by Eden Bradley
“No.” His voice was ragged.
He moved halfway out and refilled her. “Oh,” she clucked. He did it again, testing her response.
Her oh was automatic. “No need to treat me like a porcelain doll.”
“Damn,” he grumbled. He pulled farther out and rammed back in.
She heard herself say oh again, vaguely aware her pitch had risen. His cock slithered in and out of her back door. It was remarkable. It took her breath away. Where would the next gulp of air come from? Yet, it was so magnificent. She knew he was struggling to contain himself.
He reached around and found her clit. His movements quickened, as did her responses. She frowned. She banged the table, trying to stave off her climax. She wanted to feel him coming first.
She swallowed hard and clamped down on him.
“Jesus H. Christ, woman.”
His hot torrents poured into her body and she let herself go. “Oh, Jack, fill me.” Her own fluids spilled. She laughed almost hysterically. She’d have a messy table to clean up later. Maybe they should bronze that part of the table in memory of some super tuning.
As they gradually regained energy and focus, Jack kissed her shoulders. “Welcome back,” he said. “I’m glad you came back. Does Joy know you’re here?”
She nodded. “Uh, huh. She’ll drop by later.”
He nipped at her shoulders. “For how long are you staying this time?”
“For as long as you’ll have me.”
“Good.” He kissed her neck. “I don’t plan on ever giving you up.”
She rotated her shoulders. “So it must take you a very long time to get a tune-up just right.”
“A lifetime, I suppose. I am a perfectionist.”
“That’s one of many attributes about you that I love—your attention to detail and your desire to be the best at whatever you set your sights on.”
She squirmed her butt against his crotch. “Whenever you’re ready to try to get this right, I’m ready for you to try again.”
~ * ~
RIDING RODEO
by Emma Lai
The bell over the door tinkled as a new customer entered the bakery. When she glanced over the shoulder of her current customer, elderly Mrs. Thompson, Amanda Goodson’s breath caught. Bright afternoon sunshine from a beautiful late-spring day entered the storefront window and cast a delicious glow over the tastiest man Amanda had ever laid eyes on. A navy blue T-shirt clung to broad shoulders, a muscled chest, and six-pack abs. Brawny thighs strained the denim of a pair of faded jeans, and she knew from a previous encounter that the material hugged a firm ass.
She licked her lips. The rodeo was back in town.
When their gazes locked, Sean Cassidy winked. Thanks to the shirt, his eyes were more blue than gray, almost as blue as the clear sky over Houston today. He strode toward the counter with a slow rolling of hips, his cowboy boots―polished to a high sheen―clomping against the slate floor with each step. The rhythmic tattoo of his sexy walk called to mind their one headboard-banging-against-the-wall, marathon ride.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
She wasn’t sure if it was her heartbeat or echoes of her memory. Sweat moistened her palms, but it wasn’t sweat tickling the insides of her thighs. Damn the man. He could still make her cream her panties even though their one-night stand happened more than a year ago.
One year, six months, and some change, but who was counting?
It had been Amanda’s first year as owner of the bakery that consumed her life from two in the morning until six in the evening. At the end of the day, she was usually too tired to move, much less go anywhere but home. That fateful night out had been to celebrate her youngest sister, Courtney, winning Grand Champion Reserve for her pig, Petunia, at the Fort Bend County Fair. Their middle sister, Brittany, had joined them, and they were all walking to Amanda’s car to celebrate the win when a group of cowboys whistled. Amanda turned to flash them a smile only to trip and fall over a road cone.
She landed hard on the unforgiving concrete, the gravel biting into her palms and her ass even through the heavy denim of her jeans. Brushing off her hands rained little bits of debris into her lap and revealed pinked skin and a few, tiny scrapes. She bruised so easily no doubt her butt would be a mass of small black and blue marks tomorrow. The whistles transformed to laughter and heat suffused her body, chasing away the aches in her ass and hands.
Brittany rolled her eyes and flipped open her cell phone for the umpteenth time that night to get updates on some college frat party she’d skipped so she could hang out with her lame sisters—her words, not Amanda’s.
Courtney laughed. “You’re such a klutz, Mandy.”
Amanda’s embarrassment gave way to her own laughter. She was a klutz, and she’d learned long ago the importance of laughing at herself. She bent her knees to rise. Lord knew neither of her sisters would offer any help.
A callused hand appeared in front of her nose. Her gaze traveled from the hand, up a muscled forearm to a bulging bicep emphasized by the cuff of a white, form-fitting T-shirt stretched tautly over sun-bronzed skin, and then skimmed across broad shoulders to focus on a pair of sparkling gray-blue eyes. Her laughter trailed off.
“Let me give you a hand.”
His deep voice rolled through her. A tingle zipped through her veins. “I know something else you can give me.”
Brittany snorted while Courtney choked. “Gawd, Mandy. That’s disgusting.”
Lord! Did I say that aloud?
With a mental shrug, she pasted on a big smile and accepted his hand. He hauled her to her feet without any assistance on her part, but she was still breathless. He may only have topped her five feet four inches by half a foot or so, but his shoulders were wider than a barrel-racing drum. She resisted the urge to explore his broad chest with her fingertips and determine if the muscles were as hard as the granite they appeared etched from.
Dusting her hands on her jeans even though there were no bits of gravel left, she said, “Nice muscles you’ve got there, Rodeo.” She had seen him ride bareback earlier but couldn’t recall his name. Though she enjoyed watching the competition when at the fair, she was no buckle bunny and didn’t know one rider from the next.
“Thanks.” He brushed a hand across her butt, the fine hair of his arm teasing her arm with each stroke. “Nice ass you’ve got there.”
She quirked an eyebrow, repressing the shivers his touch inspired and the twitch of her lips from his sense of humor. Forcing herself to step away despite the desire to lean into his solid form, she placed a hand on her hip. “I suppose you were just helping me dust it off?”
Tucking the thumb of his right hand in his front pocket, he tipped the corner of his black Stetson with his left hand. “Anything I can do to assist a cowgirl in distress.”
She snorted. She was no cowgirl. Sure, she enjoyed dressing up like one, putting on her comfortable lace-ups and tight Wranglers then going to the fair and rodeo, but it was all about hard bodies. Other girls liked football or baseball players, but a sexy cowboy was what got her juices flowing.
“Come on, Mandy! I’m hungry,” Courtney called from beside the car.
Amanda shot her a nasty glare before smiling at the cowboy. “Gotta go, Rodeo.”
She turned then sashayed toward the car, ignoring the protest of her recently abused ass. No way was she limping while making her grand exit.
“Hey!”
Her heart stopped. She gazed heavenward. Thank you.
With a deep breath, she smiled and spun, her dark hair swirling about her shoulders. A strand attached itself to her strawberry-flavored lip gloss. She tucked the wayward hair behind her ear. “What’s can I do you for, Rodeo?”
She didn’t even blink at the blatant proposition in her words. While she had a thing for cowboys, they didn’t always return the regard. She wasn’t passing up a golden opportunity.
With each bootfall bringing him closer, his thigh muscles clenched and unclenched. He kept coming unt
il only a few inches separated them. The heat from his body chased away the unseasonably cool, early-October night air. Warmth pooled low in her belly. Breath laced with the faint odor of tobacco and beer teased her as he said, “How ‘bout you meet me later and I give you that something else?”
“You’re such a sweet girl, Amanda.” Mrs. Thompson’s soft, reedy voice recalled Amanda to her surroundings.
After a couple of quick blinks, Amanda was back in the present and focused on her customer. The woman’s blonde wig sat slightly askew, but otherwise, every strand was in place. Bright pink lipstick decorated her thin lips and pink blusher spotted her cheeks. Behind the lenses of her glasses, heavy mascara clotted her eyelashes. Despite the individual flaws, overall, Mrs. Thompson always looked collected and well put together. Today, the woman wore hot pink slacks and a bright flowery top in pinks, oranges, and greens. No doubt she had some equally pink shoes on her feet. She liked to match from head to toe. How much time did she spend getting ready in the morning?
Amanda couldn’t even imagine. Most days she rolled from bed with only enough time to toss on a T-shirt embroidered with the bakery name, Sweet Treats ‘N’ More, and then pull her hair into a ponytail before tucking it into the matching baseball cap in pale blue sporting the bakery’s name. She never gave a thought to makeup. Maybe when she retired, she’d be able to put herself together better.
What did Rodeo think of her scrubbed free of make-up with her hair tied haphazardly? Not that he hadn’t seen her in a state of total shambles, but only because he’d helped her sweat most of her make-up off. She boxed Mrs. Thompson’s cookies and pastries while resisting the urge to check the placement of her cap and whether any wayward strands escaped their confines—he’d walked out and never looked back after all… well, at least until now. Why was he here?
Placing the box on the counter next to a small loaf of bread, Amanda smiled at her customer and said, “Here you are.”
“Thank you, dearie.” The elderly lady rooted in her hot pink hobo purse for a moment before withdrawing two crumpled bills. With shaky hands, she unfolded the singles then laid them on the counter. “Have a nice weekend, Amanda.”
“You too, Mrs. Thompson. I’ll see you next Friday.” Like so many of Amanda’s elderly customers, the woman was on a fixed income and she stopped in every Friday for day-old baked goods at a discounted rate. Amanda never mentioned everything was freshly made each morning because she donated whatever remained at the end of the day to the nearby homeless shelter.
While Mrs. Thompson shuffled toward the door, Amanda wiped sweaty palms on the white apron belted at her waist and took a quiet, deep breath. Wishing she hadn’t sent her two helpers home early and that she had a minute to check her appearance, she faced the man who haunted her dreams. “How can I help you, sir?”
The small dimple in his left cheek flashed when he smiled. “Sir? Whatever happened to Rodeo?”
Anger washed over her. The asshole acted as if he’d just returned from a quick trip to the grocery store when, in fact, he’d snuck out the morning after without so much as a good-bye and then hadn’t even bothered calling her. Ever! She wanted to punch him in his nose, but instead she planted her fists on her hips. “I had my eight-second ride and decided the rodeo wasn’t for me.”
And she had. She’d sworn off cowboys after him, well, pretty much all men really. The bakery consumed so much of her life, but there was nothing wrong with being passionately in love with work.
He dipped his chin and smirked. “Now, Mandy, you know it wasn’t just eight seconds.”
Another wave of cream coated Amanda’s panties, reminding her that the one major disadvantage of being a workaholic was no sex. Not that anyone could come close to Rodeo’s stamina. It hadn’t been eight seconds, or even anywhere close to eight minutes, but rather more like eight hours, though not non-stop, thank goodness. She could only imagine what would have happened if it had been that long. As it was, the ride had left her sore in ways she’d never before imagined and decorated with bruises on her hips, thighs, arms, and shoulders—in addition to the ones from the fall on her ass. For days she’d carried the reminders of him around on her body. For weeks, she’d wondered if he’d call when he came back to town.
Then for months, she’d been pissed. No woman wanted to have the best sex of her life then have the guy act as if it had never happened or didn’t matter—since she’d refused to call him, she didn’t know which. Now, over a year later, her traitorous pussy wanted another go at the record.
Down, girl! That’s all just a memory. “What do you want, Sean?”
His smile was cock-sure as he said, “Well, I’m in a bakery, so I must be looking for something sweet. And my sweet tooth says dessert is standing right in front of me.”
She laughed, but it sounded harsh even to her ears. Did he really think she’d fall for a line like that? It wasn’t the first time a man had said something similar to her. She quirked an eyebrow. “Did you rehearse that?”
He was so full of himself. Granted, he was better looking than any other man she knew, with that square jaw that seemed as if it’d been chiseled from stone and those edible lips. Her belly hopped like a jackrabbit near a rattlesnake when she remembered those lips nipping and licking at hers then kissing a path down to suck her aching nipples. And none of that compared to what had happened when he’d given that same attention to her clit. Flames of desire flickered along her skin, leaving heat in their wake.
Get a grip on yourself, woman.
Sean frowned.
He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand. “Please tell me you didn’t think you could two-step in here and pick up where we left off over a year ago.”
After yanking off his hat, he dropped it on the counter then ran a hand through his short, brown hair. “I don’t see why not. Spring is the season for rebirths and second chances.” The corner of his mouth tilted again and that damn dimple made its second appearance in as many minutes—not that she’d noticed. The twinkle in his eyes dared her to deny his boyish charm.
She fought an answering smile and shook her head. Her father always did say she had a thing for cocky men. After untying her apron strings, she folded the smock in half before placing it on the counter beside his hat. It was quitting time. “I’m surprised you even remember me.”
He cocked his head, looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and scratched behind his ear. “I never forgot you, Mandy.”
She snorted. She wasn’t buying the remorseful schoolboy act. Punching the security code to retrieve the day’s credit card report, she said, “You have a funny way of showing it.” Then she turned the register key and hit the necessary buttons to print out the day’s receipts. Without looking up, she asked, “What do you want, Sean?”
Her pussy screamed, Please say me!
She’d have to break out the toys tonight and ease the ache. “I’m closing up shop and you’re in the way.” The sooner he left, the sooner she could finish things here and go home for some quality time with her vibrator.
He placed his palms on the counter. “What can I do to help?” The flexing muscles of his forearm brought to mind the start of their all-night interlude.
They stumbled through her apartment door, tongues dueling. Each fought for dominance until she claimed victory, thrusting her tongue into his mouth to savor the smoky flavor of coffee laced with cinnamon from the apple pie they’d shared earlier.
The door slammed, and then the world spun as Sean pivoted on his heel. Her feet slid from the carpet back to the small, tiled entryway. She dug her fingers into his denim-covered hips as he thread his fingers through her hair. His hand protected her head as her ass and shoulders struck the solid wooden door. She tugged him closer, the throbbing bulge of his erection pressing into her belly.
With a teasing dart, she dared Sean to follow her retreating tongue. When he did, she sucked his tongue deeper into her mouth and clasped his rigid length through the starched denim of his jeans. He
thrust into her hand with a growl and deepened the kiss. She tested the length and breadth of his cock while he explored the depths of her mouth. He was long, at least an inch longer than any man she’d been with. Her knees weakened at the thought of having him seated deep inside her, finding unexplored spots.
A moan erupted from the back of her throat. She couldn’t wait any longer, and apparently neither could he. Their arms tangled when they each tried to take the other’s shirt off. They broke apart, laughing, and each threw off their own top before he claimed her lips again.
She traced the muscles of his shoulders, sculpted by work on his parents’ ranch as well as time in the saddle fighting bucking broncos. Her fingers found a long, puckered scar from a surgery to repair a shoulder dislocated one too many times. Their conversation had quickly gotten personal over dessert, but not quite as personal as they were about to get.
The rasp of a zipper stilled her hands and her thoughts. Sean hooked a thumb into the waist of her jeans at each hip. He retreated just enough to stare into her eyes. God, she could lose herself forever in that gaze.
She bit her lip as the color of his eyes lightened to the same bright blue as a clear spring sky. Her heart pounded in her chest and her belly did a flip-flop, like she was on the downhill slide of a tall rollercoaster.
Uh-oh, she was in trouble. When she fell, it was hard and fast. She wet her lips, but thankfully, before she could blurt out something stupid about forevers, or do something even more stupid like boot his delicious ass out the door over fear for her heart, his gaze dropped, and so did he. He rained kisses on her belly while the tips of his fingers skimmed her ass and thighs until he’d shoved her pants down.
When he landed on his knees, she wove her fingers through his soft hair. The muscles of her belly clenched under the assault of his warm breath. He teased his lips across her navel then trailed lower to play along the lacy edges of her G-string. Goose bumps erupted along her exposed skin. Then his tongue rasped her clit with the fine mesh of her panties. She clenched her hands in his silky hair while uncontrollable shivers raced along her limbs.
