World Enough and Time

by Lauren Gallagher

  I blinked. “Is that right?”

  Another nod. “I can’t write the stuff to save my life, but I love it.” Sliding his hands into his pockets, he looked at me. “Do you like poetry?”

  “I’ll be honest,” I said. “I’ve never quite understood the attraction to a lot of it.”

  He cocked his head and rested his hip against the railing. “Really?”

  “There’s some beautiful poetry out there, don’t get me wrong, but for the most part…” I shrugged, running a hand through my hair as the wind tried to blow it into my face. “Some of it just seems so, I don’t know, overblown. Flowery metaphors when something far simpler would do.”

  He smiled. “Understandable.” Pushing himself upright, he moved closer to me, one hand drifting over the small of my back.

  Ahh, contact. Finally.

  “I prefer simplicity myself,” he said. “But sometimes there’s beauty and power in the way something’s written.” His hand went from my back to my side and he moved behind me, his body just barely touching mine. “Something can mean the same thing, but come across completely different depending upon how it’s said.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “I guess I’ve just always preferred the more direct approach.”

  He laughed, his free hand reclaiming a tendril of my hair from the wind and tucking it behind my ear. “Consider the situation you and I are in now.” His breath cooled the side of my neck and he lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “On one hand, I could quote Marvell and say ‘If we had world enough, and time, this coyness lady were no crime’.”

  Something in his voice, or maybe it was the warmth of his body when his arms slid around my waist, made my breath catch. I turned around in his arms and swallowed hard. “And on the other hand?”

  He kissed my neck and pulled me a little closer. “On the other hand…” When he raised his head, a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lip, but even in the fading light, the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable. “…I could just say, ‘life’s short, let’s fuck’.”

  Chapter Seven

  Falling together into Connor’s bed, we dragged each other down even while we pushed clothes out of the way. We were well beyond any desire to carefully remove each piece. Clothes weren’t gift wrap, not tonight, and the only purpose they served was to keep his skin from mine.

  Shoes thumped to the floor. Connor struggled with my bra clasp again, but there was no time to waste, so I took care of it for him. While I did that, he unbuckled his belt with unsteady hands, but as soon as I dropped my bra off the side of the bed, he pushed me onto my back and sucked my nipple into his mouth. Resting his weight one arm, he used his free hand to get his zipper undone and push his jeans over his hips.

  We separated to get the rest of our clothes off. After he tossed his jeans aside, he leaned over to the nightstand. He grabbed a couple of condoms out of the drawer and set them beside the lamp, keeping them within easy reach. The sight of the square packets made my hands shake. Nothing standing in the way now. Nothing keeping us from what we’d wanted so badly the other night.

  Our eyes met and we both froze, staring at each other as lust held us in suspended animation, as if we were both unsure if we dared to release this energy.

  In the next instant, I was in his arms, and we tumbled down together, and when he breathed, it was my breath he drew, and whatever thought we might have had of containing this hunger was a distant memory. His hands were everywhere—touching, grasping, feeling, seeking—while he kissed my neck, my shoulder, my lips. His breath came in short, shallow gasps that rushed across my skin. Up until now, he’d been the very picture of calm and controlled, but in my arms, he unraveled.

  “I usually take my time,” he said, panting against my lips in between kisses. “I usually—” Another kiss and a shiver when I ran my nails up his back. “But I want—”

  “Please,” I whimpered.

  Uncertainty flickered across his expression, but as quickly as it was there, it was gone. Whatever question had been in his eyes, he found the answer in mine, because he lunged for the nightstand.

  When he came back, he looked at me and said, “I want you on top.” He tore the wrapper with his teeth.

  We changed position and my mouth watered as he rolled on the condom. I’d never been with a man with a cock as thick as Connor’s, and I was simultaneously unsure if I could accommodate him and damned sure that I wanted to.

  I straddled him and he rested his hand on my waist. The other held his cock while I eased myself onto him. The second he touched my pussy, I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning.

  “Oh God,” he whispered, watching me take him slowly, while I let no more than the head of his cock inside me. “Oh God, you’re so…” He groaned and closed his eyes, the hand on my waist tightening just a little. His hips lifted to meet mine, trying to push himself deeper, but I rose just enough to stay out of his reach. A frustrated sound escaped his lips and his eyes shut even tighter.

  “Please, Dani…” His voice was just this side of a choked sob. “Please…please…”

  My body ached for him, but still I only let the head of his cock into my pussy, granting him only the shallowest strokes. He wanted more—I wanted more—but I kept him waiting. This feeling of control, of being something other than a passive participant, was addictive. It was as foreign as it was exhilarating. He wanted me, he wanted to be deep inside me, and had he been on top, he’d already be there. Instead, he’d surrendered and let me deny him.

  I want to be completely at your mercy, his words from the other night echoed in my mind as he begged, “Dani, oh God, Dani, please…”

  I rose off him almost completely and there I paused. His hands twitched on my hips, his entire body seeming to anticipate the down stroke that didn’t follow. Frustration and confusion twisted his lips and he held his breath, screwing his eyes shut.

  I didn’t move, not until he exhaled with a whispered plea:

  “Dani, I—”

  In one swift motion, I took him all the way inside me and we both gasped. His eyes flew open and his lips parted to release a breath, but the air stayed in his lungs. He gripped my hips, holding me against him as if he was afraid I’d never let him this deep again.

  I wasn’t going anywhere, though. I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to. For an eternity of seconds, my entire world revolved around the intoxicating confusion of pain that should have hurt, of the vague discomfort of my pussy accommodating a cock that was just the right amount of too much.

  “You okay?” His voice, gentle and uneven, brought me into the present. “Talk to me, Dani.”

  A single nod was all I could ask of my overwhelmed body. His hips moved beneath me, pressing against me, either trying to push himself deeper or encourage me to move. I rose off him slowly, gasping at the gentle friction as he moved inside me.

  “Oh my God,” I heard myself whimper.

  “You feel fucking amazing like this.” His voice was barely a whisper and almost a moan. His hands moved up to my breasts and he cupped them gently, teasing my nipples with his thumbs and forefingers. “You look fucking amazing like this.”

  I looked down at him, watching his face while I rode him slowly. Every time I came down, when his cock was deep inside me, his lips parted and he lost his breath. When I rose off him and paused, he gasped for breath, only to lose it again when I came back down.

  “I knew you’d feel incredible, but this…” His eyebrows pulled together and his back arched beneath us. “Dani, you’re…” Another breath. Then he looked at me and swept his tongue across his lips. His hand went to the back of my neck and he pulled me down to him, kissing me deeply, almost violently.

  Still kissing him, I rested my weight on my arms and took control. I found just the right angle with my hips, rolling them forward and back so his body hit my clit each time his cock hit my G-spot. Following my lead, he fell smoothly into my slow rhythm, raising and lowering his hips in time with mine. Every stroke drove
me wild, white-hot waves radiating from my pussy like cold water through my veins and fire beneath my skin.

  A shudder ran up my spine and I moaned into his kiss. I nearly broke my rhythm, but his body kept mine in the same slow, perfect cadence. Then I shuddered again and sat up, throwing my head back and whimpering.

  He put his hand on my hip and let his thumb gently rub my clit. Or rather, he let my clit rub against the still presence of his thumb, leaving it to me to put just the right amount of pressure just where I needed it.

  “Oh God, Connor, oh…God…” My orgasm threw me off balance and I fell forward again. He took advantage, grabbing my hips and thrusting up, fucking me as hard as he could, keeping me coming until my vision blurred and my spine wanted to collapse.

  When I could finally see straight, when the room had stopped spinning, the air still buzzed with the breathless tension of a breaking point reached, and a second later, he groaned.

  “Oh… fuck…” His fingers twitched against my hips. “Oh fuck, I’m so… close…” He closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath.

  I pushed myself up on shaking arms and forced him to fall back into my slow, easy rhythm. Nearly stopping, but not. He furrowed his brow, but with a barely audible sigh, gave in.

  “Jesus, Dani, I want to come,” he whispered. “You’ve got me so fucking turned on, I…”

  “I know.” I rose slowly, came down just as slowly, watching his lips twitch with frustration. There was nothing more arousing, I discovered just then, than a man like Connor losing—surrendering—control.

  When I resumed my earlier motion, rolling my hips forward and back, his eyes flew open and he gasped.

  “Oh my God, oh my God, whatever you’re—” His breath caught and his back arched. “Whatever it— whatever it is you’re doing, don’t…stop…”

  I didn’t stop, but I slowed down, reining back my rhythm just enough to make him groan with frustration. Just when he went to speak, undoubtedly trying to voice his desperation, I picked up speed again, and the only thing that escaped his lips was the sexy, spine-tingling moan of a man about to come undone.

  A second later, he grabbed my hips and pulled me down onto him. His body jerked, his eyes shut tight, and his lips parted in a silent cry.

  For a moment, he was still, not breathing, not moving, not loosening his grip on my hips. Then, piece by piece, he let go. His hands released me. He eased back onto the bed. A long, ragged breath slipped past his lips.

  When he opened his eyes, he blinked rapidly before looking at me and grinning.

  “You’re fucking incredible.” He pulled me down to kiss him. “I’ve been looking forward to this all damned day.”

  “You’re not the only one.” I kissed him lightly. “In fact, I’m already looking forward to it again.”

  He trailed a finger up the center of my back. “I promise I won’t keep you waiting long.”

  “See that you don’t.” I laughed when his eyebrows jumped.

  I pushed myself up and moved off him so he could take care of the condom, and then we settled back onto the bed on our sides.

  “That,” he said, running a hand through his disheveled hair, “was well worth the wait.”

  “I’m not complaining about the other night either.”

  “Nor am I.” He smiled and kissed me gently. “Maybe it was a good thing we didn’t have any condoms handy.”

  “Maybe so.”

  His fingertips trailed down the side of my face. “Not just because of the anticipation, either. That night was incredible too.”

  “You’re telling me?” I smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that many times in a night.”

  He chuckled. “I’d love to claim that I do that with every woman, but that’s the first time I’ve ever made a woman come so many times.”

  “Well, you’re more than welcome to do it again.”

  His hand moved into my hair and he kissed me again. “Maybe I will. I rather enjoyed it.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.” My fingertip ran across his sweaty skin, absently drawing light circles around his nipple. He sucked a breath in through his teeth.

  “Like that?” I asked.

  He closed his eyes and nodded slowly.

  “Hmm, good to know.” I raised my head to kiss him and my hand went to his shoulder. Then I gently pushed him back onto the bed, lying on my side next to him as he’d just been beside me. “And since you like this”—I trailed my fingers over his chest again—“it’s a safe bet you’ll also like this.” I’d barely inclined my head when he sucked in a breath, and when my tongue flicked across his nipple, he released that breath all at once.

  “Be careful,” he said.

  I circled his nipple with the tip of my tongue. “Why’s that?”

  “Because I—” He inhaled sharply when I did it again. “Because if you keep doing that, I’ll get turned on again.”

  “And?”

  “And then I’ll have to put you on your back and fuck you.”

  “Well then,” I said. “I should keep doing it, shouldn’t I?”

  Chapter Eight

  Blinking back fatigue from another long, long night with Connor, I cued Jekyll into a working trot. He moved into the trot without protesting, and for that I was thankful. The immense Hanoverian could switch moods from docile and placid to pissy and unpredictable in a matter of seconds. To say the least, he’d more than earned his nickname, and I hoped he kept his “Mr. Hyde” side to himself today.

  So far so good.

  We made a circle around one half of the arena. Then I gave him a gentle nudge, asking for a canter on the left lead. The transition into the canter was smooth, but he led with his right leg instead of his left. This was one of his bad habits, and any kind of impatience on my part would trigger one of his moody episodes. As calmly as possible, I brought him back down to a trot, cued him again, and on the next stride, he went into a beautiful canter on the left lead.

  Now if I could just get Sara—who would be riding him at an upcoming show—to correct him so calmly, they might stand a chance of getting through their dressage tests without Mr. Hyde putting in an appearance.

  When I was finished with my ride, I let the reins hang loose so he could stretch his neck. Patting his shoulder, I let him plod lazily around the arena to cool off.

  “Hey, Dani,” Gavin’s voice boomed through the arena and echoed up into the rafters.

  Speaking of Jekyll and Hyde. I steered the horse with my legs, guiding him to the gate upon which my boss leaned. “What’s up?”

  “The farrier will be here on Thursday.” He held up a clipboard. “Do you need Jester and Calypso on the schedule?”

  “Please,” I said. “Just the usual. Trim and shoes.”

  He nodded and wrote on the clipboard. Then he looked at Jekyll. “How’s he doing today?”

  “Still having some trouble with that left lead,” I said with a shrug. “But he’s getting better.” I half-expected him to huff and curse about the horse’s ongoing problems, but he simply nodded. His neutral, calm mood unnerved me. He was sometimes harder to deal with like this. At least when he was yelling and stomping around, I knew what to expect. When he was like this, the volatility still lurked beneath the surface. The skies were clear, but some of the worst storms were the kind that came out of nowhere.

  “What about Dante?” he asked.

  I swallowed. “He’s, well, he’s got a ways to go.”

  Gavin eyed me, and the dark clouds gathered. “That’s not what I want to hear,” he said through his teeth. “He’s going to Wenatchee in a few weeks.”

  And he’s nowhere near ready. “I’m doing the best I can with him,” I said. “There’s just a lot of crap I need to undo. His last owner worked him over.”

  My boss took and released a sharp, impatient breath, then shook his head. “Well, as long as he’s ready by then.” With that, he walked away, and I could finally release my own breath. Dante wouldn’t be ready for the show. Even
if he was, just getting him into the trailer would be an ordeal and a half.

  But I wasn’t going to argue with Gavin today. I was exhausted and he was in a halfway decent mood. It was best to tread lightly on these eggshells until I was ready to take whatever backlash came when I dared tell him the neurotic thoroughbred had no business going to a show anytime soon.

  Not today, though.

  Gavin didn’t know shit about horses. He was a businessman who’d married Leslie, an accomplished horsewoman, and suddenly fancied himself a horseman. He talked a good game, but he didn’t know a hoof pick from a stirrup leather. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell him as much because he also signed my paychecks.

  I took Jekyll back in the barn, unsaddled him, and put him away. While I tried to decide who to work next, Susan came in, leading Xena.

  “How was she?” I asked.

  Susan groaned and rolled her eyes, but patted the mare’s neck anyway. “She has a stupid today.”

  I laughed. “Better you than me, then.”

  “Gee thanks.” She cross-tied Xena and unbuckled the girth. “Are you trail-riding today?”

  “I was thinking about it,” I said. “Calypso could use a day out and so could I.”

  “Well, I’m taking Bridger out as soon as I’m done with this one,” she said.

  “I think I’ll join you, then.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Calypso and Bridger were saddled and ready to go.

  I put my foot in the stirrup and hoisted myself up, wincing as I swung my leg over. Once I was in the saddle, I rubbed my hip gingerly.

  “Sore?” Susan grinned.

  “Maybe.”

  “And would that have anything to do with—”

  “Maybe.”

  “You dirty girl.”

  My cheeks burned. “What can I say? He’s a lot of fun.”

  Susan clicked her tongue and shook her head. “So are you going to see him again?”

  “Well, maybe after I catch a few hours of sleep,” I said as we steered the horses toward the trail. “That man will be the death of me if I don’t.”