Puppy Love

by Lucy Gilmore

  “I didn’t have to let you come on this trip, you know. I could have left you at home to deal with your mom and sisters.”

  “Okay, fine. You win. What are my options?”

  He crossed his arms and did his best not to look like a man about to break into laughter. “Penis. Testicles. Cock. Balls. Dick. You can’t go wrong with the classics.”

  “Bo-ring,” she teased. “Maybe I should go find Derek and ask him what he thinks. I bet he has lots of exciting names for his parts.”

  “Derek’s idea of excitement is throwing rocks at birds. You really want his opinion?”

  She giggled. “Okay, then. What if we compromised? Big D and the gang seems like it might suit you.”

  There was no helping it after that. She found herself glancing down to where Harrison’s male parts were contained. Dressed in ragged jeans that clung to his powerful thighs and a puffy vest layered over worn flannel, he was a most appealing sight. The fact that she could clearly detect his package underneath it all was an added bonus. Rugged and standoffish, he was the itch she longed to scratch—long and deep and hard.

  “There’s no way I’m falling for that.”

  “Falling for what?” she asked innocently.

  “The second I tell you anything about my manhood, you’re going to use it against me. I know you, Sophie. You’re ruthless.”

  “Your manhood?” That was almost too much. “Is that what you call it? Manhood and marbles? Manhood and the motley crew?”

  He stepped closer. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop there. I’m trying to keep a distance here. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

  Getting him to willingly come closer was a step in the right direction, so she counted that as a win.

  “Come on, be a good sport,” she cooed. “If you tell me what you call them, I’ll let you know how I refer to my lady lumps.”

  He stopped midstep and paled, the smile wiped from his lips. “You named your tits?”

  Even though Sophie considered herself an open-minded sort of woman when it came to sex, the way he said tits—all harsh and guttural—caused her to blush. She couldn’t help it. There weren’t many men in the world who looked at her and found themselves reduced to their baser urges.

  “Yes,” she said. Her cheeks were aflame, but she kept her eyes locked on his. “And I refuse to disclose that information until you give me something to work with in return.”

  “Jesus, Sophie.” His curse was more like a caress. “Do you always have to be so—”

  “Yes, I do,” she said, perfectly serious. “How am I supposed to get you to kiss me otherwise?”

  His eyes flashed. “You could always ask.”

  A simple answer from a simple man. She liked it.

  With more bravado than she’d ever thought it possible for her to muster, she said, “Harrison Parks, you are one strapping beast of a man, and I can’t stop thinking about you. Would you please kiss me already?”

  There was no need for her to finish the question. By the time she got past that strapping beast part, he’d already closed the distance between them, already grabbed her around the waist and pulled her flush against him. She’d barely gotten the last word out when his mouth pressed down on hers hungrily, his lips tasting and testing to see how much she would give.

  The answer, as he would soon come to learn, was everything.

  She’d never wanted anything as much as she wanted Harrison Parks exactly like this—powerful and insistent yet still the same sweet man who could fall head-over-heels in love with a puppy overnight.

  Each touch of his mouth against hers demanded that she return his kiss, but the way his hand cupped her face and the way he held her body against his spoke of a hesitant affection. It was as if he knew he was holding something precious but not breakable, someone willing but not compliant.

  Determined not to let him go this time, Sophie wrapped her arms around his waist. She took a moment to slide her hands underneath the back of his vest, bypassing the insulin pump hitched to his belt to skim her touch between warm flannel and even warmer skin. Although she would have gladly stood there and let him keep nibbling at her lips with the urgency of one who could never be sated, she pulled away enough to catch her breath and speak.

  “If asking for a kiss gets me exactly what I want, what happens if I make other requests?” she asked. “Do you have to do everything I ask, like a genie granting wishes? Is that how it works?”

  His lips curved in a smile—that deep, enticing one that set her…well, everything quivering. Not only was he kissing her and making jokes, but he was playing along. He was playing, period.

  “Why the hell not? I’ll give you exactly three wishes.” His smile dropped. “And no, you can’t wish for more wishes.”

  “I wasn’t going to!” she protested. “I only play honorably.”

  “No, you don’t. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.” His laugh was more like a groan. “So…bearing in mind that it’s sixty degrees and Derek is nearby with a heavy projectile, what do you want from me?”

  What she wanted was for it to be dark and the pair of them to be sharing a tent, but not even Harrison had the power to move time. However, that wasn’t going to stop her from trying.

  “I want to feel you on top of me,” she said.

  He blinked, as if waiting for more. When she didn’t do anything except stare expectantly up at him, awaiting his response, he laughed. “Fine. Never let it be said I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain.”

  Without another word, he swooped down and lifted her in his arms. Sophie could feel the sheer strength of him, the way every muscle was taut and vibrating with energy. She could also tell that lifting her caused almost no strain on his physique.

  Nor did it seem to tax his strength any as he lowered her to the ground right then and there. It was a patch of rock and dirt, no sign of any mossy embankment or field of flowers where she could rest her head, and she could have kissed him for it. There was nothing romantic about the pebbles pressing through her jeans; nothing comfortable about the way he stretched her body out, her shoulder narrowly missing the sharp edge of a boulder. She commanded, and he gave. That was all.

  He did, however, shrug out of his vest and fold it into a pillow for her head. As he quickly followed it by pressing the entire length of his body on top of hers, she couldn’t find it in her to complain. He was gloriously heavy, his limbs and pelvis pinning her into place.

  It was like bedding down with a rock, assuming the rock was made of lava and had designs on her maidenly virtue. Harrison’s chest was broad and his arms strong, locking her in place so he could once again crush her mouth under his. There was nothing to do but open up and let him in, so that was exactly what she did. He smelled like pine and tasted like the sky—two things she’d never thought could be intoxicating together, but she was wrong.

  Because this was right.

  Whatever else was happening in the world at this exact moment—wars, crime, a dozen rugged outdoorsman close enough to march by at any moment—didn’t matter. All she cared about was the fact that Harrison’s lips wouldn’t stop moving over hers and that the press of his body wasn’t softening in the slightest. In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken, there was zero softening going on anywhere.

  But there was definitely some hardening. Oh, yes. That was a cock, no playful names about it.

  It was too cold to do much in the way of disrobing, but Harrison managed to unfailingly find all the exposed patches of her skin. His fingertips moved along the arched slope of her neck, tracing the delicate line of her clavicle as one memorizing a masterpiece. They slipped along the bare skin above her waistline. They even, for one glorious minute, gave in to the urge to travel northward, skimming over her stomach and making a tantalizing approach near her breasts.

  She arched in an attempt to get him to reach the urgently tingling tips of her nipples, but Harrison pulled himself away before he got close. He released a sound halfway
between a groan and a growl, his large palm not lifting from where it rested against her rib cage. His rough skin attested to all those years of fighting fires, and she could feel the scrape of his calluses against her skin.

  It was impossible not to make the leap from there, to imagine the hot, work-hardened fingers slipping into her softest parts, rubbing her body in ways that would scandalize the birds and the bees.

  She might have even whimpered. It wasn’t her most elegant moment.

  “Well?” Harrison lifted himself away just enough to speak, his words a breath against her lips. “That makes one. What’s your next command?”

  Gone were all thoughts of bugs crawling into her jeans or rocks working their way into unseemly places. Sophie could think of only one thing she wanted, the rest of the world be damned.

  She wanted him.

  “Your hands,” she managed, her words escaping on a gasp. “I want to feel your hands on my bare skin.”

  Technically, he was already doing that, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

  “What part of your bare skin?” he asked with a small tsk. “Don’t you know that you have to be specific when making wishes? Otherwise, the genie is going to trick you. He’s not to be trusted.”

  On the contrary, she trusted this genie with both her life and her body. She blushed at the thought of giving voice to exactly what she wanted him to do with the latter—that she wanted him to move his hand upward until he was cupping her breasts, or even to forgo a gentle exploration of her torso and slide his hand between her bare thighs. Sophie wasn’t squeamish about sex, but there was a difference between enjoying an act and making that request under the stark, open sky.

  “Well?” he prodded. He knew how hard this was on her, the jerk, and was making it more difficult on purpose. With Harrison, she had the feeling every victory was going to have to be earned.

  Challenge. Accepted.

  She’d never felt so ready—so excited—at the prospect of battle.

  “Lady,” she said, and arched her back against his hand’s taunting withdrawal. “And Tramp. I want you to touch Lady and the Tramp.”

  His entire body stilled. For a brief moment, it was as though he’d turned to stone, pinning her to earth for all of eternity. It wasn’t as daunting a fate as it seemed, but she couldn’t help being relieved when he released a tortured groan.

  “Please tell me those aren’t the names of your—”

  “Tits?” she interrupted, pleased and surprised at how easily the syllable rolled off her tongue. “Yes, they are. Would you like to meet them? I warn you—Lady can be a bit shy. You may have to coax her out a little.”

  The last of her inhibition fled as Harrison muttered something about the folly of falling into such an obvious honey trap. The idea intrigued her. She’d never been anything close to a honey trap before. But for this man, she was willing to try.

  “Touch me, Harrison,” she said. “Anywhere and everywhere you want.”

  “You’re going to be the death of me. You know that, right?”

  His question was rhetorical. Without waiting for her to agree or argue, he dropped his lips to hers for another searing kiss. This one was accompanied by his hand sweeping past the soft swell of her stomach and heading straight for Lady. He had no way of knowing which breast was which, but it didn’t matter because he obviously planned on giving them both the same thorough treatment.

  Her bra was an expensive one, unsuited for support and comfort while out in the elements, but ideal for man exploring the softly molded cups. His fingers slipped over the top and caressed her skin, teasing the edge of her nipples until she moaned into his mouth. She tried arching again, but his weight had become so settled that it was all she could do to lay there and let him explore her the way he saw fit.

  As that included the graze of his rough fingers over the tips of her breasts and the grinding of his hips against hers, she was fine with whatever he planned to do to her. Her nipples grew tight and hot under his touch, her belly taut with anticipation. She could practically feel the blood coursing through her veins and down between her thighs, her body throbbing with the ache of emptiness.

  “How can one person be so fucking soft?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. How can one person be so fucking hard?” She groaned as the ridge of his erection pressed against her. “I’m ready for my third wish, by the way.”

  His voice was hoarse. “I don’t have much more to give, Sophie. You have to realize that by now.”

  “Oh, there’s a lot more you can give. What I really want—what I’ve wanted since the moment I met you—is to feel you inside of me.”

  “Fuck.” He swore with a vehemence that was difficult to interpret. Was he agreeing with her and announcing his intentions to perform said deed? Or had she pushed him too far, and he was refusing to comply?

  God, she hoped it was the first one. She wasn’t sure how much more of this agony she could take.

  A discreet cough sounded from above them, “Uh, Harrison?”

  “Fuck,” Harrison said again, pulling himself away from her.

  Understanding dawned—and with it, the realization that she was writhing on the ground with a man’s hand firmly up her shirt. Jessica had the decency to be looking off somewhere in the distance, her gaze fixed on a rolling green bluff, but Sophie was pretty sure she must have seen—and heard—plenty already.

  “I’m sorry,” Jessica said. “But there’s been an accident.”

  Harrison shot the rest of the way up, leaving Sophie with her stomach bared to the elements. She might have been insulted if not for the wholly honorable way his thoughts went to his puppy. “Is Bubbles—?”

  “Fine, she’s fine. Great, in fact. The problem is with, uh, Derek. His bolas…”

  Harrison groaned and closed his eyes. All of the anxiety that the idea of Bubbles in danger had brought out in him was reduced to a guttural, “That debauched troglodyte. Whose idea was it to let him anywhere near a weapon?”

  Sophie couldn’t help but giggle. It was hard to believe that this man once looked at that puppy with anything but love and adoration. She’d never seen anyone fall so hard for an animal before—and she’d seen her fair share of happy placements.

  He reached a hand down to help Sophie to her feet, pausing just long enough to meet her eye with a look of mingled pleasure and embarrassment. She could tell he wanted to say something that would rob the moment of awkwardness, but there was no opportunity.

  Sophie found she didn’t mind too much. This…conversation would hold.

  “I guess you’d better take me to him,” Harrison said, giving in with a sigh. “But I swear to everything that man holds dear, if he’s not bleeding out somewhere at the bottom of a ravine, I’m going to truss him up and toss him in the back of my truck for the rest of this trip. And you’ll be back there with him, Sophie, if you don’t stop laughing.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, not sorry at all—not even when Jessica relaxed enough to laugh with her.

  “I’d say it’s just a muscle contusion, but you’re our best medic,” Jessica said. “I really am sorry. It looks like you were—”

  “There’s no need to finish that sentence,” Harrison said, but it was too late. Any and all fear Jessica may have felt at interrupting her superior in the middle of frolicking in the wilderness had all but disappeared.

  I should probably feel guilty for ruining his reputation, Sophie thought. But she didn’t. Not when her body was still thrumming with the memory of his touch.

  Not when she had high hopes that, this time, the wall was so far gone she could get him to touch her again.

  Chapter 15

  “Your card is a four of hearts,” Sophie said, her face lit by firelight and a shy smile. “Either that or the queen of spades, but I think Marcus has that one.”

  “Goddammit, she’s right again!” Derek thumped his good foot on the hard-packed earth. His other not-so-good one was elevated and had an ice pack pressed again
st the calf.

  A muscle contusion, just as Jessica had suspected. A muscle contusion that Harrison could only consider the best—and worst—timed injury known to mankind. Five minutes later, and he had no doubts that he would have fulfilled Sophie’s wishes right then and there.

  On the ground. In the cold. Unaware of anything except the suppleness of her every goddamn curve.

  “I thought for sure I had you that time.” With the flick of his wrist, Derek consigned his card to the campfire, offering only a glimpse of four hearts before it flared and disappeared from view. “You tricked me.”

  Marcus, a somewhat gangly youth who’d only finished his first summer with them last year, turned his card. It showed a stony-faced monarch clad all in black. “It is the queen of spades,” he admitted. He also handed his card back to Sophie, though what good it would do when Derek had already burned up half the deck was beyond any of them. “How did you do that?”

  “A good magician never reveals her tricks,” Sophie said with a mysterious air. She promptly ruined it with, “It’s mostly done by counting the cards. I can show you, if you want.”

  “Would you really?” Marcus’s eagerness was matched only by his crestfallen expression when he glanced over at Harrison and changed his mind. “Uh, maybe some other time. It’s more fun if you don’t know how the sausage is made, you know?”

  Harrison attempted to arrange his features in a more conciliatory pattern of parts. He wasn’t supposed to scare everyone away from the campfire before the ghost stories even started. Besides, Marcus could hardly be blamed for Harrison’s current state of mind.

  And body.

  Harrison might be emotionally conflicted when it came to his relationship with Sophie, but his body had no qualms about asserting what it wanted.

  It wanted to feel her writhing on the ground underneath him again. It wanted to explore the swells and dips of skin that felt like ribbon-wrapped satin. It wanted to enter her so slowly she came screaming before he made it all the way inside.