ComfortZone (5 page)

Physical and emotional.

Mary Ellen wasn’t having it. “Get these off.” She laughed as
she reached for his waistband and tugged until he willingly fell over her,
forearms bracing him inches above her body.

The laughter died from her eyes as he captured her wrist and
brought it above her head, mirroring the movement with her other arm. Her
breasts thrust up, her shoulders rolled back, and her mouth shaped into a
pretty “O”.

“These stay here. Always.”

He caught the hint of defiance in her eyes and didn’t give
her time to speak. He kept her mouth busy, sweeping in for a kiss to steal her
thoughts. She responded immediately, using her tongue to sweep in, learn him,
taste him.

Damn, why had he held off for so long on getting here?

He released her wrists with one hand and ran it down her
side. She shivered, as if his touch made her cold, and her nipples puckered
against his chest. Well, if they wanted attention, who was he to deny?

The moment the tight bud hit his mouth, she moaned as if his
touch was painful. He pulled back.

“Did I hurt—”

“No. Don’t stop.”

Not pain. Pleasure. “Ask nicely.”

She bared her teeth at him in defiance.

He blew over her breast, watched the tip distend farther,
goosebumps forming on her silky skin.

“Bastard. Please.” The words came through her teeth, and she
almost popped her shoulder out of place rolling up to meet his mouth with her
chest.

Not the most submissive of poses, but he wasn’t going to
quibble. He nipped her once as a reminder the one on top was in charge and
sucked her into his mouth. She moaned again, rolling back to the bed and
sighing with satisfaction. Skimming down her ribs, over her hip, he fingered
the little strip of lace that was supposedly called underwear.

“Off. Oh God. Take them off,” she added, almost as a plea.
“Please.”

He was about to, but doing so now would only reinforce her
idea that she had some sort of control in the game. So instead, he switched
breasts and toyed with her more. She tasted like cream. How did she do that?
The mysteries of a woman.

His fingers teased her through the lace, drawing light lines
down her pussy. Barely any pressure. He could feel the dampness soaking through
the fabric, couldn’t wait to explore further. But he was prepared to hold off.
Not his favorite idea, when he was hard enough to drive nails through brick.
But he would.

She groaned, grunted, wiggled. But stayed silent.

Good. Time to reward them both for their patience. He tugged
and flicked his wrists until the lace was down around her knees. He worked his
way down her body until his head was between her thighs. Small adjustments
draped her legs over his shoulders, panties dangling from one ankle.

She started to reach down. “Heels. Gotta unbuckle.”

“Leave them on.”

She stared at him, eyes wide as an owl. Her hair was spiked
up on one side, starting to flatten on the other. “What? Why?”

He gave her a smile, brief and quick. “’Cause when I’m
pounding into you, you’re gonna want the traction.”

“Oh,” she breathed and dropped her head back. He stared at
her hard, and she brought her arms back over her head.

Somewhere, Mary Ellen had turned into the perfect bedmate.
And he wasn’t about to argue. Dipping down, he paused right above her wet
center, taking a moment. He could almost see her quivering with anticipation.
One long, slow lick up the seam of her pussy, pausing just a split second over
her clit, confirmed it.

She wanted it hard and fast.

So he would take his time.

Another long pass with his tongue, just to please himself,
and then he truly dug in for her. Her hips rolled with his pattern, trying to
figure it out, to predict his movements. It only made him all the more random.
If she wanted a pattern, he’d give her none. Mary Ellen was the textbook
definition of instant gratification. If she wanted it a certain way, he could
almost guarantee it was because it was her fastest path to orgasm.

This was a slow burn, not a flash fire. Because he said so.

He circled her clit, dipped down low to thrust in deep, then
back up to her sensitive nub. Fingers, one then two, deep inside anchored her,
confused her, kept her guessing.

Off balance. Because she needed it.

And it was a struggle. He could see it written all over her
face. In the way her body moved. She was the aggressor. She was the one calling
shots. That was her comfort zone.

Not anymore.

Her heels scratched his back. Didn’t care. Couldn’t care. He
judged the timing, then concentrated on her clit, sucking and flicking his
tongue in the pattern she’d been silently begging for until her legs tightened
around him, her body vibrated and she screamed. Her palms pounded against the
headboard until she lost strength and he slowed, then stopped his tongue.

She lifted her head, then dropped it back to the pillow. As
if the simple effort was too much. He crawled back up her body and found her
face almost serenely peaceful. Very un-Mary Ellen-like.

Her lashes fluttered up and she smiled. “That was…yeah.” She
drifted back off, eyes closing again as if keeping them open was too much
effort.

Brice always enjoyed the look of a well-loved woman.
Content, satisfied, sated. But seeing that expression on Mary Ellen’s face—and
knowing he was the one who put it there—did something to his chest that burned.
The good sort of pain, the type of pain he wouldn’t mind growing accustomed to.

And he was getting ahead of himself. Mind slipping, which he
never let happen before. Couldn’t lose it just because it was Mary Ellen.
Especially because it was her. He reached into his nightstand for the unopened
box of condoms.

Cause yeah, it’d been that long. He was discerning, and half
the time he couldn’t think for wanting to strangle her anyway. Who can find
satisfaction in a woman when another one was always on his mind?

She murmured and wiggled a little under him, her belly
brushing against his hard cock. He sucked in a breath. But when her arms
started to drift down, he gently touched her elbows and she raised them back
up.

Almost too easy. Which made him more alert as he rolled on
protection. Mary Ellen never made anything easy on purpose. But for now, he
could enjoy it.

Nuzzling into the warm skin of her neck, he wrapped her legs
around his back and pushed in. Her pussy was wet—so wet—warm and waiting for
him. She shifted when he hit a moment of resistance, angling her hips to give
him better access. And as he slid all the way in, cock completely surrounded by
hot woman, she sighed as if she’d been handed the key to the Pearly Gates.

“You still with me?”

“Mmm hmm. All the way.” She opened her eyes again, staring
right at him. And for a moment, the sincerity of her gaze took him aback.

It meant something to her too. A hell of a lot. Brice had
known Mary Ellen since she had knobby, scabby knees. Knew her every facial
expression. And as the thought of how much it meant to them both broke over
him, he lost his tentative hold on his control.

Bucking forward, he surged farther in still, deep as he
could, and ignored her gasp. If it hurt, she’d tell him. Fuck reserve. He
picked a rhythm that worked, made him sweat, made him forget to take care of
her.

Made him come.

With a grunt for warning, his climax slammed into him.
Faintly, he felt her pussy convulsing around him, drawing the ecstasy out
longer than he’d ever experienced before. And all he could think was…thank God
she got there by herself, because he damn sure wasn’t capable of carrying her
over the orgasmic finish line anymore.

With the last little bit of consciousness, he rolled to the
left to avoid squishing her like a bug. She followed and wound her arms around
his back.

“I scratched you,” she mumbled into his chest.

He patted her arm, then slipped into a deep, extremely
satisfied sleep.

* * * * *

Mary Ellen woke slowly. Warmth coated her left side. Odd,
she was normally so cold in the…

Oh my God.

Bridesmaid dress. Heels. Brice. Between her legs.

That very spot tingled with the memory. Oh God, how had she
forgotten even for a second? The warmth next to her snored, and she bit back a
giddy smile.

Brice was still dead to the world. She shifted to see the
clock and he didn’t twitch. Seeing it was already past the normal time she
would head to work, she used her stealth ninja skills to slip out of bed. Not
that she had to bother. A bull horn announcing her intentions wouldn’t have
woken him up.

Debating her wardrobe options—and not wanting to put her
bridesmaid dress back on—she did a quick inventory of Brice’s clothing. One
zip-up hoodie and basketball shorts—which went almost to her ankles—later, she
slipped her heels back on. Not the cutest look, workout clothes with super-high
heels. But a girl had to improvise.

One more glance to see if Brice was close to waking up—big
negative there—and she slipped out the door and made a break for her own cabin.
Luckily it was still too early for anyone else to be up after such a late night
to see her looking like a mile of death and doing the walk of shame.

Her babies would already be missing her though.

She entered her cabin, changed and headed back out. The
moment she could smell straw and horse, the tension leaked out of her
shoulders. Tension she hadn’t known was there.

“Guess I wasn’t as cool as I thought,” she said to Fred,
first horse to poke his head out of his stall. She gave him a good scratch
between the ears. “Makes sense that I’d be nervous about it, right? I mean, how
was I supposed to feel? Years of wanting him, being rebuffed, and then suddenly
it happens. That’s a lot to take in.”

Fred nickered softly and tossed his head.

“Oh, what do you know? You were gelded in the nineties.”
With one last pat she moved on to give some love to Ethel, Fred’s next-stall
neighbor.

She’d given Jessica, one of the local teens that helped out
at the stable, the day off, so she was alone with her babies and her thoughts.
Dangerous, really. To avoid overthinking, she turned on the radio in the stable
office to her favorite eighties station. She sang some Pat Benatar while she
mucked out the stalls, shook her ass to White Snake while she groomed Ethel and
crooned along with Aerosmith as she gave Fred some love.

But she had to turn the tunes off once she slipped into the
office to fill out order forms. For once, she missed Jessica’s teenage chatter
and Buck’s semi-dirty jokes. At least they would have cut through the silence
and given her something to focus on.

After about ten useless minutes staring at the order form,
she tossed down her pen with a grunt. No helping it, apparently. The memory of
Brice’s face over hers, his weight pressing her into the bed, her arms almost
captive above her, leaving her with the feeling of helplessness… The newness of
not being in charge had been exhilarating. Putting that trust in Brice for the
night, knowing she was safe and cherished and taken care of, had been almost as
powerful a feeling as knowing she was the one calling all the shots. She squeezed
her legs together to cut off the throbbing. Okay, she had to stop that or she’d
burst into flames in the office chair.

She gave up attempting productivity and saddled Cosby. Of
the camp horses, he was one of the few with a kick in his step. Most were older,
gentle as a butterfly, and placid as a lake. If Fred could get up past a trot,
she’d die of shock. Perfect for youngsters still learning the reins.

Mary Ellen convinced the Winstons that the camp needed at
least a few younger horses that could give some of the older children more of a
challenge. And also those adults from the business retreats they hosted through
the off-season.

But truth to tell, she truly enjoyed taking the younger
horses out for rides herself. She rationalized that they needed the exercise,
and that was true. But a good, hard-paced ride in the crisp air could clear her
head like nothing else. And a clear head was exactly what she needed, so she
guided Cosby toward the trails that ran the perimeter of the camp property and
would give them a nice, long, uninterrupted ride.

Only problem with that is the rocking of the saddle rubbed
places that reminded her too much of the night before. Damn it. Could she not
just have five minutes of mental peace? She urged Cosby into a trot, then a
full gallop, hoping speed would do the trick.

Ninety minutes later, they returned sweaty and relaxed. But
the feeling wasn’t going to last.

Brice watched her approach, one shoulder propped against the
stable door, waiting.

Chapter Five

She was unbelievable. Brice watched as she maneuvered the
horse up to a trough and hopped down. Mary Ellen was a small woman, just as far
as women went. But standing next to a horse, she was downright tiny. Almost
fragile looking.

“Hey!” When the horse gave her a nudge, she pushed back hard
enough to jar the animal a few steps. “Watch yourself, mister. Manners.”

The horse, for his part, looked suitably intimidated.

Fragile.
Riiight.
Just another reminder Mary Ellen
was someone who liked being in charge just as much as him. Which was why he
held off as long as he had on making the move. They were two alphas, and Brice
didn’t do the sharing control thing.

But last night… Last night was something unbelievable. She’d
immediately responded to his commands, giving no fight. Interest obvious.

So maybe things were going to be looking up.

She finished unsaddling the horse and passed the equipment
to him. She smiled, but it wasn’t a full-out gesture. Was she upset? Full of
regret? Ecstatic? Her expression gave him nothing to go off.