Just This Once (9 page)

His gray eyes burned into hers as he began to smile. “Yes,
you did. You did. And you’re beautiful.”

She came to him, wrapped her arms around him, pulled him
down for a kiss. “Then show me,” she urged him. “I can’t be smart any more. I’m
done.”

She didn’t need to tell him twice. His arms tightened around
her, and he brought his mouth down on hers in a fierce kiss that started out hot,
and quickly ignited. He pulled her off her feet, and her legs wrapped around
him. He held her there with one powerful arm while the other pulled her hair
back so he could reach her neck.

He kissed her there, licked her, pulled her head back gently
by the fistful of hair he held to reach the hollow of her throat, and moved on
to graze the delicate skin where her neck met her collarbone. His arm beneath
her pulled her more strongly against him as he turned her, pressing her against
the cliff behind them. The rock was hard against her back as he pushed into
her, his hand moving behind her head to cushion her skull. His mouth moved back
to hers, feverish now, desperate to taste all of her.

She gasped at the feeling of his mouth, his body, against
hers. Reached under his T-shirt, hungry to feel his skin at last against her
eager hands. Up from his waist, over the ridges of his back, the skin smooth
over the shifting bands of muscle beneath. Around to his sides then. But it
wasn’t enough. She wanted more of him. She wanted to be able to see him, and
taste him.

He pulled back at last, breathing hard, holding her to him. “We
have to get out of here,” he groaned. “We can’t do this here. Someone else
could come up at any time. And I’m not going to have you the first time against
the wall.”

“We have to get out of here,” he repeated. He set her down
gently as her legs trembled beneath her, steadied her against him. “When you
finally decide, you don’t muck about, do you?” He sounded a little shaky
himself as he pulled her hair back from around her face and smoothed her
clothes into place. “How fast can you walk, downhill?”

 “Fast,” she assured him, reluctantly taking her hands off
him. “So fast.”

“Let’s go, then,” he urged, as she pulled her hair back into
a haphazard ponytail and tied it with her bandana, taming it with difficulty as
the wind continued to whip around them. Taking her by the hand, he pulled her
toward the start of the trail.

They must have set a record for the return journey, Hannah
thought. She wasn’t aware of being tired or of the distance. She just wanted to
get to the bottom again. To be with him at last. To go someplace where they
could shut the door and she could see all of him. Could have all of him. She
shivered as she raced along with him, holding hands where the path was wide
enough.

You bloody fool, Drew was cursing himself. Whose idea was it
to take a woman on an hours-long tramp to the top of a mountain? A woman he
couldn’t wait to get his hands on? He couldn’t have gone any further with her
without losing control of himself. And they had met other people throughout the
afternoon. No matter how much he wanted her, he wasn’t going to risk exposing
her like that. But he couldn’t wait much longer.

When they finally made it back to the truck, they looked at
each other, her chest rising and falling with her panting breath. He pulled her
into him and kissed her, more gently this time.

“I want to take you somewhere. I need to take you
somewhere,” he amended. “Take off your boots and get in the ute.” He pulled off
his own boots and socks as she did the same.

“Why am I taking off my boots?” she asked as he started the
truck and headed downhill. “Getting naked bit by bit?”

“That’s the idea. You can take all your clothes off now, if
you like. But I thought you could start with the boots. Save me some time.”

He was driving as quickly as he dared on the twisting gravel
road, taking the curves with practiced skill. “We’ll stop at a motel,” he told
her. “Are you good with this?”

She nodded, turned in her seat so she could look at him, one
leg tucked under her. “I’m sure. But . . . I’m all sweaty. Shouldn’t I go home first
and take a shower?”

He laughed. “Oh, we can take a shower. Later. Good idea.
Water. And soap. But you’re having me, sweat and all, first.”

The words sent another thrill through her. She watched him
as he drove. Watched him as he pulled into the little town at the base of the
mountain at last, and into the drive of a tidy motel.

“Wait in the ute,” he ordered. “Don’t get out.”

He was back within a few minutes with a key, ready to move
the truck again.

“Why wasn’t I supposed to get out?” she asked, puzzled.

He looked at her, frowning. “You don’t want people to see
you with me, checking into a motel in the middle of the afternoon. Nobody needs
to see that photo.”

She was still mystified. Who would there be to take their
picture? But she couldn’t bring herself to give much attention to the issue, as
he was pulling up to one of the simple units, leaping out, and coming around to
pull her down with him and through the front door.

Drew slammed the motel door shut behind the two of them,
pulling her into his arms even as he did, the key dropping unnoticed to the
floor. He pulled the bandana from her hair and threaded his hands through,
around her face, kissing her again, walking her backwards until her thighs hit
the bed and she sat down suddenly, jolted by the sudden change.

He followed her down onto the big bed, pulling her with him
so they both lay sprawled across the duvet. His hands were everywhere,
unbuttoning, pulling her blouse from around her and lifting her to take it from
her body and drop it over the side of the bed. Then his hand was on the button
of her khaki shorts, and he was pulling them over her hips and throwing them
where they joined her blouse, disregarded on the rug where they fell.

He pulled back then, looked at her as she lay beneath him,
dressed only in bra and panties, her hair streaming around her, behind her, her
eyes huge and focused only on him, her lips parted, her breath coming fast now.

Slow down, mate, he told himself. Slow down and make it good
for her.

But she was pulling at him, reaching to wrench his shirt
from his body and run her hands over his chest, his arms, his back, and his
resolve was gone, replaced by need alone. She wasn’t naked yet, and he needed
her to be. He reached for the fastening of her bra, looked at the pink and
white of her, had to touch her. To taste her.

He moved down to taste the salt of her breasts against him,
pulling one nipple into his mouth as she cried out with pleasure. He licked,
bit, sucked, and felt her moving against him, heard her cries as she held his
head against her. His hands went lower, wrenched off the panties, and then he
was holding her, cupping her against his big hand and feeling the warmth of her
against him.

Needing to see all of her, he pulled back and looked. And
stared. Her body was all white, rose, gold, the brown of his hand against her where
her legs met, against the white of her flat stomach, her hips, her thighs. He
moved his hand again, heard her gasp, felt his own heartbeat quicken in
response to her movements as she bucked against him.

He needed to see more of her. He moved down her body, gently
moving her legs apart and looking at that most secret part of her as she lay
beneath him, clutching at him, moving her hands over his shoulders and back. He
dropped down, just to touch her, to kiss her, there where she was so open and
vulnerable.

Hannah felt as if she were in an electric field. A lightning
storm. The feelings were too much, too intense. She wanted him so much, she was
about to dissolve. His mouth on her was shockingly warm, electrically hot,
taking her spiraling up, up, out of control. Sensation filled her, and she grabbed
him by the hair, holding him against her, needing more of him.

Just as she felt she was about to lose control, to go over
the top, she knew she needed more. She needed everything. She tugged at his
shoulders, pulled him up to her.

“Take these off. Please. I need to see you too.” She yanked
at his belt and shorts, clumsy in her haste. He helped her, pulling shorts and
underwear off in one swift toss, so he was finally hers to hold.

There was a lot there to hold, she realized. She touched
him, held him, stroked where he was hard against her. Then reached around to
hold him from behind, pull him onto her, frantic to feel him with her, inside
her.

“Wait,” he gasped. “Condom. Shit.” He dove from the bed and
turned out the pockets of his shorts, frantically searching. After what seemed
like forever, he was back with her, pulling her up with him toward the head of
the bed.

“Please. Now.” She opened to him, pulled him to her, and
urged him to go where he needed to be.

He held back, one last bit of control, not wanting to go too
fast, to hurt her. He eased inside as she stretched to receive him, gasping and
opening her eyes wide as he filled her.

“That feels . . . so
good,”
she moaned, as he began
to move inside her. “Oh, Drew. Oh, no.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t, as he found himself, at last,
inside her where he had wanted to be for so long. And slowed his pace. It felt
too good to rush, now. He had to feel the silk of her, pull back to look at her
beneath him, head back, eyes closed, her mouth just open, sighing. Her hips
against him, moving, drawing him into her.

He kept up the slow rock, but felt his control slip as her
response became more abandoned, her breath coming out in little cries at each
slow thrust. And found himself moving faster, harder, needing more of her.

 He raised himself on one elbow as he continued to move, put
his hand over her white breast, ran it over the nipple, pinched it between his
fingers. Heard her cry out at the added sensation, her head thrashing to the
side against the pillow, and lost another vestige of his control. She was so
beautiful, so abandoned, he needed more.

“Turn over,” he gasped as he flipped her, pulling her by the
waist to her knees. “I need to do this,” he groaned, half-apologetically,
half-triumphantly, looking at her beneath him, her elbows supporting herself,
her wonderful, round bottom rising to meet him as he slid into her once more.
He reached one hand around from behind and held her there, his fingers moving
over her strongly as he pushed into her from behind, even harder, almost out of
control now.

She writhed under him, gasping, rearing back to meet him,
stroke for stroke. As his hand continued to move over her, she began to pant,
squirming back against him, asking for more, and even more. He felt her strong
interior muscles contract around him as she released, spasming against him,
around him, the intensity of her orgasm forcing her to cry out, pushing back,
over and over, the waves strong and hard.

He couldn’t help it. His excitement was so strong, her body
beneath him so delicious, her surrender to her pleasure so absolute. He held
her even more tightly to him, pulled her roughly up on all fours. Bent his head
to the side of her neck, and held her there with his teeth as he exploded into
her. Bit down as the spasms took him, out of himself into a place where only
sensation existed. The world narrowed into just this, the feeling of emptying
himself into her, taking all of her.

He came back to himself at last, collapsed on top of her,
pulled her to him and held her. She was breathing hard, almost sobbing, her
hair wrapped around her, over her, between them. He rolled to his back, turned
her to lie against him, brought his other arm around to hold her more tightly.
Lowered his face to the top of her head and kissed her there.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked at last. “I didn’t mean to do
that. Are you all right?”

She laughed shakily. “If I were any more all right, I’d have
burnt up, I think. That was so intense. I can’t . . . I can’t handle it.”

“Are you hurt?” he pressed. “I was too rough.”

“No,” she protested. “You were perfect. It was so good. You
didn’t hurt me. You’re just . . .  a lot for me.”

“You made me lose control.” He smoothed her hair back from
her face ran his hand down her body, down the smooth skin of her side, over her
hip. “You were so beautiful.”

He frowned as the hair fell back and he saw the red mark on the
side of her neck where he had held her, bitten her in his excitement. “I’ve
left a mark, though. Sorry.”

She looked back at him, eyes trusting. “You didn’t hurt me,”
she said again.

He kissed her gently there, soothing the mark he had made.
Then fell back against the pillow again, holding her against him, her head
under his chin, her hand on his chest.

“When I was growing up,” he said slowly, against her hair,
“The neighbors had a stud farm. And my brother and I would sometimes see a
stallion covering a mare. Can’t tell you what that did to us, impressionable
boys in the country. And once, when I was 14 or 15, there was a palomino mare
that was brought to the stallion. Beautiful pale coat, that white mane and
tail. Did something to me, seeing that bay stallion over that palomino mare. Watching
him hold her there with his teeth, her backing into him, urging him on. Reckon
I’ve been looking for that ever since. And now here you are. My 15-year-old’s
fantasy. And even better. If I’d known it would be like that, I would’ve been
an even randier young bloke than I was.”

“Mmmm,” she murmured, still basking in the afterglow,
content to be held so close against him, her hand on his chest, stroking him.
“Good to know I’m your horse fantasy. Guess that’s why my round butt doesn’t
bother you.”

He laughed and swatted her lightly there. It felt so good,
he ran his hand over it again. “Must be it,” he agreed. “All of you works for
me, though, I reckon. Not just the horse bits.”