First Class Male

by Jillian Hart

  “Are you sure?” He had to ask. He brushed his fingertips along the line of her cheekbone, just to touch her.

  “Positive.” She kissed him with her smile. “I’ve never wanted anything more than you. Not one thing.”

  “Hell, that’s just how I feel.” His confession seemed wrenched from him.

  When he kissed her, he didn’t hold back. He possessed her, every incredible hard inch of him, and he didn’t break the kiss as he moved over her. She moaned at the surprisingly large jut of his erection bobbing against her stomach, dying in anticipation as it trailed downward, first grazing her inner thighs, leaving her aching for him in her most private place, where she wanted him the most. When he dragged his mouth from hers, his eyes had gone pure black again, glassy with emotion. She laid her palm against the rough texture of his jaw, gasping when she felt the intriguingly blunt head of his shaft snuggle up against her, pressing, pressing her sensitive flesh.

  Oh, she thought. Oh my God. She gripped his shoulders, overcome by the amazing pressure of him joining with her, his impossible hardness sinking in. Her every sense, her every nerve centered there, where he eased inside her, became her very existence. He was everything, and she arched her hips, her body instinctively craving more just as he did. Oh, she wanted more of that, more of him.

  “Careful,” he said tenderly, his lips against her ear. “We go slow. This is your first time. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He loved her. She could hear it plainly in his voice, feel it in the patient way he drew back to watch her. He might not be able to admit his feelings, and she knew he might never be able to say the words, but she didn’t need them. She needed him. Right now, this moment. She needed everything he had to give. Trembling from head to toe, she let him draw her knees up to his waist, his shaft stretching her apart, sinking a full inch, the pressure both unbearable pain and bliss at once.

  The pain disappeared, seemed to vanish because he’d reached down to tap his fingers over that bright center of pleasure and she came, instantly in fierce, undulating waves, arching, arching up to him. Gritting his teeth, every muscle straining, he sank deep in one long, slow thrust, groaning as he came to rest deep inside, hilt deep, and drew her up in his arms. He held her as if she was his life, his very breath.

  He rocked her slow and sweet in the rosy glow of sunset. Driving deep, pulling back, and plunging them together again. She savored every moment, every detail. The hard clutch of pleasure, the spiral of excitement, the slick friction of his shaft moving inside her and then she was coming again, shattering in a fast clutch of spasm after body-wrenching spasm, crying out as he held her. She lost herself in that pleasure so great, in those pulses and waves.

  Tears burned her eyes, she couldn’t draw breath as Mason pinned her, thrusting fast and hard, swelling impossibly larger inside her until she felt the primal throb of him, the life spilling from him into her. His seed burst in a hot, thrilling rush against her womb. Breathless, she lay back, holding him while he finished, feeling the last pulses of his orgasm move through her. Finally, he heaved out a final breath, moaning low in his throat and collapsed on top of her, spent, folding her carefully against his chest. His tender kiss to her forehead said more than any words could.

  With tears in her eyes, she wrapped her arms around his back, lifted her knees even higher, locking her feet together, just to hold him in, to hold on, to make this closeness last. It was like the sun going down on them—she knew he wasn’t going to offer marriage. This could not last. As if he felt the same way, he clung to her too for a long time. Finally, he lifted his head from her shoulder and claimed her mouth with a desperate kiss, as if his very life depended on it. She kissed him the same way, and when she felt him growing hard within her again, she rose up, starting that rhythm he’d taught her to bring them both immeasurable pleasure.

  They made love again as the sun set in the mountains behind them, draining the last light from the sky, tossing them in shadow as they came together again, clinging to each other as darkness set in.

  “I’d better check on our supper,” his voice rumbled against Callie’s ear, his voice deep with regret, and he pulled away, pulling out of her.

  Their lovemaking was done. The late evening breezes skidded over her, and she trembled feeling terribly alone, separated from him. He stood and pulled on his drawers and denims, shoved his feet into his boots. Funny, she hadn’t been aware of him taking those off, but, then, she’d been preoccupied. She felt like a whole new woman lying there in the grass, bared to the world, wet and sated.

  Satisfied, she gave a low, lazy sigh, turning her head to watch Mason’s shadow move against the charcoal sky. Gold and purple light painted the underbellies of the clouds overhead, drawing him in silhouette as he ambled over to the fire. The orange flames had died down, he added wood and gave the meat a half turn on the spit. Juice dripped down, and the flames hissed.

  “Good thing the fire went down,” he said, amused. “Or our dinner would be burned to a crisp.”

  “Good thing,” she agreed, sitting up, feeling a rush of wetness slide out of her. His seed. She thought about that, and an intense quiver rocked her. It felt so intimate and, well, she didn’t know just how to describe it. “I’m not fond of burned-to-a-crisp food.”

  “Me, either.” He tromped away from the fire, knelt down before her. “How are you feeling? Was I too rough?”

  “You were just right.” She caught his chin, stole a hot kiss, glowing with affection for him. She reached for her corset, which was in sad shape. The laces had come undone completely and she’d have to re-thread them again.

  “You don’t need this for tonight,” he said, reaching for one of her breasts, cupping it, giving the swollen flesh a squeeze.

  “Are you suggesting I should go topless for the rest of the evening?” She teased, reached for her drawers. “I don’t mind, but think of Indigo. It might shock him.”

  “You’re right. He’s a gentleman.” Grinning, Mason glanced over his shoulder to where his horse had wandered a good distance away, grazing in the meadow, with his back turned and his rump facing them. “Maybe you can put on your dress, but don’t button it all the way.”

  “Oh, you want easy access?” She laughed, wiggling into her drawers. “Look what happens when you let a man have his way. He thinks you’re easy. Guess my sister was right.”

  “Maybe she is,” he teased, laughing, retrieving her dress for her. He shook it out, dropped it over her head. “It is a shame to cover you up. Guess it will be fun unwrapping you again.”

  “Like I’m a present?” she challenged, laughing too, not sure if she could ever remember being this happy.

  “You are definitely a gift, Callie.” He kissed her again, gentle this time, his feelings showing clearly, as if it were safer for him to do so in the dark. “Such a gift.”

  “That’s the way I feel about you,” she said, letting him take her into his arms. They snuggled together as the fire snapped and crackled, casting an orange-red glow. The last dregs of sunset vanished, the sky turned dark and the stars came out one by one.

  That’s exactly the way her heart felt, as if stars were blinking to life in an undiscovered darkness, twinkling with life, just twinkling. She cuddled into the granite plane of Mason’s chest, so glad to be with him, feeling his strong arms tight around her. For all the days of her life to come, she would never forget this moment. Never stop loving this man.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mason woke before dawn as he always did, lying on his back, eyes open. The dark sky had turned gunmetal gray, most of the stars had winked out except for the morning star that burned brightly above the eastern horizon. Indigo was nearby, one rear hoof cocked as he slept. The campfire had long gone out, he hadn’t tended it very well last night, he remembered with a grin, because he’d been too busy. After they’d finished supper and blackberries for dessert, he’d hauled Callie onto his lap, hiked up her dress and made love to her again.

  She’d been ea
ger, he recalled, and that made him grin harder, made his shaft hitch. He turned his head, aware of her body near to his under one of the blankets he always kept rolled and ready at the back of his saddle, just like his saddlebags. He’d learned long ago to always be ready to ride out into the wilderness at a moment’s notice. Good thing he’d been prepared, he thought as Callie rolled onto her side, facing away from him, her riot of hair spilling onto the blanket beneath her.

  Yes, she’d been so willing last night, he remembered, when he’d hauled out the blankets for their bed. Made love to her tenderly, slow and easy, to make it last. He wanted nothing more than to do it again, to wake her with a hand on her bare hip, to press into her center where he knew she would still be wet from their night together. But he’d made a mistake by taking her innocence. One he knew he would regret in the light of day, so he was glad for the darkness because he could still hold those memories close and not have to hate himself for them.

  “Mason?” She murmured his name, gave a satisfied little groan, and rolled over to smile at him, a well-pleasured woman. She blinked sleepily. “Is it time to get up?”

  No, he wanted to say. If only he could hold back the dawn, stop time, stay in this moment forever. Then he would be free to lay back and draw her over him, watch her take his throbbing hardness deep into her. To see pleasure ripple through her, hear his name torn from her lips, feel her come all around him.

  But he couldn’t hold back the dawn. Sadness hit him like a falling boulder. He threw back the blanket instead of reaching for her. She looked just as adorable as ever with trust in her blue eyes, sweetness on her lips.

  “Yep, it’s time to start the day.” That truth felt ripped from him, as he stepped into his trousers, pulled them up, adjusting his erection enough to button his fly. “It’s a few more hours to town, and the sheriff and my men were probably expecting me last night. Probably are wondering were we are.”

  “I see.” Callie sat up too, clutching the blanket to her, although not high enough to keep her pink nipples from showing. Her hair was a tumble, her cheeks flushed, so pretty sitting there, his heart hitched.

  Iron will, he reminded himself. The night was over, his weakness last night had been wrong, plain wrong. He struggled into his shirt, stabbing his arms through the sleeves. But look at her. How could any man in his right mind not want to love her so thoroughly, she’d never look at another man again. He yanked the shirt over his chest roughly, not sure if he was sad or just angry at himself. Last night, he’d needed her. He still did.

  “Well, we certainly wouldn’t want to, uh, linger here too long.” She twinkled up at him. “I mean, it would be embarrassing to have your men discover us in a compromising position, say, with me on top.”

  “You’re killing me.” He shook his head, inundated with images of her laid out over him, setting a fast rhythm, clutching him so tight everywhere— Stop, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut for a second to regain control. If he let that image continue to play in his head, then he wouldn’t be strong enough to keep from tearing that blanket away from her and helping himself to her. It was as simple as that.

  So he turned away, pounded past the nearby blackberry bushes to where Indigo drowsed. The gelding opened one eye and offered his nose for a pet. Clearly, Callie had spoiled him. Mason frowned and laid a hand against the animal’s neck. “C’mon, let’s saddle up.”

  Indigo gave an understanding nicker, shook himself fully awake and ambled around the blackberry bush. The gelding’s head swung up when he saw Callie. Horsy eyes brightened, ears pricked. Indigo gave a friendly neigh.

  “Good morning to you, too, Handsome.” Callie looked up from buttoning her dress. She was enchanting in the first glow of sunrise, backlit by the golden light. A tousled-haired siren, mysterious and sensual, in an iris-blue dress.

  Heat pooled in his groin again, strident and urgent, and Mason gritted his teeth, turned his back to her, drawing the gelding to a stop. Iron will, he reminded himself once again. He could no longer let himself need her.

  He shook out Indigo’s blanket, picking a small burr from one corner before smoothing it across the animal’s broad back. He hefted up the saddle, trying to concentrate on the task, but his attention strayed across the sunflower and daisy studded grass to where she knelt, rolling up the blankets, her slender back straight. He savored the sight of her—the elegant line of her arm, the enticing curves of her shoulders as she finished her task. He’d kissed those curves, ran his hands down her arms, pushed her hair out of her eyes last night when she rode him.

  Feeling hollow, he set the saddle on Indigo’s back, bent to tug the cinch tight. Too bad the night was over. He leaned his forehead against the horse’s belly as he worked, listening to the pad of Callie’s footsteps in the crackling grass, coming closer.

  Hell, he didn’t know if he was up for this. He gave the cinch one more good tug to check it, but then he was out of excuses so he had to stand and face her. Face what he’d done to her.

  “Looks like we’re ready to ride.” She bounced up to him as if dancing along the long, gleaming rays of sunshine. She seemed to absorb that light and shine with it. Happiness radiated from her as she handed him the perfectly rolled blankets.

  “Did your grandfather teach you this?” he asked, taking the bedroll.

  “Not only did he teach us, he expected us to roll our own.” She tugged her sunbonnet up by its ties and secured it onto her head, covering up that glorious mess of golden hair, that he’d had such pleasure getting tousled for her. Anyone in town would take one look at her and know what had happened up here. Ashamed of his weakness, he hung his head, turned away from her and secured the bedroll to the back of his saddle. “You ready to go back?”

  “I am. Mariel found a job for me, if I want it, and I was thinking—” She hesitated, letting her words dangle, her touch soft on his arm.

  Oh, he knew what she was thinking. His chest felt ready to implode. His fingers fumbled with the ties. Yes, he knew this was coming. Should have thought of it last night and maybe it would have been enough incentive to have kept him from taking off her dress. He turned to her, gentled his voice, not liking this at all.

  “You’re thinking you want to stay in town now that we’ve—” He paused, not able to say the words out loud.

  “That we made love?” She finished for him, clearly not as troubled by the fact that she’d lost her virginity, the one thing she needed for a good and beneficial marriage, for the future she wanted. “Are you blushing?”

  “No, it’s just the sun.” He coughed. “You’re a little forthright, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t regret what we did. I want you to know that.” She tilted her head back to peer up at him from beneath the brim of her sunbonnet, staring up at him with her arresting violet-blue eyes. Mesmerizing.

  Hell, it tortured him, but he couldn’t forget the way they’d deepened to a near purple when she came, when she’d broke around him in waves of rippling pleasure.

  As if she remembered too, she gave a mysterious little grin. “I don’t think you regret it either, not really.”

  “I have regrets.” His jaw worked. He stared up at the horizon, where the trail would lead them home. “But you are not one of them. Last night—”

  He paused, as if not able to say the words.

  “Me, too.” She pressed her hand over his chest, where his heart beat fast and strained. Poor Mason, so noble. This must be hard for his conscience. “Loving you was everything I’d ever dreamed of. I wanted that with you. I wanted you to be the first.”

  And the only. That’s what she didn’t tell him. After Mason, and considering the way she felt about him, she could no longer settle for anyone else. Her hopes for marriage were shattered, because it would never be good enough with someone else. She had no idea that love could be so amazing, that it could turn you inside out, turn your world upside down, and be your everything, your reason for living.

  Hoof beats sounded on the ridge above, echoin
g along the face of the bluffs and hills and in distant canyons. Mason grabbed his rifle, coming to full alert. But the horses that crested the ridge carried familiar riders. Some of the lawmen from town.

  “Mason, there you are,” one of them called out, his arm in a sling. “We feared the worst and came looking for you. Glad to see the little lady is okay too.”

  “We’re fine,” Mason assured them, shoulders back, chest up, his voice commanding. The respected marshal in charge of a field office once again. “Did you bring in the rest of the Folsom Gang?”

  “Yep, they’re locked up in town safe and sound,” another marshal offered, holstering the rifle he’d been carrying. “Well, the ones that aren’t with the undertaker, that is.”

  “Great news.” Mason walked over to the cold fire ring, grabbed his Stetson and his holsters and put them on. “Have you sent a telegraph to the main office?”

  “Did it late last night. Woke up Harvey and dragged him over to the depot to send the message.” A third rider offered with a grin. “Harvey was good about it. He gave us a satchel for you, Miss Callie. Someone found it on the train and turned it in to the conductor. He brought it back with him on his return trip yesterday. It’s at the marshal’s office right now.”

  “Oh, thanks for letting me know,” Callie said. That was really nice of the conductor. Her throat felt tight with gratitude. Just when you think there are way too many bad people in the world, you’re reminded that there are plenty of good people too.

  “Let’s mount up.” Mason came up from behind her, keeping a respectful distance, treating her as if they were polite strangers. He offered his hand to boost her up, his gaze focused on the ground. By the granite set of his jaw, the hard planes of his face, no one would ever guess what had happened last night. How he’d moaned her name, his face buried in her shoulder, his body hard and hot stretched out over her, trembling after the last pulses of his orgasm had faded. Trembling with need for her.