“Sure.”
She moved away from him, toward the tack box on the far side of the stable. He released the breath he’d been holding, then walked to the washbasin and scrubbed his hands. He removed the apron and folded it. His undershirt was dotted with circles of perspiration. The damp cotton clung to his chest and rendered his dusting of black chest hairs visible. Embarrassing.
With a grimace, he ran a hand over his stomach and reached for his dress shirt. Once his shirt was on, he fixed his belt in place, then reached for his tie. As soon as he took it in hand, a flood of memories washed through him—of the times he’d blindfolded her with it, or bound her wrists. Once, he’d used it as a gag. She’d come so hard that day, he’d gone out and bought a proper one, not that he’d ever had the chance to use it on her. She’d broken their affair off the next day.
A clunk caught his attention. A pile of tack sat on the ground next to where Rachel bent over the box. He followed her worn brown work boots up her legs to the supple curve of her backside, then higher, to the sliver of black panties showing above her jeans.
Before he even realized he was moving, he was behind her, his hand on her hip, testing the curve of her body beneath the denim. Rather than flinch away, she pressed that curve more firmly into his palm as she stood. He lifted her hat off and hung it on a nail within reach. She let him do it, so he took a chance and ran the tip of his tongue over her earlobe, then bit into the curl of flesh at the top until her body shuddered.
Her upper teeth pressed onto her plump, rosy lower lip, a move that blinded him to all the reasons kissing her was wrong. He angled in, desperate for a taste of her.
With a breathy gasp, she jerked her face away and folded forward to rummage in the box, a move that presented her backside to him again. She was too smart to not be aware of what she was doing. The erection pressed against her thigh should’ve been enough to tell her his control was fraying. He cupped his hand over the firm flesh. Was she testing him? Making him prove his resolve to resist her? This was one test he’d have no qualms about failing at the moment.
She twisted up and looked over her shoulder at him, carnal awareness battling with self-control in her eyes as surely as it was battling in his mind. Then she handed him a halter combo and a leather rein.
Damn, the leather gave him impure thoughts. He tucked the halter under his arm and stretched the rein between his hands.
Two seconds. That’s all it would take for him to bind her wrists to the handle on the side of the box and stretch her across the top as tightly as strings on a guitar. Wouldn’t be the first time he took a leather strap to her body. His blood throbbed beneath his skin, imagining all the ways he could bring her pleasure in that position.
He closed his eyes, his breath coming in starts and fits, gripping the rein hard enough that it cut into the fleshy part of his palms. “Tell me to get away from you. Tell me to leave you alone.”
As he stood frozen, torn between ravenous need and his integrity, Rachel stood. Her hips shifted to stroke him in the cleft of her buttock. Her fingers found his jaw, and she scraped her nails over the stubble of his neck and chin. “And if I don’t?”
He stroked the back of her arm with the rein. “If you don’t do what I tell you, then you’re going to pay the price.”
Rachel molded her body into his. She tipped her head back to rest on his collarbone, her breathing ragged. “We should not be here like this.”
True enough, but he was too far gone to care. “Close the lid, and don’t say another word.” He hadn’t used that voice in a while. The low, fierce command. Threatening to anyone’s ears but Rachel’s, who knew from experience that there’d be no repercussions if she didn’t follow his command, that despite the force behind his words he’d never get dangerous with her. She obeyed him because she wanted to, and he never forgot that. Even when he was so aroused that he couldn’t remember his own name. The power was Rachel’s to give or take back as she pleased.
He waited for her to make the choice, his hands clutching the rein, listening to the rustling sound of the horses and the surge of blood in his ears.
She bent forward and closed the lid.
He gritted his teeth as a wave of arousal crashed through him. Game on, baby.
Dropping his arm to his side, the leather strap unfurled from his hand. He shook it out and gave Rachel time to change her mind.
She remained tipped forward over the box, her hands braced against the closed lid, her legs apart. She glanced sideways at the rein, breathing in even, shallow breaths through parted lips. She knew what was coming, and it turned her on as much as it did him. He leaned in and brushed his lips across her cheek before taking her mouth in a hard, ravishing kiss.
He broke away, gasping for air. They didn’t have time for this. People were waiting. It was nearly noon and the stable sat in the center of Rachel’s bustling family enterprise. Not too far away from the stable, he heard the sounds of the guest families. Chatting, their children laughing and playing. Somewhere nearby, an engine revved. That would be Rachel’s farmhands working on the tractor.
Screw it all. He needed this. Rachel needed this. Besides, no one would know. And that made what they were doing even more intoxicatingly wicked.
A bowline knot came fast for his practiced fingers. Sliding his hand down her arm, he waited for the resulting shiver to leave her body before taking her wrist in hand.
“Other wrist too,” he commanded.
She brought it to meet her right wrist and held still, allowing him to slip the loop over both. He jerked the end of the rein, removing the slack, binding her arms together. She whimpered, the little mewling sound she almost always made when she was close to orgasm.
His brain and his cock screamed, AGAIN.
That morning, he’d jerked off in the shower to the memory of her making that sound. And here he was, a few hours later, hearing it fall from her lips. He hadn’t even touched her but a little, and nowhere near her erogenous zones. If she were that close to coming already, then maybe she needed this even worse than he’d suspected.
“Turn around and face me.”
His cock pulsed as she obeyed. There was no more battle in her eyes as she looked at him. Arousal had won the day.
“Lie back.”
She hitched her ass on the edge of the lid and reclined. He grabbed hold of the knot binding her wrists to support her weight as she lowered. When she’d settled, he kicked her boots as far apart as her legs would go. The end of the rein in hand, he walked to the far side of the box and threaded the leather through the handle, pulling it tight, stringing her torso across the box. The act brought out a moan from her, but it wasn’t the sound he needed to hear again.
She watched his face as he secured the rein to the handle with a second bowline knot. He brushed hair away from her eyes, then traced over the cinnamon freckles of her cheeks. She was so damn pretty, and the fire of life and intelligence in her eyes glowed so damn bright. His flame. His beautiful, complicated flame.
She drew his finger into her mouth and held it in place with her teeth as she suckled it, flicking the end with her tongue.
Given the position and angle she lay at, he could brace his knees on the box and feed her his cock. He knew she’d take it greedily. She’d do whatever he asked of her—suck him off, swallow. Whatever he wanted. The knowledge of his power nearly had him unzipping his pants. But then, if he did that, she wouldn’t make the sounds he craved, nor experience the sharp, sweeping pleasure he wanted so fervently to bring her before they got to anything else.
“Stay,” he growled.
His senses dazed, he stumbled away from her and snagged a rope hanging from a nail in the wall. His vision tunneled on the sliding stable doors.
At the door, he glanced sideways at her. She lay where he’d left her, her legs apart. Beautiful, strong, gifting him with the power to command her pleasure.
He threaded the rope through the door handles and knotted it. No one would get through t
he door now. Unless lightning struck, or the world collapsed beneath them, nothing was going to interrupt what he was about to do to Rachel.
He stopped by the washbasin to scrub his hands again, deliberately slow, letting her lie there, letting the tension build between them until he couldn’t stand it anymore. Then he advanced on her, adjusting his rock-hard erection to run diagonally along his hip within his briefs. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Disco stroll lazily into his stall. None of the animals seemed to be paying them any mind. Good. He didn’t have the patience to deal with them now.
He stopped near her head and lowered his lips onto hers, kissing her deeply. Beneath her T-shirt, her small, gorgeous breasts thrust toward the ceiling, beckoning to be touched. He cupped one, loving the way it felt in his hand. Breaking the kiss, he moved his mouth to her chest, pulling the shirt up and the bra down to gain access. Her freed breast jiggled beneath a nipple drawn up so tight, hardly any areola remained around it. He set his mouth over her, curling his tongue around her taut flesh. He flicked it with the slightest touch, knowing she preferred it harder.
“Suck it,” she whispered, panting. “Please.”
Her plea laid waste to the last vestiges of his control.
He tore away from her nipple and loomed over her, cupping the back of her head in his hand. With his mouth close to hers, he said quietly, “Are you telling me what to do? I think you were. You know what that means?”
“What?” she breathed, her eyes dark with passion.
“It means I’m going to touch you so lightly you won’t be able to stand it.”
She shivered.
He pulled her other breast free and traced her nipple with his fingertip. She arched up to him, but he stayed with her, adjusting his pressure to her squirming, desperate body. Closing his mouth over her nipple, he brushed the tip with his tongue as gently as a feather might, then he traced her areola with his tongue as his finger had. When it was good and wet, he lifted his mouth and blew on it.
Rachel groaned.
He fixed his mouth on it again and captured her nipple in his teeth. But instead of flicking it with his tongue, he simply held it there and breathed on it. Her groans became a panting cry, but still not the sound he wanted to hear from her again.
Holding her nipple in his teeth, he pressed a hand between her legs along the seam of her pants until his hand was over where her clit would be, two layers of fabric below. With his fingertip, he tapped hard and rhythmically against the warm denim, willing the sound he wanted to hear into being. Though she squirmed and arched, she remained silent until he wound his hand back and unleashed a single, forceful throttle against her crotch as, finally, he sucked her nipple as hard as he could.
That brought up the mewling whimper from her throat.
After several more forceful sucks on her nipple, he repositioned himself between her legs. Steeling his hand into a flat paddle, he let rip with another hard hit right into the seam of her jeans.
“More,” she begged.
So demanding. He unsnapped the button of her fly, then rolled her to her stomach and yanked her jeans and panties down as far as they’d go with her legs spread, which wasn’t all that far. Still, the round swells of her bottom were exposed. Taking her soft, willing flesh in his hands, he parted the cheeks to catch a glimpse of the secrets her body protected. The places he wanted to sink his fingers and tongue and cock inside.
He ran his thumb inside the crease, delving deeper, lower, until he hit the honey of her arousal. Whew, she was wet for him. He dipped lower still, and she bucked the second his fingertip hit the swollen rise of her clit. She squirmed, clearly trying to increase the pressure of his touch. He lightly pinched her clit, plumping it between two fingers.
There was sound again, a primal, guttural whimper that meant she would come as soon as he allowed her to. He backed off, slipping two fingers into her wet, swollen opening. She squeezed his fingers and his mouth went dry. When he got around to fucking her, it was going to feel out of this world. It was going to blow his fucking mind.
First things first.
She wanted him to spank her again. Harder, And, well, that was one demand he was happy to oblige. He unlatched his belt one-handed.
It sagged in his hand, much heavier than he’d expected.
Shaking his head to clear it of the fever dream he was operating within, he looked down. This wasn’t his off-duty belt. It was his equipment belt, complete with radio, firearm, utility knife, and all the other trappings of his job as sheriff.
He blinked at it, reality hitting him hard.
What, in God’s name, was he doing? Had he gone crazy? He’d come to Rachel’s ranch with two of his employees to process crime scenes for evidence. And not an hour later, he was knuckle-deep inside her in the middle of the day. In uniform. With his squad car sitting out front. And with her sisters home.
My God. He had no integrity at all. He’d become a sheriff to fight against Meyer and the other good old boys who abused the power of their positions. But look where he was—getting his rocks off with a victim in an open case while he was on the clock. Could he ever feel superior to Meyer again? Because he sure didn’t now.
The instinct to pull his hand away from her was a strong one. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that she was close to release. So utterly close. And the damage was done. There was no taking back the choice he’d made any more than he could take back all the other terrible choices he’d made involving Rachel.
Remember this, you rotten prick. Because this is the last time you’ll have her like this. Never again. You’d better brand into your memory her sounds and the way she feels on your hand when she comes. Because this is it.
He rocked forward, set the belt on the box next to Rachel’s hip, and braced his hand on the lid as he leaned over her, as close to her ear as he could get.
“Rachel?”
Her eyes, blissed out and half lidded, regarded him dreamily.
He dragged his fingers from her depths and swirled them over her clit. Smashing her eyes closed again, she whimpered and panted, her hips straining toward his touch.
He stared at her beautiful face, her freckled nose and long lashes, the tightening of her jaw as he swirled and stroked her. “Say my name when you come.”
She lifted her head and opened her eyelids all the way, questioning. He thought she was going to ask him why, but then one corner of her lip turned up, and she whispered, “I always do.”
Then her body tensed. Her eyes rolled back and she dropped her cheek to the box lid. That mewling whimper spilled out of her throat, and then, as her back practically levitated from the box, she chanted his name.
He watched, unblinking, trying not to miss any detail of her orgasm. Her pulsing muscles, her wet heat, the sound of his name. Her wild, bucking body coming apart all around him.
When her release subsided and she stilled, he almost said, “I love you.” Except it didn’t matter that he’d finally figured out that’s what he felt for her. Because she’d told him in so many words, too many times to count over the last year and a half, that she couldn’t love him, not after what happened with her mom. Even if she could grow to return his feelings, what could they do about it? Some things weren’t meant to be, and, clearly, he and Rachel were doomed to keep looping back to each other in the same vicious cycle of impulse and denial.
The bowline knot released easy enough from her wrists, though she’d tightened it considerably since he’d bound her. That was the kinky thing about a bowline—the harder the bound person pulled against it, the tighter it got. Rachel’s wrists were red and raw.
She straightened her bra and shirt, then stretched up, tugging her panties and pants in place as she stood. “Why did you stop?”
“I wanted to take care of you. That’s all I need.” He rubbed her wrists. “These marks look bad. Do they hurt?”
She pulled away from his touch. “I’m fine. Give me a real answer. Why did you stop?”
&
nbsp; He snagged his belt and held it up as proof of his sins. “I’m on the job and I should’ve never . . . we should’ve never . . . You put that rein in my hand and I forgot who I was.”
Nodding, she hugged herself. “You should have thought about that before you chose to go by horse with me.”
“You’re right.” His chest grew tight, seeing the defeat in her expression. So much for an afterglow. Shunting the pain aside, he reattached his belt, then went in search of his hat. When he found it, he pulled it low over his forehead so she wouldn’t see the storm in his eyes. He almost didn’t elaborate, the truth hit so close to home. But he owed it to her because she was right. He tipped the first domino when he decided to accompany her. “But I couldn’t pass up my one chance to ride with you.”
She swallowed, her eyes locked on a spot near his feet. Then she rubbed her wrist and he had to wonder if the binding had hurt her, after all. “I’ve always wanted to ride with you too.”
He let out a hard laugh. “We are so screwed up, you and me. My God, we are a mess.”
She swayed, like all the energy had drained from her in one mighty whoosh. He reached for her, but she caught herself on a post, sagging against it. He smoothed a hand over her back. “You all right?”
“No, I’m not.” She turned her eyes up to his, resolve as hard as steel glinted in them. “Recuse yourself from the investigation. For me. For us.”
Chapter Twelve
The stuffy heat of the stable pressed down on him. The buzz of flies he’d previously been oblivious to filled his ears. He ran a finger between his collar and his neck to combat the heat and the excruciating tickle in his throat.
Why the hell had he ever thought it was a good plan to quit smoking at the same time he tried to quit Rachel? He would hand over the deed to his house if a cigarette would materialize in his hand. Stupid thought to flit across his mind, but he couldn’t have possibly heard Rachel right. Because that would mean she felt something for him besides blinding lust, besides infuriating resentment for that lust—which, he’d decided a while back, were pretty much the only two feelings she harbored for him.
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