Texas Fire

by Kimberly Raye

  She teased the edge of elastic before pushing a finger past to slide along the damp, swollen flesh between her legs. She stroked herself and her nerves hummed. Another lingering stroke and she pushed deep inside her drenched flesh.

  Pressure gripped her, so sweet and intense, and she gasped at the sensation.

  She’d touched herself many times in this exact same way during any number of fantasies starring the hot, hunky cowboy standing at her feet. Yet, it had never felt the way it did now.

  Another move of her fingers and her body swayed from the pleasure rippling along her nerve endings. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

  She didn’t want her own touch this time. She wanted his.

  Sliding her finger free of her panties, she hooked the edges and slid the material down her legs and free of her body.

  Righting herself, she stood before him, her skin bathed in moonlight, her nipples hard and throbbing, her cleft wet and pulsing. She held out her panties, part invitation and part challenge.

  He quickly accepted both.

  He took the lingerie from her hand and shoved it into his pocket before bracing one hand on the tailgate and hoisting himself into the bed of the truck.

  He faced her, his gaze burning over her as he looked his fill.

  “You are so beautiful. Every sweet inch of you.”

  “So are you.”

  “You can’t see every inch of me. I’m not naked.”

  “So get naked.”

  He reached for the hem of his T-shirt, pulled the white cotton over his head and dropped it at his feet.

  Where Charlene had only imagined him in her fantasies, now she saw with her own eyes. Muscles carved his torso, from his bulging biceps and shoulders to the rippled plane of his abdomen. Dark, silky hair sprinkled his chest, narrowing to a tiny whorl of silk that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.

  Her gaze swept down to the prominent bulge beneath his zipper, but oddly enough, she didn’t feel even a moment’s hesitation the way she had in the past, on the rare occasions when she’d actually had sex. Twice with an on again, off again boyfriend back in college. Once during grad school with a TA for one of her psychology classes. A few times over the past ten years with various colleagues who’d come and gone in her life.

  She’d spent far too many years fantasizing about Mason McGraw.

  Tonight was about making memories.

  Enough to see her through the rest of her life because she knew deep inside she would never meet another man who made her feel the way that Mason did.

  Hot. Bothered. Beautiful.

  She felt all three as she stared up at him and he stared down at her and a fire as big as Texas blazed between them.

  He touched her nipples, just the soft rasp of his palms, and pleasure bolted through her. His strokes were featherlight and reverent as he brought the sensitive peaks to a tingling, swollen awareness. Then he slid his hands under her breasts and grazed her rib cage as he moved to cup her buttocks.

  The truck dipped and creaked beneath them as he lifted her. He pulled her legs around him, locking her ankles at the small of his back. Then he settled her firmly against the rock-hard length barely contained by his zipper.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and lost herself to the delicious friction as he rocked her. The coarse material of his jeans rasped against her sensitive flesh, and pleasure rushed through her, igniting every nerve ending until her body glowed from the feel of his.

  A day’s growth of beard rubbed against the tender flesh of her neck, the slope of her breasts, chafing her and stirring her sensitive skin. He arched her backward, drew one swollen nipple into his mouth and sucked her so hard she cried out from the intense pleasure.

  Then he captured her lips in a kiss that sent her thoughts spinning. His tongue tangled with hers, delving and tasting until she could barely breathe.

  The next few moments passed in a fast, furious blur until Charlene heard the disc jockey’s familiar voice drifting from the radio as he paused the music for a commercial.

  “Time for a break, folks. We’ll be right back with the good stuff after a word from our sponsors.”

  The words echoed in her head and sent a surge of reality through her.

  “Wait,” she breathed when she managed to tear her mouth from his. “Not yet. Not like this.” She unhooked her booted ankles from around his waist and he let her legs slide down on either side of him until she stood in the truck bed.

  She reached for the sleeping bag and spent the next few heart-pounding moments unrolling the padding and spreading it out in the bed of the truck, all the while conscious of his gaze.

  She’d been painfully aware of her less than perfect body her entire life.

  Until tonight.

  She wasn’t sure if it was the moonlight that fed her courage and made her walk a little straighter, or the boots which arched her back and pushed her breasts out. Or if it was just the fact that she wanted him so badly, she no longer cared that she didn’t have an ass like J. Lo or a chest like Pamela Anderson.

  Maybe all three.

  She only knew that she didn’t feel half as self-conscious as she did hungry.

  Dropping to her knees, she reached for his hand and tugged him down onto the cushioned fabric. She urged him backward and straddled him, her knees planted firmly on either side of him.

  “Now,” she told him. “Like this.” Settling her wet heat over his groin, she splayed her fingers in the hair covering his chest, her touch tentative, exploratory as she followed the path that narrowed down his abdomen. She stopped just shy of his waistband, mesmerized by the feel of his rock-hard abs.

  His eyes burned midnight fire, his muscles tight with raw energy. He balled his hands into fists at his sides and she knew it took everything he had not to cover her hand with his and urge her on.

  But he knew she wanted to do this herself. She needed to do it, and so he didn’t move beneath her exploration.

  A gasp parted his lips when she leaned down and caught one of his nipples between her teeth. She nibbled and suckled until she felt his hands on her shoulders. His fingers burned into her as he pushed her up to a sitting position and stared into her eyes.

  “Unzip me,” he finally said, his voice ragged. “Please, Charlie.”

  The sound of her name on his lips galvanized her into action. The zipper hissed and he sprang hot and eager into her hands. She trailed her fingers over him, tracing the ripe, plumlike head of his penis. He jumped in her hands and a drop of pearly liquid beaded at the tip. She leaned down and closed her lips around the smooth ridge and lapped at his essence with her tongue.

  His deep, throaty groan sent a surge of feminine power through her she’d never experienced before.

  But then she’d never loved a man with her mouth like this. Never held him in her hands and stroked him.

  In a way, just this—this holding and stroking and tasting—seemed more intimate than anything she’d ever experienced in her past.

  Sex had always been about getting to the climax. There had been a couple of tender kisses, lots of groping in the dark to remove clothes, a few moments of heavy panting; and then it had been over.

  Pleasant. But over.

  But this… This was surely the way it was meant to be between a man and a woman.

  The thought sent a burst of joy through her, followed by a rush of panic.

  A man and woman in lust, she reminded herself as she leaned back and grasped the edges of his jeans and briefs.

  He lifted his hips and she tugged the material down his legs, pausing only to pull off his boots before stripping him completely bare.

  He leaned up on his elbows and gave her one of those slow, teasing grins that never failed to stop her heart. “You aren’t riding bareback tonight, are you, sugar?” When she shook her head, he motioned to the pocket of his jeans.

  Charlene pulled a condom free, tore open the foil packet and rolled it down his hard length.

  A
nd then she did what she’d been longing to do all day since she’d read the first riding tip in her latest how-to book.

  She climbed over him and sank down onto his hard, hot length, until flesh met flesh and her body closed around him.

  She started to move then, rotating her hips, her inner muscles contracting, sucking at him as the pressure built inside of her.

  When he grasped her buttocks, she thought he meant to slow her down.

  Desperation glittered in his eyes and his voice was raw and husky. “You’re so hot, Charlie. So wet. So goddamned perfect.” His fingers sank into her flesh, urging her to ride him harder, faster.

  He was eager and out of control from then on, as if he’d fantasized about this moment, as well.

  As if he’d fantasized about her just as he’d said.

  Then again, she knew Mason was a passionate man. He’d done this many times before, felt it many times before. There was nothing different about this moment. Nothing special about it.

  Nothing special about her.

  Charlene told herself that, but she couldn’t make herself believe it. Not after he’d admitted the truth to her. And certainly not when he stared so deeply into her eyes, his gaze full of longing and desperation and awe.

  Because he fantasized about her.

  He felt for her.

  More than lust?

  As quick as the question registered, it faded into a wave of sensation as Mason tightened his pelvis and thrust upward at the same time that she pushed down.

  He went deeper only to urge her back up and thrust again.

  And again.

  Until she couldn’t take any more.

  The next few moments were like being sucked over a waterfall. The sensation swept her up and pulled her to the edge until all of a sudden, she plunged over. Pleasure crashed over her, turning her this way and that, consuming her and sucking the oxygen from her lungs for a long, heart-stopping moment.

  Mason followed her quickly. His fingers tightened on her bottom. The muscles in his arms bulged. His body went taut and a deep, husky moan rumbled from his throat.

  She collapsed on top of him and his arms slid around her, holding tight.

  Not too tight, mind you.

  It wasn’t as if he never meant to let her go. Charlene had no illusions about that. This was lust, pure and simple, and it would end.

  She’d learned that a long time ago when she’d watched her father walk away without so much as a backward glance at her mother, and all because the lust had burned up. Fizzled.

  It would end, all right.

  But in the meantime…

  Charlene closed her eyes and relished the sound of Mason’s heart which beat in perfect sync with hers.

  13

  MASON TURNED OFF the highway onto the main road leading to the Iron Horse. While Charlene had shown up at his place earlier that evening, they’d had to drive back through town on their way to Wild West, and so they’d dropped her car off and taken his truck.

  He’d dropped her off more than a half hour ago, but her scent still lingered in the truck of the cab and his nostrils flared. His hands tingled, remembering the soft feel of her skin. And his dick throbbed remembering the warm, wet heat of her body.Lifting his hips, he fished her panties out of his pocket and rubbed the soft cotton against his cheek. Christ, she’d felt even better than he’d anticipated..

  While they’d had incredible sex under the stars, he’d been ready for even more when he’d pulled up at her house.

  But it had been late and tomorrow was a work-day for both of them. Besides, he hadn’t wanted to push. Charlene had opened up to him tonight and accepted the lust that burned between them. And she’d acted on it. So he’d merely given her a deep, lingering kiss—a promise of things to come—and said good-night.

  At the same time, turning and walking away from her had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. Even though he knew it was only temporarily, the notion of crawling into an empty bed bothered him.

  He rested the panties on the seat next to him, his fingers lingering on the soft cotton as his mind rushed back to the moment when she’d tossed the undies to him.

  She’d looked so beautiful standing there bathed in the moonlight. More than that, however, she’d looked intense. Determined. Hungry.

  If he’d had any doubts that she wanted him as fiercely as he wanted her, they’d been erased in that one moment. And each and every one that had followed.

  “We can’t keep our hands off each other.”

  Tucker’s words echoed in Mason’s head and he smiled.

  The expression died, however, when he saw Eustess Ketchum’s familiar, powder-blue 1954 Chevy pick-up sitting off to the side of the road, its hood up.

  Mason pulled up behind the old truck, left his lights blazing and crunched down the gravel shoulder until he reached the driver’s window.

  Rance sat with his back to the passenger’s window, his cast stretched out on the seat in front of him and his good leg resting on the floor, a white take-out container in his hands.

  He shoveled in a plastic forkful of cherry pie and winked at his brother.

  Mason’s gaze narrowed. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

  Rance held up his fork. “Eating.”

  “It’s two o’clock in the friggin’ morning.”

  “I know that.”

  “You should be home resting that leg of yours.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “You’ll never get that cast off if you don’t take it easy.”

  “Look, bro, you’re preaching to the choir.” He motioned to the raised hood. “I’d planned on being home in bed by this time, but the damned thing over-heated.” He shook his head and licked his fork. “I could have sworn the damned gauge looked fine when I got in.”

  “The gauges don’t work.”

  “Uncle Eustess said everything worked.”

  “Everything did work that last time he drove it.”

  “Which was?”

  Mason glanced at his watch. “I’d say about ten years now.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “He didn’t even drive it out here when they moved in with granddad. Said he didn’t want to stress out his new transmission, and so he had it towed. Aunt Lurline said it was on account of his cataracts, that he couldn’t see the road well enough to get the truck out here without wrapping it around a tree. He’ll argue differently, mind you.”

  “No kidding.” It was more a statement than a question and Mason smiled.

  “They’re driving you crazy, aren’t they?”

  “Crazy enough to borrow a set of keys for a standard truck when it’s my left leg that’s busted up and risk going into town for a chili burger with extra cheese when I know good and goddamned well that Deanie Codge could pop up at any moment. Don’t get me wrong. Aunt Lurline can cook like nobody’s business and the food here is great, but I needed a decent meal without all the fussing and cussing.”

  Mason noted the white bag and the other empty containers sitting on the floorboard. “You didn’t eat there?”

  “I sure as hell did. But I had one of the waitresses fix me up an extra care package to go. And it’s a good thing I did, otherwise I’d be starving by now.”

  “How long have you been out here?”

  “Since about ten minutes after you left.”

  “That was seven o’clock.”

  “Tell me about it. I barely got to the diner before they closed at eight.” He shook his head. “Damned cast didn’t want to cooperate on the gear changes.”

  “I’m not even going to ask how you managed it.”

  “Good, because I’m grouchy and hurting and all I want is to hobble into bed and forget all about tonight.”

  “Come on. We’ll leave the truck here and I’ll come back for it in the morning.”

  “Uncle Eustess isn’t going to like that too much. I had to promise to refill the tank and bring it back without any dirt
or bug droppings on the windshield. Not bringing it back at all is sure to get him riled.”

  “He’s always riled. Come on.” Mason opened the door and reached out a hand to help his brother slide across the seat and onto his good leg. He reached in, picked up the crutches that sat in the gun rack that ran across the back window and handed them to Rance.

  “Don’t forget my other pies,” Rance said as he tucked the crutches beneath his arm and started for Mason’s truck.

  Mason closed the hood and walked back to lean across the driver’s side. “How many did you get?” He reached for the two full bags that held stacks of small white foam boxes.

  “One of every kind.”

  “They’ve got twenty-three flavors.” Mason followed Rance to the Dualie.

  “I know. The peach is still as good as ever. I liked the cherry, too. And the lemon meringue. And the key-lime. Oh, and I’d definitely sell my soul for another slice of the peanut butter cream. The rest I’ll try later.”

  “Forget getting well. You’re liable to get fat.” Mason walked around and pulled open the passenger door. The height of the truck was too much for Rance and so Mason helped hoist his brother into the seat. “Yep,” Mason told him. “You’re getting fat, all right.”

  “You wish. Then you’d have an edge over me when it comes to the ladies.”

  “Don’t need one,” Mason said as he handed Rance the bags and walked around to climb behind the wheel.

  “I’d say you don’t.” Rance held up the undies Mason had left on the seat. “Still charming the women out of their panties, I see.”

  “Just one woman.”

  Rance let loose a low whistle and arched an eyebrow at his brother. “Your girlfriend?”

  “Yes.” Or she would be just as soon as Stewart saw the new Charlene next Sunday and took a hike in the opposite direction. Then she would give up her theory and realize that Mason had been right all along, and they would live lustily ever after.

  In the meantime, he was going to buy himself some added insurance by helping Charlene make one hell of a convincing transformation.

  IT WAS ALMOST four o’clock in the afternoon and he still hadn’t called.