Cowboy Heat (2 page)

She blushed and took a step backward, but he hauled her against him. She’d tried to resist, she had. But one look from him and she lost all sense of propriety, needing only to be in his arms, held by him.

So strange, because she ran her ranch herself since her
husband died, and needed no man. But being with her marshal made her feel safe and secure and cherished—things she hadn’t known she needed to feel.

He unlaced the corset, which fastened in front since she had no one to dress her. His movements, combined with the way he looked into her eyes as he loosened the garment and let it fall away, heated her blood. Then his hands slid up her sides, over the damp wrinkled fabric of her chemise, and he stroked his thumbs over her breasts.

She let her eyes flutter shut as he circled her nipples. Her favorite thing, the way he touched her like that, his movements easy and unhurried, as if he didn’t know the caresses sent arrows of heat straight to her sex.

He lowered his head and his breath gusted against her skin a moment before he brushed his mouth lightly over her chin, following the line of her jaw back to nuzzle the soft spot beneath her ear.

She whimpered—a sound she only made with him, only made when he was touching her.

He chuckled and brought her closer, his hands spanning her back, her breasts crushed to his chest. She curled her fingers into his hair, holding him to her, guiding him where she wanted his mouth.

He allowed her control for a moment before breaking free and drawing her shimmy off her shoulders, baring her breasts, staring for a long moment before lowering his head to take one dark nipple between his lips.

No, this was her favorite thing, she remembered, as her knees buckled, as her sex swelled and throbbed with need.

“Please, please,” she whispered.

He released her nipple with a pop and looked up at her. “Please what?”

She didn’t know. Well, she did—she wanted him to touch her sex, to take this horrible hunger for him down to a more manageable level—but at the same time, the anticipation was delicious.

“Don’t stop,” was all she managed.

He bent his head again and blew a cool breath over her damp nipple. It tightened so much it ached, but instead of appeasing her, he turned his head to her other breast.

As he suckled her, he reached up and pulled the pins from her hair, letting the heavy mass fall down her back. The cool sensation of it against her naked shoulders and back was almost as arousing as his mouth at her breast, because she knew soon it would be the only thing she was wearing.

He unfastened her skirt with one twist of his fingers. The garment caught on the width of her petticoats, which he untied without looking. The fabric pooled at her feet, leaving her in her shimmy, stockings and boots. He lifted her from amid the puddle and carried her to his bed, lowering her to the mattress and sliding down her body to push her shimmy up and unfasten her cotton stockings. He held her gaze as he rolled them down, his hands rough on the sensitive skin of her thigh. Her shallow breathing only made him take his time, caressing every inch of her leg before disposing of one stocking and turning his attention to the other one.

“Aren’t you a picture?” he murmured once the garments were tossed aside. He slid his hands up her legs, pushing the shimmy so it bunched at her middle. His fingers rested lightly on her hips as he looked at her sex, then pressed a light kiss to the inside of her knee.

Everything in her began to quiver. The last time they’d been together, he’d coaxed her legs apart and kissed her there, shaming her, initially, but in the days that followed, she could
think of nothing but the pleasure he’d given her with his mouth, his tongue. And he’d taken pleasure in it, too. That had surprised her as much as anything.

Feeling a little bold, she parted her legs in invitation. He chuckled and glided his hand across her belly to stroke the curls cloaking her sex. She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth as heat flooded her channel. She could feel her wetness in her folds.

“Ah, god, Sybil.” His voice was choked and his eyes were hot.

She parted her thighs wider and could smell her own musk. Her head swam with desire, and she had to ask. “Will you kiss me there again?”

“Kiss you where?” His smile canted, so handsome he made her heart hurt. “Here?” He pressed his lips to the inside of her knee, in the same spot he’d kissed before.

“Higher.”

He slid between her parted knees, his body hot and hard, and kissed her inner thigh, letting his stubble rasp the tender skin. She bit her lower lip against a keening cry.

“Higher.”

He lifted himself over her and kissed below her navel. She twisted in frustration, hooking her feet on his belt to push him down.

“Lower.”

His lips slid over her belly, just above her curls. “Tell me what you want, Sybil.”

No one called her Sybil anymore. Even her husband hadn’t. And she loved the way it sounded on his lips, gentle despite the roughness of his voice. Tender.

Dear heaven, was she falling in love with this man? That wasn’t supposed to happen. This was an arrangement for
two independent people who didn’t need love, didn’t need marriage.

“Kiss me. Between my legs.”

“On your…” He trailed his voice off, leading her.

“On my…puss.” She thought her face would burst into flames as she said the word, looking into his eyes.

He smiled and lowered his head, his thumbs parting her, and then a flick of his tongue over her tender flesh sent her bowing into him. He repeated the caress, sliding one hand under her bottom to hold her still. Her entire being focused on the movement of his mouth on her slick petals, the circling of his tongue, the heat of his breath, each caress building, building, winding around in her. She didn’t realize her hands were twisted in his hair, holding him to her, until he reached up to loosen them. Then he pressed her legs open farther, focusing on the little nub he’d helped her discover, flicking and sucking until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see.

She climaxed with a cry that might have been heard all the way down Main Street, but she didn’t care as waves of pleasure rolled through her, loosening her muscles, her inhibitions.

He lifted his head and looked at her. “I love to watch you come.”

Come. That was what he called her climax. Orgasm, too, was another word he’d taught her. And fuck. She’d been so sheltered until she met him, until she’d allowed him into her bed. She hadn’t known she was made like this, made for passion, until she met him.

She closed her legs when he shifted to lie on his side, fully dressed beside her. “Is there something I can do to you that brings the same pleasure?”

His eyes darkened, the passion in them almost frightening. “You can lick my cock.”

She frowned. “And that feels as good to you?”

“It can. Or you can put it in your mouth.”

She mentally recoiled. How could she…oh, no.
No, no, no, no, no
. But twice he’d put his mouth where she’d never expected, and she owed it to him to try. She rose on her elbow and began unbuttoning his shirt.

He allowed it, watching her face, which meant she kept her gaze on the buttons, and on the skin she bared. She ran her palm over the light fur covering his chest, a delicious sensation. Then with his help, she pushed the garment from his shoulders. Regaining some of her boldness, she kissed his shoulder, brushing her lips back and forth over the cap of muscle, feeling it bunch beneath her mouth. She followed her instincts, her own pleasure, and trailed her lips across his collarbone, down the center of his chest, feeling his breath hitch with each inch she moved.

Something about that, about having that effect on him, made her feel powerful, and she rose to unfasten his belt. Her fingers faltered a bit, but she managed before he had to come to her aid. She pushed his pants down just enough to free his thick cock. Just thinking the word had her blushing.

He was hard and long and arching toward her, as if understanding what she meant to do. She rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth for a moment, then bent to lightly swipe it across the head of him.

His groan echoed in the small room, so she did it again. He reached down to close his fingers around himself.

“Right here,” he said huskily, pointing to an arrow of flesh beneath the thicker head. “Lick there.”

She did, hesitantly, with the point of her tongue, then again, with the flat of it. The taste of him wasn’t unpleasant, and the scent of him was arousing, concentrated. She licked again, then
changed her angle to guide him into her mouth, parting her lips wide.

He tensed his stomach, his thighs, his hips, as if he was holding himself back. “More,” he rasped, and she did her best to comply, easing her way with her tongue along his shaft.

The sound that ripped from him was barely human, and she felt his muscles quivering, his pulse hot and fast against her tongue. She felt suddenly very powerful, and opened her mouth wider to take more of him.

“Up and down,” he urged. “My god, Sybil.”

She did as he asked, mimicking what she thought it must feel like to be inside her channel, bobbing her head, sliding her tongue. His hands fisted in her hair, guiding her movements before he pushed her away, leaving her mouth swollen and empty.

He rose from the bed and shed his pants with an economy of movement, then dropped back over her, parting her knees with his hips, parting her lower lips with the head of his cock before driving into her.

They both cried out as he plunged in to the hilt. He cupped the back of her head and pulled her up, covering her mouth with his in a carnal kiss, giving her a taste of herself on his lips and tongue, absorbing his own taste from her mouth. She wound her arms around his neck, returning his kiss, and wound her legs around his hips, holding him to her, deep inside her.

Then he began to move, his cock caressing the depth of her channel, stretching her so that every nerve inside her felt exposed, aroused. His hips flexed, each movement powerful, each thrust, each withdrawal exciting her. His body pressed rhythmically against the nub that focused her passion, and she bumped against him with each plunge, driving her own desire higher.

They found their rhythm, reaching together for the pleasure
they could only find with each other. He rose over her to look into her eyes as he made love to her, as he reached between their bodies to find the nub with his rough thumb, to circle it, flick it until…

“Oh!” She pushed up against him as the orgasm swamped her, tightening everything in her before sending her spiraling in long, deep pulses.

The contraction of her orgasm tightened her channel around him rhythmically, pulling on him, and her legs tightened on his hips. With a shout, he broke free, pulling out of her and coming on her stomach in hot wet streaks.

He collapsed beside her, one arm crooked over his eyes, the other tightening around her, pulling her to his side, unmindful of the mess he’d just made. When he caught his breath, he brought her close for a long, deep kiss.

“We should get married,” he murmured when the kiss ended.

The tension that had washed from her body with her climax, with his kiss, returned triple-fold, and she pulled away, rolling off the bed to deal with the mess. “I’ve no desire to marry again, to give any power to a man.”

“You give me power every time you come to my bed,” he said, rolling onto his side, not appearing the least bit offended.

“And you give it to me.”

“What’s to say that wouldn’t carry on in our marriage?”

“Because that’s not the way of the world.” She wiped her stomach with a rough towel dipped in water from the basin near the window.

“Sybil, we’re in Texas. The ways of the world don’t matter much here. You know that better than anyone.” He rose and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back against his chest.

She loved it when he held her like this, loved his strength
and his heat and his tenderness. But not enough to give over the control of her ranch, her life.

“I’ll never forget the first time I saw you, riding hell-for-leather after those rustlers. At first I thought you were just a kid.” He cupped her breasts briefly and smiled against her neck. “Never was I so glad to have my powers of observation fail me.”

She remembered his surprise so well, first anger, then grudging admiration for a woman who took matters into her own hands. He’d joined her in her search for the rustlers, though she knew he’d wanted to send her home. She’d proved to him she could take care of herself, and anything else that came along, and saw the shift in his attitude.

And when he’d kissed her for the first time out on the trail of the bandits, well, she had let him. Who was she fooling? She’d loved it, and everything else he’d done to her. But was she ready for something more permanent?

“Don’t you want to stop waiting for a month to see each other? To stop sneaking around? To have children?” He curved his hand over her belly. “I would love for you to be the mother of my children. They’d be fierce and strong and loving.”

His words made her heart trip. She had thought about children—after all, why work so hard on the ranch if she had no one to pass it to? And children with him—why should the idea of growing large with his baby send this rush of pleasure through her, a pleasure almost as strong as when his body was inside hers?