Ultimate Sins (15 page)

“There is no us, Crowe!” Desperation filled her cry. “You make it sound as though we had more than a few one-night stands. You don't have to lie to me now any more than you were willing to lie to me seven years ago.”

She had told him she loved him. She had sworn she wouldn't demand anything from him, and she hadn't. Three nights later she had found that damned letter on her bed.

“Do you think leaving you that summer was easy?” he asked, his gaze shuttered.

Amelia pushed her fingers through her hair wearily before shaking her head, her arms falling limply to her sides.

“I just don't think it matters anymore if it was easy or not,” she whispered. “What matters is the fact that I finally gave up, Crowe. On you. On us. And I think we both know you gave up before you even left that note on my bed. Hell, I was never more to you than a few gratuity fucks to begin with for the information I provided you. And it's a little late to pretend otherwise.” She inhaled harshly. “Better yet, it's far too late. Find someone else. Someone just as hard and cold as you've become.”

“And you forget who made me just that hard, and just that cold.”

Before she could evade him he jerked her against him. A second later she didn't have a clue where her robe had been thrown or how he'd managed to get her out of it so fast. What she did know was that she found herself with her back to him, his hard, powerful body covering her as he bent her over the kitchen table.

“What are you doing?” she gasped, but she knew what he was doing.

Thick, fully erect, the head of his cock butted against the still-slick, still-ready-for-him flesh between her thighs.

“Feel that?” he snarled at her ear, as she felt him shove his jeans to his thighs, pressing the wide crest of his erection farther between the swollen, intimate lips. “My dick doesn't get this hard for a gratuity fuck, nor does it get this fucking hard in exchange for information, no matter how much I appreciate it.”

The clenched entrance of her vagina began spreading apart beneath the blunt head as he began pushing slowly inside her.

“Tell me, Amelia, do you get this wet for just anyone you help? Does your pussy clench and try to milk just any man's cock inside it like it's dying for a taste of his cum?”

One hard thrust and several inches spread inside her.

He paused then, his hands hard on her hips as she fought to breathe through the pleasure that bordered agony.

“Feel that, fairy-girl?” he groaned at her ear. “Your pretty pussy sucking at my dick, flexing and milking it like it's begging me to fill it with my release?”

Oh yes, she could feel it.

Nails digging into the table beneath her, she could only gasp out in surprise as he pushed her legs farther apart, spreading her thighs before gripping one and lifting it until her foot rested on the seat of the chair next to them.

The position allowed her to feel him more fully, allowed his flesh to stretch her with increasingly devastating results.

The next thrust took him deeper, stretched her wider, stroked already sensitive flesh, and built a need inside her she couldn't control.

She shouldn't allow this, but she couldn't tell him to stop, either. She was too busy trying to breathe through the pleasure.

“So sweet and wet.”

Drawing back, his heavy flesh tugging at the inner tissue and stroking nerve endings rioting with sensation, Crowe teased her, holding no more than the head of his erection inside her.

“Do you feel my cock throbbing?” he growled at her ear, nipping at it.

A second later his lips caught the lobe, played with it. The caress of his lips sent electric surges of weakening pleasure tearing through her.

“Crowe, please—”

She couldn't keep her vagina from clenching desperately, attempting to pull him deeper, to suck at the hot, thick crest as it did indeed throb inside her.

“I've been hard for you every time I've seen you for the past two years,” he growled.

A breath after he spoke he thrust inside her again, filling her to the hilt and drawing a hard, harsh cry from her lips.

The next thrust had her crying out, her flesh melting around his cock as he began moving, deep, fierce thrusts, penetrating her, destroying her.

Lying across the table, his bigger, harder body holding her in place as he impaled her in steadily building thrusts of his cock, Amelia felt the loss of control along with a complete unwillingness to find it again as pleasure burned inside her.

Tension began to tighten through her, her vagina clenching desperately on each thrust, fighting to hold him in place each time he withdrew.

“Damn you, I love fucking you,” he bit out, his arm moving beneath her cheek, cushioning it as her hands gripped it, holding on to him fiercely as the strokes inside her increased.

Each penetration stroked across increasingly sensitized nerve endings. Her womb clenched, her hips moving against him, pushing against him, driving him deeper, harder.

“Ah, sweet baby,” he groaned. “That's it, tighten on my cock. So fucking tight. Clenching like a fist.”

His cock throbbed, pulsed, and seemed to thicken further inside her tender flesh as rapid-fire bursts of sensation began to tighten at her clit.

“Crowe … oh God, it's so good…” It was too good.

The feel of him behind her, his voice at her ear, pleasure thickening it, deepening it, was another caress against her senses.

“Did you dream of me, baby?” His lips brushed against her neck as he whispered the words. “Did you feel me inside you when you slept? My dick filling you, fucking you until you didn't think you could live if you didn't come for me?”

“Did you?” Amelia could hear her own hunger for it, to know she had been more than a gratuity fuck. “Did you dream…”

His thrusts increased, driving inside her powerfully, the race to release stealing her breath for precious seconds.

“Crowe…”

It was there. That tightening of her body as the pleasure became too much to bear. Heat seared her, burned through her as her muscles locked in place, her clit pulsing. Her pussy rippling, milking—

Light and color exploded behind her eyes as a keening cry fell from her lips at the sudden, white-hot detonation of sensation erupting through her.

Her fingers tightened on his arm, sobs tearing from her lips as she lifted to her toes, trying to take him deeper. His thrusts increased, slamming into her, driving her higher, amplifying her release and a second later filling her with the white-hot lash of his semen.

The harsh, guttural groan that tore from his lips at the first burning ejaculation inside her tore another sob from her throat. Shuddering, crying out mindlessly, she felt another internal explosion, a heavy, unexpected orgasm as the heat of his release filled her.

Jet after heated jet escaped his cock and marked her, owning her, reminding her of things she knew it was far too dangerous to be reminded of.

“I dreamed…” he groaned at her, the sound almost too soft, too rough, to understand. “I dreamed…”

Too dangerous for her peace of mind, her heart, and her sanity.

Holding on to his arm as the storm of exquisite ecstasy tore through them both, Amelia knew, deep inside her heart, inside her woman's soul, that she was helpless against him.

Helpless against his touch, helpless against his lust, and helpless to do anything but follow him into hell.

A hell she had prayed they could both avoid.

 

CHAPTER 8

Walking into the nearly completed addition to the Community Center—a huge, four-section meeting wing—Amelia eyed the folding walls that separated the room the Ladies' Auxiliary and Social Planning Committee had reserved for their weekly meetings.

The detailed murals on the folding walls weren't finished, but the sketch of the early, historic Corbin County scene was precisely drawn and awaiting the painting phase. Painting would begin after Thanksgiving, with the murals in each of the four rooms scheduled for completion the week before the kickoff of the social season.

The Corbin County socials were a historic event all their own.

They had begun when Sweetrock was no more than a freight wagon stop for ranching supplies and had fewer than a dozen families supporting it. Those families had supplies brought in over the mountains and then sold them to the ranches and small farms that sprang up around the four large spreads the Irish Barons had secured land for.

Each weekend, the ranching families supplied the beef, the cowboys' families and those in Sweetrock supplied the additional dishes, and guitar-playing cowboys supplied the music.

The first socials were just about getting together. The ranching families and their employees rarely had any other chance to socialize or meet their outlying neighbors. The summer weekend festivities had changed that.

Each of the eight murals scheduled to go on the back and front of the four false walls depicted scenes from those early social events.

The meeting wing of the Community Center had originally been proposed by Amelia's mother just before her disappearance and suspected death. The year Amelia was voted into the position of event coordinator, she had proposed overseeing the project herself to revive it. She'd been shocked when the planning commission had accepted her suggestion and gave her the go-ahead to secure quotes.

Wide and roomy, the first and smallest of the four rooms easily accommodated two dozen women plus several tables of snacks and treats, with plenty of space for the officers' podium to face the rest of the room. By the podium were two covered tables, each with three chairs on a three-foot-high stage.

Thankfully, a social and event coordinator wasn't considered an officer.

The meeting rooms were proving to be not just useful, but also marginally profitable: their schedule after completion was already filling up.

Amelia wondered, though, if she would be here for the ribbon-cutting ceremony.

She had a feeling she wouldn't be.

With the little visit Crowe had interrupted two days before from Linda and her mother Ruth Anne, she might not make it past this particular meeting.

Smothering a sigh, Amelia placed her oversized briefcase on the chair beside her, watching as her friend and most vocal ally in the past weeks strode into the room and headed toward her.

For once, Anna wasn't dressed in jeans, either. The Ladies' Auxiliary and Social Planning Committee had a strict dress code. Denim was not considered acceptable, Amelia thought in amusement.

Anna's smartly tailored black skirt and white cashmere sweater were paired with three-inch heels and minimal makeup. She'd pulled her shoulder-length hair haphazardly to the back of her head, with long heavy waves falling here and there along her nape and the sides of her face. She looked chic and comfortable.

Business-y with a side of sex kitten, Anna's fiancé, Archer Tobias, had commented when she showed him the outfit the week before. Amelia had no doubt Archer had taken advantage of the sex-kitten part before Anna left the house.

“I can't believe I let you talk me into this,” Anna muttered in irritation as she dropped her purse on top of the round table Amelia had chosen.

“Talked you into what?” Amelia questioned with the utmost innocence. “Becoming part of Archer's life? I thought he talked you into that.”

Anna's green eyes narrowed back at her as she propped her hands on her slender hips, cocking one boldly. “Funny, Amelia, real funny. But, strangely enough—” She looked around curiously. “—I don't see Archer here.”

Turning back to Amelia, she lifted her brows with questioning mockery as though she had somehow misplaced her fiancé.

Amelia rolled her eyes. “Do you go on investigations with Archer? Would he take you to a shootout with him?”

“Only in my dreams,” Anna snorted before blowing out a hard breath at Amelia's chastising look. “Fine. Fine. I know. Sheriff is a political position and any wife of Archer's has to be part of the community,” she said, repeating her grandmother's warning. “I get it, I really do.” She looked around again, pouting. “But the Ladies' Auxiliary and Social Planning Committee? Geez, Amelia.”

“You'll survive,” Amelia promised. “Just be yourself and remember, every woman here is one of the most strong-willed, influential women in the county. Don't let them browbeat you. Never cower or back down. They see it as a weakness. And always, always be as certain of your information as possible before stating it or someone else will find a way to make you appear weak.”

As she spoke, Anna's eyes widened with a look of distaste. “Sounds more like a pack of coyotes than a ladies' auxiliary,” she murmured, looking around again. “Come to think of it, I see a few resemblances.”

Amelia bumped against her hurriedly to silence the observation as she tried to muffle her laughter.

“Just tell me when to wake up then,” Anna suggested. “Because I've met all these women at one time or another and I find them all completely boring. Several of them have actually crossed the line to irritating.”

Amelia had a feeling she knew the two her friend was talking about.

Amelia had never found the group boring, though. She had so loved her position—the planning of each event she chose for the socials and all her interactions with the vendors and entertainers—that boredom had never been a consideration. There was no part of the job she hadn't loved.

Even dealing with the ladies in the auxiliary.

She was going to miss it.

“What's wrong?” Anna's question pulled her back, forcing her to focus on the present rather than the past and what she knew was coming.

“Ladies, if I could have your attention.” Linda stepped to the narrow podium behind the tables and addressed the group as the officers took their seats. “If I could have your attention,” she repeated as the other officers appeared less than comfortable.