TroubleToysTemptingCowboys

by Jennifer LaRose

  In her lifetime, she’d slept with four men, but none had the ability to get her off like Brock. Four orgasms? And one right after another?

  Another bubble of juices flowed into her panties. If she kept it up, she’d have to run to the store for upholstery cleaner and scrub the seat.

  Had she bored him? That was a frightening thought, but why else had it taken him so long to come? In comparing him to the other men…damn, there wasn’t any comparison. She’d thought Devin had stamina because he’d outshined the others by at least ten strokes. Not that she’d ever counted or anything. Well, she had, but so what? She’d always hoped he’d surpass that final stroke by at least one more. It may have been the magical one she’d needed to climax. Never had she experienced an orgasm with him inside her. If he didn’t get her off before the fuck, she didn’t get off, end of story. She’d even suggested using a penis ring a few times, which he’d flatly refused. Maybe if she’d concentrated on the act itself rather than counting the actual amount of strokes, things would’ve been different.

  Until Brock, she didn’t know what she’d been missing.

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Even with the seat pushed back to accommodate his long legs, he filled the passenger’s side. “Are you comfortable, Brock?”

  “I’m thinking on the next trip, we’ll take my truck.”

  Police cruisers, an ambulance, and a coroner’s vehicle filled the apartment complex parking lot. “I wonder what’s going on,” Tiffany said while parking along the edge of the driveway. After turning on her flashers, she jumped out of the car, took Brock by the hand and trotted inside the building.

  Yellow crime scene tape blocked the entire ground floor. Numerous officers stood below, hovering around Mr. Woodenhaven’s open apartment. Two men were squatting at the bottom of the stairs, examining the dark brown carpeting. She stopped on the landing, but she couldn’t see anything beyond the men obscuring the doorway.

  An eerie sensation nicked her spine. “Is Mr. Woodenhaven okay?”

  Both gentlemen glanced upward. One stood, acknowledging her. “Are you a relative?”

  “No.” Her gaze darted around the area, focusing on a man dressed in white protective gear who stood near the laundry room entrance, holding a spray bottle. “What happened?” she asked.

  “Who are you?”

  “Tiffany. I live upstairs.”

  He looked over his shoulder to the open apartment, then back at her. “This is a homicide investigation.”

  She gasped. Her eyes flared. “He’s dead?” She let go of Brock’s hand and clutched the metal stair rail. “How?”

  “We’re waiting on the coroner to disclose that information.”

  “Have you arrested anyone?”

  “Unfortunately not. We’ve ordered everyone inside until we conduct a full sweep of the premises.”

  She gulped. “I’m just picking up some things. Is it okay to leave?” she asked, reaching back and retaking hold of Brock’s hand.

  “That’ll be fine, ma’am.”

  She turned and dashed up the stairs, pulling Brock behind her.

  “Tiff, give me your keys. I’ll go in first.”

  The keychain rattled in her trembling fingers, nearly dropping to the floor. He took them and unlocked the door. After he reached inside and flipped on the light, he cautiously swung the door open and stepped inside.

  She bunched a section of his shirt in her hand and followed, glancing back and forth through the family room and kitchen. A coffee cup and a saucer loaded with bread crumbs sat on the table, indicating Troy had stopped by for lunch. Maybe he’d decided to apologize for his irrational behavior on the phone yesterday.

  She tightened her grip on Brock’s shirt and tiptoed behind him as he walked toward the hall. When he stopped to turn on the hallway light, she plowed into his back. “Sorry.” Despite the commotion downstairs and the heebie-jeebies nipping her spine, his hard muscled body pressing against her breasts, and his scent, created an ache between her thighs. Multiple orgasms. And heading straight for her bedroom was the perfect…

  Had she lost her mind? Someone had committed murder in her building. She needed to pack her things and leave. Quickly. The fact that Mr. Woodenhaven had died added starch to her panties, and she shoved Brock forward. “Let’s hurry and get out of here.”

  “You anxious to have your way with me?”

  That too. “This is freaking me out.”

  Seconds after he flipped on the light switch in her bedroom and scoped the closet, she yanked a duffel bag off the top shelf and filled it with clothes. She then charged into the bathroom and packed an overnight case.

  “Tiff, you moving into my place?”

  She grasped her bearings, slowing her actions, and glanced into his eyes. Both brows arched as he stood filling the doorway. He leaned against one side with an elbow propped on the other. She then looked at the case, filled with every toiletry and sundry she owned. “It looks like it, huh?” She zipped it closed and left the room, ducking under his arm and squeezing by. “I’m ready. Grab those two large garbage bags by the front door.”

  Once everything was loaded in her car, she locked the door and buckled up, waiting for Brock. His waist and bulging crotch appeared outside the passenger window while he opened the door. She licked her bottom lip. Glaring at men’s crotches wasn’t her normal practice, but dang, knowing now personally what lay behind the denim—

  “You want me to drive?” he asked, taking a seat. He pulled the door shut. “You’re looking a little frazzled.”

  She tucked all thoughts away and shook her head. Yes, she’d admit the situation rattled her a bit. The frazzled part came from the slab of meat in his pants working as an eye magnet. “No, I’m okay.”

  “That was a pretty disturbing scene in there.”

  She nodded while starting the car. “It was.” She pushed in the clutch, switched gears, and backed into the street. “And I don’t think you should wear such tight pants.”

  “What do my denims have to do with a murder investigation?”

  She shifted into first gear. “They stole my ability to properly grieve Mr. Woodenhaven’s death.”

  “Well, Tiff, I reckon if my pants take your mind off a dead man, it’s all good.”

  Ditto. No need to mention it wasn’t the pants themselves, but the flesh stuffed inside. And knowing how to use it was, wow. “How’d you do that?” slipped from her lips. Did her subconscious have a direct path to her mouth? Shit.

  “Do what?” He placed a hand on her thigh. “I’m a country boy, not a mind reader.”

  The heat from his palm moved straight to her crotch, mimicking an invisible caress. She sucked in a breath. Man, her undies were drowning. “Do I bore you?” she blurted, trying to cover up the previous question.

  “Pardon me for asking, but what brought that on?”

  She clenched the steering wheel. “I’ve slept with a few guys…but, um…they were…unlike you…” How could she put this tactfully? “They lacked stamina in bed. Was I boring or something?”

  He laughed. And the timbre settled in her chest to the rhythm of her heartbeat. “I’m serious, Brock.”

  His laughter stopped. “No, darlin’.” Slowly, his fingers slipped in between her legs. “Boring is one thing you’re not.” The outside of his palm pressed against her crotch.

  The seam dug into her clit, arousing her pussy. She gasped. “You’re going to cause an accident.” A gush of warm liquid oozed into her pants.

  “Then pull over.” He started an up-and-down massage with his pinky.

  “We’ll get arrested.” She squeezed the wheel and shoved her bottom forward.

  “When you get me home, I’m going to oil you up and give you the rubdown of a lifetime.”

  Oh, she had the warmest, sweetest watermelon flavored lotion. Too bad she hadn’t brought any along. “I don’t have any oils with me. I left my cases at home.”

  “It’s called olive oil.”

&
nbsp; “You plan on cooking me?”

  “Maybe. After I baste your gorgeous body with my tongue. Have any objections?”

  One. The ride to his house was way too long. She shook her head and pulled her thighs together, squeezing his hand, holding it to her crotch. Everything ached and throbbed and downright hurt.

  For fifty minutes he kept a steady pace of rubbing and pressing and poking and prodding. The juices flowed in a constant stream as tingle after tingle spread deep in her vagina.

  Without warning, her insides jerked. Muscular contractions battered her pussy walls. Her clit thumped into a state of hysteria, pulsating against his fingers while a climax tore through her body. She clenched the steering wheel and straightened her arms while shoving her back into the seat. “Christ, Brock,” she wailed.

  “Go with it, Tiff. It’s too late to fight. I’ll take the wheel if I need to.” He increased the strength of the strokes.

  She slightly released her foot from the accelerator, fighting not to close her eyes. Concentrating on the road while her body exploded in total bliss proved to be one hell of a feat.

  The instant she parked in his driveway, she practically jumped over the console, fisted the front of his shirt and yanked him forward. “You ever do that to me again, Brock Halston, I’ll hang you in the barn by your testicles. We could’ve been killed.” She kissed him so long and hard her lips hurt.

  “Damn, woman, I said I’d grab the wheel.” He grinned. “That’s if you would’ve released my hand from the center of those thighs.”

  She whacked him in the shoulder. “And I don’t make it a habit to come in my pants while driving sixty miles per hour down the highway either.”

  “What’s one more load of clothes?”

  She kissed him again, gently and affectionately, without desperation or anger. And he tasted so damn good, she fought the urge to straddle his lap. The climax en route to his house should’ve fulfilled the sexual craving for him, but it didn’t. It was like trying to steal one spoonful of ice cream from the carton without wanting more.

  “Apology accepted,” he whispered against her lips. “How about we climb out of this sardine can and take matters inside?”

  Nodding, she opened the door and stepped into the driveway. While reaching for her purse, she sensed his presence at her back and he spun her around. Nudging his knee between her thighs, he backed her up against the car. Off went her shirt. With a quick toss, it landed on the windshield. She immediately crossed her arms to cover her bra. “The neighbors?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I have only one, and he’s over those hills.” He nudged his chin toward the farmer’s property. “He couldn’t see us if he used binoculars.”

  Well, the exposure felt awkward. Something wasn’t right. “Let’s take the laundry in.”

  He removed the bags from the trunk, walked into the house, and lugged them through a doorway off the kitchen and down a flight of steps. She followed, eyeing his protruding biceps and tight ass.

  He set the bags on the concrete floor beside the washing machine. “Help yourself to whatever you need.” He nodded at a shelf lined with jugs of laundry soap and fabric softener.

  “Thank you. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

  “No need for paybacks. Consider it my donation to the kids.”

  She untied the closest bag and reached inside, filling her arms with a load of colored clothes. As she stuffed them inside the washer and closed the lid, a pair of hands settled on her waist from behind. Warm lips patted her neck beneath her ear. Hot breath slithered to her chest, forming a film across her skin. Every inch of flesh rejoiced in the attention. Even her lonely nipples hardened.

  “I’ve been waiting all evening for this.”

  So had she. Only, she’d gotten a little dose of bliss during the drive. “If you wait a little longer, we can ride the spin cycle.”

  “I have something better in mind.”

  Something better? Not much outshined having sex on a vibrating washer.

  He unfastened her pants and bent her upper body over the machine. The cool metal settled against her cheek. She shivered. While he slid the denim and her panties over her hips, he squatted to remove them from her legs and feet. Having her bare ass exposed in such an erotic, submissive position, and vulnerable to his eyes, shot tremors down her spine. He could’ve done whatever he wanted in that instant without a single protest.

  His hands caressed the back of her calves, her thighs, her rear, scorching her flesh while circling their way to her hips. Moist, hot lips followed the path, nipping and biting sensitive areas of skin. Her breath quickened. Her heartbeat pummeled the washer. She squeezed her hands into fists and closed her eyes. God, she wanted him to shove something inside every opening of her body.

  He stood, pressed his thighs against her ass, and stroked her back from bottom to top. What a relaxing, sensual feeling. She rolled her shoulders, soaking up the gentle but firm caresses.

  “I could eat you for every meal, Tiff.” He bent forward and conformed his body dominantly over top of hers, pressing her breasts deeper onto the machine.

  The eroticism of his dominance took her mind off his weight. She was helpless and weak, and mercy, she’d died and floated to heaven. If he wanted, he could’ve tied her hands to the ceiling, and she wouldn’t have uttered a single complaint.

  He slid his hand between their bodies, unzipped his pants and shoved them to his ankles. When he again lay over top of her, his burning-hot cock slapped her spine. She licked her lips as he spread her legs and slid two fingers between her thighs, through her folds, grazing her clit. She moaned and bucked her ass. While those magical fingers delicately pinched and tormented her, two more slipped inside her vagina with ease. “Ahh,” she wailed, biting down on her bottom lip.

  Suddenly, his fingers stopped.

  Then her heartbeat.

  And breaths.

  If he didn’t quit doing that…

  “Don’t panic, I’m not through with you yet.” His weight lifted from her back. A condom wrapper crinkled, followed by fabric rustling as he removed his pants and kicked them across the floor.

  As if she was as light as air, he spun her around, lifted her by the waist and set her on the washing machine. Glancing between her spread thighs, he yanked her ass to the edge, took hold of his penis and guided it to her opening. The thick shaft submerged a half an inch at a time. She gasped. Her body opened wide, sucking it inside as if welcoming a long-lost friend. Seconds later, he buried it to the hilt in her hot pussy. She gave it a squeeze, watching his face contort.

  “I wouldn’t do that again. It’s kicking the shit out of my stamina.”

  With his penis still engorged, he lifted her off the washer and headed toward the stairs. Instinctively, she locked her legs at his back, and arms around his neck. He took the steps slow, each one forcing his cock head to bang into her cervix. Her eyes rolled. She laid her cheek against the side of his head, savoring the powerful jolts. If he chose to walk the steps all night, she’d be one content woman.

  At the top of the stairs, he paused, causing great disappointment to her cunt. “Am I getting too heavy?”

  He shook his head. His brows furrowed and jaws clenched. “I’m needing a minute to regroup. Whatever you do, don’t move.”

  “Are you in pain?”

  A bead of sweat broke along his forehead. “Yeah, but it isn’t muscular. It’s much deeper. Literally.”

  “I’m hurting you?”

  “In a good way, darlin’. In a real good way.”

  Twenty seconds later, he headed toward his bedroom, but detoured into the room off the family room. He captured her mouth in a long, tongue-twirling kiss. She loved his kisses. He made possessive and controlling love to her mouth with his lips. Unlike the typical, sweet gestures of affection she’d received from the prior men in her life.

  While lowering her body down his thighs, his cock withdrew, followed by warm juices dribbling from her pussy. He stood her on
her feet beside the mechanical bull. She eyeballed the machine, then him. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Seems I couldn’t keep you off one of these a week ago.” He wedged his foot in the stirrup and flung a leg over the saddle. His testicles and bare ass slapped the leather. The man had no shame. Actually, she had none either at the moment. And while glancing at her partially naked body, she realized how silly she looked wearing nothing but a bra.

  He patted his thighs. “Climb on up.”

  “There isn’t room for two.”

  “There’s plenty on my lap.”

  She glanced at his hard cock, and the distance it extended. Her mouth watered. He appeared determined to make this work. And if she wanted it, she had to go and get it. Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she placed one hand on the saddle horn, a foot in the stirrup, and pulled herself partially up. He grabbed her upper arm and maneuvered her onto his lap. Teetering off balance, she gripped his shoulders, draping her legs over his thighs. The position spread her pussy wide open.

  Painfully slow, his eyes caressed that area while his hands caressed her spine. With a simple snap of his fingers, he unhooked her bra then slid it off her shoulders, grazing his fingers sensually across her skin. After he dropped the bra to the floor, he reached down and massaged her clit with his thumb while slipping a finger in her vagina. She gasped, closing her eyes.

  “When I lift you,” he said, his breath cascading over her face like a veil, “guide my cock in your pussy.”

  She nodded. Oh, the anticipation of feeling full, mixing with his raspy voice, had her squirming on his lap. Excitement hung in the air. After fluttering her lids open, she took hold of his penis. Holy hell, her fingers couldn’t connect around the thick shaft. So hard. And warm. And while eagerly anticipating it to stuff her full, she placed her fingertips along the groove and gave a couple of long, fluid strokes.

  He groaned. “Here goes.” He placed his hands on her waist and raised her in the air.