Get it together, Younkin.
Finally, the door opened. He didn’t know how much time he had, but he made the most of it. All his clothes went into a heap under the table; he made sure the miniscule toilet was flushed and the towels were folded. He’d just started trying to smooth the sheet when the quiet knock came.
“Hey,” he said as he opened the door.
“I don’t think anyone saw me.” She sounded a little giggly as she set a small bag down inside. “I think we made it.”
Not yet, they hadn’t. She wanted to see all of him. Sure, that kiss had been as hot and sweet as he’d dreamed it would be—just how a woman who wore lace panties should kiss a man. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that when she saw the true magnitude of the crazy quilt that was his skin, she’d run screaming from this room.
He stood in the middle of the narrow aisle in front the bedroom, his hat back in his hands as she surveyed his room. Suddenly, he saw another hundred things wrong with it. He should have shoved the dishes into the oven, cleared the painkillers off the counter and he’d missed a sock. It was a disaster.
“I’m not going to throw you,” she said as she turned a small circle. Despite the blanket statement, her body language was remarkably like a bull in the chute, just waiting to be turned loose.
On him.
“You can’t make that kind of promise.”
“I can.” She kicked off her boots. Just white socks. “Tell me what they did to your jaw.”
“Uh...” She stood there, her head tilted as her hands hung at her side, waiting for an answer. Here went nothing. “They took part of my leg bone and wired it to what they could save with titanium mesh. I’ve got most of my teeth still. They said I was lucky about that.” Hadn’t felt lucky at the time, but now he was thankful. “Only had to drink dinner from a straw for a few weeks.”
She got up close again, her fingers touching his face. His heart began to race. “You had a really good surgeon. Most people wouldn’t even notice it.”
“I did.”
“It’s faded since then, I bet.” Her fingers were slowly moving down his chin to his neck. “It’s not as bad as you think it is.”
Slow and easy, she pulled him out of the aisle. One button gave beneath her fingers, then another. She unsnapped each one carefully until his whole shirt was open. “What else?”
She peeled the shirt off his shoulders. His left one didn’t move as far back as the right, so she stopped and did them one at a time. “Uh, two fused vertebrae in my neck.”
She stepped behind him, her hands sliding beneath his undershirt. “How far can you bend?”
He ducked his head down to let her pull the T-shirt off. “About that far.”
The shirt gone, she ran a hand around his bicep, tracing the blue-black ink. “Barbed wire? Seriously?”
“Yeah. I got drunk in Amarillo once.” Well, he’d been drunk in Amarillo several times. But only once had he woken up with a tattoo. “I was nineteen. Not the smartest thing I ever did.”
“No dumber than bull riding, I guess. Is that the only one?”
“Yeah. That’s the only intentional scar.”
She lifted up his hair and then slowly traced down the six-inch unintentional scar. “That’s why you keep your hair a little longer.”
The sensation of her fingers trailing down his back had his muscles twitching in anticipation of the next touch. She was just about to hit—
“So this is the big one. Does it go around to the front?”
“Yeah.” His voice sounded strong, but inside, he was shaking as she touched everything wrong with him.
Her hands began to undo his championship belt buckle from behind, her chest pressed into his back. Good God, she was just as warm as he remembered, the sexiest heating pad ever.
The button fly gave and then she was pushing him toward the dinette seat. His boots were gone, then his socks before she hefted him back up and pulled his pants down. “Hmm.” She was studying the crisscrossing scars that wrapped from the front to the back of his hip, really studying them as they carved down below the waistband of his underwear. “Sorry, Travis, but those shorts are going to have to come off.”
She pulled them all the way down to his ankles, not looking at his manhood until he was able to cover himself.
“So what did they do here?” Lord, she still sounded calm, still sounded like she had when she’d first gotten here. Was she really going to stay after seeing all this?
“Uh—a new hip, and a rod wired to the femur. I think my pelvis is being held together by mesh, too, but they might have taken that out. There were a lot of surgeries.”
And a lot of rehab. A lot. It’d been bad enough when Barb hadn’t been waiting for him when he woke up, but worse had been going back to the dark, empty house he’d grown up in. The true magnitude of how damned alone he was hadn’t hit him until it’d taken him twenty minutes to get up the stairs into his own house because there was no one there to help him.
At least he’d still had the house at that point. At least he’d been able to hold on to it until he could walk. He tried to tell himself that was a blessing.
“It is impressive.” The pads of her fingers were still stroking every inch of the scar tissue. He could feel her touch, but the scars still didn’t feel like his skin. Maybe they never would. “Despite it all, you’re back out there.”
“I don’t know what else to do.”
Her fingers traced the scar that dead-ended less than an inch from his dick. “They got this close?”
“Had to.” He gulped. “I wanted to walk again.”
She was on her knees before him, her legs spread wide, just like they’d been when she’d let him watch her get dressed. The quick glimpse of the darkness of her nipples against the golden-brown of her skin—it all flashed back to him again. His dick stirred, but she was following the path of the scar from where they’d had to open up his leg. “You really haven’t done this since the accident?”
“No.”
She looked like she was measuring the scar in hands, one palm on top of the other. “She didn’t stick around?”
Did June know about Barb? Or was that just an educated guess? “No. I never saw her again, not until they showed her on the arm of Chet Murphy after he won it all.”
“You stopped trying?”
“I didn’t stop trying,” he snapped. “I’m still out there, trying not to get killed every week, trying to get back what I lost.”
Her hands skimmed each leg, up and down, warming his bare flesh as she sat back on her heels. “I don’t think you lost that much.”
He swallowed. “I lost enough.”
She pried his hands away from his dick. Slowly, slowly, she leaned forward and took it in her mouth.
She was swirling her tongue around the head and then tugging on him with her lips. Swirl, tug, swirl, tug, her lips moved up and down his shaft with all the sensuality of a woman who knew what she wanted and did whatever it took to get it.
Swirl, tug, swirl. Time slowed down until there were just the moments between the swirl of her tongue, the tug of her lips, and the next swirl. Her beautiful mouth was everywhere around him all at once, wet and hot and demanding and giving at the same time.
At some point between swirls and tugs, his body got the message that this woman wanted him and wanted him bad. Still swirling, she looked up at him, her dark eyes dancing with satisfaction.
“You’re doing it,” he moaned, his hand moving to stroke the black hair that hung loose around her shoulders. “You’re really doing it.”
That look—man, she just about knocked him right out of her mouth and back onto his butt. But before he lost all of his balance, her mouth relinquished its hold on him and she grabbed onto his hips.
“I’m not just doing i
t,” she scolded, her lips finding not his dick this time, but his scars. “I’m doing it to you. Very important distinction.”
Her kisses covered every scar, starting with the one that ended right next to his dick and working her way up to his neck and then back around to his face. The whole time, she was watching him with that look of complete satisfaction. She wouldn’t do this to anyone else. This was just for him. He felt like he was coming apart at the seams—seams she was stroking, seams she was loving. “I— You—”
“Careful now,” she whispered as she steadied him. “Just roll with it, okay? Promise me that. Don’t try to force it.”
This kiss was better, because this time, the intent was clear. After three long years, relief was at hand. Her hands.
When she was sure he could hold himself up, she let go and climbed up onto the bed. Quickly, the sheet he’d tried to smooth was pushed to the side, and the pillows were propped up in the middle. Without a word, she scooted him back onto the bed and made sure the pillows were in the right spot. She seemed to know where he needed the extra cushion. She just seemed to know him.
Then she got off the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Don’t tell me you aren’t wondering what my panties look like today.” She stepped down into the narrow aisle.
He didn’t get the chance to answer. As slowly as she’d dressed for him, she began to strip proper.
Man, the anticipation was going to kill him as he watched each button pop open, revealing first the curves, then the pale pink bra with a sweet little bow nestled right between the fullness of her breasts.
“Wow.” Just about the most perfect he’d ever seen.
“Shhh,” she scolded, but her smile was anything but irritated. Instead, she looked like—like—
And that’s when he realized that she’d had the same look on her face after she’d ridden Hallowed Ground, when the judge had given her the 89, just one point behind him. That rush, that high—that’s why she rode.
She was going to ride him.
Oh, Lord, her panties were still lace, but instead of the almost innocent white they’d been last time, these were black with trim that looked like it matched the pink of her bra. Maybe she was getting impatient with the whole process, because the bra was tossed to the side, and the panties followed real quick. “Hope you liked them.”
“They were great.” But they weren’t as good as her in the flesh. Those nipples were even darker than he remembered, a matched set of chocolate kisses just begging to be sucked. Her V of glossy black hair curled wildly.
But even that had nothing on her toes. Her nails were a deep pink now, somehow both softer and sexier at the same time. For the first time in his life, Travis had the urge to take each little toe in his mouth and suck until she screamed with pleasure.
She jammed one hand onto a hip, that challenge of a smile on her face. “Isn’t there something you want to say right about now?”
“Uh—” There was something he should say, he just knew it, but his mind was filled with nothing but pink toes and chocolate nipples and the confection that was June nude in his camper.
Grinning widely, she flicked a condom at him. “Something you don’t want to have to apologize for later?”
The lightbulb went off in his head as those long legs scissored toward him. “You are beautiful, sweetheart.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She rolled the condom onto him with the same expert skill that she’d used to settle into her bra. “I won’t throw you if you don’t throw me,” she whispered, slinging her sleek leg over him. “Just enjoy the ride.”
As she engulfed him, his brain short-circuited again. He’d forgotten what the wet warmth of a woman felt like. He’d forgotten what sweet nipples tasted like, the tips hard with desire that he’d created. He’d forgotten what smooth skin felt like as it touched every part of him. She fit him like her Wranglers fit her, tight enough to be snug, but still enough room to move. And moving felt so damned good.
Even the scars felt good when she licked his jaw, when her fingertips grabbed behind his neck, when her hand lightly smacked down on his hip as she rolled with another thrust. Suddenly, those scars were alive, a part of him that wasn’t just ugly, but proof that he hadn’t died in the ring.
To live again—in her arms. He never wanted to forget this moment, this feeling of triumph.
“Didn’t— Oh, Travis—” she moaned, the hungry way his name rolled off her tongue making him quiver. “Didn’t lose anything.”
He leaned forward to try and catch that nipple in his mouth again, but instead, he caught sight of the soles of her feet. He could see her little toes at full point against his legs. He had to touch. He had to.
His hands raced down her thighs and calves as he struggled to reach those feet. He leaned forward as far as he could, stretching his fingers to her toes.
She shimmied against him as he stroked the tips of her toes. “Which do you like better?” she panted, her hips rocking faster and faster. “The pink? Or the red?” And then, with a knowing smile, she curled her toes around his fingertips.
Travis came apart at the seams.
When his head cleared and his lungs started working again, she was draped over the top of him, her face buried against his neck. The heat of her breath was as warm as her body against his. He didn’t want to let go of her, but he didn’t want to lose the condom, either, so he lifted her off with the last of his strength.
Sweat plastered his hair to his head, and he felt like he’d been underwater for an hour before he came up for air. But the high was so high—
“Didn’t lose anything,” she said in between short, hurried breaths as she stretched that body out against his. Already, his hands were eager for more as they scoped out the hollow between her breast and her hip. Already, she was rocking to his touch. “Still all there.”
That couldn’t have been his best work—it had been over three years, after all—but if she was happy, he was ecstatic. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.” Her hand was running up and down his chest, from the scar to the pec and back again. “Not bad at all for the first time back in the saddle.”
First time back, and he hadn’t lost anything—not to a Lakota woman with pink toes that rode him like he was the best bull. He hadn’t lost a thing—and he sure as hell didn’t want to lose it again.
He had a world of questions he wanted to ask, but the effort of the evening was taking its toll. While she went to get cleaned up, he swallowed down the Percocet and dumped the condom in the trash. By the time she slipped back into bed, he could barely keep his eyes open. That was okay, though. There’d be time enough in the morning for questions, as long as he got to hold her again.
She curled up against his good side, one warm hand on his bad hip. “You didn’t answer the question,” she said, sounding half-asleep already. And then her knee was up past his belly button, her leg over his side, and her foot, that hot little foot, was nudging at his hand.
Even though he was drifting, his fingers still worked each toe. Such beautiful feet. Such a beautiful woman.
“The red.”
Sleep took him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE BULL WAS trying to shake him off. Its body wrenched from side to side like Travis was an irritating fly—nothing more. He scrambled on the bull’s back, dragging his hands down the neck, trying to find something to hold on to—anything to keep from being ground into the dirt. God, he thought, the bull’s thick skin sliding away from his grip, please don’t let this happen again.
The shaking got stronger and he lost his grip. He was going down, and after that, the pain was just a matter of degrees. He made a new deal with God. Just let June be there when I wake up. He couldn’t face being alone again.
The shaking rolled him ont
o his back. The bull disappeared but the feeling only got stronger—it was centered on his shoulder now. “Travis.” June’s voice was right against him now, her warm hand on his face. “Get up. Now.”
With a start, Travis sat up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
June scrambled off the bed, scooping up her clothes. She looked scared. Immediately, Travis was six-cups-of-coffee awake. No way, no how was he going to let anything scare his woman.
“Someone’s here.”
“Huh?” He cocked his head to one side at the sound of someone banging on his door. He looked at the clock. 4:15 a.m.
“Damn,” she whispered, the color draining from her face. “Now what?”
Not a dream. She was terrified. But of what? He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. She had to realize that. Maybe...she just didn’t want to get caught with him?
“Bathroom,” he heard himself say as he scooted off the bed. Damn it, his pistol was in the glove box in the truck. Adrenaline dumped into his blood. Whatever it took, he’d do it, so long as she was safe.
“Travis!” The sound of his name being yelled was almost drowned out by the pounding on the camper door that shattered the dead quiet. “Wake up, man! I know you’re in there!”
Travis managed to get back into his shorts as the pounding continued unabated. By the time he got to the door, he felt close to normal—like a man who’d gotten lucky and then gotten up way, way too early the next morning.
“Open up, hoss!”
Well, he grumbled as he moved the curtains to see Red Willis’s ugly mug grinning at him, not that lucky.
But lucky enough.
He glanced back again. It was dark; the bathroom door was mostly shut, and the light was off. He couldn’t see June at all. Which was good, but left him with that sense of the unreal again.
He opened the door. “What the hell do you— Oof!” He wasn’t ready for Red to come stumbling into him, the smell of beer and barf masking the chew. The combination knocked him back several feet before he found his balance. “Damn, man!”
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