Cowboy Heaven (2 page)

He nodded again, reaching for that huge, shining belt buckle. “Let me show you something. Since you plan to leave me here anyway, I don't have much to lose.”

I gasped in surprise. “You're not thinking about trading your belt buckle for a ride to Jackson Hole, are you? I can't imagine you'd want to part with something like that.” Closer scrutiny proved it was no ordinary belt buckle, but a trophy buckle—the kind you can't buy, but have to win at the rodeo.

“I don't plan to.” Releasing the buckle, he flipped open the button on his jeans. “What I intend to give you I can easily afford to lose.” He unzipped his fly and pushed the fabric back away from his briefs. I could see the reason for the bulge now. His dick was rock hard and oozing all over his underwear. “You've been staring at this for miles. I thought you might like a better look.” With that, he pushed off his jeans and briefs in one long, slow sensuous thrust. His stiff rod escaped its confinement and stood erect, taunting me—daring me not to look, not to touch…

I believe I gasped, and I know my jaw dropped in amazement. His handsome face, incredible eyes, and terrific body had already rendered him irresistible. The addition of a fabulous dick—thick and long with a tight, shiny head—created a truly lethal combination. All I could do was stare, breathlessly waiting to see what he would do next.

Pulsing his cock, he pumped out rivers of pre-come that poured over the head and down the shaft like hot fudge over vanilla ice cream. With a wicked smirk, he slid his fingertips up and down the shaft. “Want a ride?”

I let out a pent-up breath as my tongue swept involuntarily over my lips. I'd never dreamed anything like this would happen when I picked him up—would've bet money he was too exhausted for any funny business—which only goes to show how much a sandwich, a bottle of water, and air-conditioning will do for a guy. Not to mention a place to sit down and rest.

Or some strong incentive.

He obviously wanted a ride to the rodeo badly enough to sell himself for it—and to me, of all people. I had to be at least ten years his senior, and I probably outweighed him—although he
was
a good bit taller than me. Perhaps he was heavier than he looked.

Not having enough spit in my mouth to lick a stamp, I swallowed with a great deal of difficulty.

“Maybe you'd rather have a drink.” His voice was a seductive purr as he pumped out more fluid. “You look a little on the dry side.”

My hand flew to my lips, and I tried to swallow again but couldn't. Every ounce of excess fluid in my body had gone south, along with my reason. I couldn't help it. Powerless to resist and ignoring the protests of my normally reasonable brain, I leaned forward and kissed his cockhead, sliding my tongue over the slick surface while inhaling his intoxicating scent. Salty to the taste and smooth as silk to the touch, he robbed me of every inhibition I had. I went down on his cock, capturing as much as I could inside my hungry mouth.

Laughing softly, he stretched out his right leg and jacked off his boot using the stick for the four-wheel drive. Then he slid his leg out of his jeans. “Maybe you'd like some ass too.” Raising his leg, he pushed me away with a foot on my shoulder before bracing it against the seat to flip himself over onto his knees.

Damn.
Somehow, this man—this stranger—seemed to know my every weakness. His tight cheeks waved back and forth in front of my face as an orgasm struck, doubling me over. Falling forward, I kissed his sweet buns, giving myself sufficient recovery time to move on to lick his succulent balls.

He'd certainly chosen the right currency. For a little more of this, I'd have driven him all the way to California, given him my truck, hitchhiked my way back home, and considered myself the lucky one. I devoured him, licking my way underneath him before turning onto my back. His tasty cock dangled above my waiting lips.

“Fuck me in the mouth,” I whispered. “I want you to come in my mouth.”

“How far is it to Jackson Hole from here?” Groaning, he slid his thick head past my parted lips. How in the world he thought I was supposed to answer him, I have no idea. I couldn't possibly be expected to carry on a conversation with a cock that size in my mouth.

“Not that it matters,” he went on. “I'll fuck you every twenty miles and twice when we get there. You can have it any way you want.”

Giggling around his penis, I pushed it aside on the upstroke. “You are
such
a slut.”

“Yeah. Doncha just love a slutty cowboy?” He came down on me again, sliding his wet cock across my cheek. “And you're just the kind of sweet little woman that brings out the man-whore in me. As cute and round as a robin, with big, brown eyes and long, dark braids like an Apache maiden.” He groaned again and pressed his cock to my lips. “Suck me, baby. I'm ready to fill you up with my cream.”

He punctuated those words with a push past my lips. His hard cock filled my mouth, and I licked the underside of his shaft as he pumped in and out. Cupping his swinging balls in my hand, I fondled them gently, massaging them while tugging on the long, curly hair adorning his scrotum.

“You like my nuts, baby?” he asked breathlessly. “I like what you're doing to them. It makes me feel like I'm gonna explode all over you.”

That prospect was too much for me. Moaning, I came again, grabbing his ass in a desperate attempt to pull his dick farther into my mouth. My fingers crept to the cleft of his buttocks, seeking his soft, velvety hole. Putting a hand to his mouth, he spit on his fingers before reaching back to lubricate himself.

My massage of his slick, tight hole made him fuck even harder until at last, a sharp exhale heralded his climax. His body tensed as his breath hissed back in through his teeth. Semen shot straight down my throat, filling my mouth with spurt after spurt of warm juice. As he slowly withdrew, I sucked the cream from his cock, savoring its tangy sweetness before swallowing every last drop.

“That was payment for the ride so far.” He twisted around to land heavily in the passenger seat. “To get more, you have to keep driving. I'll be hard again in another twenty miles.”

I stared mutely through the windshield at the highway stretched out before me, that huge cottonwood tree a mere speck in the distance. Barely visible on the horizon, it moved closer with each passing moment. Breathing deeply in an attempt to restore harmony to my riotous emotions, I fixed an unwavering gaze on the tree—the familiar landmark steadily bringing me back into reality.

I blinked as a hand passed up and down in front of my eyes.

“Hey.” His voice was overly loud, as though I hadn't been listening and he was trying to recapture my attention. “Are you always this quiet?”

As I glanced in his direction, I noted that, unlike the man in my fantasy, this cowboy remained fully dressed, his cock still an enigma, well hidden behind stout layers of blue denim.

Not quite trusting my voice, I cleared my throat. “Sometimes.”

“Thought I'd lost you there for a minute.” He smiled, seeming somewhat relieved. “Do you know how far it is from here to Jackson Hole?”

It's amazing how lost in thought I can become when the right subject steals my attention. Cody used to accuse me of daydreaming—and he was right—although he usually benefited from my woolgathering. Over the years, I'd come up with some pretty wild stuff while my mind was elsewhere, things from which he seemed to derive tremendous enjoyment, so he probably shouldn't have complained.

Dear, sweet, sexy Cody. I missed him more with each passing day. My hitchhiking cowboy could have no idea that such thoughts ever crossed my mind. I knew for a fact that my imaginings never showed themselves in my face, which meant that he could have no inkling that I might actually want to live out that fantasy. If he did, I was pretty sure he wouldn't have wanted to drive another yard with me.

I thought about all the cowboys—some quite young, some older, some cute and some not—who had worked for us on the ranch over the years, none of whom had shown the slightest romantic or sexual interest in me, either before or after Cody died. Not even the foreman, who was nearly sixty and was still a rather attractive man, seemed to consider me to be a female worth pursuing. To him, I was nothing more than a silly little woman who needed to be kept out of trouble.

Rufus had worked for us for a long time and had been a good foreman. Neither I nor my father—or Cody, for that matter—ever had any complaints about the way he managed the ranch, even though he'd always seemed to be somewhat lacking in personality. Far from being interested in me in the romantic sense, he seemed to disapprove of me. He was always considerate and respectful, but I couldn't help feeling there was something about me he didn't like. I could almost see it in his eyes.

Cody must not have told any of the other men about the fun things we'd indulged in while we were alone, for none of them had ever stepped forward to take his place. Dad had made no secret of the fact that he thought my marrying Rufus might not be a bad idea, but it didn't look as though there was much chance of that ever happening. Besides, I didn't love Rufus, and he sure as hell didn't love me.

Cody had spoiled me. I knew what a marriage could be like with the right man, and I wasn't about to settle for anything less. I had my memories and my fantasies, and for the rest, well, let's just say I wasn't willing to compromise. After Cody's death, my friends had told me I couldn't afford to be choosy—especially at my age—but we weren't talking about their lives. This was
my
life and my decision. Just as it had been my decision to pick up a startlingly handsome cowboy who had gotten my mind working along erotic lines again, much the way Cody had when I'd first laid eyes on him as a junior in high school.

I glanced over at the cowboy, noting his anxious, wide-eyed expression. No doubt he expected that someone who could withdraw so completely wouldn't be able to drive safely, but it had never been a problem for me, and it helped to pass the time I spent on the road.

“Sorry,” I said. “I was thinking about something else. Jackson Hole is about two hundred miles from here.” With a fuck every twenty miles and two more when we got there, that made twelve times he would have to get it up. I doubted there was a man alive who could actually do that.

So
much
for
fantasy.

He blew out a pent-up breath. “I was afraid of that. Like I said, I was asleep—I had no idea where I was when I started walking. I'm not sure I can walk that far.”

“Not in those boots, anyway,” I agreed. “Not made for walking, are they?”

With a rueful shake of his head, he glanced toward his boots, then back at me. “Not at all. I've probably got blisters on top of blisters by now. Would you mind if I took them off?”

No, dear,
you
can
take
off
anything
you
like, starting with your boots and working up to your hat.
The mere thought made my nipples tingle.

“No,” I said aloud. “But I should warn you we're almost to the point where I have to let you out.”

He swore softly under his breath. “I was afraid of that, too.” He looked so miserable at the prospect of getting out and walking again that I had to think of something, some other alternative we hadn't considered yet—or maybe I had, somewhere in the midst of my fantasy.

“Tell you what,” I said, doing my best to sound as though I were doing him a bigger favor than he would be doing for me. “Let me take you back to the ranch. You can rest for a while—take a shower, even spend the night if you like. Then you can call someone to come and get you. You must have some friends on the rodeo circuit who would do that for you.”

“I guess I could.” He chewed his lip thoughtfully. I had to turn away from him for a moment as another wave of desire washed over me.

No, I wasn't the one doing him any favors. The pleasure of his company would be all mine, and if he couldn't find anyone else to give him a ride, I would do it myself. I just wouldn't do it today—after all, I had supplies in the truck that were needed at home, and I'd have to at least unload them before I could make a run into Jackson Hole. It would, at the very earliest, be ten or so the next morning before I could start out.

In
the
meantime, I could wash him, feed him, and tuck him into bed.

Unfortunately, it wouldn't be my bed he slept in—it would be one of my sons', or more likely a bed in the bunkhouse—but, hey, it was better than nothing.

“If you can't get a ride, I'll take you there tomorrow myself. Would that be too late?”

“Oh, no,” he replied. “I just need to get there before the weekend. I don't know where I'll go after that. Maybe I can ride with some other guys. The trouble is I don't have a horse.”

That could be a problem for a cowboy if he happened to be more into calf-roping and steer wrestling than he was bronc or bull riding. I glanced pointedly down at the belt buckle—noting that it was indeed a calf-roping medal.

“You'd be handy at the ranch,” I said with a nod at the buckle. “Our guys are all pretty good, but they've never won any competitions.” Of course, a working ranch hand was better all-around than most rodeo cowboys. There wasn't much call for bull riding on a ranch, but roping required skill and practice as well as talent—and it was useful.

Tipping his head to one side, he studied me carefully. “Are you offering me a job?”

This was an even better excuse to keep him around, although if he worked for me, I'd be in continuous heat for the duration of his employment. I wasn't sure I could keep my hands off him. As it was, my palms were itching for a chance to touch him. I swallowed around the lump forming in my throat. “Maybe. We're short a man right now. One of the guys has a broken leg and can't do very much. It would only be temporary, but—”

“If you could give me a day or so for my feet to heal, I accept.” He said it so quickly I had to wonder just how much money he actually had stuffed in those jeans, if any. “Besides, I think I'd like working for you. I feel like I owe you something.”

Damn.
I really was looking forward to that ride to Jackson Hole. With a fuck every twenty miles, it might turn out to be the high point of my life. Then I remembered he'd never promised me anything of the kind. That particular offer was merely a figment of my horny little imagination.

“You don't owe me anything,” I assured him. “Really, you'd be doing me a favor. In fact, you already have.”

“How's that? I haven't done anything for you at all.”

His quizzical expression nearly made me laugh out loud. “Oh, yes you have. Trust me on this one.”

I seriously doubted he understood what I meant by that, but he nodded as though he did. “How far did you say it was?”

“About another ten miles.” With two fucks at the end of the road, I added silently. Now, if only that were true…

“I'll keep my boots on, then,” he said. “I might not be able to get them back on if I take them off.”

“Your feet might swell up,” I agreed, thinking that I'd like to see that third leg of his swell up a little. I chuckled to myself. Men really had no idea what women were thinking about most of the time, which was probably a good thing. My adorable cowboy would have run all the way to Jackson Hole if he'd known what had been going on in my head.

I realized then that I didn't even know his name. “By the way, my name is Angela McClure. If you're going to get a paycheck from me, you'd better tell me yours.”

“Troy.” He leaned forward and held out his hand. “Troy Whitmore.”

I placed my hand in his warm, firm grasp and was instantly lost. When he grinned, I nearly drove the truck into the cottonwood tree as I tried to take the turn too fast. Momentarily blinded by his smile, I'd almost missed it.

His response to sliding off the seat and onto the floorboards of the truck was to laugh. I liked that he could find the humor in that small accident, rather than cussing a blue streak as so many men would have done—not to mention the fact that his laughter sent a rush of tingles racing up and down my spine.

No doubt I would regret my impulsiveness eventually—tomorrow perhaps, or maybe even for the rest of my life.

But
not
today.

Troy didn't have to know what I was thinking about, and if I didn't tell him, he never would. It would remain my dirty little secret. Besides, I wouldn't have to keep that secret for long. Dusty's leg wouldn't take more than a couple of months to heal, and in the meantime I could certainly enjoy my eye-candy cowboy.

“Guess I should be more careful. I don't need two cowboys with broken legs.” Bringing the truck to a stop, I reached over to help him up. “Then again, you should've been wearing a seat belt, young man.” My firm, scolding tone was one sure way
not
to entice him into my bed. I might've been talking to one of my kids.

He shook his head. “I've had worse falls off a horse. That was nothing.”

“Put your seat belt on anyway,” I advised. “It gets pretty bumpy from here on. I try to avoid the potholes, but there are so many, I can't miss them all. I was twelve years old the last time this road was actually paved, rather than patched. You'd think with all the property taxes we pay they could do better than that, but I've gone way past the point of expecting miracles.” A freshly paved road truly would be a miracle. Right up there with hell freezing over and handsome cowboys letting me suck them off.

Troy fastened his safety belt without protest and eyed me expectantly. His expression was so innocent, I nearly laughed again. By this time, if he'd had any idea what I'd been thinking, he would have been in a state of sheer panic.

I hesitated before continuing down the road. “You're sure about this? Ever work on a ranch before?”

“I grew up on a ranch,” he replied with a nod. “I know it's not as glamorous as the rodeo, but I think I can handle it.”

“I hope so.”

For
more
reasons
than
one.