“Get out of those clothes and I’ll get you a blanket.”
She blushed again.
William grinned and toed out of his boots then wandered over to the shelves where the supplies were. He pulled an army blanket down and brought it to her, as she was peeling out of her damp clothes. He wrapped the blanket around her when she was naked, his gaze devouring her.
“God, you’re so beautiful.”
A blush tinged her cheeks and she leaned against the cot.
When she looked up a gasp caught in her throat as William started to take off his wet clothes, baring his muscle honed body to her. His chest had a few scars on it, white against the tan, and as her gaze traveled lower she watched in fascination mixed with want as he undid the button to his fly and shimmied out of his tight Wranglers. She watched the wet denim drop down over his thick, muscular thighs. Then she dragged her gaze back up to where his long, thick cock was erect, resting against his abdomen.
She remember how good it felt inside her.
He grinned again, a dimple puckering his cheek when he saw what she was staring at. “Will you be inviting me into your quilt?”
“I believe I will.”
He closed the distance between them and pulled the blanket apart, his gaze traveling down over her body. “I’ve been picturing this moment, hoping it would happen again.”
He leaned in and captured her lips. The kiss was gentle at first, but then deepened and his tongue licked her lips. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer to him as he kissed her.
Molly slipped her arms around his waist, letting her hands drift down to his muscular backside, gripping his smooth cheeks and squeezing them.
A little growl of appreciation erupted from his chest. He broke the kiss and scooped her up, carrying her over to the wide bunk on the other side of the room. William dropped her in the center, spreading her leg with his knee.
“This is how I want you, darling. Under me while I drive into you.”
Heat flushed her body. “Before that, do you have protection?”
William cursed. “Hold on, darling.”
Molly watched as he fished one out of his pocket.
Thank, God.
“I didn’t think you’d have one.”
“I always carry one.” He winked.
Thank goodness, though the way she was feeling she was willing to throw caution to the wind and let him take her without one.
She was willing to take a risk with him, but not with her own destiny.
What the hell was wrong with her?
William leaned over her and pressed a kiss on her cheek. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just kiss me.” She snaked her fingers into the hair at his nape, bringing his mouth to hers. With one hand she tossed his hat away, so she could run her fingers through his hair.
His hand slipped under her ass, cupping the cheek as she wrapped her legs around his hips. She wanted him to thrust his cock into her, she was ready, more than ready for this moment.
“Not yet, darling,” he panted against her neck. “We have some time to kill before the storm ends.”
Molly was going to ask what he meant when he began to trail kisses down over to her collar bone to her breasts. His tongue circling her hard nipple, causing the sensitive skin around it to pucker farther, before his kisses drifted down over her belly to the juncture of her thighs.
She sucked in her bottom lip, biting it as he nipped along her inner thigh, inching to her pussy. It made her body tense in anticipation at the thought of his mouth there.
His soft, wet tongue lightly licked her seam. “You taste good, darling,” he whispered, as he parted her folds. One thick finger slipped inside her. “You’re so wet and tight.”
Molly moaned as he inserted another finger and slowly began to move them. Finger fucking her, just before he buried her face in her sex again, his tongue flicking at her clit. Molly was no prude or innocence, but she’d never experienced this before him.
Usually it was the other way around.
Before she could come to grips what was happening she arched her back and came against his mouth. Her legs shook, like they were boneless, and she sank against the mattress. The only sound was the tearing of the condom packet and she pried open one of her eyes to watch him slide the condom down over his cock.
He leaned over with his hands on either side of her head. The head of his cock pressing against her opening, Molly dug her heels into his ass, urging him to thrust into her, which he did in one swift movement.
She cried out from the way he filled her so completely.
“Fuck, darling. You’re so damn tight.”
Molly couldn’t answer him coherently. All she knew was blinding hot need.
He began to thrust in and out of her slowly, but it didn’t take too long before he was pumping faster, riding her hard.
William adjusted his weight, so he held himself up on one arm, freeing up his hand to move down to her sensitive clit, stroking her as he rode her.
“Fuck,” he cursed again, throwing back his head. His thrusts became shallow and she knew he was close.
As was she. It only took a moment more and her muscles clamped down on his shaft, fluttering around his girth as she came. William moved his hand and quickened his pace, crying out as he came and then stilled.
When he was done he pulled out and dropped beside her, sucking in deep breaths of air. Molly rolled toward him, running her fingers over a long, puckered scar on his chest.
He grinned. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
“It’s only been two weeks.”
“Long enough. I could do this forever.”
She stiffened.
He’s not promising you anything.
Only, she wanted him to promise her something. She wanted him to promise her that if she took the next step and followed her dream he would wait for her, but it was too much to ask for from someone she just met.
And she couldn’t throw away her dreams on the promise of more than one moment of stolen lust.
William sat up. “I think the storm is over.”
Molly wrapped the quilt around herself and sat up, listening. It was quiet. “It could be the eye of the storm.”
“Should we wait?”
“For a while.”
There was a crash of thunder and a howl of wind. She could see the worry lines in his face. He was worried about the ranch. The one he’d just started fixing up and she understood that. So she reached out and took his hand. They sat together, listening for the storm to abate.
It didn’t last too much longer. The howling began to die down.
“The storm is easing up,” William said, as if reading her thoughts. “Should we get dressed and go outside?”
Molly nodded. “Let’s go.”
They put on their clothes and walked up the stairs. William lifted the latch and they stepped outside. “Wow, not much damage at all.”
“Must’ve been an F0. Minor tornado.” There were only a few boards blown off his house and a fence knocked over and, as she scanned the horizon, she could see his mare down in the valley where he planned to put the bison. She was grazing and unscathed.
“Easy to clean up.”
She nodded. “Easy.”
They walked toward the house.
“You wanted to know why I wasn’t going to college. Why I’m afraid of change.
“I do.”
“I was going to go, but then I fell in love this man, Mark. I adored him and I thought he adored me, but he wanted me to travel with him to the east coast, for his job. He promised we’d get married and once we were settled I could pursue my dream. So I went.”
“And?”
Molly sighed, her stomach churning when she thought about it. “And, he cheated on me. Left me high and dry in Ottawa and I came home. I let go of a full scholarship to be with him and he broke my heart. I lost all I had. All of it. I was pitied. I hate being pitied.”
“I’m sorry.”
Molly shook her head. “Since then I’ve clung to the safety net of my home. Afraid of change. Heck, I did contemplate dating Dr. Shaw because he was stable but his plan for life, for me, was for me to remain the same. To have kids, but stay as I am.”
“I thought you didn’t want change?” He asked.
“I didn’t, but now…I have to go to Calgary. I have to make my dream come true and think of myself. I don’t think I really have a choice.”
William tipped her chin. “Sorry darling, you don’t. You need to go. I’ll be here waiting when you get back.”
Heat flushed into her cheeks. “Don’t promise me something you can’t keep.”
“I never lie. When I promise something it’s golden.”
“And what about you?” She asked.
“What about me?”
“Your writing? Are you going to go back to Nashville?”
“Not to Nashville, but I will continue to write. I miss it too much, but you have to promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll come home to visit.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “And what will you do to make it worthwhile?”
He grinned. “Oh, I can promise you many more nights like that first night.”
Molly chuckled and kissed him on the tip of his nose. “That’s quite the promise. So, was today your send off?”
William laughed. “My real send–off will come later. This was just staking my claim.” His hand slipped behind her neck and he pulled her into a kiss, which ignited her passion once more.
“Long distance never works,” she teased.
William shook his head. “It can, darling, and I aim to make it work.”
“I can just stay here, work as a tech and go to vet school in Calgary part time.”
William shook his head again. “Part of loving someone is letting them follow their dreams. Become a vet and come back and work for me, at least during the day. At night I want you under me.”
Molly laughed and played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Now, how can I argue with a business proposal like that?”
“You can’t.”
“I have one caveat though, before I agree to your arrangement.”
William cocked an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”
“One last ride.”
William grinned and pulled her tight against him. “Darling, this is far from the last ride.”
More Books by Amy Ruttan
Harlequin Mills and Boon Medicals
Safe in His Hands
BUY NOW
Melting the Ice Queen’s Heart
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Pregnant with the Soldier’s Son
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Dare She Date Again? (Sequel to Safe in His Hands)
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About Amy Ruttan:
Born and raised in Toronto, Ontario, Amy fled the big city to settle down with the country boy of her dreams. When she’s not furiously typing away at her computer, she’s a mom to three children.
Life got in the way, and after the birth of her second child, she decided to pursue her dream of becoming a romance author.
Find me here:
Twitter: @ruttanamy
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Three Strikes
A Far from Home story
Anya Richards
Text copyright Anya Richards 2014
All Rights Reserved
Discover more titles by Anya Richards
www.anyarichards.com
Dedication
For all my guys–gay, straight, bi, or other–who struggle to figure out the right path in life. And for my country of birth, where you’re not always free to be what you truly are.
We will not be silenced.
Blurb:
Two lonely men. One secret affair. Irresistible passion that will push them both to the breaking point, and beyond.
A knife attack left ex–Jamaican Posse member Vincent Williams scarred and also made him re–evaluate his life. He’s out of the gang and also the closet but lonely, yet to meet a man who’s interested in more than a one–and–done, a brief sexual encounter.
Because of his career as a police officer, Sergeant Kyle Pictou is afraid of coming out. Normally he doesn’t get involved with anyone close to home, but something about Vincent compels him to take a chance. It’s just sex, after all. Yet, as desire evolves into friendship and seemingly boundless passion, it’s Kyle who’s left wanting more–though he knows he can’t have it.
Chapter One
Vincent
Victoria Park is packed with people enjoying the first really warm afternoon of the Ontario spring. Even after living in Canada for six years it still amazes me to see how soon the shorts and sleeveless shirts come out every year. It’s only in the sixties here in London but you’d think it’s summer from some of the skimpy fashions I’m seeing. But who am I to judge? The saying, cockroach no business in fowl fight, comes to mind. It’s none of my business, and if they’re happy exposing their pasty legs to the cool breeze, a no nuttin’.
And I really don’t blame those brave souls, considering the wicked–cold winter we had. It’s nice to see people smiling in the sun while wandering from display to display at the Adopt a Pet show. Not that there’s much left to see. Most of the specialty pet products have been bought, and a good number of the animals brought out by various shelters have been adopted. It makes me glad to know so many of the dogs and cats will be going to good homes, especially considering where they started out. Maybe other people don’t believe it, but I’m sure those animals understand what’s happening and are completely relieved to have found a place to belong.
I know exactly how they feel.
“I’m going to start packing up.” Pat pushes up out her folding chair then stretches. “Lots of people still around, but it’ll soon be time to leave.”
“Want me to do anything?”
She looks at the stuff behind the table and shakes her head. “Nah. I’m just going take some of the empty boxes to the van. I’ll bring back the trolley for the kennels.” Her gaze slides to the cage I’m standing beside, then she smiles quickly and too brightly at me. “We did really good today. Five dogs re–homed, lots of stuff sold, and we got some nice donations too.”
I nod, only realizing I’ve stuck my fingers through the wire of the cage when I feel a cold, wet nose touch them. “Yeah. Good day all round. Well worth the effort.”
Pat walks behind the table and starts breaking down the boxes we’d used to transport the dog beds, blankets, coats and treats we’d brought to sell, and I look back out at the crowd. Bongo replaces the coldness of his nose with warm licks and I can’t push back the desperation rising in my chest.
Somewhere out there is a person–a family–for this dog. I know it like the way I know my own name, my reflection, the size of my shoes. There’s something special about him, something in his eyes that tells me he has to be saved. That having him bouncing from foster home to foster home or left to live in a rescue kennel is unthinkable. As Pat heads toward the road with an armful of boxes, I bend to look through the mesh of the cage and Bongo looks back at me with round, brown, sparkling eyes.
“Listen, pardy.” I find myself talking to him the way I used to speak to my domino partners after we’d lost one of those cut–throat matches down at the Jamaican social club. “Hear me, man. We going to find you a home, you see it? This was just one chance, but not the only one.”
Bongo tilts his head to one side and I swear he’s smiling, as if to ask what I’m so worried about. But he doesn’t have a mirror to see his own reflection, doesn’t have the ability to know that in this materialistic, shallow world a mutt with a piece of one ear missing, with scars around his neck and on his muzzle is considered un–adoptable by most people. Worse, I read somewhere that white and light–colored animals get picked as pets first, so apparently being black doesn’t help either.
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He definitely has two strikes against him–three if you count what he went through to get those scars–but I know from personal experience things can turn around at any time.
“Yeah, you’re right.” I stretch my fingers in through the mesh, and he leans forward so I can scratch under his chin. “Nothing to fret about.”
Yet I can’t help standing up and looking out over the milling crowd again, thinner now that most of the booths are being slowly packed up. Still hoping, I guess, for a miracle for Bongo. Jenny, one of the Adopt a Pet organizers, buzzes by, giving me a wave and a smile. I smile back, see the way her eyes flick away from my face, but it doesn’t bother me the way it used to. I know what she’s seeing and don’t blame her. I’d probably do the same too.
There’s a bunch of people around the Champions of Obedience display, no doubt listening to the owner John shooting off his mouth. Even I have to admit the demonstration earlier looked good, dogs doing sit– and down–stays, even some tricks at his command, but I still think he’s an asshole. The trainer is one of the few people in the dog rescue and training world I’ve come across that I dislike, although I can’t put my finger on why. It’s like my granny used to say, my spirit just didn’t ’take’ to him. I find myself twisting my lips to the side, making the skin around my scar tug, and force myself to stop. It’s a habit I really should have gotten rid of, considering how much it hurts, but can’t seem to break.
Suddenly the crowd around John parts, and a man cleaves through the tight–packed bodies like a blade. In a flash I notice his height and width of his shoulders, the short, black hair and then the instantly familiar face–as stony as ever, and just as good–looking. Immediately the hairs on my arms rise, goose bumps traveling up across my shoulders and down my back as recognition brings a name from the past popping into my head.
Constable Kyle Pictou. Bumboclaat.
The swearword just naturally follows the name, as though it’s all one sentence. It’s pretty much what you’d hear when we were on the street and saw him coming, just before we decided whether to stand our ground or take off in different directions, each of us hoping he’d chase someone else. Depending on the group I was with, his nickname and the swearwords would change, but one always followed the other. The Jamaican posse members called him ’Screwface’ because no one ever saw him smile. Pictou, I’d learned back then, was from the Mi’kmaq Nation, so the white guys called him ’Chief’ if they were trying to piss him off, since that’s an insult when talking to a Native man.
Brought to His Knees-Tough Guys Laid Low By Love Page 16
