“Oh, God,” she whispered the words as his thumb circled her.
The orgasm crashed through her like the cattle crashed through the pens in Utah. Fast and like it would never stop. Monica’s shoulders stiffened, and her hips arched up against his hand, driving his fingers deeper, pushing his thumb more firmly against her. Her muscles contracted against his knuckles, a feeling almost unbearably erotic. Her mouth tightened; her fists clenched.
And then she shattered. Her hips lowered. Her arms fell back and her hands relaxed, palms up, fingers boneless. Trick moved over her, dipped his tongue into her belly button. Her hands reached for him, pulling him up her body. Monica’s hands found his hips and pressed beneath the denim, then moved around to the placket. She unbuttoned his pants and pushed down the zipper as his mouth met hers. And then her soft hands were on him.
He was thick and hard and groaned when she gently squeezed his length.
Pushing his jeans over his hips, Monica freed him. She circled his erection with her hand, her thumb playing with the little opening at the tip.
He groaned. “You do that again and we won’t get much further.”
“You shouldn’t be the one to have all the fun.”
Trick pushed off the bed, shucked his jeans, and grabbed a condom from the nightstand drawer. Monica sat up, took it from him, and slowly slid it over his tip. Trick clenched his jaw when her fingernail traced the veins bulging with need. Monica grinned. She liked having power over this man who kept pushing her boundaries.
He growled. “Now.”
“Absolutely.”
He pressed her back to the bed with a long, deep kiss, and then thrust inside her.
Monica crossed her ankles over his hips, drawing him in deep. She caught his mouth in another kiss. He arched, and her tongue traced a path from his lower lip over his chin to his collar bone.
She wanted to make this last all night, but Monica urged him on, meeting him thrust for thrust. He buried his hands in her hair as the rhythm surged. He pressed another kiss to her mouth, and then they both exploded over the cliff to soar into the Texas night.
• • •
Trick stood in the kitchen doorway, jeans covering his legs but unbuttoned. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. He really should be wearing a shirt, Monica thought helplessly. I can’t have a rational conversation with him not wearing a shirt. Half the female population would jump on him, looking fresh off the sex train.
Panic butterflies swirled in her belly as she waited for the spaghetti and sauce to warm in the microwave. She was one of that half, and she shouldn’t be this nervous. Twenty-four was plenty old enough to know how to have a relationship with a man. That’s what this night was about. Spending the night with Trick was her idea, a way to get some of the pent-up attraction out of her system so she could see if there was anything more there.
Before last night, all she’d wanted was a no-strings fling with Trick. To get back on the circuit or back to Austin as quickly as she could. Somewhere in the middle of the all-night-kitten-feeding session things had shifted. She still wanted her old life, but she wanted Trick, too.
She pushed the panic away. This was her relationship, damn it, and she would follow where her emotions led. If her sisters wanted her happily married off, they could darn well back off while she figured it out.
“You’re wearing my shirt,” he said as he pushed off the door and padded across the tile floor to the fridge where he grabbed a bottle of water and cracked it open. “Looks good on you.”
Monica looked down. The old Rangers tee reached to mid-thigh, effectively covering her and yet leaving her strangely open to him. She didn’t think she’d ever worn a man’s shirt — at least not in his presence — in her life. He reached around her waist, pulling her back to his chest and nuzzling her neck.
She liked it, of course, only relationships were about more than sex. She shook herself. She would not get sucked right back into bed with Trickett Samuels. If he wanted a dating relationship, she’d give it to him.
“We need sustenance.”
“I agree.” He pressed his mouth to her neck and sucked gently. “You taste perfect.”
“Not that kind of sustenance.” She swatted playfully at his hands as the nervousness faded away. Tomorrow would take care of itself, she decided, feeling a little like Scarlett O’Hara. Tonight was about declaring her intentions. The first of which was to see what was here beyond the physical, for his part at least. Monica now knew what her heart wanted: Trick to love her like she loved him.
The microwave dinged, and she opened the door to bring out bowls of warm food. Her tummy growled; an echoing growl sounded from behind her.
She straightened her shoulders and stepped away from him. “Dinner, Trickett.”
“Whatever you say, Monica.” He clipped his words and grinned. His voice really should not sound that good when he spoke her name, she decided, and tried to push him toward the counter.
When he continued to stand behind her, watching closely, Monica flicked her hands at him. “What? Sit, I’m starving.”
Trick pulled out a chair, waiting for her to take a seat and then pushed her closer to the table. The wooden kitchen chair was cool against her bare legs and Monica was glad she’d grabbed her undies on the way to the kitchen. She laid a napkin across her lap, forked up some spaghetti and sighed as the taste of ripe tomatoes and spices woke up her taste buds. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the chair. “I may never cook for you if everything you cook tastes this good.”
“As long as it’s pasta, it does.” He bit off a hunk of garlic bread and then dug in to his plate as if he couldn’t eat fast enough. “Besides, you lost the bet. You have to pay the price.”
She took another bite, enjoying the moment. Dinner in Trick’s kitchen was a new experience. They’d had sex here once. Her face heated, remembering how they’d barely made it through the door before his hands and mouth made her scream out his name. A rush of heat pooled in her belly, and she crossed her legs.
“Is Jessica going to work out at the clinic?” Conversation. People who dated had conversations about real life. They didn’t just jump one another’s bones, Monica reminded herself.
He shook his head over another bite. “Back to square one. After you left for the ranch she called with a lame, busy-summer excuse.”
“If you need someone to answer phones or make appointments, I could help out.” Where did that come from? She was not office assistant material. She was barely girlfriend material.
“You’d do that?”
Surprisingly, the thought was intriguing. She knew not every day would be filled with life-saving activities, but working with Trick could be fun. It would take her mind off Jinx. Added benefit: less time on pregnancy patrol with Kathleen and Vanessa.
She nodded. “Until you find someone permanent. I don’t file, though.”
He grinned across the table. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Monica pushed her plate away and concentrated on watching him. Trick ate the way he did everything else: with purpose. He swished a bit of bread over his plate, picking up some of the sauce. Took a bite. Twirled long strands of spaghetti over his fork. Ate. Then repeated the process, but this time, a long piece of spaghetti hung down. He put the trailing piece in his mouth and sucked until it disappeared.
Monica giggled. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone over age ten do that.”
He shrugged. “What’s the point in food if you can’t enjoy the moment?”
Still chuckling, Monica rose, picked up the now-emptied plates and then rinsed them in the sink. Trick met her at the counter, put his arms around her waist, and pulled her against him.
Her head relaxed against his muscled chest. How could he do this to her? This kind of physical reaction was supposed to wear off after a few hours, but it just
seemed to grow stronger when Trick was in the equation. Even before the accident in Utah, she hadn’t gone more than a few hours without wondering where he was, what he was doing. When she would see him again. It was this need that drove her to keep things simple. Separated. Her attraction to Trick seemed to be growing by infinite amounts every second, and she didn’t know how to keep those feelings in check. She knew she loved him but just how deeply could those feelings go?
It scared her.
Knowing she was actively pushing down the barriers she’d erected, that she was changing the shape of the future she thought she wanted petrified her.
“I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough sustenance for one night.” Trick teased the tee up, over her thighs, so his hands could knead her belly. His index finger dipped into her belly button, circled and then withdrew. Her muscles clenched, and a wave of moisture heated her core.
His hands continued their slow journey. His denim jeans caught on the lace of her undies, making a light scraping sound. Monica had never thought of denim as an erotic fabric. This changed her mind. Her breath caught as one of his hands moved up to her breasts, the other down toward the apex of her thighs.
She closed her eyes as his hand pressed flat against her outer lips. Of its own volition, her bottom began grinding against his pelvis. Monica tilted her head and reached up and around his neck to pull his mouth to hers. The kiss was hard, fast, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as if she were dessert.
Trick turned her around so that her chest pressed against his. He pulled on the lace, ripping it from her body, and then lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist. The metal of his snap was cold, and she shivered.
His fingers worked black magic on her nipples by flicking them to alertness, then abandoning one for the other. His other hand reached between them, teasing the folds of skin between her legs. Almost entering and then pulling away.
“Please,” Monica said, barely conscious of the words. “Please.”
“Back pocket.” He whispered the words against her mouth, and Monica understood. She pulled out a condom. Trick set her back on her feet for a moment. Her hands shook when she reached for his fly, pulling it apart and pushing the jeans over his lean hips. He rolled the barrier in place and then pushed her against the wall. She wrapped her leg around his, begging him to get closer, without saying a word, and he answered, lifting her back up, positioning her for his long length.
His mouth moved to her neck, traced a path from jawline to earlobe and back again. Monica leaned back to give him better access. Her hot core connected with his erection and Trick thrust inside.
The panic faded away as Trick found her rhythm and took her against the wall.
How far could she fall? Monica was in full free-fall with no end in sight. It was the last thought she had before he took her over the edge once more.
• • •
A long time later, Trick woke with Monica curled around him on the bed. Her legs were wrapped around his, her head resting on his chest. Her right hand linked with his left. Sunrise peeked through the bedroom window. He’d lost count of the times they’d made love since last night. He checked the clock. Barely six. He had patients to check on. A dog to send home and a kitten to pick up from the on-call vet in the next county.
And a woman in his bed he’d like to keep there for another day or twelve.
“If you pull me any closer, I’m going to be inside you,” Monica mumbled, still half-asleep.
He’d rather that statement was the other way around. She snuggled a little closer, and Trick hardened. At the words or at her movement, he didn’t know. He smiled. Probably a little of both. They had done hot and fast, slow and sexy. At one point, Monica had chuckled and sighed her way through an orgasm, leaving him with what he knew had to be a goofy grin spread across his face. They’d lain in bed, watching the stars and talking about nothing. Now, waking up with this woman, he had the strongest feeling he needed to stay right here. Just another plus in the relationship department, he decided, an indication Monica was winding her way into his soul.
Still, if he didn’t get out of bed now, he’d be seriously behind schedule. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” He pulled his arm out from under her and scooted across the mattress. “I’ve got patients to see. Go back to sleep.”
“’S okay, I should start getting ready to go anyhow.” She pulled the sheet around her body and stood beside him, her head reaching to his shoulder.
“Ready for what?”
Her green eyes twinkled in the morning light. “I’ve got to see a man about a horse.”
He’d forgotten. Jinx’s follow-up appointment was set for this morning. The thought was a splash of cold water on the warm morning. He knew what he’d seen — a horse slowly recovering from a bad injury. A horse who, at twelve years old, should be put out to pasture. She wouldn’t accept his diagnosis now any more than she had last week. “Don’t get your hopes too high.”
“It’s not hope; it’s confidence.”
She did look confident. In the morning sunlight, not a worry about her horse shone on her face. Just relaxed confidence. Because of the change in their relationship? He couldn’t be sure. It hadn’t been enough time. Not nearly enough to convince her it was time to hang Jinx’s accomplishments in the arena up and move on.
To another horse. To another profession.
To him, he admitted. More than ever before, he wanted her here, in Lockhardt. She could train and travel as well from here as she could from Austin, he reasoned. Couldn’t she?
“Want to share a shower?” she asked.
He did, so much it was hard to say no. “I’ll start the coffee and then join you.” Trick grabbed his sweat pants, made it to the kitchen, put the grounds in the maker, and hurried back down the hall. Like a prom night date who was afraid the girl would leave the hotel room before things could really get started.
The bathroom was already steamy, the mirror fogging over. Monica’s lithe form was a shadow through the tempered-glass door. She tilted her head, and water cascaded over her. He whipped off his pants and stepped inside with her.
Screw it. If sex was the way to Monica’s heart, he’d sacrifice as long as it took.
Chapter Seven
Monica turned Jinx in the corral, walking slowly like they did in the pool. He still wasn’t turning well, and that worried her. She led him left, and he went willingly. When she turned to the right, he hesitated, slowed even more, and finally followed. She leaned around him to get a better look.
“He’s still favoring that side.” Nathaniel spoke from the fence, compassion filling his words. Telling her exactly what she already knew. Her father adjusted his cowboy hat against the sun and leaned his arms across the fence. He wore old jeans and a western-cut shirt. He tapped one dusty boot against the rail. He and Mat, who stood next to him, must have spent the morning in the cattle pastures, because they both looked hot and sweaty.
Monica nodded. “I thought he’d be further along.” Jinx tossed his head and late-morning sun glinted off the silver conches on his halter. “Trick might be right.” For the first time, she spoke the words aloud. It was like a nail in the proverbial coffin. Young horses took a long time to recover from injuries like his. At almost thirteen, Jinx might not make it back, she admitted.
“We’ll add more time in the pool.” Kathleen stood on Nathaniel’s other side, arms over the rail fence like their father, watching Jinx as closely as Monica was. She wore stretchy shorts and a long tunic over her pregnant belly, and for the first time in months, she’d traded her cowboy boots for sandals. A straw cowboy hat shaded skin as delicate as Monica’s.
“It doesn’t look good.” Mitchum’s voice cut across the pasture. Calculating. Serious. Her grandfather knew, probably better than the rest, how important a good horse was to a rodeoer. He’d ridden bulls, been a calf
roper and steer wrestler on the circuit before coming home to Texas to settle down. His trophies and buckles belonged to his horse as much as they belonged to him.
“The water will help but … ” Mat’s voice trailed off. His arm was around Vanessa’s shoulders, and for a second, Monica envied her sister, comfortable in the big cowboy’s arms. She and Kathleen were obviously shopping in the same stores lately — they were dressed similarly from shorts to sandals. Vanessa didn’t wear a cowboy hat; instead, sunglasses shaded her eyes.
Vanessa was the only one not to offer advice. At least, not yet. Worry, however, was evident in her ice blue eyes. Compassion, too, Monica admitted. Vanessa knew what it meant to have a dream burst.
When her ex-husband, Paul, left Van for her best friend, her world had fallen apart. She’d lost her friends and the home she’d loved and worked so long to renovate. Monica chewed on her lower lip. Vanessa had found a new dream with Mat, but did Monica want a new dream? Or only a slight adjustment to this one? She could finish training Piebaby, the three year old she’d started training last fall. Hit the circuit early next year, continue on the path she’d started in college.
This year, she could stay here in Lockhardt, working in Trick’s vet office and riding for pleasure.
The thought left a cold feeling in her stomach. If she wasn’t a barrel racer, if she didn’t have that identity, who was she?
Monica had watched her father move from bottle to bottle, woman to woman, looking for something to fulfill him. She found that something in rodeo: A place where she wasn’t just the youngest Witte sister. On the circuit her worth was judged on her merits, on her horse’s training, and not on her trust fund or her family’s reputation. Trick seemed to want her, rodeo or not, but how could she be certain he wouldn’t change his mind?
Texas Wishes: The Complete Series Page 43