Not My 1st Rodeo

by Donna Alward

  “How crazy?” he asked, leaning back to look at where the two of them met but weren’t joined—not yet. She looked with him, looked at how his body looked hard and was covered in her wetness because she was already so ready for him. “God, look at you, Karen—look at how much you want me. Look at how much I want you.”

  She tried to open her mouth, tried to tell him she was watching, that she was seeing everything about him and everything he did to her—but nothing came out but a high whimper that got stuck in the back of her throat. She clung to his shoulders, trying to pull him in, trying to get that pressure on her clit to release so she could think again.

  Because when he said things to her, things like, “Jesus, you’re so damn sexy, babe,” she couldn’t think, couldn’t speak—couldn’t do anything but cling to him and watch his beautiful body torment hers with raw lust.

  He flexed again, the tip of his dick sliding up and back over the folds of her flesh, and she wanted more. More than this teasing touch. More than a little pressure on her clit. She wanted all of him, right now, hard and fast and wild.

  “You want that?” he asked, his voice hoarse as he flexed and drew back.

  She nodded.

  “Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Mack,” she got out. “God.”

  He pulled back, farther this time, and slammed his hips down, grinding his dick against her. “Say it.”

  “Fuck—me. Oh—fuck me. Fuck me hard,” she begged.

  He growled, a sound of satisfaction and lust. “Such dirty words out of your pretty little mouth. Is that what I do to you?”

  “Yes, oh—yes,” she gasped as he slammed his dick against her clit again. “Oh God, please fuck me.”

  “You want it hard?” His voice was raw, like she was pushing him past his point of reason just as he’d done to her. “You want me to fuck you hard?”

  “Please,” she almost wept. To hear him say it—to know he was going to do it, going to do it to her because he was a man who kept his promises. “Please, I need to come. Please.”

  Then she felt him press against her, felt her body widen to take him in. She gasped. He was right there, hot and hard and ready to give her what she so desperately needed. He was going to fuck her so hard that she wouldn’t be able to sit for a week without feeling how he’d pushed her to that place where pleasure and pain were one and the same.

  And then, right on the brink of giving her everything she’d ever needed, he pulled back. “Yeah,” he said, almost to himself as he snagged another condom from the table. “Sorry. Got carried away there.”

  “It’s okay. I did too.” She lay there, watching him roll the condom on, mentally smacking herself. She wasn’t some naïve girl anymore. She knew damned good and well that at this stage condoms were non-negotiable. And yet, there’d been a moment where she’d been so blinded by need that she’d wanted him to hold her down and take her.

  Oh, hell, she still wanted that.

  When he had the condom on, she grabbed him by the hair and jerked him down to her.

  “Where were we?” he asked, and he actually managed to pull off an innocent look.

  She laughed in spite of herself and then he kissed her, rough and demanding. “Oh, yeah,” he said as he leaned down far enough that he could capture one of her nipples in his mouth. “I was just about to fuck you. Hard.”

  “Yes, yes, that,” she whispered. “Rough and hard and dirty. Oh!” she cried out as his hot mouth tugged on her nipple, pulling it out. The spike of pain made her shudder in delight. “Oh, please, oh…”

  She dug her nails into his back, trying to spur him on, but he grunted. “Oh, no you don’t,” he said, leaning back to grab her hands. “None of that.”

  Then he pinned her hands over her head with one of his and—finally—he positioned himself against her and began to thrust.

  Last night had been a little slower, them getting to know each other’s bodies, what the other wanted and liked. But not this morning.

  Mack held her down and drove into her with an almost savage fury, and she liked it. Liked how she was completely at his mercy and he was still doing exactly what she wanted, exactly how she wanted it.

  “Like that?” he grunted, slamming into her again.

  “Yeah,” was all she was able to say. “Yeah.”

  And then, just when she thought she couldn’t take much more, he started to nip at her with his teeth, all up and down her neck, her shoulders—as far as he could reach without pulling out of her. “Scream for me, babe,” he whispered in her ear, right before he bit her lobe.

  So she did, because he gave her no choice. He pushed her until the orgasm took control of her body, tightening down in a moment of utter, perfect clarity that drove her voice out of her. “Mack!” she cried, arching her back into him. Then everything about her went limp and soft.

  He growled against her skin, thrusting harder and harder until he froze, his body deep inside hers. Then he collapsed onto her, panting hard.

  Karen got her hands free and wrapped them around him. “God,” she whispered. “God.”

  “Good?” He actually sounded worried about it as he leaned back enough to trace a fingertip down the side of her neck. “Not too rough?”

  “God, no. Just right.” She pulled him back down into her arms. “I didn’t…I mean, I’ve had orgasms before, but, Jesus. I think that’s the first time sex has been better than my fantasies.”

  He rolled off of her but didn’t let go. He pulled her with him, keeping the skin-to-skin contact between his chest and her breasts. His strong arms encircled her and he stroked her hair, and she felt warm and cared for and safe. It was a wonderful feeling. “That’s…well, that’s good.”

  “It’s great. And you?” She giggled. The euphoria from her climax was actually making her lightheaded. “I made you say those things… I can’t believe you actually said them.”

  “Yeah. Me neither.” He exhaled heavily. “But it was—whew.” He leaned his head up and grinned at her, and in that moment, he looked so much younger—like the weight of the last few years had finally lifted off his shoulders. She could see the reckless man who’d have sex in cornfields and pickup trucks, wild and young and, yeah, maybe a little careless sometimes.

  “Did you ever used to talk like that before? With your wife?”

  “I don’t—” He paused—and the pause just went on. He stopped stroking her hair. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted, sounding like she’d punched him instead of asking a question about his sexual past.

  She didn’t like how he suddenly sounded shell-shocked. So she kissed him, kissed the boy he’d once been and the man he’d become.

  And she kissed him so he wouldn’t have to fumble around for words because she got the feeling he was too shocked by having said fuck in front of her that he simply did not know what to say next.

  “Breakfast after this?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “And after that…”

  The words hung in the air, casting a pall over the afterglow. Because after that…

  She didn’t want this fantasy to end.

  But it might have to anyway.

  Chapter Eight

  He hadn’t packed anything. Not even a toothbrush. He’d gone to the trouble of making sure that Jim from the next ranch over would be able to feed the horses, but he hadn’t packed an overnight bag.

  Yeah, he wasn’t exactly on the ball here.

  While Karen got cleaned up in the bathroom, he got dressed in yesterday’s clothing. His legs ached—hell, his butt ached from all the thrusting—and he was spent. As late as he’d slept, he could easily roll back under those covers and sleep for another few hours.

  But she’d suggested breakfast, and the day wasn’t getting any younger—just like he wasn’t either. So he got dressed and, as he did that
, he thought about what would come after breakfast.

  Something had happened this morning, something that had pushed him to a place he might have known once, a long time ago—back before the kids and the cancer, back when he and Sue were two kids crazy in love and unable to keep their hands off each other.

  He couldn’t remember if he’d ever told Sue he was going to fuck her hard, or if she’d ever told him to do that to her. They’d done some pretty crazy things—including not always using a condom, which had lead to a few anxious months here and there. But…had they talked like that? He didn’t know. He didn’t like not knowing—not being able to remember that about him and Sue. He didn’t like it all.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his boots with more force than he technically needed. That’s not what this night with Karen had been about—forgetting Sue. He didn’t want to forget her. She was his wife and he still loved her.

  Last night—this morning—it’d been about…

  Well, lust. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

  But if there wasn’t anything wrong with it, why did he feel so not right? Why did he feel like he’d betrayed Sue?

  He was going around and around with himself when Karen came back out of the bathroom. Instead of the stunning red dress, she wore a pair of jeans and the kind of turtleneck sweater where the neck part hung low, so he could still see a few small marks that he’d left on her. Her hair was still down, still hanging in long, loose waves around her shoulders.

  Something inside shifted as he stood and stared at her. Like…like last night, she’d been out of his league, the kind of woman he could safely lust after because there was just no way that someone as refined and classy and impulsive as Karen Thompson would ever fit into his quiet world of early mornings, earlier evenings and a whole lot of cows.

  The woman standing before him now with a wide and happy smile on her face was still Karen. Even after less than twelve hours with her, he felt like he’d know her anywhere. But this version looked like a woman who might want to spend a little time out in the middle of nowhere that was his part of Montana. Like she might be comfortable with an old man like him.

  She looked like she would belong.

  That made everything worse.

  Her smile faltered a little. “You okay?”

  “What? Oh, yeah.” He forcibly shook the mess of thoughts out of his head. “My head, it’s still a little fuzzy from sleeping in so late.” Yeah, fuzzy. That was one way to describe it. He tried to give her a grin. “And other things.”

  She looked at him a little bit longer. He didn’t miss the hint of worry that pulled at the corners of her eyes. “Do you still want to grab some breakfast? I know you probably need to get home.”

  Her voice was level when she said it, but he heard it anyway. The sound of a woman who was used to disappointment getting ready to deal with more of the same.

  And despite the fact that he wasn’t actually sure if he was okay or not—that there was something about this whole experience that left him wondering what the hell he was doing—he couldn’t disappoint her. Not her.

  So he closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms and held her. It wasn’t sexual, not really. It was…

  Intimate. And that, more than anything—that scared him. Because he’d only ever been intimate with one other woman.

  What he was feeling wasn’t panic, because Mack Tucker did not panic, for God’s sake. He hadn’t panicked when Sue had been diagnosed, and he hadn’t panicked when she’d gotten sicker and sicker. Well, not much anyway.

  So whatever this was, it wasn’t panic. Absolutely not.

  Which did not explain why, instead of saying the smooth thing, the thing that Tommy would probably tell him to say, something like I’ve got time, he said something else entirely. “I need to get back.”

  She was stiff in his arms for a second, as if his words had stabbed her right in the back.

  “It’s a long drive,” he went on stupidly, because more talking could only make this worse. “And I’m sure you need to get to work soon too.”

  She sighed and, for a brief moment, she hugged him back. “I understand. I…I had a wonderful time, Mack. This was good for me. I hope…” she took an even deeper breath, “I hope it was good for you too.”

  He leaned back and looked down into her eyes. There was so much there—hope and worry and caution. He cupped her cheek in his palm. “I’m still—” He sighed. He wasn’t sure he could explain anything at this point. The first rule of holes and all that—when you’re in a hole, stop digging.

  So he kept it simple. Or tried to anyway. “I’m still trying to figure this whole thing out.”

  “I know.” She turned and kissed his palm. “When you get a little bit more figured out, you can call me. If you want.” She closed her eyes and swallowed. “If you want to see me again.”

  That hit him low, like a punch to the gut, because he was disappointing her. Hell, he was disappointing himself, and that went against everything he believed. Because he’d taken a beautiful, vibrant woman to bed and now, in the cold light of a cold day, he was going to cut and run. That wasn’t the kind of man he was.

  Or was he? Because he also wasn’t the kind of man who took a woman to bed, not anymore.

  Or he hadn’t been. Not until Karen Thompson had walked into his life.

  He didn’t know. He just didn’t know.

  But he couldn’t let go of her yet either, because once he let go, that was it. That was him walking off into the sunrise. So he kissed her and she kissed him back. Not the fevered kissing that had made him lose his mind this morning, but something sweeter. Like she knew how hard he was trying and she appreciated the effort.

  Then the kiss ended.

  She stepped away from him. She didn’t meet his gaze.

  And damn it all to hell, he couldn’t just walk out the door. He couldn’t be a callous bastard, but he didn’t want to throw off a half-hearted, “I’ll call you,” because he couldn’t make a promise to her he couldn’t see his way to keeping.

  But he owed her something, something more than a goodbye kiss. “Let me get your bag.”

  Her lips pulled down into a frown, but then she nodded. She shoved her things into the bag and grabbed her coat, he snagged his hat and they walked out into the hall in silence.

  The elevator—the same elevator where he’d pinned her against the back wall and touched her through her panties—was a special kind of hell now. And because he couldn’t look at her and not think of all the ways he’d touched her, he shifted the bag to his other hand, took hold of her hand and held it tight, as if that was the riskiest move he’d made all night.

  She held his hand back, which he decided meant that she didn’t hate him for not exactly turning out like the cowboy of her fantasies. Not much anyway.

  They walked out of the hotel like that, like a couple heading out for a big day together. She led him to her car, a little sedan that didn’t look rated to Montana winters, and he put her bag in the trunk.

  This was it—the last possible moment he could redeem himself. He could still take her to breakfast. He still could say something. Anything.

  “Karen,” he began before he could talk himself out of it.

  She paused and turned to look back at him. “Yes?”

  And he wanted to tell her everything, how he couldn’t remember if he’d ever talked dirty to Sue and he was too old for her anyway and this was all too much for him because he loved his dead wife. Because it was just too much for him. It was.

  But he couldn’t.

  He cleared his throat. “I had a real nice time too.”

  That got him something that was supposed to be a smile and just didn’t make it. Not even close. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

  Then she got in her car and he turned to his truck and began the
long drive home.

  Alone.

  Chapter Nine

  “Karen?”

  Karen paused on her way back to her little office in the rear of Bergman’s Floral Creations. But she didn’t turn around. Flo was a genius with baby’s breath but a bit overbearing, in a motherly sort of way. Which was exactly the kind of thing Karen was not in the mood for. Not after watching Mack drive away from the hotel without a look back. “Yes?”

  “Everything okay?”

  Karen steeled herself and tried to wipe the disappointment off her face. No, actually, everything was not all right. She’d just spent the night in the arms of a man who made nearly every single one of her fantasies come true—except for that one about sex in the back of a pickup truck—and she didn’t think she’d ever see him again.

  “Fine.” She turned and gave Flo what she hoped was a sympathetic smile. “Have we gotten confirmation on the rose order? Valentine’s Day is coming up fast, and I don’t want to be left empty-handed.” There. That was a perfectly reasonable thing to say, especially because Flo hadn’t quite let her forget that during her first year as the owner of this store that was exactly what had happened.

  Flo stared at Karen. Flo’s hair was in the permanent helmet of old-lady curls and the same work apron she’d probably been wearing for the last thirty years was tied around her waist. “Bad date?”

  Bad? No. It’d been a wonderful date. The only bad part had been when it ended.

  She would have thought that rejection wouldn’t sting this much. After all, years of living with the realization that Roger didn’t love her, had never loved her, had trained her well. Not to mention that string of bad first dates with losers and creeps. She should be a pro at rejection. It shouldn’t hurt at all. But it still did.

  “I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again.” Which neatly sidestepped the goodness or badness of the date itself and stuck to the facts. “He’s a widower and I don’t think he’s ready to move on.”

  Flo shrugged. “Widowers are tough. Some move on too fast, some never get over it.”