by Becky McGraw
He just stood there staring at her breasts and her nipples hardened painfully. Twyla decided she could use another shot herself. It felt like her entire body was laying on a live wire, as his eyes scorched every inch of her, while she waited to see what he was going to do to her next. The anticipation was killing her, and he probably knew that. Ryan upped her aggravation when he dragged a chair out from under the table and turned it around to straddle it, the bottle just dangled between his fingers. A puzzled look crossed his face, and his eyes slid down between her legs.
“I’m trying to figure something out, baby,”
“What’s that?” she asked, all the blood in her veins all converging between her legs, as if drawn there by his hot gaze, pinpointing at the top of her thighs to beat there in time with her heart.
“How in the hell are you still a virgin? And how the hell have I kept my damned hands off of you so long?”
“You were afraid of my brother,” she reminded him. “And Zack watched me like I was the crown jewels or something, when I went off to rodeo with y’all.”
The corner of Ryan’s mouth kicked up. “Then I’m a chickenshit moron.”
Twyla laughed, and rolled her eyes. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for years. Glad you finally get it.”
“Oh, I get it now.” His eyes darkened, and he frowned. “And I’m going to get more. All night long. If you can walk tomorrow, you’ll be damned lucky.”
If Ryan didn’t hurry up, it would be tomorrow before he got to the good part. “And you better take it easy on the liquor, cowboy, or you’ll be lucky if your head doesn’t feel like I took a sledgehammer to it, which I might do if you don’t get a move on with getting it. I think you’re taking slow to a new level just to torture me, turtle boy.”
Ryan shoved up to his feet, and laughed. “Turtle boy?” he repeated indignantly. He stepped to the table to push her knees wider, and his eyes pinned her. “You think I’m torturing you? You ain’t seen nothing yet, sweetheart. You better hold on tight, because I wasn’t kidding about making sure you do, one way or another.”
He held the bottle above her thighs, and Twyla gasped when he tilted the bottle and the liquid slid along her folds to pool beneath her butt on the table. A glazed, determined look took over his face, as he moved to the side of the table to trickle a stream of amber liquid up her belly to the valley between her breasts. He stopped a moment to dribble some over her left breast, before doing the same to her right. The cold air mixed with the liquid and cooled. She shivered, and her nipples tightened. “I’m cold, Ryan.”
“You won’t be saying that long,” he promised, as he bent to set the bottle on the floor. He leaned over and put his lips to hers. His tongue forced itself inside her mouth, and he plunged in and out, mimicking what he’d done to her a few minutes ago. She tasted the sweetness of the whiskey he’d drank, mixed with something strange, earthy and musky. She realized that was herself she was tasting on his swollen lips, and moaned. Ryan had tasted her there, drank his fill of her, and now he was sharing it with her in the most intimate kiss a man could give a woman.
Twyla lapped up his kisses, tried to lift her head for more, but his hand trapped her hair, held her still, while he plundered her mouth. With a final hard nip to her lower lip, he released her and stood. Her tongue darted out for a final taste, and his eyes fixed on her mouth. Twyla’s chest heaved with her breaths, as his eyes slid down her body to her toes, before moving back up to her eyes. His hand dropped on her thigh, and Twyla shivered.
“I’ve got some pigging strings out in my truck. Do I need to tie your feet, so you keep your legs open for me?” Twyla realized then that her knees had drifted down to the table while he kissed her, and he evidently wasn’t happy about it. She dragged her heels up and bent her legs again. “Wider,” he coaxed, moving to the end of the table. Twyla inched her heels farther apart and let her knees fall open. “That’s better,” he said, seeming satisfied with himself as he dragged a chair up to the table and sat down.
Ryan grabbed her hips and pulled her closer to him. Her body was stretched to the max, as she tried to maintain her grip on the table, or she thought it was, until he picked up her calves and laid them on his shoulders. He scooted the chair closer, then slid his hands under her ass to lift her up, propping her weight on his elbows.
“Now for the consequences,” he muttered as he leaned his face into her. “I’m about to drive you as crazy as you’ve driven me for ten years, sugar.” Ryan’s tongue took a long slow lick up her body, stopping at the top.
Twyla gasped, enjoying the pleasant feathery sensations that tickled her insides. But then his tongue flicked the nub at the top of her folds in rapid fire hits. Those feathery sensations ignited into something so intense, she lost her breath. Her heels dug into his shoulders, as she wiggled against his hold, but Ryan held her firm, while he continued his sensual assault. With every strike of his tongue on the sensitive bud, the tension inside of her built, her agitation increased. When her insides felt like they were coming apart, Twyla whimpered, twisted her hips trying to get away from his mouth, but Ryan’s fingers dug into her skin to hold her still.
A scream built in her throat, she bit her lower lip and her fingers dug into the wooden table. The incredible feeling rushed up her body to her head, and she felt dizzy as black dots danced behind her closed lids. Between gasping breaths, she realized something wonderful floated just out of her reach, and lifted her hips toward his hot mouth to grab for it. Suddenly his mouth left her body, and Twyla was left floating in limbo, adrift on an angry sea of sensations with no particular destination. Frustration quickly replaced whatever had been happening to her, what she assumed had been a near orgasm. Exactly what Heather told her she needed to fake when she did the shot off of her belly at the bar. Heather had laughed herself silly when Twyla told her she had no idea what that was, or how to fake it, since she’d never had one before. Thanks to the man breathing heavily between her legs, Twyla still didn’t know.
Her body wilted, as Ryan lowered her hips to the table. She pinned him with an angry glare. “What the hell was that?” she growled, her fingers releasing the table. She flexed the feeling back into them, wanting to feel them squeezing around Ryan Easter’s neck.
“The consequences of you wasting my whiskey are you don’t come until I decide to let you come,” he said smugly, as he leaned back in the chair and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m not ready to let that happen just yet, until you beg me to make you come.”
“Now let’s try this one more time shall we?” he drawled, as he stood and walked to pick up the bottle. He poured the last of the whiskey into the shot glass, then Twyla watched as he sat it in the exact same spot as before, right below her navel, right on top of the place that quivered uncontrollably when he almost brought her there a minute ago.
With a groan Twyla laid her head on the table and shut her eyes. Somehow she was going to make Ryan Easter pay for this torture later. But right now, she focused on keeping perfectly still, so he would finally give her what she needed more than her next breath. She wanted that feeling again, wanted to see where it ended. But she’d be damned if she’d beg the cocky bastard for it. He had a long row to hoe if he thought she was going to do that. That might work on his bunnies, maybe he got some kind of thrill from the begging, but he was about to find out how long a tough cowgirl could hold out against his sexual blackmail.
She heard him sigh, then his hair tickled her breast right before his hot mouth covered her right breast. He tugged on it gently, suckling her, as his raspy tongue swirled slow even circles around her nipple. A slow burn started in her midsection, and moisture gathered between her thighs with each of his gentle tugs on her breast. Those feathery feelings returned, and Twyla mewled wanting to stretch her body like a cat. Pinching the top of her thighs together with the tugs, helped her keep from doing that. Yes, Ryan definitely had his work cut out if he planned on breaking her, she thought, and the corners of her mouth
crept up into a smile.
That went on for long minutes, the suckling, and the swirl of his tongue around her nipple. The same rhythm and pattern over and over. And over. After a while, it became frustrating, monotonous. Ryan didn’t touch her in any other way. The rest of her body was cool from the air conditioning vent blowing directly on her body above the table. The only warm part on her entire body was her right breast.
It wasn’t just warm, her breast was hot, burning up, and the friction of his tongue on her nipple was irritating to the point of pain. That was all she could focus on. Even the shot glass was forgotten. Twyla didn’t realize her legs were shaking until she felt a splash of liquid on her stomach. Her body tensed and her eyes flew to Ryan, but he didn’t seem to notice thank, God.
Twyla huffed a breath and closed her eyes again. Immediately the trembling returned, and she realized what was causing it too. With every circuit of his rough tongue around her nipple now, one of those feathers inside her went up in flames. As each one incinerated, inching her closer to that lovely place she’d been before, her inner muscles clenched and released.
Twyla whimpered, as she felt another splash hit her stomach. Cold air wisped over her nipple shocking her, right before pain shot through her as Ryan bit down on her nipple. Her brain seized, and a gurgling scream came from her throat, and a violent tremor rocked her body. Liquid splashed onto her skin, filled her navel, then tickled a cold trail over the sides of her waist. Twyla whimpered, tensing her body enough to keep the shot glass from toppling over. Ryan held the pressure with his teeth, as she fought the waves of mixed messages washing through her body. Pleasure, pain, anger and joy fought for control of her, as she dug her fingers into the table, while her eyes fixed on the shot glass wobbling on her belly, trying to keep it from toppling.
Ryan finally released her and Twyla’s breath gushed out, as her heart pounded in her ears and between her legs. Frustration filled her. “Gaaah, I want to come. Let me come,” she begged as she laid back on the table, done with this game.
“Please let me come, Ryan,” he corrected with a laugh, as he leaned down to lick up the whiskey she had spilled. Her muscles contracted under his tongue, and her insides quivered, spilling more from the glass. His tongue darted into her navel, her body shook, and Twyla watched in horror as the glass toppled, sending a stream of liquid toward her mound. The whiskey trickled through her folds to pool on the table.
Ryan shook his head, as he walked to the end of the table and shoved her legs apart. He stepped between them, and Twyla groaned knowing more of what he was doing to her was about to come. What wasn’t coming was an orgasm.
But Ryan surprised her when his dark head lowered over her, and he licked a heated trail up from her mound to the glass. He looked up at her over the plane of her tummy, and a small smile kicked up the corner of his mouth, before his lips closed around the shot glass. He lifted it, throwing his head back as he stood to take the last few drops in the glass.
He wiped his mouth with his forearm, then set the glass on the table beside her. “Say it, Twyla.” He lifted a dark brow. “Or if you prefer, I can keep this up all night.”
The words rolled off her tongue before she could stop them, “Make me come, please, Ryan.” She sounded weak, like one of his bunnies. But Twyla couldn’t help herself. She needed him to make her come. And she needed it now, not next week.
He held out his hand to her. Her fingers were sore from gripping the table, almost bloodless, as she took his hand. She scooted to the edge of the table and he helped her down, then grabbed a chair and sat down. He pulled her to him to straddle him, with his massive erection between them. With his hands on her hips, he looked up into her eyes. “I’m putting you in charge of this part, baby. I don’t want to hurt you.”
He was putting her in charge? That was pretty stupid on his part, considering what he’d just done to her. Twyla wasn’t about to let the opportunity to get a little payback pass. She grabbed his hands on her hips and bent to put them on the sides of the chair, and squeezed his fingers around the edge. “Keep your hands right there, and put on your seatbelt then.”
“But I can’t touch you then,” Ryan complained, and his smile faded.
“Exactly,” she purred as she turned and sashayed into the living room.
She flipped on the television, and put it on CMT, then found her straw hat and patted it down on her head, then stuffed her feet in her fringed boots. Buck naked save her boots and hat, Twyla waltzed back into the nook, making the fringe on her boots whisper in time with her hips.
Her effort wasn’t lost on Ryan. He sucked in a sharp breath and his eyes heated, as they locked onto her breasts. He reached for his cock, but she waved her finger at him. “No touching me or yourself. That’s my rule. Grab the sides of that chair, cowboy and don’t turn loose, or there will be consequences.”
“Twyla what the hell are you doing?” he griped, and his lower lip jutted out.
“You asked me to dance for you before,” she said with a wide smile. “I’m dancing for you right now.” She bit back a laugh when Get Me Some of That echoed through the apartment. Ryan Easter was gonna want some really bad when she was finished with him. The jury was still out whether he would get any.
Ryan’s eyes darkened, but he grabbed the sides of the chair and his cock stood proudly between his muscular thighs, still sheathed in the condom he’d put on earlier. The sight thrilled her, but scared her too. She was a little glad she had time to work up to this next step. Twyla walked over to him and ran her fingernail from the base of his cock to the head, and he shivered.
“I thought you said no touching,” he hissed through his teeth.
Her eyes swung up to his and she smiled. “I said you can’t touch. I can do whatever the hell I please.” She straightened, then gripped the back of the chair and straddled his legs. Holding his eyes, Twyla mocked sitting on him, and felt his heat scorch her inner thighs as she hovered over him popping her hips with the music. She sank closer to his thighs, mouthing the words to the song, making sure her mound brushed his cock with each slow upward pass, enjoying the odd little gurgling sounds he made in his throat. As tight as his jaw was clenched, his teeth would probably be dust by the time she finished with him.
Twyla leaned in closer, arched her back toward him, and slowly rose, bringing her breasts within millimeters of his mouth. His chin followed her upward, but he didn’t try to touch her with his mouth. A faster song came on, and Twyla decided to up the ante, speed things along. She squeezed her thighs together, clamping his cock between them as she slowly lifted off of him.
“Arrgh…you’re killing me,” Ryan groaned hoarsely, throwing his head back as every muscle in his body went rigid. His breaths were short and shallow, and his heart pounded at the side of his throat.
He only thought he was dying, Twyla thought, as she grinned evilly and reached between them to position his cock at her opening. His eyes popped open, and desperation filled them. He couldn’t be any more desperate than she was feeling right now. This little dance that she was doing, they were doing with each other, was taking a toll on her too. But the score was even now, and she was determined to win.
Mr. Easter needed a lesson about messing with cowgirls. Bunnies might put up with his bullcrap, but cowgirls would make you pay, and pay big, for messing with them. Twyla might be a virgin, but she was and always had been a cowgirl. She was not a prissy, girly girl like the women he was used to dating. No, not dating, fucking. Ryan didn’t date.
He wanted her to remember her first time a hundred years from now?
Well, Twyla was going to make sure he didn’t forget her lesson in that time too. A lesson about teasing a woman that might do the women he fucked in the future a favor. That thought caused her heart to sink a little in her chest. Ryan might be here with her tonight, but as much as she wanted it to be, she knew this wasn’t going to be a lasting thing with them. Ryan Easter was about as ready to settle down as the bucking broncs he rode for a li
ving. He ran from clingy women. Hell, she’d helped him avoid them often enough herself to know.
Twyla was determined not to become a clinger just because they’d had sex. She never wanted to be on his run from list. Ryan had been a part of her life for a long time now, and she didn’t want to lose him. But the thought that she might have to watch him be with other women again after this made her stomach curl. That was just something she knew she would have to deal with though. Just like she always had.
“You okay?” he asked and she realized she’d stopped moving.
“Yeah, just doing my best to make you sweat, big boy,” she said with a forced laugh as she reached between them to position his cock at her opening.
His voice was raw and hoarse, his breathing uneven, when he said, “Don’t worry, I’m sweating, baby.” Twyla eased down on his shaft, taking his head inside, and Ryan groaned, laying his head against the back of the chair. She leaned back and took a little more of him, and the muscles in his forearms became rock hard against her legs. The burning stretch was incredible, and her inner muscles clenched and released around him, urging her to take more of him. Her fingers bit into the slats of the chair as she gritted her teeth to keep from doing that, taking slow even breaths until her body adjusted.
Beneath her thighs, she felt his hands release the chair, his fingers flexed and she pinned him with her eyes. “Do it and I get up,” she warned.
His fingers immediately curled again, and she smiled, as she lifted to make the first circle with her hips, feeling his thickness swell inside of her even more. Ryan growled, stretching his neck as far back as it would go, and a muscle ticked at his jaw. A slow, sexy song came on the station and Twyla found the rhythm with her movements, holding the chair in a death grip to make sure she didn’t sink down on him. Between her thighs, his knees pinched together tightly, and he made that gurgling sound again, followed by a couple of weak whimpers.
