Cherish

by Catherine Anderson

  She’d walloped him on the ear with her elbow, and he had reared away, keeping his distance, as if she were a threat to him. The most beautiful part about that, what made her want to cry, was that she was a threat. Bless his dear heart, he would have let her break his nose rather than slap her silly, which was probably what she had deserved. Am I wanderin’ too close to your collar? Oh, God…She loved him so much, so very, very much. The sound of his voice was a song bursting like a glorious sunrise inside of her.

  She felt his hand tighten at her waist as he trailed his lips over her cheek and found the wetness of her tears. “Sweetheart, you’re cryin’. What’d I do?” Rebecca couldn’t reply. “Should I stop?” he asked.

  “Oh, Race!”

  He moved his hand from her waist, slipping it between her and the mattress to draw her close against him. “What, darlin’? Don’t be scared. Is that it? I swear to God, I’ll take care with you. Don’t be afraid.”

  “I love you!” She clung to his neck, pressing herself as close to him as she could get. “I’m not afraid. I just—oh, Race, I love you so much it hurts.”

  He went still, as if he heard the words but was afraid to believe them.

  “I love you,” she repeated. “I love you so very much.”

  Something that felt like a shudder ran through his big body. He splayed his hand over her back—a hand so wide and leathery hard, she felt sure his fist could splinter wood. Yet when he touched her, he made her feel like a priceless treasure. “Ah, darlin’,” he whispered shakily. “I love you, too. With all my heart and soul. With everything I got. But it ain’t supposed to make you sad.”

  “I’m not! I’m happy!”

  He trailed kisses to her other cheek, tasting her tears. “Well, hell…”

  He sounded so thoroughly bewildered and frustrated that Rebecca giggled. She couldn’t stop herself.

  “Christ on crutches.” She felt his lips curve in one of those crooked grins she loved so much as he trailed kisses to her ear. “Am I ever gonna understand you, Rebecca Ann? Cryin’ because you’re happy. Sometimes, darlin’, you don’t make a lick of sense.”

  She tipped her head to accommodate his mouth, the word “lick” making her yearn for him to tease her sensitive spots with the tip of his tongue again. As if he sensed her need, he granted the wish, finding a deliciously vulnerable place beneath her ear. Her breath snagged and her muscles felt as if they were melting. “Oh, yes,” she whispered throatily. “Oh, yes, there. Like that. Oh, yes…”

  She felt him tugging her gown up, and for just an instant she felt afraid. But then his wide palm lightly caressed her thigh, and it felt so lovely. Butterfly touches, everywhere, until it made her feel as if her skin would turn inside out if she lay still. Her heart began to slug against her ribs like a fist, and her breath came in shaky rasps.

  With feather-light fingertips, he trailed touches to the apex of her legs, dipping between her thighs to tease her sensitive skin, then leaving to trace tantalizing paths to her knees. He made her feel as if her insides were turning into hot syrup. She wanted to melt over his fingers. Just open herself to his touch and flow into him.

  Suddenly she felt the quilts shift, and the next instant she felt his moist, silken lips on her thigh. Her eyes flew open and she stiffened.

  So breathless she could scarcely speak, she managed to gasp out, “Race, wh-what are you—aa-aaa-ah!—wh-what are you doing?”

  From under the quilts, his muffled baritone said, “My manly business, darlin’. It’s all right.”

  Rebecca clamped her knees together. “Are you—sure it’s—oh, my God, what—?”

  He gently pried her knees apart, and then she felt his broad shoulders working in between her legs. She grabbed hold of the headboard, so shocked she couldn’t speak for a moment. He wasn’t going to—oh, lands, he was. The tingling nerves just beneath her skin sang with delight at every caress. Only her mind seemed able to comprehend how utterly base his kissing her legs was or that she should protest.

  “I don’t think this is the way—” He was tickling her inner thigh with the tip of his tongue. It was the most incredibly wonderful feeling. Better, even, than kissing. It was even better than chocolate, and that was her favorite thing in the whole world. “Race, are you—are you positive this is the way it’s done?”

  “Darlin’, think about Keats. This is my business down here, not yours. Right?”

  She closed her eyes. “Keats?” she said shrilly.

  He pressed closer, forcing his shoulders higher. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Remember what your ma said. You just lie still and don’t pay me no nevermind.” He tickled his way straight up. She jerked and held on to the headboard, staring at the ceiling. “I’ll tell you when I’m finished, all right?”

  When he was finished? Rebecca felt a thrum of raw yearning thread through her middle. Her eyes. She was supposed to close her eyes. Only…oh, dear heaven. Keats? “Will you—will you be long, do you think?”

  “Only as”—he ran the tip of his tongue down her inner thigh toward the mattress, finding skin that was so tender, her nerves leaped at every teasing flick—“only as long as it takes, swee—oh, darlin’, you are so sweet. The taste of you…I feel like I’m lappin’ honey.”

  She felt his big hands cup her rump. Her eyes went wide. Oh, lands. Honey? He didn’t mean to—oh, merciful angels. He lifted her, and the white-hot wetness of his mouth surrounded her. She grabbed for breath, her lungs whistling, her arms jerking as she dug her nails into the log of the headboard. He wasn’t really doing this.

  She was dreaming it, surely. No one would actually—oh, dear God, Race would.

  In the next heartbeat, his tongue curled around something there. She jumped, recalling a small flange of flesh in that area that had always been so supersensitive that she’d taken care never to touch it. Race had no such compunction. He settled in there like a bee on honeysuckle. A jolt went through her whole body. “R-Race?”

  His voice, when it came, felt as if it sent vibrations clear to her tonsils. “Sweetheart, this ain’t none of your concern down here. You’re just supposed to lie still and let me do my business, remember?”

  “I—I can’t!”

  He chuckled. This time, she was positive. The vibration went clear through her. “That’s the rule.” His tone brooked no argument. “This down here is mine to do with, however which way I want, right?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Well, then? You lie still and don’t concern yourself.”

  After issuing that edict, he settled back in, lapping lightly at that place. She arched up. She couldn’t stop herself. Shrill little bleeps erupted from her. She clung to the log for dear life. Arched higher. Higher. “Oh, lands…oh, lands…ohhh, mercy!”

  “There’s a girl. Give it to me, darlin’.”

  “Yes. Oh, yes.” Somehow—she wasn’t sure how—she suddenly had handfuls of his hair. “Oh, my God! Oh, dear heaven. I’m sorry! I’m interfering.”

  He chuckled again and then splintered every rational thought in her head by drawing her into his mouth, capturing her flesh to drag it with his tongue. White-hot fire darted from his mouth into her. She dug into the mattress with her heels and pushed up, surrendering that part of herself completely, her hips moving with every draw of his mouth, her muscles jerking in rhythm to his teasing flicks. Faster and faster. Drawing harder and harder. A frightening pressure built within her, the ache growing sharper and sharper. Then, just when she felt sure she could no longer bear it, he drove harder against her, taking her with fierce pulls of his mouth, until she felt as if she shattered like a mirror, the fragments catching and reflecting multicolored light like prisms as they rained through her mind.

  She was so precious. All his life, Race had heard the word “cherish,” but until now he’d never loved anyone so much that he’d understood the meaning. She was his angel—a girl made up of sunbeams and cloudy lace, with eyes like the summer sky. She was warmth and light—the tender new blossoms
of spring flowers—a beautiful, perfect gift. As she experienced passion for the first time, it was as if he was experiencing it for the first time as well. And perhaps, in a way, it was his first time. Race Spencer—a hard man with an untouched heart.

  Until now. This girl held his heart in her hands. She could make it sing with gladness—or bleed with sorrow. Or leap with joy with one little convulsive arch of her spine and a lift of her slender hips—as she gave herself to him.

  He worshipped her.

  He nearly wept at her guileless urgency and the utter trust she was giving him. No holding back. Just sweet and total vulnerability. And then he felt her shatter, her entire body convulsing, her surrender to him absolute. As she shuddered in climax, he could taste every beat of her heart in the sweet throbbing of her flesh.

  Afterward, he gently soothed her sweetness with light strokes and kisses, easing her into a limp calmness, caressing her tortured nerve endings to chase away the ache. When her breathing began to even out, he rose over her. She looked up at him with her lashes drooping low, a dreamy smile on her mouth. “Are you finished?”

  Race bent to kiss her. “No, darlin’. I’m just lettin’ you rest a minute before I do it again.”

  Her eyes widened. “Again?”

  He smiled and shifted to lie beside her, one arm holding him up so he might watch her face. He ran his hand down to the joining of her legs, delved deep with a fingertip into her hot sweetness. She gasped and grabbed his shoulders, her head falling back as she arched toward him, her breasts only inches from his mouth, the overlay of worn cotton more tease than covering, the only question being which of them it tormented most. Even through the cloth, he could see the swollen tips of her nipples, throbbing and thrusting up, begging for his attention. His little Bible thumper’s body had turned traitor against her.

  Race worked her with his hand, loving every expression that crossed her small face. The startlement. The wonder. The strain of building need. He backed off. Brought her back up. The second time when she arched her back and he glanced down to see her nipple thrusting against the thin cotton, he rubbed it with his chin. She gasped and trembled.

  “Oh, yes!” she cried.

  He gave her another rub. His promise not to touch or kiss her there hadn’t included his chin, after all.

  She sobbed and pushed up for more. “Oh, Race, please. My protuberances!”

  Her what? The girl had a tongue tangler for every damned thing. Fortunately, he was growing accustomed to all her highfalutin words. Protuberances. That worked. Beautiful little gems like that deserved a fancy name.

  “Darlin’, do you want me to love ’em?”

  “Oh, yes! Please…”

  Race bent his head, caught her nightgown in his teeth, and dragged it up her slender body to bare her breasts.

  “You gotta say it. Otherwise I’m breakin’ my word. Ask me to kiss ’em.”

  The cool air turned the swollen tips as hard as little spikes. He smiled as she pushed them up at him.

  “Sweetheart, you gotta ask.”

  She made a frustrated sound, grabbed him by the hair of the head, and jerked him down to her. “Just do it!”

  He figured that had “please” beat all to hell. He also figured he had a right to tease her unmercifully before he gave her what she wanted. He circled, laving all around each crest with his tongue, moving in so close he could feel the throbbing heat. Then a quick drag. Then back to circling. When he finally was aching himself for a real taste of her, he nibbled and began to suckle. To his surprise, he felt her body begin to jerk, and he realized the little minx was climaxing. He felt the rush of hot sweetness against his hand. Damn. She was starved for loving. Twenty-one years old, and never been kissed. She was coming apart in his arms.

  Race decided that anyone who had waited over twenty years for this had a right. He took her twice more with his mouth, glorying in the sweet way she trembled and gave herself to him.

  When the moment finally came for him to either take her or explode from the waiting, Race rose over her, caught her behind the knees, and pressed his hardness against her slick heat. She opened heavy-lidded eyes to gaze up at him, clearly too sated and exhausted to even realize he was about to hurt her. The coward in him wanted to just drive it home and get it over with, but the man who loved her with every beat of his heart couldn’t break her trust like that.

  “Sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice throbbing with regret, “I’m gonna hurt you this one time. I’m sorry.”

  She blinked and focused on his face, her eyes shimmering in the firelight. “I know,” she said softly. “Would you just hold me while you do it, Race? It won’t hurt so bad and I won’t be scared if you’re holding me.”

  Tears scalded his eyes. He lowered himself over her to scoop her up in one arm. She wrapped both hers around his neck and clung to him. “I’m not afraid now,” she whispered.

  He could tell by the tension that had entered her small body that in spite of her brave words, she was afraid, and in that moment, he would have given everything he owned not to cause her pain. The truth was, he had no idea how bad it might hurt her when he entered her. It wasn’t only that she was a virgin, but she was a delicately made woman, and he was a large man.

  He nudged into her opening, and she jerked taut. Christ. He had barely started, and already it was killing her. He heard her drag in a sharp breath and hold it. He buried his face in her beautiful hair, wondering why God had decided it should be like this, forcing a man to hurt the one person in the world who was his soul.

  “Do it,” she whispered fiercely. “It’s not that bad. Really.”

  He inched farther in, and her insides convulsed, calling her a liar. Alarm coursed through him. “Oh, Jesus. Darlin’, I can’t. It’s hurtin’ you.”

  He started to draw out. He’d never felt a woman so small and tight. If he forced his way in, he was afraid he’d tear her. “Sweetheart, I’m afraid you’re too small.”

  Before he sensed what she meant to do, she drove upward with her hips and impaled herself. Race’s heart stuttered in his chest and felt as if it stopped beating. He felt her channel give way and was terrified she’d torn herself. She clung to him, shaking violently.

  “It’s all right,” she cried. “It’s all right.”

  Feeling the wet heat of her all around him nearly made him lose it. In a heartbeat, he was trembling as violently as she was. “Oh, damn.”

  She gave a weak little laugh, and the tension started to ebb from her. She pressed a wet cheek against his neck. “It truly is all right,” she whispered. “The hurting isn’t as bad.”

  “It isn’t? Honey, are you sure?” At her nod, Race drew back and carefully nudged forward again. “How’s that?”

  “Oh, my!” she said, sounding startled.

  “What? Is it bad?”

  She sighed. “Oh, Race, why didn’t you tell me?” She bumped her hips against him, slightly off with her aim. “Oh, my! It’s—oh, it’s extraordinary! You’re phenomenal—it’s so wonderful!”

  Phenomenal. He kind of liked that one. A great, huge tongue tangler of a word.

  Carefully he began a slow rhythm. When she began to buck and sob, he knew it really was all right. He increased the force of his thrusts, still holding himself in check, his thoughts so centered on her that his own need was held at bay. Then she convulsed around him, the walls of her channel grabbing at his shaft as her orgasm rocked her.

  That was it for him. He drove home, hard, his own release so explosive that he felt as if the top of his head blew off. Heaven—hell. He spiraled through a maze of brightness, his body locked in violent stiffness, his muscles knotted, his seed bursting forth from him with each squeeze of his heart.

  Afterward he collapsed, rolling with Rebecca in his arms to drape her on top of him so his weight wouldn’t crush her. She sprawled across him like a silken drape that was a little too short, her toes hitting low on his shins. His heart slogging in his chest like a laboring train engine on
a steep incline, Race stroked her beautiful hair, his eyes closed, feeling as though he were floating with her on a cloud.

  His last thought as he drifted with her into slumber was that she must truly be an angel, after all. He knew because she’d just taken him with her to see the glory of heaven.

  Chapter 20

  It was a good hour since dawn had burst over the valley. The ranch was alive. His men were out and about, tending to the routine and never-ending tasks of a working spread. Race was no exception. After jawing over plans for the day with Pete, he’d headed for the barn to get a start on his own work.

  His mouth tipping in a dreamy smile, he forked some straw, thinking as he tossed it toward the horse stall that when the sunlight struck it right, the color shimmered like Rebecca’s hair. Last night. His heart caught, and he glanced up the aisle toward the open barn doors. Through the opening, he could see the cabin.

  A half hour ago, she had been snuggled down asleep when he sneaked out to do chores, a little, golden-haired angel with her nightgown still rucked up under her arms, one petal-pink protuberance peeking out over the quilt at him.

  Damn. His rod went rock-hard, and the pitchfork slipped from his hands to fall forgotten in the straw. She needed at least a couple of days to recover. A decent man would leave the poor girl alone and let her sleep. But he wasn’t feeling very decent at the moment.

  He struck off for the house, calling himself a bastard with every slap of his boot soles on the packed dirt. But, hey…it wasn’t like he had to actually do anything. Right? Just kiss her awake and love on her for a while. That was all. Maybe throw open the shutters near the head of the bed to catch the sunlight pouring in from the eastern sky.