by Pamela Tyner
“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” he teased.
“I like thick,” she drawled in her most exaggerated, seductive voice.
“You do, huh?” Amusement laced his voice. “Tell me what else you like.”
She rubbed a hand over his chest, scraped a nail across his nipple, smiling at the groan that came from his throat. “You just want to hear me talk dirty,” she said.
“Well, there is that.”
With a slight chuckle, she leaned over to nuzzle his neck. Using her lips, teeth, and tongue, she worked her way down his neck to his chest. His breathing quickened, and the rise and fall of his chest increased. His hands massaged her rear gently, and when she flicked her tongue over his nipple, his fingers dug into her flesh. She dragged her tongue over his nipple again, and his hands moved to her waist.
“My turn now,” he demanded.
In one quick movement, he shifted her body so that her breasts were suspended directly above his mouth. With a light press on her back, he indicated that he wanted her to close the gap between them.
He closed his mouth over the tip of her breast and sucked greedily. Desire coursed through her veins, hard and fast. Releasing her breast, he caught the hardened nipple between his teeth. Fire shot through her body, and she moaned in appreciation.
“You like that, huh?” he muttered.
Incapable of speech, she simply moaned her acknowledgment. He flicked his tongue over the nipple then moved his attention to her other breast.
By the time he released her, she was practically ready to beg for fulfillment. Shifting her body down, she ran her hands over his chest, past his stomach, stopping when she reached a nice, hard bulge. One that virtually guaranteed complete satisfaction. And she wanted it now.
She had barely curled her fingers over the waistband of his underwear when his hand closed over hers, stopping her progress.
“Uh-uh,” he whispered. “Not yet. I’m not done with you.”
“I can’t take much more.”
“Yes, you can.”
Placing his hands on her waist, he pulled her up until his head was positioned between her legs. As he kissed and nibbled the inside of her thigh, the stubble on his chin rasped against her flesh. His hands moved to her hips, and she felt his lips curve into a smile when he reached the sides of her panties.
“Easy access,” he murmured, toying with the ribbons holding the sides of her panties together. “Damn, I love these things. I’m going to have to buy you a whole drawer full of them.” He tugged on the ribbons to release them, then tossed the garment to the side. “I’ve been dreaming about doing that ever since I saw those.”
He stroked a finger over the center of her vagina. Tracing a path slowly up and down, time and time again, until her breath was coming in short, fast gasps.
She was practically panting and on the verge of begging when he finally cupped her rear with his hands and settled her over his mouth. When his tongue stroked her, then delved deep to explore, she thought she might die from pleasure. Her head fell back, her eyelids dropped closed, and her body quivered as the orgasm rolled over her. His name tumbled from her lips and ended in a moan.
She attempted to move away, intent on sliding down his body and filling herself with that part of him that she most craved. But his hands held her firmly in place.
“Clint, please.”
“Please what? Tell me what you want.” When she failed to respond, he added, “I need you to tell me.”
“I want you inside me. Now. Please.”
With a rough groan he lifted her, placing her on her back beside him. Momentarily confused by the loss of contact, she reached out to grab him, to bring him back to her. He pushed her hand away and leaned across her to open the drawer of the nightstand, withdrawing a small foil packet. Within seconds he had shed the remainder of his clothing and encased his erection in the condom. Positioning himself between her thighs, he grasped her wrists, raised her arms above her head, and pinned them to the bed.
Panic darted through her in one huge spurt. She tried to jerk her arms free, but his grip was too firm. “No,” she gasped.
“Okay.” His hold loosened, and he ran his hands down her arms. “I didn’t know. You used to like—”
“Not anymore.” The thought of being helpless terrified her. She knew it was ridiculous. This was Clint, not Matt. She knew Clint wouldn’t hurt her, but nevertheless she couldn’t shake the paralyzing fear that had filled her when he’d pinned her hands to the bed.
“All right.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I won’t do it then.”
And just like that, the tension seeped from her body and she relaxed again. He kissed her lips, over and over again—long, deep, thorough kisses—but made no move to enter her. Finally, she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him toward her in silent invitation. He entered her gently. When at last he was inside her, she felt the most overwhelming sense of completeness—pure and utter completeness.
He entered into a slow rhythm, and with each thrust she sank deeper into the glorious sensations of pleasure that ran through her body. Her hips rose underneath him as she sought to take him in deeper. Each stroke sent her higher and higher until she reached the peak.
She groaned, arching her back and digging her fingernails into his back. He plunged into her deeply, and then his movement came to a halt as he buried his face in her hair and groaned.
Clint rolled to his back, bringing Tricia with him so she was curled against his body.
“You’re a god,” she murmured. “An absolute god.”
“Well, I do aim to please,” he said smugly.
She couldn’t help but smile at the pride in his voice. His hand stroked her back gently. She closed her eyes and drifted toward sleep.
“I’ve missed you, honey,” Clint said softly.
* * * *
Clint awoke to sunlight streaming in through the window and a warm, naked woman plastered against his body. His arm was wrapped around Tricia’s waist possessively, her rear snuggled against his groin.
Reaching up, he cupped her breast in the palm of his hand and stroked a thumb over her nipple. Propping his elbow on the mattress, he rested his head in his hand and watched her nipple harden under his touch.
For years he had dreamed of touching her, of making love to her. Remembered the feel of her beneath him, writhing and moaning. But this hadn’t been yet another one of his dreams. This had actually happened.
There had been a few times last night when he had gotten a little overzealous, a little too rough. With each incident he had cursed himself. Her panic, which had been so apparent, had left him feeling despicable and vile. But each time, she had come back. She had trusted him. At the thought, a huge grin spread over his face.
When she stirred and pressed her rear more firmly against him, he leaned down to nip her earlobe between his teeth. Her hand came up to touch his cheek, and she turned her head to meet his lips with her own.
As her tongue slipped inside his mouth, he came dangerously close to reciprocating by sliding his erection inside her. Barely managing to stop in time, he silently scolded himself for his near irresponsible act.
“Don’t move a muscle,” he ordered.
Reaching across her body, he dug in the drawer of the nightstand for a condom. As he tore the wrapper open, she stirred beside him.
“No.” He placed a hand on her hip. “Stay just like you are.”
Seconds later, he curled his body behind hers and buried himself deep inside her. He reveled in the warmth and tightness he encountered. His lips curved up into a smile at the sound of her gasp.
As he moved in and out, he slid his hand down her stomach, between her legs, and stroked her clit. He waited until her muscles convulsed around him before finally allowing himself his own release.
She turned her head and met his gaze with a dazed look in her eyes. “My goodness,” she said breathlessly. “What a way to start the day.”
&
nbsp; “Well, it’s always so much fun to begin the day with a bang.” He winked at her, gave her a quick peck on the lips, then got up and strolled, stark naked, to the bathroom.
A half an hour later, showered and dressed, he followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, he watched Tricia bending across the table to wipe it off. Her rear, looking utterly sensational encased in those snug shorts, taunted him. He took the few steps necessary to reach her and rubbed a hand possessively over her butt.
“Now, that’s a tempting picture,” he murmured.
Straightening, she slapped his hand and then turned to place a hand on his chest and push him away. She didn’t push hard, but she pushed just the same. He backed up a step and raised his eyebrow.
“You’re insatiable.” Her voice was flat. Not light, not teasing, not playful, not even friendly. Hell, it was one step away from icy. Was this the same woman he’d made love to less than an hour ago?
He shook the thought out of his head. Of course it was. He was being ridiculous. People didn’t move from hot to cold that quickly. That chilly tone had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination. It must have been.
As Tricia set napkins and silverware on the table, Clint filled two mugs with coffee. When he took a seat, she placed a plate in front of him that was filled to overflowing with pancakes and some type of omelet.
“Looks good.” He grabbed the bottle of syrup and drenched the pancakes in it. Using his fork, he cut through the omelet and lifted a bite to his mouth. When his mouth closed around the combination of eggs, ham, and melted cheese, he couldn’t stop the groan that erupted from his throat. “This is delicious.”
“Thank you.”
The pleased look in her eyes and the small smile that tugged at her lips only served to reinforce his belief that all was right with the world.
“You better be careful, honey,” he warned playfully. “A man could get used to this. He might want it every day.”
The smile evaporated from her lips, and she stared at him for a long moment without responding. So long in fact, that a feeling of uneasiness crept up his spine. He studied her face, trying to determine her thoughts. But damned if he knew what she was thinking. Her face was expressionless, her eyes unreadable.
She picked up her mug and took a sip of coffee. “In that case,” she said, setting the mug carefully on the table, “I’d better not do it again.”
Picking up her fork, she dug into her breakfast while his mind replayed her words. Not do it again? What was that supposed to mean? She didn’t want him to want it every day?
Because she has no intention of being here to provide it every day. Clint struggled to silence the aggravating voice in his head, but it was persistent.
“You trying to tell me something?” He kept his tone light, despite the seriousness of the question. He hoped for—no, he needed—reassurance that he was simply overanalyzing things. That there was no hidden meaning behind the words.
She lifted a shoulder. “I just want to make sure we’re both on the same page. Last night was nice—”
“Nice?” His brow lifted at the extremely insulting adjective.
Definitely not the word he would have used to describe the experience. He could have sworn he felt the earth move. And from her reaction, he would have bet money that it had been the same for her.
“Yes. It was very nice.” She shifted in her seat and ran a hand through her hair.
“I suppose the word regret is coming next?”
“No. It happened. It would be pointless to regret it now.”
“That’s right, and you wanted it to happen just as much as I did. You initiated it. I gave you every chance to stop it. All you had to do was say the word, and I would have walked away.” It would have killed him, but he would have done it. “No, stop, don’t—that’s all you had to say to put an end to it. But you didn’t say any of those words.” He threw his fork on the table, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms. “Do I need to remind you what words you did say?”
“No,” she said quickly. A blush covered her face, and she averted her gaze. She set her fork down and rubbed a hand over her forehead. Finally, her gaze returned to his. “Why are you being so defensive?”
“I want to make sure you remember things as they actually occurred.”
“I do. I wanted it to happen. I’m not denying that. But I want to make it clear to you that it was only sex. Nothing’s changed. This is only a temporary situation. Once Matt’s gone, I’m leaving, and we won’t see each other again.”
“I see.” He reached in his shirt pocket for a cigarette and lit it. “So you felt nothing.”
“I felt lust. That’s all.”
“Lust,” he repeated.
His imagination must have been in overdrive then because he could have sworn it was more than lust. Apparently, he had been hallucinating.
He lifted the cigarette to his mouth, inhaled, and blew out a stream of smoke. “So, from what you’ve said, it sounds as if you intend to stay here until Matt’s gone. You know, you have your keys now, you can leave anytime you like.”
She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. “I thought you didn’t mind if I stayed, but if you’d rather I left…”
“You can stay as long as you need.”
“Okay then. But just so you know, there’s not going to be a repeat performance of what happened last night.”
What the hell had happened? An hour ago, she had been pressing her body against his, moaning his name.
“Honey,” he drawled, “there was already a repeat performance this morning.”
“This morning you caught me off guard.”
“True. But you enjoyed it nevertheless.” His lips curved up. “Didn’t you?”
“That’s hardly the point.”
“I’d say enjoyment is a big point of sex. Why not repeat it? It’s nothing more than a pleasurable experience, no emotions involved to get things all tangled up. What would be the harm? Maybe you should explain it to me. Use real simple terms so I can understand it.”
She exhaled a loud breath. “You’re just being difficult now.” Shoving her chair away from the table, she picked up her plate and carried it to the sink.
He watched silently as she filled the sink with water and began washing the dishes. There was no way, absolutely no way, he had been so mistaken. She had felt something. For a brief time she had let down her shield, had let him inside. But now, those defenses were right back in place again.
She’s scared.
Reaching for his mug, he stood and walked over to the coffee pot. After filling his cup, he leaned against the counter, staring at her back. He sipped his coffee as he mulled over what to say, searched for a way to reach her.
“Tricia,” he said softly, sitting the cup on the counter. “Not every man is like Matt.”
Her back stiffened. “I understand very little about men. But the one thing I do understand is you can’t trust them.”
“And I top the list of untrustworthy.” There was the real issue.
She didn’t reply, merely lifted a shoulder in apparent agreement.
“If you would let me explain what happened, why I—”
“There’s nothing to explain.” She whirled around to face him. “The fact that I saw—I saw—you with your…tallywacker,” she sputtered with a gesture of her hand toward his crotch, “inside another woman—not just any woman, but a friend of mine—told me everything I needed to know.”
“Tallywacker,” he muttered. “Well, I guess that’s a better term than little thing. But your memory is a little faulty. My tallywacker wasn’t in anything but my pants.”
“And her hand was shoved inside your pants. It didn’t exactly look like you were resisting. You appeared to be enjoying it and fully participating. If I hadn’t walked in on you, you would have been inside her eventually.” She paused long enough to tilt her head. “But maybe I’m wrong. Was she attacking you, Clint
? Was she forcing you to participate against your will?”
“No.” He rubbed a hand over his throbbing forehead. “But you don’t know the reason—”
“There’s no reason that could excuse it,” she spit out.
“You don’t want to know the reason because you’re afraid if you did, you might—”
“Forgive?” she asked, her brow raised in question. “In your dreams.”
He clenched his jaw and prayed for patience. “If you don’t stop interrupting me…”
She propped her hands on her hips, glared at him. “What? Are you resorting to threats now? Oh yeah, you’re not like Matt at all.”
Clint turned and walked away. His hands closed over the back of the kitchen chair. He was so frustrated he felt like picking it up and smashing it against the wall. What he did instead was clutch it so tightly his knuckles turned white. He inhaled deeply and counted backward from ten. When that didn’t work, he counted backward from twenty. Finally, he turned around to face her and found her standing in exactly the same position, eyeing him warily.
“That’s the second time you’ve compared me to Matt.” He was careful to keep his voice quiet and calm. “Don’t do it again.”
He headed for the door and stomped off toward the barn.
“Damn frustrating woman,” he muttered.
She absolutely refused to talk about the one thing they needed to discuss. The obstacle that stood between them like a huge brick wall.
Why the hell should he care?
An hour later, he leaned the pitchfork against the side of the barn. Lifting the hat from his head, he wiped a forearm across his brow to remove the layer of sweat. With a sigh, he replaced the hat on his head.
He cared because he was tired of being viewed as the bad guy. Eight years of it was long enough. Wasn’t that exactly what you wanted—to make her think you were the bad guy?
Yes, and he had definitely accomplished that goal.
There was no denying the fact that he’d been…intimate with her friend. Had done it knowing Tricia would catch them in the act. Even if she hadn’t, someone else would have, and they would have made damn sure Tricia knew about it.