Second Hope

by J. B. McDonald

  He gave her plenty of time to step away. To put a halt to things, to stop it all now. He gave her too much time. Impatient, she closed the final distance between them, feeling the quiet laugh of surprise against her mouth just before she pressed her lips to his, opening to taste him.

  His arms came around her, surrounding her. Only then was she aware how much had been held back with one arm in a sling. Broad hands slid up her back, pressing her near, molding them together. Her whole body felt electrified, from her hips to the peaks of her breasts, brushing over his chest. He traced the breadth of her shoulders, cupping his hands over the muscle and sliding down her arms.

  She tugged at his shirt, wanting to feel skin against skin. He moaned softly when she finally reached her goal. He was flesh over steel, hard planes sheathed in softness, small hairs tickling her fingers.

  She stepped away, laughing at his wordless protest. Her eyes had adapted to the dark. He looked uncertain and hungry all at once, the lines of his face gone from gentle to strained—and still he didn’t push, didn’t come after her, waiting for her to make the next move. She felt powerful, unconquerable. Her smile was pure sensuality as she pulled at the hem of his shirt. He grabbed the edge himself and dragged it off over his head in a sinuous movement. Just the sight of it made Nat’s blood run hot through her veins, warming her with a burst through her stomach and down in a blazing spiral.

  When he stepped closer again she put a hand out, enjoying tense muscles halting at her command. She wanted to look at him, to memorize every sinew and shadow, every small scar and curl of hair. It was blonder on his chest than it was on his head, sprinkled across pectorals. She traced the line of it, listening to his breath catch as her fingers skid over the rise and fall of muscle. She could feel his heartbeat under his skin, see it in his jugular. Hers echoed in response, throbbing under her rib cage.

  The hair on his chest thinned and drew down to a line pouring over his abdomen before disappearing at the waistband of his jeans. She flicked a nail over the button, watching his reaction. His muscles tensed, flesh swelling behind the denim zipper. This time when he stepped forward she let him, meeting him halfway, running her hands up along the heavy pads of muscle over his ribs. Everything about him was solid power, like rock under her palms. She buried her face in his neck and inhaled, enjoying the smell of him, the heavy nature scents that collected in his throat. She groaned as his hands slid down her back, lower to cup her and pull her closer. When she was as snug against him as possible his hands rubbed higher, dragging her shirt free and pulling it up over her head.

  She arched away to get rid of the confining material, then leaned in again. She wanted to know if he tasted as good as he smelled. Wanted to know every inch of him. Wanted to lose herself in sensation. Her tongue swept over his collarbones and up his throat, nibbling at the heavy tendons along his neck. She bit hard enough to get a hiss from him. Lust coiled as her nipples dragged over his chest.

  He ducked his head, his tongue flicking out, teasing over the shell of her ear. She shivered as he undid her bra, his touch featherlight over her skin when he stepped back and slid it down her arms. Calluses lent an edge to his gentle care, making goose bumps rise along her arms and down her torso. His hands brushed the sides of her breasts before his thumbs caressed her areolas, edging around the hard point of her nipple teasingly. Her fingers stuttered against his shoulders as tension whipped through her, drawing her spine into a bow. He lowered his head, tongue dragging achingly slow over the hard nub, pulling a shattered breath from her lungs. He sucked on her nipple, sending shards of sensation sparking through her body. Her hands clenched in thick locks of hair, holding him there.

  Still he pulled away, capturing her mouth with his, tugging her toward the bedroom. When she realized where he was going she took the lead.

  Moonlight poured through the big window, painting the thick carpeting a white-blue. The same light played over Cole’s skin, creating hazy shadows that pooled like velvet. She wanted to touch him again, to taste him, to feel him pressing against her. Her heart thrummed in her body, making her skin sizzle. She could feel the heat from him, radiating out to surround her.

  Urgency grew as he stepped closer, his rough hands nearly circling her waist. He pressed into her, gentleness shedding away in the tiniest increments. His fingers slid under the waistband of her jeans, spreading across her skin and kneading into muscle. She pulled at the button on his fly, feeling it slip out of the hole, then unzipped his pants. The click of metal was loud in the silence, sending an answering shudder down her spine.

  His lips found her temple, her ear, teeth nibbling along the shell. She tried not to let it distract her. When she dragged at his jeans he hooked his thumbs in the beltloops and tugged, kicking them to one side, hands going to her pants. She glanced down, watching, a thrill chasing through her at the sight of darkly tanned hands against her skin, at the sight of large knuckles and blunt fingers careful against her. He was shaking, she realized, and felt powerful and sexy all at once. She twitched when her pants came open, startled at the sensation of his hands against her so intimately.

  He paused, eyes narrowing at her in wary thought, and she froze in return, picking up on his shift in mood.

  His gaze dropped, first to her breasts, then to the floor between them. A flush rose up his cheeks, and he wiggled one finger in a fidget—then stopped when he realized he was brushing her stomach. “Ah, Nat?”

  She braced for something to go wrong, the heat that had been building cooling suddenly. “What?”

  His blush deepened. He looked over her shoulder, at the king-sized bed against the far wall with the painting of galloping horses over it. “You…you’ve had sex before, right?”

  It was her turn to go red, though she laughed it off. “Yeah, Cole. I’ve had sex.” Not often, that was true enough, and it had been years, but she wasn’t about to be a blushing virgin. Well, blushing, maybe.

  His relief was palpable. “Oh, thank God. For a minute there…”

  She didn’t know if she should feel awkward or laugh, but before she could decide on either he kissed her again, and all thought of either one fled under the onslaught of his tongue and teeth. She shivered at his touch and pulled her jeans down, pausing to glare at them when they caught on the swell of hips.

  Grinning, Nat stepped away and shimmied out of them, ecstatic when his eyes darkened with appreciation. She’d barely gotten them off when he closed the distance, bending to sweep her up and walk the last few feet to the bed. Her surprised laugh was muffled by his mouth, following her down and claiming her lips, stealing her breath. She looped her arms around his neck, keeping him close. His hair begged to be stroked and she did so, burying her fingers in the thick locks, feeling them slide like silk over her.

  His hand drifted purposefully down her body, thumb rubbing her nipple before dragging lower, over her hip, down the outside of her thigh. She nearly whimpered, shifting restlessly. Her leg rose, toes curling into the bedspread as his palm slid to her knee and then moved to the inside of her leg, back toward the center of her body. She arched up, groaning when his fingers slid under the cloth and against her sex-slick flesh, already swollen with need.

  All the desire that had been building for the last few weeks crashed through her, tightening her body as he slid his fingers inside her, thumb rubbing against her clit at the same time. Even two fingers felt large, and she shuddered with the feel of it, her face buried in the crook between his neck and shoulder as his other arm slid behind her neck, holding her closer and supporting his weight at once. She kissed his shoulder, licking before biting down gently, tasting the salt of his skin, the unique flavor that was him and him alone.

  His hand moved and he tugged at her underwear. She lifted her hips, breath quickening. With a final kiss on the line of her neck he slid down, pausing to suck on her breast, sliding farther to nuzzle against the triangle of pubic hair. His tongue flicked out and she dug her heels into the bed, startled at the jolt of sensa
tion that speared into her belly.

  He chuckled, the vibrations rumbling against her, and repeated it. Nat breathed an oath and spread her legs wider, body spasming as his tongue swept over her again and again, sliding lower to sink into her, rising up to brush over her clit. Her muscles tensed. Heat built and crested, spreading through her body, down her thighs. It built once more, growing hotter and stronger with each new stroke of his tongue. Perfection picked her up and swept her along. She felt as if the world were drawing inward, blocking out everything, sound and light vanishing in a kaleidoscope of color and sensation. It crested up and over in a wave of pleasure.

  There was a long moment before she was aware of anything else. Then it was a smugly masculine smile on a face above hers, a hand stroking down the side of her body over and over.

  There was one definite way that she knew of to get rid of that expression. With a wicked grin she put her hand on his chest, sliding it down the ridges of muscle. He was still wearing briefs, his erection straining against the front of them. His eyes shuttered closed for a moment when she rubbed down his length, tracing the outline of his dick through cotton. She reached up, catching the sides of his underwear and tugging. He lifted away almost instantly, pulling them down and tossing them aside, then standing and walking to his jeans.

  A quick search through the pockets brought forth a condom, and then he turned and strode back toward her, all hard muscle. Her eyes drifted over him, taking in clean lines and the heavy erection between his legs. Anticipation shuddered through her, muscles twinging with the aftereffects of her orgasm. She sat up to meet him partway, catching his mouth in a kiss, sliding her hand down his body to his cock. He groaned into her as she skimmed her fingers over the shaft, then wrapped her hand around him and pumped once, slowly.

  He caught her wrist, breaking the kiss even as he leaned over her. “I’m just not going to last if you do that.”

  The admission made her laugh, made her feel wanted and sensuous. She broke free, taking the condom from his hand and tearing it open. It took a bit of shifting but she finally slid it on him, feeling heat spread through her when he held his breath, eyes heavy-lidded but unable to look away. Then he was smoothing his hands up her body, pausing at her breasts to skim his palms over her nipples, light brushes that sent little bursts of fire through her muscles to her groin. The head of his cock nudged at her, blunt and thick. She lifted her hips, arms linking with Cole’s as he pressed forward.

  She groaned as he pushed slowly into her, letting her head drop back and focusing on the sensation of being stretched and filled. Her legs trembled and she lifted one, changing the angle, opening farther. He slid into her deeply, carefully, giving her a chance to adjust to his size, his length. She shuddered underneath him, flesh still over-sensitized from the earlier orgasm.

  When he was as far as he could go, when he was pressed intimately against her, he stopped and caught her mouth in another kiss. She whimpered against him, balanced somewhere precariously between pleasure and pain, nails digging into his shoulders. Her body stretched, adapting, adjusting, and pleasure overrode any lingering discomfort. With a tiny noise in the back of her throat she moved, lifting her hips slightly and holding her breath at the sparkle of light that movement caused behind her eyes.

  Cole groaned, pulling out and thrusting back in, slow at first and then faster when she gasped and hooked her leg around his waist. She’d already orgasmed once, but she felt another build as his powerful body moved over hers, driving into her. With each thrust she was pushed closer to the brink, the world fading around her until all that was left was him and her and the way they felt, joined.

  Sensation burst, her body tensing like a drawn bow as she tightened around him. Light pulsed through her, throbbing with heat and perfection. She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t care.

  Slowly, she came down off the heights, became aware again of her surroundings. Cole gasped hard against her, most of his weight held up by his arm, his face pressed into her shoulder. She lifted a hand and stroked it down the rigid muscles of his back, feeling them jerk and shiver under her touch. With difficulty he lifted his head, nuzzling a kiss into her throat. He rolled, pulling her with him, settling her over his chest with a heartfelt sigh.

  Nat chuckled and reached down between them, finding the condom and pulling it off. She tossed it in the trash to one side, then laid her head on the mat of heavy muscle over the thump of Cole’s heart. His hand traced the same path down her spine that she’d marked down his, though his palm and fingers covered nearly her whole back. She relaxed into him, still shivering with the occasional run-through of aftershocks.

  Cole chuckled. “Good?”

  She was wet, and vaguely sore, and completely filled with bliss. “Good.”

  “How long has it been since you—”

  “Don’t ask.”

  He laughed again, rolling once more so she slid to the mattress beside him. He leaned on his arm above her, his other hand lowering to drift down her body and back up, somewhere between soothing and admiring. “You know that’s a turn-on, right?”

  Her snort was decidedly unladylike. She curled into the safe hollow he made, turning her face into his skin. “Men are strange.” Legs shifted and settled, curling closer to him.

  “Well, no argument about that. But it’s still a turn-on. So is this.”

  “This?” she asked sleepily. His palm drifted across the edge of her breast and she arched into it before it continued down her side, over her hip.

  “This snuggling thing.”

  “Oh, good,” Nat teased. “I was really worried that it might be a turn-off.” She rolled, closing the space between them.

  “Hmmm.” He stroked again, over and down the side of her body. It was soothing, relaxing her into idle slumber. Lips pressed against her hair. “I don’t think you could do anything that wasn’t arousing.” The words were so quiet she almost didn’t hear them, muffled against her. But she did, and she smiled, tucking herself closer.

  Buddha was bleeding all over the kitchen floor. He looked up at her, screaming in pain with a voice that was human, sobbing like a small child.

  She couldn’t help him. She couldn’t do anything but watch, trapped behind ropey vines that she couldn’t cut through. All she had was a butter knife.

  To one side, the cougar crept closer and closer, its eyes bloodthirsty, its claws and fangs serrated and already trailing flesh. Nat cried out, yelled to try and chase it away, reached for the gun and aimed at it.

  The bullet slammed into Buddha. He didn’t die, then, either, but only sobbed in new pain and looked at her with betrayal in his eyes—

  She woke up crying, fighting against arms that held her tightly. A voice tried to drown out hers, telling her it would be all right, it was just a dream. But it wasn’t a dream. As warped as it had been, it was more memory than anything else.

  Curling into the broad chest in front of her, Nat let her hands tighten into fists. She saw it suddenly, the image she’d been so careful to ignore, the sight of Buddha bloody and torn. Bile rose in the back of her throat and she fought to get to the bathroom, only to have strong muscles hold her there.

  She didn’t know what he thought was going on, but it obviously wasn’t the truth. “Gonna barf,” she managed, and his grip shifted with haste, hauling her over the bed to the other side.

  Nat staggered on her feet and threw herself toward the doorway. She made it to the toilet just as vomit surged into her mouth. Stomach convulsing, she heaved. Vaguely, she was aware of Cole standing nearby, of water running. None of it mattered as she brought up whatever food was left from dinner. When she was done retching, she reached up with a trembling hand and flushed. Water swirled away in a rush, carrying with it the smell of stomach acid. Shakily, she sagged back against the wall.

  Fingers brushed her jaw, tipping her face up. She opened her eyes and stared at Cole as he lifted a wet rag, patting it over her skin before sliding it down her throat. “Drink?” he asked.
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  She looked past him to the cup of water sitting on the bathroom counter. One nod was all she could manage.

  He stepped away, picking up the cup and offering it wordlessly. Nat took it, sloshing it around in her mouth before pushing away from the wall to the sink. She spat and rinsed again, relieved to note that her heart rate was slowing. When the worst of the taste was gone, she picked up her toothbrush and some toothpaste and scrubbed until there wasn’t even a lingering aftertaste of bile.

  “Must have been some dream,” Cole remarked when she was done.

  She debated shrugging it off, but heard herself speak before she could. “Buddha…” That was all, just that one word that conveyed everything. Water filled her eyes, making her vision blur.

  Strong arms wrapped around her, cocooning her in a protective embrace. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  Nat turned her face into his bare chest, hiding the tears that came then, that refused to remain at bay. She didn’t know how long they stood there for, though it couldn’t have been too long. She didn’t want to know, really. Crying was a weakness she couldn’t afford; they had too many horses that didn’t make it, that had to be put down.

  But they hadn’t ever been her horses, before. They hadn’t ever been horses that had been attacked by a wild animal. They certainly hadn’t been horses she’d looked in the eye and shot. She kept crying.

  Eventually, the tears abated. They left her eyes red and swollen, her throat raw, her heart still broken though it was a little less painful. She became aware of other things; the cool tile against her feet, the rustling of the oak outside, the thump of Cole’s heart. It was that last that was the most potent, somehow, as if she could feel it throughout her bones. As if it beat a promise to keep her safe, keep her secure, give her the time and strength she needed to heal.