The Cowboy

by Vonna Harper, P. J. Mellor, Nelissa Donovan

  And tonight a great-grandson of those proud and resourceful people was holding her.

  “Do you want me to leave?” His breath heated the top of her head.

  “No.”

  “Because if I stay…”

  Just like that. No fumbling, no awkward exploration of her limits.

  “I want you to.”

  He leaned back, putting space between their upper bodies but keeping the pelvis-to-pelvis contact. “I’d like to see your leg.”

  Taken aback, she could only stare. She’d been so sure that sex was on his mind—just as it was with her. “It, ah, isn’t the most beautiful thing in the world. The scars are going to fade some more, but I’m afraid my days as a runway model are behind me.”

  Instead of responding to her lame excuse for a light note, he unfastened the snap on her jeans, and then stopped with his fingers on her zipper as though he had every right in the world to do so. “Not many people have seen this, have they?”

  Trying not to tremble, she shook her head.

  “Any men?”

  None of your damn business! “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Look, my life is none of your—”

  “Yes, it is. An animal I own altered that life. I need to see the full extent of that alteration.”

  Oh. Well, in that case…“Maybe I should have sent you the bill.”

  “I tried to pay it but was told your insurance covered everything.”

  In other words, he’d been willing to assume financial responsibility for something that wasn’t his fault; it had been determined that the boards Rampage had shattered were rotten.

  His fingers still rested over her navel, warm life seeping through denim to heat her flesh. “I, ah, I just shaved my legs.”

  Apparently taking her lame comment as approval, he pulled down on the zipper tab. Because the jeans were snug, they remained in place, but he’d exposed her practical panties. Truth was she loved the sensual feel of a hip-hugging bikini, but experience had taught her that long hours in the saddle or behind the wheel weren’t compatible with tight underwear, not that she would ever tell him that.

  Eyes on hers but unreadable, he tugged on her jeans until they clung to her thighs, and then told her to sit down. She pushed aside the curtain and slumped onto the end of her bed. Then, while he finished the disrobing, she stared down at the skin creases around her waist.

  Kneeling before her, he placed her foot on his thigh and began running his hands over her leg. Her tibia had been shattered in two places and tendons torn. Surgical pins now anchored the compromised bone, the pins’ positions identified by small round scars. His fingers lingered there.

  “Are you still doing physical therapy?”

  “No. Thank goodness that’s behind me. By the end of a day it aches, but much of the time I don’t think about it.”

  He ran his knuckle over her shin, prompting her to grind her buttocks into the bed. “About the break at least.”

  What do you mean by that? “Are—are you satisfied?” It took all she had to remain sitting instead of collapsing back onto the bed. The instant the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. Satisfied couldn’t be further from how she felt.

  Instead of answering, he rocked back and looked up at her. He rested his hands over her knees, holding her in place, letting her know how easily he could spread her legs.

  “It could have been worse. At least Rampage didn’t gore you.”

  He does in my nightmares, which is why I can’t get past doing whatever I have to to end them. “No, he didn’t. Cougar….”

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No,” she blurted. “No. Do you want to?”

  “No.”

  He stood, healthy muscles effortlessly bringing him to his feet. His legs pressed against hers. She had to place her arms behind her and look up in order to see him. How could this man she’d known nearly all her life be so intimidating, so overwhelming?

  Because he is.

  Not asking if she wanted this, he took hold of her shirt and tugged. The snaps gave way. With her gaze still locked on his face, she nevertheless knew what he was looking at: practical white bra designed to minimize the jiggling caused by a galloping horse. He pulled the shirt away from her breasts and as far off her shoulders as the fabric would stretch. Although she could have finished the job, she continued to let her arms support her while he gazed at her newly exposed flesh. Pinpoints of energy flickered over her throat, breasts, belly. Beneath the layers of clothing waited a woman too long denied her sexuality. Nothing else mattered.

  “You’re beautiful. When you started changing from a child to a woman, every time I looked at you, it hit me anew.”

  “You never said anything.”

  His mouth curled upward, and he rested his hand at the back of her neck. “We hardly ever spoke to each other, did we?”

  “No, we didn’t.”

  “Because you were the boss’s daughter.”

  “No.” When she shook her head, his hand shared in the journey. “That wasn’t it. At least, I never felt that way.”

  “Then, what?” He leaned over, brought his mouth dangerously close to hers. His grip on her neck increased.

  “You intimidated me! All right? You intimidated me.” Just as you’re doing now.

  “Did you think I was going to scalp you?”

  “Don’t go there! Maybe it was your name.” Thinking had gotten so hard. She couldn’t find the words for what she needed to say. “Cougar. A prey animal.”

  Still holding his body all but suspended over hers, he started tracing the top of her bra with the side of his thumb. Each step of the journey resonated through her. Beyond caring about the consequences, she spread her legs and welcomed him in. He pressed his knee against her crotch, the touch saying everything.

  Once again his mouth turned up. “My mother wanted me to have a white-bread name, something she thought would make it easier for me to fit in when and if I moved away.”

  His family and various relatives and friends lived in a sparsely populated section of the county in what she’d always thought of as an informal reservation. Although the children attended the small district school, for the most part, whites and Indians stuck with their own kind. His relatives and friends wouldn’t think twice about a black-eyed and -haired boy named Cougar, but that boy couldn’t spend his entire life in that closed-in world.

  “I’m glad she didn’t win. Your name is right for you.”

  “Even if it intimidated you?”

  I’m still intimidated—only, maybe what I feel now has everything to do with being a woman and you a man.

  3

  S he loved the sound of snaps popping. Even more rewarding was the sight of his dark chest. Although she was still trying to wrap her mind around the reality of what she’d just done, she wasted no time running her tongue over his flesh, because a bold and hungry creature had taken control of her.

  Apparently Cougar had no objection to being treated like her personal boy toy because as she continued bathing his silken and yet hard flesh, he explored her arms with callused fingertips. She’d taken a few seconds to shuck off her shirt and unhook her bra. The loose garment still covered her breasts, frustrating her and hopefully tantalizing him.

  These moments of exploration were about foreplay, nothing else. She’d think later, question later, maybe regret later.

  Embracing her decision, she clamped her knees around his thighs and wondered if she could keep him there forever.

  Maybe not. One moment she was sitting upright; the next he’d pushed her back on the bed and was looming over her. Much as she wanted to say something, anything, she couldn’t.

  Her legs still hung over the edge. Because he continued to stand within the shelter of her knees, she might have told herself she had some control over what was happening, but she didn’t want that. She wanted to be used, worshipped, fucked.

  There. The single word that says it all.
>
  Her cunt heated. Moisture built from deep inside, softening and preparing her.

  “My panties. Get rid of them.”

  Grabbing the elastic, he tugged them off, the effort made easy because she arched upward and lifted her ass off the mattress. Still only half believing what was happening, she reached for her bra straps. Shaking his head, he pressed her arms onto the bed. His gaze warned her not to move. Her lips both numb and swelling, she nodded.

  He closed his fingers over the straps and guided them out to her shoulders, and then directed her to lift her arms. Although she had to grit her teeth to keep from begging him to hurry, he took what seemed to be forever to uncover her breasts. The bra landed on the top of the rest of her clothes. Folding his arms across his chest, he stared down at her.

  Naked. Exposed. Ready.

  By contrast, he still had on his boots and jeans.

  “You’re making me crazy!” she gasped.

  “Not nearly as crazy as you’ve made me for years.”

  “What?”

  “You think I’ve never wanted to do this?”

  She reached up, but then fell back again onto the bed. Inch by maddening inch, he unfolded his arms and let them dangle by his sides. Furious, she ground her knees against his legs. The effort earned her a chuckle.

  “All right. All right.” She licked her lips and tried again. “Do you want me to say I’ve wanted to have sex with you?”

  “Only if you mean it.”

  “Yes. Damnit, yes!”

  “Why?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Her belly clenched. It took every bit of self-control not to offer her pussy to him like some mare in heat. “You have a killer body. Strong, rugged, masculine.”

  “That’s the only reason?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Bothered by his pensive tone, she tried to concentrate on his expression. But maybe he knew what she was doing and had no intention of letting her succeed. And maybe he’d grown weary of talking. Eyes half closed, he pressed a hand down on her mons. His other hand sought and found her cunt.

  “You’re wet.”

  “Yes.”

  If he’d asked permission, she would have granted him full access. Instead he claimed her. His work-roughened finger slid in and along the wall of her vagina. Although she fought to stay silent, a long, low groan rolled out of her. Tilting her pelvis upward, she lifted her head so she could watch.

  He made her vagina his playground, sliding in and out repeatedly. She clutched the coverlet, and sweat coated her throat and the small of her back. The muscles had been stripped from her legs. Her lower body became so weak she couldn’t think how to move.

  Drifting in a sea created by her need for sex, she was slow to comprehend that he was no longer finger-fucking her. Instead he’d taken hold of her labia and was drawing the loose flesh toward him. Intrigued by her imprisonment, she clutched the hand still pressing on her mons. “So fast. So damn fast.”

  “You don’t want this?”

  “Yes, damnit. I do.”

  “So do I.”

  On the tail of his admission, he grabbed her hips and pulled her closer. With her being robbed of his hands on her sex, she started to sit up. “Don’t play games! Don’t tease me.”

  “I don’t intend to,” he said, his strong fingers pressing her back onto the bed. “But I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. It’s going to happen—my way.”

  My way.

  An image of being tied and at his mercy flooded her mind. She who barely tolerated being indoors, and who had nearly lost her mind while in the hospital, reveled in the thought of being his to do with what he wanted. He would rule her world and body, keep her teetering on the brink. In that world of her imagination, she would do whatever he commanded of her. Her reward would be a forced-upon-her climax, and she would worship him for it.

  His mouth on a breast pulled her back to the reality of a cramped enclosure. He sucked, licked, circled, nibbled her rock-hard nub and bathed her until her breast became as wet and warm as her cunt.

  Her now-ignored cunt.

  “Take off your clothes.” Given his greater strength and control, her order was laughable. “I want to see you. All of you.”

  “A warning,” he said and shifted his attention back to her pussy. This time his fingers seemed to care only about her clit and the space between her vaginal opening and anus. “Once I’m naked, sex is going to come quick.”

  “Sounds—sounds good to me.”

  A fingernail feathered over her clit, forcing out a shiver. She grabbed his hand but made no attempt to pull him off her. Her cheeks were on fire. Her thigh muscles had melted.

  “No more foreplay?”

  “Cougar! Damnit, do me!”

  By way of response, he slid his hands under her buttocks and leveraged her upward. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he’d slumped down so that he was on his haunches, his mouth close, so close to her cunt.

  His breath! Warm. Alive. Skittering over her pussy and heating the fluids that had leaked out of her.

  “Please, please.”

  “This is it?” He blew on her. “Your world doesn’t go any further than this?”

  “No. No. Oh, god, please.”

  “You feel whole?”

  Whole? “Damnit, Cougar! Get out of those clothes.”

  Straightening, he cocked his head to the side. For so long she all but squirmed under his scrutiny, he studied her from the top of her head all the way down to her toes. His gaze lingered longest on her blatantly displayed pussy, yet although she felt more exposed than she ever had, she didn’t close her legs. After all, he’d touched her nearly everywhere, blown his breath over nearly every inch. Need lashed her, but she clamped down on her plea for his cock and waited him out.

  Displaying more of the grace that had already stolen her breath, he stood, bracing one hand on her belly as he did. The other swiped her inner thighs, making her jump. Not taking his gaze off her, he unfastened his jeans. Then he sat beside her so he could remove his boots. Once again he ran his fingers over her, this time his knuckles dragging along her entire vulva. She cried out in need. In want.

  Through a haze, she recorded the last of his undressing. Then he positioned himself between her legs and lowered himself onto his knees. She tried to sit up only to be flattened against the bed again.

  “Stay there,” he ordered. “This time it’s my show.”

  This time.

  The fear that he might deny her release caused her to dig her nails into his forearms, but if she hurt him, he gave no indication. Yet again he explored her breasts, drawing circles around them, taking hold of her nipples and drawing them up. Embracing and fighting the sensations, she caressed his hips with her legs.

  Just as she entertained thoughts of surging up and closing her teeth around his nubs, he gripped her pelvis and tugged, pulling her so far off the bed that only his body kept her from sliding to the floor.

  His cock held her in place, pressed against her labia, insisted on being granted entrance. “Wait,” she gasped as he thrust toward her. “Wait. I’ll—let me—” Thinking to pull apart her heated flesh to expose her opening, she tried to slide her hands between them.

  “No.” Grabbing her wrists with so much strength he cut off her circulation, he held them in the air. “Not yet.”

  “I can’t—damnit, don’t make me beg.”

  “I have—I have to…”

  He was gone. Scrambling away from her on his knees, reaching for his jeans, pulling out his wallet, opening it, extracting a rubber.

  How could she have forgotten something so essential! Berating herself, she watched him slide it over a cock so large and hard and hot-looking she wasn’t sure the protection was up to the task. Then he was back where he belonged—between her legs.

  Her inner thighs ached, forcing her to acknowledge how long she’d been spread like this. Even with the flimsy door open a
crack, the air was stuffy. She could hear the livestock; indistinct, mostly male voices; truck tires crunching over gravel. Those sounds were part of her world, and yet tonight they meant nothing. Only Cougar did.

  This time he had no trouble finding her entrance. This time he slid home with the first thrust.

  How did this happen? Why am I having sex with this man?

  Her questions faded under the pure and basic sensation of having her entrance filled. They’d captured each other in the most elemental of ways, and nothing else mattered. Again he slid his hands under her pelvis and lifted. Instead of holding him in place with the strength in her legs, she kept them splayed. Her restless fingers found his forearms, and she held on, her sweating palms recording muscle, bone, hair, veins.

  Eyes locked on her face, he thrust, pulled back, thrust again. She quickly learned his rhythm, making it possible for her to match him attack for attack. The bed rocked under her, prompting her to wonder—briefly—if the vehicle itself might be in motion. It didn’t matter. Onlookers could draw their own conclusions.

  She wanted to fuck. Needed to fuck.

  Lived to fuck!

  Her back and legs bore most of her weight, and she became aware of the coverlet abrading her skin. Still, the need to pull him into her as deep as possible made the discomfort pale in comparison. Looking at him, sensing how naked her expression must be, she imagined his buttocks contracting over and over again. Artificial light glinted off his sweat-soaked chest. The hair at his temple broke free of the leather cord designed to contain it, sliding forward and darkening his features even more.

  This man, this man she really didn’t know, was fucking her. Driving into her offered cunt. Watching her breasts shake and pushing against her pelvis.

  Heat. Building. Sensation powering her forward.

  He pounded deep into her. But suddenly, instead of retreating, he remained in place, his muscles stonelike and yet trembling. “I can’t—can’t.”

  “Can’t what?” she gasped.

  “Wait. Too fast, damnit.”

  No! She wasn’t ready for their union to end. As he pulled back, she went deep inside herself, left rational thought behind, and focused on her body’s messages. She burned from both the effort of matching his frenzy and from the heat boiling out of her. A little more, and she’d reach that sweet explosion.