The Curvy Astronomer and the Cowboy (He Wanted Me Pregnant!) (8 page)

He kissed me again and again, and with each press of his lips I felt a little more life return to me. He was soft and hard at the same time, gentle but firm, just like his voice. The way he restrained the power made me melt for him, but the fact all that power was there, just waiting to be unleashed, made me go weak inside. He didn’t use his tongue--not yet. It was as if he knew it would scare me off.

I broke the kiss for a second--and, already, I was panting. “I wasn’t sure if I could--”

He opened his eyes and looked down at me. “But you can? Trust me?”

I nodded furiously, realizing it was true even as I said it. “Yes. Hell, yes.”

And then my mouth was searching hungrily for his and this time, he didn’t hold back. His tongue traced my lips and then pressed between them and I opened for him. He invaded my mouth and I actually groaned at how good it felt--at that firm, demanding
maleness
inside me, filling a void I hadn’t even known was there. My body was starting to unfreeze, coming back to life inch by inch from the center outward. The feel of his tongue was making me aware of the deeper, aching void in me that needed him just as badly.

His hands started to strip layers off me. The outer plaid shirt, revealing nothing but more freezing, damp cotton. Then the second one and, as he undid the buttons, a slice of skin appeared at my neck--the scoop neck of my tank top. The second shirt dropped to the floor and he started to rub my bare arms with his palms, every stroke sending warmth soaking into me. I was still shaking a little, but it wasn’t the helpless shuddering of before. And every touch of him warmed me...calmed me.

He broke the kiss and I looked up at him as he folded me into his arms. Squashed against his broad chest, my head on his pecs, his biceps solid against my back, I was almost surrounded by him, encased by his heat. He looked down at me very seriously. “I’m going to take care of you,” he said in a voice made thick by emotion. “Okay?”

I nodded. Which didn’t express what was going on inside at all. Inside, my heart was soaring and filling, swelling fit to burst. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel as if I was on my own.

He spun me around so that my back was to him, crossing his arms one over the other across my stomach. His chest pressed to my back, his grizzled chin nuzzling against my head. His hot breath blew in my ear as he spoke. “Better?” He squeezed me tight.

I nodded again. My body was still numb, but my head was clearing. The dark memories of life on the road had been banished, gone like nightmare shadows when someone turns on the light. Without them, everything looked bright and clear and full of possibilities.

With me still facing away from him, he brought his hands up and started tracing the shape of my face with his fingers. I realized there was a mirror in front of us, and joined him in watching ourselves. “So pretty,” he said, running a calloused finger down my cheek, and I squirmed and looked away. “No,” he said--and he almost sounded mad at my refusal to accept it. “See for yourself,” he ordered.

And I did. I looked at the curvy, dark-haired woman with her cowboy wrapped around her from behind.

“Beautiful,” he told me in a low, clear voice. “You’re beautiful.”

If he’d said the same words even the day before, I wouldn’t have believed them. But now, now that I’d felt his kiss and his touch and his embrace...now, for the first time, I believed. I stopped squirming. And I wanted him to know, too. I pulled out of his arms and turned to him. “You’re gorgeous,” I breathed, looking up into his eyes. My hands started to work at his jacket, wanting to undress him as he’d undressed me. I pushed it back off his shoulders, drawing in my breath at the feel of the hard, rounded muscle there. Then his own shirt, my fingers still clumsy with cold as they worked at the buttons. If he minded the cold of my fingers as they brushed his chest, he gave no sign. I could see his powerful chest moving as his breathing became faster and deeper, his hands stroking up and down my sides. The heat of him was incredible--he seemed as hot as I was cold, almost burning through the thin cotton of my tank top to the skin beneath.

His shirt came open and I tugged it back off his chest, desperate to see him. I’d held the image in my mind since the bath: those full pecs, that ridged, hard stomach. But seeing it again, close up, was far better. My breathing grew tight as my hands traced the shape of him, sliding over the curve of his chest, then running down his sides and crisscrossing his abs with my fingers. I ran the tips over those firm, sculpted ridges as if I was playing an instrument. God, I wanted to feel every last inch of him.

I pushed his shirt the rest of the way off and he stood topless in front of me. He pulled me to him again, pulling my back to his chest, and then his fingers were on the hem of my tank top, tugging it up over my head. A sudden swell of panic at the thought of him seeing me--I crossed my arms over my chest. But then he was dropping the tank top on the floor and turning me to face him, and I saw him shake his head.

He wasn’t going to allow me to be embarrassed. He wasn’t going to allow me to hate myself.

I slowly let my arms drop to my sides. We locked eyes as he reached behind me and unhooked my bra, drawing it gently down my arms. He tossed it aside and then he...
feasted
on me. I watched as his eyes tracked down over my breasts, his gaze leaving a blazing trail behind it. And then his hands were following that trail, making it burn even hotter. Over the soft tops of my breasts. Around the sides and underneath, lifting them, squeezing them gently. There was a grin of pure pleasure on his face. He was
captivated.

I’d never captivated a man before.

He gathered me up in his arms and crushed me to him, my breasts pillowing against his bare chest. His hands rubbed over my back, massaging warmth into me with firm strokes. And with every touch, a deeper, darker heat was building inside me. One that made my nipples tighten and my sex ache and moisten.

He turned me again, so that my back was to him, my head on his shoulder and my long hair tickling his chest. He walked me over to the range. The door was still open and now I could feel the raw heat pumping out at us, throbbing against my bare skin. He found the button of my jeans and popped it open, then freed the zipper and shoved the snow-wet fabric down my thighs. I helped, kicking at my sodden sneakers, and suddenly he lifted me right off my feet, handling me like a toy, to help me pull them off. My panties followed a moment later, and then I was naked against him, my ass to his groin, and the heat from the range was washing over my trembling thighs, licking at my moistening folds through their scant covering of soft hair. He hadn’t seen me, yet--unless he really had looked when I’d been in the bath. But he could feel me against him and, at any second, he’d turn me to him and then he
would
see. He’d see every inch of me.

And yet, as he reached up with one big hand and tilted my head back to kiss me, I didn’t care. I started to move with him in a slow rhythm as soon as our lips met, our bodies pressed together from shoulder to ankle with not even the smallest gap between them, flexing sinuously. My whole front was being bathed in heat from the range, the warmth stealing slowly through me to my bones. And yet my nipples were hardening even more, as if I was still freezing cold. My heart was racing, the fire that was blazing inside me starting to twist and spiral upward. I was being thawed from the outside, but a much rawer and more vital spring was happening inside me. Feelings I thought I’d never feel again, after San Francisco, were being nursed slowly into life. With them came confidence--shaky, for now, but more than I’d felt in years. I wasn’t scared of him seeing me. I
wanted
him to see me.

I broke the kiss, panting, and spun to face him, pressing up against him for a second and then stepping back so that he could see. The heat from the range washed over my ass and the tops of my thighs, making me gasp. And then I was standing there,
naked,
while my cowboy looked down the length of my entire body. I swear I could feel the caress of his gaze on my thighs, my hips, on the soft curls of hair at my sex. I’d trusted him...and now I was rewarded by his grin, and by the way I saw the bulge at his groin swell and lengthen. I reached for him, raking my nails down the sides of the outline, feeling the press of hot, hard flesh through the denim, and he moaned.

My hands had long since thawed out, but they were just as clumsy as before, this time with my own heady lust. I unfastened his belt and his fly and then I was pushing the jeans down his thighs. His legs were so thickly muscled that I could barely get the fabric past them. Beneath the jeans, he was in black jockey shorts, snugly fitted, his cock straining for release through the soft cotton. I reached for him again and, this time, I was able to actually wrap my hand around the shaft. He groaned and kicked and pushed angrily at his jeans and boots, hungry for me, and the idea that he was in such a hurry to get naked with me made me even hotter.

A moment later, his jeans were a tangled bundle on the floor, his boots and my sneakers scattered together. I wrapped my arms around his waist and slipped my fingers into the rear of his shorts, then slid my hands down over his ass. God, it was just as tight and perfect as it had looked, and I couldn’t resist giving it a squeeze as my palms moved over it, which made him chuckle in a deliciously filthy way. He stepped out of the shorts and then there was nothing left between us, just two naked bodies pressing together, his cock hard and straining against my thigh, brushing almost against my folds. I could feel how wet I was and, as his cock brushed against me, I felt the stickiness of the jewel of pre-cum on his tip. The implications of it made me go weak inside. This wasn’t just sex. All he’d said about wanting a family….

Strong arms locked around my waist and lifted me, pulling me to his chest and carrying me as if I weighed nothing. He walked us to the bedroom like that, with the shaft of his cock stroking against my slickened folds with each step.

By the time we reached the bed, I had my legs tight around him. He lay me down gently on my back, lowering himself atop me, and we were almost in position, with him between my thighs, before I could think. He lowered his head to my breasts, opening his mouth wide before taking me into his mouth, and I groaned as his tongue lashed over the stiffened nipple, then the soft skin around it. His mouth sent streamers of raw pleasure arcing straight to my core, where they throbbed outward through my whole body. I started to grind my ass on the bed, swirling my hips, my hands clawing at the muscles of his back. I was torn between grabbing his head and pulling him hard to me, to show him how much I wanted it, and leaving him free to set his own pace. I didn’t want to control him, didn’t want to miss a thing that he could teach me.

And then I realized, as his thighs spread mine a little wider, that it didn’t matter. I couldn’t have held him back if I’d wanted to. He was going to do exactly as he wanted with me...and the thought of that made me moan.

His hands started to rub up my thighs, as if he was still trying to rub warmth into my body. But this was purely about pleasure, now, and the feel of his rough hands on my smooth skin was intoxicating. He seemed to know exactly where to touch me: his thumbs stroked across the sensitive spots at the very tops of my thighs and his strong finger glided down the sides of my hips. I could feel myself getting hotter and hotter inside, blazing like a furnace as I grew slicker and slicker. I was grinding up towards him, now, rubbing my groin against his muscled abs, desperate for friction, as his mouth switched back and forth between my breasts and his hands rubbed and rubbed.

And then, quite suddenly, I felt the tip of one finger gliding up and down my folds and I groaned with anticipation. His thumb found my clit at the same time, circling and teasing. I’d closed my eyes, lost in sensation but now, on instinct, I opened them.

He was staring down at me, his eyes blazing with lust. “I’m going to make you mine, Emily,” he told me.

I nodded dumbly. I didn’t have even a hope of responding.

“I’ve wanted you ever since I first saw you,” he told me. “I knew you were the one. You know the exact moment I knew? When I put that blanket around your shoulders, out in the cold.”

My chest caught with emotion even as a deep, hot throb went through me.

“You’re always too damn busy
thinking
to think about yourself,” he said, his voice throaty with lust. “But I know what you need.”

I swallowed, “What do I need?” I whispered.

He didn’t respond. He just pushed two fingers into me and then scissored them open. I gasped.

“You’re running,” he told me. “Always running. I’m not going to let you run anymore. You’re going to be mine.” And he looked down at his erect, straining,
naked
cock.

I nodded. I was blinking back tears of joy, but my insides were turning to gooey, molten gold. “O--Okay!”

He withdrew his fingers and, a second later, I felt the silken touch of his cock against my folds. My eyes widened at the sensation. He was staring right down at me, making sure that I understood.

“I’m not on the pill,” I whispered. And his steady gaze in response told me that he’d already guessed that. And that he liked it.

He was going to make me his, in the most raw and primal way possible, and the mere thought of it sent a dark ripple of lust through me like I’d never felt before. I realized he was waiting for me. The choice was mine.