Texas Men

by Delilah Devlin

  Without taking his gaze from her foot, he raised an eyebrow. “Nasty and nice can’t coexist?”

  “It’s unexpected.”

  “Ready?” he asked, holding up the cloth in front of the bottom of her foot.

  “Oh, God. I’m going to squeal like a piglet. Had a pedicure once, and you would have sworn the woman was trying to kill me from the amount of noise I made.”

  “I’ll be quick. Brace yourself.”

  She closed her eyes and wrinkled her nose. Her hands clamped hard on the tub as he began to rub the terry cloth in circles on her feet. Air hissed between her clenched teeth.

  “Not so bad, huh?”

  “Torture,” she gritted out.

  “Really?”

  “Hell, yeah,” she grumbled. “Besides, I thought I was going to be delightfully debauched tonight, not tickled to death.”

  “Debauched? Does anyone even use that word anymore?”

  “Depends on what you read, I guess.”

  “Romances?” he asked, rooting in the water for her other foot.

  “Don’t make fun of me,” she said and then gasped as he began to rub the cloth along her instep.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. I thought I did a pretty good job of keeping a straight face earlier today.”

  She pried her eyes open. “That’s just mean. You know I want to forget that ever happened.”

  “How did it happen anyway?” he asked, sliding the soapy cloth up her calf. “I’ll admit it was the most unusual rescue I’ve ever made.”

  “It was all your fault, you know,” she said, paying close attention to where he stopped—at her knee. Then he dropped the cloth into the water, soaped his hands, and began to knead her thigh with his bare hands.

  “How’s that? My fault, I mean,” he said, continuing like he didn’t know she was on the edge here, hoping he’d rub closer to what ached. “Was I there in your kitchen when it happened?”

  “No!” She groaned when his fingers dipped below the water to skim the crease between her inner thigh and labia. “But you were pulling into your driveway. I got a little distracted.” Just like she was now.

  “You were spying on me again,” he said, squirting more soap into his palms and working a lather into her other calf, smoothing his hands in broad caresses up and down her leg.

  God, what were they talking about? Spying? “I can’t help myself,” she gasped, gripping the edge of the tub again.

  “I don’t mind you watching. But I like this better.” Both hands skimming her thighs disappeared into the milky water and slid up the insides to slide along the twin creases and then caress her labia.

  Amy closed her eyes. Her mouth pursed to blow deep breaths between her lips. As he massaged her sex, she swallowed hard, trying to concentrate. “I like this better, too. I wondered what it would be like. Just didn’t think you’d be so persnickety.”

  “Persnickety?”

  He glided his fingers down, past her lips, entering new territory. The sensation—slippery soap, thick, water-softened fingers—was amazing, while his direction rang alarm bells. But she couldn’t manage a protest. It felt too divine.

  “Is that even a word?” he asked softly. “Don’t tell me, another one of those romance-novel words.”

  She shook her head. “No! One of my grandma’s words. Means I didn’t know you’d be so worried about cleanliness.”

  “Baby, this isn’t about cleaning you up. It’s about getting you accustomed to me handling you. However I want. Touching you wherever I please.”

  And it pleased him to glide his fingers over her puckered hole? Jesus.

  “Did you do this with Sarah?” she blurted.

  “Why are we talking about her?”

  “I just wondered.”

  “Sarah’s my friend. She’s Joe’s woman. His problem. I don’t think I’ll be intimate with her again.”

  “Because you’re done with her? Or just because she’s Joe’s? Don’t get angry, I just don’t understand. You had sex with her. Just the other night.”

  “And you can’t comprehend having sex just because it’s fun? Or because there’s a need?”

  “I guess I can understand the need.” Yes, she could because his intimate ministrations were unleashing a maelstrom of need. Who knew she’d love everything he did, even this?

  “I guess you do understand,” he crooned. His hands withdrew. “Put your legs over the side of the tub.”

  She gripped the tub harder because she knew if she didn’t do this right she’d slide right under the water, and she didn’t want to give him a reason to laugh, didn’t want his expression to lose its heated tension.

  She lifted one leg and placed it over the edge; then she lifted the other, opening herself. Her ass floated up from the bottom of the tub. Her nipples peeked from beneath the milky surface like cherries floating on a bowl of cream.

  Again his arms descended, and his hands clasped her buttocks, delivering a gentle squeeze that did nothing to ease the anxiety and arousal growing inside her.

  Then, with one hand supporting her bottom, fingers traced the crevice dividing her bottom. They drew downward, touching her tender, puckered hole and then circled on it.

  She closed her eyes tightly. Again, because she didn’t want him to see the emotion sure to be swirling in her eyes—and because his expression had grown too intense, too frightening for her to handle.

  A finger pressed against her tiny opening, the blunt tip pushing relentlessly until she breathed deeply and forced herself to relax. He wanted this. She wouldn’t deny she wanted it, too.

  His finger eased inside her, and a tiny mewling cry broke between her lips.

  “It’s okay,” he said, his voice tight. “This is all I’m going to do there for now. You’re tight. I won’t hurt you. But, baby, I’m so hard thinking about what it’s going to be like when you are ready for me to play there I don’t think I can wait another minute to be inside you.”

  She opened her eyes and met his gaze. His skin was reddening, his cheekbones and jaw etched with straining arousal.

  His finger withdrew from her ass, and he lifted her thighs back into the tub. He offered her his hand and helped her up—help she needed because her legs felt like rubber bands.

  She stepped out of the tub. He already had a thick towel waiting. He wrapped her in it and then bent and picked her up.

  “I’m too heavy for this,” she gasped, flinging her arms around his shoulders because she was sure he’d drop her.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said, his voice grating.

  “You’re straining something. Put me down.”

  “You’re straining my patience. Let me do this right,” he muttered, turning and walking through the door to his bed. He stood her beside it and pulled back the coverlet.

  Her gaze snagged on the sheet he uncovered. Rose petals were sprinkled on the deep cream satin.

  Her gaze came back up to his. “You did that for me?”

  “You don’t like it?” he said, his expression revealing a moment of uncertain confusion.

  “They’re going to stick to everything.”

  A frown drew his brows together. “Let me shake them off.”

  “Don’t,” she said, grabbing the arm he’d already raised. “I like it. It was just…unexpected. I would have thought…” She shook her head, afraid to say more and insult him.

  “I told you. The other things I’d like to do will come later.”

  To stop him from frowning and worrying about her less-than-thrilled reaction, she raised a knee and climbed onto the bed. She rolled to her back and then grabbed up some of the rose petals and placed them on her breasts, her belly, her inner thighs, where they stuck to the moisture still clinging to her skin. “I can’t believe you went to this much bother…for me.”

  “You keep saying that like you don’t think you deserve it.”

  “It’s so romantic. I’ve never had a man want so badly to please me.”

  “I’m glad I�
��m the first.” His gaze raked her body, and his tense expression didn’t ease a bit. If anything, it grew darker. His eyelids grew lambent, his nostrils flared, his chest filled with a deeply drawn breath.

  “Why don’t you join me?” she asked, adding a little smile. “Unless you think you’ll look foolish wearing petals, too.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he climbed onto the bed, “walking” toward her on his fists and knees like a hungry predator scenting a very tasty meal.

  Amy’s heart thudded in her chest, and she opened her legs and her arms, inviting him closer, begging him silently to end the torment swelling her sex and her heart.

  He came over her, his knees roughly shoving her thighs wider, his hands landing on either side of her shoulders. Poised above her, he gazed down between their bodies.

  She followed his slow glance, watched the tremors shivering across her belly and the telltale jerks of his cock each time her shivers touched him.

  “We should talk.”

  She dragged her gaze upward reluctantly. “About?” she asked, trying not to wail. She was within moments of easing the ache he’d built inside her, and he wanted a conversation?

  “How many lovers have you had?” he growled.

  What was the right answer? Given his handsome looks, she guessed she’d hate his answer, but hers was dismally unimpressive. He’d know how unattractive she was. Would he rethink what he ever saw in her?

  “Have there been so many you have to think about it?” he asked, his voice roughening.

  “No!” she said, fighting for composure that was rapidly deserting her. “Three. One in high school. Two in college. None since I graduated and started teaching here,” she admitted in a rush.

  “How long ago?”

  “Since I’ve slept with anyone?” she asked, her voice rising.

  He nodded sharply.

  “Four years. Why?”

  “You should be asking me some questions now.”

  But she didn’t want to know. She wanted to get busy! “How many?” she asked.

  “Can’t count.”

  “And I already know about your last. So we’re done, right?”

  “I didn’t always use a condom with her. With Sarah.”

  “Do you have one? Do we need it? I’m on the pill. Periods.”

  His eyes squeezed shut, and his cock rubbed against her belly; then he jerked it back. “I’m a fucking selfish prick.”

  “Because you don’t want to use one? I get that. And I don’t care.”

  “No. I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. Fuck!” He reached to the nightstand and jerked open the drawer, drawing out a packet, which he ripped open with his teeth. The rubber fell onto her chest among the petals still sticking to her skin.

  She grabbed it and then thrust her hand between them, wrapped her long fingers around his cock, and rolled it down his shaft.

  Then she waited for his gaze to lock with hers and pushed him between her legs, centering his blunt head against her entrance. She smoothed both palms up his chest, reveling in the rippling muscle and crisp hair that made him male as much as the thick shaft beginning to push inside her body.

  But he’d only drilled the head of his cock inside her. Again he paused, his jaw clamping tight.

  “Do I have to ask any more questions? We both know you didn’t need to protect yourself from me.”

  “I didn’t really think that’d be an issue. Not for either of us. There’s been only Sarah since I came here. I’m trying to get a grip. Gimme a second.”

  His confession gave her a sense of empowerment. She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and lifted her head to whisper in his ear. “Please don’t hold back on account of me. Fuck me, Logan Ross. Wild and hard.”

  A groan ripped from his tightly drawn lips, and his cock pushed through her folds, rushing inside.

  She was wet, ready, but still not prepared for his girth. GodohGodohGod. She raised her knees to cup his hips and give him a better, straighter angle to drive deep, eager and anxious to take more.

  “Should have let me do this right,” he gritted out. “I would have gone slow. You’re so goddamn tight.”

  “Just don’t stop. Please,” she said, digging her fingernails deep into his skin, raking them down his back, tempting the harsh, commanding predator to unleash.

  His cock withdrew a couple inches and then rammed deeper, withdrew and tunneled harder, gliding through her moist, hot walls, churning her arousal like butter with his rapid thrusts.

  “Sssoooo good, Logan,” she said, squeezing shut her eyes and rolling her head on the mattress beneath her.

  His hips bucked, buttocks flexing, hardening to steel as he stroked deeper. His glides entered a rhythm that matched her heart beating faster and faster. He hammered her pussy so powerfully, so relentlessly, all she could do was wrap her arms and legs around him and hold on for the ride. She knew now that she’d fucked only boys, not a full-grown, masterful man. The difference was electrifying.

  Her whole body felt pummeled, stroked, charged with an electrical arcing heat that gripped her core, tightened her thighs and belly, clamped her inner muscles around him, adding to the friction he built with each deeply potent thrust.

  Her nipples raked his furred chest, her fingers clung, nails gripping rippling muscle. When his torso came down on top of hers, and his body continued to rut hard, she bit his shoulder.

  “Jesus! Fuck! Amy…”

  “Don’t stop…please, oh, please…” She kissed the mark she’d left on his skin, licked his neck, nipped his chin, and clawed, reaching for the climax he was delivering in steady, jerking thrusts.

  His breaths rasped, turning to grunts as he hammered harder, pushing air from her body in equally animalistic gusts.

  She didn’t care how she sounded, couldn’t stop her frenzied kisses and scratches. She was there. There. “Logan!” she shouted.

  Her whole face tightened. She forgot to breathe. The moment the wave crashed over her, he swept her away, right out of herself, hurling her toward heaven.

  When she came back, her head was thrashing, and his face was buried in her neck, his body rocking with hers and trembling.

  A sob shook her, and she hugged him closer. Her fingers loosened, and she stroked his back, up and down as his movements slowed and then stopped.

  He sagged against her, still locked inside her body as her pussy caressed his long shaft with convulsions that gradually faded.

  Both of them breathing hard, they lay locked together. Amy wiped her wet cheek on his sweaty shoulder. He mumbled something unintelligible, and his arms dug beneath her to cradle her against him.

  She must have zoned for a moment. When she opened her eyes, she found him staring down at her, a satisfied smirk curving one side of his mouth. “Damn,” he breathed.

  Amy blinked and then stared at the dark pink teeth marks she’d left in his shoulder. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”

  He let loose a sound that was a perfect morph between a grunt and a laugh. “Damn.”

  “Was it all right for you?” she asked, cringing at how sophomoric that had to sound to a man like him.

  He blew a deep breath between his lips and then reached behind him to unlatch her legs from his back. He pushed them down, lifting slightly to allow them to stretch straight on either side of his. “Am I crushing you?”

  She shook her head. “I’m a big girl, remember? I like this, too.” She didn’t miss the fact he hadn’t answered her. Part of her atom-bomb afterglow faded to a pale, glimmering night-light.

  Logan groaned, and his back arched. He slid a hand between them and caught the end of his condom before he slipped out of her.

  Then he rolled to his back.

  Amy lay beside him, listening to his labored breaths, feeling abandoned and afraid she might start to cry. Why she felt so deeply, she couldn’t have explained, least of all to herself. The sex had been amazing. She’d gotten so much more than she’d hoped for.

  But she was greed
y. She wanted his approval. Wanted a sign of affection from him. She knew she’d probably scare him half to death if she put her feelings to words.

  His arm landed just above her head. “Come here.”

  Amy sighed and rolled toward him, happier the instant his arm brought her against his body. She lifted her leg over his hips and slid her arm across his chest. Snuggling her cheek against the damp hair on his chest, she could at last enjoy the feeling of connection she so badly needed.

  His chest rose and then slowly fell. He took her hand, threaded his fingers through hers, and raised their joined embrace to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand. “It was good for me, too, baby.”

  6

  Logan woke feeling chilled. Amy had left his bed. For a moment, he froze, wondering if she’d left without saying a word, and if he’d blown it.

  He’d wanted to romance her. Bring her along slowly. Build her need for his touch in gradual levels until she was ready for him to begin to introduce her to the lifestyle he felt instinctively she was made for.

  Instead he’d pounded her like a high school kid who’d gotten his first taste of pussy and couldn’t control the hormones raging through him.

  He should have known he’d run into trouble. The last night he’d brought Sarah and Joe here, Joe had taken one look at his cock and laughed. His cock had hardened fast, leaving him breathless and trembling with excitement as soon as he’d chucked his pants in front of the window…because he knew Amy was watching.

  Control had always been important to him. Not only because he liked to think his brain was the one in charge, but also because at critical moments in his relations with a woman, he needed restraint to prevent harm. He was a big guy and in top shape. Restraint wasn’t a choice but an imperative. He’d left bruises on Amy; he’d known it when he cupped her buttocks and slammed into her. He’d crammed himself into her so fast and so hard he knew she’d be sore today.

  The thought should have shamed him, but instead he felt only a primal satisfaction as his unruly cock thickened and lengthened, rising again despite his conscience’s urgings for a little self-control.

  He knew he was a long way from being ready to train Amy when he couldn’t manage his own raging hard-on.