If he had any reservations about what was happening, they were gone the minute Gloria put her hands back up against the wall, arching her lovely chest toward him.
“You are one hell of a woman,” he groaned, readily giving in to the lure of her naked body, fondling one breast while sucking on the other.
“Dillon...”
He loved the way she said his name, with such wanton desire.
“Promise me something?” The words were soft and breathy.
“Sure thing,” he murmured, in the mood to give the woman whatever she wanted.
“Don’t treat me like I’m going to fall apart. Treat me like you did that first night, in Chicago.”
Releasing her sweet, sweet nipple, he raised his head and caressed her cheek. “What do you mean?”
“I want it wild.” She laid her palm against his cheek. “I want it all, with you.”
The leash he’d been using to keep himself tethered, snapped. Just like that. And he kissed her with all the fierce abandon he’d wanted to let loose from the moment he’d met her. Melding his mouth to hers, sharing each drop of moisture as if they were drinking from the same well of passion and need, he gave his hands leave to do what they would, caressing, squeezing, handling her body in ways he’d been afraid to.
“Yes!” She bowed against him, revealing that amazing neck and Dillon feasted on her, kissing and licking and biting. Needing her in this savage way just as much as she seemed to need him.
“Gloria? Dillon? Are you in here?”
Dillon stopped. He put a hand to Gloria’s mouth to cover her moans, her wide-eyed expression reflected his surprise.
“Are you two back there?” A female voice this time.
Dillon gently released her and Gloria whispered, “It’s my dad and Sage.” Then she covered her mouth, trying—unsuccessfully—to smother her laughter.
* * *
SHE COULDN’T KEEP the giggles inside. Little snorts escaped through her nose and mouth as she fumbled with her bra. Dillon had his shirt buttoned first and stepped out into the aisle of the stable.
“Hey, Mr. Hurst. Sage. What are you two doing out this way?”
“Sage was kind enough to take the day off today to show me around. I was hoping to get a tour of the ranch.”
Surely her father must have heard the sounds she was making as she wrestled her wet shirt over her head.
“Well, if you’re looking for Gloria,” Dillon said, extra loud. “She’s probably in the house.”
“Nice one,” she whispered and then clamped a hand over her mouth because the desire to howl with giddiness did not want to be suppressed.
“We knocked, there was no answer.”
“It’s a big place. She probably didn’t hear you. The door’s open, just go on in.”
A few seconds later, Dillon leaned his big frame in through the door. “They’re gone.”
Gloria fell against his chest, smothering her laughter against his damp shirt. “I feel like a teenager.”
Chuckling, Dillon said, “You never got caught when you were young?”
Gloria lifted her head. “No. I never brought boys...anyone home.” Some of the mirth drained out of her. “Never wanted to.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Well, you have just been initiated into an exclusive club.” His voice was jokey but his expression was tender. He tugged on something on the front of her shirt. “Oh, and Red? If you don’t want to advertise what was going on in here, you might want to think about turning your shirt the right way around.”
Glancing down, Gloria realized the tag was sticking up in front of her. She had her shirt on backward and inside out. The ridiculousness of the situation hit so hard, all the giddiness bubbled up and she laughed until she had tears streaming down her cheeks, adding to the dampness of Dillon’s shirt. He held on to her, laughing along with her before kissing her soundly and pushing her off in the direction of the Quonset.
“Go dry off,” he said. “Meet you at the house.”
Gloria couldn’t keep the smile off her face. When she found her dad and Sage in the great room back at the house looking around, she ran up to her father, still feeling light and giddy, and gave him a big hug. “Dad! What a surprise.”
He hugged her back. “Sage is giving me a tour of Beaverhead County. She’s an expert on local history.”
“I told him he had to see the ranch.” Sage waved to some grocery bags on the table. “And I thought I’d come out and cook up some food.” Pointing at Dillon standing nearby, she added, “He works so hard he forgets to eat half the time. And you’ve probably been too busy to eat or cook, too.” She winked.
What did that wink mean? Was it so obvious what they’d been up to? Had she heard what was going on in the stable?
“The best way to see the ranch is on horseback,” Dillon said. “Why don’t we all go for a ride?”
“Oh, no.” Gloria’s dad shook his head. “That’s Gloria’s thing. I don’t ride.”
“I’ll take him around, introduce him to the ranch hands,” Sage offered. “Why don’t you and Gloria go for a ride. It’s a lovely day for it. Stew won’t be ready for a couple hours.”
Dillon turned to her. “I wouldn’t mind. Are we done in here for now?”
No. They weren’t done work for the day, but Gloria didn’t care because the only thing that would give her more pleasure than a ride was finishing what she and Dillon had started. If she played her cards right, she might get to do both. Then it would be pretty much a perfect day.
* * *
THIS WAS EXACTLY where Gloria wanted to be, riding up the slope to the Doghouse. Once the horses reached the top of the slope, he turned the big black stallion he rode, in order to enjoy the vista.
“This is such a nice spot,” Gloria said, maneuvering her horse right up beside Dillon’s.
“Yep.”
She gazed up at him, a portrait of a cowboy staring off into the distance, stoic, strong...incredible. This was where he belonged, as if he was hewn out of the same stone as the mountains, with the clear waters of the nearby creek running through his veins. But her sense of him was more than just the fact that Dillon painted an incredible image. He was an incredible man. The very best. And she, Gloria-Rose Hurst, had it bad for him, there were no two ways about it.
She couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy.
“Whatcha thinking, Red?”
Rubbing the horse’s neck, she said, “I’m thinking we should take a little break here.”
His smile spread slowly. “I’m thinking pretty much the same thing.” He dismounted and waited for her to do the same. They tied the horses to a post on the porch so the animals wouldn’t wander off, and then Dillon unbuckled a small saddle bag and pulled out two coils of rope from inside.
“Oh.” Gloria felt her eyes go wide.
“Just in case.” His grin was deliciously wicked and Gloria had to hold on to his arm as they mounted the steps, for balance.
We’re not done here, Red.
No. Not done by far.
The second they were inside, Gloria was on him, flipping off his hat and unbuttoning buttons.
“Damn, girl.” Dillon helped her with the buttons before helping her off with her shirt. “I thought it was just me that was desperate to get naked again.”
“Nope. Now shut up and take off those boots.”
Wrapping a hand around her neck, he pulled her close and kissed her first, nice and thorough, before stepping back to comply with her demand. She kicked her boots off, too, and, wearing only jeans and bra, made for the ladder up to the loft. “Is there a bed up here?”
“There is. But what’s wrong with down here? Floor not good enough for you anymore, Miss Fancy-Pants?” He helped himself to the back side of her jeans, squeezing flesh
and denim together.
“It’s a shame not to use a perfectly good bed,” she said, leaning into the ladder, enjoying his touch.
“‘Perfectly good’ is a generous statement in reference to what’s up there.”
“If it’s soft and positioned in a horizontal fashion, it’s good enough for me,” Gloria said, squealing when Dillon slid his hands around the front of her jeans and unzipped them. She nudged him back with her butt and made for the top, stopping to view the low, cramped space where there was nothing more than a rickety, old brass bed covered in quilts and a simple table on one side and a shelf on the other.
“Told you there wasn’t much here.” Dillon had to stoop because the ceiling was so low.
“You’re up here,” Gloria said, yanking him toward the bed. “That’s all I need.”
“I’ll remember that.” He pulled her down on top of him and kissed her before rolling her over so he was on top. “These need to come off.” He tugged on the waistband of her jeans, pulling them off her hips and peeling them down her legs until she was left wearing only her bra and panties. He stilled. “I don’t think I’d ever tire of the sight of you.”
That statement sent shock waves through her body but the shock waves turned into all-out quakes of desire when Dillon pulled a length of rope out from behind him. He must have had it tucked into the back of his jeans. He stretched out beside her and dragged the frayed end up her bare legs and belly, then in between her breasts.
“Mmm.” Gloria sighed. She wriggled beneath him as he circled one breast and then the other before asking her to remove her bra.
Oh, yes. She eagerly reached around behind and undid the clasp.
She was about to pull it off when he said, “Let me.”
Fitting a finger beneath the shoulder strap, he drew it down slowly, revealing her flesh, inch by torturous inch, until her chest was bare. There was enough light in the loft to make out Dillon’s expression: serious and tender. With complete concentration he passed the rope over one nipple and then the other. Gloria didn’t know if it was the sensation of the soft strands or the visual of Dillon doing what he was doing that elevated her heart rate and had her panting with excitement.
She closed her eyes and gave herself over to sensation, the hemp tracing her rib cage, her shoulders, back and forth across her throat only to be dragged back down all the way to the top of her panties, swishing there before being swept down one leg and up the other.
“Spread your legs,” he whispered.
First she lifted her hips in order to push her panties down, and then she spread herself, feeling wanton. Sensual.
Free.
The soft ends barely grazed her inner thighs, a sensation that was part tickle, part pure pleasure. But when those same frayed ends came in contact with her clit, Gloria’s body bucked and she reached overhead for the brass bars on the headboard. Needing to hold on to something before her body flew apart from bliss.
“Dillon?” She opened her eyes, though his outline was fuzzy.
“Yeah, baby?” He leaned forward and kissed the top of her mound.
“Tie me up.”
His fingers lingered on her thigh, gripping. “How is it that I’m the one with the rope, but you’re still the boss?”
She bent a knee, brought her leg up and rubbed his chest with her bare foot. “Because that’s the way you like it.”
“Damn straight.” He grabbed her foot and kissed the instep before moving it aside, giving him room between her parted thighs to lean over her. Gently, oh so gently, he wrapped the rope around one wrist and then the other—a soft hemp caress—before securing it to one of the brass bars. “That too tight?”
She tested it. Her hands could move up the narrow pole but that was it. “Nope.”
“You let me know if it gets—”
“Dillon?” Though she couldn’t move her hands, she gyrated against him.
“Yeah?” More a groan than a word.
“I want this.”
He groaned again and whispered into her ear, “Good, because I am about to torture you.”
If torture was the most delicious, exciting thing in the world, then the word accurately described what Dillon was doing. Kissing and licking his way down her body. Nipping on the good bits, her lips, her neck, her breasts, tasting the indent of her navel and biting the taut cords of her inner thighs. The brass bed rattled each time Gloria tugged against it, not because she wanted to break free, simply an involuntary reaction, jerking, bucking and writhing with pleasure, the feeling intensified because she was bound.
Who’d have thought?
But when Dillon parted her legs wide and dipped down to taste her, Gloria lost it all.
“Oh!”
The combination of his whiskers on her skin, his tongue moving her clit back and forth before sucking on her while his thumbs took turns plunging inside—never had she felt such euphoria and it was all intensified by the fact that she was bound and at Dillon’s mercy.
Her moans turned to cries culminating in screams as an orgasm rocked its way through her body, making more than one pass up and down her length as Dillon just kept on going. Never stopping, swallowing her orgasm until she was on the verge of another.
“Dillon,” she shouted. “Untie. Please! Please untie me.”
18
AFTER ALL THAT writhing and moaning, he’d thought she was enjoying herself. Had he gone too far? He quickly untied the knots and massaged her wrists to make sure she was okay. “You didn’t like it?”
She pressed her palms to his cheeks and kissed him nice and deep. “Are you kidding me?” She took a couple more ragged breaths in between kisses. Against his mouth, she murmured, “I loved it. I loved it so much.” Her fingers trailed down his jaw and throat to his chest.
“Then why—?”
“I was going crazy not being able to touch you.” She caressed his chest and shoulders and arms. “Like this.”
Her lids drooped as the frenetic twisting and writhing of a moment ago drained out of her, replaced by soft, sensual movement. “You’re so strong.”
No. He wasn’t. At least not where she was concerned. He was fucking weak in that department. Her touch was his Kryptonite, and the way she feathered her fingers over his chest and down to his belly left him powerless to move.
At least until she dropped her hand and worked it down the front of his unbuttoned jeans to the fierce erection he was sporting.
“And so hard,” she whispered.
Hell, he’d been hard for her since the moment he’d seen her in her fancy city clothes, walking around so officious and efficient but the words stayed deep in his chest, rattling around with each ragged breath he had to remind himself to take. Her fingers trailed up from his shorts, following the line of hair up his stomach and back to his chest. A woman’s touch. So soft. So gentle. So erotic.
“Tell me you brought a condom.”
He found what he was looking for in the pocket of his jeans. In record time he had his jeans and shorts off and the condom rolled over his length. When he was close, she reached for him and continued that magic touch of hers along his length.
He closed his hand over hers, stilling her movement. “Darlin’, I’m so close, you keep touching me like that...”
With a little wiggle and a slight adjustment of her hips, she opened herself to him. “Then what are you waiting for, cowboy.”
“This.” He rested more of his weight on her and kissed her. So warm, so wet, so inviting. So... Gloria. He explored her mouth like he’d just explored her body, tasting, nipping, sucking her lower lip into his, gentle at first until she started to moan.
It was as though the woman was made for him, reacting to him as if she needed him as much as he needed her. And that need was all consuming yet natural, too, so natural
that one little wriggle from her and Dillon found himself pressed right at her center. Instinct took over. He thrust, he had to. There was no choice. All the way. Again, and again. Her moans of pleasure dictating the pace. Slow one second, out of control the next.
“Baby,” he growled, as he propped himself up to get better leverage. She wrapped her legs around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust, taking him deeper into her body with each pass until he swore they were connected in a way that went beyond the physical, in a way that meant the connection was permanent, could never be broken. That this was where he belonged.
And this was where she belonged.
* * *
GLORIA LAY FOR a few blissful minutes, ensconced in Dillon’s arms, too boneless to get up, too content to even want to.
“We best get back before your father calls out a search party.”
Rubbing her cheek against his chest, she sighed. “I guess you’re right. Though I feel like I could lie here forever.”
For all that Dillon said they should get up, he didn’t move except to stroke her hair and back. “You ever think about living anywhere other than Chicago?”
Gloria held her breath. What was Dillon asking? “I don’t know,” she finally replied. “I’ve never given it much thought.”
Before now.
She waited for his follow-up question, but it didn’t come. He just groaned and carefully rolled out from under her. The roof was so low, he was having trouble getting dressed, so he grabbed his clothes and said, “I’ll wait for you outside.”
She found Dillon on the porch, sitting on a log swing built for two, staring out at the view. She sat down beside him, wrapped her arms around him and said, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being you.” They sat on the swing, holding hands in silence. Completely comfortable.
Big Sky Seduction Page 16
