by Vicki Tharp
The photo essay he’d created for the editors at GlobeTrotter Magazine told a story few rodeo enthusiasts, much less the rest of the world, ever saw.
It wasn’t the usual triumphant story of man conquering beast, but a story of bigotry and hate. Not smiles and waving hats at the cheering crowds, but sneers and clenched fists at the things that scared people the most.
Instead of acceptance and understanding, a fear and loathing of what was different. To be fair, that dark side of the rodeo didn’t describe everyone, the vast majority, or even a small percentage. It described a handful of small-minded people—a tiny puss-filled boil on the hairy ass of humanity.
When people didn’t understand, they got scared.
When they got scared, they hated.
When they hated, they fought back.
When they fought back, they were blinded and couldn’t see the truth. The truth that despite all the differences, we were all running in the same race...
The human race.
He felt proud of the piece he’d created, but beyond the pride, beneath the exhaustion, sat a very heavy, glaring reality—this little thing with Cora, this friendship, or relationship or whatever the hell you called something that you didn’t want to end—had a fast approaching expiration date.
* * *
Cora didn’t know what time Ian finally crawled into bed, but when she cracked an eye, the early morning light had started filtering in through the cracks around the blinds. She rolled over, and snuggled up against him, her front to his back.
Immediately, her mind rewound to the night before, to the newspaper clipping, to the dead rose, but she shoved it out of her head. There would be plenty of time to worry about that. Right now, all she wanted to think about was the way a certain photographer could make her body sing and her mind go blissfully blank.
She slipped a hand around his waist, her fingers skimming up the ripple of muscle on his abdomen. Goosebumps erupted beneath her fingertips, tiny blips of sinful pleasure.
A sound escaped the back of his throat that had her pulling him in tighter. His hand captured hers. “What are you doing?”
She pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade and slid her hand out from beneath his, skimming it back down his abdomen, following the trickling trail of hair around his belly button until her fingers slipped under the waistband of his sweats.
He never stopped her.
Instead, his hand reached back and palmed the back of her head, holding her lips against him. His pelvis rocked into her touch. “Jesus, that feels—”
Whatever he’d been about to say disappeared beneath a deep, throaty groan that had her nerves buzzing and her leg looping over his, encouraging him to roll over.
She wanted his hands on her, his lips on her, his warm skin against her own. Stroking up the hard length of him, she smoothed the drop of precum over his tip. Beneath the scent of musk, sat the tangy undertones of developer and fixer, the tools of his trade much like dirt, hay, and horse sweat were hers.
How their two worlds fit together she didn’t know. What she did know was that this man filled a hole inside of her that she hadn’t known existed. He filled it to overflowing, planting deep rich grass and blooming fragrant flowers on a once tumbleweed filled landscape.
With him she felt safe, felt adored, felt like it wasn’t just her against the world. As much as she wanted to sink into that world where she could let go and let him take over, she knew she couldn’t become dependent on the temporary.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t dip her toes into the wonderful world of Ian, at least for the time being.
He woke up in degrees, the fog of sleep deprivation lifting layer by layer as his cock grew harder and harder. Shucking his sweats, he rolled on top of her, pressing his pelvis against hers, her panties already damp.
“Morning, sunshine,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re up early.”
His cock pressed against her belly. If there wasn’t a layer of cotton between them she would have shifted and had him inside her in one smooth motion. She rolled her hips, his groan coming out more of a growl.
“Looks like Little Ian is up as well,” she said.
“Little Ian?” He raised up on his arms, fighting a smile. “What is this compulsion about naming my penis?”
“What else am I supposed to call it?”
“Um...a penis?”
“That’s not very original.”
He pulled off her T-shirt, her breath catching when his mouth came down over a breast, his teeth lightly raking across her nipple. Whatever new name she’d been thinking of evaporated in a sea of sensations. She fisted her hands in his hair, holding him close as he worked his way south.
“The Bone Ranger,” she managed.
She squeaked when he nipped her inner thigh. “No.”
With a slow, practiced ease, he disposed of her panties. As much as she liked foreplay, there was something to be said for getting down to business. She tried to pull him back up, but the man was nothing if not determined.
He spread her legs and her back arched, anticipating his touch. His tongue flicked across her, and a lick of flames raced up her spine. “K-King Dong.”
His lips settled around her clit, the rumble of his laugh making her even more wet and slick. He glanced up at her, giving her one more teasing lick. “Absolutely not.”
He went back to work, his hands under her ass lifting her up to feast.
“I-Ian?”
His ‘yeah’ came out muffled.
“Don’t make me beg.”
With one last kiss to the inside of her thigh, he found a condom and slipped it on, bearing his weight on his arms as he positioned himself, his tip pressing tightly up against her.
“Mr.—” He kissed her before she could say another name, and she tasted herself on his lips. Grabbing his ass, she sheathed him, blowing out a huff of air as he stretched and filled her. “Perrrfect.”
He hissed in a breath, his body still and stiff as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He rolled his hips, soft and slow.
She tried to increase the pace, but he held fast, raising up on his arms so he could get a better look at her. “Mr. Perfect?” A splash of humor and a dash of mischievousness danced in his eyes. “Aw, lass. You are me treasure.”
The brogue brushed against her, a soft caress he wielded like a vanquishing sword, but the declaration that she was his, was a direct hit to her heart. It was the first time he’d claimed her.
She liked the sound of that way more than she should have.
He must have read the vulnerability on her face as fear, because he brushed his thumb across her cheek and said, “No worries, lass. I aim to keep ye safe.”
While she considered the slim possibility that some wacko might actually want to hurt her, the reality that Ian would break her heart when he left was inevitable.
So, no. There was no way he could keep her safe from heartache.
“I know.” She cupped his cheeks and brought him in for a kiss, her tongue darting in, testing, tasting as the kiss deepened. Ian picked up the pace, driving harder and deeper as if he too could feel the building emotional desperation.
It fueled him.
It fueled them.
The trailer got to rocking and the cabinet got to banging again, but as her nerve endings pinged and the blood pooled at her core, she didn’t care who knew or heard.
He raised up on his knees, his hands on her hips as he drove into her, his breath coming in harsh, staccato pants. So close. She reached down to touch herself, but he beat her to it, his thumb brushing through her wet folds until he found her nub. Her head fell back, her breasts bouncing to the rapid rhythm as she shot over the edge.
She clamped her heels around the back of his thighs, pulling him tighter against her as her internal muscles clamped down around him.
“Fuuuck,” Ian ground out, his teeth clenched, the cords in his neck bulging out in sharp relief.
He dropped down to his forearm
s as his pace faltered, and he came. She held him tightly to her as they both caught their breath and their heart rates dropped below the red line.
Even with the chill in the trailer, the sweat stuck their bodies together, and though Ian’s weight pinned her down, she had no desire for him to move. When he went to roll off her, she held him tighter.
“I don’t want to crush you.”
“Don’t go,” she insisted.
“We can’t stay like this forever.”
“Not forever. Just for now.”
Cora had no doubt he’d crush her, but not from his weight. How had she gone from wanting a fast and casual fuck to get her head straight and win a few checks, to wanting much more than he had to offer?
The shitty thing was, he’d warned her ahead of time that he didn’t want anything other than a friendship, and she didn’t want to be the one to break their established rules.
After all, the sex had been her brilliant idea. So, when Cupid thought it would be hilarious to shoot her heart with a flaming arrow, she only had herself to blame.
11
Ian brushed the lock of sweaty hair away from Cora’s face, loving the way the flush of sex still heated her body. Residual shocks from her climax contracted her walls around his semi-hard cock.
As sex partners, they had similar appetites. While they both enjoyed the slow and sensuous, she was also game when he got rougher. Her hands, her body, her words. All encouraging, all urging him harder and faster.
He raised up, blowing cool air across her sweat slicked breasts, peaking her nipples.
“Mmm,” he said as he sucked on her breast. The slow way her fingers slid up and down on either side of his spine made goosebumps rush across his back, and smelling himself on her skin started making him hard all over again.
“Someone’s energetic this morning,” Cora said, thrusting up against him. “Ready for round two?”
“Oh, hell yeah. Just give me a minute.” He nipped at her jaw and had just reached down to take care of the condom when there came a knock on his door.
Instead of looking horrified, Cora grinned. “Please tell me you remembered to lock the door last night.”
He had. Probably. Maybe.
He glanced at the door, he couldn’t tell if the lock was flipped from where they lay. Maybe if they stayed quiet no one would know they were there.
The knock came again. Or not. “Open up. I know you’re in there.”
“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Ian mumbled in her ear.
“What’s Levi doing here?”
Bam, bam, bam. Hell if he knew. If Levi wanted his old girlfriend back, he was shit out of luck.
“You’re gonna have to stop that,” he groaned, as Cora wiggled beneath him. All he wanted was to sink balls deep back into her and forget the rest of the world existed. But having someone pounding at his door worked against a sustainable erection.
“Go away,” Ian hollered.
“Answer the door.”
Fuck. “Hold on to your ass, Banks.”
Ian pressed a kiss between her breasts and pushed off the bed. Not because he wanted to, but because he had to. He threw on a pair of sweats and padded over to the door, tying the string at his waist.
His trailer smelled of musk and sex, reminding him what Levi was making him miss. Ian didn’t bother hiding his irritation when he shoved the door open. “What?”
“The kids’ mini-bull riding clinic is this morning. Thought you wanted pictures.” Levi stood with his thumbs in the front belt loops of his jeans, his cowboy hat low on his head, his eyes averted.
Ian scratched his bare chest. If Levi had a problem with him sleeping with Cora, the placid expression the man had screwed onto his face did a damn fine job of hiding it. For a split second, Ian wondered if Levi could be behind the flowers and the clippings. He’d have to talk to Cora about it as soon as he finished with the shoot that morning.
“Yeah, give me a sec,” Ian said to Levi. “Want me to meet you at the arena?”
“I’ll wait. I’m not in that big of a rush.”
He closed the door and turned back to Cora. “I gotta go.”
“I need to feed Panache, anyway,” Cora said, though she didn’t make any move to leave his warm bed.
Climbing back into bed and telling Levi to hell with it seemed like a viable option, but he didn’t want to miss his opportunity to photograph the kids’ clinic.
Ian shucked his sweats and turned on the shower. He didn’t want to keep Levi waiting so he didn’t bother switching on the water heater and waiting for the tank to warm up.
Besides, he’d need all the cold water he could get with the image of Cora laying in his bed, the blanket tucked up under her arms, her hair tussled, her lips plump, looking sated and freshly fucked.
Before stepping in the shower, he said, “I don’t want you running around here alone until we have a better idea of who this idiot is who’s targeting you.”
Cora made a face, somewhere between drinking sour milk and no-fucking-way. “That doesn’t exactly work for me. What are you going to do, keep me on a leash?”
He left the bathroom door open and raised his voice to be heard. “If I have to.”
The cold water sluiced down his body, but it did little to ease his arousal. He washed, rinsed, dried, and dressed in record time. Under Cora’s watchful eye, he slipped on his boots, grabbed his gear, and palmed his hat.
Before he left, he patted her hip and leaned in for a kiss. “Please don’t fight me on this. I don’t want to have to worry about you while I’m working.”
He opened the door and then realized she hadn’t answered him. Did she think she could get away with ignoring his request if she didn’t answer in the affirmative?
“Promise me you’ll stay with Josephine or someone else that you trust.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not my father.”
No. But the challenging way she stared at him made him want to bend her over his knee and give her a spanking.
Knowing her, she’d probably enjoy it as much as he would.
“You coming already?” Levi grumbled, his patience running thin. “If I’d known you’d take that long I’d have met you at the arena.”
“I’m coming.”
Ian clomped down the step and ducked his head back in the trailer. He wouldn’t leave unless she acquiesced. All he needed was a little leverage for her to agree. “Lock up behind me. I’ll stop by your trailer and send Josephine over. And FYI, if you ever want a visit from Mr. Perfect again, you’ll humor me.”
Cora cracked a reluctant smile. “You can’t hold sex hostage.”
“Watch me.”
He closed the door and turned to find Levi choking down a laugh.
Ian fell into step beside him. “What’s so damn funny?”
“Mr. Perfect?”
Hell. “You didn’t hear that.”
“Um, yeah. Pretty sure I did.” That time Levi couldn’t hold back the chuckle.
“Shut the fuck up,” Ian growled, but that only made Levi laugh harder.
Ian stopped by Josephine’s trailer. She was back after spending the night with Mabel and she promised to pick Cora up and go with her to the barn to feed. On the walk over to the arena, he and Levi fell into an awkward silence. Ian shouldn’t feel weird sleeping with Cora, after all, Levi had no claim on her, but over the past few weeks he and Levi and become friends and he didn’t want any bad blood.
They stepped beneath the stands on the way to the chutes. This time of morning, the chutes were normally quiet, but even at a distance, the sounds of kids talking and laughing spilled over the fences onto the concourse. The miniature bulls mooed, and the pungent odor of cow shit and piss lay thick beneath the stands.
“We need to talk.” Ian put a staying hand on Levi’s arm. They stopped near a support column.
“What?” By the way Levi crossed his arms over his chest, and the set of the man’s jaw, Ian figured Levi had a pretty good idea what he
was about to say.
Ian didn’t hem or haw. Levi and Cora had a history, and even if their relationship had ended in Cora’s mind, Levi could feel different. Looking the bulldogger straight in the eye, Ian asked, “Do you have a problem with me seeing Cora?”
“Doesn’t matter what I or anyone else wants. Cora’s her own woman.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
Levi dug his fists into his pockets, a resigned half-smile on his face. “If she’s happy, then I’m happy.”
Ian held Levi’s gaze for a second. Two. Then Levi hitched his thumb toward the arena. “Kids are waiting.”
Levi started walking and Ian followed, still cognizant of Levi’s non-answer and the fact that whatever half-response Ian had gotten, Levi could be lying through his ass. But something in what the man had said rang true, whether it be sadness or sincerity, Ian couldn’t be sure. He would take Levi at his word. For now.
An hour later, the kids’ mini-bull riding clinic was well underway. Between the fathers, the professional bull riders, the volunteers like Levi, and the rodeo clowns, enough people were in the arena that someone had been assigned to Ian to keep him protected while he joined them in the dirt.
For the first time since he’d been following the rodeo, he could photograph from inside the arena, and with the bulls being not much taller than a Great Dane, his chances of serious injury were minimal.
He got far enough away that he could lay in the dirt and take his shots of the kids in their tiny hats and chaps and toothy grins. Then as he stood and changed rolls of film, his focus shifted from the riding, and he found himself taking other shots. He hadn’t realized what he’d done until he’d almost finished another thirty-six-shot roll that didn’t have one bull in it.
Ian aimed and photographed the little six-year-old on his father’s shoulders, the father’s large hands gripping the miniature boots. The man’s over-sized cowboy hat on his son’s head dipping down in front of the boy’s eyes. The peal of infectious laughter ripped a scar deep inside Ian’s chest, a pain, a hollowness. For a fraction of a second, Ian wondered if one of the bulls had gotten lose and gored him.