“I’m attracted to a lot of things I know better than to grab on to,” he said, his voice still rough.
A humorless huff blurted from her throat, and she started for the bedroom again, all bluff.
“Dammit, Jude . . .” His hand caught her elbow.
She stiffened but let him draw her back and turn her to face him, let him clasp her jaw with his calloused fingers and lift her chin until she had to look up at him. Their gazes locked. His blue-flame eyes burned into hers. She could feel his warm breath on her lips. Seconds passed. Then his head slowly shook. “But God knows,” he murmured, “I’ve been known to take a chance.” His mouth lowered toward hers.
She hadn’t been wrong about the desire she saw in those eyes. She thought she could hear both their hearts beating in runaway harmony. His fingers moved down the side of her throat until his hand closed gently on her neck. “God,” he whispered, “you’re so damn . . .”
He leaned toward her again, and this time, she didn’t try to escape. His mouth came down on hers and she didn’t resist. Just as she suspected he might, he kissed her as no one ever had, making her feel wanted in a way she had never felt. His lips parted hers and his tongue thrust into her mouth. He tasted of whiskey, but not unpleasant. His hands burrowed into her hair until they clutched her head and she couldn’t have escaped his marauding mouth even if she had wanted to. Utter bliss exploded within her. Warmth pooled between her thighs and in the tips of her breasts, making them so achingly tight that an unfamiliar sound escaped her throat. Grabbing on to his shoulders as if he were a lifeline, she kissed him back with all her might.
He lifted his lips from hers, dragged them across her cheek and down her neck. “God, Jude,” he whispered raggedly, “you’re as hot as I am.”
He set her away, leaving her mouth feeling swollen and wet and her eyes searching his. Their breath rushed and shuddered, and their chests heaved, His eyes had turned an odd violet color and lost their clarity. They now looked dark and sleepy. He turned away, locked the front door and switched off the light, plunging them into total blackness. He scooped her up, settled her in his arms and carried her toward the bedroom. She clung to his back and neck, buried her face against his shoulder. “I always say the wrong things,” she said softly. “I don’t mean to.”
“I know,” he said just as softly.
The bedroom was so cool, it almost felt chilly. It didn’t seem possible, but it was even darker than the living room. But he seemed to know the way through the blackness. The air conditioner’s low roar overrode sound, but not the echo of her heart thrashing in her ears. He laid her across the bed and followed her down. In a whisper of both their starched denim jeans and the dull thunk of colliding boots, his knee pressed between hers and pinned her to the mattress. Though she was surrounded by him—his scent, his heat, his strength, his profound masculinity—she still felt a need to explain. “It’s . . . it’s just that . . . I wanted to . . .”
“Shh. It’s okay, sweetheart.”
His arm cradled her neck while his mouth cruised over her cheeks, down her throat. His hand skimmed her whole body, stroking, caressing more gently than she would have ever expected from a man of his size and strength. The more he explored, the more swollen and hot her nipples felt inside her bra. All of her clothing began to feel binding. Even her skin felt too tight and too hot. She began to squirm and clutch at his shirt, trying to unbutton it. “Brady, can we . . . ?”
He started to sit up, but she couldn’t bear to have him part from her, even for a minute. “Don’t—don’t stop.”
He kissed her again. “Just gonna turn on the light,” he said.
“Oh. Do—do we have to?”
“You’ve never had the light on?”
“No. I mean, well, yes, but . . . I don’t know what I mean.”
“You’re beautiful. I want to see you,” he said, softly. “It’ll be okay.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice coming out tiny.
She sat up with him, hooking her arms around his thick biceps and pressing her breasts against it, laying her cheek against his shoulder. With his other hand, he reached over and switched on the stubby round lamp on the bedside table. Light not much better than a flashlight’s cast a golden fan on the floor and on the edge of the bed. She watched him open the bedside table drawer, his capable hands spotlighted by the lamplight. He lifted out the black box of condoms she had left in the drawer earlier.
An image of the woman named Ginger flitted through her mind along with the certain knowledge that she and maybe others had slept with him in this very bed, but Jude refused to let a visual form. She wanted this, and nothing else mattered.
His fingers came to her chin and he smiled. “It’s a dim light.” He kissed her sweetly, then reached for her foot and pried off her boot. His big hand closed around her foot in a caress as he looked at her across his shoulder for a few beats. Now she was glad he had turned on the light, even as a nerve jumped inside her stomach. She wanted to see him, too.
He tugged off her other boot, followed by her socks.
His arms came around her, and he held her for a long moment. He was good at hugging. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him back. Then he kissed her, his tongue touching hers tentatively, as if he were testing for her response. They kissed and kissed and his hands moved over her body until an audible soughing sound had replaced normal breathing and her very bones felt like warm liquid.
Eventually, their mouths parted and he tugged at the hem of her top. “Help me take this off,” he said. “I don’t want to tear it.” With no hesitation, she yanked the knit top over her head. Her nipples tightened even more as the room’s cool air touched her bare skin, yet her breasts throbbed with heat.
He ducked his head, and his mouth moved over the mound of flesh above the edge of her bra. “I do love black lace,” he mumbled against her skin, “but right this minute, sweetheart, it’s in the way.” He delicately tugged the lacy edge down and exposed her nipple. It was embarrassingly rigid and protruded over the edge of the lace. On a deep hum, he kissed and licked, drew the firm peak deeply into the wet heat of his mouth. Something deep inside her flexed. She curved her hands around his head and held him in place.
“Oooh,” she breathed, closing her eyes and basking in knowing he desired her. He sucked rhythmically, and deep muscles she didn’t know she had began to clench up inside her. The sensation was consuming and she wanted more.
His hand went behind her and she felt her bra release. In the far recesses of her clouded mind, a voice told her he was awfully practiced at this to be able to undo it one-handed, but she couldn’t make herself worry over it.
“Don’t ever think I don’t want you,” he said.
She thrilled at the words. “I won’t. No. I won’t.”
Her bra went away and his large hand cupped her breast, plumped it and molded it while his mouth moved over it, his beard stubble rasping the tender skin. While he teased the one breast, his fingers stroked and pulled at the nipple of the other. On a deep sigh, she tilted her head back and pushed her chest forward, making it easy for him to do whatever he wanted. Her vaginal muscles throbbed, and that deep flex became an exquisite need. She had never felt such emptiness. “Brady, I feel funny. Inside. Can you . . . can you do something?”
“What, sweetheart? Tell me what you want.”
“I don’t know. . . . Just something.”
He chuckled softly against her breasts.“Yes, ma’am.” His arm slid behind her and he eased her back on the bed, murmuring soft words made incoherent by the roar of the air conditioner. His hot mouth closed over her other nipple, and he drew hard, his breath humid and warm. Save for the desire for more of the same, every thought fled, and she moaned softly so he would know how much he pleased her. His hand slid down and she felt him undo her belt and tug at her zipper. She began to tremble. The next thing she knew, his mouth was at her ear and he was whispering reassurances and wicked promises and his hand was slidin
g inside her panties. She felt so swollen and hot and damp. Drenched. Still, drunk with desire, she opened her knees and he cupped her sex. His finger found her opening and slipped inside, “I’m—I’m wet,” she said weakly, clenching around his finger.
“That’s a good thing.” To her dismay, he withdrew his finger and took her mouth in another slow, voluptuous kiss, at the same time working her jeans down past her hips. When they would go no farther, he lifted his mouth from hers. “Lift up, sweetheart.” She dug her heels into the mattress and raised her hips. He easily stripped off her jeans and panties. And just like that, she was naked on his bed, and his eyes and hands were roaming and stroking as if she belonged to him, and he was telling her she was soft as a kitten and beautiful, and heat was surging in every part of her body.
He sat up again and tugged off his own boots, yanked off his socks. Shamelessly sprawled, she propped herself on her elbows and watched as he straightened and pulled his shirt from his waistband and began to unbutton it, revealing a strip of his tanned chest an inch at a time. He unbuttoned the cuffs, peeled the garment off and tossed it away, his muscles rippling and bunching under his skin. She took in the full measure of his wide chest, lightly dusted with hair that trailed all the way to his belt buckle. She had a mental picture of where it ended. . . . But in the poster, he’d had no body hair.
He stood, unbuckled his belt and shucked his jeans and shorts, his eyes never leaving her. His erection sprang free, only inches from her face. He was beautifully made from head to toe, and perfect. And he was impossibly large. Something dark spiked within her. She wanted to please him in the way her first fiancé had taught her. She eased off the edge of the mattress onto her knees, leaned forward and pressed her face against his groin. He went perfectly still. “Jude, don’t . . .”
She ignored him and clutched his taut buttocks, breathed in his musky scent, pressed kisses against the crisp nest surrounding his erection. His jutting penis twitched as her cheek touched it, and she moved her mouth along the hot, velvety flesh until she reached the plump tip. She molded her mouth over it, thrilled at the soft grunt that came from him. She licked away salty moisture, slid her mouth the length of him, until she could feel the thick tip of him against the back of her throat, then she drew back slowly and circled the rim with her tongue. “Oh, Jesus,” he ground out, grasping her shoulders and pushing himself away from her. “Sweetheart, I’ll come.”
He pulled her up and jerked back the covers on the bed. “Get in,” he said roughly, and she crawled between the sheets. Everything changed. In an instant he was hovering over her, bracketing her with his arms and kneeing her thighs apart. He looked down at her with fiery eyes and a hard mouth. “Where’d you learn that?” he said raggedly, and kissed her fiercely.
His mouth moved over her breasts, her torso, down her body. His tongue sank into her navel. She shuddered and arched her back, lifted her belly to him. He nipped at her flesh, pressed hot suckling kisses to the hollows beneath her hip bones, cruised to where her thighs joined her trunk, and all the while his whispery words, thick and broken, played with her mind . . . climb up inside you . . . never come out . . . come ’til you scream . . .
Now her heart was hammering. No man had ever spoken such words to her, but they excited her. All of that was what she thought she wanted. He clasped her knees with his palms and pushed her thighs wide, ducked his head and nuzzled her pubic hair, inhaled deeply. From somewhere it came to her that smell was the oldest of humankind’s senses, even as panic and embarrassment suffused her in equal measure. She pushed against his head. “Brady, don’t . . .”
“Don’t what?” His mouth moved over the insides of her thighs.
“Brady, I’ve never . . .” She felt his breath warm against her most intimate place. “No one’s ever . . .”
“Close your eyes and relax,” he said huskily. Then his mouth was there, where no man’s mouth had ever been, and she was shaking all over and floating in a haze of anticipation.
She forced herself up, braced on her elbows, fisted her hand in his hair, intending to stop him, but the sight of his head between her legs aroused her in a way she had never been before. When his tongue swept the length of her cleft, all she could do was whimper and let her knees fall wide.
She felt herself open. Then his hands slid under her bottom and he lifted her to his mouth. His tongue slipped into the top of her sex, and exquisite pleasure shot through her. With a gasp she braced on one hand and gripped a fistful of his hair, watched his head move as he licked into her again and again. Rational thought left her mind. The flex inside her turned to deep spasms and driving need. Nothing mattered but his agile tongue’s point of contact. . . . Her breath turned to quick pants, out of her control . . . oh . . . oh . . . oh . . .
He stopped abruptly, leaving her bereft and desperate. “Don’t stop,” she cried. “Please don’t stop.” His wet mouth moved up her body and took her mouth again in a savage kiss. Her hips hitched against him. “Please don’t stop,” she begged again. She sucked on his tongue, licked her own taste from his lips.
He pulled away from her.
“Just a minute, sweetheart.” He grabbed a condom off the beside table and quickly snapped it on with trembling hands.
Then he was back, between her thighs, his body hovering above hers, and the wide tip of him was there, nudging into where she felt so hot and empty. “I want to be inside you when you come,” he choked out.
“Hurry,” she said, lifting herself, her thighs shamelessly open. She ran her hands over his muscled back, clutched at his firm buttocks. He pushed into her in one long, slow stroke, until it seemed he could go no farther. He stopped, groaning softly. Her hungry flesh pulled against his hardness. He felt so big inside her, but she wriggled against him, wanting more. He held himself still. She opened her eyes and saw his face, his expression strained and harsh.
“Lift your knees, sweetheart. Put your legs around me.”
She obeyed, taking him until it felt as if he were buried all the way to her heart. “Oh. Oh, Brady . . .”
“Okay?”
“Yes.” She lifted her head and kissed him.
“Stay with me,” he murmured, his voice gruff. He began to rock in a slow, ceaseless rhythm. His hot, thick flesh moved inside her with melting friction and deep thrusts, tormenting her with utter delight. She lost track of time and thought. Those needy deep muscles grabbed at his penis again and again, and he groaned his pleasure. Then, down there, where they were joined, spasms of the sweetest agony began to wash through her. His mouth locked onto hers. Stars passed behind her eyes as spasms of pleasure rippled through her. Somehow, through the haze that had taken her over, she felt him strain, heard him grunt. Instinctively, she dug her fingers into his buttocks and anchored him to her. He pounded hard up into her, once, twice, until a bark burst from his chest and he collapsed on top of her.
He was shaking and sweating, and she could feel his heart pounding. She was no better off herself. When she found the strength to speak, she whispered, “Oh, my gosh. Are we okay?”
He heaved a great breath and chuckled against her neck. “I don’t know yet.”
They clung to each other. Soon he started kissing her face and neck and murmuring words of sweetness to her. He stayed inside her for a long time. She didn’t move, not wanting him to leave her. Finally, he shifted to her side, but his heavy arm remained draped across her body.
Brady left her and padded to the bathroom. He was shaken in an unexpected way. As he washed himself in the vanity sink, he thought about the conflicting mix that was Jude Strayhorn. She was beautiful and rich, but down-to-earth and funny and fun. She was naive but, at the same time, hot as a pistol and sexy. Every man’s dream. And she didn’t even know it. He had sensed that primitive passion in her when she confronted him in his aunt’s driveway, and tonight he had let it lure him past reason. When she had shown him she had a hunger that matched his, the loss of control had begun to creep in. Then when Ace had blatantly sh
own an interest in her, even put his hand on her, Brady had lost his damn mind. He had wanted to clock Ace Earl, a man he had known for thirty years, just for touching her.
He had to ask himself if he could bear to ever let her go. He studied his reflection in the vanity mirror. Those were dangerous sentiments for a man who had nothing to offer.
He returned to the bedroom, crawled under the covers and gathered her in his arms. Her body was smooth and soft and lush, all that he loved about women. She snuggled close to him and fit her head against his shoulder, her hand on his chest. “You’re something else,” he told her.
“I don’t know what just happened. I’ve never . . . I never was before.”
God, she was innocent. He smiled, idly stroking the back of her smooth hand with his fingertips. “You’re so good. You’re just so . . . special.”
“No one’s ever said that about me.”
He scooted down and turned on his side to face her, belly to belly, burrowed his hands in her hair and held her head for a kiss. Then he drew back and smiled. She looked at him and searched his face with eyes layered with shadows. “You make me feel things I’ve never felt,” she said softly, and he almost stopped breathing. “You’re wonderful,” she said, and his heart nearly stopped.
“You’re wonderful, too.” He didn’t even hesitate to say it.
They talked. She told him how deeply she had been hurt by learning her first fiancé had used her. Brady barely contained his anger. As an eighteen-year-old college freshman who had always lived in a bubble of parental protection, she would have been a lamb. Luckily she had been smart enough to figure out what was happening before it was too late. She told him how, after that, she had devoted herself to her education, not really reconciling with her dad until after she moved back to the ranch. She told him how much it meant to her to be given charge of the Circle C. He even gave her a thumbnail sketch of his own life.
Lone Star Woman Page 16
