“How about a couple of aspirins, Tiff?”
It was exactly what she needed, but at the moment she couldn’t swallow anything. She shook her head, and again heard the alcohol swishing. How could she tell him nicely to go away?
Inhaling deeply through her nostrils, she tried drifting to her make-believe world of everything pretty and peaceful. She couldn’t quite visualize the beautiful flowers and thousands of fluttering butterflies. She would run beneath them, her hair dancing in the breeze to the euphoric sense of freedom. But then she would come back. She always came back.
As she opened her eyes, the nauseated feeling eased. Her head still throbbed a tad, but seemed more tolerable with Brock rubbing her back. Carefully, she sat up straight, hoping he wouldn’t quit stroking her spine. He had a reassuring touch, and because she had no clue why she’d woken up in a strange bed, she needed the soothing strokes to calm her nerves. Snuggling against his chest would’ve been even nicer.
“Feeling better?” he asked, pulling her against his body and tucking her beneath his arm.
Ah, it was nice. Very nice. Experiencing the security he offered was better than she’d anticipated. Warm pine and musk-scented skin lay against her cheek. Amazingly, it didn’t churn her stomach further. She snuggled close, drinking in the alluring scent. The effect calmed her as efficiently as her secret haven. “Yes, thank you.”
She must have dozed off in the comfort of his strong arms, because when she opened her eyes, she was lying on the bed with him standing beside her, tucking a pillow beneath her head.
“Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
His gentle tone sounded as if he genuinely cared about her well-being. Brock Halston was a good-looking, considerate, compassionate man. She’d yet to find a man who possessed all three traits. She was beginning to think one didn’t exist.
She placed one foot over the other to rub a sore arch, but the friction only succeeded in strangling her toes. Unlocking her gaze from Brock’s, she glanced at her feet. Both big toes were sticking through her pantyhose. How’d her nails puncture the reinforced nylon? What happened to her shoes?
“They were fine until you started dancing.”
Dancing? She draped an arm across her forehead. “Please don’t tell me anything else. I don’t want to know.”
“I reckon you taught those strippers a move or two.”
Strippers? Oh God. “So they showed up after all,” she mumbled. “Would you believe me if I told you I don’t dance?”
“Not a chance. Hell, you were sandwiched between those women tighter than the stitching in my boots.”
She looked down at her clothes. The front of her blouse was torn open and all buttons were missing. The side seam of her skirt was ripped from hem to zipper. “Did I tear them off?”
“I didn’t let you go that far. I hauled you over my shoulder and carried you to bed.”
“Obviously, you waited too long.”
He nudged his chin at her clothes and grinned. “That happened after we entered the bedroom.”
His narrowed lids failed to hide his amusement. A sickening feeling washed through her blood. “Did we…um?” The condition of her attire explained the obvious sexual encounter, and she couldn’t finish the sentence, fearing the answer.
“You don’t remember a damn thing, do you?”
She shook her head while closing her eyes.
“You always drink yourself into oblivion?”
“I told you before, I don’t drink.”
“And I told you before, you could have fooled me. I feel insulted.”
She popped one eye open to discover he’d returned to the chair. “For letting me get smashed?”
“You’re a big girl. Be thankful I cut you off when I did.” He grinned. “No, because you don’t remember last night.”
And there she had the answer she feared—the reason behind her torn, disarrayed clothes. Time to scratch the considerate trait; compassion wasn’t too far behind either.
She never slept with a man during a first acquaintance. Why had she allowed it to happen this time? Damn, she’d given up birth control when she’d given up Devin. It made no sense to pay for the prescription. Another man was the last thing she needed in her life at that time. Shit. Had Brock used a condom? She closed her eye. “I can assure you, Mr. Halston, had the night been worth remembering, I would have remembered it.” She didn’t mean to insult him, but sometimes using sarcasm concealed humiliation. It made her feel better.
Usually.
“That’s not what you said before falling asleep in my arms.”
Tears burned the backs of her lids, but she willed them away. “I’m sorry if I misled you. And I promise last night was a mistake.”
“That’s a shame. I found it amusing.”
“Amusing?” Amusing! “You stood by watching me drink excessively, then carried me into a strange bedroom and took advantage of me. What the hell is so funny about that?” She jumped off the bed. Pain shot through her temples and tore across her inner thighs. Halting and forcing herself to breathe, she reached forward to massage her legs.
“A little sore this morning?”
She paused and lifted her head. The man was smirking.
At her.
Well, she was glad he found it so darn funny.
“I imagine that wild bucking got the best of you, Tiff.”
She glared, hoping to burn a hole through his cold heart. Then she straightened and stomped across the room. Wild bucking? She didn’t need to know the specifics about that either.
The ache in her head pounded in sync with the thud of her feet. She latched on to the first door in sight, squeezing her eyes shut to ward off the agony. When it subsided, she fluttered her lashes open and twisted the door knob. She stared at the floor, and at her naked toes peeking through the pantyhose. “I think it best we never acknowledge meeting one another.”
“Darlin’, that’s the—”
“And I would appreciate it if what happened at Bobby’s, stays at Bobby’s.” She glanced over her shoulder to snap a visual picture of his huge body. He really was worth remembering and regardless of the degrading feelings gnawing at her spine, she kicked herself in the tush for the inability to recall last night.
Hopefully, she’d made it as passionate as she did amusing.
While scoping his naked upper torso, heat rushed to her cheeks. Her heart beat as if she’d run two miles. The constant thump found its way to her throat and ears, adding additional pressure to her head. She couldn’t wait to get home and down a bottle of aspirin.
If she wasn’t parting with such ill feelings, she wouldn’t mind sitting back on the bed and getting to know him. Well, in a sense, she’d obviously accomplished that during the night.
Taking a deep breath, she swept her gaze across the room a final time.
Dear God!
No!
Her…favorite…
Oh shit!
…double-headed, flesh-tone dildo…
Fuck!
…stuck halfway out from beneath the bed…
…directly across from his feet.
What had she done?
Her jaw dropped.
A hand flew to her chest.
Her gaze shot to Brock.
A snide grin contorted his face as he glared smugly at the dildo lying on the floor, and then into her eyes. “You leaving that with me as a memento?”
“I…uh…yes.” Leaving it was certainly less embarrassing than running across the room and scooping it up. Snapping her mouth shut, she threw open the door and stormed…directly into a closet.
What the hell was she supposed to do now? She’d made a complete ass out of herself many times, but this was extreme.
Some metal hangers finally quit clanking together as others poked her in the side of the head. Maybe she ought to look for a gun on the shelf and shoot herself. All cowboys owned guns, didn’t they? It’d be less painful than facing Brock. She swore she’d hear
d his mumbled laughter. Or was it the echo still ringing in her ears from her initial face-bash into the clothes rack?
She rubbed her forehead and discovered a welt forming dead center. Was she bleeding? She brought her fingers close to her eyes but couldn’t see them clearly through the darkness. She rubbed the tips together, but they were dry. Realizing she wasn’t going to bleed to death in a foreign closet, she adjusted her bangs to cover the damage. Her pride was also damaged, but unfortunately, she had no way of hiding those wounds.
The sooner she walked out of there, the sooner she’d run home to her secure apartment. Yesterday she had prayed for safety, dignity, and the ability to not make an ass out of herself. As it appeared, she achieved zero out of three. Strippers? Dancing? Having sex with a man she’d never met? What else had she done that she didn’t want to know about?
At least she’d survived the night. That was her main concern, and as soon as she emerged from the closet she could put this all behind her. She didn’t intend to see Brock Halston or his buddies ever again.
After adjusting her torn skirt at the waist, and then bunching the face of her blouse closed in a fist, she stepped from the small enclosure into the room. Brock stood three feet to the right of the closet, wearing a grin. He was propped against the wall by an elbow, his free arm tucked behind his back.
She slid a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, squared her shoulders, and tilted her chin. “Wrong door.”
“I tried to tell ya, Tiff.”A sun-bleached brow arched above an eye drowning in humor, but the moment his gaze traveled from her lips to her forehead, his grin faded. “You’ve got a nasty bump.” He took three steps forward and carefully separated her bangs.
She flinched and moved out of his reach.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded, tightening her fist on the blouse. If her pride hadn’t been battered beyond recognition, she‘d be perfect. Well, sort of. An external aching wound now accompanied the internal alcohol-induced throb of her head. And her thighs and rear end, well, the crash into the closet momentarily took her mind off those pains.
“I’ll get an ice pack.”
“No, I’m okay. Really. I’ll take care of it when I get home.”
He stepped to her side, barricading all means of escape, and slid his hand along the back of her neck. If she hadn’t witnessed it personally, she’d never believe a man with such large hands could have so gentle a touch. That touch grounded her and she couldn’t move. It was equal to an electrical shock refusing to release its victim. Sweet Jesus, she didn’t want him to let go. As she tilted her chin and looked into his eyes, he began massaging the base in slow, miniscule circles. The instant release of tension from her shoulders, combined with his woodsy, masculine scent was an incredible experience. She had to remind herself to breathe.
He moved closer, narrowing his lids. The mahogany color of his eyes changed to a smooth dark brown. She gulped silently as he positioned a leg in between hers and began walking her backward with a nudge from his thigh to her groin. When her backside made contact with the wall, he released her neck and planted a palm above her head. The other remained behind him.
What was he hiding?
Slowly, he lowered his face, honing in on her lips. Her heart raced. She swallowed nervously, anticipating the kiss as his warm breath mingled with the air she breathed.
He nudged her nose with his as if testing her, to see if she’d flee. Contrary to her wishes, she wasn’t going anywhere. Somehow he’d entranced her, and her feet could not move. Her next breath was audible and shaky. Heat swirled in her belly, branching outward and worming through her blood. Why was her body responding so intimately to a stranger? It’d never happened before.
The moment his lips brushed hers, her knees weakened. She released her blouse, exposing her bra, and rested her hands on his stomach for balance. Solid, hard abs filled her palms. To see his bare flesh provided a treat to the eye, but to actually feel the muscular contours left her breathless. They felt too good to be real. Solid and hot and…tempting.
Desire bled from his skin through her fingers, feeding her arousal. Not that it lacked attention; he’d provoked it the instant she’d locked her gaze on him from the bed. As his lips captured her mouth, the taste of hazelnut coffee poured into her senses. And she thought his flesh was hot… The soft, tantalizing capture… She completely surrendered.
It aided in reducing her shock when something intimately brushed against her thigh. It was feather-light and tickly, like a fingertip caress. She separated their lips and glanced down to see her skirt being pushed to the top of her thigh by his leg. Compliments of the torn seam, it shifted effortlessly, allowing him free rein. Not that she would have stopped him had it caused a problem. In that case, she would’ve raised it herself.
Thick thigh muscles distended through his denim pants. Dare she glance higher? One of the few things she remembered from last night—the hunk of flesh bulging on the outer edge of his zipper. No, she couldn’t look.
Well, maybe just a peek.
Huge. Mistake.
Not a huge mistake. A huge erection. The mistake was looking at the tempting hunk of flesh without having the guts to reach forward and stroke it.
Jesus!
She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes. Then she totally unwound when he boldly pressed his thigh directly against her crotch.
The ache in her pussy was instant. Instinctively, she ground her hips against his leg, maneuvering her bottom so her clit captured the force. Within seconds, the ache evolved into a dull throb, pounding in sync to her heartbeat.
Could he feel the pulsations on his leg?
When he slid his warm, moist tongue into her mouth, he lifted his thigh higher. She moaned, switching her grip from abs to waist and dug her nails into his skin.
He moved his leg up and down, sliding it along her panties as if encouraging her to ride it. Instinct was still in charge—she needed no encouragement. What she needed was something much more fulfilling, like his fat cock pounding inside her cunt. But she took what he offered, and settled into a steady, mindless rhythm, grinding her crotch along his leg.
Riding a thigh? Really?
Suddenly, he stopped. Her eyes flew open. A silent scream settled in her throat. She ached and yearned and protested with a desperate sigh. At least his mouth consoled her for the entire five seconds it took to replace his denim-clad limb with a long firm object. The end was oblong, like a small pear. And the way he operated it up and down her snatch, snagging her clit during every stroke, was amazing. A jolt of excitement rocked her. Tiny fires ignited all over her body.
“Mmm.” Hot juices poured from her cunt in a continuous stream, drenching her panties. At least it wasn’t absorbing into his pant leg any longer. Not that it mattered. His skill proved he’d been in this situation before. Still, it hadn’t lightened the humiliation of leaving a wet spot on a stranger’s jeans. Reason number four or five evolved as to why she never wanted to see this cowboy again.
While inserting his tongue deeper into her mouth, he swallowed her sigh. She slid hers into sync, dancing and darting it beside his. Drowning in passion understated the airy, out-of-this-world sensation reeling through her body, and each caress to her crotch made her crave more. Never had she been brought to climax in such a short amount of time. And fully clothed. The gist of him working her as if totally understanding her need lit her fire. That sort of thing just didn’t happen. Not to her anyway.
Her breaths quickened with each inner contraction of her vaginal walls. She needed his cock. Stuffed inside her pussy. Entirely to her womb. Releasing her mouth from his lips, she laid her forehead against his chest, gripping his biceps. If she didn’t support herself on something, she’d drop to the floor. Which may not have been a bad idea. As it was, she prayed he’d lay her down and spread her legs wide. “Fuck me, Brock,” she said on the trail of a heavy breath.
Where in the hell had that brazen remark come from? It certainly aff
ected him, because he fisted the hair at the base of her neck and forced her head to the wall. His hot lips took quick possession of her throat, sucking and nibbling every trace of bare skin. Moans filled her ears, but sweet Jesus, they came from her. The passion stirring her blood intensified and her pussy burned. She clutched his bulging arms, ready to take control if he stopped the assault on her crotch.
The climax was a nanosecond away, hanging over her head like an overstuffed balloon waiting to explode. She gyrated her hips, pressing her weight on the object so as not to deprive her clit. Her vaginal walls quivered and throbbed frantically. Her breaths heightened to hyperventilation mode and her chest heaved.
Obviously aware of her desperate state, he increased speed. “Come on, Tiff, ride it out. You’re almost there.”
The sensual overtone in his voice was all the further coaxing she needed, and her body shattered in a shocking mind-blowing orgasm. She cried out, embedding nails into his skin while spasms and contractions racked her pussy.
He reduced the strokes to a stream of gentle pressure, prolonging every last tremor. Drained and weak, she remained slack against the wall, fighting for normal breaths. A mass of cool air engulfed her as he stepped away.
“I understand now why it’s your favorite, darlin’.”
Something hit the floor with a muted thud. She fluttered her lashes open and lowered her gaze. Dear God. To her horror, the dildo lay beside her left foot. It took every smidgen of strength to prevent her jaw from hitting the floor as well.
In order to keep her dignity, or what tiny morsel remained, she needed to act casual and unscathed. How could she accomplish that when she’d just been sexually fulfilled by a strange man operating the replica of her personal sex toy? Before she had a chance to break into tears, she looked Brock in the eye and smiled. It was the most difficult performance of her life. Hopefully, it wasn’t the worst; her pride was at stake. “I’m not going to ask, but since you mentioned it’s my favorite, I assume I told you so.”
TroubleToysTemptingCowboys Page 3
