Devil In Cowboy Boots

by Sylvie Kaye

  Cindy skated to a stop on the marble foyer floor, short of the door. Luckily, with her ankle still sore from last night's mishap, she was wearing a pair of Mercy's flats.

  She cocked her head, her hair flopping to one side. “What for?"

  "To thank him for rescuing me from the purse snatcher. With everything going on last night, I didn't get a chance."

  "We also never got the chance to find out why he was so desperate to get to Corpus Christi. If it had anything to do with your uncle, we may have saved him from Spence's clutches.” Cindy shook her head. “So don't go thanking him just yet."

  "I considered all that until the wee hours this morning. I barely fell asleep when the phone rang."

  Cindy nodded. “I really think you should sleep on your decision a while longer."

  Mercy's head felt groggy and her judgment fuzzy, but she shook her head, not up to rehashing the issue.

  "I can see determination gleaming in your eyes so I'm going to bite my tongue and leave.” With that, Cindy grabbed for the brass door handle. “Thank him for me while you're at it,” she called out, slamming the door.

  Mercy went back to bed and tried to curl under the covers and snooze as Cindy had advised. But she couldn't. Giving up, she showered and tossed on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. What she wore wasn't important. Her plan included a stop at the lingerie shop.

  After brushing her teeth, she applied her makeup carefully, then hopped a cab ride to the mall.

  After an extensive search of the shops, she found the perfect thong teddy in scarlet red. With any luck, Spence might snip it from her body, or better yet, snake it off with his teeth, inch by tantalizing inch.

  She stopped for a late lunch, mostly for energy and stamina. After her sleepless night, she was feeling lethargic when her hormones should've been zinging at the prospect of the sexy tryst. She ordered a second cup of coffee just for the caffeine jolt.

  On the long taxi ride out to Spence's ranch, she dozed off. After paying her fare, she stood in the dusty lane in front of the house. Spence's truck was gone. She shrugged, undeterred. He had to come home eventually, and she planned on being here when he did.

  Mercy was prepared to break one of the forlorn windows, but both the screen door and the wooden one were unlatched. She entered the cool dimness of the entryway, taking herself and her lingerie package directly upstairs in case Spence arrived soon.

  In his bedroom she stripped off her jeans and the rest of her clothes. Standing in front of the scarred glass of an antique Cheval mirror, she dressed in the red teddy, which looked as extremely se-xxx-y as the banner in the store promised.

  Perched on the chenille bedspread at the foot of Spence's bed, she crossed her naked legs and waited while studying his room. His black jeans were slung over the back of a slatted chair with his black boots kicked off alongside the spindled, wooden legs.

  A low dresser in blonde wood was cluttered with a pocket watch, a bottle of aftershave, a comb, loose coins, and a wad of dollar bills. He must not have gone far.

  His closet was open so she got up, flicked the door wider with her index finger and peeked inside. On hangers were denim work shirts, a white shirt, a black shirt with snaps on the placket and cuffs, pants, mostly jeans, and a vest. Leather.

  A cowboy vest. She withdrew it from the closet and tried it on. Looking in the mirror, she grinned, finding the leather as naughty as her new lingerie. She shed both garments and donned the buttery soft vest alone.

  Another glimpse reflected a scantily clad cowgirl. The vest hung open, exposing a lot of cleavage, yet covered her nipples. Through the sides of the armholes, an enticing peek of her breasts was visible. The leather garment was long enough that she didn't need panties, yet exposed a tempting slash of pubic hair.

  Turning around, she tossed a glance over her shoulder. The vest was shorter in the back and her butt peeked out, pink and inviting against the tanned, grained cowhide. Returning to his closet, she found a cowboy hat on the shelf and a faded, blue kerchief. Putting them on, she checked her image in the mirror again. She fitted the hat at different angles until she settled on a casual, thumbed-back look.

  She looked like a seductive cowgirl from a centerfold spread. Thinking back, she remembered Lenny saying, “Cowboys like cowgirls."

  So she stuffed the fishnet teddy back into her satchel and decided Spence deserved a cowgirl.

  She didn't have too long to wait. She heard his truck drive up and watched from behind the lacy curtain panel as he strode up to the house. Rangy and tall, he was wearing a Stetson hat but was shirtless. He made her mouth water.

  His dark T-shirt was tossed over one shoulder. She could see his bare torso, glistening with a sheen of sweat from the hot sun. His muscles were defined, and they rippled with each flex of movement.

  Her body scorched with a familiar heat as he neared the house. The leather vest felt bulky and restricting, and she couldn't wait to strip it from her and feel Spence's toned arms around her.

  He stopped, removed his hat, tamped the dust from the brim against his leg. His jeans were worn and torn and fit his body like a glove. He raked his fingers through his dark, damp hair and then he ambled out of sight.

  She heard his booted footsteps enter the hall downstairs. His keys jangled and clunked onto the wooden table at the foot of the newel post. Then his thudded steps began taking the stairs fast, two at time.

  He didn't enter the bedroom but went into the bathroom. Doubt flooded her, and Mercy questioned if this had been a smart move.

  She chewed her lip, listening as the rush of water from the shower washed over him. Listened as he hummed a low, sad melody.

  She fidgeted her fingers, trying to decide whether to stay put or grab her clothes and run. But where? She'd have to hide out in the bushes and call a taxi from her cell phone, and tell the cabby what? To pick her up at the third tree on the left-hand side of the road? Dumb idea. She was full of them today.

  The water stopped running, and a final gurgle of the drain told her she didn't have time for second thoughts. She threw back her shoulders, struck a sensual pose, and smiled just as Spence walked into the room.

  With no towel.

  One look at his hunky body and his ample endowments and she was glad she wasn't out in the brush phoning some cab driver.

  He was wet, his hair toweled carelessly, his dark eyes wide and glinting with surprise.

  She propped her hands on her hips and gave him her come-hither stare, the one where she narrowed her eyes and he got hard, fast.

  Spence couldn't find his voice. The sight of her had tied his vocal chords like a lariat knot.

  "What are you doing here?” he choked out at last.

  "I came to thank you for saving me from the thief,” she said, slow and husky, and his dick got hard.

  Despite the boner he sported, his first reaction was to tell her to take off Mark's vest and leave the way she came, which he supposed had been by an expensive taxi ride.

  Mark had worn the vest on many Saturday nights to pick up many women. One too many. But he brushed that fateful night from his head with a shake.

  Cruel as it sounded in his mind, Mark was dead and he was alive. Very alive. And naked, and Mercy was too damn desirable and too willing to pass up.

  He opened his mouth to say, Come here, when she stepped forward and put her finger to his lips to shush him.

  "No talking,” she whispered against her finger. Her breath was warm and luring, taunting him to take her mouth and kiss the breath from her until she was wet with desire and panting for him to hurry.

  But he went along with her game. Stilled his urges. Let her take the lead. Slowly, seductively, she untied the bandana from around her neck and dangled it in front of him.

  "They'll be no talking tonight, not a word. I don't want you saying I'm here to wheedle secrets from you for my uncle."

  Spence flinched at the mention of the man.

  Mercy lowered her voice to an even more syrupy tone, one he
remembered and liked. One she used when she was dreaming up raunchy things to say and do. “I'm here strictly to repay you for saving me."

  He nodded. He had no intention of breaking the lusty spell she was weaving. She took the kerchief and tied it around his mouth. He could have easily slipped it down, but he let her have her way.

  No talking could be damn exciting. She took his hand in her soft one and led him over to the bed, patting the spot where she wanted him. She arched her slender neck, her silky blonde hair swaying while she waited for him to oblige her.

  Before she could blink, he plopped onto the middle of the bed, arms and legs spread and ready. She tossed the cowboy hat, which also had belonged to Mark, onto the dresser and then straddled Spence's lap.

  She was a very seductive and nearly-naked bronco rider, but he intended to last longer than the eight-second countdown. Mercy was in charge, and he wasn't about to shorten any pleasure she fancied.

  She stroked her fingers over his bare chest with feathery flicks, and his skin reacted with shivers of goose flesh. Putting her index finger into her mouth first, she teased the delicate pad over his nipple. When his nub was wet and hard, she plucked it and kissed it. His groan got lost deep in his throat, muffled by the bandana.

  She must've detected the sound, nipping the very spot on his neck that hummed with his hunger for her body. Her teeth were gentle and the tug enflaming. Heat jolted his hips, tightened his balls, and engorged his cock.

  But she wasn't interested in his cock just yet. He knew Mercy. She'd get to it sooner or later, depending on her surging appetite.

  She said no talking, but touching was allowed so he dug his hands into her silky hair, massaging her scalp while he stretched his neck and let her kiss him mindless.

  She nipped and licked at his chin, his jaw, his earlobe. He was tempted to tear the kerchief from his mouth and give her access to his lips and tongue, but he restrained himself, knowing whatever she did would prove to be sizzling and satisfying.

  All the while she caressed him, her wet, hot folds notched and wriggled over his shaft. Sleek and slick, she shifted from the head of his dick to the base, gliding up and down in slow, sensuous motions.

  A moan gurgled in his throat. He gripped her hips and stilled her moves. He wouldn't last if she continued at her present pace.

  She flattened her body against his, nestling her smooth legs over the length of his, her toes brushing his ankles, her arms resting alongside his head. Her breasts were a pleasing crush against his chest, her nipples stiff as they teased and tormented him.

  He slipped his hand between their bodies, and she spread her legs. He toyed with her clit, the kernel swelling beneath his playful fingers, and Mercy moaned. But it wasn't good enough. He wanted more from her. He tweaked and pinched until she moaned again, this time, calling his name.

  "Spence,” she pleaded yet again, and he slid his finger inside her. She braced herself on her arms, giving him more access. Spreading her lips wider, he slipped another finger in and then drew both of them out and in again until he felt her melt, becoming wetter, slicker, hotter.

  Her muscles closed around his fingers, and a spasm contracted in her womb. He moved his fingers faster, harder, steadier until she tossed her head back and orgasmed, whimpering with satisfaction.

  He'd like to tell her that no thanks were necessary for that service. Not that any had been for rescuing her from the robber either. But he kept the gag in place and her rules enforced. For the time being.

  Mercy panted against his chest. Her warm puffs of breath tickled his hairs and his cock jerked, demanding attention.

  Once her breathing steadied, she kissed her way down his chest and belly and went down on him.

  The leather from the vest caressed his flesh while she fitted her mouth onto the head of his cock. She moistened the tip with her hot tongue, swirling and dipping and riling his juices to a boil. Her tongue stroked and taunted his scrotum and the length of his shaft until he mumbled pleading commands from beneath his kerchief.

  She chuckled at his garbled coaxing and continued to torture him by taking him fully into her mouth and pumping until he was ready to come.

  Abruptly, she quit. Kneeling back on her heels, she stripped off the vest and exposed all of her glorious naked flesh to his eyes. Mercy. He wanted her with his every fiber.

  He reached out and stroked her slender neck, her supple breasts, her firm stomach. He teased around her belly button and felt her quiver.

  Come closer. He crooked his finger to lure her in.

  She straddled him again, fitting herself over his rigid erection, her sex lips stretching to give him entrance. He jerked his hips away, embedding his butt into the mattress. She stared down at him, puzzled.

  When he gestured with his eyes and hand toward the dresser drawer, she understood and hopped from the bed. Rooting through his drawer, she hurriedly found the condoms and bounced back onto the mattress with her hands full and a greedy grin.

  He laughed, the gag sucking in and out with his chuckles.

  She winked, tossing the rest and ripping one of the foil packets open. He took the rubber from her and rolled it onto his hard length. He didn't have the willpower for her to play around. He'd waited enough, for everyone and everything.

  Mercy didn't make him wait. Soon as he was sheathed, she resumed her position over his stiff cock and lowered her hips until he was inside of her to the hilt. He kneaded her breasts, swollen and pliable in his hands, making her moan, urging her to a rocking rhythm.

  She threw her head back and closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensations of her body and the thrill of the ride. She was fluid ecstasy to watch. Graceful and wanton.

  He slid his hands around her waist to help her maintain her balance and the tempo she'd set. He closed his own eyes and let himself drift.

  Their motions became one rolling, pumping action. He felt himself begin to spasm, release. He clenched his fingers into her lower back where he gripped her, trying to stop his orgasm, hoping he didn't leave marks. He wanted to hold onto the feeling of being inside of her, a part of her, for as long as he could.

  But her bucking became wilder and more frantic. She gasped for air. When she dug her nails into his shoulders, he opened his eyes and met her intense blue ones. She held him there, suspended in time, between heaven and hell, between climaxing and denying himself the pleasure.

  Mercy moaned, contracted, spasmed, and then came in a flood of hot moisture. He let go. He had no will but hers at the moment.

  She collapsed onto his chest, straightening her legs, groaning at the stiffness in her muscles from the workout.

  Stroking her hair away from her face, he cradled her head against his neck. He breathed heavy, the cloth of the bandana sucking the moisture from his mouth. His tongue felt dry.

  When she calmed and looked up, he cocked his eyebrow. With a smile, she yanked the bandana from his mouth, flinging it away, replacing it with her burning lips and a welcoming kiss.

  He swept his tongue into her mouth, enjoying the taste of her passion. Her tongue greeted his with equal enthusiasm. Their lips remained planted to one another's for a long time, inhaling and exhaling each other's breaths.

  When she dragged her mouth from his, he didn't say anything. He didn't want to force reality into the moment. Anything he said would only lead back to the chasm that separated them. For now, he wanted to forget about Parker, her connection to him, and Mercy ever leaving.

  "Shower,” she whispered.

  He nodded.

  When she stood, she dug her cell phone from her handbag and called for a taxi. Looked like they only had enough time to wash their lovemaking from their bodies, and she'd be gone.

  He indulged himself with the soap, lathering her skin, luxuriating in the beauty and the satiny feel of her and her intoxicating fragrance. Her sweet, tart scent mingled with the antiseptic suds, the steam, and the musky smell of sex they'd enjoyed.

  "I have to go,” she said after they
rinsed and the water had run clear a long while. He twisted the spigots off and handed her a clean, dry towel.

  Back in his bedroom, he watched her dress, preparing to leave him. She pulled on her jeans and T-shirt, re-tucked a red nightie in her bag, and looked around for anything she may have forgotten.

  Without warning, the cab honked its horn. The blare startled both of them, breaking the comfortable silence that had built between them.

  As she stood in the doorway ready to go, he couldn't bear not speaking any longer.

  Wondering if he'd see her again before her flight, he asked, “Was that a thank-you-fuck or a good-bye-fuck?"

  She reached over and picked the damp kerchief off the bed, stuffing it gently into his mouth. He didn't fight her.

  "That was an I-love-you fuck.” She dropped a kiss onto his stunned cheek and fled.

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  Chapter Thirty-one

  Mercy left Spence speechless. She had a knack for captivating his attention with her sexual antics, but this went way beyond. Every nerve in his body hummed with the impact of her words. I love you.

  He'd longed to hear those words from her, and now he was forced to deal with them. He tugged on his jeans and shirt and jammed his feet into his boots. After shoving his money from the bureau into his pocket, he strode for the door. He turned back to snatch Mark's vest from the bed where Mercy had flung it.

  Spence gunned the engine on the truck and headed for the cemetery at the edge of the property line. Trudging through the iron gate, he wove his way around grave markers and tombstones, checking names. He'd never attended Mark's funeral. He'd been behind bars.

  He found the gray granite stone easily in the small graveyard. Mark Rendell.

  He draped the vest on the corner of the headstone, shucked his hands into his pockets, and stood there, feeling sad and awkward. Sad because Mark was dead. Awkward because he wasn't.

  He listened to the wind whisper through the leaves of the oak near the entrance. A crow squawked from its perch on the rusted fence before flying off. The sun lowered, glowing orange on the blue horizon.