by Savanna Fox
She slipped into stretchy, skintight purple shorts and a bubblegum pink workout bra and headed downstairs to Ty’s home gym. Ignoring all the fancy equipment, she unrolled a black yoga mat to face the window and eased into her routine.
As always, she started with Sun Salutation. Her body flowed easily from one position to another, stretched out, held, then shifted fluidly to another. She inhaled, exhaled, and cleared her mind of CPM, her parents, Ty’s parents, the strange conversation she and Ty’d had last night, that almost turned into an argument. She refused to even think about UmbrellaWings, or how long she and Ty would keep seeing each other.
By the time she stretched into Downward Facing Dog, she was in the zone. When she finished Sun Salutation, she moved on to some of her favorite, more complicated positions.
Five or ten minutes later, she was sitting on the mat feeling the stretch of Monkey Pose, her legs in forward/backward splits, her back straight, her arms lifted to the sky, palms together as she gazed out the window. A small sound made her glance over her shoulder toward the door.
Ty lounged against the frame, casual and delicious in old jeans and a short-sleeved plaid shirt hanging loose over them.
“How long have you been watching?” she asked, coming out of Monkey Pose to sit cross-legged, facing him.
A corner of his mouth tilted up. “Awhile.”
“I thought you were doing chores.”
“I was, then picked up fresh eggs for breakfast. I figured you’d be asleep.” He moved toward her. “That’s sexy, that yoga stuff.”
“It is?”
Twenty-seven
Now Ty was close enough she could see the gleam in his eyes. Yes, apparently he did find it sexy. How about that?
She grinned up at him. “You could help me stretch. For example—” She lay back, then lifted her legs up and over her body so her butt faced him and her feet touched the floor behind her head.
“Jesus, you’re a contortionist.”
“You can’t imagine all the ways my body can move.” She spread her legs in a vee so she could peer up at him from between them.
“You’re giving me some great ideas.”
“You really should learn yoga, Ty,” she teased. “Just think of all the possibilities.” But then she remembered: What was the point? She wouldn’t be around long enough to explore those possibilities with him. As for Ty, he’d marry a woman who didn’t start her morning on a yoga mat; she’d be out doing chores. A partner, working shoulder to shoulder with him.
So much for clearing her mind, and for the mellowness yoga had brought to her. Staring up at him from between her legs, so tall and handsome in the early morning light, his hair tousled, his skin tanned from being outdoors, a day’s worth of beard stubble on his face, Kim realized something. She truly was jealous of the woman he would marry. Not that she wanted to be a rancher herself, but she wanted Ty.
She’d felt twinges before, jealous ones and mushy romantic ones, but she’d brushed them off. Now, in the clear light of dawn, she faced the truth: she was falling, seriously, for Ty Ronan.
“Kim? Are you all right? Do you have a muscle cramp?”
“Huh?” Had she been grimacing? “No, I’m fine.” Just stupid. And she was not a stupid woman. She was realistic, focused, future-oriented. She shook her head. She would not fall for Ty. She was not Marty Westerbrook. Nor was this George and Woody’s romance—where, though they’d been opposites in many ways, there was no big barrier to the two of them being together. Or at least, no barrier as big as the distance between Hong Kong and Ronan Ranch, where her and Ty’s separate futures lay.
He was her friend and sex partner. She wouldn’t allow herself to consider any other possibility because there was none.
She curled her legs back over her body and rolled fluidly to her feet. “Hey cowboy, what do you say? Want your first lesson in yoga sex?”
“How about we start with you taking your clothes off? Then do that thing where you’re standing up, legs spread, and you stretch down to the floor. I can take it from there.”
She peeled the exercise bra off. “You mean Downward Facing Dog?”
He yanked his shirt over his head, not even bothering to undo the buttons. “You made that up.”
“No, seriously, that’s what it’s called.” She stripped off her yoga shorts and thong and stood, proud of her toned body, aroused at the thought of playing sexy yoga games with Ty.
He’d taken off his jeans and underwear. His cock was swelling, rising. After he took a condom from his pocket, he tossed the clothes aside and sheathed himself. “Show it to me again.”
Totally aware of his hungry gaze, she moved slowly and deliberately as she got down on the yoga mat on her hands and knees, then slowly lifted her knees away from the floor, lengthening and straightening as she went, firming and stretching every part of her body into the final position. Feet on the floor, legs in a straight line, back and arms in another straight line down to her spread hands on the floor. From the side, the way Ty would see her now, she knew her body formed a perfect right angle, an upside down vee.
He moved to stand behind her and she was very aware of her naked butt pressed up in the air—of the view Ty had of her butt cheeks, the crease between, and her damp, swollen pussy, denuded of hair. She felt exposed and kind of vulnerable, but at the same time conscious of her female power.
“Wow,” he said. “You blow my mind, Kim.” He cupped her butt in his two big hands, squeezed her taut muscles, then traced the line between them with a callused finger. He did it slowly, and by the time he arrived at her clit, moisture trickled down the inside of her thighs.
She tilted her head so she could look back, between her legs. Ty’s much bigger, well-muscled legs were behind hers and he’d bent down to tease her pussy. She saw his fingers reaching from behind and watched as they stroked and toyed with her. His touch felt so good, but she wanted more. She wanted all he had to give her.
“Do me like that,” she murmured, her voice husky with arousal, a little flustered at her own boldness. “I want to watch you come into me.”
“For a dragonfly girl”—his voice was rough-edged too—“you have one hell of a dirty mind.”
A shudder ran through her as he tapped her clit. “Is that a complaint?”
“Not for one moment. But you’re sure this won’t hurt?”
“I can hold this position forever.” Still, she widened her stance and softened her knees, giving her body more flex.
As she watched, he nudged the head of his sheathed cock against her, probing between her pussy lips. Her body loosened, took him in, clung to his fullness. Her thighs glistened with her juices as he slid in, deeper and deeper.
Gripping her hips, he began slowly, carefully, to pump back and forth. He pulled out, swollen and slick, eased back in, went a little farther each time. Seeing his impressive length, she marveled that her body could handle all of him. But wow, did he feel fantastic.
The blood had rushed to her head and she felt tingles through her upper body, which somehow intensified the whole experience. Was she light-headed, or just incredibly turned on?
Though she hated to stop watching, she tilted forward to rest her forehead against the yoga mat. She tilted her pelvis, flexing back and forth to meet his thrusts, pressing against him each time he lodged himself fully inside her. A slight shift in angle, and she made sure each thrust rubbed against her sensitive clit. Her whole body tingled with erotic pleasure, and the need to climax built into a tight coil that centered all her attention as she reached, twisted . . .
Ty leaned forward, the pressure on her clit heightened almost, but not quite, to the point of pain. And then one more thrust, and sweet, blissful, crying out loud with it, release.
His body shuddered with his own orgasm, but he didn’t let his weight collapse on her. His hands steadied her hips, kept her on her feet even as her overtaxed muscles began to soften and tremble.
His cock pulsed inside her a final time, then h
e eased back and away from her, still holding her firmly. “Man,” he gasped. “Are you okay?”
Somehow, she forced strength into her arms and legs and gingerly managed to lower herself to the mat. She slumped on her hands and knees, then gradually stretched out each limb. “I’m fine. That was incredible, Ty.” She sat cross-legged and smiled up at him. “You definitely bring out the dirty girl in me.”
He grinned widely. “Glad to oblige. I sure like reaping the benefits.” He stretched his hand down. “Feel like a shower?”
“I think we could both use one.” She put her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet.
“And then breakfast. I’m starving.”
They gathered their discarded clothing and headed up to the bedroom. This time the shower was a quick, functional one. Dressed again, they went to the kitchen and put together a huge veggie and cheese omelet. They teamed it with sliced peaches, Ty’s mom’s bran muffins from his freezer, and strong black coffee. Then, second cups of coffee in hand, they went to his home office. Kim stuck her flash drive in his computer and shared the draft of her business plan, plus her research notes.
He was brilliant, helping without trying to take over the way her parents always had when she discussed school assignments with them. He asked questions and made suggestions, and together they pumped up the plan, plus identified a few points she needed to check out. She hoped to finish off those details tonight and Monday and e-mail the plan to her mom and dad.
“Your parents have to be impressed,” Ty said, apparently with total confidence.
“It takes a lot to impress them.” It would take a whole lot to persuade them to give up the career goal they’d committed her to even before she was born. But they had to judge UmbrellaWings fairly. They couldn’t just impose their own dream and ignore hers. Could they?
“Worrying doesn’t help,” he said. “Concentrate on the stuff you can control.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right.”
“I should head down to ranch headquarters to handle some orders and correspondence. You want to use this computer to work on UmbrellaWings?”
She glanced out the window at the sunshine and beautiful scenery. “I’ll have time later. My fingers are itching to draw.”
“Make yourself at home.”
Last month, she’d have snapped off a sassy retort about how a city girl could never be at home surrounded by cow pies. Now, even though his world was so different from hers, she didn’t feel as much like a fish out of water. “Thanks. I think I’ll take my watercolor pencils up to the loft, and work on the view out the window.”
They shared a kiss, then went their separate ways.
In the loft, Kim at first simply drew what she saw. Then, as she got a feel for the shapes, colors, and textures of the ranchland, she let loose her imagination and went more abstract, playing with different kinds of designs. She was engrossed, so engrossed that she didn’t realize Ty had joined her until his shadow fell across her pad.
“Interesting,” he said. “Guess I was expecting a landscape.”
“I did a couple of those too.” She flipped back to show him.
He studied everything she’d drawn, then returned to one of the abstracts. “The first ones are good; they’re what I see. But this, it’s like what I feel when I look out that window.”
“Thanks.”
He rested a hand on her shoulder. “You’re good, Kim.”
Tentatively, she offered, “Would you like to have that one?”
When he didn’t leap to say yes, she quickly said, “No problem if you don’t.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that. Just, after you’re gone, will I want memories?”
Stunned, hurt, she stared up at him. “You want to forget me? Like I never existed?” Was she so . . . trivial to him, like another damned buckle bunny?
Something shadowed his hazel eyes, turning them forest green. “No, I don’t guess that’s gonna happen. So yes, I’d like that drawing. Can I have one of the roping ones too?”
Reassured, she said, “Of course. Would you like one of Distant Drummer?”
He shook his head. “Not the way she is now. Once they’re healed, I don’t want to think about how they used to be.”
“I can see that.” And the mood was far too solemn. What was going on with the two of them? To lighten things up, she asked, “What about one of the nudes?”
He looked horrified. “Oh Jesus, no.”
She laughed, then he did too.
And then he took the art supplies away from her, pulled her to her feet, and they undressed each other in front of the open window. He sat down in that battered old chair and she sat on his lap, facing him. When he was inside her and she started to ride him, he reached down for his cowboy hat and plunked it on her head. “Hang on cowgirl,” he said. “Here we go.”
When he pumped his hips upward, meeting her halfway, thrusting deep and fast, she teasingly warned him, with what breath she could summon, “This ride had better last more than eight seconds.”
And it did. Fast then slow, passionate then tender, through it all she clung to him. They kissed, then she arched back so he could bend his head to suck her nipples, and that sweet pressure brought her first orgasm. Her second came when his callused finger gently rubbed her clit. And her third was in perfect harmony with his own forceful climax.
No, Downward Facing Dog would never be the same for her, and she’d bet the same was true for Ty, with his old chair.
* * *
Driving home, Kim’s body throbbed as she remembered all the ways she and Ty’d had sex. He was the most incredible lover. Wherever they were—her apartment, a hayloft, or a Jacuzzi—he was inventive and considerate, strong and gentle, and he gave her such pleasure.
This coming weekend, he was going to a rodeo in the interior. They’d talked about her going with him. It would be a wonderful experience—a scenic tour; cheering him on when he rode; spending the nights in some cute motel.
As long as she kept her head and remembered that this was just her rumspringa, not her future, her heart should be safe. But could she really do that? Each time she was with Ty, it got harder to control her emotions.
Back in Vancouver, she drove her iCar to the drop-off spot half a block from her condo.
Her studio was stuffy, so she flipped up the window-wall before getting to work on UmbrellaWings. When she felt hunger pangs, she nuked some noodles with shrimp and veggies, and ate while she worked. Finally, around ten, she ran out of steam.
As usual, she checked Facebook and e-mail before bed. There was an e-mail from Lily, to the other club members.
Just a reminder that the final discussion of Ride Her, Cowboy is tomorrow. Kim, it’s your turn to choose location. Let us know.
Oops. She’d forgotten it was her turn. She picked a place where they could sit outside or in, weather permitting.
Mahony’s at Burrard Landing on Coal Harbour. I’m looking forward to hearing what everyone thinks of the ending.
Whatever that ending might be. She still had to read the last chapter.
Five minutes later, she was settled in bed with the book.
Flipping back a few pages, she refreshed her memory. Right, the cattle drive was finished and, back at the Lazy Z Ranch, the cowboys had dealt with the horses and headed off to their homes. Marty, who’d had only sponge baths and quick dips in streams, was dying for a long, hot shower, so when Dirk invited her to his house, she accepted the invitation. Kim turned the page.
Marty was in the shower, alone, crying at the thought of leaving Dirk. Would they ever see each other again?
Kim bit her lip. Yes, the idea of saying good-bye to Ty was sad. Really sad. But, as he’d said, it was a waste of time worrying about things over which she had no control. Surely, once she was back in Hong Kong, moving ahead with her life, she’d be fine. She’d have fond memories—sexy memories—and that’d be it. Maybe she and Ty would keep in touch and, as with Henry, they’d come to
be friends and nothing more. Could she think of Ty as just a friend?
Frowning, she read on.
Even had there been a hair dryer in Dirk’s guest bathroom, Marty wouldn’t have taken the time to use it. She had to get out of there—onto the road, off to the airport in hopes she could get a flight today. She needed to focus on the story, turn it in, start on a new assignment. Keep busy, get on with her life, travel to the next interesting place where she’d meet fascinating people who . . . who, she feared, could never drive memories of Dirk from her mind or her heart.
She applied a little makeup to hide the signs of tears, dressed in cotton pants and a blouse, and squared her shoulders before heading downstairs to say good-bye.
He was in the kitchen, sifting through a stack of mail. His hair was damp too, and he was in fresh jeans and a white tee, his feet bare on the tiled floor.
She filed one more image in her memory photo bank, then cleared her throat. “I should hit the road.”
He spun. “What? No, don’t go.”
“You don’t need to feed me another dinner. If I leave now, I should be able to get a flight out tonight.”
He walked toward her, biting his lip and looking nervous for the first time since she’d met him. He reached for her hands and, stupidly, she let him take them. “No,” he repeated. “Don’t go. Not tonight, not tomorrow. Not at all.”
Something leapt in her heart. “What do you mean?”
“Sorry, I know you have a job. Of course you have to go.”
The something that had flickered to life fizzled. “Yes, I do.”
“But I wondered . . .” His indigo eyes gazed intently into hers and his face looked taut and strained. “You have to have a home base. How about making it here?”
“Here?” Hope flamed to life again. “With you? What are you saying, Dirk?”
His hands tightened on hers, squeezing painfully. “I love you, Marty.”
“Me? Really?” No, she couldn’t believe him. “But we’re so different.” Not that that fact had stopped her from loving him.