by Fawkes, Sara
I grunt.
“Show me.” He lifts my knees and pushes them back toward my chest, exposing everything there
is to expose. “Do you like being fucked there?”
He doesn’t touch, only looks, yet I cry out as if he’s prodded me with more than a stare.
“You do.”
Wade leans forward, propping himself above me so his face is just above mine. I arch upwards,
trying to grind my naked pussy against some part of him. He won’t let me. He keeps my knees
between us.
Damn him!
“You want me to fuck you there, don’t you?”
My pussy clenches at his words and I thrust my hips up and down into my fingers with increased
speed.
“You’d like my cock in that tight little ass of yours.”
I moan my assent.
“You’d like my fingers in your pussy at the same time.”
In my mind my fingers are his and they feel so good. So damn good.
“And, you want my tongue in your mouth. Cock, fingers, tongue. Fucking you three ways at once.”
Yes. Oh shit! Yes!
I explode.
Shatter.
Come completely unraveled.
Tears leak out the corner of my eyes as I arch into the most amazing orgasm I’ve had in a long
time. My hand is wrenched from my pulsing flesh only to be replaced by Wade’s big hand, pressing
against the spasms, cupping me like he’s trying to capture my orgasm for safekeeping.
He doesn’t take his hand away, but keeps it there between my legs while I melt into the blanket,
one arm thrown across my forehead while the other covers his hand, holding him in place against me.
“Do you have any idea how fucking hot that was?”
After a second or two, I say, “Do you have any idea how fucking frustrating it is that you’re still
clothed?”
His reply is to chuckle deep in his throat and then dip a couple fingers into my drenched channel.
I squirm against his touch. “You’re evil. Pure evil.”
His fingers delve deeper and I clench my thighs around his hand, hoping to hold him there. Maybe
convince him to take off his clothes and take me, properly.
But, he pulls away—damn him—slowly drawing the evidence of my orgasm across my thigh and
up my belly. He leans over and gives me a much too chaste kiss on the lips and then pushes himself to
his feet.
From where I’m lying, the man is gargantuan and my belly twists at the sight of him looking down
on me with such obvious male satisfaction.
“Get your rest,” He says softly. “You’ll need it for tomorrow.”
***
“Do you have any yogurt?” I ask, stifling a yawn. It’s way too early and I barely slept after Wade left
last night. I was too busy replaying everything over and over in my head, embellishing what happened
until the wee hours of the morning. Believe me, in my mind Wade was naked and we were doing it.
All night long.
The bald-headed, oval shaped man, scowls at me through the cut-out into the kitchen. “Do I look
like I have any yogurt?”
“Um, I don’t know? Is this a trick question?” It’s too friggin’ early in the morning for trick
questions.
“Look, girlie, you want to come to a dude ranch, you got to leave all your city ways behind you;
the fancy coffees, all that half-lat, soy, skim, moco choco shit. All your health food crap too. This is a
mess hall. You eat what I serve or you go hungry. Everything here is homegrown, homemade or near
enough. Got it?”
Undeterred, I ask, “What about fruit? An apple? A banana?”
The man grudgingly goes to a bowl and picks out an apple from the measly selection. “Here.” He
tosses it to me. “But don’t come crying when you’re hungry before lunch.”
“Spud, I sure as hell hope you’re not giving the lady a hard time.”
I turn to find Connor standing beside me, a wicked grin on his face as he tips his hat at me. Taking
my elbow, he leads me toward the chafing dishes where eggs, bacon, toast and oatmeal are warming.
Not a fruit or vegetable to be found.
“Sorry about Spud, he’s got the manners of a breeding bull, but he’s the best cook around and...”
he glances back toward the kitchen, “he works hard.”
“You might want to consider a few more options.” I indicate the limited array of food. “So many
people have dietary restrictions these days; gluten free, vegetarian.”
“Shh!” Connor, glances at the kitchen again. “Don’t say the ‘V’ word. Spud will blow a gasket.”
“I heard that, O’Reilly.” Spud calls out from the kitchen.
Laughing, Connor calls back, “Spud, I was just extolling the virtues of your grub to Ms. Savage.”
Grumbling, the potato shaped man—not hard to figure out where he got his nickname—turns away
and clatters some pans in the kitchen, whether out of necessity or for effect, it’s hard to say.
Connor fills a plate for me, and I have to admit, he’s right. The food is delicious. Not too greasy,
as I’d feared. The eggs are light as clouds with a hint of something spicy. The bacon’s thick and
smoky and the bread is homemade and tastes like it just came out of the oven. Which, according to
Connor, it did only an hour ago.
“It’s good to see a girl with an appetite,” Connor says after I finish pretty much everything on my
plate. “I don’t know where you put it, but you sure can put it away.”
I smile and shrug. Then I check the door to the hall for about the millionth time.
“Looking for someone?” Connor asks with a mischievous wink.
“Maybe.”
“He’s not here.”
“Not here?” My stomach sinks, making me feel suddenly nauseous because I’m so full.
“Emergency at the neighbor’s. Some idiot shot a couple of their cattle last night. They found them
this morning.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” For the first time, I see a serious expression on Connor’s face. “We lost a couple cows
about to calve last spring.” He rubs his knuckles. “If I ever find out who did it, I’m going to stand
them out in the field and play target practice with them. See how they like it.”
Laying my hand on his forearm, I say, “That’s so senseless. I’m sorry.”
Connor nods and looks down at my hand. Then he looks at me.
I slowly draw my hand away. “Um, do you know if Wade’s going to be back later?”
The glint in his eye returns. “Yep. Probably in an hour or two.”
“Is he coming on the trail ride?”
“Nope, he says he’s got too much work to do.”
“Oh.” I try not to sound too disappointed.
“He asked me to take special care of you, though.”
“He did?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he do that?”
Connor rests his elbows on the table and leans closer. “Why so many questions about Wade?”
“I don’t know.” I smile, secretively. Playing the game Connor has seemingly invited me to play. “I
think he’s nice.” Nice and nasty, that is.
“Nice, huh? Doesn’t sound like Wade.”
I laugh because his words so closely echo my sentiments.
Connor’s brows lift. “Holy hell,” he whispers. “So, you two did mess around last night, huh?”
“None of your business.”
He touches my cheek. “Turning pink. Yep. The man got you naked. Damn.”
I smack his hand away, but there’s no way I ca
n stop smiling. There’s something about Connor
that puts me in a good mood. He’s a flirt but in a totally fun and playful way, so it’s hard not to flirt
right back.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leans back in his chair and studies me, reminding me of Wade
for just a second. “You must really be as special as Todd says.”
“Todd needs to keep his mouth shut. How well do you know him?”
“The three of us are good friends.”
“Really?” Again I’m struck with how different the three men are. I also have to wonder about what
Todd’s been saying about me. I blush, not because of what Todd said, but because I can’t stop thinking
about what happened with Wade last night.
It’s like Connor reads my mind because he says, “The mighty Messing succumbs to wee little
Tessa Savage. Interesting.” He stands, leaning over me to take my plate. It’s probably just a pretense
to be closer to my ear. “One question,” he whispers, “Did he satisfy?”
“Like I said, none of your business.”
“Did he make you beg?
“Connor!”
“Then left you hanging?”
“What?”
“Playing you like a finely tuned fiddle, but never really finishing the song? Never really giving
you everything you wanted?”
“How—?”
His eyes sparkle. “That’s what I thought. You want satisfaction?” He taps his chest. “You come to
me.”
Chapter Six
There’s something completely unnatural about sitting on the back of a large animal. I try to act
normal, you know, like I ride horses all the time, but it’s no use. Trains, planes and automobiles?
Normal. As far as I’m concerned, the more horsepower a vehicle has, the better. But a horse, an actual
horse? It’s a living, breathing unpredictable being and it’s not natural to sit on it and expect it to carry
me someplace.
Take my horse, Sunny, for example. He’s not even a live wire, but I have no control over him.
None. I’m sure he’s a hundred years old. If horses could have a cane or a walker, Sunny would have
one so he could inch along. He’s that slow, which means I’m at the very back of the pack for the trail
ride. He’d rather stop and eat—anything from grass to leaves to dirt, I’m not kidding—than follow the
horses in front of him.
“Give him a smack,” Connor says bringing up the rear.
“Huh?”
“Keep the reins loose, let him go for a mouthful of grass, then give him a smack on the top of the
head.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Then you leave me no choice,” Connor says wearing his signature grin. “Hold on.” With a wide
palm, he gives Sunny a good old smack on the rump. Sunny jumps. I cry out and suddenly the horse is
off. It’s probably only a trot, but to me it feels like the horse is galloping full tilt along the trail, racing
to catch up to those in front of us while my ass is smack, smack, smacking against the saddle.
“Whoa,” I cry, sitting back and pulling up on the reins the way Connor showed me. Finally the old
boy does slow down but it’s not because I’ve commanded it. His step falters, almost tripping, and in
the span of three strides he comes to a dead halt while I have a death grip on the saddle horn.
“Shit,” Connor says, riding up behind me and sliding off his horse. He holds his hands up to me, an
invitation to dismount. “Come on down.”
My legs are quivering as I stand up in the stirrups, but I manage to pull my right leg over the
horse’s back and half-step, half-fall into Connor’s arms. “That was graceful,” I say, trying to cover my
nervousness with a joke.
Laughing, Connor says, “I’ve seen worse dismounts. Well, maybe only once. And the lady was
eighty years old with a bum hip.”
Just like he smacked Sunny on the rump, I smack him on the arm, open palm and everything.
“Ouch,” he says in mock pain. “I barely deserved that.” For just a second, his smile falls from his
features. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “I’m fine. I’m not sure about Sunny, though.”
He lets me go and approaches the horse. With a hand on Sunny’s left shoulder, he picks up his left
front hoof and examines it.
“Shit.”
I cautiously approach. “What is it? Did he step on something?”
Gently placing the horse’s foot back on the ground, Connor says, “Nah. The old boy has chronic
founder, an inflammation between the coffin bone and the hoof.” He pats the horse’s head. “It’s flared
up again, which is no surprise, seeing how much he’s been snacking on these trail rides.”
I stare at Connor. “I have no idea what you’ve just said.”
Rubbing the horse’s flank, Connor says, “He’s lame. He won’t be going any further.” Pulling out
his mobile, he punches in a number and I overhear his conversation with one of the ranch hands about
bringing the trailer out to pick up the horse.
“So, what are we going to do?”
“We’re just going to have to wait til they get here.”
“Just you and me?”
Connor grins. “Yep. You got a problem with that?”
“Not if you behave yourself.”
With a hand held mockingly to his heart, Connor says, “I’m hurt. Don’t you trust me?”
“Nope.”
Throwing his head back, Connor laughs. “A girl who tells it like it is. Refreshing.” He takes my
hand and leads me toward his horse.
I try to tug away. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to teach you how to ride a horse. Properly.”
***
“Now, the most important thing to understand is that you control a horse with your whole body. Not
the reins.”
I have no idea how Connor cajoled me up onto the back of another horse. His horse. But he did, the
bastard.
“North Star is sensitive. He can pretty much just read your body language and doesn’t need too
many aids.” Connor’s walking beside me while I sit up on his horse. It’s a big black thing with a white
star on his forehead. “Of course, he’s going to test you, because he doesn’t know you. So, you’ve got
to be firm in telling him what you want.” He rests his hand on my left leg and says, “Okay, turn him to
the right.”
Following earlier instructions, I move the reins gently to the right so the left rein is against the
horse’s neck and apply pressure with my left leg.”
“You don’t want to be a dictator. But you definitely don’t want to be a push over, either.”
“You think I’m a dictator?”
“You?” Connor snorts. “You’re a pushover.” He exerts pressure against my leg, showing me the
degree I need to apply. “Do you feel that?”
“Yes. I think so.” The horse turns. “Okay. I think I’ve got it.”
“Not bad. Not bad.” Connor checks his watch and glances up the trail. There’s no sign of the rest
of the group. “They must have had lunch out by the lookout,” he says. “Maybe we should head back.”
“I should have gone back to the ranch with Brett,” I say. The ranch hand had already been by to
pick up Sunny in the trailer and he’d offered me a ride back to the ranch but Connor had told him we’d
wait for the rest of the group.
“It’s no problem.” He takes the reins from my hands and tells me to scooch up clos
er to the saddle
horn. “Take your left foot out of the stirrup for a sec,” he instructs and the next thing I know, he’s
hoisting himself up onto the saddle behind me.
“What are you doing?” I try to turn around, but we’re squished together so close, I can’t manage it.
“I’m going to sit here while you ride North Star back to the ranch. But first you’ve got to put your
foot back into the stirrup.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Nope. Now, sit up straight, no slouching, and I’m just going to sit here, nice and still, while you
tell the horse what to do.”
At first I’m so nervous that I don’t pay much attention to Connor’s big body snugged up behind
me. But, as soon as we’re back on the double wide track across the pasture, I realize I don’t need to do
anything. The horse knows his own way home and is heading there, no matter what I do. Unlike
Sunny, he walks keeping his head up, having no interest in snacking every few feet.
“Comfortable?” Connor asks after a long silence.
“No.”
He wriggles his hips, adjusting himself behind me. “Better?”
There is a prominent bulge pressing right up against my ass. Twisting my head, I say, “Do we need
to pull over so you can take care of that six-shooter in your pocket?”
“You going to help me with it?”
“No.”
“Then, no.” He shifts again, rubbing said bulge against my butt while his hands go to my hips to
hold me close.
I clear my throat to tell him to cool it. His response? To slide his hands around to the top of my
thighs.
“Connor!”
“What?” he asks, in mock innocence.
I should be incensed. He’s coming onto me so hard, it’s ridiculous. But he has this light-hearted
way about him that is irresistible. I sigh with exaggeration. “Can you move your hands, please?”
“Sure.”
I don’t know what I was thinking, because of course he moves them in the wrong direction, sliding
them closer to my crotch, not stopping until his thumbs rest on the crease at the juncture of my jeans.
“Hands off,” I say, inadvertently tightening my thighs causing the horse to start to jog. If sitting
close to the cowboy behind me was hard when the horse was walking, it’s ten times harder when the
horse is jogging. Our bodies bounce and jostle against one another. Connor takes the opportunity to
