Between the Sheets (12 page)

She was the fiercest animal on the planet; he’d never seen anything like it.

He shed any idea of the way he should be with her and gave in to the animal living in his skin. The animal that had been working really hard to play by the rules, to do the right thing, to be a father and an employee and part of this town. He gave the animal—who remembered selfish, wild pleasure—free rein.

He pulled her harder against him, so his cock nudged up right to her, separated only by the fabric of their underwear. And then he took that long blond hair of hers in his fists and pulled her down for a kiss. His kind of kiss. Raw and wild. He fucked her mouth with his tongue, and layers fell off of them. Civility. Manners. Courtesy.

They were animals against each other. Hair and teeth, tongues and lips. He curled a hand over her shoulder, holding her hard against him while he ravaged her mouth and pushed himself between her legs. He felt
her muscles shaking, her throat working as she groaned into his mouth.

Fuck
, he thought and stood, pulling her with him, her legs around his waist.

“What—” she panted, pulling her mouth away as he walked over to his coat. “What are you doing?”

“Getting a condom,” he said, walking over to his coat, wallet, and the small silver packet of wishful thinking he’d slipped in there earlier tonight.

“I’m … heavy.” Her muscles, so loose a second ago, were now tight and she was pushing against him. He made a pit stop at the low bookshelf and shoved art projects out of the way so he could set her down there and kiss her back into agreement. Into soft muscles and small groans against his mouth. He slipped his hand from the top of her boot up her thigh, under her dress.

Her ass was bare, the muscles twitching under his palm.

“Oh,” he whispered against her lips, smiling as his fingers found the small bit of silk between her legs, running through that dark valley between her cheeks. She twitched away and he stopped, not wanting to force anything on this woman. But then she pressed back against him.

“Yeah?” he whispered against her lips, wanting permission to be clear.

“Yeah.”

“So hot,” he breathed, tracing the edge of her thong down between her legs to where she was wet and hot and perfect. He pushed the silk against her. Against her clit. And she dropped her head back, crying out. He followed that silk back down to the hot, sweet entrance of her body and then back farther, all the way up to her waist. He did it three times, until her hips were arching against his fingers like she wanted all the touches. All the places.

“You are so hot,” he whispered into her ear, pressing kisses against her cheek. The corner of her mouth. She made a groaning, laughing noise as if her hotness were all news to her and he hated that that might be the truth for her. He circled her clit again through the silk and she started to grind against him.

He stepped back.

“Show me.”

“What?” Her lips were swollen, her eyes unfocused. The neckline of her dress had been pulled aside to reveal the black lace edge of a bra. Oh, fuck, he was going to strip her down to that underwear and make a feast of her.

“Show me,” he said but she didn’t move, so he turned her around so that her hands were braced against the bookshelf and lifted the back of her dress, revealing her strong white thighs, the perfection of her round ass, bisected by the black silk.

He groaned, palming her in his wide, rough hands, and she pushed back against him, arching against his touch. He bent and kissed her there, once on the top of each cheek, and then bit her. Her hands splayed out, her fingers curling around the edges of the bookshelf.

“You are gorgeous,” he said, running his hand up over her ass, over her dress to the back of her neck. He lifted her, held her back to his front, the hard length of his cock pressed right against that thong. He didn’t have to turn her face; she was right there kissing him so hard he saw stars. She turned around, pushing herself up onto the bookshelf, wrapping her legs around his hips. Her lips still fused with his, she dropped her hands back between his legs and he shifted his legs wider, giving her room to do whatever she wanted. Whatever. She. Wanted.

She broke the kiss and looked down, her hair falling
over her face so he couldn’t see her eyes, her expression, anything. But he hissed when she pulled him free of his boxers, her hands tracing the hard length of the veins that pounded against the thin skin. Her finger touched the head, the slit, and he bit his lip as she swirled the liquid she found there against him. He held onto her shoulder, careful not to grab too hard when she circled her hand around him and jacked him, once. Twice. Down to the sac, up to the head.

Unable to bear it anymore, he gathered her hair up in his fist and held it away from her face so he could see her watching him. But she was focused on what she was doing. Her eyes locked on her own hands, the hard length of his dick.

“Your hands look so good on me,” he whispered.

Her sigh was a rush of breath against his chest.

He reached down and pulled the dress out of the way so he could see her breast in that black lace bra. God, she was stunning. He cupped her in his palm, his thumb against the hard ridge of her nipple. She jerked against him, soft wild sounds coming out of her mouth. Her hands squeezed him so hard he had to bite his lip against the feral groan reaching up out of his chest.

The orgasm was right there. Barreling down on him from way up high.

With shaking hands she pushed him back and jumped down off the bookshelf.

She took the three steps toward the small table and grabbed his coat.

“It’s in my wallet.” He stood where she’d left him because he was scared that the way the fabric of his jeans would rub him if he moved, he might just come. That’s where he was at. That’s where she’d pushed him.

She pulled out his wallet and grabbed the condom he’d put there.

“Back to the couches,” she said. It was the same woman with the level eyes from Mr. Root’s office, but he barely recognized her with the flushed skin and the wide eyes. The swollen lips. Her dress was still pulled aside and he was mesmerized by the sight of that ivory flesh through black lace. Like he’d never seen a woman in a sexy bra before. Somehow she redefined all of it.

“Go,” she said, unsmiling.

He walked back to the couches and toed off his beat-up cowboy boots and shucked off his pants.

“Sit down,” she breathed, pointing to the corner of the leather couch where he’d started the night. He sat and she went back to her knees in front of him, but this time he didn’t fight it. Had no power to. She braced her elbows on his knees and bent toward him, but he stopped her.

“Take off your dress.”

She shook her head.

“Take it off. I want to see your body while you suck my dick.”

She turned away, resting her cheek against his thigh as if gathering her strength. “No. I want to do this my way.” When her eyes met his, he realized she was serious. It wasn’t a game. And that her unwillingness to be naked in front of him had nothing to do with a few extra pounds or this idea she had in her head about what was supposed to be sexy. It wasn’t even about the illicit thrill of having him naked, while she was fully dressed.

It was way colder than that.

She might fuck him. She might let him put his finger and his tongue and his cock inside of her, but she was not going to show him any piece of herself that she didn’t want to expose.

This was what she meant by her way.

Fair enough
, he thought and nodded.

She came up between his spread legs and wrapped one arm around his waist, while the other pulled his hard dick away from his belly and right into her mouth. He hissed, arching against her, involuntarily shoving himself farther into her mouth.

“Sorry—”

She took him deeper. Deeper still. He looked up at the ceiling, unable to watch, though it killed him not to. It was liquid and silk. Firm and soft touches, the feathering of her tongue, the suction of her mouth. She worked him hard, only to slow down and gently take him. She swirled her tongue over the head, the cupped palm of her hand following. A one-two punch that killed him.

“Fuck,” he groaned. He gathered her hair in his fist, too rough, he knew he was being too rough, but she pushed into the vee of his legs harder, took him deeper.

Rough was apparently good. Rough was apparently her way.

“Yeah. Look at you.”

She moaned in her throat and pulled away. “Now,” she said. She took the condom and handed it to him with shaking fingers. He stood up, ripping the wrapper open with his teeth, and she leaned back against the rug, slipping her hands up under her dress to pull off the thong.

“Stop,” he told her. He knelt down between her legs, unzipped her boots, and pulled them off. The short white socks she wore under them nearly wrecked him, they were so sweet. He scooted her back against the rug to give them some room to move and then reached under her dress himself, pulling the silk away from her hips and down her legs. He put her underwear over by the white socks.

“I want to taste you,” he said.

She started to shake her head but he reached under her dress anyway, his fingers sliding between her legs
right into the wet and the hot of her. He found her clit and she jerked away at the touch.

“Too much?”

“I’m so …” Her breath shuddered and she stared up at the ceiling.

“Beautiful? Sexy? Wet?”

She shot him a look under an arched brow that nearly made him laugh. “Close,” she said. “I’m really close.”

“So what if I do this?” He pressed the callused edge of his thumb against her clit, and she moaned, sucking that bottom lip into her mouth, holding it in place with her teeth.

“Just … come on.” She moaned, rolling her head on the floor. She braced her foot on his knee and her dress rolled up her legs, revealing his hand buried in the light brown curls between her legs.

“I want to watch you come,” he whispered, compelled by the need to see her undone. To see her falling apart under his touch.

But she took the decision right out of his hands. She tangled his hair in one hand and pulled him down to her, and he had to put his hands out to stop himself or he’d fall with all his weight against her. With her other hand she found his cock, shifted and arched, and then he was slipping into her.

It was incendiary.

Why had he been fighting this? He pumped against her, slow and steady, easing his way, because while she was hot and wet, she was tight and he didn’t want to hurt her.

She arched against him, but he held her hips down.

“Ahhhh,” she cried, her eyes going wide. Her hands fell from between them to the floor at her side. He thrust into her, high and hard, and she closed her eyes, a red flush building from her chest to her throat. His hands left her hips and her eyes popped back open, as if she
were startled. When she looked up at him, he read a question in her eyes. One she wasn’t quite ready to say out loud.

Oh, this woman
, he thought, speeding up his thrusts, feeling the power of his orgasm like a roar in his head. This woman who wanted to be held down but didn’t have the guts to say it. Who would fuck him, but only with her clothes on. Would suck his dick but share almost nothing of herself.

If she wanted more from him, she was going to have to ask.

Instead of grabbing her wrists and holding them over her head, instead of whispering some choice filth in her ear, which she would undoubtedly like, he sat back on his heels, pulling halfway out of her, and then slid her legs over his. He spread his hand over her tummy and put his thumb right against her clit.

But he didn’t move.

She arched against him, fucking herself against him, sliding over him, forcing his thumb against her clit. It was raunchy, lewd. Watching this woman use him. Her eyes were closed, her hands in fists at her side, and for a second he wondered if she even cared that it was him she was fucking. Or if he was just something hard between her legs.

The thought sent him hurtling and he braced himself over her, pounding into her. Her eyes opened wide and the soft gasps and groans turned to full-throated cries. They shifted across the carpet, their heads nearly hitting the blue couch. She braced her hands against it and when he thrust as hard as he could into her, she pushed down.

“Ah, fuck,” he breathed, his head bowed over her chest, and as the orgasm became unavoidable, as he felt her building and tightening, her legs squeezing his hips, he leaned down and took her nipple between his teeth.

And bit.

She exploded against him. One giant contraction squeezing him and he gave in to the orgasms, roaring into the empty barn.

Eyes watering, head spinning, he pulled out of her and collapsed onto his back against the rug. She put her arms over her face, panting as though she’d run a marathon.

“Are you okay?” he asked, when he got his breath back. He lifted his hand and rested it on her tummy, the best he could manage until movement returned to his limbs.

“Fine,” she said. Her voice muffled through her arms.

“That was kind of—”

“Good?”

He laughed. “I was going to say intense.”

She sat up, his hand fell from her tummy, and he started to feel the temperature in the barn. Or maybe it was the temperature coming from her. She didn’t look at him. Didn’t smile. She sat there and ran her hands over her hair and then down her face.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, sitting up next to her.

“Fine.” She started to fix her dress, pull up the part under her bra, wincing slightly when her hand brushed her nipple.

“Oh God.” He reached for her. “I was too rough—”

She stood up, looking down at him, her face totally composed. She was completely dressed.

He’d never felt so naked.

“That was just what I wanted.” There was a ghost of a smile on her face. “Every part of it. You have nothing to feel bad about.”

She put on her thong, the little white socks, and then zipped up her boots.

He stood and began to put on his jeans, trying to get
some kind of read on her, but it was impossible. If he hadn’t just been balls deep in her, he never would have suspected she’d just been having screaming sex. With him.