by Liora Blake
I lean in and whisper the same way she did. “I know.”
Amber grins goofily and suddenly my entire world becomes nothing but the space between us, so I pull her closer and slide my hands up the back of the shirt. She’s bare beneath—no bra, no panties—because when she stepped out of the bath, she wanted nothing but to dry off and eat, and so my shirt was as far as we got with clothing. Nothing but her warm, soft skin under my palms. Amber purrs a little, encouraging my hands to continue exploring, up her rib cage and lingering just below the swell of her tits. She tips our foreheads together and lines our lips up so she can speak against my mouth.
“Confession time again. But this one’s on you.” Amber’s body presses closer to mine, her core meeting squarely with my dick, which responds by thickening beneath her. “Tell me something. Did you come home early just so you could help me?”
My breath catches. I hoped the second round of confession time would follow the format of the first, maybe something along the lines of Amber whispering all the wickedly hot things she did to herself while wearing my shirt and lying in my bed. Instead, she’s calling me out on truths I’m not entirely comfortable owning—at least not out loud. My heart is beating wildly and heat is crawling up my neck, but when Amber whispers my name softly and rubs her pussy across the ridge of my cock, I give in.
“Yeah.”
She purrs again, and this time it sounds like a thank-you. Especially when she follows up by sneaking her hands down to my waist and toying with my belt.
“And were you mad when I didn’t take your help?”
I feel my belt slip loose, the button on my pants flick open, as Amber’s fingers begin teasing over the zipper. Was I mad? Kind of. But if this is her way of making up for that, she’s already forgiven.
“A little,” I admit. “But not mad at you. Not really. I couldn’t stop thinking about you and I wanted to help, make sure you were OK. It was frustrating that you wouldn’t let me.”
“I wanted to, so much. But I couldn’t.” She sighs. “I’m sorry that you missed out on your hunt, baby.”
In the time she uttered those words, she’s managed to unzip my pants and work my boxers down enough to take me in her hands. My head drops back to the couch when she twists her fist over the head with just the right amount of pressure.
“Nothing to be sorry about. I was where I wanted to be. Here—just in case.”
When Amber lifts her body up, I know she’s about to sink down on me at any second, and before she does, I have to use my non-beer-addled brain to make sure we’re safe, so I take advantage of our position and slink my hand into my back pocket to extract my wallet. Grabbing the condom I stowed inside, I toss the wallet onto the couch. Amber snorts.
“I thought you didn’t carry condoms in your wallet? That’s what you said that day we ended up off trail.”
The wrapper tears under my teeth and I send it to the ground before working the latex over my length.
“I didn’t. And I don’t, except when you’re in town. I wasn’t sure if you’d come down off the trail wanting a go, so I made sure to show up prepared.”
Amber curves away to give me some room, watching as I stroke my hand down to the base a few times. Then she bats my hand away and doesn’t delay, taking me deep in a slow push that forces my eyes shut, letting out a grunt from behind my teeth. Once she’s taken all of me, she leans back but doesn’t move. I open my eyes, taking in the way she looks languid and already sated.
“I’m glad you came prepared. Too bad I could barely stand up, let alone have a go.” She rolls her hips, slowly and just once. “But there is one thing I want from you that I decided while I was on the trail.”
I wait for her to tell me what she wants. Every second that passes making it harder to keep from grabbing her hips and getting her to move the way I want her to, or just do the work myself and fuck straight up into her, hard and fast. She must see the frustration on my face because she tilts her head and starts to ride me in a slow rhythm.
“I want you to come visit me in Austin. Drive down, bring Charley, stay with me for a few days.”
Whatever I thought she was going to say, that wasn’t it. My body reacts by lighting up from the inside out, and it’s a sensation I haven’t felt in so long I can’t be sure what’s happening—if I’m simply falling for Amber in some new way or if this is merely a cardiac situation brought on by wanting to fuck her so hard she screams. Hell, maybe it’s both.
“Will there be barbeque?” I ask. “The sort that proves your Texas superiority complex about brisket isn’t just some statewide delusion?”
Amber tosses her head back on a laugh.
“Damn straight. One bite and you’ll want to burn True Grit to the ground.”
Her tits are moving gently under the T-shirt, and even if I might normally want to strip it off her so I can see, touch, and taste without anything in my way, in this moment, I want her just like this. She isn’t trying to put on a show and neither am I; we’re just two people caught up in the sweet intimacy of fucking someone you know and love, still half-dressed but not holding back. No bells or whistles, no lingerie or luxuries. Just her pussy taking my cock deep like she owns it and me not giving one fuck that she does.
I grab her hips to halt her. Amber whimpers.
I kiss her once. “Then count me in.”
(Amber)
“I saw your face so clear and bright, I must have been crazy but it sure felt right, I just wanted to see you so bad.”
—LUCINDA WILLIAMS, “I JUST WANTED TO SEE YOU SO BAD”
If someone were to ask what my strengths are, a few things come to mind.
Dependability. Persistence. Self-reliance.
One trait that doesn’t make the list? Patience. Only when I’m in the field doing whatever it takes to stay put and keep quiet does patience become me. In every other area of my life, I hate waiting—especially for things I want. And right now, I want Braden.
He’s due here at any moment, but after spending the last few weeks apart, with only phone calls and texts to keep us connected, I’m jonesing. Not to mention that I just turned in the final cut of my elk hunt in all its unsuccessful glory to the programming heads at the Afield Channel, and I desperately need a distraction while we wait to hear back. The distraction I want is six five with sage-green eyes and an occasionally bad attitude I love figuring out how to make disappear.
I spent the morning cleaning up my house. Once that was in order, I set about prettying up my person—curling irons, razors, loofahs, and tweezers were involved—only to end up plopped on my couch in front of the television for the last hour. I’d hoped a little daytime TV might provide some mindless amusement, but instead I’ve found myself caught up in this soap opera, confused and full of questions.
First off, were soap operas always this poorly acted? Pretty sure I was a teenager the last time I sat through one of these, but I don’t remember it being this bad. The story lines haven’t changed much, though. Which begs the question: Why are people always stealing someone’s baby? Taking care of a baby is hard work. How come they never steal their dog? Or their car? Their ATM PIN? Or all three? Put the dog in the car and drive to the ATM. Boom. You’re golden until they shut off the account.
My imaginary crime spree comes to a halt when the sound I’ve been waiting for hits my front door. The unmistakable knock of a big, similarly impatient, man. I leap up from the couch and give my favorite halter sundress a quick smooth-out with my hands and then shove my feet into the cute heels that go perfectly with this dress. The heels are high and my hemline is, too. If I do say so myself, for reasons both fashion and carnal, I’m good to go.
When I open the door, my favorite fix is standing there with a duffel bag cast over one shoulder and his dog sitting obediently at his feet. Braden’s eyes glide over me with a mix of awe and frustration. I return his inspection with my own, fascinated at the way seeing Braden again inspires the exact same sort of woozy appreciation it did the
first time I saw him. He’s glowering as he did that first day, but I now know what comes with that look. I also know the exact breadth and power of his body in ways I didn’t before. Which means if I were to topple onto him today, it sure as hell wouldn’t be an accident, just my hormones getting two steps ahead of me.
“An hour ago, when I was sitting in traffic outside Fort Worth, I was questioning my sanity. Trying to figure out what in the fuck I was thinking by asking my boss for time off with basically no notice, then loading up my dog and driving sixteen hours across three states.” He shakes his head slowly. “One look at you and I have my answer.”
I give him a sly smile. “Feeling a little live-wired?”
“You have no idea.”
“Oh, I think I do.” I swing the door open wider and encourage Charley inside, then bend over to give her a good nuzzling.
Behind me, Braden groans loudly—my high hemline and all—as his bag thumps to the floor and the door shuts with a heavy thud. Still leaning down, I peek over my shoulder. Braden’s gaze is glued to my backside, his eyes hazy and unfocused.
“Charley could use some time outside,” he states. An obvious addendum that Braden could use some time inside goes unsaid.
I whistle to encourage Charley to follow me over to the slider door at the rear of the house and she bolts straight outside, diving on a plush dog toy that’s in the middle of the yard, which keeps Trey’s dog occupied when he’s here. Charley circles the perimeter, takes a drink from the water bowl I set out for her, and goes about frolicking on her back in the grass.
“Water, a new yard, and a toy,” Braden says, his arms slipping around my waist. “She’ll be happy for hours.”
I hum softly. Braden wastes no time after that, his hands drift down until he can slide them under my dress, lingering on the backs of my thighs. His face presses into my neck, kissing and nipping the sensitive skin there. Between kisses, he grips my thighs harder, digging his fingers in with a bite that promises more. His mouth finds the shell of my ear.
“So glad we talked before I came. I love that we don’t have to stop, even for a second.”
I, in my infinite wisdom, broached the all-important let’s go without conversation the night before he started his drive here. We talked about birth control and clean bills of health, and admitted to not seeing anyone other than each other—and more important, not wanting to see anyone else. Which means we get to have all the fun, without delay, the entire time he’s here.
Braden starts to work my panties down my legs and when I step from them, I spin on my heel to face him putting an open hand to his chest so I can urge him farther into the house. I don’t live in a penthouse in the sky, I live in an old-town suburb with low fence lines and oodles of neighbors who work from home. And as much as I’d like to have Braden press me up against the cool glass, I’m not interested in putting on a show for the entire ’hood.
His back hits a wall in the living room. Braden eyes me intently and waits for my next move, his breath turning harsh as I undo his belt and work his pants open, pausing before tugging down his boxers and taking him in hand. One stroke and he snaps, reversing our positions. His hands come to cup my ass, grinding the length of our bodies together before giving mine a lurch upward with the power of his, taking me off my feet for a split second. When my feet find the ground again, one of his hands moves between my legs, sliding two fingers across my slippery opening. Once, twice, three times.
“I need you, Amber. And I want this pussy. Now.”
I lean up and take his earlobe between my teeth gently, then flick that spot with my tongue. “Then take it.”
Braden lifts me up, my feet off the floor in one smooth move, using the wall behind to keep me in place. I twist my hips impatiently. Braden leans back a fraction so he can guide my body to his, and then he’s deep. We both lose our breath for a moment at the delicious sensation of nothing between us.
Braden kisses me, soft and slow. Mid kiss, he starts to move in long, deep strokes that quickly grow rough and punishing. Gripping his shoulders means I can press my body to the wall, and the way my hips pitch means he lands right where I need him to. A few thrusts are all it takes. My body goes taut but Braden keeps on, wrenching every bit of pleasure out of my body—and his—that he can.
When we both start to catch our breath, I work my hands through his hair.
“I have plans for us, Braden. I’m going to make this trip so worth it.” I give his hair a little tug and he lets out a satisfied hiss. “We’re going to pop your Texas culinary cherry by getting brisket at Franklin Barbecue, go paddleboarding at Quarry Lake, and Trey told me about a vintage store I think you’re going to love. Lots of dusty books and old LPs. Oh, and there’s a distillery on Rainey Street that has the best whiskey in—”
“Stop,” Braden cuts in, letting out a low chuckle, one I can feel radiate from his chest to mine. “No need to try so hard, baby. You make the trip worth it. Already. Just you.”
(Braden)
“May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view.”
—EDWARD ABBEY, DESERT SOLITAIRE
Playing host to Amber’s hostess during a backyard barbeque comes with the obvious expectation that we’ll both do what we can to ensure every guest has a good time and relaxes. In my mind, that means my primary job is to keep the beer cooler well stocked and properly iced. It does not mean I should act as a human lawn chair … for Jaxon.
In my defense, I don’t want Teagan to sit on my lap, either. Or Colin. Or anyone else milling about Amber’s backyard at the moment. Only one person belongs in my lap, and she’s already there, acting as the shield I need.
“But he has two thighs. And there aren’t any other chairs left,” Jaxon tipsily announces, sweeping his hand to gesture at the yard.
Amber draws her legs up to drape them over my other leg as a safeguard. “Stop. You’re making the Jolly Green Giant blush. And I’m stingy when it comes to him. Go see if Teagan’s friend with the Zac Efron eyes will play along.”
Jaxon’s own eyes brighten and he turns on one of his Top-Sidered heels to amble away.
“Swifty’s for brunch tomorrow, doll.” He thrusts one finger up in the air. “And I’m drunk enough to declare now that I’m ordering the banana brûlée French toast. And bacon!”
Amber laughs, her head tossed back, exposing the slopes of her neck. When her laugh subsides, she curves closer to me and I wrap my arms around her waist to encourage her head to my chest. A sweet blush has pinked her cheeks, likely brought on by the sangria that both she and Jaxon have been sipping on all afternoon.
Amber ticks her eyes up to meet mine. “Thank you for hosting this with me.”
“You’re welcome.”
She ticks her fingers under the collar of my T-shirt and tickles there. “Have you had fun?”
I drop a quick kiss to her forehead. “Yes.”
When Amber said she wanted me to meet some of her friends, I expected an awkward outing to some dive bar where I’d be forced to drink overpriced PBR and try not say anything too sarcastic, only to find out that a shindig in her backyard is what she had in mind. And while she claims she’s no domestic goddess, the woman absolutely knows how to throw a party—with good music and great food—so it’s not a lie to say that I’ve had fun.
Colin provided a wild hog for us to roast, one he shot on his family’s ranch just yesterday. After we got it prepped and onto the smoker, we spent the rest of the morning setting up tables and stringing lights from the trees. I put together a batch of purple cabbage slaw to go with the roasted pork, and Amber made some of the ice cream she’s apparently known for, one a simple Dutch chocolate and the other a honey bourbon peach—and both are concoctions I’d happily consider drowning in, despite all the sugar. When her friends started to arrive, it was clear I was on trial for the first hour or so, but by the time we pulled the fully-roasted hog off and started to shred the meat, I’d survived the worst of the
ir interrogations. I’m sure the vast amount of beer and sangria that’s flowing also played a part in warming everyone’s previously cool attitudes.
The jury’s still out on her brother Trey, though. He’s been relatively quiet most of the day, but I suspect that’s his norm. Even so, it’s obvious that no matter how little he says, the kid is definitely listening. He’s one of those people who can go unnoticed enough that people probably say more than they should, simply because they forgot he was in the room.
Amber, however, is not one of those people. Trey might duck or hide from her view occasionally, but he never gets too far, which means that Amber sits up straight when she spies him across the yard, tugging on his zip-up hoodie as if he’s about to take off.
She cups her hands over her mouth and calls out over the music that’s playing.
“Trey Regan! Don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye to me or I won’t do your laundry tomorrow!”
Trey halts in place and makes a show of slinking our way with his hands up, kowtowing to a woman who is half his size.
“Never joke about my delicates, laundry whisperer.” He tips his chin to me. “Is six too early for you in the morning? The drive to the lake takes almost an hour, and the bass are jumping early these days.”
“Fine with me. I’ve been waking up before dawn since I got here. My brain hasn’t caught up with the time change.”
Trey casually asked if I’d like to go fishing with him in the morning and since I like to fish and already knew that Amber had plans to brunch it up with Jaxon, my decision was easy. Plus, Trey’s invitation was code, anyway. What he really wants to do is determine if I’m an asshole or not, and I respect that, so if that means we need to go somewhere he can cross-examine me and threaten my life in some roundabout way, fine. And adrift in a small boat is an ideal location for him to dispose of my body if he decides I am an asshole.
“I’ll see you at six, then. I have the boat and the tackle; you’re in charge of the refreshments.” Trey sticks his hand out for a parting handshake, then waggles a finger at Amber. “You are in charge of ensuring my Tshirts smell like lilacs by the time we return.”