With Mason’s lips so warm against her bare skin, she wasn’t so sure anymore. She only knew that she liked what he was doing to her.
“Forget about everything and everyone.” He unfastened the button and shimmied the material down her legs, his fingers grazing her supersensitive skin. “It’s just you and me now.”
Heat swept through her and chased the oxygen from her lungs as he urged her legs apart and wedged himself between her knees. His fingertips swept from her calves, up the outside of her knees until his hands came to rest on her thighs.
“I bet you taste just as good as you feel.” He touched his lips to the inside of her thigh just a few inches shy of her panties.
He nibbled and licked and worked his way slowly toward the heart of her. She found herself opening her legs even wider, begging him closer.
He trailed his tongue over the silk covering her wet heat and pushed the material into her slit until her flesh plumped on either side. He licked and nibbled at her until her entire body wound so tight she thought she would shatter at any moment. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not until she felt him completely with no barriers between them.
He gripped the edge of her panties and she lifted her hips to accommodate him. The satin material slithered down her legs and landed in a puddle near her feet.
He caught her ankles and urged her knees over his shoulders.
He slid his large hands beneath her buttocks and drew her to the edge of the swing. Dipping his head, he flicked his tongue along the seam between her slick folds in a long, slow lick that sucked the air from her lungs.
His tongue parted her and he lapped at her sensitive clit. He tasted and savored, his tongue stroking, plunging, driving her mindless until she came apart beneath him. A cry vibrated from her throat and shattered the quiet stillness surrounding them.
Her heart beat a frantic pace for the next few moments as she tried to come to terms with what had just happened.
She’d had an orgasm. A powerful, overwhelming orgasm unlike any she’d ever experienced. Thanks to Mason McGraw.
“So are you going to invite me in?” he asked her when she managed to open her eyes.
Yes! her hormones screamed.
At the same time, there was just something about the intense way he was looking at her, as if he meant to have her here and now and never, ever let her go.
“I—I really don’t think we should be doing this.” She tugged at her miniskirt while he pushed to his feet. She scrambled to an upright position and fought with the button at her waistband.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Not that I didn’t enjoy it. I did, but I shouldn’t have. You and I really aren’t right for each other.”
“When are you going to stop reading about life and start living it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.” He reached for her waistband and slid the button easily into place, his gaze dark and knowing as he stared down at her. “One day you’re going to have to stop hiding behind that big brain of yours and start acting on what’s inside.”
Before she could respond, he kissed her roughly on the lips and walked away.
And Charlene was left to wonder if she’d just made the best decision of her life, or, possibly, the worst.
MASON TIGHTENED his hands on the steering wheel and fought the urge to turn the truck around and haul ass back to Charlene’s house. The taste of her lingered on his lips and his dick throbbed and…
Christ, he wanted her. He wanted her a hundred different ways, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.He wouldn’t do anything about it.
He’d shown her tonight how good things could be between them, and so the next move was up to her. If his instincts were right and she did want him as much as he wanted her, she would act on her lust and take things a step further. She would come on to him, and then he would know beyond a doubt that Charlene Singer was his one and only.
And if she didn’t?
Better to know now before he’d wasted any more time. Mason wasn’t settling for a woman who felt anything less for him than what he felt for her.
He wanted mutual, all-consuming lust.
Mason reached the edge of town and turned left onto the farm road that would take him to the Iron Horse. He fixed his gaze on the road, but in his mind’s eye, all he saw was Charlene.
Her face flushed, her eyes heavy-lidded, her lips parted on a moan. She was open and trembling in front of him, her soft pink folds glistening in the porch light.
Hunger knifed through him and he shifted on the seat to give his hard-on more room. Right. He was damn near bursting and there was no relief in sight.
Working at the button of his jeans, he slid the waistband open and shoved his zipper down. His erection bobbed forward, pushing against the soft cotton of his briefs. His fingers grazed the hard bulge and a gasp caught on his lips.
He wanted her, all right, more than he’d ever wanted any woman. Did she want him as much?
His dick screamed yes! but his brain wasn’t half as sure. Maybe he was reading more into her heated looks and the longing he’d glimpsed whenever he caught her staring at him.
Maybe.
Lord knew, when it came to women, good judgment didn’t run in the McGraw family.
Mason’s grandfather had married a woman who’d given him a son and a hard day’s work with little complaint, but nothing more.
There’d been no I-have-to-have-you-right-now-or-I’ll-die lust. No hand-holding on the porch swing. No lingering glances or secretive smiles whenever they were together. Nothing even remotely resembling what he’d witnessed between Tucker and his wife.
Romeo McGraw had cheated on his own wife with the infamous Red Rose Farraday. He’d been so hot and bothered over her, so head over heels in love, that he’d actually given away hundreds of acres of the Iron Horse to her as a declaration of his feelings. A move he’d later regretted. While he’d loved Rose, she hadn’t loved him in return. He’d been just another customer and she hadn’t been the least bit anxious to make their relationship exclusive. Nor had she held the Iron Horse with the same reverence. She’d gone on to fragment the ranch even more by dividing up her land among her girls.
Romeo’s foolishness—believing in love and acting on it—had haunted him until the day he died. He’d regretted giving up the land. More than anything else.
Josh had since bought back all of the missing pieces at the old man’s dying request, but it didn’t change the fact that Romeo had made a bad call.
Mason’s father had used poor judgment, as well. While he’d realized early on that the land was all that mattered, he’d taken things to the opposite extreme.
Rather than giving away the land, he’d been obsessed with increasing his holdings. And to do so, he’d married a woman he hadn’t been the least bit attracted to in order to expand the Iron Horse. She’d been the daughter of a neighboring rancher and her father had offered a sizeable dowry. Even more, she’d been the sole heir for the entire spread. When her parents had passed on a few years after she’d married, the Iron Horse had nearly doubled in size. The marriage had been one of convenience, nothing more. His father hadn’t lusted after his mother, and she hadn’t lusted after him. But unlike his father, his mother had taken her decision much more serious. She’d never been a slave to her own desire and she’d been faithful up until her death.
Meanwhile, her husband had slept with more women than there were in town.
The thing was, she hadn’t really been hurt because she hadn’t ever cared.
She’d been relieved. She’d told Mason as much on her deathbed. She’d suffered a surprise miscarriage—she hadn’t realized she was even pregnant—and had been rushed to the hospital where she’d died the next morning from an associated infection. Mason had stayed with her while Josh had gone to look for their father who’d been out with his latest whore.
“Don’t apologize for him,” she’d told her son that night. �
�I don’t blame your father. If anything, I respect the fact that he doesn’t push me. Most men would make their wives comply with their needs, but not your father. He knows that I didn’t marry him for that. That’s why our marriage has been successful while others have ended in divorce.”
Her words echoed in his head as he pulled up at the ranch house and killed the truck’s engine. He sucked in his breath, tucked his package back into his pants and tried not to wince as he fastened his zipper.
Climbing out, he heard the loud voices of his great-aunt and -uncle that carried in the still night air. The sound of a football game drifted from the opposite side of the house where Rance’s old bedroom was located.
Mason turned on his heel and headed for the barn. With a hard-on the size of Texas, he wasn’t in any condition to face the old couple. Nor was he in any position to shoot the shit with his brother. He had too much on his mind.
Successful?
His mother had died alone and lonely. And his father had killed himself in a car accident because he couldn’t stand the guilt. It was a tragedy far worse than any divorce.
Their marriage had been a mistake, and Mason and his brothers had suffered because of it. They’d not only both lost their parents in less than twenty-four hours, they’d been pushed out of their home.
But Mason was back now, and he was holding tight.
Even more, he was making the Iron Horse a real home, complete with a wife he wanted more than his next breath. One who wanted him just as much.
And so he had to let Charlene take the lead. Because he needed to know beyond a doubt that she was that woman.
In the meantime…
He stopped at the water pump situated en route to the barn. He cranked the handle and let the cool well water splash into the large wooden trough that sat beneath.
A few seconds later, he ducked his head into the water and held himself under until his lungs burned as badly as the rest of his body. He came up sputtering and gasping for air. The liquid dribbled down his neck and shoulders and cooled his heated skin.
At least up top.
Down south, however, he was still a damned sight hot. Even the next hour spent galloping at break-neck speed beneath the black, star-studded sky did little to ease his body temperature.
He soon found himself back at the watering trough. He pumped more water, ducked his head under again and tried to kill the thoughts that consumed him.
Charlie.
Under him. Surrounding him. Burning with him until the fire died down enough so that he could function again.
He came up sputtering and swiped at the water that ran into his eyes. He could only pray she didn’t take too long before making her move. Otherwise, he was liable to drown himself.
11
RIDING TIP #8: control the penis, mentally and physically.
Charlene read the bold print on page fifteen of How To Ride ’Em Like a Rodeo Queen and did her best not to blush. After all, she was supposed to be an expert on man/woman relationships.Then again, this wasn’t about talking and connecting with each other. This was all about wild, wicked sex.
The kind she would have undoubtedly had last night with Mason McGraw had she not come to her senses and put a stop to things.
She’d had to stop, she reminded herself. While she had no doubt that Mason did, indeed, lust after her, lust was just not part of her plan.
And neither were cataclysmic orgasms that made her toes tingle and her tummy tremor.
Her mind rushed back to the swing and the feel of his silky hair on the insides of her thighs, his fingers burning into her bottom, holding her close as his hot, raspy tongue stroked her most sensitive spot…
Charlene shifted in her seat and tried to calm the sudden pounding of her heart.
They hadn’t even had sex and she’d come like Old Faithful, her climax intense and powerful. She could only imagine what a real bonafide orgasm, with him inside of her, racing to the finish line with her, would feel like.
Too intense. Too powerful.
Too shameful, a voice whispered. She had a significant other, at least in her mind, and so she’d had to put on the brakes. At least that’s the conclusion she’d come to that morning after tossing and turning all night. Her hesitation hadn’t had a thing to do with her own insecurities or the fact that while Mason had made one of her fantasies come true, she wasn’t nearly as confident that she could do the same for him.
Bottom line, she was a taken woman.
Taken. As in unavailable.
As in inexperienced, that same voice whispered. You’ve got the equipment, you’re just not sure how to use it.
She forced aside the thought. Sex was sex. No mystery involved. She knew where everything went and she knew how to get it there.
There were, however, certain techniques that could heighten the experience. At least according to the outrageous and extremely descriptive book in front of her.
A real rodeo queen realizes that she’s in charge of the ride and she takes the lead the moment she climbs into the saddle.
In other words, she doesn’t lie motionless on the porch swing while a man does all the work.
She sets the pace with the motion of her hips, be it fast or slow. She also keeps her chin up, her breasts out and proud, and gives her cowboy a stirring visual, as well as an intense ride.
Riding tip #9: Nothing says ride ’em like a great, big yee-hawwwww!
A real rodeo queen enjoys the ride and isn’t the least bit shy when it comes to voicing her pleasure. She takes and gives with great relish.
Namely, she doesn’t push him away just when he’s about to sweep her up into his arms and move the action into the bedroom, Charlene thought.
She gasps and moans, cries and shouts, and lets her partner know exactly how much she’s enjoying herself.
Riding tip #10: A real rodeo queen never climbs into the saddle without her boots on—
“The coffee machine is broken.” Marge’s voice cut through Charlene’s concentration.
She slapped the book closed. Her head snapped up and her gaze collided with her secretary’s. “What?” She did her best not to look rattled.
“The coffee machine is broken.” Marge’s eyes narrowed. “What are you reading there?”
Charlene leaned forward and rested her arm on the top of the book. “Just research on a new communication technique I’m thinking of trying.” With her other arm, she reached out, snatched a folder from the corner of her desk and pulled it on top of the book where her arm had been. She clasped her hands in front of her and gave Marge a big smile. “So what was that about the coffee machine?”
“It’s broken.” Marge gave her a Hello?-Anyone-home look before shaking her head. “Which means it isn’t working. Which means you can forget having any coffee until I can get over to Edmunds Appliances and buy us a new one.”
“Which will be?”
“Late this afternoon. I’ve got a ton of notes to type up.” She took a sip from a foam cup and blew out an exasperated breath.
Charlene gave her a suspicious look. “I thought you said the machine was broken.”
“It is. It broke right after I managed to salvage this one cupful.” She took another sip. “Boy, that hits the spot.”
“You’re not going to share, are you?”
“It’s a really small cup.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“You could always walk yourself over to the Fat Cow Diner and get yourself a cup to go. And while you’re there, you can get me one, too, because this is going to last me all of five seconds.” Marge downed the rest of her cup. “There. Now I’m going into withdrawal.”
“I’ll go, but I’m not carrying back three cups of coffee.”
“I only want one.”
“The other two are for me. If you want one, you’ll have to come along.”
“You’re a slave driver, you know that?” Marge asked before turning to retrieve her purse.
Charlene took t
he opportunity to slide her new book into the back of her bottom drawer before joining Marge for the walk over to the Fat Cow.
“SOMEONE REALLY NEEDS to open up another diner here in town. This place is way too crowded,” Marge said as she and Charlene stood in line at the cash register to pay for their coffee.
“It’s not that bad.” At least Mason wasn’t anywhere in sight and he was the only person Charlene was in no hurry to run into. Not after last night.Especially after last night.
That was the reason she’d called this morning and left a message with Lurline telling Mason that she couldn’t make their scheduled lunch consultation. Not that they needed to consult on hairstyles anymore since they’d done so last night. She just didn’t want him thinking they were still meeting today to go over the next topic—makeup. She needed a breather to get her head together and get herself back on track with her transformation.
Maybe tomorrow. Or the day after.
Better yet, maybe she would just finish the transformation by herself.
“Three coffees,” she told the waitress when she stepped up to the register, Marge beside her.
“And a piece of chocolate cake,” Marge added. “I’m not getting stuck caffeine free again.”
The waitress retrieved a large slice, placed it in a white to-go container and handed it over to Marge before pouring three foam cups full of steaming black liquid. She slid the cups across the counter top and took the money Charlene handed her.
Grabbing her coffees and a few extra packets of sugar, Charlene turned to leave. She was just shy of the front door when she saw Skeeter McBee out of the corner of one eye and something that looked dangerously close to a wave.
A wave?
She turned just in time to see him wink and a lump jumped into her throat.
A wave and a wink?
Her throat burned and her stomach pitched. In all the time she’d been coming to the Fat Cow and Skeeter had been playing dominoes and gossiping at his usual table, he’d never once acknowledged her, much less waved or winked.
Because Skeeter paid no nevermind to the normal, boring folks of town. The only people he acknowledged were the ones he and his buddies talked about.
Texas Fire Page 12
