by Maisey Yates
If she had been able to imagine this, she never would have been able to joke about things like that. Not ever.
He was right. She hadn’t known what she didn’t know.
It was such a wealth of ignorance. She was the Scrooge McDuck of it. Swimming around in a pool of innuendo and not having a clue what it all was.
Suddenly, it was like a lock had clicked inside of her, and out had come the flood of understanding.
And they’d only just gotten their shirts off.
“I need you,” he growled. “Dammit, I really do.”
She knew that he was serious. That there was more to what he’d said than just sexual flattery or anything like that. That it wasn’t just part of the thing that people said when they were about to have sex. But that it was some kind of deep truth that had come from the center of all that he was. And because he was Logan, that mattered.
The way he looked at her, like he knew the answers to all her questions, made her whole world feel tilted on its axis. And suddenly what had been inevitable earlier today felt deeply uncertain now.
It felt like the whole world was fragile now. Like all the mountains around Hope Springs might crack and collapse. Those mountains that were her guide when she was out on the ranch, her horizon line that she counted on to find her way. Those sentries that were centuries old and had stood guard around the land for generations suddenly compromised over this moment.
She didn’t know what he needed from her.
So she nodded, put her hands on his chest, slid them up around his neck, and kissed him. And she found herself lifted up from the couch, her denim-clad thighs wrapped around his waist as he held her tightly, kissed her as they walked from the living room, right into his bedroom.
Logan’s bedroom.
It hit her then that whatever she had thought about the two of them, there was a barrier between them. Because she had never been in his bedroom. If he were like a brother, she would have been. Because she’d been in her brother’s bedroom a hundred times. More than. If he were family, she would have been in his room, like she had been with all her family.
If he were a friend like Sammy, there would have been no reason she hadn’t gone into his room.
Whether her or him, there was some reason she hadn’t been, though. Not even for a moment. Not even stepping in for thirty seconds while he looked for something. While she waited for him to get ready for the workday.
His bed was big.
Perfect for this kind of thing.
She wondered how many other women had been in it.
She didn’t know why she should care.
“I don’t bring anyone here,” he said.
She startled, and for a second she was afraid she had spoken her misgivings out loud.
“I didn’t like the look on your face,” he said, taking hold of her chin again, between his thumb and forefinger. She was beginning to like that. “I don’t just bring women here,” he repeated. “Too personal.”
There was a wealth of meaning in those two words. They were personal. And there was no pretending they weren’t.
Neither was there any pretending that she didn’t feel intensely relieved by them.
But he mattered.
She knew him about as well as she knew anybody. And he knew her, too.
Then they started kissing again, and when he pushed her back on the bed, he kissed away the nerves that started to twist her stomach. His hand moved down her body to the waistband of her jeans. He undid the button there, then slid the zipper down, pushing his hand between her legs. Her rose-bedecked underwear provided little protection from those firm fingers, and she gasped when he pressed down with the heel of his palm, sending a shock wave of pleasure through her body.
He stroked her through the thin cotton until she was panting, until she was working her hips in time with the motion. “I can feel how wet you are through your panties,” he said against her lips, and she looked at him, her eyes flying wide. “That’s a good thing, honey,” he said. “You want me. I think you might want me almost as much as I want you.” He slipped his fingers beneath the elastic on the leg of her underwear and his skin made contact with hers. She gasped at that first intimate touch. And then she moaned, unable to help herself. His hands...
His hands should be illegal. Those hands that she saw put in hard hours every day. She knew what had caused every callus, every scar because she’d been there. To know those hands were touching her, where no one else ever had.
Those hardworking man’s hands.
“Feel what you do to me,” he said, the words sounding tortured as he grabbed hold of her hand and put it on the front of his jeans. He was so hard. And so...so big.
Her face was flushed, sweat on her brow. It wasn’t nerves, though. Anticipation. The way she felt on the heels of an exhilarating ride on her horse. The way she felt after putting in hours of satisfying work.
Except it was that and then some. Plus adrenaline. Plus this intense sort of desire that was unlike anything she had ever known.
Then he pushed a finger inside of her, the invasion utterly foreign, and completely breathtaking. She bucked against his hand, almost embarrassed to betray how much she wanted him. How much she wanted more.
“It’s good,” he repeated. “I love how much you want me. And you do, don’t you? You’d do anything I asked right now, wouldn’t you?”
She would. She would hide a body for him if he needed her to. If only he would just keep touching her like this. She could only nod, a whimper escaping her lips.
“Good,” he said. “Touch me.”
She pressed more firmly against his denim-clad erection. And he shook his head. “Not like that.”
She understood then. With clumsy fingers, she undid the front of his jeans, pulled his underwear down. She hadn’t been prepared for the sight of him. Touching him had not given her a clear enough idea of just what she was dealing with.
He was... He was beautiful.
She’d never seen a naked man before. She’d had no idea she would find one beautiful. All her experience was babies, classic art and animals. And none of that had indicated she would find male anatomy any particular kind of aesthetically pleasing.
But Logan was.
And her body responded, her internal muscles clenching hard.
“See there? You might not have known what you wanted, but your body sure as hell knows,” he said.
And again, he seemed to know exactly what she was thinking without her having to say a word.
She curved her fingers around him, shocked at how soft his skin was. How hot he was. And how hard.
She slid her fingers up and down, exploring him slowly.
“Dammit,” he said, the word ground out through his teeth. “I can’t handle it, Rosie.”
“I just want to touch you,” she whispered.
“No,” he bit out, removing her hand from him.
Then she found her jeans being tugged hard down her legs, her white flowered underwear going down with them, like a flag of surrender.
“Logan,” she said.
He gripped her hips roughly and spun her around, then she felt his teeth clamp down on one butt cheek. She yelped and he gave her a smack, right where his mouth had just been.
“What did I tell you?” he asked roughly. “I told you this would bite you in the ass.”
But before she could respond, he turned her again and buried his face between her thighs, and then his mouth was on her.
Between her legs.
She moved her hands down to push him away, but then he growled, gripping her thighs and pulling her harder against him, and she found herself lacing her fingers through his hair as his tongue made her his prisoner as it slid over her sensitized bundle of nerves.
She couldn’t do anything. She was weak. Boneless.
&n
bsp; All she could do was make greedy, guttural sounds that she was sure weren’t the kinds of sounds a woman was supposed to make when a man... Well, hell, she didn’t know.
She had never even thought about a man doing this to her.
And now Logan was.
Logan.
And suddenly, it was all more than she could take. Desire crashed over her like a wave, and she clung to him, to his head, as he continued lapping at her while she called out his name. He didn’t stop. He kept on going. Kept on going until she was begging for a reprieve, because she couldn’t take any more. She was too sensitive. All over. And yet, somehow she still felt unsatisfied.
And she knew what she needed. She needed him.
She didn’t have to say anything.
Wordlessly, he moved away from her, making his way to the nightstand and opening the drawer.
“You said you don’t bring women here,” she said when he reached inside and pulled out a condom.
“I don’t,” he said. “But I knew you were coming tonight. So I put it in a centrally located spot.”
Possessiveness gripped her heart. She didn’t want to think about him touching another woman. Didn’t want to think about that box of condoms that he’d already had, she was sure, because it was open, after all. And he might have moved it thinking of her. But when he had opened it for the first time, he probably hadn’t been.
“It’s just you,” he said. “It’s just you tonight.”
He pushed his jeans off the rest of the way, tearing open the packet and rolling the latex over his length. She couldn’t stop staring. At the way his strong hand gripped his own body. It was mesmerizing. He was mesmerizing. Broad shoulders, muscular, defined body. Every time he moved there was a chain reaction in those dips and hollows, an action creating a reaction in that perfectly structured form.
He came back to the bed, kissing her. She could taste her own desire on his lips, and heat flooded her. She would have expected shame. But he clearly enjoyed her arousal so much that she couldn’t feel ashamed of it.
He put his hand between her legs again, pushing a finger inside of her, and then another. “I can’t promise it won’t hurt,” he murmured.
“It’s okay,” she said, her throat getting tight.
Now, they were talking. But she couldn’t say she liked it. The wordless passion was a lot more comfortable. It made her eyes feel less scratchy and her mouth feel less dry.
He cursed, harsh and hard. “I can’t, Rose,” he said. “I can’t wait anymore.”
He gripped himself, positioned himself between her legs, nudging the entrance of her body with that blunt, thick head. He started to push inside, and she gasped, clinging to his shoulders. It didn’t hurt. Not really.
But she shivered as she took him in, inch by inch. He was so thick, so hard. And she was...invaded. Conquered.
He closed his eyes and he shuddered. And she felt it. Felt it echo inside of her. It was too much. She wanted to run from it. Wanted to fight against it.
He was in her.
He’d warned her. That it was so much more than she could imagine.
She hadn’t understood, not really.
Until now.
And she already felt all these things that he did. She didn’t know how she was supposed to survive Logan actually being inside of her. And she hadn’t thought of that. She was breathing too hard. Terrified of the great, swelling feelings in her chest, the pressure building behind her eyes.
But then he kissed her. And it wasn’t a fire like before. It was sweet, like honey. Soothing. And with that sweetness he began to create that desire inside of her again. Overtaking the fear.
Then, he began to move. Deep, hard strokes that taught her about new places inside of herself each and every time.
Until she was desperate again. Until her entire world had become Logan, and the feelings he created so deep inside of her.
Until the only word she remembered was his name. And she said it over and over again. More times than she could count.
Then he said her name. Only once. Like a curse and a prayer all wrapped into one. “Rose.”
And she shattered.
She clung to him, her body pulsing around his. And then she felt all that great strength crumble beneath her fingers. As he shook and shattered, giving in to his own release, his body pulsing deep inside of her.
She had been right.
The mountains were in danger of crumbling.
The most inevitable, certain mountain in her life just had. In bed with her. In her arms.
Buried deep inside of her.
Something felt fundamentally altered. Fundamentally changed.
And she was suddenly desperately, deeply afraid, that she would never be able to have that landscape back the way it had been.
That she might have lost her horizon line forever.
CHAPTER TWELVE
HE’D BEEN AFRAID to sleep. But after Rose had turned to him a third time, and they had both been left sated and exhausted, Logan had dozed. And when he woke up, he realized why falling asleep had been a bad idea. Because it was in that moment where he had a bit of distance, and time to rest his brain, where he truly realized what he had done.
Rose must have realized it too, because it wasn’t the gray light of dawn that woke him. It was her. Padding around his room with bare feet. He opened his eyes just in time to see her pulling her jeans up over her ass.
An ass he had grabbed last night. Multiple times. And bitten once. Well. Twice. An ass that was even more beautiful than he had let himself imagine.
Dammit.
What the hell had they done?
Well. He actually knew the answer to that question, because everything they had done flashed through his mind in full, vivid color.
He had said that he was going to teach her about sex.
That hadn’t been a lesson. Hadn’t been a forfeit taken for losing a bet.
It had been a conquering.
A final exam without any chance to learn the source material.
It had been amazing. But he had been selfish. Rougher than he should’ve been. More demanding.
Three times.
And she’d given as good as she’d gotten. He’d lost count of how many times she’d shattered.
But she’d been a virgin. What the hell had he been thinking?
“Where are you going?” He hadn’t meant to ask that question. He had meant to...apologize maybe. Instead, he could only focus on the kick of regret that he felt over the fact she put her jeans back on.
“I don’t have work clothes,” she said quietly. “I need to go get some. I need to get into the house without anyone seeing.”
“Why?”
“I’m still in the same clothes from last night. Anyway. I told Sammy that I might be out with friends. So...I can just tell her that I got drunk at the bar and fell asleep on my friend Lacey’s couch. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Right.”
Not that big of a deal. Everything inside of him felt like it had been demolished with a wrecking ball.
“I’ll see you for work.”
She turned toward him, and his gut tightened, his dick instantly getting hard. She was topless. And she had the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen. It wasn’t the size, though they were generous enough. The shape. The way they fit in his hands. The color of her nipples, and the way they tightened when she was aroused. Or cold. He wasn’t exactly sure which she was now. But she was something.
“I... Yeah. I’ll see you at the barn.” She nodded decisively, a very Rose move, then went into the living room. He got out of bed, not bothering to grab any clothes, following her, getting there just in time to see her pick her bra up from the ground.
“You don’t have to leave.”
“We have work to do.”<
br />
She looked at him, and even in the gray light he could see color mounting in her cheeks. He looked down. He was sporting an erection, and wasn’t doing anything to hide it.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “You know we have work.”
It took him a minute to realize what she was apologizing for. “Are you...apologizing for my...?”
“Yes. Sorry about your penis. Anyway. I’ll see you.”
She dressed quickly, and scampered out like a frightened rabbit with a fox on her tail. And he supposed it was a fair enough move, all things considered.
Fox. Hen.
He had already eaten her up, though. So, the running was happening a little bit late.
After that he decided to get in a cold shower, and get dressed, doing his damnedest to not replay the events of the night before.
That had been a mistake.
Liar.
He gritted his teeth.
Yeah, he was really good at telling himself all the things he wished that he believed.
That Rose was some virgin princess who deserved better than a rough roll in the hay with a guy who couldn’t offer her more than good sex.
That he felt guilty for what he’d done. That it was a mistake and shouldn’t happen again.
Yeah. That was what a decent guy would think.
As he stepped out onto the porch and put his cowboy hat on his head, looking out at the ranch, this place that was his in part because of Rose’s brother. Because of the bond that they shared, which should have been something he wanted to honor a bit more. It was all the same.
All of it. Nothing had changed since he had stripped Rose Dalton naked on his couch. Since he had taken her virginity in his bedroom. The sky was still blue, the mountains were still tall and strong. It was just the inside of him that felt different.
Or perhaps, grimly aware of what he was.
Hank Dalton’s son, whether he wanted to be or not.
Because if he asked himself what Hank Dalton would have done, with a pretty little thing that showed up on his doorstep... Well, the answer was everything Logan had done.