Sing for Your Supper (7 page)

My stomach growled, on cue, and he snickered.

“I could probably rustle something up.” He looked at me a little sideways. “Unless you’d rather clean yerself up and head into town and the diner.”

I considered that.

Matt would not have walked away if he wanted me there.

For a few, silent minutes, he watched me, his gaze cool, appraising.

“No. The diner was all right for a night. Not really substantial enough to satisfy, though.”

Jim’s gaze slid down my body and he nodded. “C’mon, then. We’ll take the truck.”

“Sure.”

And be stranded. Just what do you think will happen, stud?

I shut out the little voice and followed Jim to his pickup.

Chapter Seven

Sounds of running water from the shower filled the tiny cabin and I tried to distract myself from thoughts of soapy water running down those long, muscled legs by looking around. There wasn’t a lot to see. As I’d suspected, Jim wasn’t much of a pack rat. There were book shelves, loaded down with classics—
Shogun, Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, War and Peace
, with cracked spines all. I pulled a copy of
The Hobbit
off the shelf. Inside the front cover, a sticker sporting Jim’s name in childish handwriting made me smile. A little bit more investigation showed each book had been inscribed, by him, or by someone else, all with his name, and they were all well read.

I might not have gone to college, but I could appreciate a guy who liked to read.

I nodded to myself.

Makes perfect sense. A cowhand who reads the classics. Who hasn’t heard of that?

Lined up on the mantle, a series of framed photos caught my attention. In one, a man with enough likeness in his lined face and dark eyes to probably be his father, in his younger days, stood with his arm around a diminutive woman with a kind smile. She looked young and distracted in the photo, and I wondered what had happened to her. There was a photo of Jim standing, arms folded and back-to-back to another man looking an awful lot like him, but dressed in a fine suit and patent leathers next to Jim’s faded jeans and spurs.

“Your turn.” Jim leaned in the bathroom doorway in a towel, his hair curling darkly along his nape, and his broad chest still beaded with tiny water droplets.

“Uh…” I swallowed. “Right. Thanks.”

There you go again. Complete disintegration of your conversational skills.

I shuffled across the room and squeezed past Jim’s bulk, sure my pounding heart had to be audible. My jeans, still rain-damp, chafed. Blood rushed, some to my cheeks, sending heat up under my hair, but most south. I would have tugged at the denim to ease the constriction, but Jim’s gaze never wavered from my face. A slight grin played over his lips.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait,” he drawled.

“Not a problem.”

“See anything interesting?” he jutted his chin at the mantle.

I deliberately ran my gaze down his damp, perfect body, lingering over the dark curls icing his chest and trailing down under the towel. “Nah.”

He growled, low in his throat and his hand clamped around my arm. “Look me in the eye and say that.”

I did look him in the eye. My mouth went dry. Too dry to speak. Twisting my arm only tightened his grip. “Let. Go.”

He did. Instantly.

After a few swallows, I managed to get myself under control. “Couple good books, there.”

He laughed. The tension dissipated on the rolling sound, and he moved to let me pass.

I stopped inside the bathroom and turned, but Jim was already disappearing behind the closing bedroom door.

“Right.”

The rushing blood thudded through my system, heating everything in its path.

No. He doesn’t want you. You amuse him.

The room was still warm, steamy, with an undercurrent of Jim’s cologne riding the heavy air. Through the door, I faintly heard music—a jangle of voice and drums with a steel guitar straining in the background. I hummed, imagining the words I knew but couldn’t hear, as I fiddled with the water temperature and shed my wet clothing. Naked under the spray, the relief of letting the warm water slide in rivulets down my stomach and back set my skin tingling. It wasn’t long before the tingle went deeper—mixed with the lingering scent of Jim’s presence and the memory of the towel, low on his hips—and I had a hard-on I couldn’t ignore this time.

I was just smoothing the hair conditioner over my cock to ease my hand’s motion when the bathroom door opened. I froze, hand on cock, completely caught through the clear glass shower door with no place to hide.

Perfect.

“Forgot my watch.” Jim held it up with one hand and hooked the thumb of his other into the towel still circling his waist.

“Kinda in the middle of something here.” There wasn’t much point in trying to make it something else.

“So I see.” Instead of leaving, Jim closed the door again and leaned his lanky height against the shower doors, both hands gripping the top rail. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

That kind of attention on me should have made it impossible to continue. It didn’t. My hand moved almost on its own, guided by physical need for relief. No amount of not wanting to make a fool of myself was going to stop me. I slowly slid my fist up my cock and ran my thumb over the slit, unable to either hold in the gasp that induced, or resist the urge to stare at Jim and dare him to look away first.

Water ran down into my eyes and I blinked it away, using the motion to sneak a peek lower. The strain against the towel at Jim’s groin was obvious. My breath caught.

“You just going to stand out there and watch?”

Jim didn’t say anything, but through my water-blurred vision, I saw his towel hit the floor. The next minute, the shower door slid open and Jim’s powerful body was pressing against my back, his thick cock worming into the crack of my ass.

“Hand me the conditioner.”

I gulped. “Just like that?” But I did reach for the bottle and hand it over my shoulder.

“You want roses first?” Jim squeezed some of the conditioner into his hand and proceeded to smear it between my cheeks.

“No.” I drew in a sharp breath at the first, quick penetration of one strong finger. “Fuck!”

“Is that fuck for stop, or fuck for more?” Jim shoved in another finger and pulled me back against him. His fingers worked methodically in and out of my body, and I was pinned, helpless to do anything but take it.

You asked for this.

For a few minutes, I trembled against him, breathing hard, feeling the echo of Matt, not just where Jim’s fingers were, but all around us.

“You just doing this because Matt was there first?”

A third finger spread me further. I winced and gulped back a curse.

“I should stop now. Leave you hanging. Teach you to be mouthy.”

I wanted to lean forwards for leverage to push myself further onto those fingers, but Jim held me fast against his chest. My shoulder blades dug into his pecs, and the hair on his chest, rough against my back, just added to the tight grip of pleasure in my gut. Jim’s big, calloused hand roved down until fingers found a nipple.

“Jesus. Fuck.” I moaned, not sure which sensation to lean into.

“Again. Fuck for stop, or fuck for—”

“It’s fuck for, do you keep condoms in your shower, and can you get to the good part any damn faster?”

You’re insane. This is insane. Far beyond your usual slut factor. And a far cry from a branding iron.

“What do you think I was doing in the bedroom?” He brought my hand back to his cock and I felt the thin layer of latex covering it.

“Pretty sure of yourself.”

Jim curled his fingers forwards and thrust them deep. “You could always tell me to fuck off.” His lips came close to my ear. “But I ain’t blind, and I ain’t dead. I saw you lookin’. Do you want it, or don’t you?”

“Oh, shit, yeah. More.”

“Bend over.”

Before I could think too hard about it, I bent, pushing back until Jim’s fingers were buried to the last knuckle. If this abrupt action was any indication, I figured I could expect swift penetration and good hard fucking, and as soon as Jim’s fingers pulled out, I got both.

I couldn’t help the tight gasp as Jim took me. It hurt, and I stiffened, but Jim’s big, rough hands smoothed, surprisingly gentle, over my back, chasing away the chill and goose bumps. He moved slowly at first, but his speed quickly built when I managed to relax into it and find the right counter-rhythm.

“So much…” I wasn’t sure what. I couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so full, quite so dominated, or quite this eager to take it all. My own cock bobbed as Jim punished my body and I fumbled to take myself in hand. It took only a few strokes to bring me right to the edge and I squeezed down hard, not ready for the aggressive pounding to stop.

Jim grunted and ploughed me, forcing me to brace a forearm on the shower wall to protect my head.

“You like rough?”

I like you.

The sudden, dizzying realisation just about had me shooting despite my tight grip on my cock. Plenty of times I’d taken an equally vicious pounding from other men. None of that excited
me
the way Jim’s manhandling did, though. I should have been offended at the take-first-ask-later method, but then, I’d as much as advertised what I wanted all day, and I knew it. Besides, his hands on me weren’t exactly rough. He was strong, big. He held me where he wanted me, almost protectively, under the guise of taking, but making sure I was getting something too.

“Yeah. Guess I do.”

“Good.”

If I thought Jim had been forceful a moment ago, it was nothing compared to this new, ferocious pounding, his hands on my hips, digging in and leaving bruises as he guided my movements, or the animal growl he let out.

“Oh, shit.”

I maybe should have asked for a definition of ‘rough’. Jim’s treatment skirted the edges of real pain and I needed both hands to keep from being rammed into the wall. I grunted, trying to find the breath and words to get him to slow down when he moaned, low and long, and pulled me upright against him. He rammed up into me, buried deep. His scratchy, stubbled cheek rubbed against my neck as he curled around me.

His body shook as strong arms snaked about my waist and held tight. The heat of the shower had nothing on the searing touch of Jim enveloping me, melting me, inside and out. For a heartbeat, we stood, me up on my toes and held down on Jim’s cock, completely at his mercy. Then Jim thrust again, a short, sharp movement, in and out, accompanied by another low, inarticulate moan.

“Oh, God.” I echoed his moan as that thick, heavy cock ran over my prostate. Goose bumps rose and I clenched my fingers tight on his forearms. “Do that again,” I pleaded, voice barely above a whisper.

Jim didn’t say a word as he rocked, his cock moving inside me just enough to nail the gland and make me whimper. It didn’t take long, especially once Jim’s hands started moving, caressing my stomach and teasing over my nipples. My orgasm came hard and without warning, ripping a groan from me and doubling me over.

Jim caught us both from tumbling on our faces with a hand on the wall. He hung onto me with his other arm, waiting for me to get my wits back.