by Toni Blake
Another tiny gasp escaped her at the sight, and her throat tightened with excitement, anticipation. Something about what had happened earlier in the yard made her bold now, bold enough to reach up, thread her fingers neatly into the slit in his underwear, extract his length, and wrap her hand firmly around it. It was hot to the touch.
Duke hissed in his breath in pleasure, and her chest heaved in unbidden response. She was so, so ready, and she knew he was, too.
Except—oh no—a terrible thought hit her. “Condom,” she said, horrified. Because they didn’t have one.
So it surprised her when he responded by reaching back, into the rear pocket of his lowered blue jeans, to pull out a wallet, then a familiar-looking foil square. She let out a sigh of relief—then asked, slightly stunned, “Even in the woods, you carry a wallet?”
He shrugged. “Habit, I guess.”
“A good one,” she murmured, and as he ripped into the condom, she relaxed back into her arousal and squeezed him in her hand again, beginning to rub and massage lightly.
His eyes fell half shut and his breath turned thready, and she released the hard column from her grasp only to let him roll the condom down over it. She parted her legs without thought or hesitation, looked up into his eyes, and waited—and then came the sweet, hot, filling entry she’d ached for.
She cried out as the pleasure spread through her, hard and deep. He hadn’t been especially gentle—and she hadn’t wanted him to. He’d made her feel it, really feel it. “God—yes,” she breathed through clenched teeth.
Their labored breathing saturated the quiet air as Duke moved in her. Each hard stroke seemed to reach her very core, fill the need that had been running through her more and more ever since meeting him. Finally, he was inside her. It hadn’t been terribly long since that first encounter, of course—but somehow it felt that way; somehow it felt like something she’d been waiting a very long time to experience.
She clutched at his shoulders, his arms. She loved the feel of his muscles beneath her fingers, the sight of his broad chest just above her, and his handsome face, eyes shut in passion now. She still didn’t think about the right or wrong of it, the smart or dumb of it—because she still knew that it didn’t matter now; she was in it, doing this, and she had no regrets. He felt too good. He filled her with more pleasure than she’d ever known, something thick and deep that went far beyond having an orgasm.
Even so, though, when he stopped moving after a while and began to shift, his hands on her ass, moving them both, she realized he was sitting them up, so that she’d end up on top—and that suited her fine. While the way he’d been pounding into her had delivered all the sensation she could handle, she liked the idea that he wanted to make her come and that he knew how. Even without his saying a word, she understood that.
Duke leaned against the sofa’s backrest and Anna straddled his hips, feeling him even deeper that way. And mmm, yes—the mere position itself inspired her to move on him, ride him.
Just when she’d begun to think he might never touch her breasts, he lowered his eyes to them, then—almost tentatively, she thought—slid a work-roughened palm up onto one.
She sucked in her breath as he began to mold it in his hand. Letting her eyes fall shut, she covered his hand with hers, pressing his touch deeper, making sure he knew how much she liked it. Her nipple moved against his palm as she moved against him below, the rhythmic gyrations taking over her body now. There was something primal about sex with Duke, something that made her feel every bit of her womanhood while reveling in how very masculine he was.
She never made the decision to lean forward, to whisper, her mouth near his forehead, “Kiss them. Please.”
But she heard his hot sigh, then drank in the joy as his mouth closed over the tip of her other breast.
“Unh.” The sound left her as the sensation permeated her, spreading deep, filling up any crack or crevice of her being that the pleasure from below hadn’t quite yet reached. Pure physical delight radiated all the way from her core out to the tips of her fingers and toes. She cradled his head against her breast, running her fingers through his hair—this time like a lover.
She peered through sheer white curtains behind the sofa out onto the yard and could have sworn the grass looked greener, the trees more billowy, the sky and white puffy clouds deeper, bigger. Heat filled her cheeks as, below, she knew she was getting closer, closer. She heard her own hot sighs, felt profoundly connected to him, and surrendered to it entirely.
“Oh God, oh God . . .” And then the orgasm broke over her in stunning waves of heat and pleasure that stole her sanity for a long blissful moment of pure abandon. A few short cries and whimpers left her as she rode out the climax, still hugging his head to her chest.
And when she was done, going still, thinking a bit of rest had come—Duke thrust up into her, hard, hard, hard, lifting them both from the couch, making her cry out. He groaned deeply with each upward drive, and Anna let her head drop back, eyes shutting again, just absorbing everything he wanted to give her.
“Aw—aw, now,” Duke murmured deeply, then thrust even more roughly, again sending the powerful sensations the length of her body—before finally letting out a large sigh, all movement ceasing.
They slumped together in exhaustion. Anna whispered, “Wow.” And then smiled to herself because when she’d bought the house on Half Moon Hill she never could have dreamed she’d find a wildman in her woods and end up having the best sex of her life with him.
“Um . . .” Anna said after a few minutes of silence.
Duke opened his eyes, which had fallen shut at some point in those post-sex moments when sleep came so easy. He found himself wishing they were in a bed, since falling asleep right now still sounded good, but being on the couch, sitting up, made that a little more awkward. He guessed her “um” meant she felt awkward, too.
And he probably should have let her off the hook, since he didn’t really know what to say, either—but there was something about Daisy; he just liked messing with her, liked seeing how she handled it. Maybe because when he’d met her last summer, she’d seemed so cool and above it all. And she was so damn beautiful, too. Maybe it surprised him over and over to discover he could make her squirm a little. So he lifted his head from where he’d rested it on the back of the couch, expended the effort to raise sleepy eyebrows, and said, “Um what, Daisy?”
God, she looked even prettier as a deep, rosy color infused her cheeks. And the late day sun shining in the front window through the sheers shone on her eyes, making them a richer shade of brown than he’d ever noticed before. “Um . . . that was pretty great,” she said quietly, almost tentatively.
He couldn’t help it—it made him smile even as it warmed something in his gut. “Yeah, it was.”
It was hardly the first unplanned sex he’d ever had—and it wasn’t the first time he’d been in a situation where a smoldering attraction had suddenly led to this kind of full-blown heated encounter. But this . . . this meant more to him. Because it changed things. It meant . . . maybe he wasn’t as hideous as he thought. Or that even if he was, she’d seen something in him that had overpowered that. He’d honestly never expected a woman to feel those things for him again. Not in this kind of truly hot, feral way. He’d thought that part of his life was over, and he’d even started accepting it—as much as a man could accept that sort of thing. But Daisy had just brought all that back in a heartbeat—the heartbeat it had taken for her to press her hand to his stomach in the backyard.
There were things he almost wished he could ask her. What made it happen, that hand on my stomach? What do you see when you look at me? Am I some horrible, revolting beast—or not? But maybe he didn’t really want to know, wasn’t that brave. Maybe he just wanted to bask in the moment, and the surprise of it. Maybe he just wanted to keep holding her in his arms and know that feeling of mutual desire. And hell—why would he bring that last part up anyway? To anyone? Nah, it was easier to feel strong if y
ou just kept acting that way. That was something he’d known all his life and it had never failed him.
Then what the hell are you doing living in that cabin in the damn woods?
He let out a sigh, his eyes falling shut once more. This was the one time when he’d finally lost it, that strength that kept him going no matter what shit he was up against. The one time he’d surrendered and just . . . run away. From everything. As much as he could.
But that didn’t mean he had to give up the little bits of strength that might still be lingering inside him. If he’d finally found one—however unexpectedly—he wasn’t about to throw it away. It was suddenly something to hang on to right now. And he already knew it would help him sleep a little more peacefully tonight.
“You, uh, wanna go upstairs? The bed might be more comfortable.”
He opened his eyes and appreciated the uncertain look in hers. She was nervous inviting him.
“Are you asking me to snuggle, Daisy?”
The instant change in her expression told him she was trying to appear more aloof. “Or . . . take a nap. Whatever sounds good.”
He met her gaze, wondered if she could see the affection in his eyes. “Sure—let’s go upstairs.”
She remained on top of him, with him still inside her, even now a few minutes after they’d both come. And as she eased up off him, the separation of their bodies was a raw, potent reminder of what they’d just shared. She let out a sigh at the disconnection as his length, partially erect even now, plopped against his belly.
And suddenly he wanted to stay close to her, just like they were—so as she started lifting her leg to unstraddle him, he said, “Nah—just wrap around me.” And he didn’t wait for her to respond before closing his arms snug about her waist.
After finally kicking off his pants, he got to his feet still holding her in his embrace—it was a lot like the way he’d carried her inside the house—and walked to the stairs. Turned out it wasn’t the easiest way to climb steps, but when he nearly lost his balance and loosed one hand from her ass to grab on to the railing, saying, “Whoa,” she clung to him tighter, all naked and sweet, and said, “Don’t drop me!” and they ended up laughing.
“Left,” she instructed him at the top, then pointed to the last door in the open hallway that wound around the staircase.
It was pretty much what he would have expected her bedroom to look like now that he was getting to know her a little better: cozy but full of light with the sun streaming through the front window, a quilt on the bed full of blues and purples and pinks. Pink roses that he assumed she’d cut from the large bush on the west side of the house protruded from an old-fashioned milky white glass pitcher, and their scent filled the room. He didn’t know anyone still did that—cut flowers and brought them inside. It reminded him that his grandma had always done that when he was little, but he’d thought the world was just too busy for that kind of thing these days. And he’d have thought Anna Romo would be the last girl to do it—or he would have before recently. But he was learning there was more to her than met the eye.
He plopped her unceremoniously on the bed—then admired her body all over again. It was the first time he’d seen it from any sort of distance, and damn, the girl was amazing to look at. He’d always thought she would be—she generally dressed in a way he liked, showing she was proud of her curves—and he wasn’t disappointed. She was a dark-haired, olive-skinned Barbie doll come to life.
He watched as she lifted her ass from the quilt, pulling it down and then scooting her way under. He might have thought it would be hot underneath but for the ceiling fan turning in gentle circles overhead, so he pulled back the covers on the side of the bed nearest him and got in with her.
Then he followed the urge to reach out, draw her to him, kiss her some more.
The truth was, depending on the woman and situation, he wasn’t usually much of a cuddler. But he wouldn’t have accepted the invitation to come up here if he didn’t want to keep being close to her. If he’d ended up with this woman at some other time in his life, maybe it would have been strictly about the hot passion of the moment and then moving on from that—but right now, a little snuggling sounded good. Maybe it all just amounted to . . . comfort. And hell, he couldn’t deny that he could probably use some of that.
She lay on her back and he leaned over her, kissing her pretty berry-colored lips as he let his fingers flirt lazily, gently, with the outer curve of one full, round breast. He thought it might be the most perfect skin he’d ever touched, soft yet firm—so very feminine, and already tightening his groin again, just slightly.
When the kiss ended and he pulled back a bit, looking at her, she said, “I don’t usually . . .”
“What?” he asked, amused. “Kiss on the first date?”
She smirked slightly, even while appearing a little sheepish. “I do kiss on the first date,” she explained, “if I like a guy and feel the urge. But I don’t usually do this.”
He raised his eyebrows playfully. “No worries, Daisy—we’re both grown-ups and I don’t judge.” Then he tilted his head, thinking back to last summer. “Even if what you just said surprises me some.”
She didn’t look insulted or even remotely taken aback. “Looks can be deceiving,” she replied. And when he lowered his chin, a little caught off guard that she knew exactly what he was talking about, she added, “A girl can show a little skin without it meaning she gives it away to every guy she meets. But a lot of people don’t realize that. A lot of people think it’s advertising—when, for me, it’s just being comfortable with who I am.”
Duke didn’t know what to say. Until he’d seen her here, at her house and in the woods, he supposed he had thought her sexy style sent a certain message. But now he felt stupid to have made that assumption. He was beginning to think Anna Romo was a lot more complex than most women he’d dealt with.
“Now that you mention it,” he told her, “you seem . . . different. Than last year when I met you.”
She bit her lip and appeared introspective, staring off in the distance. Then she shifted her gaze to his, asking, “How so?”
He chose his words carefully—because he didn’t want to say anything she’d take the wrong way. “Last summer, you just seemed . . . above it all. All cool and confident. Like nothing could touch you. And now, here, you seem more . . . well, I just wouldn’t have pegged you to bake cobblers or have a country quilt on your bed. I wouldn’t have picked you as a girl who’d be content living so far from town. You just seemed . . . too sophisticated for Destiny, and way too sophisticated for Half Moon Hill.”
She lifted one side of her nose into a slight sneer. “I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or an insult.”
“Neither,” he said quickly, and it was true. “Just what I thought. But . . . maybe finding out I was wrong about that makes you a more interesting person.”
She bit her lower lip, broke the gaze, let her eyes drift off in the distance again—toward the roses on the dresser across the room. “Last summer wasn’t the easiest time of my life. And acting confident is how I get through stuff. So maybe I was laying it on a little thick then.”
Duke knew good and well what she meant about last summer—but maybe he hadn’t thought, until this very moment, about the fact that he’d been forming his opinions of her right when she’d been going through something so weird. And maybe he shouldn’t ask, but . . . “Guess that was pretty damn strange, huh? Coming back to a place you hadn’t been since you were little? Meeting your family for the first time since then?”
When she still didn’t look at him, he decided maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up, but it was too late now.
And he’d just decided that maybe she wasn’t going to answer at all—when she did. “I can’t even describe it. In some ways, it . . . fixed a lot of things. And it certainly made me feel a lot less alone in the world. But in others, it just complicated everything. I think maybe I should have waited longer after my mother—my othe
r mother—died before coming back here. I’m not sure I was ready to be a part of a family as big as the Romo clan.” She paused, scrunched up her nose. He thought she looked cute as hell. “But then again, I’m not sure I’ll ever be completely ready for that. I thought I wanted to be part of a family—and I love them all, my mom and dad, Mike and Lucky—but to go from being an only child, who had to take care of her mother a lot and be the adult in the relationship far too early, to being part of a big, complicated family who still wants you to be a little girl . . . is hard.”
Duke swallowed back the emotion he sensed welling for her inside him. Damn, he hadn’t expected that. Because he hadn’t expected Daisy to go soft on him. And maybe it was time to just shut up and quit talking—God knew the idea of kissing her some more, being inside her again, appealed. And it would probably be easier for both of them than discussing difficult things. And yet he found himself too curious to keep from asking . . . “Why’d you have to take care of your other mom?” He hesitated, almost afraid to pry. “Was she sick?”
Her eyes finally darted to his. “Lucky never told you?”
All he knew was that Lucky’s little sister had been missing since the age of five, that it had torn their family apart in some ways, and that last summer she’d suddenly shown up in Destiny, explaining to the Romo family that she’d learned the woman she’d always thought was her mother had actually abducted her. “I knew your . . . other mom died, and that she told you right before then that she’d . . . taken you from that park.” Another tidbit Lucky had shared—it had happened on a family camping trip to Bear Lake, about an hour away from Destiny. “But he never mentioned what was wrong with her, why she died so young.”
“It was cervical cancer, but I had to take care of her long before that.” She drew her eyes away again, and he could tell it pained her to talk about. Her discomfort, despite the brave way she tried to hide it, tightened his chest. “She wasn’t well. In her mind. So there was just a lot of . . . taking care of. And making excuses for. And trying to act like everything was fine when it wasn’t. So . . . I guess I was doing a lot of that last summer. Because nothing was very fine. But I didn’t know any other way to deal with it besides just taking it day by day, and pretending it was all a breeze. And occasionally having a yelling match with Mike,” she ended on a laugh.