by Maisey Yates
“Not in the least,” he said, his hands tightening on the sheets, holding fistfuls of material, trying to keep himself from doing something out of line. Like grabbing her hair and tugging hard, holding her to him.
Yeah, that was something you probably shouldn’t do with a woman who’d been a virgin roughly two weeks ago.
But he wanted to do it. Later. Next time. Oh yeah, next time.
Except one of his hands released its hold on the sheet and migrated to her hair without his permission. He sifted his fingers through the strawberry strands, flecks of deeper red and gold catching the light from his bedside lamp.
Then she took him into her mouth, a low, long moan from her vibrating through his body. He tightened his hold on her, tugging at that gorgeous hair. And he half expected her to get mad at him, or wonder what the hell he was doing. But instead she took him in deeper.
And he pulled her hair harder, flexing his hips in time with her movements. This felt like the first time. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a blow job—sad but true. Years. Seven years, maybe. His wife had quit giving those about the time he’d popped the question. As if the rock he’d put on her finger was her Get Out of Jail Free card for foreplay.
But he wasn’t going to think about the past now. Not when the present was so damn perfect. Not when Sarah’s mouth was so wet, warm and attentive on his skin. Not when he had a woman lavishing him with attention, a woman who didn’t yell at him for pulling her hair or for wanting to play a game where he took orders. A woman who seemed wholly in tune with what he wanted, and more than happy to give it to him.
And then he was lost. Completely. His mind blank of anything but her lips and tongue on his cock and how good it felt. He let her take him to the edge, let her take it to where his blood was like molten rock in his veins before he tugged her hair hard and pulled her away from him.
“I don’t want to finish like that.”
She sat up, pushing her fingers through her hair. “Was that okay?”
“More than okay.” He reached out and touched a piece of her hair. “Did I hurt you?”
She smiled, a shy, sweet, wicked smile. “A little. I didn’t mind. I kind of liked it, actually. Is that normal?”
“Anything you like is good, baby; don’t ever feel embarrassed about it.”
“I liked it when you pulled my hair,” she said, her smile getting wider, her face flushing. “I liked the way you . . . tasted. I don’t even know who I am right now . . . I like me, though.”
“I like you too.”
She laughed and leaned forward, kissing him deep and hard, pushing him back onto the bed. “I like when you call me Miss Larsen, because it feels naughty. I like feeling naughty.”
He smoothed her hair and kissed her, reveling in the feel of all that soft, bare skin against his. “You do naughty very well.”
“I need naughty underwear to match.”
His throat tightened. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”
“You don’t say no to much, do you?” she asked.
“Are you calling me a slut?”
She laughed and leaned in, pressing her breasts hard up against his chest. “Maybe.”
“For you, yeah.”
“You have no idea how hot that is,” she said, kissing him again, straddling him, her thighs on either side of his, her wet heat pressed against his cock.
She started to move against him, so slick and perfect. He gripped her ass, holding her to him, letting her find her rhythm. She braced her hands on his chest, threw her head back, the view of her breasts enough to make him come then and there.
But he gritted his teeth. Held back. Because he wasn’t going to let things end until she was satisfied. Until he was buried in her tight body, with her surrounding him completely.
She shifted her hips and the tip of his erection slid inside her. So perfect. Better than anything he could ever remember feeling. Her body surrounding his naked shaft . . .
“Dammit.” He pushed her off of him, his heart beating fast.
“What?” she asked.
“Condom.” He fished around in his bedside drawer and produced a packet. “These were for you, by the way,” he said. “I was hoping I would be able to seduce you into my actual bed, and not just a hotel bed. I had a weak moment the other day and bought them. Just in case. Which was when I knew I was a total goner.”
“Oh,” she said. “That’s . . . good to know.”
He rolled it onto his length and kissed her, tugging her back over him. “As you were.”
She smiled and he gripped his cock, guiding it into her body. She had a look of such fierce and beautiful concentration on her face as he slid home.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Oh, just . . . absolutely brilliant, actually,” she said, her voice like a purr.
“Brilliant?” He flexed his hips upward and she gasped.
“Yes.”
“You really are good for me, baby.”
And then she started moving and he couldn’t have spoken again if he tried. He was completely lost in her. Her movements, her beauty. The way her hair slid forward and covered them like a curtain, shielding them from everything but this. The way he felt stronger, and weaker, than he ever had in his life, all at the same time.
His orgasm rushed up to meet him too soon, and he tried to hold it back, tried to hold himself to earth with his hands on her hips. But then she closed her eyes, her mouth falling open, her body tightening around him, as her climax shook her and called his forward. There was no willpower on earth that could keep it from happening.
So he let go. Gave in.
It was like an earthquake deep inside of him, and when it passed, when he opened his eyes, he was shocked to find out the house hadn’t fallen down around them.
“Damn,” she whispered, collapsing onto his chest.
He wrapped his arms around her and withdrew, turning them so that they were on their sides, facing each other.
She looked at him, her red hair tangled around her face. “That’s the first time I’ve ever said that word out loud before.”
He kissed her lips. “I’m honored.”
What was it about her? She made him horny, which didn’t really concern him. But the other stuff he was starting to feel was more concerning. The tenderness. The connection. Again, he had to blame her inexperience.
And, hell, his own serious bout of celibacy. She was his first lover who wasn’t his wife in nearly a decade, which made it even more likely that the feelings were down to his own sex life.
Or lack thereof.
“I guess I should go,” she said, her voice muffled.
He didn’t want her to go. Not for any soft or tender reasons, but because he wanted to spend the rest of the night deep inside of her, easing this constant ache he’d felt in his body from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her in that bar.
“In a minute,” he said.
“Yeah, okay. In a minute.”
“Why were you a virgin, Sarah?”
“Kinda beating a dead horse there, Walker.”
He tightened his hold on her. “Indulge my dead horse beating.”
“I was raised by my grandmother. And she was . . . protective. And very traditional. She used to make me wear skirts all the time. Skirts that came down to my ankles. And turtlenecks that itched. I had to keep my hair long. Wasn’t allowed to pierce my ears. Even in high school. And the thing about living in a town like this is that no one forgets that stuff. I was completely invisible then, and even as I became an adult, I was still invisible, because to them I’m that same girl who wasn’t allowed to date and lived with that crazy old lady.”
“Yeah, that’s a tough one. But why wait until now to find someone?”
She shifted and propped her head up on her elbow. “I don’t know.” She blew out a breath. “I do know. It’s just . . . she always made sex sound so dirty. She made it seem like women who wanted it were dirty. My mom . . . she was really young w
hen she had me, and single. She dropped me off with my grandmother and I never saw her again. My mom was this scarlet standard to my grandma. She held her up and said, ‘This is what happens to loose women. This is how they are. They get pregnant, get their lives ruined by men. Abandon their babies.’ And I . . . I knew it wasn’t that simple, but it was hard not to feel like my own . . . like anything sexual I felt was wrong. Or dirty. She was just such a strong influence on my life. But she died last year, and I’ve had some time to think. Really think.”
“And your conclusion?”
“I knew I needed to find out how I felt about life. What I thought was right and wrong. I knew I needed to figure out how I felt about sex. I knew I wanted sex, actually, and that was something that was always a struggle when I was younger. I had a sex drive, and didn’t that make me wicked?”
“She wanted you to wait till your wedding night?”
“That’s not even it.” She sat up, her breasts bouncing a little with the motion. And hell yes, he looked. “There was no provision for that. I mean, yeah, I think she knew I’d get married some day, but it was more like . . . good women endured sex. It was the bad ones who wanted it. Here I was this horribly sheltered, mousy girl who knew nothing about sex except that . . . I liked men. I liked to look at them. And I knew I wanted to be with one . . . and what did that make me? Shaking that . . . It’s hard. I don’t know if I really have.”
“Do you regret being with me?”
“No,” she said. “And I want to be with you again.”
“That’s good. I want that too. But . . . but you know what this is, right? This isn’t going anywhere. Nowhere but the bedroom. My life is a hell of a lot more screwed up than yours.”
“That’s saying something.”
“So I gather.” He touched her hand. “I have Kayla to worry about. And my last try with commitment was a nightmare, so I’m not anxious to repeat it.”
“Yeah, I get that.” She looked sad though, and that made him feel like a prick.
“But I want this,” he said.
“Me too.”
“And I want you to know I’d let you stay the night if not for . . .”
“Yeah . . . I get it. I do.” She stood up and made her way back into the bathroom. He watched her round, perfect butt the whole way.
“Why exactly did you hide in the bathroom?” he called from the bed.
“I had on granny panties!”
Her response tugged a short, sharp laugh out of him. “Granny panties, huh?”
“They were supposed to keep me chaste.”
He really laughed that time. “Oh, sorry. You going down on me like that wasn’t exactly chaste.”
“Hardly,” she said, her tone dry. She appeared a moment later, all dressed. “But you don’t need to highlight my failures.”
“Baby, from where I’m sitting that was a big success.”
“Yes, well.”
“Is that one of the things you always wanted to do?”
She looked away from him. “What?”
“You did, didn’t you? You used to fantasize about that. About sucking a guy off.”
“Walker,” she said, her voice a whisper, her cheeks red.
He stood up. “You don’t have to be ashamed about wanting sex, Sarah. Not with me. I don’t think any less of you for having desire. It’s sexy.”
She looked at him. “You think?”
“Yeah, but who the hell cares what I think? What do you think? Did you like what we did?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t be ashamed.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll do my best.” She headed toward the bedroom door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Walker.”
“Give me a second to get dressed and I’ll walk you out.”
“You don’t have to.”
“This is something I want to do. So let me, okay?”
“Okay.” She stood there and watched him while he dressed. There was something really hot about that fascination of hers. There was nothing coy or practiced in her eyes. It wasn’t a finely tuned look, practiced on lots of men before him. It was just Sarah, doing what she wanted to do. And what she seemed to want to do was ogle him.
He opened the bedroom door and she followed him down to the living room. It seemed like such an asshat move. Sending her out into the snow right after accepting a blow job from her. Thanks for the orgasm, now drive yourself home on the black ice.
But she couldn’t stay, because he had Kayla to think of.
And it has nothing to do with the fact that the idea of a woman sharing your bed all night makes you feel like the walls are closing in?
Oh yeah, well, maybe a little of that too. But given the weather he would have ignored that feeling in favor of letting her stay warm in his house. He was sure he would. But he couldn’t test the theory because of Kayla.
So it saved him from uncovering what a bastard he actually might be. Which suited him.
“Good night,” he said, pulling open the front door and wincing when a wall of cold air broke through over the threshold and into the room.
“Night,” she said, putting her coat on, and her scarf and hat. She was in all black, her hair a bright shock of color against the dark.
She turned to go, then stopped, and flung herself into his arms, kissing him, hard and clumsy on the lips. Then she smiled, a kind of giddy, sweet smile he’d never been on the receiving end of. One he was pretty sure he didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of.
“Good night,” she said, walking outside and closing the door behind her.
He watched her go, watched her get into her car and pull out of the driveway. And he had to stand there, with his head spinning and his body buzzing, wondering what the hell had just hit him.
Chapter Eight
“How old are you?”
“What the hell kind of question is that?”
Walker was lying behind her, tracing patterns on her stomach with the tips of his fingers. They were naked and tangled together, breathless and both a little sweaty. Walker had been doing a very good job of helping her deal with her remaining inhibitions over the past few nights.
And now, post-orgasm, she just felt warm and sleepy. Not ashamed.
Although she wasn’t looking forward to driving back home either, so that meant a little bit of delay by pillow talk was on her agenda.
“It’s a getting-to-know-you, normal kind of question,” she said. “I’m sleeping with you, I ought to know things like that.”
“To make sure I’m not too old for you?”
“To make sure I’m not being a cougar.”
“Not even close, Miss Larsen, but it’s an interesting idea.”
“How not close am I?”
“Why does this matter, Sarah? Honestly.”
“Because.” She sat up and looked down at him, at his perfect face, his perfect chest, his perfect . . . everything. “I want to know the man that has made me one heck of a gleeful fallen woman. Is that so weird? I want to not be sleeping with a stranger.”
“I’m not a stranger,” he said, tucking her hair behind her ear, “am I, baby?”
“Fine. Not as such. Since we’re sitting here naked and you were just inside me.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty friendly where I come from.”
She blew out a long breath. “The point is, Walker, I told you about me, and now I want to hear a little about you.”
“Boring shit. I’m thirty-six, I was born in Texas, I grew up in Texas, I got married in Texas and I got divorced in Texas. Then I moved here.”
“How old were you when you got married?”
“Twenty-nine,” he said, short and fast, like he was resigned to answering questions, but only if he could behave like he was being interrogated.
“And when you met her?”
“Twenty-seven. I was young, dumb and kinda naive. I’m now old and not in the least naive. Possibly still a little dumb, though.”
“And what happen
ed with your wife?”
He let out a harsh breath. “It’s not important.”
“I’m curious. Look I told you about my draconian grandmother and my sex shame issues. And I have done things with you I’d never even imagined before. So, all things considered, I think it would be nice if you shared some of your issues with me.”
“Fine. Everything was fine. I mean . . . it’s not like we had sex all the time, it’s not like we were perfect. But we were fine. She was . . . fine. And then she started to drift away from me. She didn’t want me to touch her. Didn’t want to talk about it. She started not taking very good care of Kayla. I would go out and work on the ranch and come back and find Elise sleeping and Kayla crying because Mommy hadn’t fed her lunch. But I thought we’d be okay. I thought she was having a hard time. Depression even. But she didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t either. Then one day she left. I came home and Kayla was napping in her crib, and Elise was gone. Her stupid girly shit was gone. She packed up her shoes, her makeup, her dresses. She forgot her kid,” he said, his voice rough, “but I have to say I’m pretty damn pleased about that.”
“It sounds like she couldn’t cope.”
“No, she couldn’t. And . . . and sometimes I wonder what would have happened if she would have taken Kayla. If Kayla had been with Elise when she’d had her car accident. And then I just want to throw up. As hard as it’s been, just me and her, losing her would have been impossible.”
“You’re a good dad,” she said, her heart clenching tight. She was glad that Kayla had Walker. But she wished Walker had someone. In that moment she realized how alone he’d been. And her being naked in bed with him didn’t make him less alone. Not really. Not when they didn’t share anything other than their bodies. No when their connection didn’t go any deeper than skin.
“Thanks, but I think I do a pretty crappy job half the time.”
“You love her,” she said. “You love her enough to do the hard things. That’s not doing a crappy job at all.”
“Kids are little, but you have no idea how tight of a hold they can get on your heart.”