Trespass (6 page)

“Russ.”

He flicked his tongue over the hard nub of her clit, fingers thrusting fast and rough. “Come on. Come on, sweetheart.”

“Russ.” Then just one long moan, stilted as her hips bucked, her body giving Russ a hell of ride until she finally flopped back against the leather, ribs rising and falling under her damp skin.

He gave her one last lap of his tongue then sat up. He ran a hand across his lips and chin then regretted it—he hoped he’d keep smelling her on him for a week. He got an arm under her waist, gently hauled her to sitting and kissed her. The back of her neck was warm and sticky, and he wound her hair around his fingers, held her tight and consumed her mouth. He needed to kiss her so hard that any man who looked at her next would see Russ’s brand and stay the hell away.

She pulled her lower lip from between his. “Now you. What do you want?” As she asked it her hand went between his legs, and his cock went from pulsing to pounding in a heartbeat.

“Wanna pretend we’re doing it,” he murmured, eyes glued to hers, too horny to be anything but crass and honest.

She nodded. Russ closed his eyes as he felt her fingers on his belt, the easy release of his buckle, the snap of his jeans, the light caress as she lowered his fly.

“Stand up a sec.”

He obeyed and stood squarely before her as she tugged his jeans down his hips. He kicked them away along with his socks. He gathered her hair in his hands again as she touched him though his underwear, a cupped palm running up and down the ridge tenting his shorts. Hypnotized, he moaned in time with her strokes.

“You feel good.” She looked up and met his eyes, poured all his brain chemicals into a blender and hit purée.

Russ reached down and eased the waistband over his erection. He let her push his boxers to the floor, smooth hands torturing, sliding all the way up his legs before she touched his cock.

“Oh, God.” His eyes snapped shut, all his attention centered on the pressure of her touch. The next time he peeked he saw her lips, parted, a mere taunting inch from his cock. His head was beading with excitement, so goddamn ready.

“Do it,” he whispered.

That smile, pure and perfect evil. She leaned in close, close enough for him to feel her breath. She blew across his head and his dick twitched from the sensation.

“Come on. Please. Taste me, Nicole.”

Her gaze darted everywhere, from his cock to his belly to his chest, to her own hand wrapped around his base giving those mean, slow strokes. The way she looked at him was thrilling. Her palm seemed to weigh him—assessing, memorizing, approving. The touch made him feel big, made him feel wanted and desired and
hungered
for. Her free fingers slid up his thigh, along his shaft to his tip, slicking the precome over his head before her mouth finally took him.

Russ gasped. “God, yes.”

She sucked him, light and taunting, tongue swirling across his slit, tracing the shape of his crown. Her stroking hand tightened, the other cupping and fondling his balls for a gorgeous minute before it moved back to hold his ass, pulling him into shallow thrusts, pushing his cock just a bit deeper between her lips.

Russ let her go on for a minute, for as long as he could handle before he risked ending the evening earlier than he wanted to. He stepped back against his dick’s screaming protests and released Nicole’s hair to comb his fingers through his own.

“Lie down,” he said though the panting.

She reclined against the leather, tongue passing over her lips in a gesture that nearly put Russ over the edge.

He got his knees between hers once more and adjusted his hips so the underside of his shaft was nestled in her wet folds. The contact made him shudder, so tempted to change the angle and ram himself inside her. Instead he lowered his body and thrust, cock sliding against her with delicious friction, as good as the real thing after seven years without it.

“Russ.”

“Yeah.” He watched her face, her greedy eyes. Already on the edge, his body coursed with aggression. Leaning back, he braced one foot on the floor and locked a hand behind each of her knees. He wanted to make her watch, wanted to see it himself. He stared at her face, imagining he was really inside her.

“Put your hand on top of me.” He illustrated the request, grabbing her wrist and bringing her hand between them. She took the hint, wet her palm from between her legs then cupped it over Russ, his cock sandwiched between her slick hand and warm folds. The sounds she made obliterated the last of his sanity.

“Good. Good.” He shut his eyes, lost himself in the sensation. Before he knew it, before he really wanted it, he was there. “Oh God. Here I come. Here I come, sweetheart.”

The orgasm shook the entire length of his body, and he had to grasp her legs just to stay upright. He heard her saying his name, felt pleasure flood his cock, felt the waves of heat as he emptied on her belly. The spasms seemed to go on forever, then his whole body was glowing, floating, mind swimming, brain wiped blissfully clean. He let her legs go and lowered himself, bracing his weight on his elbows and plastering their chests and bellies together. All of this he remembered now—the smell of sex mixed with wood smoke, with dinner, with old leather and female breath. And this, tonight…this was all that and more. If Russ had to pick a moment to die, now was it. Instead he drifted closer to Earth, dropping gently back into reality as the high faded in time with the firelight.

As he came down, thoughts crept in. Vague questions swirled in his head, solidifying into worries. What did it say about Russ—what did it say about his
marriage
—that in the nearly six harmonious and affectionate years he’d been with Beth, he’d never felt anything half as potent as what he’d found in one night with the strange woman currently stroking his back? Was it Nicole, something about her? Something about him-and-her? He felt traitorous to even think it. Still, if his married life hadn’t ended the way it had, would he have gone the rest of his life never feeling this? Guilt buried itself like a knife his ribs, the pain of fearing what they’d just done had hurt Beth in its intensity…as if Russ had broken some unwritten law that said he was never allowed to get over the loss, never allowed to ask for or even to accidentally stumble onto more than he’d had with her.

Russ wasn’t a worrier, though, and now wasn’t the time to take it up. Besides, who knew how grandly tonight had been blown out of proportion, given the dramatic circumstances and the fact that it capped the better half of a decade’s dry spell.

He swallowed and pushed up onto his palms, looking down at the face he couldn’t yet call familiar.

Nicole smiled and said, “Thank you.”

He laughed. “Thank
you.”

“I need more stew now.”

He returned the smile but didn’t move, not quite ready to get up and let her go…but he did a minute later, grudgingly. He grabbed his boxers from the floor and cleaned them both up, tossing his shorts in the hamper and pulling on a fresh pair. Nicole was dressing as he returned to the den, and he followed suit, feeling nervous as he zipped up, feeling prematurely sober. He added a couple more logs to the waning fire.

Nicole got herself half a bowl of stew and sat, her back against the arm of the couch, bare feet tucked under Russ’s thigh. The gesture let him relax again, and he put a hand on her skinny ankle, reaching for his beer with the other.

“This is really nice,” she said. “Fire, food, beer, sex.”

His cheeks warmed. “Yeah, it is.”

“You’ve got every luxury a hitchhiker could ask for.”

He thought he caught her gaze flash to his crotch but couldn’t be sure. “I hope you’ll stick around for a little bit. Not just until your side’s healed. For as long as it takes you to feel like you’re ready to move on.”
Until you’re safe, if you’re not.

“Maybe. Thanks.”

Russ nodded, very suddenly overcome with desperation. He hadn’t even known this woman twenty-four hours ago, yet now he was dreading her departure. Funny how the promise of sex could bring an otherwise rational man to the edge of reason. He gave her ankle a squeeze, rubbed the little knob of bone with his thumb and marveled at how small and perfect her feet seemed after all this time spent in bachelor exile among the horses and cattle and dogs.

They spoke very little, watching the fire fade as the clock neared nine-thirty. Nicole was yawning before long, but Russ was still geared up, on edge.

He gave her ankle a final squeeze. As another of her monster yawns reached its crescendo he said, “You sound like you’re ready for bed.”

She nodded.

“You want some shorts to sleep in?”

“That’d be nice, thanks.”

He left the warmth of the den to grab her some clothes, glancing at his cold bed. She was stretching by the fire when he returned. She accepted the T-shirt and boxers, stripping and changing right in front of him.

Russ did his best to ignore his rousing cock. “Anything else you need?”

She shook her head with a smile.

“Okay… Well, I guess I’ll let you get some sleep.”

She smiled again, then stepped closer and laid a polite kiss on his jaw. “Thanks again. For everything.”

“Sure.”

She ran her fingers over his collarbone, then stepped away to begin assembling her bed for the night.

“Do you…” he began.

She looked up.

“Would you like to sleep with me? In a real bed, I mean?”

“Thanks, Russ, but this is fine. I’m sort of a restless bedmate. I wouldn’t want to keep you up, tossing and turning. Especially after what I put you through last night.”

“I don’t mind.” He quit his protests when he caught how tight her smile was. “Anyhow, invitation’s open.”

“Thanks.” She turned back to her blankets.

“Good night, then.”

Nicole didn’t glance up. “Night, Russ.”

He scrubbed his face in the bathroom, brushed his teeth. He clicked off the light and kept his eyes away from the den, went straight to his chilly room with its far too big bed and stripped to his underwear. For a long time Russ lay staring up at the ceiling, tugged in a hundred directions. Sleepy, anxious, horny, relieved, terrified. After perhaps half an hour he knew what he wanted, the only thing that would let him relax. He tossed his covers aside and crept out into the den. Nicole was curled on her side on the big old couch, placid face glowing in the dying firelight, hands at her heart with the blanket wadded between them. Russ took a seat at her feet and shook her calf gently until she woke.

“Hi,” she mumbled.

“Hi. Can I sleep with you?”

“A little late for that, Russ.”

“Sleep next to you, I mean.” He was aching to add “please” but felt pathetic and needy enough already without making the begging official.

She was quiet a moment, and Russ couldn’t let hesitation win, couldn’t handle her refusal. He wedged himself behind her and weaseled his way into the covers, hugged her back to his chest and buried his mouth behind her ear. Her tense body relaxed after a few seconds.

“Sorry if this is pushy,” he whispered.

“Pushy’s eating all your host’s food then making a move on him,” she countered.

He laughed. “I like pushy, then.” He held her tighter, until she squirmed, and he realized he must have pressed into her wound. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Russ.”

“I’m rusty with women.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Oh…well, good. Your hair smells really nice,” he added, slipping with relief back into their easy rapport from before the sex.

“It’s your shampoo.”

“No, it’s you.” He took a deep breath of her scent then regretted it, tried to focus on how comfy and sleepy he felt before his cock got other ideas.

“You smell good too.” She yawned. “You smell like a man.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s good… Where I’m from, the guys who don’t smell like B.O. or cigarettes smell like cheap aftershave. Or all three. You just smell like…man.”

“You sure I don’t smell like horse?”

He felt her silent laugh, then another yawn. He caught it and exhaled deeply against her neck. He wanted to turn her over and kiss her until they fell asleep or started messing around again. But he resisted, unclear if he’d scored a thank-you fuck, a pity fuck or an honest-to-God I-just-wanna-fuck-you fuck. To be honest, he’d take any of those, but damn, he wanted it to be the last. He wanted Nicole to say something that echoed what he was feeling, something like,
What happened earlier was incredible. I’ve never felt that with someone before
. But he’d take silence. Silence beat
Oh that? Yeah, that was all right.
Better than all right to Russ, better than the best sex he’d ever had before, celibacy-bias or not. So good it’d gotten his brain stuck, tuned to this annoying, insecure frequency.

“Good night,” he whispered.

“Good night, Russ. Thank you for the hot sex.”

He smiled so broadly he wondered if she could feel it against her neck. He pressed his face deeper into her hair and fell asleep, probably slept half the night still wearing that shit-eating grateful grin.

Chapter Four

Russ woke to the smell of bacon. He also woke to a sight he hadn’t seen in ages—the clock on the wall above the couch telling him he’d slept past seven. Nicole was across the den in the kitchen with her back to him, puttering at the stove. Another sight he hadn’t been treated to in forever, a woman cooking for him. Her hair looked dark, damp.

He pushed himself up to sitting, legs tangled in the blanket. “I slept through you getting up and taking a shower?”

She turned and smiled, waving a fork at him. “Yup. Morning.”

“Apparently.”

“I figured if you didn’t set your alarm, you probably didn’t need to be anywhere.”

He nodded.

She turned back to the sizzling pan. “Do you have any assignments today? Er, appointments?”

“Not on a Sunday, so long as no emergencies crop up.” He kicked the covers away to stand and stretch, then realized he was once again the underdressed one. He strolled to his bedroom and pulled on jeans, donned a shirt and sweater against the morning chill. Before he could change his mind or chicken out, he strode to Nicole, put his hands on her waist from behind and kissed her neck.