Booted

by Pam Godwin

  As I lie on my back and stare at the stars, I evaluate my mental health. When inmates are released, we’re warned about PTSD, anxiety, depression, and nightmares.

  I’ve felt the tug of those things. My nerves riot in public places and social situations. I’ve lost the drive to take over the ranching operation. I only exercise because I refuse to be weak.

  And I think about drinking. I haven’t touched a bottle since that night in the stable. Haven’t so much as sipped alcohol since I was eighteen. But the urge scratches through my blood.

  The interests I had as a kid are gone. I didn’t consider playing guitar again until Conor returned my instrument at dinner tonight. When I wrapped a hand around the frets, I relived the last night I played it, a night associated with masked men and brutality.

  I have flashbacks. If it’s PTSD, it only surfaces when I sleep.

  Because of the nightmares.

  Every night, the goddamn nightmares. Usually the same ones. I’m back in prison and don’t know how I got there. I’m exhausted, and all the bunks are taken. I’m standing in the chow hall with shit on my tray, stark naked, and I can’t find my clothes.

  The worst is when I’m in the ravine, hands bound by rope as Conor’s rape plays out before me. Except Conor is Raina, and the man violently fucking her is John Holsten. I scream through my gag, but no one hears me. Then I wake screaming into the night. Alone.

  Even with Raina’s tea, I struggle to fall back asleep.

  If I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown, I won’t allow it to sink hooks into me. Not while I’m responsible for Raina’s protection. Not while she’s distracting me, grounding me, and making me whole again.

  A week ago, I was numb. Now I feel this frustrating little woman in my veins. I feel every part of her in every part of me.

  And she doesn’t feel me back.

  Except she kisses me like she does.

  I know her past. She knows where I’ve been. We’re moving forward together, whether she likes it or not.

  We need us.

  My attention drifts to the guitar at my feet. My fingers twitch to strum, and my throat clears to hum as a Jake Owen song plays in my head. It’s a fucked-up song that reminds me of a fuckable woman who fucks with my head.

  I sit up and drag the instrument onto my lap. I tap the wooden body. Pluck the strings. Adjust the tune. Stumble over the chords. Then I play Alone With You.

  It’s choppy the first few times I run through it, my shoulders twitching at the screeching mistakes. But eventually, I nail it, singing along with the acoustic.

  Conor’s a better guitarist. Jake’s a helluva singer. I can do both with average skill.

  The longer I play, the more I realize I missed this. I miss the jam sessions, the connection through music, the emotions it evokes. I miss the people who mean everything to me.

  As the last note echoes across the field, my hands fall from the strings.

  That’s when I hear her.

  Every molecule in my body tunes into Raina’s location behind me before she stirs.

  Her breath releases. Her feet pad through the grass, and she kneels before me with a thermos in her hands.

  “That was…” She searches my face for the answer. “Beautifully lonely.”

  My chest tightens, and I set the guitar aside. “I haven’t played in—”

  “Don’t stop.”

  “I just did.”

  “I mean, don’t make this the only time. Your family would love for you to play with them again.”

  At my nod, she hands me the thermos of tea. I inch over, making room for her beside me on the sleeping bag, and together, we lie back and drink in the starlight.

  “Did you eat?” I ask.

  “After everyone went to bed. What are you teaching me tomorrow?”

  I walk through the shooting practice and defense techniques I have planned and update her on the security around the property.

  “How are we going to find John?” she asks.

  “He’ll turn up.” I’m surprised he hasn’t already. “The sheriff will call when he does.”

  “What happens if John shows up here?”

  “There are six people who wouldn’t hesitate to kill him, and we would be in our lawful right to do so. This is our property. Trespassers enter at their own risk.”

  “He knows that?”

  “Fuck yes, he knows.”

  “If I went into town and did things, like grocery shopping, I could lure him out.”

  “No. That’s non-negotiable.”

  Jarret and Maybe bring in the food. That won’t change until Raina’s safe.

  “You haven’t left the ranch in five days,” she mutters.

  I lean up on an elbow and bow over her. “Why are you out here?”

  “Why do you ask me that every night?”

  “Because you always give me that shit about the universe, and for once, I want a real answer.”

  She squints. “We’re being truthful?”

  “Yes, goddammit. Always.”

  Her gaze dances across the moonlit sky and takes its time returning. “This is my favorite part of every day.”

  I relax with a lightness in my chest. “Mine, too.”

  She rests calmly on her back beneath me, wearing one of my t-shirts and nothing else. I could roll on top of her right now and lose myself in her tight body.

  And it wouldn’t matter to her. Not the way it matters to me.

  She’s been fucking since she was fourteen, in every position and with more men than I care to imagine. I haven’t had sex since I was eighteen, and while I was wildly experimental, my experience is no match for hers.

  But that doesn’t mean she’s in control. She caught me off guard today and owned me with admirable skill.

  It won’t happen again.

  In an unhurried glide of motion, I rise to my feet. My shirt, hat, and boots came off a while ago, but I’m still wearing jeans.

  “Flip over.” I hook a thumb under my belt and assume a loose, confident stance. “On your knees with your head on the ground.”

  Her eyes flash. Her mouth parts, and she slowly pushes to a sitting position. “Lorne?”

  “Now.” The boom in my voice makes her jump.

  She touches her throat, her chest rising and falling. A moment later, her fear melts away, replaced by the Jezebel who milked my cock before dinner.

  I’ll let her wear the mask. It won’t stay on for long.

  In a mesmerizing, serpentine twist of her body, she rolls onto her chest, tucks her knees beneath her, and arches her ass in the air.

  I crouch behind her and flip up the hem of the shirt, revealing lacy black panties that cut high across her gorgeous cheeks. I selected those in Cora’s shop while imagining the stunning view before me now.

  My erection jerks against my zipper, and my breathing loses rhythm. I’m enslaved by the sight of her, and I haven’t even seen her naked.

  She peers over her shoulder, her eyes lidded and inviting, almost pleading, as if that’s the look I want her to wear. She assumes this is for me, that I’m going to fuck her just like every other dick that’s seen her in this pose, and she’s prepared to let me.

  But tonight is about her. I’m going to strip her down to the center of her heart, starting with that mask.

  I rear back an arm and slam my palm against her backside, spreading a sting through my fingers.

  She yelps, and her body lurches forward with the impact.

  Adrenaline floods my blood. I’m starved for this—the domination, the power and purpose—but I rein in my exhilaration and focus on her.

  “Wipe that counterfeit look off your face.” I spank her again.

  Her head whips around, and she shoots me a murderous glare.

  “Better.” I caress a soothing hand across her heated skin. “I want honest answers.” I continue to tenderly rub her sore flesh. “Have you ever had an orgasm with a man?”

  She lowers her eyes to the ground, then her he
ad, leaving her ass perched skyward. After a moment of silence, I let my hand fly, delivering a fiery smack.

  “No.” She gulps air, trembling and tense. “I haven’t.”

  “Has anyone gone down on you?”

  Her fingers curl against the sleeping bag. “Yes.”

  And she didn’t come. Because they didn’t have a fucking clue what they were doing.

  I stroke the hot, prickling skin on her butt and drag my touch along the cleavage, dipping low and deep while imagining the clinch of that forbidden entrance. “How did you know I’d allow your finger in my ass? That I’d like it?”

  She lifts on her elbows and twists her neck to look at me. “After what happened to you in prison, you’ve been forced to imagine what it would feel like to be penetrated there. It terrifies you, but it also stirs a dark curiosity. It’s one of those hate-to-love-it things. Most people have kinks like that.” She chews on her lip. “But a finger is your limit. If I tried to peg you with a strap-on, you’d stop me. Even though it can be immensely pleasurable for a man, you’re way too alpha for that. The only way you’d enjoy anal sex is if you’re the one doing the fucking.”

  I sit back on my heels, awestruck and painfully turned-on by how accurately she knows me. “Lie on your back.”

  She obeys, without the sexual swagger from before. “Have you ever fucked a girl in the ass?”

  “No.”

  High school girls were way too squeamish for that.

  I stretch out beside her, with one hand propping up my head and the other resting on her flat stomach. “What’s your hate-to-love-it kink?”

  She tenses and angles her face away.

  I grab her chin and yank her back to me. “Your kink.”

  Her nostrils widen and relax. “I didn’t have one until today.”

  I tighten my grip.

  “You,” she whispers.

  “Be specific.”

  She makes a pained sound in her throat. “This is hard.”

  Her fingers wander along my forearm and around my hand. She doesn’t pull to break my hold. Instead, she clings.

  I let go of her chin and weave our hands together, shifting them to rest between her breasts. “Tell me.”

  “I liked putting my mouth on you, on all of you. I’m sorry, but you have an outrageously sexy body.”

  There’s nothing wrong with physical attraction. Hell, I’m consumed by it every time I look at her. But…

  “You’re deeper than that, Raina.”

  “That’s exactly it. I’ve never been deep with anyone. Then you went and kissed me and…”

  I press my body along the side of hers and lower my mouth to her neck. With my lips tasting her throat, I adjust our laced hands to cup the soft mound of her breast.

  She’s built like a porn star—exaggerated curves, delicate bone structure, and lean muscle. Only she’s all natural.

  Molding my fingers around hers, I plump the flesh beneath our hands, guiding our touch into a kneading, titillating caress.

  “I kissed you and…?” I kiss her now. Her neck, her jaw, and the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

  “You pulled me under and drown me, Lorne. It’s just how you are. Your assertiveness, the command in your voice, the overbearing way you push me… I hate to love it.”

  That’s her turn-on. Deep down, she yearns to be sexually dominated by a man she has feelings for while fighting him all the way.

  Subconsciously, I already knew this. We’ve been playing with the power exchange since the day we met. Hearing her vocalize it, however, heats and hardens everything inside me. It’s as if her words have given my body permission to proceed.

  With our hands on her breast, I press my thigh against the apex of hers, trapping her leg beneath my weight.

  As much as I want to grind against her, I hold my hips still and measure my breathing. “When was the last time you gave yourself a release?”

  “In the shower a few hours ago.”

  A groan escapes my throat. She thought about me while touching herself. I’m certain of it. That means I affect her, and fuck me, I ache to affect her some more.

  “Before that?” I lick the hollow of her throat.

  She swallows against my lips. “It had been two years.”

  Because she was with John.

  I shove that thought away and turn my attention to our hands. Veering them downward, I use her fingers to trace the winding contours of her body.

  She knows how to touch herself. This isn’t about self-pleasure. It’s about keeping her with me while I pleasure her.

  It would be more effective with the shirt off, but her nudity would rage a war inside me I wouldn’t win. The impulse to sink into her soft, squeezing heat roars at me, shaking me to my core.

  I breathe through it, bathing her neck in hungry gasps as I steer our exploration south.

  Lying half on her with our bodies aligned, I edge my thigh away from her panties and slide our entwined fingers beneath the lace. My breath stammers at the feel of her short, coarse hair.

  My gaze falls into hers as I imagine the black curls beneath my touch, the way they glisten and shine with her arousal. She’s so wet. Soaked through the lace. And I’ve only just begun.

  I drive our journey lower, deeper between her thighs and slowly dip into her swollen slit.

  Her legs twitch with restlessness, one trapped beneath mine, the other dragging her foot along the sleeping bag.

  “Lorne…” Her plea is breathy, strangled. “Stop.”

  “This is unstoppable.”

  We’re unstoppable.

  I attach my lips to hers, stalling her protests. As I plunge my tongue, I sink our fingers into the hot, tight clasp of her body.

  With the kiss comes the flex of her thigh against my hand, the clamp and release of her inner muscles, and the loll of her tongue against mine. Just the right blend of acceptance and resistance, without a fight or a care.

  She’s trying to be indifferent. Probably telling herself not to let a man know how much power he wields over her in this position. She wants to let go and feel me, but she’s terrified of falling.

  So she doesn’t lean up, doesn’t try to lead my finger inside her or heighten the intensity in any way. Because that would confess her desire, her hunger to be a part of this.

  I brush my lips across her jaw and move in so close she can feel my hunger stabbing against her. She can feel my strength, my breaths, and my aggressive grip on her cunt, and her mind is probably already joining us together, playing out the slap of flesh and stabbing strokes as we fuck.

  I mimic the fantasy with my fingers, thrusting in and out, stretching her open, building her toward orgasm while making her wait for the peak. I can hardly bear it. My lungs slam together, my erection a steel bar of pressure. Fucking Christ, my bones and guts burn with so much need for this woman, I’m going to go up in flames.

  I need to taste her, lap her up, and eat the fuck out of her.

  With my mouth on her skin, I kiss every swerve and bend as I inch down her body. Our hands separate. Hers, falling to my hair. Mine, sliding aside the lace between her legs.

  The sight of her wet, pink pussy reduces me to a ravenous, shaking, predatory creature of need. Hunger and elation thickens my cock. A full, hot feeling invades my prostate. My skin aches to be touched, and all thought narrows into the mindless drive to grab, thrust, fuck, and claim.

  With a strangled groan, I rub a hand down my brow, my mouth, and around my neck as I fight to get a grip on my control.

  I haven’t done this in so long I don’t even know if I’m good at it.

  Gripping the backs of her thighs, I spread her open and lower my head. The warm, thrilling scent of her arousal waters my mouth. I run my nose through it, then my lips, reveling in the sweet, wet promise of sex. Then I devour the aroma straight from the source.

  Without restraint or hesitancy, I bury my face and ravage her cunt with tongue and teeth. I kiss her deeply, ferociously, endlessly sucking and
tugging at the silky tunnel of her heat.

  Her hands pull my hair as she bucks and twists her hips, moaning, panting, and gripping around my tongue.

  I have her now. She wants my cock. Fucking hell, she’s so hot and wet she’s trembling for my hard, ruthless thrusts.

  Yanking hard on my hair, she bares her teeth. “Just fuck me already.”

  If I do, she’ll convince herself it’s only sex. That I’m taking, chasing my own needs, and leaving her when it’s over. Just like all the others.

  I crawl up her body and straddle her leg. Putting my face in hers, I drive three fingers deep inside her and fuck her with my hand.

  “You’re going to come when I say.” I lick the sultry rim of her gaping mouth. “With your eyes on mine and your emotions spilling all over your pretty face.”

  “Lorne, I can’t.” She grips my forearm.

  I circle my thumb around her clit, flicking it until her back bows off the ground. Then I kiss her. Delicate bites of warm lips, at odds with the brutal drive of my fingers. I keep the aggression in my hand and the affection on my mouth, and within seconds, the combination crumbles her shields.

  She liquefies beneath me. Her legs fall open. Her breaths burst in short, wheezing gasps. Her hips lift, seeking, and her eyes stare up at me, dark with desire and round with fear.

  She’s letting me see her, hear her, in the sweetest, most profound surrender. She’s never been stronger or braver with me than in this moment.

  As I torment her pussy, I glide my free hand along the side of her face and hold my lips to hers, breathing in her sighing moans and tasting her submission. I’m addicted to her scent, her sounds, the feel of her soft flesh around my fingers. And her eyes.

  Edging back, I watch her watch me with a shared awe that drives the rhythm of my fingers inside her. She’s on the brink of climax, and she doesn’t know whether to fight it or give in.

  “Come for me.” I rub her clit, the outer edge of her cunt, the walls deep inside, stirring soaked flesh and shoving her off the edge.

  Her hands fly to my neck. Her eyes open wide, and she comes with an exquisite scream. “Lorne, oh my fuck, fuck, fuck—”

  I kiss her through it, sucking and groaning as I memorize the liquid, pulsing sensations around my fingers. I don’t think I’ve ever felt a woman come like this. If I have, it wasn’t memorable. It wasn’t her.