He’d stalled long enough. Missed dinner because he hadn’t wanted to see her for the first time surrounded by a group of rowdy cowboys at the large kitchen table.
Needing to look his fill unremarked by anyone else, he wanted to catch her unaware, note the changes close-up in her face and lush figure, and just maybe lay to rest the attraction that had burned through him the first time he’d laid eyes on her.
Lights blazed on the wide wrap-around porch as he approached the house. One lit a back-room window.
Mostly hidden by a large live oak, he shouldn’t have noted it. However, he remembered all too well the window belonged to her bathroom.
One he hadn’t been able to resist peering inside seven years ago when he’d been a lonely teen, missing his parents and his older brother, and lusting after a woman who didn’t see him as anything more than a boy.
His steps slowed. He pulled a ragged pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He didn’t smoke much, but right now he needed an excuse to linger outside.
He tamped a cigarette against the side of a finger, stuck the butt in his mouth, and lit the end, drawing deeply as he stared at the window with the slatted blinds, and remembered.
Maggie Dermott had been everything a boy starving for a woman’s attention could want.
The picture of her rounded figure, glossy brown hair, and wide, doe-like brown eyes still burned in his mind. The first time she’d turned her soft gaze on him and offered him a smile, she’d melted him all the way to his toes.
She’d been lovely. Soft and womanly. Smelled of roses and soap and freshly baked bread.
He’d had a lot of time to rationalize his obsession. He’d been close to his mother, missing her terribly when she’d abandoned them all, leaving him in the care of his father until he’d managed to drink himself to death.
Afterward, Brandon had kept the ranch afloat, providing a familiar roof over his head, but he’d had his own grief to deal with and a whole new set of responsibilities to keep him occupied.
Daniel had felt the loss of his mother most keenly. Still, he didn’t think that totally explained his attraction to his boss’s young wife.
Nor did it excuse the fact he’d watched her.
The long-ago night Danny surrendered to her sensual appeal, while Douglas had attended an out-of-town auction. Danny walked from the barn, saw the light shining from the narrow window, a shadow passing in front of the curtain, and he’d crept behind the large oak. The curtain had been parted, just enough for him to peek inside.
He’d told himself he wouldn’t linger, would just get a quick glance and be on his way. Satisfy his curiosity about her and leave her alone.
Maggie Dermott stood in front of her mirror, her blouse removed, both hands cupping large breasts over her functional white bra, massaging them as though they ached.
The sight of her partially disrobed had his body tensing hard, his groin filling quickly.
Her expression held him spellbound.
Pretty bowed lips parted breathlessly, her eyelids drifted shut, and then she reached behind her to unhook her bra.
When the garment slid away, he’d had his first full view of a woman’s mature breasts.
Sure, he’d fondled several classmates, slipped his hands inside their underwear to explore, but he’d never seen anything as beautiful as Maggie Dermott’s creamy, rose-tipped breasts.
She’d cupped them in her small hands, just as he imagined he would if he stood behind her, lifting them, her fingers spreading and kneading the pendulous globes.
When she’d plucked the nipples into erect little points, he’d groaned out loud. Their rose hue darkened. The tips drew into tight little beads that invited a mouth to sip at them. He imagined drawing on them, rooting into her soft flesh and sucking hard.
When her hands reached behind her again and slowly slid down the zipper of her denim skirt, he finally admitted to himself he was there for the duration. No possibility of him moving from his vantage outside her window.
Steam rose inside the bathroom. She’d drawn a bath. Foaming bubbles blanketed the surface of the water. Soon, she’d sink into the water, and he would leave.
Her skirt slid down her legs. She stood clad only in a demure, pink pair of cotton panties. From the side, her bottom flared, rounded, lush. Perfect.
His cock strained against his zipper, and he reached down to adjust himself, but his hand lingered. He cupped his balls and squeezed, then slid along the erection growing increasingly more insistent as it dragged against his pant leg.
He slid open his belt, unbuttoned the top snap, and scraped down the zipper, intending only to relieve the pressure. Instead, he drew his cock outside his pants and wrapped his fingers around his shaft, his gaze never straying from Maggie as she pushed her panties down her legs and stepped out of them. Then she faced the window as she leaned over the bathtub to turn off the water.
The thatch of dark brown hair between her legs was glossy, the curls tight, masking her sex until she opened her legs and stepped over the rim of the tub.
She paused with one foot sinking into the water, the other still on the floor, and reached for the white bar of soap lying on a dish beside the sink.
Her feminine folds parted, giving him a glimpse of tightly-furled, pink labia.
His hand fisted, gliding slowly up and down, drawing blood into his thickening staff. He spit into his other palm and coated his shaft with it, easing his fingers through the moisture.
Lord, she was beautiful. Sleek pearly skin, rounded thighs and calves, a soft, fleshy bottom beneath a deeply indented waist. Her breasts drew his attention again.
So close now, he could see perspiration glazing the tops of her breasts, his hand tightened, beginning to pump in earnest on his aching cock.
She gathered the soap, a washcloth, and slipped into the water, settling with visible sigh, laying her head against the rolled rim of the large tub, the tips of her hair dragging in the water.
Her eyes closed, and her chest rose, her breasts lifting the bubbles.
He stared for long moments, feeling the urgent heat settling in his balls, knowing it wouldn’t be long before he spilled his seed into the dirt.
Her eyes opened and slid to the washcloth. She rolled the soap and cloth inside her hands, then dipped the cloth beneath the water. Her knees rose, parting to fall against either side of the tub, and her hands reached between them.
Her eyes squeezed shut, her pink mouth opened around a gasp, and he knew what she was doing.
The pleasure flushing her cheeks with heightened color was reflected in the pout of her lips and the crease deepening between her eyebrows.
He slowed his hand, wanting to wait and ride the crest with her, to share this intimacy even if she never knew.
Although hidden by the cloud of bubbles, he could tell when she neared the peak. Her neck arched, her knees drew higher. When she came, the water lapped toward the edge of the tub, as a muffled, but audible, moan tightened her lips.
Danny’s hips thrust forward, spearing through his tightly wrapped fingers, desperation making him reckless as he pumped faster, the wet, slapping sounds growing louder until his balls exploded and come burst from the tip of his cock to stripe the dirt in glistening white. He sagged against the tree, at last closing his eyes.
Immediately, a hot wave of shame dampened his pleasure.
God, he was bastard. He’d spied on her, violated her privacy.
With shaking hands, he’d tugged his clothing together and slunk like the snake he was back to his bedroom where he’d jacked off in the dark to the memory of her beautiful, womanly curves every night until he’d finally gone home.
Danny stripped the burning end from his cigarette, pocketed the butt, and then quietly entered the house. He undressed in the dark, sitting on the edge of the bed to wrestle off his boots, then standing to strip his belt from its loops and push his pants down his legs.
Naked at last, he tried to ignore the pressure growing between hi
s legs. A bath? No, a cold shower.
Danny heard the creak of a floorboard in the hallway outside his bedroom and nearly groaned. He’d been on the edge of arousal, remembering every lurid moment. Now, the object of his obsession walked a few feet away.
The sound outside his bedroom cinched tight around his balls. He gave up trying to control the hard-on steadily growing between his legs.
To ease the ache, he fisted his hand around himself, coming in minutes, wanting it over quickly to ease the excitement humming through his veins before he sought his first meeting with the woman whose face and body had owned his lust for over seven years.
Wearing His Brand (Texas Cowboys Book 1) Page 9
