by Amber Scott
"Shhh,” the man said against her ear. “It's all right. I've got you."
He did. He held her by the waist, similar to before when he'd pinned her after waking her. This time something was different. For one, she wasn't fighting him. For another, he didn't move away once she relaxed back into him. He kept a firm but yielding hold on her, and if she wasn't mistaken, his fingers were itching to explore.
If they weren't, something else had them subtly shaking. She relaxed her back further, every sense straining to pick up signals she was going too far.
Her rational mind apparently still slept, because not for a single moment did she consider stopping. Or that she was about to blunder into dangerous territory with a stranger, under far from normal circumstances. She chased only the heat, the need filling up an emptiness she'd grown used to.
She didn't even know his name. He'd never asked hers.
A thrill went through her body. Like a dare. Still strangers, riding in the dark, breathing in each other's warm scents. She couldn't have fantasized a better scene. A full moon, crickets chirping.
Samantha's mind raced through possibilities. Unthinkable possibilities. Anonymous, like ships passing in the night—close enough to be seen, too far away to be identified. She would never see him again. She wouldn't even know his name.
Dare or not, she was no seductress. She'd had no more than a handful of lovers, only two long-term and none interesting enough to retell. Nothing like this. No one like him.
Samantha's body rippled, not heat this time, something else. Something she'd felt only a few times. She recognized the sensation beyond attraction but couldn't help be taken aback at how suddenly it came on, how intensely.
God, she prayed he felt it too. Otherwise, she was about to make a complete fool of herself and, in the process, probably kill her chances for a ride home. She could wait until they got to his car, try to flirt, try some innuendo, until he propositioned her and pulled over ... no.
A fling in a car was nowhere near as daring as a shirtless cowboy on a black stallion, rescuing her in the dark, stealing her away from harm's way.
She could so easily inch her body backward and up, rotate her hips and reach behind. Or she could turn around, blame the cold, lean in, lick his neck. Open his jeans and free his—
"We have to stop here,” he said. Was his voice husky, or did she imagine the low tones as a caress. His arm loosened its nice hold, but he didn't let go.
"Why?” Samantha whispered. Her body screamed, “Don't back down!” She couldn't let this chance pass her by. No one would ever know except him and her. She would know and could remember it—him—forever. As this grew more real, more vibrant, her other life now seemed like a dream.
"Shhh. You're safe.” His breath tickled her scalp. “Stay calm and let me listen."
Samantha closed her mouth against a sigh. His warmth shivered over her skin. She shut her eyes and swallowed. God, he smelled good. He felt good. Broad, wiry strength oozed from every muscle. His thighs, his arms, his chest pressed against her.
She couldn't let him get away tonight. She had to be bold. This was one of those moments, the kind a person reads about, that if passed up, leaves a well of regrets behind. She'd missed one like this once before, a long time ago.
At least it seemed like a long time. Really, it was no more than ten years. The summer before her sixteenth birthday, the day Tommy Holt was leaving for college and snuck out to see her. To say goodbye. She should have kissed him that night, out on her roof under the stars, but shyness had gotten the better of her, and to this day, she missed that boy. That moment.
The horse stood as unmoving as he did. Samantha could hear only her own heart. She could feel only her attraction building, mixing with a dash of desperation. She dug deep down, finding what she required to embolden her, remembering ... now or never.
This was her chance, right there in front of her, lying at her feet, sitting right behind her. All she really had to do was turn her head, gaze into his eyes, and ask the unspoken question every man and woman in history find at some perfect crossroads in their lives.
"Did you hear that?” he asked.
Samantha's throat tightened, her palms became wet. Hear what? Breathless, she turned to him.
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Chapter Three
She met his gaze but didn't speak. In truth, she couldn't answer. The moonlight seemed to shine right into his eyes, and they, in turn, suffused her soul. His eyelids lowered, his gaze fell to her mouth.
She turned more fully into him, parted her lips.
Please, oh please let this happen. Let him kiss her, devour her senses with his mouth. He leaned forward. Her breath caught.
His gaze snapped back to hers, his arm pulled her close, and within an angel's breath, he answered Samantha's prayer. He slowly touched his lips to hers, gently at first. She responded in kind, but her mouth trembled, and her body followed. Wantonness burst through her, hungry and demanding, leaving no doubt as to what she desired and was willing to ask for.
She opened her mouth to his tongue, and as he tasted her, she moaned softly. His lips pressed, his mouth suckled, his tongue stroked, until her body sang with pleasure and want.
In one deft, effortless move, he lifted her and straddled her over his lap. She suddenly faced him, all without breaking the steaming kiss. Impressive.
What a remarkable difference her new position made. All that gleaming muscle there for the taking and, oh, she took. Her hands roved over his pecs, up his neck, down the ripples of waist to his jeans. They paused at the top button and continued past, over his hips, covering his thighs, ever aware of what she wasn't touching. Yet.
She pressed her hips closer, shocked at her body's readiness to take him in. If she was eager and hot, he was cool. The cowboy cupped her face, ran his fingers into her hair. He kissed her in an intense, drawn-out fashion, slowing her, tempering her fever.
His mouth moved over her cheek, to her ear, where he suckled and nipped her lobe. Tickling fingers trailed down her belly, landing lower, feeding the ache building there. His erection pressed against her moistening heat. He drove small circlets up, back, and away.
His hands left her hair and found her breasts. It was his turn to groan in want and approval. Each thumb found a hard nipple and flicked it. Pleasure shot through Samantha, and she cried out on a gasp. He teased the nipples, massaging sweet swirls of bliss into her flesh.
The horse shifted its weight beneath them. Handsome held her steady. Samantha grew torn between his languorous seduction and the need climbing up her body, begging for release. She fumbled with the button of his jeans, catching her nail.
His mouth returned to hers; his hands covered hers. Everything suspended. He went still.
Samantha opened her eyes. The world had not, in fact, disappeared. Neither had he. The light green of his eyes now darkened with passion. It showed clearly on every feature from his heavy-lidded gaze to his clenching jaw.
He looked away, glanced around.
The others he'd spoken of. She'd forgotten them entirely, threat and all. What did this man do to her?
She also looked around, unsure what she was looking for but feeling like she should and wanting to do anything to return his attention to her. Onto her mouth, into her body. She parted her lips.
"Don't speak,” he whispered, nudging the horse into motion.
They were leaving? Her hopes began to plummet. Her rescuer reached down and pulled his jeans’ fly open, each button giving a tantalizing pop. Her hopes soared once again.
Samantha needed no further encouragement. She ran her hands down his waist, leaning back, pausing at his hip muscles for a moment of silent appreciation and delved into the treasure trove his underclothes became.
His cock would have been hard to miss. She grabbed hold of it with both hands; he sucked in a gulp of air. Samantha grinned; she just might have found the key to unlocking this man's clear control.
The horse meande
red away from the stream and into a dense thicket of trees. With each shifting step, Samantha pressed her body to his, letting the rhythm move her against him. Her nipples rubbed up and down his chest, sending zinging tingles over her skin. She let her pussy press and glide against his lap, now soft without the material but hard with flesh. The apex of her clit met the base of his erection. She stroked the tip of his cock with one hand, loving the feel of silken skin and firm shape, and hiked up her skirt with the other.
His stiff flesh throbbed in her hand, and a surge of heady power coursed through her. Her clit throbbed to match, and the feel of his warm skin—a thin, satin sheath of panties away—made her swell further. His gaze returned to hers, and in his eyes she saw the question she would have asked had sanity penetrated her haze.
Should I stop?
Samantha closed her eyes a moment, drank in the dreamlike moment, savoring what was surely a fantasy come to life. In answer, she leaned in and took his lower lip between her teeth, nibbled, licked. He groaned. His fingers dug into her hips. She reached between them, yanked her panties aside, and hugged his flesh to her parted, ready wetness.
She didn't know what could be more of an answer, and she couldn't speak to save her life. She didn't want to. Speaking would break this sinful spell.
She only peered at him through low lashes, willing him to see what she wanted.
He groaned again and took both of her hands, pulling away from her. His expression was fierce but not angry, forceful but not brutish. He drew her hands to his shoulders, settled them there, and kissed her so hard and thoroughly Samantha saw stars.
His lips massaged. His tongue swept and circled, leaving her dizzy with wanting for more.
As he took over control and reined her in to his lead, her need doubled in a small burst. Samantha became a swooning female under his expert titillations.
His lips moved to tantalize her throat. His hands pushed her thighs farther apart. He gripped her ass and forced her forward, bucking her upward, letting his rigid flesh prod her entrance, teasing her, taunting her.
Her need grew more desperate, reflected by her ragged breathing.
Samantha reveled in her sudden vulnerability, secure and unafraid in his hands. He tore her panties aside—off!—lifted her to hover above the object she imagined she'd die without having. He held her motionless in the air, his gaze searching hers, the fierceness softening in his eyes, hunger clouding them up.
Licking her lips, Samantha hoped her expression bared her soul's need for him. No promises, no demands, only this single night. Please. It was all she asked, one exquisite night in the arms of a handsome, virile stranger to take away the pain and lift her soul.
He lowered her mound to the tip of his penis and kissed her chin. Her body seemed to salivate at the first taste of him. Her flesh swelled and throbbed, but she didn't fight to devour more. She waited. She trusted.
His first stroke into her moved like silk-cloaked steel. Her pussy clenched and creamed. He was perfection. The large thickness she'd held in her hands filled her body to the fullest, straining into her tightness until there was no more length to go.
He groaned low in his throat.
Her body pulsed at the sound.
He kept still for a moment, and she clamored to, as well. The temptation proved too irresistible. Like a train, pulling forward to life, her pistons began to turn, to chase down what had long been denied and never been quite as exquisite as this.
Her hips began to rock of their own volition. Samantha opened her eyes, her look pleading with him to let her body take over, to let her abandon her will to his sweet pleasure. He grinned, a cocky half-smile, sending the first rise of shudders coursing through her.
God, he was magnificence itself. Sublime magnificence. One of God's best creatures. Hard and gorgeous and delicious. He stroked her nipples and ran his tongue along her neckline, across her collarbone.
Samantha lifted and rocked, pressed and pulled, until spasms of climax danced through her body, radiating in waves, outward, upward into an explosion the likes of which she'd never dreamed existed.
Someone lit fireworks, and somewhere in the sparks, she felt him about to join her.
She drove against him in long, methodical thrusts, teasing out the same pleasure he'd just given her. She wanted his pleasure to equal hers. She wanted him never to forget her.
She gripped her fingers into his thick dark hair and squeezed her body, willing his climax forth. He obeyed her command and, as his body jerked and his cock throbbed, he groaned deeply. His hands clutched her hips, fingers digging in.
Samantha fell against his shoulder, her body weak. His hands moved up her hips to her back. He held her ... close in a way more intimate and knowing than any she'd ever known. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest, listened to him. His heart thumped, his breathing a little ragged.
Her own heart and breath matched his.
It was over.
Before she moved and reality came swimming back to face them, she closed her eyes and savored the feel and scent of him, the memory of the encounter. She wrapped the details of the wondrous night into her memory, like a gift. Someday, when she was old, she would open it. Probably sooner. And often.
Her stranger stiffened slightly. The horse under them shifted, beginning to walk. Samantha straightened, looking up to see what was wrong.
"Someone's coming,” he said and kissed the tip of her nose.
In an easy motion, he flipped her up and facing outward once again. He adjusted his pants, buttoned them. She corrected her skirt and forced a keen sense of sadness at bay.
Someone was coming after all, and that took precedence over silly romantic notions. Still, she sagged when she should have straightened.
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Chapter Four
Handsome steered his mount from the cover of trees and kicked the stallion into a hard gallop. Samantha's bones jarred. They bounced together, riding down another hillside, and he held her close.
All she could envision were greasy, sweaty, heavily mustached men chasing them on horseback. Only then, after she'd already had mind-blowing sex with this man, did it occur to her to question who he was and why he hung out with “bad men.” What kind of savior kept company with any bad men? Who was really to say he, himself, was not, to some degree, a bad man? And what were three bad men doing out in the middle of nowhere, anyway?
Camping? Hunting?
Why would they chase anyone down simply for leaving camp? Something about this whole situation was off, and she reprimanded herself for not being aware of it sooner. It was as if she'd just now awakened from her sleepwalk, after the dream. Like he was the dream.
"Who are they? Why are we running from them?” Samantha called over the thunder of hooves.
"Like I said before, you don't want to know.” He heeled the horse again. “They don't know about you yet. I mean on keeping it that way."
"But why would they chase you down?” She tried not to yell too loudly. “Are you their ride or something? Did you take something from them?"
Please don't let him be some sort of thief. Let him be a good, decent kind of guy with some seriously bad taste in friends. Not a creep. Not a mistake.
"They think I've left them. Or might think worse. Look, it doesn't matter now. I'll have to leave you at the base, come up, and cut them off. You'll be safe."
Fine with her. What did it matter whom he hung out with, or camped with? It wasn't like she would ever see him again. A little pang went through her.
They reached the base, and he drew the horse to a stop. He slid them off together. She winced when her bare feet hit hard earth. She looked around. No car. No truck.
No SUV.
Surely he didn't mean to leave her, as in leave her to walk the rest of the way home. What cowboy hero would rescue her, offer mind-altering sex, and then drop her off to walk home? Barefoot?
She stared at him, anger itching up her
skin. He held her face in his hands, an apology bright in his eyes. Her anger washed away. Who could get angry with a man who looked at her like she was a miracle?
He planted a kiss on her lips, fierce and quick, pointed, and said, “Winnemucca."
He climbed back into the saddle and might've tipped his hat, if he'd had one. Tears threatened Samantha's eyes, but she blinked them back. She had absolutely no reason in the world to cry. None. This is what she'd wanted. Albeit, with a warm car instead of a warm goodbye. She bit down, waved, and turned the way he had pointed.
She forced herself not to look back to the image that went with the fading hoof beats. The first tear sprang free and then another. Never had she cried so much as she had this night. First, her father and now this. All of it was that damned whiskey's fault.
She vowed never to drink it again. As soon as she got back, she would pour it out, dump the whole thing down the drain, flush it. She'd sell that damned outlaw's stupid paraphernalia and forget it all. Sell it? Of course! Let her father's blind obsession pay for her tuition.
She could be done with it.
The funeral, her dad, her feet. Handsome. All of it.
If thinking these things made her feel no better, doing them certainly would.
* * * *
He should have asked her name. Count it as another regret; add it to the pile accumulating with every stride back to camp. Too late now. Too late to turn back. Done was done. More important than the lady's name was the certainty that she wouldn't be discovered by Mick or Joe. If'n he timed it well and followed the next curve above the rocky outcropping ahead, he'd meet them, act bemused that they trusted him so little, and tell them he'd been out scouting.
Indians in the area, he would tell them. It would scare them enough to prevent any questions, whether they had them or not. Either way, he didn't much care. They could think anything they liked as long as she wasn't included in those thoughts.
After the edge of trees, he spotted Mick's painted roan mare. He gave a shrill whistle through his teeth. Mick brought his horse about and scowled into the dark.