Down Home Cowboy

by Maisey Yates

  That gave her a feeling of power too. They didn’t know each other. And they wouldn’t. But they would see each other naked. They would touch each other. They would taste each other.

  Yeah, that was exactly what she wanted. Exactly what she needed.

  “Shirt,” she commanded. “Off.”

  A smile hitched his lips up and he reached down, gripping the hem of that tight black T-shirt that had been playing havoc with her hormones since she’d seen him this morning, and tugged it slowly over his head. For a moment, she fought the urge to whimper and bite her lip, and then she just gave in. Because if this was for her, she wasn’t going to fight any urge she had. She was going to indulge. And she was going to enjoy. And she wasn’t going to do anything to hold that enjoyment back.

  He was gorgeous with the shirt on. But off? Those gloriously defined muscles were a thing of beauty, the dusting of dark, masculine hair over the top of them making her fingertips itch with the urge to touch him. To feel the differences between them. That striking contrast between the hard and the masculine and the soft and feminine. Something that she was so ready to revel in after years of drought.

  And so she did. She stepped forward, placing her hand on his chest, drawing it down to his stomach, then tracing a slow line across the top of his jeans. His chest pitched up, a harsh breath on his lips that ended on a raw groan.

  She leaned in, pressing her lips tentatively to his chest, right where she imagined his heart was. Then she gave in to the wild, completely uncivilized, completely un-Alison urge to lick him. She was rewarded with a feral, masculine sound, with his frame tensing beneath her touch.

  She drew her tongue slowly down that hard wall of muscle, down to his nipple, where she laved in a leisurely circle.

  His hand shot up, grabbing her hair, tugging her head back. “You’re testing my control here.”

  The way he was holding her...with the same sort of possessive grasp she remembered from the pantry earlier... It left her vulnerable. Perhaps that should bother her too. But she wasn’t bothered. Instead, it sent a lick of arousal between her thighs that felt like a long stroke against her slick folds. Amped up her desire to even greater heights. Her need. Oh, how she needed this.

  She let her mind go blank of thoughts on what she should feel. On what she would be expected to feel in a situation like this given what she had been through. Because she didn’t care about any of that. She cared only about this moment. This man. As if he was the only one.

  “Well,” she said, glorying in that husky, stranger’s voice that came from her lips, “we don’t want that. If you leave me unsatisfied I’m going to be very cranky.”

  He curled his fingers around her wrist, drew her hand away from his chest and claimed her lips with his own again. Then she found herself being hauled up into his arms, big hands gripping her thighs and lifting her, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist.

  One hand splayed against her back, he took two steps deeper into the dining area, setting her down on one of the little bistro tables in the corner. It rocked slightly and she braced herself on the edge by curling her fingers around it.

  “Oh, my,” she said. “Well, I don’t think this table has ever been used in quite this way before.”

  “Don’t people eat dessert here?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Good,” he said, “because I’m about to have my dessert.”

  He took a fistful of her T-shirt, wrenched it up over her head and flung it down onto the floor. And before she had a moment to process the fact that he had just done that, he unhooked the catch on her bra and sent it in the same direction as her shirt.

  She had a momentary flash of concern that the loss of bra would prove a disappointment to him, since she wore a pretty padded one in an attempt to balance out her top half with her hips.

  If he noticed that her breasts were smaller than advertised, though, he certainly didn’t seem to mind.

  He didn’t stop there. He made quick work of her jeans and her underwear, tugging them down her thighs in one smooth motion. And there was no chance for her to get caught up in displays of modesty. No. Because, before she could fully process the fact that she was completely naked, spread out on a table in her bakery, he had lowered his head, fastening his lips to one tightened nipple before drawing it deep into his mouth.

  The sensation was such a shock, the heat of his lips and the slow glide of his tongue a sensory overload after so many years of nothing. It was such an incredible rush of pleasure that she didn’t even bother to fight it. She just let her head fall back as a tormented cry escaped her lips.

  Sex had never been like this before. And, if it had been, she would have probably sought it out a whole lot sooner.

  But all thoughts of comparisons left her mind as he moved his hand to cover her stomach, the warm weight resting there both steadying and arousing. Of course, any feelings of steadiness fled when his hand began to slide down between her legs, his mouth still lavishing attention on her breasts. His touch was confident, and he moved his palm down to that place where she was wet and needy for him, cupping her in a possessive hold before rocking the heel of his palm slowly against that sensitized bundle of nerves.

  She gasped, arching her hips upward, encouraging him to do more. But it was clear to her that Cain wasn’t going to be rushed. That he was not a man who was going to take cues from her. She supposed that was the flip side to all that talk of them pleasing themselves. He was bigger. He was stronger. And what he decided pleased him would take precedent.

  It was a strange feeling, submitting to being at his mercy, submitting to being at the mercy of any man, when she had been so adamantly against ever experiencing that powerlessness again. But, as he spread his fingers slowly, parting her slick folds before sliding his thumb over her clit, then bringing the tip of his finger down against the entrance to her body, she realized it wasn’t all bad.

  Then, she really did have to fight against the urge to close her legs, to make it go a little slower. To make it stop altogether.

  Not because it didn’t feel good. But because it felt so good. Because it felt so big. Because it was threatening to take over everything, every thought, every other feeling. Her sense of time, and place, of who she was.

  The fact that she might be anything at all but a creature designed purely for his pleasure.

  He began to press his finger inside of her while he sucked harder on her nipple, the intense sensation making it difficult for her to breathe. She couldn’t do much of anything but arch her back into him, press her hips upward, a silent entreaty for him to go deeper, harder. Again, his movements remained maddeningly controlled, the press of his finger intractably slow.

  He lifted his head, kissed her neck, the edge of her jaw, up to the corner of her lips. And when he captured her mouth again he pressed his finger deeper, and she gloried in the penetration. In the invasion. The feeling of being possessed, even though she yearned for so much more.

  “You want me,” he said, the words ground out against her mouth as he pushed his finger all the way inside of her, the delicious friction making her ache for more.

  She could only nod her head, all words, all thoughts deserting her completely.

  Of course she wanted him. She was made of that want. She was liquid with her need for him, ready for all of him. Ready for the foreplay to end, ready for him to be buried inside of her, just like he promised.

  “I want you too,” he said, letting his lips drift across her cheek, to the shell of her ear, back down her neck. He shifted his hand, adding a second finger to the first, the feeling of fullness—foreign after so long—sending electric sensations skittering along her veins. “And I’m going to have you,” he said, “all of you. I want you all over my fingers. My tongue. My cock.”

  The dirty, illicit words twisted around inside of her brain,
sank down into her soul, only making her want him more. She was still reveling in them, in the great, yawning cavern of need they had created inside of her when he knelt down in front of her, mouth pressed against the tender skin of her stomach, then lower still, a hot kiss on her inner thigh. His fingers were still buried deep inside her when he lapped at her, right at the source of her desire for him.

  She froze, slapping her hand against the back of his head, sifting her fingers through his hair. “Cain...”

  “I told you,” he muttered, pressing his face deeper against her, “I want you on my tongue.”

  This was just what she had fantasized about the other day. Something that no man had ever done for her, because in the past, when her partners had made sex all about them, it most certainly hadn’t included something that they didn’t get anything out of.

  “I thought you were going to be selfish,” she said, gasping as his hot tongue slid in rhythm with the fingers he was working in and out of her body.

  “I am,” he said, the vibration of that low voice against her tender skin skimming down her spine, hitting her like an electric shock. “I’m having dessert.”

  And that was when he started to devour her. And any thoughts, any protest she might have made, was lost completely.

  She arched against that wicked mouth, into his talented hands as he continued to torment her.

  The orgasm was barreling down on her like a storm she couldn’t outrun, didn’t want to. She had never experienced anything like this before. In the past, climax had always been something that she had to make a concerted effort to experience. But not now. She couldn’t have held back if she tried.

  He pressed his lips to her firmly, sucking her deep into his mouth as he pressed his fingers deeper, and release broke over her like full, angry clouds hovering over the sea. Like a downpour. And she just let it wash over her completely.

  She was breathing hard when he withdrew from her, rose up over her, kissed her deeply, with the evidence of her desire lingering on his tongue.

  “You have no idea how much I needed that,” he said.

  “How much you needed it?” she asked, the words coming out weak. “I don’t think I’ll ever recover.”

  “Good.”

  He straightened, stood back, his hands going to his belt buckle, working his jeans down his narrow hips. Her eyes were glued to the stark, large outline of his arousal at the front of them, and when he exposed himself completely, her heart leaped into the center of her throat. She had known that he was more of a man than any other she’d been with before, but she hadn’t realized just how far that would extend.

  Really, she couldn’t have asked for more. She couldn’t have asked for better. If you were going to indulge yourself, you hardly wanted fat-free frozen yogurt. No. Since this was an indulgence, she wanted it all. And Cain Donnelly was the human equivalent of full cream gelato. Thick, heavy, probably bad for her, but destined to feel oh so good at the time.

  “I need you,” she said, not caring if she was on the verge of begging. She didn’t have any restraint left. She just wanted.

  He bent down to retrieve his jeans, reaching into the pocket and taking out his wallet, where he fished out a condom.

  She could only be grateful for that, because she was too far gone to think of it. Possibly too far gone to care. He tore the package open, rolling the protection over his thick length quickly before tugging her to the edge of the table and positioning himself at her entrance.

  She was so wet, so ready from her last climax that the first couple of inches slipped in easily. She let her head fall back, her eyes closed, reveling in that slow, sweet pleasure of being filled as he rocked his hips forward, taking her slowly.

  He leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of her, his green eyes intense, that strong, square jaw held tightly, a muscle there jumping. The tendons in his neck were standing out, a testament to the willpower he was exerting by going so slowly.

  She wasn’t sure she liked that his willpower was intact. Not when hers was crumpled up and discarded on the floor along with her clothes. She lifted her hand, brushing her fingertips along his jaw. He closed his eyes, his expression pained, and she felt his cock jerk inside of her.

  She slid her hand slowly down around the back of his neck, drew his head down as she lifted herself up, tracing his mouth with the tip of her tongue. Then she wrapped her legs around his lean hips, urging him deeper, grinding her pelvis against him, a streak of white-hot pleasure cracking through her like lightning.

  She honestly hadn’t thought it was possible for her to have another orgasm so close to the last one. Not considering how strong it was. She had been more than willing to have him inside of her without coming again, just for the sheer pleasure of the penetration. But she was already on the verge of another climax, and if it was on offer, she wasn’t going to say no.

  He withdrew slowly, then thrust back in strong, and still, he was a bit too controlled for her taste. She abandoned his mouth, angled her head to the side. “You like being inside of me,” she whispered, in that same throaty, stranger’s voice. “Do you feel how wet I am for you?”

  A fractured groan escaped his lips, and he bucked forward hard, bringing him into even greater contact with her clit, that streak of pleasure turning into a deep pang of need.

  “Yes,” she said, rocking against him. “Yes, Cain. Like that.”

  “I’m not going to last,” he said, growling through gritted teeth.

  “I don’t need you to last. I just need you. Hard. Now.” She had never said anything like that to a lover in her life. Had never thought she would. She had never been this vocal, this demanding. But when she saw the flare of heat in his eyes, when he moved his hands to grip her hips, blunt fingertips digging into her skin, she knew that she had made the right choice.

  Because any control that he’d had before was gone. He was holding her like a man should hold a woman. Strong, certain. His thrusts were hard, almost brutal, but that was what she wanted. This was hers. Her moment. Her pleasure. And she wanted all of it. She wanted to claim this moment. This little stolen space of time with this man who wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  This man who saw her as a woman. Not as an object of pity. Not as a project. He had a need as deep as hers, he needed to be a man again, and he had chosen her to fulfill that basic, elemental desire.

  The power, the pleasure that realization brought on was all-encompassing.

  She rocked her hips against his, chasing that fire, chasing that need. She wasn’t afraid of the wildfire, not anymore. She was running right at it with open arms. And if it incinerated her completely... Well, that was a risk she was willing to take.

  She turned her head to the side, her eyes catching sight of those strong, masculine forearms holding on to her so tightly, his strength so evident. She pressed her face against him there, inhaling that sharp, masculine scent. He smelled like sweat and dirt. Hay and sunshine. Because he had been outside working all day, and she didn’t think he had gone in for a shower. But she didn’t care.

  She was too caught up in this. In him. In that raw, real essence of him. Of this. She wanted to capture it all. She didn’t want any of it blunted, didn’t want any of it sanitized.

  It had been a long time since she’d been present during sex. Much longer than four years. She’d never told Jared no. But, in the end she hadn’t wanted him either. Hadn’t wanted those hands that had hurt her to give her even a spark of pleasure.

  It had become another way she had allowed him to use her body. She’d been his brick wall. To scream at when he was enraged. His punching bag to vent that anger. And his source of release when he needed it.

  By then, she hadn’t been a woman. She had been a thing. The thing that had belonged to Jared. His Swiss Army wife. A tool for his every need. But she’d lost any sense of he
r own needs. Her own dreams. Her own desires.

  This was different. It was sharp and clear and unbearably real. Cain’s hands were warm, his body hard above hers, his mouth insistent as he tasted her, long and deep.

  But one thing became abundantly clear as he gripped her hips harder than ever, as he chased his release and she chased hers.

  This wasn’t taking. It was giving. She wasn’t a thing to him. She was a woman. And the first thing he had done, as part of his own satisfaction, had been to get on his knees and see to hers.

  His pleasure was entwined in hers. He wanted her to feel good.

  That was a revelation. A concept so foreign she had difficulty wrapping her mind around it. But she didn’t need to. Because her legs were wrapped around him, and he was thrusting home, hard and deep, kissing her in a rhythm to match, and there was no thinking. Not now.

  It didn’t matter what had come before. Because this was now. Beautiful and endless, like that first day of summer always felt back when she’d been in high school.

  As if this moment was just the first of many. As if the sunshine and warmth, the freedom, would never end.

  But then all too soon the tension in her stomach began to wind tighter and tighter, like the last few grains of sand in an hourglass slipping through. That first orgasm she had welcomed, but this one, she wished she could delay. Wished she could turn the timer over and start again. So that it wouldn’t end.

  She so wasn’t ready for it to end.

  His back was slick with sweat, his muscles tense, his movements becoming more and more erratic, that frayed effort testing her control, winding tight the spring inside of her until she could hardly breathe through the need for release.

  He lowered himself down, his mouth crashing into hers. She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth as streaks of light flashed behind her lids, her release grabbing hold of her, her internal muscles pulsing around his hardness as he lost control completely, thrusting into her once, twice more before freezing over her, his own climax making him shudder and shake.