Tempting Fate: A Colorado High Country Novel

by Pamela Clare

  Rather than lying down on top of her as she’d expected him to do, he sat back on his heels and drew her hips into his lap, draping her injured leg over his shoulder once more and wrapping the other around his waist. Then he nudged himself into her, slowly burying himself to the hilt, breath hissing between his clenched teeth. “You are so tight.”

  His eyes drifted shut, and his head fell back.

  She’d never found it all that pleasurable to have a man inside her, but this felt incredible, his cock stroking that inner ache, stretching her, gliding in and out of her. She fisted her hands in the bedcovers again, fought not to close her eyes, made breathless by the sight of him, his hips curling as he thrust himself slowly into her, his muscles tensing, dark hair spilling over his shoulders.

  The tension inside her began to build again.

  He brought his head up, opened his eyes, looked to where their bodies joined, then met her gaze, hunger for her naked in his eyes. He reached down to tease her clit again, the combined sensations almost too good to be true.

  “Chask—aah.” She tried to say his name, but the last part turned into a moan.

  But she was beyond words now, out of control, every exhale a moan, her eyes squeezed shut as he drove into her, her body needing more… wanting more… aching for more. God, yes, deeper. So perfect. It was so perfect. He was perfect.

  She cried out, arched off the bed, climax blazing through her in a flash fire of bliss, white hot and radiant. Her inner muscles contracted around him, the sensation both erotic and satisfying, one thought passing through her mind.

  This is how it was supposed to be.

  Chaska kept up the rhythm until the tremors inside her had slowed, then he stretched himself out above her and kissed her, his chest slick with sweat, his body tense. He whispered her name, the sound of it reverent. “Naomi.”

  She reached up to cup his face, tears blurring her vision.

  “Are you okay?” He kissed a tear from her cheek.

  She nodded, smiled up at him. “I didn’t think it could ever be like this for me.”

  “Aw, Naomi.” He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her forehead—and began to move inside her once more. The rhythm was different this time, and it hit her that he’d been holding back, reining himself in, focusing only on her pleasure.

  No man had done that for her before.

  She wrapped her arms around him, held him, sliding her hands over the sweat-slick muscles of his back. Harder and faster he went, until he was pounding himself into her, his thrusts slamming the bed into the wall. Then his breath caught, and he groaned into her hair, his body shaking apart in her arms as he let himself go at last.

  Chaska held Naomi against his chest, kissed her, stroked her hair. His heart was still pounding, her sweet, musky scent still filling his head, his body floating. He’d had his share of great sex, but he’d never experienced anything like this. It had been more than physical. Something about it—something about her—had broken him wide open.

  You’re falling in love with her.

  The thought sent his heart soaring—and made his stomach knot. He sure as hell hadn’t seen this coming. He’d only known her for a week after all. He had no idea how she felt about any of this, beyond enjoying what he did to her body. Though he couldn’t imagine why she’d want to go back to the loveless, friendless life she had in Rapid City, there was still a chance that she wouldn’t want to stay in Colorado.

  You were led to her.

  Win’s words came back to him, reassuring him. If he truly had been led to Naomi, this would all work out and he had no reason to worry.

  He let it go, savored the post-orgasmic lethargy that had taken over his body and the sweet feel of the woman in his arms. Outside, the sun had set, a breeze wicking the sweat from his skin.

  “Are you cold?” He kissed her hair, unable to get enough of her.

  She snuggled deeper into his chest, her voice soft and sleepy. “A little.”

  He pulled up the sheet, covering them both, his fingers tracing the graceful line of her spine. A golden silence stretched between them, the minutes passing, long and languid. Whatever they’d had to say had been communicated through touch, through kisses, through the union of their bodies. What were words compared to that?

  After some time, she spoke. “What are those wreaths?”

  He followed the direction of her gaze. “They’re not wreaths. They’re Sun Dance rings or crowns. I made them myself to wear during the ceremony.”

  “You wear them on your head?” She narrowed her eyes if trying to imagine this.

  “I’ll show you.” As reluctant as he was to leave her side even for a moment, he climbed out of bed, crossed the room, and took down one of the crowns. He placed it on his head so that the ribbons trailed down his back, then did a slow turn so that she could see how it looked. When he faced her again, he found her sitting up in bed, her bare breasts exposed, her gaze moving over his naked body, stopping at his penis. “Of course, I wasn’t naked.”

  She laughed. “What did you wear—besides the crown?”

  “Most dancers also wear smaller sage rings around their ankles and wrists. Men wear a kind of long loin cloth, almost a skirt, that covers their lower body to the ground.” He removed the crown, set it back on its nail, and got back in bed, settling down once again with Naomi in his arms.

  “Winona told me that’s how you got these.” Naomi ran her fingers over the piercing scars on his chest, her touch cool. “Don’t be angry with her. She told me only because I asked.”

  “I’m not angry with her.” He tucked a strand of hair behind Naomi’s ear. “Yeah, these are my piercing scars from my three Sun Dances.”

  She kissed one and then another. “It must have been painful.”

  Oh, yes—more painful than he’d imagined it would be.

  “The pain is the point—or part of it. Women bleed every month for the good of their people and suffer when they give birth. That’s how new life comes into the world. Sun Dance gives men a chance to bleed and suffer for their people, too.” That’s how it had been explained to him. “Warriors make an offering of their flesh so that Wakan Tanka will watch over their families and communities.”

  The frown on her face told him she was struggling with that idea. “Can’t you just pray or fast or something?”

  He tried to explain, simplifying things, struggling to translate both words and the concepts behind the Sun Dance into English. “Sun Dance is one of seven sacred Lakota rites. Nowadays, it’s part of the Red Road, the spiritual way of life, for many Native peoples, not just plains nations. Mostly men, but also women, give up food and water for four days and nights and dance in the sun. Warriors—”

  “Are you a warrior?” She looked up at him, amusement on her face.

  He chuckled, caressed her shoulder. “The word means something different to us. A warrior isn’t someone who fights wars. He—or she—protects those who are weaker than he is, takes care of the vulnerable people in the community, takes responsibility for the things that need to be done. Sometimes that means fighting. Most of the time it’s simple stuff like shoveling snow off an elder’s sidewalk or defending a kid against bullies or speaking out at a meeting against a bad tribal government policy.”

  “Or rescuing people?”

  “That, too.” He went back to the Sun Dance. “Warriors who choose to self-sacrifice are pierced with sharpened pegs. The protruding ends of the pegs are attached to leather thongs that hang from the tree that stands at the center of the Sun Dance area. The idea is to dance while looking into the sun and pulling back until the pegs tear through your skin.”

  She winced, her fingers explored his scars again. “How can you survive four days in the heat and sun without water? Do people ever get sun stroke and die?”

  “One of the duties of a Sun Dance chief is to watch out for people. Those who look like they’re in trouble get sage tea. But Sun Dance is a way of life, a discipline. Sun Dancers spend a year preparing thr
ough prayer, sweatlodges, and hanbleceya—vision quest—which also requires you to go four days without food or water. By the time a man reaches the Sun Dance grounds, he ought to be ready.”

  “Did you do all of that—sweatlodge, vision quest?”

  Chaska nodded. “My grandfather put me on top of a mountain and kept watch that entire time to make sure I was safe.”

  “Did you have a vision? That’s what it’s about, right?”

  “Yes, but it’s also about getting clear in your mind, understanding the path you’re meant to take. That’s where I decided to go to college to study engineering.”

  “You’ve done three Sun Dances then.”

  “I was supposed to do four. Every cycle includes four Sun Dances, so once you’ve committed to it, you repeat that entire year-long process four years in a row. But I walked away from it.”

  He told her how proud he’d been to step into the arbor with his father and grandfather, how proud he’d felt to be part of a tradition that passed from father to son for countless generations. “Old Man wanted me to start learning the ropes, to take my place in the arbor, even though my heart was set on engineering school. For a while, I thought I could do both.”

  “What changed?”

  “On the night after the third day of my third ceremony, I heard laughter coming from just outside the arbor. People are supposed to be respectful of the dancers, so I went to ask them to be quiet. I found my father and one of the holy men smoking weed, eating junk food, and drinking. They were supposed to be fasting. Drugs and alcohol aren’t allowed on the Sun Dance grounds, but there was my father, bringing dishonor to the entire ceremony, disrespecting the sacrifices of the dancers.”

  “What did you do?”

  He’d been angry, upset. “I woke Old Man, told him what I’d seen. He went and got my father, and they had words in private. Afterward, he wanted to ban my father and that holy man from the ceremony, but people thought he was being too harsh. He stepped down from running the Sun Dance after that year, and I refuse to be a part of it with my father in charge.”

  “I’m so sorry.” There was true empathy in her eyes, and he knew she understood. “You must have felt so let down. It hurts to find out that people you love aren’t what you thought they were.”

  “Yeah. I haven’t spoken to him since.” But Chaska didn’t want to spend the night talking about his father or Sun Dance or the Red Road. “Come here.”

  He made love to Naomi again, this time slowly, the beauty on her face as she came like an arrow through his chest. They held each other afterward, falling asleep in each other’s arms.

  Chapter 16

  Naomi woke to the sound of Chaska speaking quietly in Lakota. She rolled over, saw him standing near an open window, still naked. He lit a bundle of sage, blew out the flame, then set the bundle in its abalone shell and wafted its smoke over his head with an eagle feather.

  So that’s why he always smelled of sage.

  She sat up, not wanting to interrupt, but curious. “What are you doing?”

  “Smudging. Praying.” He finished his prayer in silence, then set the abalone shell on the table. He lay the eagle feather in its long wooden box, carried the box to his chest of drawers, and put it on top.

  “Do you always wake up so early?”

  “Most of the time.” He crossed the room and bent down to kiss her. “Did you get enough sleep?”

  She couldn’t hold back the smile. “Couldn’t have slept better.”

  He picked up his boxer briefs off the floor. “Want to join me in the shower?”

  The invitation was irresistible.

  Naomi put on her bathrobe and followed him across the hall. He stopped, pressed a finger to his lips, and gave a nod toward Winona’s room.

  Her door was still shut. She was still sleeping.

  So much for making her shower sex fantasy come true.

  She shut the door behind them, took off her robe and hung it from a hook on the door while he stripped off his briefs and started the water. He stepped under the spray, held out his hand for her. “I won’t let you fall.”

  They didn’t have a lot of room, so they stood close together, soapy hands sliding over wet skin as they took turns shampooing their hair and washing each other. His hands conjured up the most delicious sensations as they moved over her arms, her breasts, her belly. She returned the favor, enticed by the hard feel of him, her hands moving from his pecs to his belly.

  He grew hard in front of her, his cock straining for her.

  She couldn’t help herself. She took hold of him, stroked him from base to tip, soap making him slippery. He bit back a moan, splayed one big hand against the tile wall, the other at her waist holding her steady. She tried to remember how he liked it, letting him set the pace as he thrust into her hand.

  He held his breath as he came, his eyes squeezed shut, semen shooting over her breasts and his belly. When he opened his eyes again, they held a predatory glint, his lips curving in a slow, sexy smile. “Your turn.”

  He took down the handheld shower head, turned her so that she stood with her back to him. He washed the proof of his climax from her skin, taking time to palm her nipples, teasing them until they were hard and puckered. Then both hands moved down her belly—the one that had been tormenting her breasts and the one that held the shower head. “Just lean back against me.”

  She did as he asked, gasping as the spray hit her there. She’d never imagined having an orgasm like this. There’s no way it would be enough to…

  Oh, but it was.

  He angled the spray just right, his free hand pressing circles against her, moving slowly around and around just above her clit. The pulsing bursts of warm water. Pressure. The hard feel of him behind her.

  She came hard and fast, muffling her cry with her hands as pleasure washed through her in a liquid rush. She sagged against him, breathless. “Wow.”

  She was living in a new world, one where her fantasies came true.

  He chuckled, bent down to kiss her cheek. “Hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  They finished washing and helped each other dry off.

  He wrapped his towel around his waist, waited for her to slip into her bathrobe, then opened the door and stepped out.

  “It’s about time.” Winona walked through the door—and froze. “Oh. Sorry!”

  Naomi’s face burned. “That’s okay. I’m … uh… done.”

  Naomi left the bathroom and made her way across the hall, the bathroom door closing behind Winona.

  Chaska stood there in his towel, chuckling to himself, a big grin on his face.

  “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Why?” He ran a finger over her cheek. “We aren’t doing anything wrong.”

  From across the hallway came a shout. “You used all the hot water!”

  Chaska was the first one downstairs. He made coffee and then started on breakfast burritos, first putting sausage in a pan to cook and then peeling a few potatoes, his mind on Naomi and how she’d come apart in his arms just now. He didn’t realize he was smiling until he saw his reflection in the aluminum surface of the refrigerator.

  Damn, kola. You’ve got it bad.

  He did, and he was okay with that. Somewhere in the night, he’d reached a kind of peace about all of this. If it were meant to be, nothing would keep him and Naomi apart. If it wasn’t… Well, he would never forget her.

  She came into the kitchen wearing a turquoise skirt and a white tank top that had his gaze going straight to her breasts. He willed himself to look up. “Coffee?”

  “Please, yes! Can I help?”

  “Want to dice these?” He set her up with a knife, a cutting board, and the potatoes he’d peeled, then went to the fridge for the eggs and half-and-half.

  They talked about small things while they got breakfast on the table—Naomi’s appointment Thursday to get her stitches out, their promise to go by The Cave so that Megs could have Naomi’s photos, the tour Chaska had
promised Naomi of his workshop.

  “There’s not much to see, really.”

  Then Chaska remembered.

  He walked over to his work backpack, unzipped the front pocket, and took out Naomi’s little medicine wheel. He carried it to her, slipped it over her head. “Thanks for trusting me with this.”

  “What did you do with it?”

  “I scanned it and sent the images to one of my relatives at Oglala Oyate College. She’s going to make sure my grandfather sees them. I thought he might know something about who made it.”

  Naomi froze, knife hovering above the cutting board. “Do you think there’s a chance that he might?”

  “It’s a long shot, but I wanted to try.”

  She went back to chopping. “I’m not sure I’d want to meet my mother even if someone found her. She left me alone by the garbage to die.”

  Chaska moved up behind her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kissed her hair. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way. I’d feel the same way. You don’t have to meet anyone you don’t want to meet.”

  Winona flew into the kitchen, dressed in scrubs, her hair damp. “Did the two of you sleep well last night?”

  Naomi’s face flamed, her gaze shooting to Chaska’s. He would have found it adorable if he didn’t know where it came from. She was freer sexually than she’d been before, but the shame those people had beaten into her still lurked inside her.

  He handed Winona a mug of coffee. “We did. Thanks. You?”

  “I stayed out way too late. I went to Knockers thinking I’d find you there, but you had already gone. I ended up staying until closing talking with Nicole, who is fine, by the way. I think it made her feel better to know that you were together with Naomi.”

  Naomi looked up at Chaska, doubt in her eyes.

  Are we together?

  He could almost hear her thoughts. He held her gaze. “But Nicole understands now, right? She and I are not going to happen. I’m with Naomi.”

  The doubt vanished from Naomi’s eyes, a soft smile lighting up her face.

  That didn’t mean she wanted to stay with him, but for now, it was enough.