by Vicki Tharp
He stilled. His hands clasping her thighs, his fingertips digging into her soft flesh.
Her eyes shot open, and she raised her head. Her hips rising and falling, determined to keep the slow, sensuous rhythm. “Don’t you dare sto—”
“I forgot the condom.”
No wonder she felt so amazing.
But as soon as he thought it, he knew the way she felt had more to do with how she’d wormed her way under his skin than the fact there was no barrier between them.
She stilled, and he waited for the realization of what he’d said to sink in, waited for her to scramble away. To get angry. To tell him what an idiot he was.
To regret it.
Instead, she met his gaze, her internal muscles milking him. Her eyes drifted closed, the pink tip of her tongue trailing over her bottom lip. He caught her hips with his hands and stilled her motion before he completely lost his shit and didn’t give a rat’s ass that they had no protection.
It didn’t matter that she was on birth control. Nothing was a hundred percent, and she’d made it clear she had no intention of chasing kids and cans at the same time. Besides, an unplanned pregnancy wasn’t the only concern.
Josephine writhed beneath him, a low whine of complaint drifted between her parted lips. And because he couldn’t help himself, he slid his hand over her mound, scrunching his fingers through her soft, tight curls. He pressed down with gentle pressure to still her, but she surged against his open palm.
He could have pulled out, should have pulled out. But he didn’t. “Did you hear what I said?” If she left it up to him, he’d stay like that forever. Slick. Slippery. Sheathed.
“I heard you.”
His thumb slid down one incredible inch, circling her clit and enticing a dick hardening moan from her lips. If he was trying to stop her, he was doing a piss poor job of it. “Stop. We should stop.” Even as he said it, the curve of his lips matched hers, his words lacking complete conviction. Or any form of conviction at all.
She stopped, propping herself on her elbows and looked him up and down. That tingle in his balls got worse instead of better, and he rubbed his thumb into her folds.
“Do—” Her head drifted back. “Damn that feels so good. You aren’t making this easy.” She raised her head. “Do you want to stop?” There was no teasing in her tone, as her internal muscles quivered and quaked.
He gritted his teeth. This was important. This was a potentially life-altering decision. One that had no business being made while their hormones revved like jet engines, and their heart beats drowned out all rational thought.
“No,” he said. The word came out rough. Strangled. As if the word had been raked over shattered glass. He swallowed, but very little saliva remained in his mouth, and his throat clicked with the dry motion. “But I don’t want to make any mistakes with you. You’re too important. We’re too important.”
Her fingers stroked the hair on the back of his hand that still rested at the apex of her thighs. “I’ve never had sex without a condom. You?”
“Never.”
“And you said you loved me.”
He smiled. Liking the way her eyes lost focus when she said those words, like she was picturing them and maybe their future. Together. “I did. I do.”
“I don’t have plans to make love with anyone else. Do you?” One of her delicate brows arched.
Make love. Not have sex. He took a fraction of a moment to internalize the sentiment, knowing there was only one right answer to this question. One he didn’t hesitate when answering. “Not on your life.”
“I love the feel of you. Just you. I don’t want to stop. If there are any consequences, then we’ll deal with them together. Okay?”
Which kind of implied that they would still be together, even though she’d given their relationship an expiration date. Two weeks, fourteen days, three hundred plus hours. Give or take.
But who was counting?
She laid down again, locking her ankles behind his ass and driving him deep. He sucked in a breath and almost didn’t hear her over the squish-whoosh of the blood behind his eardrums when she said, “And Silas, one more thing…I want you to make me scream.”
She didn’t have to repeat herself.
Widening his stance, he latched onto her hips as he plundered and plunged. Her breaths came in short, staccato bursts, her breasts bouncing, her eyes squeezed shut against the relentless pounding. She reached her arms over her head, her palms braced against the wall of the camper. Giving him everything she got. Everything she was.
He hadn’t thought she’d held back the other times they’d made love, but as she shattered around him, as she screamed his name, as he shot his seed deep into her womb, as her eyes fluttered open and met his gaze, he felt her love.
She didn’t have to say it. Her body said it for her.
He collapsed on top of her. Their bodies sticking together as the heat rose to post Hiroshima levels inside the camper. After-shocks wracked their bodies as he grew soft. He rolled onto his side and took her with him, peppering her chin, her cheeks, her lids, her lips, with featherlight kisses. She lay pliant in his arms, well spent, well fucked, well loved.
He eased back, and her eye lids lifted with near catatonic laziness.
“What is it?” Her breathing had slowed, but the words still came out breathy.
“Have I told you today how much I love you?”
She stiffened beneath the hand making lazy circles on her hip. Silas didn’t wait for her to answer. “It doesn’t matter. I love you. And I am going to keep saying I love you every day, or every hour if I have to, until I can say it and you don’t get that look in your eye like a felon who’s spotted an open cell door.”
“You can’t keep saying that.”
“Shhh.” He smiled because for once her tone didn’t reach out and sock him in the gut. “Oh, hotstuff. I can. I will. Until you no longer squirm when I say it, or turn green behind the gills.”
“I can’t love you.”
Can’t and don’t were not the same word.
“But you do.”
She didn’t deny it, but she wouldn’t confirm it either. She opened her mouth. “I…”
He saw the rest of it. The love you in her eyes. Felt it in the hand she laid on his chest. She wanted to say it, he was sure of it. “I love you,” he said again.
“I know.”
Before she could say anything they would both regret, he said, “And that’s okay. You don’t have to say it back. Not yet. I said I’d wait for you. I meant it.”
* * *
“Hey there,” Josephine said as she came up behind Silas in the area behind the bull chutes at the Ogden rodeo in Utah. The week had whizzed by in a dizzying speed of hot sex, hard training, and long drives.
“Hey there yourself.” Silas hardly looked up from the rigging bag as he pulled out two bullropes.
They were crowded in a small area about three stalls wide and one stall deep. This was the ‘secure’ area Maynard had promised the riders where they could store their gear before their rides. It wasn’t exactly Fort Knox. The walls were made from corral panels that anyone could climb over or slip through. The kid sitting on a stool at the entrance pretty much let anyone in, which was how she’d gotten in. Rowdy was back there showing off with his newest side piece, this one short with flowing, bright red hair that almost matched the makeup surrounding his painted-on smile.
Silas leaned against the panel, one leg bent with the heel of his booted foot resting on the lower rail. Monte slid behind her to get to his bag, and she scooted next to Silas to get out of the way.
After their confrontation the week before, Monte hadn’t said a word to either of them. Probably just as well. He rarely said anything she wanted to hear these days.
Silas snuck a quick kiss to the side of her cheek then went back to inspecting every inch of his bullropes for any signs of wear or fraying or sabotage. “Comet settled in for the night?”
“Finished
up a few minutes ago.”
He lowered the rope and caught her attention. “Look at me.” When she did, he said, “You and Comet killed it tonight. Why are you so nervous?”
“I’m not nervous.”
He dropped the rope on his bag and placed a hand on her cheek, his hand cold and clammy, and here he was calling her out about being nervous. He ran his thumb along her bottom lip. The one she was worrying with her teeth, until she’d worn a raw spot near the corner.
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she said.
“It’s okay.” He wrapped her in a hug and held her tight against his chest. He smelled of fresh sweat, and old leather and determination. She was going to have a heck of a time leaving after Cheyenne. “I can’t wait to get out there and show those bulls they haven’t gotten the best of me. Not by a long shot.”
It was then that she saw the leather thong around his neck, dipping beneath the collar of his starched, black western shirt. She raised her hand to his chest, the lump beneath his shirt hanging level with his heart.
Outlining the object with her fingertips, she immediately knew what it was. “Where did you get this?”
He held his hand over hers, trapping Toby’s bear claw beneath her hand. Silas’s hand was warmer now, and she liked to think she had something to do with quelling his nervousness.
“I found it in the dirt near where Toby had fallen. The leather had broken. I’m keeping it safe for him.”
“Isn’t that his good luck charm.”
He laughed, but his humor sounded in short supply. Silas reached for the necklace as if he was going to take it off. “Maybe it’s not so lucky.”
She stilled his hand. “Toby’s alive. Maybe without this, he wouldn’t be.”
He made that kind of face that reluctantly said she had a point.
The crowd in the stands cheered at something the announcer said. Then a spotter hollered over. “That’s it, Foss, you’re up.”
He’d drawn the first bull of the evening. Josephine was almost glad. It would have been much harder to sit through a bunch of rides waiting, anticipating.
Silas chose his older bullrope, the one that had been his backup before his other one had been sliced. Like her, he much preferred not using brand new equipment on an important ride. “You going to watch from the stands?”
She suppressed the shiver at the idea. Now that the word had gotten out that she and Silas were seeing each other, the media couldn’t get enough of them. Some reporter had even wanted to do an interview with the both of them earlier in the afternoon. They’d declined. But that didn’t mean the cameras wouldn’t find her in the stands.
God forbid, if something happened to Silas, the last thing she wanted was for her reaction, her terror, to be replayed on the ten o’clock news. “No. I’ll find a spot and watch from here.”
“Foss.”
“Coming!” Silas walked backward toward the chutes, the bells on his bullrope clacking dully as he hefted the rope to his shoulder. To her, he said, “I’ll see you after the ride.”
He turned to climb over the rail.
“Be safe,” she said to his back.
As he threw his leg over the top of the rail, he looked back at her, tossing her a quick wink. The crowd was too loud to hear his reply, but his lips read always.
10
The rail of the chute was slick beneath Silas’s sweaty hand. He blanked out the noise of the crowd, rolled his head on his shoulders to try to relieve the tension building there, acutely aware of Toby’s bear claw as the sharp tip dug into his sternum, as if his friend was telling him to pay attention. To be careful. To not end up in the dirt the way Toby had.
At least he knew his rope was good, and with the word getting around about what had happened, everyone had been extra vigilant, checking and rechecking their gear. He had a good feeling about this rodeo.
He took a deep breath as he settled into his hand, the jet-black bull antsy and pawing the raw earth beneath them. A fine cloud of dirt drifted into the air, tickling his nose and making him cough.
As soon as his legs hit the bull’s sides, he released his grip on the rail and nodded to the gateman. The gate swung open, and Rendezvous leaped out of the chute. Silas dug his spurs into thick hide as the bull spun out into the arena, kicking his heels high.
Rendezvous had a reputation as a fierce bull to ride, but Silas had successfully ridden him before. That’s how he knew when the bull dropped his big blocky head exactly what was coming.
The stutter step.
The direction change.
The immediate, kidney dislodging, spine snapping, brain-jarring shift as if the bull was trying to launch Silas into the next dimension. Pain skirted around his brain then quickly dissipated.
Silas had been ready for Rendezvous’ signature move. The time off hadn’t diminished his balance or loosened his grip. The tendons in his shoulder strained and flexed, but held, his bicep burning as if branded.
The buzzer went off and over the hammering of his pulse behind his eardrums, rose the hoots and hollers and stomping of feet in the stands. The ear-splitting racket penetrated his brain.
He’d done it.
He’d fucking done it.
Jumping free the bull, Silas ran to the chutes as the beast was herded through the end gate. He straddled the top of an empty chute, shot both fists into the air and howled at the rising moon.
The crowd got impossibly louder. The whole stadium vibrated as if an epic earthquake rocked the world. But no. It was just him. And Rendezvous. And a record-breaking score paving the road to Cheyenne.
The stands tilted, and Silas grabbed for the rail, missed, then caught. Then his stomach dropped five floors, and he knew he was going to be sick. Fucking adrenaline.
He climbed up the chute and jumping down on the other side, rattling his brain. A flash of pain. He may not be as healed as he’d thought he was. He sunk to his knees in a corner behind the chutes and retched, his abdomen heaving, until it felt like his stomach had emptied of every meal he’d ever eaten.
He collapsed on the ground, covering the vomit and the stench with a sweep of his hand through the deep dirt. With his back to the rails, he clamped his hands to his temples, trying to quell the pounding in his head.
“Ohmygod.” Josephine appeared beside him. He hadn’t even seen her climb over or through the panel. “Are you okay? Do you need me to call the ambulance?”
Silas raised his head. The world tipped, and Josephine went fuzzy.
She held up one hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Seven. Or is that eight? He batted her hand to get it out of his face. “I’m fine. It’s just the adrenaline. It’s gotta go somewhere. Sometimes it’s up. It’s no big deal.”
“I’m gonna have the paramedics come take a look, just in case.”
He wasn’t a kid. He was old enough to know if he needed to be examined. His anger flared, and before he was able to bank it, he took it out on her. “Jesus Christ. Can you stop mothering me for one fucking second?”
“You threw up. The doctor at the hosp—”
“Enough.” She fell back on her ass as if his anger had knocked her over. He gathered his unsteady legs beneath him. Almost going back down as he bent to pick up his hat. He brushed the dirt off on the legs of his chaps, more to give his legs a chance to steady, than the fact that he gave two shits about his hat right then. “What I need is for you to quit hovering and give me some space.”
She glared up at him. If looks could kill, he’d have been filleted and drawn and quartered. Pushing to her feet, she said, “Cowboy, if it’s space you want, I’ll give you the whole damn universe. But you might want to grab your coat. I hear it’s a bit chilly out there.”
* * *
As Comet galloped toward the third barrel, his hooves an ear-numbing, pulse-pounding, earth-shaking staccato beneath her, Josephine tried to push Silas’s words from the night before out of her mind. The crowd in the stands were a blur of color a
s she stood in the stirrups, her hands up Comet’s neck as she focused on the third can.
Her nemesis.
She was near to the last to make her run. Cora and one of the other girls had pulled times so impressive Josephine would have to skim that third barrel tight if she had any chance of qualifying for the finals on Sunday.
A few strides away from the turn, she eased off the speed.
Stop mothering me.
Silas’s words broke into her brain, and Josephine pulled on the left rein a little too hard, a little too fast. Comet tossed his head and dropped his shoulder into the turn.
Quit hovering.
Comet’s left rear leg slid in the dirt, his back end almost coming out from beneath him. Josephine squeezed her calves, urging him forward. His feet scrambling for traction.
I need some space.
Comet drove Josephine’s knee into the lip of the barrel. It spun in the dirt, but Josephine couldn’t wait and watch to see if it fell. She used her reins and her legs, igniting Comet’s turbo drive as they galloped past the finish line and out the end of the arena into the alleyway.
She pulled Comet to a stop and glanced over at Cora. Her friend gave her a thumbs up. The barrel had stayed up. Ahead of her, Silas stood by the open gate leading to the warm-up arenas, waiting for her even though they hadn’t spoken since the night before.
She gave Comet’s reins a little tug, breaking him out of the animated jigging. Her horse was already looking for the next barrel, the next run.
“What happened to relaxing into that third barr—”
Josephine cut Silas a scathing look. He’d happened. Typically, she looked forward to his critiques. He’d coached his younger sister to the junior nationals before he’d turned pro. He knew his stuff. But she was in no mood to hear it.
See? You should have laid off the men. He almost cost you that run. And for what? A few fun tumbles. A few orgasms.
They were amazing org—
Amazing orgasms won’t get you to Cheyenne.
She gave Comet his head and a little leg. He’d wanted space.