Dare to be Dirty (The Dirty Girls Book Club #2)

by Savanna Fox

  The horse studied her, ears forward, eyes intent. It seemed to Kim that she was saying, “Come back and visit me again.”

  “I will,” Kim murmured. “I’ll see you again, Distant Drummer. Maybe next time I’ll stroke you.”

  Slowly, she moved away from the stall door, then turned to Ty. Heady with her success, knowing she’d had a small taste of that sense of connection between horse and human Ty’s dad had spoken about, she said, “I did it. She let me.”

  “You were terrific.” There was something in his eyes—approval, the same excitement she felt, and something more, like he was seeing her differently. He put down her art supplies and bent to kiss her.

  She reached up to loop her hands around his neck. Mmm, talk about connection. A zing shot through her at the touch of his lips, heating her blood in a flash.

  When they came up for air, she leaned back in the circle of his arms. “You weren’t sure I could get her from the ring to the barn.”

  “If it hadn’t worked, she’d have been free, with that rope dangling. It could have been dangerous, and it would’ve been hell to catch her.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh gosh, I never thought of that. Why did you let me do it?”

  His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Instinct. I trusted you, trusted her. Sometimes, you have to trust.”

  “I guess so.” She did trust him, unquestioningly. It was gratifying to know he trusted her, especially with something as precious to him as a traumatized horse. She felt like she was glowing with pure happiness.

  “And I was right.” Again, that odd look was in his eyes, as if the connection between the two of them went much deeper than liking and sex.

  Out of the blue, a lightning bolt of pain pierced her glow. Oh God, why was life so unfair? Why was the deck stacked against her and Ty, so that a future together was impossible?

  She sucked in a deep breath. No, she couldn’t think that way. She was a realist. Hadn’t she disparaged Marty Westerbrook for getting all romantic over Dirk Zamora? No way would she make the same mistake. Ty was a great guy and a fantastic lover. Period.

  Oblivious to her mental turmoil, he said, “Before we get carried away, we promised her a treat.”

  “Right.” She stepped away, glad to break contact for a moment, to regain her composure.

  He handed her an apple. “Hold this on your palm, not cupping it, just with your hand flat. See if she’ll take it.”

  She moved back to the stall door. “Drummer girl, I have a yummy apple for you.”

  The horse studied her for a long moment, then cautiously stretched out her neck and snatched the apple in a quick, darting movement.

  Kim watched her eat it, and imagined the future. Ty would heal this horse, they’d develop a special bond, then Drummer would be sent away. His friend TJ might be great, but Drummer would lose Ty. Under her breath, so Ty couldn’t overhear, she told the horse, “You have to be a realist too. You have to be strong, Drummer.”

  Then she turned back to her sexy lover, determined to enjoy the moment. “What were we talking about? You stripping, wasn’t it?”

  Twenty-five

  No, it was you, stripping,” he teased back, capturing her hand. “But first . . .”

  “What?” She rolled her eyes. “You have to feed a horse or something?”

  “I thought I’d show you the hayloft.”

  Now? He wanted to show her some dusty hayloft now?

  “Don’t frown,” he said. “It’s a nice hayloft. With sweet, new hay. It’s one of the best smells in the world. Spread a clean horse blanket on it, and you couldn’t have a better bed.”

  “Oh! I get it.” She gave a flirtatious grin. “Yes, cowboy, please show me your hayloft.”

  Clasping her hand, he led her through the barn, passing several other stalls, all empty, and racks of saddles, bridles, and halters. Along the way, Ty collected a plaid blanket. They arrived at a wooden ladder and she climbed it.

  Emerging through the hole in the loft’s floor, she gazed around. “What a great place.” Under a slanted roof, bales of pale golden hay sat in neat stacks. Windows at each of the short ends gave dim light, and the temperature was cool compared to the blazing heat outside. Kim inhaled deeply. Yes, the scent was wonderful, kind of like newly cut grass but with a tang that reminded her of lemongrass.

  He came up the ladder to stand beside her. “We use the big barn for most of our storage, but it’s handy to keep some hay here too. Besides, when I designed this place, I figured it wouldn’t be a barn without an old-fashioned hayloft. Memories of childhood.”

  “Yeah?” She turned to him.

  “In what little spare time I had, I’d go up in the loft, lie down on a pile of hay by a window, and dream.”

  “About horses and riding in rodeos?”

  “Uh-huh.” He gave a wicked grin. “And when I hit adolescence, about girls too.”

  “Then,” she guessed, “there came a time when you stopped just dreaming and started bringing girls to the loft.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, that happened a time or two before I finished high school. But with Mom and Dad and my grandparents always around, it was tricky.”

  “Speaking of which, your mom isn’t likely to drop by, is she?”

  “No, she’ll be out with her critters.”

  Ty went to one end of the loft, where an old recliner chair sat by the window, suggesting he still came to the loft to dream. He dragged it aside, then pulled some hay from a broken-open bale and spread it where the chair had been.

  Kim gathered an armful and went to help, but paused when she saw the view. The other window must look out at Ty’s house, but this view was of open land, where a few horses stood under a cluster of trees, looking sleepy, and— “Oh my God!” She dropped the hay and turned to Ty. “Look! That horse is—” No, she couldn’t say it, but the horse looked dead, spread flat on the ground on its side, unmoving.

  He straightened from spreading hay and looked out. “Sleeping.”

  “Really?” She put a hand over her racing heart. “I thought they’d curl up, or something.”

  “They sleep in different positions. Standing up, most often. And no, they don’t fall down. They’re built to do it.”

  “Strange.” Reassured, she turned from the window. “I have a lot to learn.” There was no long-term purpose to understanding Ty’s world, yet she wanted to.

  He spread the plaid blanket on the bed of hay. “First lesson: making love in a hayloft.”

  “An excellent place to start.” She reached for his belt. “I think I’ve mastered unbuckling belts. Though if you wore one of those fancy rodeo buckle belts, I could be in trouble.” Today his belt was plain brown leather, masculine and well worn.

  “Which proves you aren’t a buckle bunny.”

  She undid his jeans, peeled them down his hips. He sat to pull off his boots, then stood again, quickly getting rid of his socks and jeans then pulling his shirt over his head. While he undressed, she took off her own clothes. They stood in front of the window, naked, with no one to see but the horses outside. She felt free, brazen, glorious.

  Ty drew her down on the blanket. Hay rustled beneath it, releasing more of that tangy lemongrass scent.

  “Mmm,” she said. “If I was a horse, I’d eat that.”

  “I’d rather eat you.”

  “That could be arranged.” She lay back, raised her arms above her head, and stretched sensually, displaying her body for him. “Have your way with me, cowboy.”

  “Close your eyes.”

  Smiling in anticipation, she did.

  She’d expected him to head between her legs or to kiss her, but instead she felt something small and a little rough brush against her throat. “What are you doing?”

  “Keep your eyes closed.”

  The thing moved across her breast, flicking her nipple to alertness. It was sensual, pricking her body to awareness wherever it touched. She’d guess it was a small china bristle artist’s brush, but Ty wouldn’t
have something like that. It kind of tickled, but in a way that made her moan and arch her body, not giggle.

  He ringed her navel with it, then dipped lower until the thing flicked her clit. Back and forth, round and round, back and forth again. It was tantalizing, enough to make her damp and needy, to make her clench and twist with arousal, but not firm enough to make her come.

  Tired of being obedient, she opened her eyes and discovered he’d been driving her crazy with a stem of dried grass with a feathery end. “Ty, enough teasing. I need you to get serious.”

  “This serious enough for you?” He tossed the grass down and in a moment had covered his erection with a condom.

  “Come here.”

  “Bossy,” he teased, but he obeyed, dropping to his knees.

  Aching with the need he’d built in her, she bent her knees and raised her lower body in clear invitation.

  He accepted, easing slowly inside as his lips met hers. His tongue mated with hers as, filling her completely now, he pumped back and forth.

  Good old basic sex, sweet and simple. Really, was there anything more satisfying? Especially when the man in question was so strong and beautifully muscled, when she’d spent hours longing to be with him like this, and when the scent of fresh hay perfumed the air?

  Kim sighed with sheer bliss, matched the insistent rhythm of his body, and let him take her up, up, and . . . “Oh, Ty!”

  * * *

  Ty, drained and satisfied, summoned the energy to separate his sweaty body from Kim’s. He sprawled beside her on the blanket, hay rustling beneath him.

  She inhaled deeply and blew out a puff of air. “I think the scent of hay is an aphrodisiac.”

  “You’re the aphrodisiac, Kim.”

  She turned her head to look at him, and smiled. Her gaze made a slow perusal of his naked body. “I know what you mean.” Then her expression sharpened and suddenly, she was scrambling to her feet and pulling on her capris and tank top. “Stay there, don’t move.”

  “Kim?”

  “Just wait. Please?”

  “O-kay,” he said slowly. No, he’d never understand women.

  But a few minutes later, her actions spoke louder than words. She came back up the ladder with sketch pad and charcoals.

  “You’re not really going to do that.” She’d made the idea sound sexy, he reminded himself. But at this moment, having enjoyed a spine-cracking orgasm, he felt more self-conscious than turned on.

  “You promised to pose.”

  “You blackmailed me.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever.”

  “Blackmail’s a crime,” he pointed out.

  “So report me. Maybe to your parents. Then we’ll look at your baby pictures.” Her dark eyes twinkled. “Personally, I’d rather draw your naked adult butt, but if I’m forced to look at photos of your baby butt cheeks, I’ll do it.”

  She was so damned cute, he figured she could make him do pretty much anything she wanted. Earlier today, she’d drawn him clothed, and that hadn’t bothered him one bit. His body was fine. Strong, well muscled. He had no reason to be embarrassed. She’d drawn nude men before. Which reminded him of that idea he’d had, about trying to make her squirm. Okay, maybe he could get into this.

  “I need a . . .” she muttered, frowning.

  “What?” He started to rise.

  “No, don’t move.”

  She dragged over his old leather recliner and settled onto it with her pad and a charcoal.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

  “Don’t move.”

  “Jesus, that’s the third time you’ve said that.”

  “And this time I mean it literally. Don’t move a muscle.”

  “Can I breathe?” he joked.

  “If you must.”

  He lay sprawled on his back, arms and legs flung out, head turned to the side watching her. The position was comfortable. He could stay like this for a while and see what happened.

  Kim was busy with her charcoal, gazing up at him, down at the pad, back at him. She looked like an artist, not a lover, and he felt self-conscious being studied like this. His nose itched and he wanted to scratch it, but Kim had given him his orders. “How long?” he asked, trying not to move his lips.

  “It’s only been five minutes. Models hold a pose for twenty minutes or half an hour.”

  “Did I mention I’m a cowboy? A rancher?”

  “Rumor has it that being a rancher and horse trainer calls for some patience.”

  He was second-guessing his plan to try and turn her on—not that she’d let him flex a muscle anyhow. Though he figured it’d be a sexy game, she might think he was disrespecting her as an artist—and he did respect her talent. Maybe he should focus on viewing her as an artist, appreciating the chance to see her at work. If only it wasn’t him she was drawing nude.

  No, wait a minute. He didn’t want her drawing some other naked guy, especially not one she’d just had hot late summer sex with.

  “Okay, Ty,” she said, “you can stretch, then we’ll do another pose.”

  Relieved, he sat up, rotated his shoulders, then hugged his knees while she kept the charcoal moving. “You sketch a lot of naked men?”

  “Naked men and women. All ages, all body types. Life drawing isn’t about making a pretty picture, it’s about capturing reality. Developing your skills.”

  “Huh. So I guess it’s kind of like a doctor or massage therapist, and you get used to seeing naked bodies as, uh . . .”

  “Subjects.” She nodded and glanced up. “Like a bowl of fruit, a vase of flowers. But the fruit and flowers are inanimate. Human subjects are more fascinating. Each is a unique person with so much going on inside them. All the amazing physical stuff, but also all their thoughts, feelings. Worries and hopes, fears and dreams.” She shifted the charcoal to her left hand and shook out her right one.

  “If you’re doing portraits,” she went on, “you want to capture the essence of the person. With figure drawing, you may focus more on the physical aspects, or even draw just one thing, like a hand. Depends what you want to get out of it.”

  “Why do you want to draw me?”

  A gentle smile touched her lips. “Because you’re beautiful, in such a masculine way. I’ve drawn men with perfect bodies, but they’re more . . . Well, like they’ll be hairless. Maybe gay. Likely ego-involved. They don’t exactly seem masculine to me. You, Ty, you’re all male.”

  “Uh, thanks.”

  “Break’s over. Find another position you can hold for ten minutes.”

  He liked watching her, so he reclined on his side, head pillowed on one folded arm.

  After she’d been sketching for a couple of minutes, he asked, “Will you kill me if I talk?”

  “A guy who wants to talk. How rare,” she kidded. “No, it’s okay.”

  “Are you sketching my whole body or just a hand or something?”

  She glanced up from the pad, grinning. “If I was going to sketch one part, it wouldn’t be your hands, nice as they are.”

  “There’s one part of me that couldn’t hold still if it was the subject of your attention.”

  “That’s the one I had in mind.”

  And that one, obviously recovering from lovemaking, responded with a twitch and began to harden. Now that they were talking, this was personal. He didn’t feel like an inanimate object being studied objectively. “See what I mean? Does that often happen with male models?”

  Her cheeks, already sun-kissed, went pinker. “No. It’s such a, uh, structured thing, posing in front of an art class. It’s not at all sexy.”

  He shuddered at the thought of posing for a class. “A hayloft’s sexy. And you’re sexy, all businesslike with that pad and charcoal. I’m trying not to move, but my body has a mind of its own.” His cock was swollen now, ready for action again.

  “I’m not so businesslike.” She shifted, squirming. “When you get turned on, it turns me on too.”

  “So we can qui
t now,” he asked hopefully, “and fool around?”

  “Just another one or two sketches,” she begged. “Think of it as foreplay.”

  “Foreplay works better when we touch each other.”

  “You’re so conventional.”

  What was more conventional than an old-fashioned cowboy? Yeah, Kim was good for him, doing unexpected things, challenging him, teasing him.

  When she said, “Okay, you can stretch and change position,” he decided to give her an artistic challenge. In a quick, easy roll, he came up on his knees. Then he grasped his erect cock.

  “Oh!” Her eyes widened.

  “You can draw action. You did it this morning.”

  “I, uh, I can draw action,” she repeated, her gaze locked on his hand as he began to stroke up and down.

  His body tightened, as much from her attention as from the firm slide of his warm hand against sensitive flesh. “Then go for it. You wanted artistic foreplay, right?” Would she actually sketch him masturbating? And if she did, which one of them could hold out longer?

  She swallowed. “Uh, right.” When she got going with her charcoal, her hand moved more quickly, with longer, less controlled strokes.

  As for him, he had to restrain his strokes as beads of come seeped out the tip of his cock. He didn’t want to climax without her, just to turn them both on. It was sure as hell working for him. He’d jacked off more times in his life than he could remember, but it had never felt so sexy. Breath rasping in his throat, he managed to say, “How’s the artistic foreplay working for you?”

  “It’s too good,” she whispered. “I can’t stand it. I’m too hot for you.” She cast her art stuff aside and took the couple of steps to the blanket, where she dropped down beside him.

  He lay back, hand still grasping his erection. “No. Clothes off first.”

  She made a frustrated sound, then whipped off her clothes. And then, like a kid reaching out for a special treat, she leaned over and stretched both hands toward his cock.

  He started to take his hand away, to let her take over.

  She surprised him by capturing his hand and holding it there, with both her own hands cupped around it. “Let’s do it together. Show me what feels good.”