Wild West Weekend

by C. R. Moss

  “Morning, darlin’.”

  “How did you know I was awake?” She sat up and pulled the sleeping bag up and over her bare breasts.

  He snorted. “I felt your eyes undressing me.” He glanced at his shirtless chest. “Well, the clothing I’m still wearing.”

  It was her turn to laugh. “Bullshit.”

  He arched a brow to go along with his half smile. “Excuse me?”

  Bristol batted her eyelashes, hoping she looked sexy and not like she had a piece of lint in her eye. “You heard me.”

  Damon had already poured two cups of coffee and was making his way toward her when his cell phone rang. He handed her both mugs then went for his phone.

  “This is Damon.”

  He tossed two packets of sugar and plastic creamers to Bristol and motioned for her to give him one of each in his coffee. “Hey Dak… Nope, haven’t seen her… I know Bristol hasn’t either… If we cross her path, we’ll let you know.”

  Bristol fixed his coffee, then put one packet of sugar into her own. She placed Damon’s coffee mug into his outstretched hand, wondering where the electricity came from to power the small appliances. A quick search of the cave revealed a system of batteries in the back corner she hadn’t noticed before. He ended the call, flipped his phone shut and tossed it on the floor next to his shirt.

  “Dak’s looking for Cassie. If we see her, we’re to let him know.”

  “Interesting. I’m sure it thrills her that he’s keeping tabs on her.”

  “How so?”

  “Cassie’s been on her own for years. She’s pretty headstrong. Never looked to a man to take care of her or do anything for her, and when one ever got close, she pulled away.” She paused for a moment. “But then I have a feeling it’s different this time.”

  “Because they knew each other before?”

  She nodded. For Cassie’s sake she hoped that it was different. Her friend deserved some happiness and love in her life.

  Damon took the coffee cup from her. “Come here.” He led Bristol to the sleeping bags where he gathered her into his arms, and dropped them down into the middle of the bags. With gentle precision, he tucked her next to him in the spooning act that she was going to miss like hell when she returned to New York.

  “Do you trust me, darlin’?” His voice broke through the minutes of silence, warmed her heart.

  Wanting to reassure him of her trust she rolled her body to face him. “Of course I trust you, Damon.”

  He slipped out of the bag, dressed and grabbed his phone. “I’m going to slip out for a moment. I’ll be back.”

  Bristol nodded. “Hurry.” Where on earth is he going? It really didn’t matter when she caught a glimpse of his tight jean clad butt in the dimness. So fine.

  “You bet.” He stopped mid-way across the floor and half-turned to face her. “Be ready for a little ropin’ when I return.”

  Roping?

  Moments later Damon was back, rope and her clothes they’d left on the trail and in the truck the night before in hand, complemented by a mischievous grin that sent her stomach free falling. Excitement filled his face, sparkled like fine diamonds in his blue eyes. He knelt beside her.

  “Do you still trust me?” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Put your arms over your head.”

  Forget free falling, thousands of butterflies nosedived in every crevice of her body. She cleared her throat. “Why…”

  A chill from the morning mountain cave air snuck through cracks in the wood causing the fine hairs on her body to rise. Or it was her sudden fear or excitement? At this point she wasn’t sure which.

  “Just do it for me, Bristol. I’m ready to set the animal inside you free.”

  God, he was sexy in his giving orders mood. She reached over her head, placed her arms against the rough wood. A pleased sound escaped him, and then he smiled a slow, seductive smile that made her want to feel him inside her again. He straddled her then cupped both wrists together above her head with a bowstring knot.

  “Is the rope too tight?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  The light and shadows playing against the walls of the love shack set the perfect mood. Damon kissed her nose and then he stood, walked around her body and secured the remaining rope to a protruding piece of wood behind her head. Within minutes, he had her laid out spread eagle, hands and feet bound.

  “I’m almost ready, darlin’.” With his whiskey smooth and maddeningly sexy voice he added, “Are you ready for me, Bristol?”

  Ready for him? She was more than ready to molest him. Every single solitary inch of his fine body, mind, and soul.

  Standing over her, he removed each piece of clothing slow and steady. The heat traveling through her body made her want to touch him, hold him, kiss him, but she couldn’t move, could only try to relax with the emotions crippling her.

  “Do you want me, Bristol?”

  “Yes.”

  Fire burned deep in his blue eyes, the reflection intensified by the soft light from the kerosene lamp. “Yes, you what?”

  The hard hum of lust in her veins pushed her arms and legs against the bindings. “Yes, yes… oh yes.”

  “Then tell me what you want? Say the words, Bristol.”

  “You. I want you, need you, Damon.”

  He smoothed a hand over his brow. And with the same hand he ran it across his chest then down his torso cupping his hard erection. “Is this what you want Bristol?”

  Awareness tingled through her body and deep into her soul. Yes, she wanted it, but suddenly she wanted so much more of him. “Yes.”

  “And so my, darlin’, you shall have me.” He glanced to the side, reached out and grabbed the jar of peanut butter. “Your very own Damon peanut butter sandwich coming up.”

  Looking at her as if nothing else mattered in the world, he unscrewed the lid, stuck his hand in the jar, returning with a heaping helping in his grip. Carefully, he cupped his cock with his right hand then spread the peanut butter liberally from hilt to tip, coating every inch of the hard flesh. Nicely coated, he licked the remaining peanut butter from his hands and fingers.

  A spasmodic tightening of her muscles happened prior to the overflowing moisture in her mouth. Concerned about her appearance, and to stop from looking like one of Pavlov’s dogs, she swallowed the saliva before it dripped from her lips. She didn’t want to appear too overly excited, but damn he was making her insane.

  Still standing and looking insanely yummy, Damon winked, then went down on bended knees over her. “I’m ready now, darlin’. Open up nice and wide.”

  As if she’d given blow jobs all her life, her mouth automatically opened wide, ready to receive him. She’d given several to John during their marriage, but this was different. Damon wanted her, was already hard for her, without the need for steady, constant stroking.

  Her throat muscles relaxed in anticipation of receiving him. Damon groaned and rolled his hips forward. Unable to wait any longer for his cock, she lifted her head, stuck out her tongue. For several moments she licked the peanut butter off the hilt of his cock, leaving the mushroom head covered in the creamy goo. Satisfied she had lapped up most of the peanut butter, her lips closed on his cock.

  Back and forth he went, his hips pumping slow and seductive. His cock slipped in and out of her lips, grazing her teeth, making her more crazed with the thickness of it, the smoothness of it. The peanut butter-caked tip pumped against the roof of her mouth as Damon eased into a steady, shameless rhythm.

  Concentration gripped his face as one sweat laced lock of sandy blonde hair slipped across his forehead and into his eyes. “Do I taste good, darlin’?”

  She couldn’t speak, only nodded.

  “Then suck me harder, lick every last drop of peanut butter.”

  Forgetting she was bound, she tried to reach for him only to be halted by the bindings.

  Damon reached down and cupped both of his hands around the
back of her head. With her secure in the palm of his hands, he rhythmically pumped his hips as he pulled her head forward. “Suck me harder,” he whispered.

  She did as he asked, a volcanic passion pushing her to devour the length.

  “Thatta girl.”

  Damon thrust harder, his dick moving in and out of her mouth faster and faster, until he shuddered. The thick salty liquid mixed with the remaining peanut butter, slid down her throat.

  When the last wave of liquid passed from his cock, he relaxed and stroked her hair. He removed himself from her mouth and slid down her body, spreading her legs further apart with his knees as he descended. With his head between her legs, he opened her swollen nether lips with long fingers.

  Every hair on her body stood in pure sexual exhilaration when he caught her aching breasts in his hands. That elation turned into pure primal fury as his tongue touched her pussy and licked her hot sex. He lapped in long slow strokes at her lips. She couldn’t help but gasp at the pleasure of it.

  Every one of the remaining pent up sexual inhibitions that she harbored deep inside, that hadn’t disappeared the night before on the ladder, released each time his tongue dove deeper and deeper. As if on automatic remote, her legs spread further wanting him to devour every inch of her flesh.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” his muffled voice asked.

  “Yes, so good—great—awesome.”

  “Mmmm…”

  The faint scent of her own sex juices sifted through her nostrils. He caught her clitoris in his mouth, pecked and sucked at it with a fierceness that practically knocked the breath from her. His tongue stabbed into her, filling her completely. He nibbled at the tender inside layer of her pussy. Damon’s gentle hands massaged her breasts as he pressed further into her wetness. When he clamped his entire mouth on her, his actions cascaded her into a searing orgasm that shook the foundation of her soul.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  As he came up off her, a wicked laugh left him. “We’re not done yet, sugar.”

  If the truth be told, she was glad. She still ached for him. Inside her.

  “Time for me to slide him into his raincoat.” Damon chuckled once more as he ripped into the condom packaging and then proceeded to secure the protection to his cock.

  “Hurry, put it on.” Bristol hoped she’d covered up her panting, but she immediately recognized she hadn’t and was sure he did, too.

  A drop of sweat dropped from his face touching her shoulder. “My, my, little lady, aren’t we bossy?”

  Carefully, he moved into position and found the wet opening to her pussy again. “No worries, Bristol. I’m going to take care of that need you have and fuck that wild animal right out of you.”

  The way he said the word fuck made her want to devour him. The word sounded so raw and hypnotic and utterly enticing.

  When he was ready, he slid his cock deep until he was sealed inside her. The pure pleasure sent a whimper from her throat, only increasing the hunger to feel his hands all over her. Damon lifted her breasts, pinched her nipples, and sucked them, and even though she wanted to wrap her arms around him, and still kept trying, the restraints brought her back to reality.

  As they fucked, her climax built. She sensed his passion rising to its peak in unison with hers. A tiny moan caught in her throat when she gazed into the eyes of the tall, mind-blowing cowboy god. And then, when she thought it couldn’t get any better than that moment, both of them rode the wave of release until the last tremor of their orgasm ended. Damon placed his lips on hers, kissed her with a passion she had only seen in the great romance movies.

  Damon was the best lover she’d ever had.

  Hours later, Bristol awoke to silence. She was untied and zipped into the sleeping bag with her head tucked against Damon’s chest.

  “Damon?” Nuzzling closer against his body, she breathed in his aroma. “Thanks for today. For the weekend.”

  He spoke in the darkness, his words raspy, sleep-filled. “I want you to know, Bristol. You are amazing.”

  She placed her hand on his chest. “Thank you for bringing me to life again.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Monday morning, the Nevada sun shone brightly through the slits of wood in the love shack, warming Damon’s face. He opened one eye, squinted. “Damn.”

  He felt the absence of Bristol’s body immediately, and swung and arm out feeling for her. “Bristol?”

  The birds continued their serenade somewhere beyond the cave’s opening. But their sentiments were completely different than what he felt at the moment. He moved his hands, palm down against the sleeping bag. Soft cotton took the place of her warm body.

  Frantic, he pulled himself up into a seating position. Running his arm across his face, he cleared the sleep from his eyes, then focused his gaze on the paper on top of the pillow he’d made for her with his jeans and t-shirt.

  With a foreboding heavy in his heart, he picked up the paper and prepared himself for the goodbye he knew was imminent. Blatant reality reminded him that they both knew it was just a weekend fling. But the letter still brought him to his knees.

  My Dearest Damon,

  After spending three incredible days together words can never describe the depth of my feelings for you. Because of you, I feel like a woman again, one that isn’t damaged goods. I feel whole again. I know that our lives are so different. I mean the fact that we live thousands of miles apart is one reason, and even though I would love to be a part of your life, I can’t ask you to give up the life you love and the family you adore.

  As you slept, I looked around this magical place. Memories of the life you and the men in your family have lived are part of every corner of this little room. The DD’s engraved into the wood, the old football and baseball cards nailed to the walls, and the random names of girls written in black paint only add to the nostalgia of this place.

  I know I’m hard headed and perhaps difficult, but with you, I don’t want to be any of these things. I want you to know that these days have been the best days of my life, and I’m prepared to walk away letting you go on with your life. You should know, Damon, your fiancée was a fool to let you go. Regret is going to follow her all the days of her life.

  If you’re ever in New York, please look me up. I’ll leave my number with Dakota. I know he’ll make sure you receive it.

  And now, sweet man, I’m doing what I must, exiting stage right. Please don’t be mad that I didn’t wake you. I couldn’t bear the goodbyes. Know that I covered every inch of your face with heartfelt kisses before I left, etching your image into my mind.

  Thank you for memories that will last me a lifetime.

  Bristol xo

  PS. I used the Crayola box even though it clearly read, ‘Girls, Do-Not-Touch. From, the Dougan boys. Do Not Touch!!!!! Or cooties to all who dare to try.’ I hope you don’t mind that I couldn’t bear to put the red crayon back. I stole it. I’ll send a replacement. I promise.

  A sadness burrowed deep in his soul as he stared at the crayon filled paper. Trying not to shed tears, his breath hitched, and he closed his eyes against the thought of never seeing her again.

  Bristol couldn’t be gone, could she? He glanced at the doorway of the shack. It was open. The ladder, the proverbial tie on the doorknob when it wasn’t in place on the trail, was gone from its storage spot in the cave. She had left.

  Oh, darlin’, darlin’.

  He rose on wobbly legs and limped to the entrance of the hole in the mountain. It seemed just hours ago he’d received the best blow job of his life, aside from the peanut butter pop the day before, down there on the trail after he did her on the ladder. Then, they’d spent the night making love in the shack, screwing at the opening of the cave, sitting in each other’s arms bare as the day they were born gazing out over the city of lights rimmed by the inky darkness of the desert. She’d told him she found it interesting roaming around unclad. There was a tantalizing freedom to it. Now, she kind of understood where nudists were coming
from, and she might even consider auditioning for a part in Hair if anyone ever reproduced it. Even off Broadway.

  His little vixen had blossomed. No longer was she so concerned about appearances, hiding behind the protection of a label or the paparazzi apparently. He’d spent blissful hours of naked glory with the attitude-filled woman who waltzed out of a limo, stumbled like a new born filly into his life and crept into his heart as the woman of his dreams.

  What kind of man would let a woman like her get away? Not him. Definitely not Damon Dougan. With his mind made up, he folded the letter and held it against his heart. I’m not letting you go.

  Part Two

  Dakota’s Dance

  Chapter One

  I made it.

  Mentally and physically drained, Catherine ‘Cassie’ Harding wanted to drop to her knees on the semi-circular stone porch and kiss the Nevada ground, but she held her stance. I’m on the ground. I’m safe. Happy to be on terra firma and at her final destination, her gaze surveyed the rural, desert vista. She snickered. For such a strong woman, you’re such a wuss when it comes to flying and traveling.

  Taking in a calming breath, she readjusted her sunglasses, touched the light-weight red silk scarf around her neck. Thoughts about the stupid move she did at the underground party she attended in Salt Lake City flitted through her mind. Goose bumps rippled down her arms with the memory of how fast a situation could turn bad. She should have followed her instincts and stayed well away, but her blind date had the backing of a friend. Everyone at the party seemed to talk and act like they knew what they were doing. So, interested in trying new things and looking forward to a change of pace, she participated in what she considered to be some off the wall role playing. Hindsight sure is a bitch.

  “Ms. Harding?”

  Startled from her thoughts, she spun toward the deep Hispanic voice. A tall, lean man, with skin a smidge darker than café au lait and hair the color of the darkest night, stood in the doorway. The description tall, dark and handsome didn’t do him justice. He was beautiful. “Yes?”