by KyAnn Waters
“Please what?” He rubbed his fingers through her curls, brushing against her lips but not parting her folds and not penetrating. Just a tease to drive her crazy and make her admit she wanted more. “Please, fuck me?” He stroked again, this time sliding into her slick folds. “Please make me come?” He circled her opening with his fingertip, probed the soft flesh, then slid his middle finger into her pussy. “Please lick my pussy?”
“Yes,” she begged.
Hot wet walls clamped onto him. Twisting and turning, he touched and stroked her internal crevices. Slippery cream coated his finger. Inserting a second finger, he pushed a fraction deeper and her channel quivered.
He closed his eyes and drew in the scent of her arousal. His heart pounded and inside he trembled with want. Want of this moment, want of a future, want of forever. He wanted Jaycee. “Can I fuck you?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Tell me.”
“I want…your cock.”
“No.” He pulled his fingers from her pussy and spread her cheeks. “You want me.”
“Yes, damn it, I want you. Tristan. It’s been—holy shit.” Her words stopped as he licked her from pussy to anus. “Oh God.” Her fingers curled into her palms.
“It’s been what?”
Jaycee glanced over her shoulder and watched him taste her again. It had been since he left that she’d felt this good, this alive. Tristan sparked a fire in her core. He understood that she wanted a man—a cowboy—between her legs. She wanted him.
“It’s been what, Jaycee?” He shrugged off his shirt.
Flutters swirled in her belly and became a virulent storm of emotion. She blinked, trying to keep tears from her eyes. She’d cried enough for Tristan McKay, and yet here he was, on his knees, ready to rope her heart again.
Tristan was so strong, with broad shoulders, a tapered torso, and corded abdominals carved from granite. His bronzed flesh stretched taut over lean ripped muscle. Strength he’d developed from ranching and the rodeo. But was he strong enough for her? She needed permanence, not a man who blew out of town to chase a gold buckle.
Her eyes slid closed, and when she opened them, she acknowledged what she hadn’t wanted to see. Tenderness with the power—dedication with the dominance.
She wet her dry lips with her tongue. “If you get bucked off, don’t blame me. Now get these damn jeans off me.” She wiggled her hips.
Tristan’s biceps bulged as he pulled off his boots and shed his clothing. He was breathing hard before his hands were on her, taking off her boots and stripping her out of her jeans.
While on his knees in front of her, he buried his nose between her thighs, sliced his tongue through her folds, and nudged against her clit. Holding his fingers in a V, he spread her open and curled his lips over her clit.
Pleasure jolted through her, and warmth unfurled in her core. Electric sparks flashed into her nipples. Oh, how she’d missed his soft hair against her inner thigh, his strong fingers gripping her flesh, and the way he groaned as he savored her pussy. She leaned back, melting into the wall. Hot swipes of his tongue led to intense sucking of her clit. His mouth was insistent, lapping her folds. He tunneled into her hole, licking around the edges then lashing the length of her cunt.
Tristan’s face glistened in the afternoon sunlight cutting through the narrow window. His eyes closed as his tongue danced over her clit, drinking her in, and breaking her apart.
“More.” She needed penetration to orgasm. If her arms weren’t bound and caught between the wall and her back, she’d have her hands between her legs and two fingers shoved into her hole.
Thrusting against his mouth, the fiery licks of his tongue, and the pressure in her clit propelled her toward orgasm. Just a little more and she’d come. She moaned, frustrated and yet exhilarated. He was so good, so good at teasing her to the brink but not sending her over. So good at knowing how she needed to be bent to his will.
“Mmm, sweet.” He hummed as he licked, kissed and sucked. “You taste like heaven.”
Jaycee cried out as her body convulsed. Heat flared in her core. She burned. Uncontrollable euphoric waves crashed over her. She gasped unable to catch her breath. Tristan crammed two fingers into her cunt. Pleasure rippled through her channel. “Oh, fuck.”
He chuckled, lubricated her anus with her juices and shoved his thumb past her rim before the last shockwave of her release. She spiraled into another orgasm, her hips rocking into his mouth.
Jaycee’s nails scratched against the steel wall. Every muscle flexed. Endorphins surged through her body, and her mind clouded. Her heart pounded and her toes curled. God, what he did to her. The way he made her feel. The way he moved. Wild on a horse and wild with her. He was uninhibited, and when joining their bodies, he propelled her to a place only they existed. She was his—body, heart and soul.
“I can’t stand.” Her weakened knees wouldn’t hold her weight. She chuckled. “Oh, my God, that was amazing.”
Tristan stood, combed his fingers through her damp hair, then leaned in and softly kissed her lips. “That was just foreplay.” He spun her to face away from him and grabbed her hips. He maneuvered her into the perfect position for anal penetration.
Jaycee pitched forward and braced her upper body on the trailer wall while trying to grab his cock with her bound wrists. “Come on, let me play.” She wiggled her fingers.
“You aren’t in a position to make requests.” Tristan bent and grabbed a condom from his jean’s pocket. “But you will be soon.”
“Nice ass,” she said, glimpsing his taut buttocks from the corner of her eye.
He lifted his gaze from his dick where he unrolled the rubber and arched an eyebrow. “I can say the same about yours.” He stepped closer and splayed his palms, one over each cheek. “Only I’m not about to be fucked in the ass.”
“And I am.” She smiled and wiggled her butt.
“Oh, yeah.” He squeezed then trailed a finger into the crease. “Tight, full…mine.”
This was his woman, the one always ready for anything. Kinky, sexy, and as wild as any rodeo bronc. She stood naked, bound, breasts swaying with each move she made…and wearing his black Stetson. Her eyes widened then a slow mischievous smile found her lips. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief.
She rose onto her tiptoes and rubbed against his cock. “Come on, cowboy. I want more than eight seconds.”
“Here.” He put a piece of leather between her teeth for her to bite on. “Hang on.” Tristan slid his cock into her bound hands and let her fondle his length. Heat pooled in his balls, and his cock jumped in her palm. “Okay, that’s enough. It’s been a while and you want a wild ride.” He pulled his cock from her hands then wrapped one arm around her tummy and one across her collarbone. He held her tight, her back flush to his chest. Then bending his knees, he angled in, and nudged her folds.
Jaycee’s back arched and her hips rolled. Shaking her head, she mumbled, “No. No.”
“Yes. Yes.” Juices from her pussy warmed his shaft. He gripped her tighter and the head of his cock stretched her opening. He clenched his jaw to keep from slamming into her cunt and fucking her hard. “You’re hot, tight.”
“Fuck my ass.” She growled and shook her head, trying to impale herself on his cock. Speaking around the leather bit in her mouth, she said something else he couldn’t quite understand.
“More? You want me to fuck your ass? “
She nodded, her nails clawed at his stomach.
“Not yet.” His cock was hard and pressure built in his balls. Relishing in the feel of her slippery sheath gloving to his shaft, he surged forward. Sliding deep, he filled her. Hot wet walls swelled around him and massaged the taut flesh of his cock as he reared back then plunged into her again. Her head leaned to the left, and he dipped beneath the hat, kissing her where her neck met her shoulder.
Each stroke sent a shiver down his spine. He banged into her channel. Harder. Faster. He needed her to come as much as he needed contr
ol. He slid the hand on her tummy lower, tunneling into her drenched folds and grazing a fingertip over her clit.
Her body tensed and spasms gripped his length. She whimpered and her body liquefied in his arms. Cream bathed his cock and trickled onto his balls.
She was small, curvy, and perfect in his arms. Six long weeks without her. Riding had kept his mind off her—the eight seconds he tried to stay on a bareback bronc. Before he pulled into town, he’d decided he wasn’t leaving again. He was home to stay, home to help Jaycee run her ranch, or if he could convince her, to get a place of their own. “Jaycee?”
A moan was her response.
Tristan continued a slow easy rhythm, drawing out the pleasure. “I haven’t been with anyone else.”
She stilled at his confession. “Why?” she asked, her teeth clamped on the leather.
“Because you’re all I need. You’ve always been all I need.” Tristan inched back, grabbed his cock at the base and watched his cock slide from her body. Using her juices, he spread her cheeks and painted her rosette with the tip of his cock. She was wet, so wet.
Adjusting his height, he positioned the knob of his rod at her anus and slipped the head past the rim. She groaned and rose onto her tiptoes. He slid a fraction deeper. She whimpered, panted, and writhed in pleasure-pain until he buried the length of his shaft in her dark tunnel. He banded his arms around her middle and pulled her flush against him, pinning her arms between them. He kissed her shoulder, reared his hips back, and surged deeper into her rectum. Jaycee moaned and thrashed her head. “Are you okay?”
She spit the leather from her mouth. “Fuck me,” she gasped. “Feels so good. Oh God, Tristan. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me!”
He chuckled, shifted her to brace her torso against the narrow counter along the sidewall. She bent at the waist and flattened her upper body on the countertop. Tristan gripped her hips and plowed into her ass. She cried out with each thrust. Her rim squeezed along his shaft. Shivers chased over his arms. Muscles bunched. He clutched the hack rein binding her arms, jerked the rope taut, and leveraged his thrusts. Her arms pulled up and she screamed, careening into another orgasm.
“I need my hands.” She fought to free her wrists. “My fingers in my pussy,” she whimpered.
He tugged the rope. The binding loosened and fell away. She extended one arm, braced her upper body, reached between her legs with her other hand, and slammed two fingers into her cunt. “Oh yes.”
They worked in tandem. He fucked her tight hole as she alternated between rubbing her clit, tugging on her folds, and plunging two fingers into her pussy. Rub, tug, rub, plunge. She tapped her clit with her fingers then dipped into her drenched core.
Tristan ran his fingers into the divot above her buttocks then higher, tracing her spine. A sheen of sweat dampened her honeyed skin. Hips gyrated and swiveled as he continued to pound her ass. Long sure stokes built to a climax. Intense friction scorched his cock. His balls tightened, drawing close to his body. Pleasure shot through his groin, twisted in his gut. Heat pooled at the base of his spine. He slammed harder.
Jaycee began to shake. She cried out. “Oh, Tristan.” Her voice quavered. “I’m coming.”
Spasms convulsed her channel, and her rim clamped onto his shaft. With a final surge, Tristan plunged deep and erupted. Hot spurts of cum pulsed through his shaft. He gasped, dragging in deep breaths. Chills shivered on his flesh, yet he was hot. He burned.
He slipped from her body and kissed her shoulder.
She stiffened, released a shuddering exhale, and straightened. She shimmied out from between him and the shelf. The silence was deafening. What had just happened? More silence. Just heavy breathing. The powerful scent of sex hung in the air. But so did some unnamed emotion.
Sex between them had always been amazing but never carried the heavy weight of regret. God, did she have regrets?
“Jaycee—”
“You were great.” She picked up her jeans and stepped into them. “You need to get ready to ride, and I need to help Chase.”
“Jace,” he sounded tired even to his own ears. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” She tugged on her western shirt. “Sex is sex, Tristan. And we’ve always known how to fuck.”
This wasn’t fucking. This was his heart on the line, and she wouldn’t even look him in the eye.
Jaycee stomped on her boots, took off his Stetson, and set it on the shelf. “I’ll get your bag out of the truck.” The bolt sliding open grated over his flesh and numbed his mind. She walked out the door, leaving him naked in a trailer tack room. What the fuck had just happened?
****
Damn. Damn. Damn. She blinked tears from her eyes and hurried to Tristan’s truck. Her body ached, but nothing compared to the pain slicing through her heart. Love sucked. Why couldn’t she say no to Tristan McKay?
She went to the rear of his truck, stepped on the tailgate, and hauled herself into the bed. She found his rigging in the steel trunk. Cowboys riding rodeo had to wear the proper attire—a vest, chaps, long sleeve shirt, blue jeans, and a mouthpiece. She unzipped his bag, making sure he had his rigging, spurs, rowels and rosin.
“Jace?” Tristan stumbled out of the trailer, still zipping his fly.
“Here.” She tossed his bag over the side. “You can change in the trailer. I need to get over to the pony rides and help Chase.”
He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “You aren’t going to watch me ride?”
“I’ll try.” She jumped down from the truck. “Good luck.”
Jaycee rushed off, not wanting to look at Tristan. She loved him and was almost too afraid to hope his emotions ran as deep. He cared for her. But enough to give up the rodeo? Well, she loved him too much to let him. That she liked him to tie her up didn’t mean she was willing to tie him down.
By the time she reached Chase, the arena gates had opened and people who spent the day in the fairgrounds poured into the concession area.
“About time you showed up.” Chase winked as he took a sip of his soda.
Oh, shit. She’d left the soda on the truck. “So lay it on me. I’m ready. Tell me how I’m a fool for letting him strut his sexy ass back into my life.”
“You’re a fool in love.”
No, I won’t love Tristan. I love his kinky mind and I love his big cock. “I’m not in love with him. We have great sex.”
“I could hear you communicating in the tack of the trailer.” He dropped the reins he held and yanked off his leather gloves. He took two paces closer, hooked a finger under her chin, and tipped her face. “I’m not judging you, Jaycee. Lord knows we could all use a bit of pleasure and happiness. Tristan does that for you. He’s a good guy, but if you think you need someone like Dad in order to settle down, you don’t. Just like you’ll never be June Cleaver.”
“Thank God.” She chuckled. “What I want doesn’t really matter. Tristan and I do well living for the moment, but that’s about it.” She tugged on gloves. “Come on. The kids are starting to line up and they’re waving dollar bills.”
During the rodeo pre-show, Chase left to help with the mutton run where little kids mounted a sheep, grabbed a fistful of fleece, and hung on for an eight-second ride. Jaycee handled the Trots for Tots. She tried not to think about Tristan. However, when she wasn’t lost in thought, she was scanning the crowd for his black Stetson.
The hour grew later, and the crowds gathered around the beer tents. The Trots for Tots line thinned because everyone was waiting for the cowboys to take over the arena. The rough stock events like tie-down roping, team roping, and steer wrestling had finished. She heard the crowd cheer for the barrel racers and found herself listening closely to the emcee, keeping pace with the rodeo so she wouldn’t miss hearing Tristan’s name. Next came the saddle bronc riders.
A half hour later, the first bareback rider was announced. “Slim Jones is on Trader Pete.”
Country music blasted from the speakers. The crowd roared. Butterflies
swarmed in her tummy. At least Tristan wasn’t riding bulls this year, but broncs were still dangerous.
“Jaycee, go.”
She turned to Chase. “I can’t. I know it seems crazy, but if I go watch him ride, it means Tristan and I are back to where we left off.”
Chase snorted. “Where you left off looked pretty damn good to me. I know y’all had a fight, but—”
“We didn’t fight. More of a misunderstanding.” And in hindsight, she could see she was the one with the problem. Jaycee bowed her head. She’d created the excuse to break up. Blaming him was easier than admitting she’d been scared. It was her fault. She’d done more than craft the situation. She’d sabotaged her relationship with Tristan.
Jaycee didn’t want to love anyone else, not if it meant losing them. Tristan courted death and she didn’t want to think about a future without him, so she’d been the one to cut their relationship off, never giving him a chance to explain—she’d known then an explanation wasn’t needed. He hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Put your hands together,” the emcee said over the loud speaker. “Show this cowboy some love. He’s drawn the meanest, orneriest,” his voice grew louder, “buckin’ bronc this side of the Mississippi.”
“Chase, it’s Tristan.” Jaycee took off in a run for the arena. Her heart pounded and adrenaline fired through her veins.
The emcee whispered. “No cowboy has ridden Crazy Eights.” Now the emcee hollered. “So give it up for your local boy, Tristan McKay.” She’d known it before the emcee announced the name. She kicked up dirt as she rounded the corner, leapt on and over the first gate, and cleared the arena side seats.
She climbed onto the first rung of the pen gate. Men balanced on the shoot stall, helping Tristan set his rope. Her cowboy in the shoot had his head down. But she recognized the black Stetson. Jaycee put her pinkies between her lips and let loose an ear-piercing whistle that would have dogs howling for miles.
Tristan lifted his head. Their eyes locked. Her heart pounded and she was breathless. And then he smiled, gave her a wink, and turned his attention back to the horse beneath him.
