Gray Wolf Security: Wyoming

by Glenna Sinclair

  “Stop what?”

  “You’ve got to stop kissing me like that.”

  She pulled back, confusion so cute on her face. “What?”

  It was a little humiliating explaining what was going on and I wasn’t even sure that she could appreciate just how difficult she was making things. She was still touching me, her hands still playing with my hair, my jawline. I had to grab her wrists and pull them away.

  “You’re making it so hard for me to be gentle.”

  She frowned, her bottom lip pushing out in this most seductive way. That wasn’t helping much, either.

  “You don’t want me to kiss you?”

  “I don’t want you to touch me. And if you could stop looking at me that way, that would be great, too.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “I’m not looking at you right?”

  I groaned. “It’s not…” I didn’t know what to say. There were no words to explain, so I just picked her up and carried her to the bed. Then I ripped the belt off of my jeans—the jeans I’d traded my tux for after the wedding—and slipped it over the headboard of the bed, tying the other end around her wrists.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making this right for you.”

  “Grainger, I—”

  “Shhh,” I said, shoving a convenient pair of socks into her mouth.

  There was a pocketknife in my jeans, too. My dad always said a young man should never be without a knife. He had no idea how grateful I was for that little bit of wisdom tonight. I used it to snap in half the thin straps of her baby doll top, tugging it down the length of her body, taking a moment to admire those perfect breasts that had been teasing me all night with their perky little nipples sticking up against the material of that top.

  Her shorts came away easily, but she refused to open her beautiful legs for me. That wasn’t too big of a problem. I just started at her throat. A few well-placed kisses and she stopped struggling against the restraints. Those kisses led to a lovely line drawn down the center of her chest, my tongue leaving a slightly damp track from the center of her throat to her navel. But I wasn’t quite done just yet. I touched one breast, cupped it gently in my hand, while moving to capture a tight, perky nipple between my teeth. She cried out, her voice muffled by that pair of socks.

  My need was still impossibly intense, but controllable now.

  I took my time, touching, kissing, nibbling, moving along her side—making her cry out with laughter at one point—down to her hip, then back up, exploring all the little nuances of her gorgeous body. And then I moved to the bottom of the bed, rubbing her feet, tasting a toe here and there, running my tongue over her ankle bone, sliding slowly up the length of one calf, then the other. She was where I’d been after just a short time, writhing on the bed, clearly aching as I teased her with little touches close to that soft, silky inner thigh. But I backed away before she could grow too comfortable with my presence.

  I wanted to drive her as crazy as she’d been driving me these last weeks. I wanted to make her feel the need that was so overwhelming that I walked around in misery when I wasn’t with her. And then I wanted to offer her the release that I’d denied myself until tonight.

  I wanted her to remember this night for the rest of her life.

  When the tip of my tongue touched the nib of her clit, I thought she’d break free of her restraints and jump right off that bed. I pulled back, amused by the heat burning in her eyes. She yanked at the belt, rocking her head back and forth, begging me with her eyes, her movements, to set her free. But I made her suffer a while longer, running my tongue over her honeypot, tasting the juices as they poured from her virgin’s body.

  There were no closed legs now, no attempts to keep me from the places she desperately needed to feel my touch. I tasted her, touched her, experienced every inch of that perfect body. My own need was ratcheting up, flying at top speed, ready to fall off the same cliff she was standing on the edge of. I nibbled at her clit one last time, then slowly made my way up over her body, kissing her full belly, her perfect breasts, tugging the socks out of her mouth before I stole a kiss from her breathless lips.

  Her hips moved against mine, her thighs spreading to make room for the length of my body. She tugged at her restraints once more as she stared up at me, as she watched my face. She bit her lip when I reached between our bodies, when the back of my fingers brushed against her lower belly. Her eyes closed when she felt my stiff cock brush against her swollen cunt lips.

  “Look at me,” I whispered harshly. “I want to see you, want to know you see me.”

  She opened her eyes immediately, her bottom lip caught seductively between her lips.

  I pressed myself against her, pressed my cock so hard against her that I could feel the head slide almost effortlessly inside that tight space. Her eyes widened, but they stayed with me, stayed glued to mine. I needed to go slow. I’d never been with a virgin before, but I knew I needed to be in control. I couldn’t hurt her, not now, not in this moment. But the need to thrust roughly inside of her was almost overwhelming.

  I’d never lost control with a woman before, never even came close. I loved women, loved sex, but I’d never been this aroused in all my experience. There was something about it being Eve, about her eyes looking through me, looking inside of me, something about the knowledge that I would be the first, the only, man to lay with her this way that was driving me outside the realm of everything I’d ever known before.

  It was Eve.

  I managed to hold on, to gauge my movements by the reactions she showed me. A little bit here, a little less here. I moved as carefully as I could, giving her a little more with each movement. I released her hands after a moment and she immediately slipped her hands around my waist, the pressure she applied there encouraging me more than I would have thought possible. She wanted me, wanted all of me inside of her and that understanding gave me courage.

  I don’t know what I expected. Maybe I thought she would dissolve in pain. Maybe I thought she would run screaming from the bed. Maybe... I don’t know. But none of that happened. I felt a little resistance, pushed past it, and saw the pain flash in her eyes. She closed them for a long moment, bit down on her lip, but her hands on my ass held me steady, held me tight against her. And then she was with me again, moving her hips with this seductive little movement that was more than enough to express her needs.

  It was intense. It was like nothing I’d ever done before. And it was the same as every other time I’d lain with a woman. It was indescribable, really. It was worth waiting for. And when it was done, she curled up against me, her head resting on my chest and that was different from anything I’d ever known before. I wasn’t lying there wondering when it would be safe to sneak out of her bed. I wasn’t thinking of all the things I’d rather be doing. I was grateful to be with her, to have this small moment in time.

  A month ago, I would have laughed at any man admitting to such a thought. And now I was that man.

  Ironic.

  Chapter 17

  Eve

  I stretched, and had a smile that was undeniable. My skin smelled of him. My body hurt in such a delicious way because of him. My every thought was about him. And it was the best thing I could ever have imagined.

  I could hear him moving around in the small kitchen, trying to be quiet so he wouldn’t wake me. He always gone by the time I woke up—that was something we would have to fix. Just once I’d like to wake up and find him curled up beside me. Watching him sleep was another luxury that I’d like to indulge in, but it seemed like he never slept. Or I was just more tired than him.

  “What’s your middle name?”

  He dropped something, the sound of it clattering on the floor almost melodic.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your middle name,” I said, twisting a little under the warm sheets so that I could see him. He was standing at the stove, dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers. It was so intimate I almost blushed, until I remembered this was my
husband and I had every right to see him in all manner of undress. “Isn’t that something a wife should know about her husband?”

  “Daniel. After my father.”

  “Your father’s name is Daniel?”

  “Daniel William North. And my mother is Susan Elizabeth Grainger North.”

  “Your mother gave you her maiden name?”

  “She was the last of the line. She felt like she needed to honor her father in some way.”

  “That’s nice.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at me. “I hated it when I was a kid, but it sort of grew on me.”

  “Would you give it to a child?”

  He shrugged, turning back to whatever he was cooking. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Do you have any siblings?”

  He stiffened a little, not answering me as he moved from the stove to the counter, tugging a couple of pieces of toast out of the toaster. He buttered one piece before he finally said, “I have a brother. Tommy.”

  “Younger or older?”

  “Younger.”

  “I always wanted a sister. I used to pretend that Elizabeth—Sutherland’s daughter—was my little sister, but the novelty of it kind of wore off when she stopped being a cute toddler.”

  “They do wear out their welcome sometimes.”

  I stretched again, dragging my fingers through my hair, wondering briefly what he would think if I decided to grow it out. Would he like it? I’d always liked my hair long, but it was just so much trouble getting ready in the mornings. I went short to make my life a little easier, but now that I had someone to look pretty for... maybe.

  “Now you know about me, what about you? Were you and your dad ever close?”

  That put a little bit of a damper on my mood. I sat up a little and tugged the sheets up over my breasts. He looked over, his eyes moving slowly over the curves of my body that were accented by the tucking of the sheet. There was a little gleam in his eyes that made me smile again.

  “They told me he was unreliable, but no one ever offered details.”

  “Unreliable is an understatement,” I said, thinking of all the times he promised to come home for something, but managed to forget or decide some rodeo event was more important. “He was a bull rider. He always imagined he’d be the next Ty Murray or something. But, in reality, he was a joke. He rarely managed to last the full eight seconds on even the lesser bulls and he never won higher than fourth or fifth place. He always did well enough to give him hope, but never high enough to make any serious money. The only times he came home was to talk my mom into financing his next big ride. And she’d do it because she wanted to believe in him. She was blind when it came to his dreams.”

  “Is he still around?”

  “He fell off of a particularly mean bull when I was eleven. Broke his neck on impact. They managed to get him to the hospital and put him on life support, but he died a week later, leaving me and my mom with a stack of medical bills and debts that I’m still paying off.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I never knew what to say when someone told me that. I knew they meant it as some sort of consolation, but I never knew my father. Not really. He was this ghost that flitted in and out of my life, stealing my mom’s attention from time to time. She was different when he was around, all giggly and stupid in a way she wasn’t when he was gone. I’d gotten to the point where I resented them both whenever he came around. Hell, I hated my dad. I hated what he did to my family, hated the burden he put on my mom, hated that he didn’t love us enough to be a good man. And I hated that he wasn’t here now to help carry the burden of my mother’s illness.

  I shook my head, brushing the longer pieces of hair off my forehead.

  “I’m not,” I said aloud for the first time. “He never did anything good for me and my mom.”

  “He was your father.”

  “He was the man who contributed to my creation. He wasn’t a father.”

  “Then I adjust my condolences. I’m sorry you never had the parent you should have.”

  “What was your father like when you were growing up?”

  He had turned back to the stove, but he stepped back, looking over at me again. “He was kind. And patient. He taught me how to play catch and how to toss a football, taught me how to run a tractor and care for the fields. He taught me to respect mother nature and how to treat a woman with compassion. He taught me everything about being a man and I forgot it all until recently.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I guess I got caught up in my own ego.”

  “A lot of guys do that.”

  “Yeah, but not many go to the extremes I went to.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he loaded whatever was in his frying pan onto a couple of plates and brought them to the bed. He’d made omelets again. I was beginning to think that was the only thing he could cook, but that was okay. His omelets were divine.

  We sat side by side in silence for a while, enjoying the food, the company, the silence. But then my thoughts drifted to the motel and my mom, to all the responsibilities that awaited me back in the real world.

  “We should head back soon. Momma will need her medication.”

  He leaned close and kissed the side of my head. “I spoke to Angel. She’s got everything under control.”

  “I know, but—”

  “The world will not fall apart if you can’t be in charge for five minutes.”

  “I know, but—”

  He shoveled a large bite of eggs into my mouth. “So, let someone else worry about it for a while.”

  I sighed, but nodded. He was right, I knew he was right. Angel knew as well as I did what to do for Momma. But it was my responsibility. She had her own girls to worry about, her own problems. It didn’t seem right asking her to take on mine, too.

  And that led to thoughts about the developers. What if this little time buying maneuver didn’t help? What if I couldn’t get caught up on the mortgage payments before they bought up the loan? What if they foreclosed anyway? Where would we go? What would Angel and Marko do without a job? Would they have to leave town? Would Marko’s wife and baby suffer because I made a mistake?

  I couldn’t live with that on my conscience.

  “Stop,” Grainger said.

  “What?”

  “I can see that little furrow coming back on your forehead. I know you’re worrying about the motel.”

  “It’s my job to worry.”

  “Not right now. Right now, your job is to keep your husband happy and I’m not happy watching that furrow come back.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  He took my plate from my hands even though I wasn’t quite finished eating, setting both our plates on the little side table next to the bed. Then he pushed me back against the pillows and tugged at the sheet that covered my nudity.

  “I’d much rather see that cute little face you were making last night.”

  “What face?”

  “The sort of cross eyed look of ecstasy.”

  “I wasn’t cross eyed,” I giggled.

  “You were. And your lips were all puffy and your cheeks were bright red.”

  “They were not.”

  “They were. And it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

  I couldn’t help the pleased smile that brought to my lips. I loved when he complimented me. He made me believe his every word in a way I’d never believed anyone else.

  “The look on your face was kind of spectacular, too,” I said, a little blush warming my cheeks.

  “Yeah?” He leaned close and brushed his lips over the tip of my nose. “Do you want to see it again?”

  “Oh, yes please!”

  He kissed me, the grease from his bacon allowing his lips to slip easily over mine. I nibbled at his bottom lip, tasting cheese and coffee and a dozen different things that were decadent. His hands were still tugging at the shee
t, trying to pull me free of their cover. I wiggled a little, trying to help him even as my hands moved over his back, his hips, tugging at his boxers. I loved the contour of his ass, the way it seemed made for my hand to slide over it. I loved the heat of his skin, the contrast of soft skin covering hard muscle. And I loved that my touch seemed to make that muscle harden more as he tensed with the pleasure of it all.

  He finally found a space in the sheet. His hand slipped inside, his fingers brushing my ribs. I sighed, releasing his ass long enough to tug harder at that damn sheet, wishing I hadn’t tucked it so tight around myself. I’d been teasing him, but now I wanted his touch. But even a tightly tucked sheet could never be an obstacle to him.

  I watched him as he slid inside of me, watched as the pleasure washed over him. I couldn’t believe that a man this perfect could want me, that he would feel this much when he touched me. There were no secrets between us when we were like this, no lies, no pretending. I could see it written on his face, in his moans, in the movement of his body. I knew this wasn’t some sort of game to him. The doubts only came when we were apart, when reality threatened to put a spotlight on my insecurities. But in this moment, there was no doubt in my mind.

  And I held on to that.

  Chapter 18

  Grainger

  I searched through the badly stocked supplies, wondering why the hell there wasn’t a t-joint among the plumbing supplies. That seemed like a common piece. Surely the handyman who worked here before would have kept a couple on hand for whatever emergency. But I couldn’t find one to save my life.

  I could hear Eve a few feet away, checking in a new set of customers. Business had picked up over the past week, probably because the first snows were expected soon and one of the ranches on the far side of town was offering a snowshoe tour. And there was that ranch over in the next county that offered scenic horseback rides. Eve said business was always ebb and flow, but it did pick up in November and December before dying off again until spring.

  We’d gone over the books together a few days ago, working out exact figures as to the number needed to get caught up on the mortgage loan. It was a staggering figure, but with the small refund Sutherland had offered on the fee Eve paid for Gray Wolf’s services and the small profit she’d projected over the next month or so, it looked like we could get caught up if we just had a few more weeks to do it.