Unbuttoned

by Maisey Yates

  “Honest things. What you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. I like that much better than the snark you used to dish out.”

  “The snark was honest,” she said.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “You’ve always made me feel . . . tight. Like my skin didn’t fit. And that made me act like I did. Well, it was part of it. And now . . . I have another way to release it. I recognize what the feeling is a little bit better.”

  “And what is it?”

  “Lust,” she said, embracing it fully now.

  “I see. What do you want?”

  She looked away. “You.”

  “No. Tell me, specifically, what you want.”

  She looked back up, met his eyes. She’d taken his challenge on earlier, and it had ended in ecstasy. She wanted to do it again. Wanted to stop hiding behind layers of civility that she’d put into place to make everyone else feel comfortable, but had nothing to do with who she actually was. Had nothing to do with what she wanted—just with what she wanted people to see.

  “I want to . . . to taste you,” she said.

  “Where?” he asked, his voice rough.

  “Your . . .” She knew some dirty words but she’d never said them out loud. She supposed now was the time. “Your cock.”

  Heat flared in his dark eyes. “Then what?” he asked, his voice rough, hoarse.

  “I want you . . . inside of me.”

  “Is that all?”

  “I want you to make me come,” she said, keeping her eyes on his, ignoring the burning in her cheeks.

  He moved to the edge of the bed and she scooted forward on her knees, looking up at him, and she lowered her head and ran her tongue along the head of his erection. His hands went to her hair, his fingers tightening, pulling. It hurt a little, and she found she didn’t dislike it. Not at all.

  She took more of him into her mouth, her hands curled around his hips, fingernails digging into his buttocks. She could feel his muscles trembling beneath her palms as she continued to lavish pleasure on him, as she continued to explore him.

  He was hers. Hers. And she would do with him what she wanted. Touch him, taste him. All of him.

  She ran her tongue along the length of him, relishing the tremor that racked his body, the tightening of his fingers in her hair. He was close to the edge, close to losing it, because of her. She was close to bringing Lucas Miller to his knees.

  She wrapped her fingers around his shaft and squeezed him tight as she circled him with her tongue.

  He let out a sharp curse. “Okay, if you want to get to the rest of your fantasy, you’re going to have to let me go now.”

  “Mmmm,” she said, lifting her head. “I don’t want to.”

  “Well, if you want to come too, you’re going to have to.”

  A second later she was flat on her back, Lucas, hot and naked, over her, kissing her, long and deep. She arched into him, lacing her fingers through his hair as he worked at the buttons on her top, his hands clumsy now, where before they’d been smooth.

  It only took him a few seconds to get her completely naked, to pull her against him, skin to skin. It felt so good. He felt so good. Better, more intimate than she’d ever imagined sex could be.

  He reached over to his bedside table, where the condoms still sat, and took care of precautions before sliding deep inside of her.

  He kissed her, driving them both to the height of pleasure with an ease that startled her. Her orgasm washed over her, pushing every thought from her mind, leaving her filled with the deepest, most powerful emotion she’d ever felt. Leaving her weak and shaking.

  And she watched Lucas’s face when he reached the peak, held him while he shuddered out his own orgasm, his mouth hot on her neck, her name on his lips.

  And afterward, he just held her, stroked her hair, told her how beautiful she was.

  After Lucas took care of practicalities, he slid back into bed beside her, tugging her up against him. She rested her head on his chest, felt his heart pounding hard beneath her cheek.

  She felt like a dam had burst inside of her. There were so many things flooding through her, a sense of freedom, pleasure, emotion, like she’d never known before.

  When she’d said those things to him, told him what she’d wanted . . . never in her life, not even forty-eight hours ago, had she imagined she would ever say anything like that to another person. That she would ever expose those intimate thoughts and desires to someone else.

  It had turned her on to talk to him like that, and exposing that piece of herself, the part that wanted to make demands in bed, and submit to her partner’s, took a measure of trust that went way beyond lust.

  Because these were desires she’d barely let herself acknowledge she had. And now she’d exposed them to Lucas.

  But it didn’t scare her. It should, and she knew it, but it still didn’t.

  “Tell me something, Lucas,” she said, suddenly desperate to try and even the score between them. To know something about him that no one else knew.

  “What do you want to know, sugar?”

  “I don’t know. Something. Those nights you came to our house for dinner . . . what was happening at your house?”

  “You know what was happening.”

  “I know. I mean . . . I know that your father was drinking. But . . .”

  “But you want details?”

  It felt intrusive, but she wanted to understand him. To have a piece of him. “Kind of.”

  “He wasn’t violent when he drank, Carly. He never has been. He’s still not. He gets maudlin. He cries sometimes. He mainly sits in front of the TV until he passes out. Oh, I hated finding him passed out. I found him more than once out stone cold on the bathroom floor, his head in a puddle of his own vomit. It’s ugly, Carly, and I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t want to see how weak he was.”

  Her chest tightened. “Oh . . . Lucas, I’m sorry. You don’t have to—”

  “No. That’s not really the sad thing. The sad thing is that my mother did that to him. To us. He was actually all right before she left. I think people thought he was drinking beforehand, that he drove her away. You know how people talk.”

  “Oh, boy. I do.”

  “She just left us. I’ve always wondered what was wrong with him. What was wrong with me. What mother leaves her child?”

  Her stomach ached, her entire body hurting for him. For the boy he’d been. For the man he was. She dropped a kiss onto his chest. “Not a good mother. It wasn’t you, Lucas, you have to know that.”

  “I do. But . . . not always. You know how it is.”

  She swallowed hard. “In my experience, people who don’t deserve it get left. People who deserve to get left don’t. The fault lies with the one who left, or, in the case of my family, didn’t.”

  “Your dad’s a bastard.”

  “I know. He is. But why does she stay?”

  He put his hand on her shoulder, his fingers tracing a path over her skin. “I don’t know.”

  “She lets him make an idiot out of her. She doesn’t even threaten to leave anymore. She just lets him do what he wants, and then she wails about how much he hurts her. About how sad her life is. And she does it in public so the whole world can see. She wears her total and utter devotion, her crazy version of love for this man, on her sleeve and he doesn’t deserve it. Any more than you deserved to have your mom leave. People just do things. Stupid things.”

  “And that’s why you’ve avoided men?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath. “Yeah. Essentially. What if she was like me before she met him? What if she was strong and independent? And had goals and plans and then . . . and then she just let him steal it all? Let her obsession with him make a fool of her, turn her into a shell of the woman she could have been.”

  “I suppose my dad’s l
et love do the same thing to him,” he said.

  “Is that why you avoid relationships?”

  “I don’t really avoid them. I’ve just had temporary relationships because I haven’t found anyone I want to keep yet. Or anyone who wants to keep me.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” She rested her head on his chest again, trying to ignore the small tearing feeling in her chest. Lucas hadn’t settled down because he just wasn’t the kind of man who would easily consider it. Sometimes she wondered if any man settled down, or if some of them were just better at hiding their infidelity than others.

  But Lucas. . . .she couldn’t really imagine Lucas betraying anyone. Lucas was so much more than she’d given him credit for. She’d imagined him as some kind of pleasure seeker, the kind who got his kicks from the number of notches he got to carve into his bed post.

  But she didn’t think so now. Not now that she was really seeing him.

  Her chest burned. How in the world had Lucas Miller gotten himself so tangled up in her heart?

  And then she knew the truth. He’d never been untangled from it.

  Chapter Eight

  Okay, so he was a liar. He’d lied to his best friend in order to get the man’s little sister into his bed. And he couldn’t muster up any guilt about it. Not when he felt like he did. Sated and hot for her at the same time, his body buzzing with the lingering aftereffects of a whole night of pleasure.

  He felt happy. The kind of happy he couldn’t remember ever feeling before. The kind that went deep, made him feel a sense of peace. Contentment. And it was all because of Carly.

  The early morning he’d told Mac about was basically a late night, since he and Carly had hardly gotten any sleep. Short naps in between jumping each other was about the extent of it.

  And right now, he was getting ready to make Carly pancakes. She was still sleeping, soft and naked and beautiful in his bed.

  He was starting to think he wanted to keep her there for as long as he could. Forever would be nice. He’d never wanted forever from anyone before, but from Carly it seemed like a necessity. The other alternative was not having her, and that just wasn’t an option in his mind.

  Of course, he might want forever, but actually being able to have it—that was another thing entirely.

  He didn’t know where the thought had come from. Or why he’d thought, even for a moment, it might be possible. Carly was . . . well, she was much too good for him. In terms of playing for keeps, anyway.

  His own mother hadn’t wanted to stick with him. There was no reason on earth that a woman like Carly, a woman with a business degree and perfectly tailored suits, a woman who didn’t like dirt and didn’t like to sweat, would want to stay with a man like him.

  A slight smile curved up the corners of his lips. He’d made Carly sweat last night and she hadn’t seemed to mind. So maybe there were some things about him that would make the negatives seem worth it.

  There was a sharp knock on the door, and Lucas headed that direction without giving it too much thought. It was early, but a lot of his hired hands got early starts.

  He swung the door open and froze when he saw Mac standing there. Hell. How had he found out? He could see Mac’s truck, could see the rifle up in the rack in the back window. If he went for it, Lucas would have time to haul ass if needed.

  Not that he really thought his friend would use it. Not really.

  Then his eyes fell to what his friend was holding in his hand, and that put the fear of God in him. The gun wasn’t a worry, but the burdizzo, a handy castration implement currently in Mac’s possession, was a damn big one.

  He swallowed. “What’s up, Mac?”

  “I came to help with the calves.”

  That answer sent a wave of relief through him. Relief that only lasted for a second, since it dawned on him that there would be no calf castration today, and that meant his friend was here for no reason. With a tool that could easily separate his balls from his body. While Mac’s little sister slept upstairs. Naked. Recently tumbled. In his bed.

  Shit.

  “I rescheduled,” he said, crossing his arms over his bare chest, blocking his friend’s entry into the house.

  “You rescheduled? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Well, I told you I didn’t need your help.”

  “Which also didn’t make sense. We help each other out with this stuff.”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t have anything going on that needs . . . help.”

  He heard the padding of bare feet on the stairs behind him and his heart stopped. He didn’t look. He didn’t want to draw Mac’s attention. He stepped slightly to the right and tried to block the view with his body, but Mac was already trying to look around him.

  And then the footsteps stopped, and he knew exactly what Mac was seeing over his left shoulder. Carly, wearing some piece of clothing or another, frozen, staring openmouthed.

  The shift in expressions on Mac’s face would have been funny if Lucas’s demise wasn’t imminent. The expression went from confused, to more greatly confused, to a kind of cold fury that seemed to radiate from him.

  He pushed past Lucas. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.

  Lucas turned, and saw his theory confirmed. Carly, in his t-shirt, which just touched the top of her thighs, her hair a tumbled mess, standing at the base of the stairs, looking utterly horrified.

  “I was . . . going to help with the cows?” she said, her voice pitched much higher than it normally was.

  “Right,” Mac said, crossing his arms over his chest, the burdizzo still in his hand. “Start talking.”

  “Why?” she asked, pushing her blonde hair off of her forehead. “I’m a grown woman, Mac, I don’t have to explain my actions to you.”

  “When your actions appear to be bunking with my best friend you damn well do.”

  “Mac, leave her alone,” Lucas said. He was fine catching heat from Mac—he deserved it, in fact—but he wasn’t going to let him yell at Carly about it.

  “Fine.” Mac rounded on him. “Then you start talking. Explain why the hell my little sister is at your house wearing your shirt and nothing else.” Lucas had only ever seen Mac angry a few times. And every one of those times, the anger had been directed at Mac and Carly’s father for his continued horrible treatment of their mother.

  But right now, for the first time, it was directed at him. And he wasn’t sure he was going to escape it without having some punches thrown at him.

  And he deserved it. Not for sleeping with Carly, because Carly had wanted him, and what she wanted mattered, not what Mac wanted.

  But for lying. Yeah, for that he deserved a punch in the face.

  All right, and a little for sleeping with Carly, but only because if he’d had a sister he would have done the same.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mac. But this was just between Carly and me, and I really didn’t see the point of bringing you into it.”

  “You shouldn’t be in it at all. She’s my sister, you asshole.”

  Lucas scrubbed his hand over his hair. “I know.”

  “And I trusted you. And you’re a lying bastard who slept with my sister. And we both know you aren’t going to marry her or anything.”

  Now it was Lucas’s turn to want to hit something. “Are you accusing me of using her? That’s one too far, Mac.”

  “What? You’re telling me you aren’t? All you do is use women. I know, I’ve been doing it with you for the better part of my adult life.”

  “So you assume I’d do that to Carly? Because I was as much of a jackass as you were when we were younger, that’s all you think I am now?”

  “You don’t even like Carly! She doesn’t like you. You’re at each other’s throats constantly. You can’t pretend you suddenly hav
e feelings for her.”

  He did, though. And he understood just how strong they were the moment Mac accused him of not having any. The realization was enough to bring him to his knees. But there was no way he could say anything about it. Not yet. Not when he was just realizing that they existed. Not when he had a very angry audience looking on, either.

  “Get out, Mac.”

  His friend crossed his very large arms over his chest. “You can’t tell me to get out.”

  Lucas looked around the living room. “Uh . . . yes, I can. This is my house.”

  “And that’s my sister.”

  “Who has free will, I believe.”

  “Who is standing right here,” Carly said. “Mac, shut the hell up. Seriously. Stop acting like I’m not in the room. Stop acting like I can’t make my own decisions, or like I’m some damsel in distress when I am damn well not.” She turned on Lucas. “And you, you stop it too.”

  Lucas threw his arms out wide. “What did I do?”

  “The same thing he did. Speaking for me.”

  “Well, you weren’t speaking.”

  She turned pink to the roots of her hair. “I’m standing here half naked, and I’m embarrassed, and actually,” she directed her focus to her brother, “Mac, get out.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Why? Do you think Lucas dragged me to his bed by the hair? I hopped into it,” she said, her voice trembling now. “I made the choice, okay? So it’s not really any of your business. I’m sorry it makes you mad. No, no I’m not sorry it makes you mad. You have no right to let it make you mad. I’m not yours. I’m not . . . anyone’s. I’m mine, and I can make my own damn mistakes.”

  “So, now I’m a mistake?” Lucas asked, anger burning through him.

  She held up her hand. “Not the time, Lucas.”

  “You just called me a mistake.”

  “You will be,” she said, her voice rising. “We both know that.”

  “Why, because Mac says it will be? Because Mac says he doesn’t think I want anything from you but sex?”

  “Watch it,” Mac said, teeth gritted.

  “Out,” Lucas said.