The Cowboy and the Cougar

by HELEN HARDT

  "Yeah, sugar, that’s it," he said, continuing to slide the string through her wet lips. "Saturate this thong and I’ll suck the string. Then I’m gonna suck you."

  Moisture gushed out of her. She knew she was pink and swollen. Her sex cried out for his tongue, his lips, his fingers, his cock. She wanted it all buried deep inside her.

  He buried his face between her legs. "God, you smell good." He tugged on the string again and her clit pulsed. When he moved the string over to the side and his fingers grazed her engorged lips, tingles erupted on her skin and her belly fluttered. "I’m gonna suck you now, sugar." His voice had deepened. "I’m gonna eat all that sweet cream out of you and you’re gonna come all over my face."

  Sounded good to Holly. She smiled and closed her eyes, but his firm fingers encircled hers.

  "No. Watch me." His eyes had darkened to a soft onyx. He was beautiful. Holly didn’t often think of men as beautiful, but this cowboy was.

  Hot, sexy and beautiful.

  She pinned her gaze to his as his pink tongue snaked over his full bottom lip—a lip that widened into a sexy smile. He flicked that gorgeous tongue over her clit and she nearly imploded. Oh, this was going to be one hot night.

  His dark hair fell around his golden shoulders and tickled her sensitive inner thighs. She reached forward and sank her fingers into the thick locks. Had she ever felt anything finer? Fine as Persian silk. His lips curled around her clit and he sucked.

  Then she did implode. The climax hit her like a lightning bolt, careening into her, humming through her veins and settling between her legs. He licked her relentlessly as the spasms rocked her body. She fisted her hands in his gorgeous hair and pushed his face farther into her wetness.

  When the pulsating began to subside, she let her head sink into the soft mattress. He’d climb up to her soon. Hopefully he’d kiss her, sink his tongue into her mouth so she could taste her own sex mingled with his spicy maleness, and then stuff that beautiful cock inside her.

  Instead, he grinned, his chin and lips shiny with her wetness. He ripped the thong off her—who needed it anyway?—and clamped his mouth to her folds again.

  "Ah..." The soft gasp left her lips in a whisper. She was near climax again.

  "Mmm. You’re so wet, sugar."

  Holly released his hair and slid her hands up her soft tummy to her breasts. She cupped them, squeezed them, and plucked at her tight nipples.

  When he pushed her thighs forward, exposing even more of her, she twisted her nipples and icy sparks speared through her. One more lick to her clit—pow! She came again, this time with the force of a stampede. Her skin tingled, her heart raced. She moaned. She sighed. She squeezed the soft flesh of her breasts as she came down from the climactic high.

  "Mmm," he said, two fingers gently gliding in and out of her heat. "Good, sugar?"

  "God. So good."

  His fingers slipped from her—oh, the loss!—and he slid forward. He licked her wet curls and circled her navel. He licked her belly, the valley between her breasts. The feel of it was sweet as blueberry syrup.

  She sank her hands into his soft hair again. He kissed first one nipple, then the other. He circled the areola and sucked the tight bud between his lips.

  "God, I love your nipples."

  She shivered, tingled, gasped for air. When he released the nipple, she sighed, but then his lips were on her neck, licking, nipping.

  He pulled her legs up over his shoulders and thrust into her.

  She widened her eyes. "Condom?"

  "Already on," he rasped.

  "When?"

  "When you...were coming. Ah, God." He pulled out and thrust in again.

  Holly dug her heels into his broad shoulders as he fucked her. He fucked her slow. He fucked her fast. He leaned down and kissed her hard nipples. His lips trailed over her cheeks, her neck. Still he fucked her, and damn, it felt so good, so right.

  She grabbed his chiseled cheeks and pulled him to her for a deep kiss. Their tongues tangled, dueled, and his soft groans chorused through her like a concerto.

  When she broke the kiss to take a breath, he flipped her onto her hands and knees and plunged into her from behind. Ah, the steely hardness of him filling her, the warmth of his strong hands on her hips. He thrust deep inside her and she slid one hand backward and grasped his sinewy forearm. The flesh was so taut she could feel the lines of his muscles. His fingers found her clit and she shattered again, thrusting backward onto him.

  "Yeah, sugar, yeah." He rubbed her to completion. "Come for me. Ah, so good."

  When her spasms subsided, she leaned forward. He pounded into her once more, holding himself deep inside her. Each pulse of his cock spiraled against her sensitive tissues.

  When he released her, she fell forward and collapsed on the fluffy comforter.

  Within a few minutes he lay next to her, pushing moist strands of dark hair out of her eyes. His gaze burned into hers.

  "Wow," was all he said.

  "Double wow," she agreed.

  He kissed the tip of her nose. "Up for an encore?"

  She giggled.

  When was the last time she had giggled?

  "Are you?"

  His laugh was husky. "In a few minutes. There is that jacuzzi to consider." He turned onto his back and covered his forehead with his arm.

  She’d never made love to a hot stud in a jacuzzi, had never made love in a jacuzzi, period. In fact, she’d never made love to a hot stud, come to think of it, at least not as hot as the cowboy next to her.

  Boy, had it been a day. She didn’t want to think unpleasant thoughts. She wanted her escape to last a little longer.

  She touched his firm lower lip with the pad of her thumb. "I’m up for the jacuzzi, cowboy."

  * * * *

  Darkness enveloped the room when Holly awoke. Her cowboy was behind her, holding her spoon-style. His large, warm hand cupped her breast. Her sore nipple hardened beneath his palm. A hard thigh was wedged between hers. The soft hair covering his flesh tickled her smooth skin. His breath, slow and steady, blew against her neck and disturbed a few stray hairs.

  The night had been amazing—wonderful!—a hedonistic frolic and a total escape. She wouldn’t soon forget the encounter in the jacuzzi. How they’d kissed each other until their lips were red and swollen. How he’d sucked on her nipples until they were nearly raw, all the while fussing over how beautiful they were. How she’d ridden him, and the jetting had swished over them as they coupled again, and then again.

  A night of wonderful memories to savor was exactly what she had needed.

  But now? She sighed as she disentangled herself from Cowboy as gently as she could. She didn’t want to wake him.

  She walked to the window and opened the drapes. The sun peeked over the horizon. Soon dawn would brighten a new day.

  She sighed again.

  Time to face the music.

  Chapter Three

  Six months later

  Late again.

  Holly ran into the classroom, dragging her portfolio behind her. She’d stopped at the art store for more charcoal after work and she’d hit major traffic.

  She laughed it off. This was art class at the community college, not a pressing appointment. It was okay to be late. Problem was, she didn’t want to be. She wanted to breathe in every bit of knowledge this class and this professor had to offer. She was done taking life for granted. She’d wanted to learn to draw for forty years and now she was.

  She’d always had a flare for sketching—or so others always said. In college she’d taken the well-traveled road and majored in economics and political science, then she’d gone on to law school, which, frankly, had been the three most boring years of her life. She did the time, got the grades, landed the partnership-track job.

  Five months ago, she’d thrown it all out with the garbage.

  She hated practicing law. She liked to draw. She loved to draw. She was good at it. It made her happy. She smiled. What was better than
doing what made her happy?

  Of course, she had to pay the bills, so she’d hung out a shingle and opened up her own law practice. Writing wills and trusts wasn’t exactly a rocket science challenge, but it kept her in food and shelter until she could learn how to make her art pay.

  Damn it all if she wasn’t happier than she’d ever been.

  She hastily took an empty seat and spread out her paper and charcoal. Tonight was model night. Male, if she recalled correctly. Last week they’d sketched a gorgeous blonde woman with a body so perfectly proportioned she resembled Barbie.

  Well, her legs weren’t quite that long.

  Drawing the human body fascinated Holly. She’d learned as much about anatomy as she had about technique in this class. She used her knowledge not only in her artwork, but also at the gym, where she was hard at work on another artistic endeavor—reshaping her own physique.

  "Good evening."

  Holly looked up to see Professor Fleming in front of the class. Professor Fleming was an amazing artist and his praise meant the world to Holly. He liked her work and thought she had potential. Had she started down this path twenty years ago, who knows where she could have gone?

  Determined not to berate herself, she looked back up at Professor Fleming.

  "Tonight, as you know, we’ll be working with a male model. He’s waiting outside." He cleared his throat. "I have a special surprise for you all. For the first time, we’ll be working with nudes."

  Childish chuckles echoed from the back of the room. At forty, Holly was easily the oldest person in this class. Most of the students were straight out of high school.

  "Get your jollies out now," Professor Fleming said, "so you don’t embarrass our model when he comes in."

  Even Holly had to stifle a giggle. Jollies?

  When the room quieted, Professor Fleming walked to the door of the classroom. Holly leaned down to grab her bottle of water out of her backpack, then cursed under her breath when she brushed against her charcoal pencils and they tumbled to the floor. She gathered them quickly and decided to leave her water where it was. She could live with a parched throat for an hour. Better that than accidentally spilling water on her art work.

  She sighed and looked up just as an emerald silk robe fell from a glorious male body. She glanced at the long, perfectly sculpted legs, a back carved of hard muscle, a firm, tight ass. Staring at this for an hour wouldn’t be a hardship.

  He turned toward the class.

  Holly’s blood ran cold. Before her was a chest she’d caressed, sinewy arms she’d gripped.

  A cock she’d sucked.

  Her gaze traveled down the beautiful legs, then back up, over the torso dusted with dark hair, the golden shoulders that had tantalized her fingertips to his face of raw male beauty. Cheeks she had cupped, lips she had kissed, sucked on. She wanted to look at his eyes—those eyes that had burned into her soul that night.

  That wonderful, terrible, fateful night.

  But she couldn’t. He might recognize her.

  What the hell was a cowboy doing working as a nude model?

  Of course, she hadn’t asked what he did for a living, because she hadn’t wanted to know.

  She shook her head to clear her thoughts. He wouldn’t remember a one-night stand with a needy older woman anyway. He’d no doubt been glad she was gone when he awoke.

  She took a deep breath and raised her gaze to his dark eyes.

  He was staring straight at her. Daggers shot from his eyes and speared into her.

  He wasn’t happy.

  Holly’s skin prickled. Did he remember her? She couldn’t think about that now. She had to draw him.

  God, she could draw that body from memory—every line, curve, mass of muscle. She closed her eyes and inhaled, then opened them and began to sketch. This was class, after all, and she wanted to learn to create art more than anything in the world. She wouldn’t let an awkward situation keep her from her goal.

  That gorgeous chiseled face... Her pencil stopped moving. He was staring at her again. Damn, those lips were lethal weapons. Her nipples tightened against her bra as she remembered him kissing them, sucking them.

  Time to get a grip, Holly. This was art class, and when would she have the chance to draw such a perfect specimen of masculine beauty again?

  She sat back and attempted to steady her breathing. In and out, in and out. Slow down, pulse. He’s just a model.

  * * * *

  Holly stared at her sketch. It was Cowboy, all right. Problem was, he was entwined around a curvy female who bore a distinct resemblance to Holly herself. How had this happened? She’d been in the zone, hadn’t thought about what she was doing, and before she knew what was happening, her hands had gone off on their own and drawn Cowboy, naked, making love to her.

  She couldn’t turn this in to Professor Fleming.

  Quickly she gathered her papers together and shoved them in her portfolio. If she left now, a few minutes before class was actually over, she could escape before Cowboy left the room. She’d draw another sketch—one that wasn’t x-rated—at home and bring it to class next week.

  Yeah, that would work.

  She stood up quickly and quietly and walked out of the room. A sweltering heat swept over her. Cowboy was watching her. She could feel it.

  She stopped in the ladies’ room and splashed some cold water on her face. It didn’t work. She was still hot and bothered, but at least she looked a little better—not pale and wan as when she’d first looked in the mirror. The frigid water had added rosiness to her cheeks. She stood at the counter, grasping the Formica, breathing in and out.

  Calm down, Holly. It’s over.

  After one final deep breath, she hurried to her car and drove the short distance to her downtown loft. Her arms full with her portfolio, briefcase and the small bag of groceries she’d picked up before class, she keyed in the code with her nose and slipped through the door. The elevator was closing so she ran and slid through just in time. She hit the number three with her elbow and collapsed against the elevator wall for the short ride up.

  When the door opened, she tightened her grip on all her belongings and headed toward the door to her loft. Dropping the groceries to the floor, she fumbled one-handed in her purse for her key.

  Sheesh, it was hot in the hallway. Beads of sweat trickled from her hairline, down her forehead and into her eyes. She blinked at the sting. Why was it so damn hot?

  With an exasperated sigh, she threw down her portfolio and began emptying her purse.

  "Need some help, sugar?"

  Chapter Four

  That deep, whiskey-smooth voice…

  She turned, and there they were—those piercing dark eyes. He looked incredible, almost as delicious as he looked naked. His western shirt was forest green, silky and unbuttoned at the top. A few black strands of chest hair peeked out. His jeans fit as snugly as she remembered and he wore scuffed brown leather boots. She could see him on horseback, riding the range, the wind tearing through that gorgeous sable hair.

  She looked away and huffed. "What are you, some kind of stalker?"

  He shook his head, chuckling. "Can’t say I’ve done anything like this before."

  "How’d you get in here?"

  "Some doormen can be bribed."

  She rolled her eyes. "I don’t have a doorman."

  He gave a lazy half-smile. "Okay, you got me. Some horny women can be bribed."

  Horny women?

  "Sheila."

  Her man-hungry neighbor had been known to be free with the passcode. Now Holly’d have to call management and get it changed again.

  "That her name?"

  "Did she have bleached blonde hair and a voice hoarse from smoking?"

  "That’d be the one." He fingered his stubbled jaw line. Holly tried not to gape.

  "Damn her anyway." Holly continued her relentless search for her keys.

  Cowboy gently pried the purse from her grasp and pulled out her keys. "This what you’re
lookin’ for?"

  She grabbed her purse. "Yes. Thank you, Cowboy."

  He miraculously picked the right key and fit it into her lock.

  "It’s Jack," he said. "Jack Sherwood. No more cowboy." He opened the door, picked up her portfolio and bag of groceries and waited for her to walk in. Her nerves rattled as she entered. He followed her in and set the portfolio and groceries on her kitchen counter.

  "Well, thank you for your help," she said. "I can manage now."

  "Oh no," he said. "Not so fast. You haven’t told me your name yet, sugar."

  "Sugar’s fine."

  "The hell it is." He walked to the door, shut it and leaned back against it. "You left me that morning without even waking me to say good-bye. I thought we had a good time. I wanted to see you again. Why’d you pull a stunt like that?"

  Holly’s heart raced. He’d wanted to see her again? This had to be some kind of sick joke. "It was a one-night stand, Cowboy."

  "Jack."

  She sighed. "Do you understand what a one-night stand is? One night of mind blowing sex? I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept."

  "That’s not what I’m about."

  "Well, that’s what I was about that particular night," Holly said. "I’m sorry if I upset you. Really I am. I was in a bad place that night and all I wanted was..." She let her words trail off as she closed her eyes and sighed again.

  "You ever gonna tell me your name?"

  "I think it’s better to leave it—" She opened her eyes. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?"

  Jack had grabbed her purse from the counter and fished out her wallet. He opened it and pulled out a credit card. "Holly. Holly S. Taylor. What’s the S stand for?"

  "None of your goddamn business."

  "Susan?"

  "No."

  "Sheila?" He gave a short laugh.

  "Hell no."

  He smiled a heart-stopping smile. "Sugar?"