by Vonna Harper
“War wound?” she asked.
“More like not paying enough attention to what I was doing during my reckless youth. A scared bronc and barbed wire trumps skin every time.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“I hope you do. I’d hate to see you hurt.”
“I have my share of battle wounds. Hard to be around as many dogs as I have and not lose a few skirmishes.”
“I guess not, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” His tone dropped. “Your turn. Garment for garment.”
Garment for garment? Had he forgotten that her bra put her one up on him?
Trying not to give away the notion that she’d win the first round, she braced an arm against the chair where her blouse lay. Watching him watch her, she lifted one foot and then the other as she removed her shoes. The task seemed to take forever.
“Your turn.”
He took his own sweet and unnerving time dispensing with his boots in essentially the same way she had. It occurred to her that usually he sat down to tackle the chore but maybe he chose looming over her over comfort. When he was done, she studied what she could see of his feet through the sock layer. They were long and broad, perfect for getting him through long days. The thought of complimenting him on something he’d had no control over dried her throat. Maybe the same thing was happening to him because he didn’t remind her that the next step was hers.
His eyes had held on her breasts as she removed her shoes so she made a show of leaning over more than necessary to grab her socks. Unfortunately her bra hadn’t been designed to reveal cleavage. She debated running a finger between her breasts, but that task was reserved for a far bolder woman, one who knew what the hell she’d gotten herself into.
Feeling overwhelmed, she deposited her socks on top of her blouse. Cocking her head was as close as she could come to passing the ball to him. Once more he balanced himself on one sturdy foot and then the other while peeling off his white, utilitarian socks.
Smiling a little, he folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head to the side as she’d done. Ah, shit. They were getting into serious territory. Waiting for anticipation to become reality threatened to tear her apart. At the same time she needed to draw out these moments and give herself time to grab handfuls of courage.
She wasn’t afraid of having sex with Maco. Truth was she could barely wait for the feel of him inside her. But what if she thought too much? Made the mistake of looking ahead to tomorrow?
Wasn’t going to happen.
Oh yeah?
Next time, if there was such a thing, and she prayed there’d be, she’d undress him. Then she’d ask him to do the same to her. Or would she? Crazy as it sounded, she didn’t know him well enough to turn certain tasks over to him. These were her shorts and her responsibility. And beneath them panties and a pussy desperate for his touch.
Confusion reigned.
Not caring whether he noted her trembling fingers, she unsnapped and unzipped. Because she couldn’t abide tight clothes, she had little trouble easing the denim over her hips. She stopped the instant her practical nylon panties came into view.
“Interesting,” he said. “Not interested in the sexy stuff?”
“On a working day, hardly.”
“But there are times?”
Rarely and not for a long time. “What do you want to do, talk or the other?”
“The other.”
He’d done the hook-his-thumbs-over-his-waistband thing while they were talking and now struck a pose that made it impossible for her to keep her eyes off the promise between his legs, not that she tried. Not long ago her throat had been dry. Now she fairly salivated.
Saying a private To hell with them to her panties, she continued her shorts’ downward journey. Her thighs came into view, one pale but firm inch at a time. Had she shaved recently?
Didn’t matter.
Slow and hopefully sensually, she guided her shorts to the floor and stepped out of them. Bra and panties. Naked except for that. Proud of her accomplishment and scared to death—of what?
A breeze slipped in the open window to glide over her flesh. Despite the warmth, she shivered. If he noticed, he gave no indication.
Your turn, she silently begged. Yours now.
He took next to forever ridding himself of the jeans that had taken on his contours. He wore white briefs that hugged his hips and did a lousy job of hiding his erection and hip bones. The way he crouched slightly while working the denim over his knees was high in the running for the most exquisite thing she’d seen him do. Then he stepped out of his jeans and the movement nearly killed her.
Bra or panties. Hell of a decision. More effort than she was up to.
He seemed to comprehend what she was going through because his mouth softened and his gaze became less serious. In her mind she became a virgin who was being guided by an understanding and patient lover-to-be. This experienced older male wouldn’t rush her. He wouldn’t judge anything she did. Would make her proud of being a woman.
Because she couldn’t summon the strength to lift her arms from her sides, she decided to tackle the task of dispensing with her panties. When she glanced down, she noted they were yellow without much in the way of lace. Yellow was good, a middle-of-the-road color. Everyone liked yellow, right? He’d approve, right?
Hell, he wasn’t interested in color selection.
Shutting down her mind, she gripped the elastic in oversensitive fingers and eased it over her hips, revealing pale pussy hairs as she did. Next came her thighs, then her calves. Pushing the waded nylon to the floor, she stepped out of it.
“Good,” he muttered when she straightened and stood, naked from the waist down, looking at him.
“Good?”
“You don’t shave there.”
Something wild took hold of her and guided her hands over her mons. The bush tickled her fingers and sent tingles between her legs. She was damp down there, hot and wet and ready for sex.
“No,” she said unnecessarily, “I don’t. Tried it a few times. Too much work and it didn’t feel natural.”
“I like you natural.”
He’d get that all right, sans makeup or perfume and hair the color nature had decided. No manicure or polished toenails. Nothing but a woman with a forefinger now brushing her clit and breathing like a bitch in heat.
“Do it,” she told him. “Now.”
Just like that, his features tightened. She guessed he was going into himself. Watching his hands move toward his briefs stole her breath and made her throat burn. Sex was really going to happen between them. Too late to call time-out or run for the hills.
Not that she’d do either.
She’d surmised his cock’s size by the width, length, and height of his bulge. Just the same, the moment the swollen and reddened organ sprang free, sweat bloomed on her palms and her legs again threatened to give out.
His cock was what these moments were all about. She could touch it now; he’d let her.
Not just touch, lift, and cradle. Lightly run her fingertips over the engorged veins. Her lips could caress him and her mouth would taste the sweet drop at the tip.
Sick with need, she grabbed hold of his waistband and, crouching, hauled the briefs down to the floor. She started to exhale a warm breath over his cock only to have a thought stop her.
“Protection. I’m on the pill, but—”
“I brought it.”
Because he’d anticipated this happening or because as a virile man he was always prepared? Hell, if the answer mattered later, she’d ask. “All right.”
10
Grasping her elbows, Maco helped her stand. Instead of stepping back so his features would come into focus, she stood before him wearing only her bra with her juices clinging to her inner thighs. Bird and insect sounds came in through the window. The dogs were silent.
“I know it’s your turn,” he said, “the final piece of clothing dispensed with. But I’m going to do it, not you.�
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She gave permission with a nod that made her head spin. Why had she put on a bra that had lost several battles with her dryer? Her breasts were too big and sensitive, and the fabric scraped her nipples. Sighing, he ran his hands behind her and deftly unhooked. He took his time drawing the straps off her arms and even more time peeling the cups away.
There, naked before him. The weight of her oversensitive breasts dragging them down a little.
“Oh shit,” he hissed.
“What?”
“I want you so much. Right here and right now. On the damn carpet.”
Don’t touch me. I’ll climax if you do.
Whether or not he sensed her silent plea didn’t matter because the moment he ran his fingers down her throat and over her breasts, her mind once more all but shut down. Her whimper guiding her to action, she slid her knuckles along his breastbone and from there to his navel. God, how she loved the feel of his hair! She stopped, gathered courage, then reached lower. Touched.
Absorbed his promise.
Masculine fingers clamped on to her wrist and held her hand immobile. “I can’t—you’re going to make me explode.”
“Already?”
“Have you forgotten the foreplay?”
Didn’t foreplay involve rubbing and caressing and teasing certain body parts until heat turned into flame? All they’d done was undress.
Prepare themselves for fucking.
“Not the floor,” she brilliantly came up with. “Housework isn’t a priority.”
“I didn’t literally mean this moment.”
Because he was still holding on to her wrist, he easily ran her hand behind her. Full of imagination, she half believed he’d captured her and was going to haul her off to his prairie cabin or wherever he kept his sex slaves.
“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked.
“There.” She nodded.
“Lead the way.”
Damn him for letting go of her wrist. Damn him for acting as if they were about to carry out a business arrangement. Angry, she turned her back on him. When she didn’t sense him behind her, she guessed he was pulling a condom out of a jeans pocket. Then her spine prickled and she knew he was watching her walk. Fine, let him watch her ass cheeks tighten and relax, let him get off on the sexy look of the backs of her knees. Let him try to get a glimpse of her sex. Buoyed by those thoughts, she exaggerated the sway of her hips.
“You’re doing it again.”
She didn’t look back at him. “What?”
“Pushing my buttons.”
“Sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
Feeling disconnected from it, she watched her hand reach for the doorknob and turn. This must be her bedroom; it couldn’t be anything else. But she’d never taken these emotions into this space, and the man behind her had never shared it with her.
Double bed, a secondhand dresser, a nightstand cluttered with a lamp, her alarm clock, and the Alaska travel book she’d been reading. One pillow. Good. She’d made the bed this morning.
She didn’t realize she’d moved aside until Maco slipped his arm around her waist and drew her close so their hips kissed. His fingers gripped a foil square.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She paused. “It’s easier that way.”
“You too?”
His words broke through her tension. Feeling loose and easy, she faced him. “Is it always like this for you the first time? Not knowing how to get from point A to B?”
“I’m not interested in talking about other first times.”
They were both naked. His erection punctuated what these minutes were about. Her core was wet and hot, her nipples hard.
“All right,” she whispered. “All right.”
“All right what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what if I do this?”
For an instant all she knew was that her feet were no longer on the carpet and something had clamped around her waist. Then reasoning settled around her, and she realized Maco had lifted her and was propelling her backwards toward the bed. The backs of her legs slid over the side of the mattress. Then her ass, followed by her shoulders. Finally her head landed on the soft layers. Because he’d tossed her sideways, her legs dangled over the edge closest to him while her head was half off the opposite side. Her eyes wouldn’t focus, not that she needed details to know what was happening. Maco loomed over her while his hands did what modern responsible men did.
Unwilling to wait him out, she spread her legs. One hand gripped the spread under her while the other went to her breast. Should she say something like invite him to come on down? Hell no. He knew as well as she what this was about.
Sucking in a breath, he looked down at her. Her hold on her breast and the spread tightened. Had she made a horrid mistake, invited a dangerous man into her bedroom? No, her instinct would have warned her in time, wouldn’t it?
He held out his hand so she could see his palm. Then he turned his wrist and placed his fingers in his mouth so he could lick them. Removing them, he aimed them so daylight from the window glinted off the moisture.
“A touch,” he muttered. “Because I’ve put that off long enough.”
His fingers disappeared from view. Guessing what he had in mind, she reflectively tightened her sex muscles. She’d just started to release them when his fingers glided over her outer folds. Everything broke down. If she still had muscles, she couldn’t tap into what they existed for. She was loose and exposed. Existing for him.
After remoistening his fingers, he again came after her, wetly caressing her labia and leaving hot moisture on her clit. He was so gentle—and knowing. A man in charge.
Her legs splayed outward.
“That’s what I needed to see.” His voice grated. “The equivalent of my hard-on.”
“Proof positive?” She couldn’t think how she might stop exposing herself.
“I guess.”
She tried to read his expression, but her mind rejected the idea of doing something so complicated. Whether he knew what she was going through didn’t matter because, as instinct had told her would happen, a single work-rough finger slid into her opening. Whimpering, she planted her toes on the carpet and lifted herself as best she could off the low bed. His finger went deeper.
“Oh shit,” she moaned.
“Do you cuss when you’re aroused? Become foul-mouthed?”
“Why don’t you find out?”
“I intend to.”
He was pulling out of her, going slow and yet relentless, leaving her empty. Letting go of her breast, she groped for him. Before she could dig her claws into him, if that had been her intention, he grasped her hips and spun her a quarter of the way around so her head and feet were in the sleeping position. She was still trying to make sense of what had happened when he climbed onto the bed with her. His weight tilted her toward him. Then he lifted himself over her right leg and crouched between her splayed thighs. After taking hold of her other breast, she slipped her free hand back into her pubic hair and from there to sensitive, swollen flesh.
“No you don’t,” he muttered and drew her hand away.
“That’s not how it’s going to play out.”
“Then how?” Needing something to do with her hand, she planted it against her belly.
“This way.” The words done with, he bent her knees and guided them outward and down toward the mattress. He really wanted to see her like this! Felt no hesitancy. Instead of claiming her pussy as she prayed he’d do, he grabbed the pillow and slid it under her buttocks.
There, ready for sex, his erection straining the condom.
“I have to say it,” he ground out. “You want this as much as I do, right?”
Clasping her nipple and running her middle finger into her navel, she stared up at the man she’d wanted almost from the moment she’d first seen him. “I do.”
He shifted position, making the springs creak. She watched
as he stretched out over her with his arms bracketing her shoulders and his knees supporting his lower body. A soft cry sprang from her at the thought of being covered by a living blanket. Clutching his upper arms, she lifted herself off the pillow and offered herself to him.
The first touch of cock against cunt was little more than a whisper, just enough to make her shudder. Instead of hot flesh, she felt the damnable rubber. If she could, she’d rip it off him and deal with the consequences. Then the whispered contact increased and her mind exploded.
He entered her, moving slow and relentless. Pushing past eager flesh. Breaching her channel. Invading and completing her.
Instead of immediately hammering her with the need simmering through his body, he went still. Just the same, she felt his tension in his every muscle and bone. His mood seeped into her to complicate what was already overwhelming.
Should she ask what he was thinking, whether he’d guessed how the morning would turn out? Did she want to know? And if he confessed certain things to her, would he expect her to do the same?
Alarmed by the possibilities, she tightened her sex muscles around him. A groan burst from him along with a powerful heave that sent her sliding on the spread. Determined not to lose contact or hit her head on the headboard, she locked her arms and legs around him. Her cunt clenched as he repeatedly drove at her. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see his lower body; she had no trouble imagining his straining thighs and buttocks. His back was arched, his belly sometimes scraping her raw and wild.
He kept at her, pounding relentlessly. The bed creaked with each assault, and the spread tangled under her. His sweat-slick skin stuck to hers. Feeding off his scent, she reached up and raked her teeth over his collarbone. There! Let him deal with that sensation!
Another groan escaped him. She couldn’t tell whether he was reacting to the attack on his collarbone or the primal dance. Although she wished she had the answer, her nerves had already taken her so deep inside herself that little else mattered.
Her pussy gloriously burned, heat building and then building some more as if reaching for the top of some great mountain. She couldn’t see. Sounds blurred so she couldn’t tell which of them was making the most noise.
