding and screaming, her body jerking in powerful spasms. It was all he needed for his own orgasm to crash over him. As his seed jetted out onto the floor, he twisted his face into her pussy, capturing her little clit between his lips, holding it firmly as he sucked it while the crashing waves of pleasure took him out of himself. He felt her struggle to get away, but something primitive in him refused to let her deny him anything. Least of all, the taste of her satisfaction, the way he wanted it.

  He sucked harder. She screamed again and the spasms began again, throwing her cunt against his mouth before she tried to jerk away, but he wasn’t letting her get away. He clamped his lips down and followed the bucking of her hips. He would never let her leave him. She was his.

  It was her sobs that got his attention. And her pleas for mercy. He came back to himself to find her jerking under his mouth.

  “Shhh, darlin’,” he murmured, reluctantly releasing her clit. It made a little popping sound as it sprang into the air.

  She groaned and shuddered.

  He pulled back and assessed the damage. Her beautiful cunt was swollen and red. Her entire pussy looked well loved. Her scent enveloped him. A combination of satisfied woman and vanilla.

  He stood. She curled onto her side. Her ribs heaved with her efforts to breathe. It was almost a rejection. He pulled her dress down and leaned over the table to see her face.

  “You okay?” he asked, stroking her wild tangle of hair.

  She groaned again, and then grabbed his thigh. Before he could figure out what she had planned, she dragged herself around until her mouth was lined up with his groin. His knees buckled when she took his softening cock into the heat of her mouth.

  He froze, not knowing what to do. She seemed content to hold him in her mouth, suckling him gently while her breathing slowly returned to normal. He stroked her hair and murmured soothing nonsense, until with a soft sigh, she released him. His cock waved enthusiastically in the air, clearly up for another round. She stroked him lazily with her hand.

  “When you put him in my mouth, what’s that called?”

  Of all the things he expected her to say, that hadn’t been it. “You’re sucking my cock.”

  She frowned, squeezing him lightly and smiling when his cock jerked in reaction. “No. What’s it called when you do it to me?”

  He cleared his throat. “Fucking your face.”

  She looked him straight in the eye, her gaze slumberous and heavy lidded. She tugged his eager cock toward her and said, “Fuck my face, Asa.”

  Chapter Six

  The one bad thing about having a husband who could handle things was that it left no excuse for avoiding housework. Dipping her white rag in water, Elizabeth swatted at a few drifting dust motes before going back to wiping down the parlor lamp’s milk glass dome. She tried very hard to keep her eyes on the job, but the late summer sunshine kept taunting her through the lace curtains. Every now and then, a rose scented breeze would waft in, fluttering the curtains and stirring up all kinds of longings. She scrubbed at a soot mark and tried not to imagine how good it would feel to be riding into the mountains, maybe stopping at the swimming hole for a dip.

  She paused, sighed and then took herself to task. There’d been a time when her impulses had ruled her life, but not anymore. Being impulsive could cost a person their home, family and everything they thought true about themselves. She wasn’t an immature child, incapable of understanding the consequences of her actions or the depth of her responsibilities. She was a lady and a ranch owner. Ladies didn’t cavort around the countryside unescorted, let alone take dips in swimming holes. They tended to the house, pretended they didn’t sweat, and smiled, even if they were melting in the heat faster than a candle on a stove.

  She sighed again and used the end of her apron to wipe the sweat from her brow. She looked at the smudge and winced. Being a lady was going to be the death of her. Unfortunately, it was part of the deal she’d struck with her husband. Since the man was willing to borrow the kind of life-threatening troubles that came with the Rocking C, she was locked into the role of lady. It was a matter of honor to give him what he wanted. At least for her.

  Dipping her rag in saleratus, she rubbed anew at the last vestige of the smudge. When it came off, she breathed a sigh of relief, put her hands in the small of her back and massaged her aching muscles. She would have loved to stretch her whole back but the darned corset negated any such pleasure.

  She stepped over to the window and inhaled the fresh breeze, letting it sweep the boredom away along with the scent of beeswax and saleratus. Glancing over her shoulder, she decided it wasn’t all for nothing. The parlor looked good. Warm, inviting, subtly gleaming. Now, if she could keep folks to the parlor and the kitchen, she could call it quits for the day. She smiled wryly and shook her head. Like that was going to happen. Asa was definitely going to want to take over the study. With all the work that had waited since her father died, she’d never gotten around to keeping it clean. Dust piled every corner along with three months of neglected bookkeeping.

  A whinny outside returned her attention to the outdoors. A rider came through the arch over the gate. Even if she hadn’t recognized the blood bay gelding, she’d never forget the man riding in. Aaron! She straightened her hair, whipped off her apron and stuffed it into the umbrella stand. By the time she heard the porch step creak under his foot, she had her hand on the doorknob. She counted to three, and then swung it open, smiling at his misstep when the door wasn’t there to stop his hand from knocking.

  “Hi.”

  His response was a laugh. “One of these days, you’re not going to catch me with that.”

  His laughter warmed her. “I’ve been catching you for fifteen years. If you were going to wise up, I think you would have done it by now.”

  His “you would think” made her smile. For the fifteen years she’d been catching him, he’d been giving her the same answer. It was like an anchor for her soul. The rest of her world might be in chaos, but this part was the same. Aaron was always there. They fought more often than they agreed due to his tendency to think he was always right, but, as they’d grown up as close as brother and sister, somehow it seemed right.

  She stepped back to usher him into the relative coolness of the foyer. “What brings you here?”

  “Heard in town you married up a couple times this week.”

  She winced. “Once was a mistake I corrected. The second time was for real.”

  He removed his hat and tossed it onto the hat rack. His brown hair was ruthlessly smoothed back from his square face. There was no mistaking the concern in his blue eyes as he swept her from head to toe. “Well, I guess you could say I’m here to check whether wedding number two was a mistake.”

  It wasn’t going to be a pleasant visit, Elizabeth decided. He was obviously on one of his protective I-know-better-than-you missions. She motioned him into the parlor. “I have no complaints and I’m not expecting any.”

  He glanced up after settling himself into her father’s chair. “Right.”

  The one word came out so scathingly patronizing, for a second, the image of her father imposed itself over Aaron’s face. She blinked to dispel it. “I’m satisfied with my marriage.”

  “So you’re
happy?”

  “For goodness sake, Aaron!” she protested as she reminded herself to sink decorously into the wing-backed chair across from him. “I’ve only known the man twenty-four hours. I can’t tell you what he likes for breakfast, let alone whether we’re going to suit!”

  “But you married him.”

  There was censure in the statement, as if her decision had been anything but the only choice available. It was also in his blue eyes and his posture, making her realize why he reminded her of her father. His big, stocky build was a fair image of Coyote Bill’s. Combined with him sitting in her father’s chair, delivering condemnation in a quiet, polite tone of voice, the situation was enough to resurrect the dead.

  “Of course I married him.” She arranged her skirt into straight folds. “If you remember correctly, it was your suggestion that I marry.”

  “I suggested you marry one of the local boys. I didn’t say to pick a man with a reputation dangerous enough in itself to be a threat.” He said it as if she’d failed to follow his directions.

  “Your suggestion that I marry was perfectly valid, and I considered it fully before making my decision.”

  He sat back in his seat and regarded her coolly. “So, why didn’t you consult me when you went husband-hunting?”

  “Why would I?”

  “Because I could have guided you past the most obvious bad choices?”

  She brushed a piece of lint from her skirt and grabbed hold of her patience. “Who would you have suggested I pick that I haven’t already thought of?”

  “Willy Samuel?”

  “Willy Samuel is sweet on Jane Hendricks.”

  “He’d throw her over in a heartbeat for this ranch.”

  That said about all she needed to know about his honor. “And spend the rest of his life comparing me with the love of his life? I don’t think so.”

  “Jason Miller?”

  “He’s fonder of whining than of working.”