by Mima
His eyes narrowed. “Seriously. Get over yourself.”
His chest flexed where it was mashed to hers, and he was sliding, pushing, driving into her body.
Gazes locked, they cried out together. Lauren had thought her rage iron-thick, but it was already falling to rust. She had thought she would carry the black coffin of her hurt until the end of her days. But now, here, her blood pumping with injustice against this man, she began to shine with joy.
“Lauren.” He thrust, his knees pushing her legs wider, his hands leaving her waist and shoulder to hold her face. He was shaking. “I hate you.” His hips ground against hers, driving in a tight, bitter circle.
A sun burst inside her. It was painful and exquisite. Pleasure twisted and rolled, holding her hostage, body and soul. “I’ve always loved you, Tommy.”
She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight as he finished in a few furious lunges. His shout was caught by her heart where he yelled against her chest. He collapsed on her. They clasped, sweaty, shaking.
After their breathing steadied, he rolled, carrying her with him. They were crooked on the bed, their feet still hanging off. Her robe still hung from one arm. His neck looked uncomfortable. But neither of them let go.
At least an hour later, he whispered, “I meant what I said. In the dark, before I knew it was you. You’re my One.”
She nodded against his shoulder, surprisingly dry eyed. “I live in Chelsea. How far away are you?”
“Connecticut.”
She closed her eyes in relief. “We’ll see each other. After this week. We’ll see what we can make.”
His arms tightened around her, making her ribs creak and her lungs groan, but she only snuggled tighter.
“Thank you.” There was nothing casual about his words. They vibrated with intensity.
“You’re welcome.” Her own words back to him were thick. Forgiveness had left her raw.
There were no more words. An immense time passed with them both awake in the brightly lit cabin, unwilling to move. Eventually, they’d fall asleep. Later, they’d start a week of exploration, perhaps even speak briefly with Sorrel. But Lauren’s mind was already looking beyond to a more distant future, one where she was healed, and loved, and learned to trust again.
She pressed a kiss to his chest and laid her ear to his heartbeat.
Congratulations. You have found the ending called Once Upon a Time in the West. Click this link to return to the Choice Index. Dare to decide again!
Finally, she found herself clinging to a barn column, staring at several roaming fights across the dance floor. It flashed through her memory that she’d stood here a short while before, devastated. It felt like three hours ago.
Eventually, men pulled the fighters apart. Sorrel limped up to her a few minutes later. She stood about a yard away. They stared at each other blearily.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Sorrel turned and limped away.
Bitch. Lauren determined she’d be gone by dawn. After she spent a song huddled next to one of the support beams, she began to warm up from the icy fog that had numbed her during the fight. She smelled like beer.
Unbelievably, the party had been resilient enough that some people were even now dancing. Eunice drifted by in the arms of an elderly man. They moved in perfect unison, with great verve. Lauren didn’t return her wave. She thought she’d break in half if she tried to move. Her breath still came hard.
She caught a man staring at her. He tipped his black hat. It was Luke! He raised a shot glass to her and tossed it back before leading the blonde in the pink hat out to dance. A couple on their way out looked at her nervously then bent their heads together to whisper. All she’d wanted was a groveling apology. How naïve.
The band finished up and everyone applauded.
“Lauren Smythe? I’m Trent Hoffingham, with Sony BMG. I’d like to talk with you about your brilliant performance. Do you have a minute?”
A slender older man stood at her elbow. Lauren could tell right away he was like her, a guest and a city slicker. He had a glossy fitted shirt, narrow-legged pants, and European leather shoes. And no hat.
“Unless you need medical treatment.” He waved his hand at her general length.
“I’m fine, thanks. Yeah, let’s step outside.”
The band began another song, but clearly the party was just about over.
“Let’s head to high ground. It’s easier to defend.” He tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow and led her, limping, back into the chill darkness. She checked his face, unsure if his grim tone was ironic or serious. “We’re through the breach, and they’ll never take the hill.”
She laughed. They clambered up the tall hay bales angled out from the barn doors, right up to the highest third row. She followed him, holding her skirt to her ass. Seemed a little late for modesty. They sat. A big guy hauled two brawling teens out of the barn and tossed them toward the campfire. Firelight danced orange beyond the big coachlights that lit their area.
He grinned. “We made it.”
“That was crazy.” She’d completely lost it.
“You were crazy.” His matter-of-fact confirmation took her aback, but then he continued. “God, the power. I loved your voice, but that was a gifted performance, Lauren.”
“I’ve been taking lessons.” So much for yoga helping to blend her chakras. There would be no visualizing serenity for a while.
“I’m a vice president, here on vacation with my wife. My days discovering acts are over, but I have to tell you, I think I can find a contract for you, Ms. Smythe.”
“A contract? I’m sorry, you’ll have to back up.”
“I work for Sony.” He looked at her and registered her disconnect. “I’m in the music industry. I record artists, Ms. Smythe. And I want to record you.”
Lauren blinked at him. “You mean, like an album?”
He frowned. “You don’t have one? Not even a demo?”
She sucked in a breath. “Absolutely!” This was rather a lie, but she was working on one. She elaborated on her fib. “I have three songs of my own and two covers.” Dizzy, she said, “I need a beer. How about you?”
“I’m good, thanks. So what kind of style do you usually sing when you’re not with a swing band?”
Her breezy laugh was so giddy it turned heads. “Oh, I’m versatile.”
“I hope your relationship issues will be settled enough to join us tomorrow for dinner?”
She nodded, speechless.
“Excellent, I’ll look forward to that.” He patted her on the knee and left.
Lauren huddled in the shadows, caught a glimpse into the barn of Eunice kissing her gentleman and giggling. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t be gone by dawn. Maybe she’d have the start of a dazzling opportunity, and maybe she’d have to pay for damages, and maybe she’d have to come to terms with the violence inside her regarding Sorrel and Tommy. Or maybe she’d just worked it out enough for them all to go separate ways and bury coffins full of hurt.
Congratulations. You have found the ending called True Grit. Click this link to return to the Choice Index. Dare to decide again!
“I do love dancing,” she said with utterly false innocence, “and I’m happy to try new things. I’d love it if you could teach me some steps.”
She’d let him take the lead. Maybe she was reading him wrong and he really wanted to—
“Well, first of all, everyone faces the same direction, but some people like to dance double.” He stepped up close behind her, putting both hands on her hips. “Maybe it would be easier if I showed you like this.”
Oh, she’d completely underestimated him. This was not his first rodeo. She snorted at her own joke.
Settling her own hands on top of his, she murmured, “You’re warm. Feels good.”
Leaning in, he bumped her hat. “Maybe we can
just put this down for a second.”
“Sure. Yours, too.”
He stacked her hat under his and set them aside. His curls shone in the light as he rifled through them. She fixed her bangs. Chewed on her lip with a dramatic drag of her front teeth that had him locked on her mouth. And that settled it. She’d thought to be sweet and encourage his confidence but he was either older than he looked or farm boys could do sexy and innocent very, very well.
She looked down at his groin. “Is there much hip action?”
If he’d been half hard before, he was all set now. Clearly, he leaned to the left. He adjusted his belt buckle. “Hips are important.”
Turning in place, she spoke over her shoulder, arching her back to stick her ass out in her cute skirt. “Show me.”
This time when he held her, there was no hesitation. His body lay up against hers like a wall. Heat rolled off him. He smelled faintly of chlorine. His hips jammed into her ass, melding them together. He was off-center this time, so that one of his legs slid between hers.
“Feel the beat.” He rolled himself against her in a slow grind.
She swung her hips to what she could hear of the current song. “Like this?”
“Yeah.” They moved for a few breaths in a circular roll.
Lauren threaded her fingers through Jeb’s. “This feels nice.”
“Yeah.” He slid his hands forward onto her stomach, hesitating as he rubbed. “You feel more than nice.”
Lauren smiled. Boys were so simple. Her hands still rested on top of his, and with a pull, she dragged them up her ribs. Then stopped, teasingly moving them back toward her hips. Then slid them lower, onto the tops of her thighs where his grip clenched, pulling at the hem of her skirt. All the while their hips rolled and swung in unison.
Next she pulled his hands up to brush the bottom of her breasts. “Do I have the right rhythm, Jeb?”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Lauren. It’s a four-beat.”
She was surprised. His voice was low and tight instead of uncertain and hesitant. He’d be a fine lover some day. She felt very gracious helping him practice.
“Are you sure we could really dance this close?” she teased him.
“Surely positive. Cotton-Eyed Joe works fine this close.”
She rewarded him for his focus by sliding one hand up onto her breast, and another down over mound. “What am I supposed to do with my hands?”
“I have an idea,” he said.
He tossed her out, crossed his arms, and spun her around, only to draw her in facing his front. It was a fluid spin, ending with her right hand on his shoulder and his left hand pressing her palm to his fly.
She squeaked in surprise, laughing. “That was clever.”
He looked down at her, his curls catching light around his head. “I think so.”
Then he dipped down and kissed her. It was sweet and slightly too sloppy and she wanted more. She pressed her hand against him, struggling to feel the ridge more clearly through his thick jeans. His hands slid down and around to her ass, squeezing.
The kiss deepened, and he flipped her skirt to palm her ass. She had cute boycut panties on, and he traced the edges straight to where her thighs met. Undoing his belt buckle was beyond her. She’d never worked one before. It might as well have been a chastity belt.
She pulled away and kissed his throat. He tipped his head to let her in closer, then spun them in a walking rotation until he came up hard against the metal locker. The door popped open next to them, but she just reached up to open his shirt, kissing onto his hard, tanned chest. His fingers toyed with her increasingly wet panties from behind.
“Jeb,” she panted. “Give me your thigh.”
He grunted, kicking his leg up and propping it on a low shelf full of brushes against the wall. It was the perfect height to take her short self up off the floor, so that she balanced on his hard, thick thigh. His hands slid up under her shirt, tweaked her nipples, then slid back down to her hips.
“Ride, City Girl.” He rolled her body, tipping her in a grinding slide. “You’re going to soak my jeans.”
Her hands latched onto his belt. Her back arched, her legs hanging heavy as she sought to find the right point to press against him. One more turn, and there. She found it. She gasped. He froze, then pressed down.
“Yes!” She rocked frantically, using her legs to work her like a pendulum. Grabbing at his fly, she wished his bear to the devil and rubbed on him frantically. Her hands squeezed, finding the head of him, rotating the heel of her palm against it. He thrust against her touch, dragged her back and forth on his leg, and kissed her hard and with way too much tongue.
The pressure spiked and she gave a soft moan that made him groan low and deep back into her mouth. The masculine satisfaction in it sent her over. She shook, clawing at his hips, and he arched, slamming his shoulders back against the locker.
After the beautiful, endless heat shimmered away, she kissed him at another angle. Chasing his tongue back into his mouth was a matter of self-preservation. She slowed it down showing him a lighter touch. His hands petted her ass.
Hats tumbled out of the shelves next to them. They both froze, looking down at the colorful pile. Looking up at him, she laughed.
Jeb leaned down and nuzzled her, gave her a kiss on the nose. “I’m gonna smell so good all night.”
Shaking her head, she dismounted as he lowered his leg. “Glad you think so.”
He adjusted himself. “I’ll have to hit the men’s room before long,” he grimaced. “You okay?”
She smiled at him. “Best dancing lesson I’ve had in a while.”
The wet spot on his thigh was distinct. She fixed her underwear. He ducked one shoulder with a grin. “I could teach you. I mean, really.”
“I’ll look forward to a clear lesson up at the barn. Let me help you pick up these hats.”
They stacked them all back in the locker and then set their own on their heads.
Dancing was fun—and the hoedown had barely started.
“My place,” she whispered. “Now.”
“Damn straight,” he growled back, and gave her a firm buss on her stinging lips. “Grab me a towel, will ya?”
She tottered out of the hot tub, the warm evening air seeming arctic now, and grabbed two of the big white fluffy towels folded there. She wiped her face and hair once, then handed one to him. He climbed out, expertly shaking the towel open and wrapping it around him so that only the mountains got a decent view before he tucked it in tight around his hips. His abs were so perfect, he had ridged hollows above his pelvis. Her mouth watered.
He gathered up his clothes and boots and this time she had to open the gate to let them out. They got one look from a couple walking toward the main lodge, but Lauren bit her lip hard and kept her chin up. She pried her key out of her soaked jeans and let them in. It was surprisingly cool in the timber cabin. Before she’d done more than turn around, he’d dumped his things on the floor and spun her around to pin her against the door.
His erection stroked her in the belly even through the heavy, damp towel. He leaned in close and kissed her gently. Whoa, Nellie—whoever she was. This man knew how to work a woman. His lips were soft, and lapped at hers tenderly. The feel of him up against her, the door at her back, made her just about melt. His kisses hovered and drifted, and she quickly began to return them harder, but he’d just rock his head away.
Eventually, she ripped off his towel and took hold of his hot cock, the skin so soft around the fat, firm girth of him.
He brushed his lips feather lightly over hers.
“Girl, you are just what I needed right now. Heaven-sent, that’s what you are.”
She squeezed his base, and drew her palm along his length, polishing his tip with her thumb. “I’m thinking the same thing.”
She needed to relax, to remember she
was desirable, and bury that old coffin of college drama. She needed to enjoy Luke, because casual sex partners were very, very rare for her.
Heart hammering with excitement, she told him the truth, “Angel, I need to feel beautiful tonight. Make me feel beautiful.”
“Shit, Lauren, that’s not an issue. With your shiny black hair so sassy short, and those black lashes on those cornflower eyes, you’re like a real live doll. Your body is fucking hot, with sweet round tits and a bitable ass. You’re tiny, the way I like women, because then I can do this.”
He picked her up. Not just a little bit. But entirely lifted her off the ground and pinned her to the door in front of him so that her feet dangled a good two feet off the ground. Leaning in, he attacked her breasts. Biting and mouthing them right through her two thin tanks, he stung her nipples. His hands pressed hard on her ribs, and she put hers on his taut arms, rolling her head across the wood behind her when the sudden onslaught was too much.
Then she flew through the air and landed on her bed with a bounce.
“Get your clothes off,” he ordered.
She wasn’t a fan of bossy lovers, but for this, she was in agreement. She kicked off her sandals as she tore her soaked shirts off in a wad over her head. Lying down, she arched her butt off the bed and began to wrestle with her wet jeans. It wasn’t going very well, but then Luke was back from rummaging through his clothes.
“Here.” He pressed a condom into her hand. “Hold the headboard.”
He knelt on the bed straddling her legs, and for a moment she just had to look at his lean, wiry strength. Her hands wrapped around the headboard, and then he was tugging on her jeans, short movements that tossed her whole body. Eventually, he stood on the floor and got them off her ankles.
Now it was his turn to pause. He clasped his erection. “Goddamn. You’re so sweet.”
He crawled over the low footboard and up across the buff-colored comforter. With her hands still above her head, she ripped the condom wrapper open.
