Tough Talking Cowboy

by Jennifer Ryan

  She arched her back and offered up her breasts to his attention. And he gave them equal affection as she clutched his shoulders and held him close.

  He hooked his hands over her ass and down lower until he lifted her against him and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He pivoted and pressed her back up against the wall. He lifted her higher and took her breast in his mouth, suckling deep.

  The heat pooling low in her belly flashed and spread through her entire system like a wildfire. She held his head to her breast and let her head fall back against the wall as he suckled and drove her crazy.

  “Drake. Please.” She needed more.

  He unlatched from her breast and pulled her close. Her breasts smashed against his hard chest. His heat spread through her and she rubbed her breasts against his skin. He growled at her ear and limped to her bedroom and tossed her down on the bed. He followed her, kissing her belly down to the button on her jeans. He stared up at her as he undid her jeans, hooked his fingers in the waistband of both her pants and panties, and dragged them down her legs. She usually went barefoot at home, so he didn’t have to waste time removing her shoes or socks. Good thing, because she throbbed with need and wanted his hands on her.

  He didn’t disappoint and swept his big hands from her ankles all the way up to the top of her thighs and hips where he gripped her tight, gave her one last look and a chance to stop him before his head dipped between her thighs and his flat tongue licked her seam, the tip stopping at her most sensitive place and circling slowly.

  She melted into the bed on a groan and rocked her hips forward and into his mouth and that roaming tongue that set her on fire.

  Drake hooked his hands under her thighs, spread her legs wide, bared her most sensitive flesh to him, and dived in for more, his tongue thrusting deep inside her. She writhed beneath him. Every sigh and moan only drove him to make her do it again, until she was right on the edge.

  “Let go, sweetheart.” He circled her clit again and plunged one finger deep into her slick core. She shattered, her body clenched around his finger as he swept his tongue over that sweet spot one more time as her body convulsed.

  He slipped his finger free and licked her again, setting off aftershocks that rippled through her. “So sweet.” He kissed his way up her belly to her breast, flicked his tongue over her nipple, teasing it to attention, then smiled down at her. “You good?”

  “Fantastic.” She palmed his shoulder and shoved him over so he landed on his back beside her. She rose up and stared down at him. “My turn.”

  She straddled his lap, planted her hands on his pecs, leaned down, and kissed him. She pressed up, smiled, and slid back just enough to undo his jeans.

  He covered her hands with his before he let her drag his pants and boxer briefs down his legs. “My hip . . . you don’t have to take them all the way off.”

  She tilted her head and held his gaze. “You need to do this. You need to know that scars or not, I want you. You can see it, right?”

  He nodded, acknowledging the desire she felt running all through her.

  “A few scars won’t change that.”

  “You haven’t seen my leg.”

  She tried again. Instead of trying to rid him of the barriers, she traced her fingers down his chest and over his left side where red lines rose out of his waistband like tendrils. She didn’t stop, but ran her hand over the side of his hip and down his thigh. Because her legs straddled his knees, she felt him tense at her touch. She leaned over and planted kisses over his flat, hard stomach and continued to rub her hands over him until he relaxed.

  “Do you trust me?” she whispered, still kissing his stomach.

  “About as far as I can throw you.”

  She smiled against his skin and swept her hands up over his strong arms. “I bet that’s a fair distance.” She traced her hands over his shoulders, down his pecs and abs, hooked her fingers in his pants and boxers, lifted them up and over his thick erection, and pulled them down as her mouth enclosed his length as she exposed it. He groaned, long and deep. His fingers swept over her head and tangled in her hair.

  She kept his mind on her mouth, licking and sucking, while she pushed his clothes down his legs, past his knees. She leaned over him on all fours, her mouth working up and down his swollen flesh, while she planted her foot and pushed his jeans and underwear down to his ankles.

  “Fuck, Adria.” His fingers tightened in her hair but he never hurt her.

  She slid her mouth off him, licked his tip, stared up at him, and smiled. “Not yet.” She slid her mouth over him again. He swore and groaned all at the same time. She tried not to smile, but it came anyway before she got back to making him moan.

  She loved pleasing him, making him lose himself in the feel of her and the pleasure she aroused in him. It made her feel powerful and wanted and needed.

  How could the nightmare come back with all these good and amazing feelings rushing through her?

  This wasn’t wrong. It couldn’t be when it felt so right. And perfect.

  “Adria,” he called, and it was music to her ears.

  She released his pulsing cock, kissed her way up his chest, and planted a long kiss on his lips.

  “Condom. Pocket. Now.” He reached sideways down to his ankle but couldn’t quite reach with her straddling his hips, rubbing her slick center over his hard flesh.

  She reached back, pulled the condom from his pocket, tore it open, and sheathed him while he kicked free of his pants, the movement only creating a sweet friction between them.

  She rose up on her knees and sank down on him.

  He swore and groaned again, clamping his hands on her hips and moving her back and forth over him. She let him control the speed and motion. He didn’t seem to want to let her go on her own. She didn’t mind. He’d lost himself again in the feel of her body working over his, and she lost herself in the demand of his will for both of them to find the pinnacle of pleasure they were driving toward with every push and pull of their bodies.

  It came on like a freight train and bucked her body as he drove into her one last time and let go along with her. Spent and shaking with the aftermath, she collapsed on his heaving chest.

  She’d barely gotten settled when he shoved his left leg up into her bottom and nearly toppled her off him.

  He moaned in a very bad way and grabbed his thigh.

  She moved off him, sat up, and stared down at the crisscross of scars and gnarled skin covering his hip and thigh. He gripped his leg and the corded muscle. He tried to rub at the cramp, but his whole body had gone rigid, making it worse.

  She pushed his hand away and took over, rubbing in long, slow sweeps. “Shh. Relax.”

  He tried to push her hands away. “I’ve got it.”

  “Shut up and do what I said. Relax.” She rubbed her hand over the scars and knotted muscle. She gently moved his foot down, lengthening out his leg a little at a time as she rubbed with her other hand. “There you go. It’s going away.” She kept up the massage even after he settled into the bed again. “That’s it. You’re okay.”

  His big hand settled over hers. “You can stop.”

  She leaned down and kissed his hand over hers, then sat up and stared at him. “Is it better?”

  “Yeah.” His gaze landed on the scars on his chest, then swept down to the ones covering his side, hip, and thigh. “It’s not pretty.”

  “Just because you can’t see my scars doesn’t make them any prettier. They’re a part of me. They’re evidence I survived.” She flexed her hand under his. “These are a part of you now, Drake. They are proof of what you’ve been through, your strength, your resilience.” She slipped her hand free from his leg and reached up to his face. She looked him in the eye and said what needed to be said. “I’m sorry you got hurt. I’m sorry you lost your friends. But I am so glad you survived and I got to meet you. You have changed my life. I am better for knowing you.”

  He came up, wrapped both arms around her, fell back int
o the bed, pulling her down with him, and fiercely hugged her. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “We are exactly what the other needs right now.” Something in her wanted to take back those last two words. But she didn’t want to be selfish and ask for more than he was willing to give, or she had time to provide. Right now.

  He kissed her on the head. “You are unexpected in so many ways.”

  “Thanks.” She drew the word out, unsure if he’d paid her a compliment or not. “You should know something.”

  “You’re ready to kick me out already.”

  “Um, I’m not holding you here against your will or anything, but if you want to stay a while longer I might make it worth your while.”

  “I think you’re trying to kill me.”

  She chuckled, snuggling into his chest and the embrace he hadn’t let up on. “You’re stronger than you think.”

  He flexed his arms, squeezing her closer to his rock-hard chest.

  She giggled again, then looked up at him. “Not that, tough guy. You carried me in here. Without your cane.”

  “I didn’t think about it. I just wanted you naked and in a bed.”

  She rubbed herself against his side. “Mission accomplished.”

  They settled into the quiet for a long stretch that wasn’t awkward or strange, given that they didn’t really know each other outside of what they shared in these intimate but not revealing moments.

  “Adria?”

  “Yeah?”

  It took him a second, but his deep voice finally came again. “Do the scars bother you?” He really wanted to know if they put her off.

  “They make me sad because it must have been a devastating and brutal way you got them. I would never wish a moment of pain on you. But no, Drake, they don’t make me want you any less than I did before I got you naked.” She turned her head to his and planted her chin on his chest. “I wish I could take them away. I wish you saw yourself the way I see you. Strong. Resilient. And so sexy that every time I see you, I want to climb all over you.”

  He smiled. A real, full-on smile.

  Stunned, she smiled back. “You keep smiling at me like that, and I won’t be held responsible for what I do.”

  “Oh yeah,” he challenged. “Prove it.” The smile didn’t dim. It grew wider when she rose up, covered his body with hers, and kissed the smile right off his tempting lips.

  She thought she’d be the one to show him how much she wanted him, but he rolled her to her back and took over. Their lovemaking up until now had a desperate need that drove them. Not this time. He took things slow and easy and drew out every kiss and touch, push and pull of his body over and in hers, until their breaths mingled, hearts beat as one, and the pleasure they shared burst through them.

  Rocked by the force and depth of what happened between them, she stared up at the ceiling, trying to center her world again, but it felt completely off when he rolled over, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled on his clothes. He stared down at her for a moment, then walked out.

  She wanted to call him back, but didn’t because that wasn’t the deal.

  She heard the front door close a few moments later.

  He’s not for you. You can’t keep him.

  The reminder didn’t stop her heart from asking, Why not?

  Because. It wasn’t meant to be that way between them. She couldn’t explain it, but it just wasn’t.

  What they shared was always meant to end. But it didn’t have to end now. They could enjoy each other a while longer. She’d back out if things got too personal.

  Her heart spoke up again. Too late.

  No, it wasn’t. Lust wasn’t love. And that’s all they had. She was sure of it.

  Mostly. Definitely. Maybe.

  Damn.

  When she woke up in the morning, found the paper bag he dropped inside the door, and saw the pretty nightgown and sexy lace panties he’d bought to replace what he’d wrecked, her heart melted. Thinking about Drake buying her lingerie made her smile.

  Thinking about him period made her happy.

  Damn.

  Then she saw the note he scrawled on the back of the gift receipt.

  I like you wearing nothing but your tattoo, but I owe you these. Looking forward to taking them off you.

  Her heart flipped over. Oh no.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Drake rode Thor with Sunny on his lap into the stable yard and stopped ten feet from Declan and Tate. His brothers stared up at him. Sunny barked a happy hello. He gave the fast-growing pup a scratch behind the ears. While Sunny continued to live up to his name, neither of his brothers smiled. He’d avoided them the last ten days, taking the time he needed to work on his physical therapy and settle into his . . . relationship—whatever it was between him and Adria.

  The night she first saw his scars—the words she’d said to him that sank deep into his soul—he didn’t know what to do with how it made him feel or how he’d changed because of them. He walked out that night with a desire to stay with her so strong it scared him.

  She had to know he fled that night without a word because what he’d wanted to say wasn’t something they’d agreed to or wanted. Right? But what he’d found in her arms, he’d never thought possible.

  So he told himself to remember that he’d promised to give her what she needed and not expect more than she was so generously willing to give. And she was generous with her affection, but they’d shared few words since that night.

  He regretted pausing the easy conversation between them and squelching the closeness they shared that night, but it had to be done, even if he sometimes allowed himself to ask why.

  Declan folded his arms over his chest. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to brush down my horse, feed him, and put him out in the pasture. Why?”

  Declan turned to Tate. “That was like twenty words or something, right?”

  “I expected a fuck off at most.” Tate smiled like an idiot up at Drake.

  He obliged him. “Fuck off.” He handed the pup down to Tate, swung his leg over Thor’s back, and dismounted. His leg ached, but not as bad as it used to. He rubbed his hand over the tight muscles, then pulled the reins over Thor’s tall head.

  Physical therapy sucked, but it worked. Slowly. But steadily. His mobility improved and the excruciating pain turned to something that felt more healing.

  He worked with Dr. Porter on his mind. Talking about what happened, how he felt, the thoughts he couldn’t let go of, eased his anger and resentments, helped him put things into perspective, dulled the flashbacks and nightmares, and allowed him to sleep better.

  Generally, he’d found some calm in the storm he’d thought he’d be lost in forever.

  “Did you just come from the south pasture?” Declan petted Thor down his long nose while Tate cuddled Sunny.

  “Yeah.” He’d cut his ride short when he spotted one of their ranch hands. “Brent was out there fixing fences. I helped him out. We got it done in no time.”

  Declan and Tate exchanged a look. Declan spoke for the two of them. “You cleaned out the stalls this morning while we were out feeding the cows.”

  “It needed to be done.” And he’d needed the distraction from what he really wanted to do, which was going to Adria’s cabin, stripping off whatever sexy pair of panties he’d bought her, and making love to her in the morning light.

  Tate eyed him. “The last few days, you’ve worked on fixing up your room.”

  He’d wanted to do it for a long time. He hated looking at the evidence of his out-of-control rage. “I repaired the walls I busted up, got rid of the broken furniture, and bought some new stuff.” For some stupid reason, he wanted decent, solid furniture and a nice platform bed made out of thick beams just in case Adria saw his room. Like she ever would. “I painted. Put it back to rights.” The space felt welcoming now and not like a cell. It didn’t remind him of the past anymore.

  He’d needed a fresh start and the room was a good beginni
ng.

  Fix the room. Fix his injuries. Fix his head.

  “Why?”

  Tate touched Declan’s shoulder. “Let me handle this.” Tate turned to Drake. “What the fuck?”

  Drake eyed them through his narrowed gaze. He wanted to tell them to back off, but they’d been patiently waiting for him to get his head out of his ass and do something around here. He’d slowly worked his way into doing one thing or another, making sure he didn’t overdo it and set his rehab back. He felt better. Productive. Useful.

  His confidence built with each new success. Big or small.

  Working on the fence had been hard, but he’d managed with only a brief stab of panic when he glanced at the nearby tree line and for a moment thought of snipers and an impending attack that would never come.

  Just the thought made him breathe harder and tenser. He refocused on his brothers and Sunny wiggling in Tate’s arms to be set free to run around the yard. “Don’t make a big deal about it.”

  “It is a big deal.” Declan put his hand on Drake’s shoulder. “We’re happy to see you out of your room, calm, and working on getting better. That’s all.”

  “Fine. Now back off and give me some space to do it without you watching my every move and looking over my shoulder.”

  “Are you still seeing Jamie for your rides and talking to Dr. Porter?” Tate asked, concerned he was trying to go it alone.

  “Jamie once a week. Dr. Porter and physical therapy three times a week.” He sucked in a breath and let out another truth. “I saw a surgeon about my leg. Physical therapy will only get me so far, but he thinks he can help improve my mobility by cleaning up some of the scar tissue. He’s got an opening next week.”

  Declan recovered from his shock first. “Okay. Yeah. We’ll take you. How many days will you be in the hospital?”

  He’d refused any more surgeries because he hated the hospital and feeling helpless lying in a bed. He feared coming out worse, not better. But he wanted to do this. He needed to do it for his own peace of mind.