Riding the Thunder

by Deborah MacGillivray

  Scooting back so that he was half sitting up, he kissed her luscious mouth—gently now, just for the sheer delight in kissing, as if he could do it for hours. Then he grew cognizant of the soft cotton pressing against his bare chest, the spots damp from his mouth, and the friction was suddenly unbearable. He wanted to be flesh to flesh with Asha and nothing else would do.

  Evidently, the same thought filled her, for she pulled back to let her hand dance over his feverish skin, snaking it between their bodies. Her tongue tip peeked through those well-kissed lips as she placed her palm along the blatant bulge in his sweatpants. Then she was pushing them down, her fingers curling around his rigid, pulsing length. He was hard, very hard, and heavy in her grasp, pure male power, a visible manifestation of how deeply he wanted her. Her thumb rubbed back and forth over the ridges in his flesh, making his body buck with each gentle, curious stroke; then she brushed her thumb pad up and over the tip, almost savoring his softness.

  “Enough of that. I can only stand so much torture before our little experiment is blown . . . umm, so to speak.”

  He shoved her onto her back and pulled her silken boxers slowly over her hips. Rotating so that he was over her lower body, he sifted the fingers of his right hand through the soft curls to find that cute little button, one of her control points that could push her into a shallow climax. He circled slowly with his thumb, then he leaned forward and closed his lips about the tiny knot, grazing it with the sharp edge of his teeth. Heat of longing burned between her legs, nearly scalding him. Her hips started to move, but he pinned one thigh with his chest, the opposite with his elbow, until she had to lie there and take the sweet torture. She reached down and fisted her hand in his thick hair; the fingers at first tugging back, then holding him there. Her low moan skittered along his skin, killing any idea of holding back.

  Being a smart ass, he couldn’t resist. “Three.”

  He rose up on one knee, positioning himself against her hot slick opening and then entered her in one sharp thrust. She nearly keened in release as her body both protested his invasion and yielded up her surrender. Her strong internal muscles closed about his erection, squeezing its length.

  “Four,” he groaned.

  Teeth gritted, he was determined not to give in to his own release until she was thoroughly satisfied that she was multiorgasmic. However, there was nothing to say he had to do all the work. Still inside her, he gently rolled until she was sitting on top of him again. Her hoarse cries told him she still rode the edge of her last climax, so he flexed strong against her inner walls, the tip of his cock finding and butting up against that little walnut-shaped nerve, the key to her achieving a deep orgasm. Two strokes and she came apart. Loudly.

  “Five, Asha.”

  He nipped the side of her neck, then sucked hard. He’d mark her: that idea made him almost growl ferally. Marking his mate with his brand of possession pleased him. A very primitive urge. Very empowering. Off in the distance, Jago heard the slow roll of thunder. It made him smile, wondering if he really heard the rumble or if it was just the magic of Asha.

  “Do you hear the thunder?” he asked.

  “Hmmm?” Too caught up in the splendor of their passion, that was all she could reply.

  “Let’s see how long it takes to reach fifteen.” Grinning like an idiot—a very happy idiot, he said, “We’re riding the thunder, lass.”

  With a low groan, she put her arms around his neck and held on.

  Still tired from the lack of sleep—and a rather vigorous morning of healthy, demanding, ‘multiorgasmic’ exercise—Jago stifled a yawn. Arching a brow, he watched the black Jaguar slowly roll down the driveway of the horse farm and park next to Liam’s red Viper and the farm’s pickup truck. What’s His Name curled around his boot and rumbled loudly as Asha and Netta climbed from the Jag.

  Asha wore a navy, scoop-neck sweater, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, her ever-present heavy Celtic cuff bracelet on her right wrist. Her long auburn hair had, once again, been tamed into a proper braid that hung over her left shoulder and down to her waist. She was so bloody beautiful she robbed him of breath. Her head turned in his direction, obviously assessing him as he did her, though she was hiding behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

  “It’s wary-time again, Puss. She let down that drawbridge this morning in the pale gray light. Now her fight-or-flight response is kicking back in, making her scared—especially after I did a cut and run with barely a good-bye kiss. You and I might be in the doghouse . . . so to speak.” The cat meowed up at him. “Now, do I give her space and let her repair that invisible wall between us, or do I immediately push her buttons and remind her how she moaned when I was inside her?”

  There were no two ways about it: Asha was obviously ticked at him. After teaching her just what a ‘climax virtuoso’ she was, he’d dashed off with barely an explanation of where he was going. In the heady heat of lust, he’d forgotten that he’d made an appointment to buy another Harley from one of Derek’s friends. The man, a long-haul truck driver, was going away for two weeks immediately after church was out in Leesburg. A half hour late, Jago had to fly to catch the trucker before he left. Now, he could tell the quick kiss and the “be back later” he’d tossed over his shoulder hadn’t gone over well with her at all.

  Tail twitching, the fat feline watched Asha as if giving deep thought to the problem. He looked up to Jago, meerrrrrrred and then offered one of his silly smiles.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Look out, Asha, this knight errant is on a mission,” Jago said lowly. Bending down, he scooped up the feline and half draped him on his shoulder before heading to greet the women.

  As he approached he could see Netta’s face was scrubbed free of make-up; her hair wasn’t styled, but pushed back in a ponytail. That fresh-face look made her appear twenty-something instead of her age. She glanced around tentatively, clearly ill at ease and trying to hide it. Once again, Jago sensed a vulnerable young girl lurking under that veneer of brass and sass, one who obviously had been hurt deeply. He wondered if she knew this rarely seen side of her slipped through now and again. He doubted it, figuring she would ruthlessly quash it if she were aware.

  He’d been raised with two brothers, but in an odd way Des, Trev and he had been the caretakers of their mother. She suffered from what they now called bipolar disorder, and at times the mood swings were near crippling. For small children who didn’t understand what was happening to their mother, the ordeal had been frightening to watch. In a role reversal, her sons were the protectors; they had watched over her, soothed her when the dark malaise gripped her soul and demons of fear came knocking.

  Maybe that accounted for the emotions that rose within Jago as he smiled at Netta. He’d never had a sister, but he suddenly experienced a spike of brotherly protection toward this unusual woman. Netta’s vulnerability touched the same chords of protectiveness within him.

  Asha stuck her hands in her back pockets and approached. Her hesitation was apparent, as she pushed the Foster Grants down to the end of her nose. “I like your fur muffler.” She reached out and patted the cat. “He still needs a name, though.”

  “He hasn’t told me what it is yet. In India they believe a cat has three names—the name you give him, the one he answers to and his real name. I’m waiting until he cuts to the chase and gives me number three.” He leaned over and kissed her, soundly. “I’d say that’s a good morning kiss, but I’ve already had one of those. And it was good. On a scale of one to ten . . . hmm . . . I would say—fifteen?”

  He watched her blush crimson, her amber eyes widening at his taunt before she shoved her sunglasses back in place.

  “Glad some of us were kissed good morning.” Netta flashed Liam a glare that said eat dirt and die, the strength not lessened by the old-fashioned Wayfarer sunglasses hiding her eyes.

  “I have a headache,” Asha announced. “I hope you have some aspirins, brother mine. I’m out. Someone—just before he ran off with no explanation
of where he was going—stole my last two.”

  “In the medicine chest, top shelf. Help yourself.” Liam replied with an easy grin.

  Netta shrugged and started walking after Asha. “I guess I’d better keep her company.”

  Jago leaned his arms on the fence rail, watching the retreating women. The cat climbed off his shoulder and entertained himself by walking along the fence top, nearly falling twice. “Not having any sisters—”

  “Lucky man. I have seven. I must’ve gotten your share.” Liam tapped Jago’s arm. “How about I bum one of your cheap-arse cigars. They’re growing on me.”

  Jago withdrew the package from his pocket and held it out. After Asha’s brother had taken one, he removed another for himself, then flicked his lighter for them both. “I was wondering, what it is about women having to go to the bathroom together? Is there some unwritten law which poor males aren’t told?”

  “If there is, they must cross their hearts, spit on the floor and take an oath never to reveal the deep dark secret.” Liam exhaled a stream of smoke, as he watched the stallion prancing in the pasture. “Being a gentleman, I’ll pretend to ignore that you shagged my sister last night, and instead ask what you think of my horse?”

  Jago stared at the chestnut thoroughbred, recalling Liam had used the term represents the breed. The stallion fit that. Never had he seen a more beautiful horse. Something inside him craved to possess this animal the same way his heart craved to possess Asha.

  “You’re wrong about last night.” He waited a heartbeat before clarifying, “It was this morning. As to your horse—I want him,” Jago declared, hungrily observing the animal prancing about the paddock.

  The corner of Liam’s mouth tugged up in a half-smile. “For a man who lists his residence as London, England, you seem rather intent on acquiring a lot of big ticket items that need a home and care here. Sort of like a man setting down roots. Derek’s Shelby, Dale Winston’s Harley this morning . . .” What’s His Name came waddling along the fence, getting the hang of balancing his fattitude. Liam chuckled. “A cat. My sister.”

  Jago laughed. “I didn’t acquire the cat . . . he acquired me. And your sister is not up for discussion. Stop changing the subject. I want the horse, Montgomerie.”

  “Seems you’re the one changing the topic, and no discussion needed. If you hurt her, I’ll beat the ever-loving shite out of you,” Asha’s brother chuckled.

  “She has the power to hurt me—maybe more.” Jago’s response was both truthful and evasive.

  “Fair enough.” Liam stared at him in assessment. After a moment he seemed satisfied and returned the topic to the horse. “I’m not sure Thor’s Thunder is for sale. He’s special.”

  “Name your price. I won’t quibble.” Jago set his jaw, resolute in wanting to own the animal.

  Liam smiled. “I haven’t decided he’s for sale. I’m thinking of him being the foundation of a new breeding line for the farm—”

  “Provided you have a farm. If Trident buys it then I can get the horse anyway,” Jago teased.

  “If Trident buys it. I’m still determined to hold on to Valinor. I’ve a few aces left up my sleeve. Also, even if your firm gets the horse farm, Thor’s Thunder won’t be a part of it. He’s mine. I bought him with my own money. He doesn’t go with Valinor. Besides, if I put him on the market, his price tag would be pretty steep.”

  “I can believe it. And he’d be worth every penny. Again, name your price. Whatever it is, I’ll meet it,” Jago said determinedly. “Consider—if you sell him for his pretty price tag—that would be a nice drop in the bucket to fight Trident.”

  “You do play hardball, don’t you?” Liam arched a brow. “For a man just passing through you are collecting a lot of ‘toys.’ Now you want my horse.”

  Jago placed both of his arms on the upper rail of the fence and settled his chin on his hands, watching the stud. His glance flicked to Asha and Netta coming out the front door of the house. “A man is only passing through when he doesn’t know where he’s headed.”

  “And do you know where you’re headed?” Liam pressed.

  Jago hesitated. He’d only known Asha for a few days, and he never acted rashly. He was the cautious Mershan, the quiet twin, the one who was content to watch his two nearly overpowering brothers—men who thought they could remake the world according to their wishes. It was sitting hard on his conscience that their plans would cause a backlash on Asha, Liam and their siblings. At times, the pain of the past overwhelmed Jago, so he could only imagine how deeply it had scarred Des who’d suffered most, and understood what drove him. He loved his brother. Yet, none of that would stop him from claiming Asha.

  “I know where I’ve been. I’m not happy there,” Jago admitted with resolve, with sadness. “And only a fool doesn’t see what is before his face.”

  Asha came up and patted What’s His Name, and then glanced to the horse. “Isn’t the stallion gorgeous?”

  “He is indeed. That’s why I’m buying him.”

  Surprise lit her face. “His sire is one from the line of hunters bred on Falgannon Isle by the Mackenzie twins. I hadn’t realized Liam was selling him. Thor’s Thunder is his pride and joy.”

  “My pride and joy now.” Jago flashed a devilish smile. “I’m buying him.”

  Asha glanced to her brother. “I didn’t know you were putting him on the market.” It was more of a question than a statement.

  Liam shrugged, and gave her a secretive smirk. “I haven’t said I would.”

  Jago’s smile spread wider. “You will.”

  Asha took off in a jog, calling over her shoulder, “Wait ’til you see my baby. He’s all mine. And you can’t buy him.”

  Jago watched that cute little derrière bounce in her snug jeans as she trotted to the barn to fetch her horse. He grinned and petted the cat. “I won’t have to,” he said under his breath. “He’ll be mine, too, when I marry you.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Asha glanced over at Jago by the edge of the barn’s hayloft. The tall, double doors were wide open, permitting him to stare out at the gentle, late-afternoon rain. His elbow was propped against the doorframe, as his eyes skimmed over the rolling scenery of the countryside. One of the most beautiful times of the year for the state, vivid autumnal hues kissed the panoramic view of Valinor’s perfection, breathtaking in the falling mist. When the sun punched holes through the clouds, a rainbow magically arched over the barn. Kentucky certainly was putting on an awe-inspiring show for Jago Fitzgerald.

  Even so, Asha wasn’t sure he truly appreciated Nature’s display. He was in a pensive mood. Often given to brooding herself, she permitted others the same space to be contemplative. Poor man, a lot of changes were happening in his world all at once. Likely it was as scary to him as it was to her that they’d started a relationship, despite barely knowing each other. He now had a Shelby, a second classic Electra Glide—she didn’t want to know how much he’d paid for that toy—and now he was determinedly trying to buy her brother’s horse. She smiled at What’s His Name chasing imaginary mousies in the loose straw across the loft’s floor—at least she hoped they were imaginary! And Jago had a cat—though he was still protesting the point of who owned whom. These were weighty responsibilities for a man a bachelor too long.

  An odd memory came to mind about her grandmother, Maeve, telling her to get a man young and raise him the way she wanted. After twenty-five they’re too set in their ways and not worth the trouble, she had assured her granddaughters. Of course, Maeve came from another era, when people married and had families in their early twenties. Had life ever really been that simple, or were there just less options to confuse things back then?

  She had a feeling Jago was worth the trouble.

  “I generally spend Mondays and Tuesdays at the river house,” she told him, trying to sound casual.

  Not waiting to see his reaction, she picked up the pitchfork and stabbed the sharp prongs into a bale of clover hay. Pushing it to the openin
g in the floor, she dropped the feed through the trap door. Being nosy, the cat poked his head over the opening and peered at where the hay bale landed.

  “Watch it, bud. You lean over much more and you’ll lose your balance. You’re not the most graceful of putty tats,” she fussed at the feline.

  That finally drew Jago’s attention back inside. He took a couple of steps, leaned over and snatched the cat by the tail, then kicked the trap door shut. “I’m not in the mood to find out if kitties really do land on their feet when they’re dropped. My luck, you’d be the exception to the rule and I’d have a puss with four casts on his legs expecting me to tote him around.” He turned to Asha. “So, do I get an invite to the house on the river?”

  “Despite Indian summer temperatures, it’s a little cool to go swimming. I enjoy a brisk swim, but most people don’t. However, I thought we could—if you were of a mind—take the boat out for a ride, maybe have a picnic on the sandbar near the lock. The view of The Palisades is breathtaking from the water.”

  “I’d be open to a dunk in the river—especially if I had something to warm me up for all the trouble. Think we can arrange a little heat afterward? Do we need to pack, or can we just jump on the Harley and head out?”

  “You merely want to take your Harley for a ride. Sigh, used and cast aside. And here I thought you might be a lad who’d enjoy a ‘roll in the hay’—literally,” Asha said with a theatrical waggle of her eyebrows.

  “A ‘roll in the hay’ would top the list of my 101 Things To Do On A Rainy Sunday Afternoon with Asha. Riding my vintage Harley would be second. A close second, mind.” Jago’s eyes flashed playfully. “Only, I figured rolling around in the hay wasn’t a smart option. If brother dearest pops up here and finds me ‘teaching you to count’, he might get a little irate. Brothers are known to be rather Neanderthal where baby sisters are concerned.”

  “Hmm . . . how do you know Netta isn’t teaching him one . . . two . . . three . . . right now? Maybe they are already in the hot tub. Could be why we haven’t heard a peep from them in the hour since we’ve come back from horseback riding.”