by Tracy Wolff
By the time she reached the end of the trail, he was gasping. Air seemed to be in short supply. Even his good knee felt like Jell-O, and he leaned back against the tiled wall of the shower, bracing himself against it as he tangled his fingers in her hair and yanked her forward until her mouth closed gently, hotly, around him.
She was making crazy, sexy sounds—like she was enjoying every second of it—and the vibration of them was working its way along the length of his dick, making him absolutely crazy.
Her tongue stroked up and down the length of him, and he forgot the world around them. Forgot his own name. He leaned his head back against the shower wall, closed his eyes, and just enjoyed.
* * *
Chapter 22
* * *
Lyric tilted her head so that she could see all of Heath as she continued to go down on him. He looked amazing, the muscles of his chest and abdomen tense and standing out in stark definition, even as his face was more relaxed than she had seen it in a very long time.
The look of him, the feel and sound and taste of him, was driving her crazy. The simple joy of making love to Heath set her on fire, her body hotter than she could ever remember it being. She wanted to stand, to wrap a leg around him and let him plunge deep inside of her until they both came. Then she wanted to do it all over again.
But first … first she wanted to savor what it felt like to make Heath so crazy that he forgot to be a gentleman, forgot to take care of her and just fucked her mouth until he came. She wanted to give him that release, that oblivion, if only for a little while.
With that thought in mind, she slowly lifted and lowered her mouth along his shaft, sucking gently while her tongue flicked back and forth across the small bundle of nerves centered on the bottom of the tip.
Heath’s fingers tightened in her hair and he moaned, but she was relentless. Slowly, oh so slowly, she took all of him in her mouth, held him there. Then pulled back before doing it a second time, then a third, swirling her tongue around and around him, savoring the musky, masculine taste of him.
He groaned again, and she glanced up at him, met his sexy, heavy-lidded eyes that got even darker when he realized she was looking. He thrust against her, his gaze focused on the way he slid back and forth between her lips. It must have done something for him, because suddenly he began thrusting harder and deeper against her.
He gasped as he seized control, bobbing her head up and down in time to his thrusts. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I can’t stop. I need—”
He broke off and gasped, as she’d intended him to, when she dug her nails deep into the flexing muscles of his buttocks. She reached between them, stroked the sensitive spot at the back of his testicles at the same time she rubbed the bottom of her tongue along the tender underside of his shaft.
###
Heath tried to speak, tried to breathe, but he couldn’t do either as Lyric tormented him with her wicked, wild mouth. He knew he was close, knew if she kept it up he was going to lose it completely, and he tried to pull back. Tried to warn her.
“Lyric, darlin’, I’m going to—”
She pulled him even more tightly inside of her as she hummed deep in her throat. The vibration nearly made him blind as he fought his release. He didn’t want to come this way. He wanted to be inside of her when he gave into his release, her nipple in his mouth and her warm body clenching all around him. Again he tried to pull back, and again Lyric refused to let him go. And when she used her tongue on him yet again, it sent him into sensory overload, his entire body spiraling out of his control. With a long, deep groan, he emptied himself into her mouth in the most intense orgasm of his life.
He expected her to draw back, to let go of him, but she held on through it all, taking all he had to give her.
Weak with his release, he stumbled slightly and sank his ass down on the shower bench. Lyric laughed a little as she finally let him go. He pulled her up and onto his lap until she was straddling him, her beautiful breasts almost level with his mouth. He was exhausted, his body all but numb from the power of his climax. But he’d have to be dead and buried not to enjoy the sight of Lyric astride him, all wet and tousled. Her beautiful blonde curls were crazy, her cheeks flushed, her lips red and swollen as she reached forward and ran a gentle hand down his cheek. He turned his head, nipped gently at the soft, fleshy mound below her thumb.
Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes growing hazy, and he slipped a hand between their bodies to rub at her clit. Then he stroked his fingers down and over the soft folds of her sex, checking to make sure she was ready for him.
She was hot and wet, and smelled so good he couldn’t resist standing her up and burying his face against her. She moaned, tensed against his mouth as he licked his way over her mons to the very heart of her. It was her turn to go a little crazy, her turn to tug at his hair as she rocked her hips against his face.
Fuck, she was so goddamn hot. So goddamn beautiful. It blew his mind that he’d known her almost his whole life but had waited this long to make love to her. He’d been an idiot. A blind, stupid idiot who hadn’t seen what was right in front of him.
Suddenly the water turned cold—ice fucking cold—and she let out a little scream that had nothing to do with sexual frustration.
“Crap. Don’t worry, darlin’. I’m on it.” He couldn’t help grinning against her stomach, even as the cold water worked its way over her and onto him.
Leaning forward, he turned the water off and grabbed the towel hanging over the top of the shower.
He wrapped it around Lyric and thought seriously about picking her up and carrying her to the bed. But with the state his knee was in right now, that didn’t seem like the best idea. He was pretty sure neither one of them would find it sexy to end up on the floor while he yelled in agony.
Lyric must have had the same idea, because she shook herself like a wet dog before scampering out of the shower and into the bedroom.
Even wrapped in a towel, she looked really, really good from behind. He watched for a second, admiring the length and curve of her legs before grabbing a towel for himself and wrapping it around his waist.
Then he followed her into the bedroom, pleased to find her already stretched out on the simple yellow comforter. Her lips curved softly as she watched him work his way toward her. Just as he was getting close—and thinking about the best way to divest her of her towel—she did the job for him, throwing it aside so that her long, beautiful body was bared to him.
For long seconds, he just looked at her, admiring the way the lamplight played over her sun-kissed skin, casting shadows in the most interesting places. And then he was climbing onto the bed next to her, stretching out beside her so that he could kiss the hollow of her throat. Sliding his hand over her hip. Rubbing his stubble over the curve of first one breast and then the other.
Lyric giggled, her arms pushing against his shoulders even as her body undulated against him. The lift of her hips against his was all the invitation he needed to roll her underneath him. And then he was fastening his mouth on her breast, sucking her raspberry-pink nipple into his mouth even as he fumbled a condom out of the box he’d picked up at Walgreens earlier in the day.
Seconds later, she pulled him back down, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and tangling her legs with his. She felt good, so good—so perfect—that there was a part of him that wanted to stay right here, like this, forever.
But then she was moving, her body arching against his as she whispered all kinds of dirty, desperate things in his ear. The sound of her, all brazen and breathless, had him losing what little control he had. He plunged into the silky heat of her, thrusting into her again and again as the need to plunder, to claim, to brand her as his, swept through him.
She moaned as he slid a hand between them and stroked his thumb over her clit once, twice, then again and again. Seconds later she came, her body wrapped around him and his name a broken cry on her lips. It was that sound that did it, that had him rocking deep insid
e her and letting go for the second time that night.
But it was the way she held him after, the way she looked at him as he smoothed her hair from her face, that had him reaching for his discarded jeans and pulling the small black box out of the left front pocket.
Propping himself on an elbow, he stroked Lyric’s curls back from her forehead, then leaned forward to kiss her temple. She turned her head, smiled sleepily up at him.
“I have something for you.”
“I know you do, baby, but I’m not sure I’m up for another round. Tomorrow?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not talking about my penis.”
“Really? That’s too bad.” A sexy little smile worked its way across her face. “I think we should talk about it a lot more.” She wiggled a hip against his semi-erect dick to make her point.
“But I don’t know about you using the word penis. Seems too clinical. How about cock?” She thought about it for a second. “Yes, cock.”
He held the ring box in front of her before flipping it open.
Lyric’s eyes went wide as her hands flew to her mouth. “Heath, you didn’t have to buy me a ring for a fake engagement. Please tell me that thing is fake.”
It wasn’t. In fact, it was about as far from fake as it could get, considering the inscription he’d had the jeweler add to the inside of the band.
She must have been able to read the answer on his face, because she sat up. “Oh, Heath, only you would buy a real ring for a fake engagement. Then again, I guess Momma would have been able to tell.” She reached for the box, stared down at the flawless, five-carat, princess-cut diamond that it had taken him nearly three hours to select. “It’s beautiful. Perfect, really. I love it.”
All afternoon, he’d been mulling over the right proposal speech. Getting down on one knee wasn’t happening.
She plucked the ring out of the box and slid it on her finger. “Don’t worry, I’ll give it back when the engagement is over. I hope the place you bought it gives refunds.”
Okay then, no need for a speech. The ring was on her finger. That was half the battle … right? But he wanted to give her all of the romance of a real marriage proposal.
She kissed him sweetly on the lips before rolling over and giving him her back to cuddle against. He wasn’t in the mood to spoon. He couldn’t help but feel that he’d just blown the biggest moment of his life.
With every passing second, the engagement became more real for him. He wanted a life with her, but convincing her of that wasn’t going to be easy.
Lyric had rolled onto her back and was softly snuffle-snoring.
He watched her sleep. One corner of her mouth curled up in a smile.
This just might be the fastest proposal in history. He thought about waking her up and actually asking for her hand in marriage, but as she stretched out across the bed like a starfish, he caught sight of the tattoo on her inner thigh.
He leaned over to get a better look.
Underneath the tattoo was a jagged scar.
Harmony had that very same scar. They might be twins, but they couldn’t have the same scars. Yet here it was, the exact same scar Harmony had. He’d seen it when they’d made love in the tree house. He’d even kissed her there and asked her what it was from.
Barbed wire, she’d told him. He’d remembered thinking that was strange because Harmony wasn’t exactly the fence-climbing type. That was Lyric. In fact, when they were young, she’d been able to hop the ranch fences twice as fast as he could.
His stomach dropped to his knees as the pieces fell into place.
How Lyric had been so furious with him after his night with Harmony.
How Harmony had been totally disgusted with him too.
How both girls had disappeared from his life soon after that, with barely a backward glance.
How Lyric, all these years later, seemed so reluctant to trust him, to believe that he could be interested in her. To believe in him at all.
Because she’d believed in him once, had given herself to him body and soul. And he had called her by her sister’s name.
* * *
Chapter 23
* * *
The next day, Heath did his best to balance the cup of tea and the little china plate holding some sort of fancy triangle-cut sandwiches on his lap. He shifted, and the purple velvet settee groaned and creaked under his weight.
Wedding dress shopping had been his idea, but as he sat on the fragile, little, ass-numbing chair in Wedding Belle’s Bridal Shop, his heart wasn’t in wedding dress shopping.
Knowing that he’d hurt Lyric all those years ago made him physically ill. He put a hand to his churning stomach. Finding out that he was never going to play football again hadn’t made him feel this bad. He’d spent the last few days falling in love with Lyric—or, more to the point, realizing he had always been in love with her—and all she’d been doing was trying to put the bad memories of their last encounter behind her.
How had he ever confused the two sisters? Lyric and Harmony were nothing alike. Lyric was sweet where Harmony was suspicious. She was funny where her sister was dour. She was soft and squishy and kind where Harmony was hard as a fucking rock.
He had to fix it … needed to make it better, but how?
Now he was wedding dress shopping with Harmony. If he weren’t too busy kicking his own ass, he’d take a moment to appreciate the irony.
Lyric was at home working, but she’d be here soon enough. He just hoped he’d be able to look her in the eye when she finally showed up.
He shifted again, trying to get comfortable. This “settee,” as the elderly owner of Wedding Belle’s had called it, had to have been used as a torture device during the Spanish Inquisition. Maybe if they traded in this rickety chair and got a couple of BarcaLoungers and a big-screen TV, more men would wedding dress shop.
Everything in this store was fragile and dainty. This must have been how G.I. Joe felt when he visited the Barbie mansion … everything was too small and breakable.
Carefully, he set the fragile floral teacup on the tiny round table next to the settee. He did his best to fit the sandwich plate next to the cup, but the edge of the plate hung off the table. Talk about feeling like a bull in a china shop … this store didn’t sell china, but he was fairly certain he was going to break something before he left today.
His knee twinged as he eased to his feet, but it supported his weight without a problem, which meant it was getting better. The ankle-to-thigh brace gave him lots of support, but it didn’t help with the pain.
He grinned and bore it as he walked over to where Harmony was flipping through bridesmaid’s dresses while Livinia and Gregor talked animatedly with the salesclerk.
When he’d suggested this little shopping trip, he’d thought it would give him something to do. He hadn’t counted on the soul-sucking boredom or all of this white. This whole place was floor-to-ceiling white. The only color was the rack of bridesmaid’s dresses. He wondered if this was what people in mental hospitals felt like. Because he’d always considered himself fairly sane, but this much prolonged exposure to this much white was making even him twitchy.
Maybe if he downloaded more games on his smartphone … But when he pulled it out, he saw notifications of five new texts from Dalton Mane, the Wranglers’ general manager, and two from his agent. He didn’t look at any of them and instead checked for an Internet signal that didn’t seem to exist in this wedding dress vortex. Damn it. He couldn’t even download the newest version of Candy Crush, and he’d really been looking forward to that game. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
He wandered over to the nearest rack of wedding dresses. The first dress had lots of white feathers and reminded him of an albino Big Bird so he moved that one aside and checked out the next one. It was really short in the front, but had a weirdly long back.
Wasn’t that called a train? Which seemed like a stupid name for it since in this dress Lyric’s caboose would be completely lost. That
would be a damn shame, considering how much he liked her caboose.
The next dress he picked up was too fluffy, the one after that too lacy, the one after that too rhinestone-y. Didn’t they have any normal-looking wedding dresses? Ones that wouldn’t turn the bride into a cross between Dolly Parton and Nicki Minaj?
“I don’t think any of those will fit you, but knock yourself out.” Harmony checked out albino Big Bird. “Who would wear this?”
“Maybe this is the rack they reserved for the school for the blind.” Heath looked around for a sign stating that, but all he saw was glaringly white walls. “Texture is really important if you can’t see.” He was almost certain that he’d read that somewhere.
“Why are you even here?” Harmony flipped to the next dress.
“Why are any of us even here? Did God create the world in six days, or did we evolve from a tree shrew? What’s the meaning of life?” He was good at being a pain in the ass, and he played to his strengths.
Harmony sighed deep and long. “Just when I start to think of you as somewhat of a nice guy, you open your mouth and I remember why I hate you.”
“Careful, hate is such a strong word.” He mimicked her long sigh. “You might hurt my tender feelings. Besides, we’re about to be family.”
“Oh God.” Harmony flipped to the next dress. “You’re the older brother that I never knew I didn’t want.”
“Thank you.” He bowed to her. “That makes me feel so good.”
Heath flipped to the next dress. It was a darker, creamy-white, strapless gown made of some kind of silky fabric. There were little bits of lace here and there, but other than that, it seemed completely normal. He pulled it out and held it up for Harmony to see. “What do you think about this one?”
The dress was heavier than it looked—it had to weigh twice what his protective gear did.
