Love Letters Volume 6: Cowboy's Command (The Love Letters)

by Ginny Glass

  He looked around. “It’s not bad.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s decorated in early undergrad. I took over the lease from a woman who dropped out of school. She freely admitted none of the furniture was hers. I think it’s been here since before the house was built.”

  Diana went over to the fridge. “Would you like some iced tea?” She’d made it for him specially. When he didn’t answer, she turned around to find him right behind her.

  “No, ma’am, I wouldn’t.” His lips registered a smile just before they landed on her mouth.

  “Oh.” She just barely remembered to close the fridge door before he bent his head to kiss her.

  He pressed her back until her ass hit the edge of the counter. His head lifted and she moaned, reaching up to pull him back.

  “We’re not doing this in the kitchen, Diana.”

  She rested her forehead lightly on his chin. “Sheets. Right.” She slipped out from between him and the kitchen sink. “C’mon.” She grabbed his hand to pull him after her, down the hall. “Bathroom’s in there.” She pointed at a half-closed door. “Coat closet.” A closed door. “Bedroom.” She flung open the door with a flourish.

  She’d tidied up that morning. The bed was made and all her clean clothes put away. Even so, it wasn’t much—a bed, a dresser, an overstuffed chair. Two plastic milk crates, one stacked on the other, made up her bedside “table.” The new box of condoms looked so glaringly obvious it might as well have had its own spotlight.

  Ben glanced at the room, then turned her to face him. “Relax, darlin’. It’s going to be good. You’ll see.”

  He pressed her against the wall. For a man who claimed he needed sheets or nothing, he sure did like to keep her wedged between his rigid cock and a hard place. Not that she was complaining.

  “I know it is,” she whispered against his lips. She moved her hips to tease him with a pale imitation of what they could be doing right now, in bed, on those clean sheets he’d asked for.

  He grinned at her, aware of her efforts to move things along. “Uh-uh,” he taunted. He caught her bottom lip with his teeth, using his tongue to stroke the tender inner skin.

  “Ah,” she moaned without thinking. She ached for him, all over her skin and deep inside. She wanted his hands, his mouth, his cock. Just the thought of him naked in her bed, playing with her body, made her writhe with pleasure.

  “I’ve been hard for you since Sunday.”

  “Did you—” She caught her breath as he tugged at a nipple. “Did you jerk off thinking about me?”

  He straightened and looked at her, one eyebrow arched. “Why, Miz Diana, what would make you ask such a thing?”

  She mimicked her mother’s slow Texas drawl. “Because that’s what I was doing last night. And the night before.”

  Now both eyebrows were up near his rumpled hair. Then he smiled like a wolf. “I’m not sure I believe you. I may need a demonstration.”

  Her body flamed at that image. She’d never done that in front of anyone. Where had she gotten the courage even to mention such a thing? Touching herself—making herself come—that was for under the sheets with the lights out. Something about Ben… Something about the way he made her feel, as though all her clothes were too thick and heavy, cutting off her ability to think. She brought her hands up to start undoing the buttons on her shirt.

  “Oh, darlin’, you look so pretty.” His eyes burned as they tracked the progress of her striptease. When the shirt was open, he looked down at her jeans.

  She kicked off her shoes and pushed the jeans down her legs and off. He picked up her clothes and shoes, opened the coat closet door behind her—never taking his eyes off her body—and tossed the clothes inside. That made her laugh.

  “I love that sound,” he said.

  “What sound?”

  “You laughing. I’ll never get tired of that.”

  She laughed again, just because he was gorgeous and funny and he looked at her like a kid presented with a sundae and a spoon.

  She unhooked her bra and peeled back the cups. His hands lifted as if to touch her, then fell back by his legs.

  “Touch them for me. Show me what you like.” His voice, low and rough, drove her mad. He should be touching her.

  Didn’t matter. He’d asked her—or ordered her, didn’t matter—and she wanted to please him too much to argue. She brushed her hands along her rib cage and up to her breasts. Her fingers fluttered over her nipples, then closed like scissor blades cutting out Valentine’s Day hearts. Her nipples flattened between her forefingers and middle fingers, but it wasn’t enough. She pinched them.

  His eyes flared. He stroked the ridge of his cock, just once, pressing in near the head before releasing it. God, she wanted to see it, see him naked.

  “The panties now,” he commanded.

  “What about you? When do I get to see that cock of yours?”

  He shook his head. “You first. But I’ll touch myself a little, if that will help.”

  “Oh, God, yes. Do that.” She yanked her bikinis down and kicked them away.

  She spread her legs while he dragged his fingers along his erection. Her hands went to her sex, parting the curls and finding her clit, already wet with desire.

  “That’s it, sweetheart. I want to see you make yourself come.”

  Diana leaned back against the wall, placed her feet on either side of his cowboy boots, and started to rub her clit with her right hand. With her left hand, she played with her nipples. Her eyelids drooped as if the heavy atmosphere were weighing them down. She licked her lips.

  “Need more?” he asked.

  She nodded slowly.

  He unzipped his jeans. No underwear—he’d gone commando for her? Or did he dress that way all the time?

  His cock looked thick. When he curled his fingers around its girth, it was a snug fit. She tried to imagine that going inside her, but she couldn’t conjure up a sense memory that fit. She’d never slept with anyone that well-endowed.

  His thumb slid over the head, slick and glistening.

  She could tell her orgasm was right there. She closed her eyes, pressed her head against the wall and let the sensation shake her body down to her toes. When she was done, she opened her eyes, expecting to see his blue-flame gaze.

  It wasn’t there. Ben was kneeling between her feet. He positioned his hands on her hips, his thumbs pulling her apart, exposing her clit, still throbbing from her climax.

  “I’m going to make you come again, darlin’. And I’ll know how you look when you do, with your cheeks flushed and your mouth plump and moist.” He leaned in and licked his way up to her clit. His tongue toyed with her, touching, tapping, then rubbing her. He used two fingers to impale her, then press against that spot hardwired to make her clit jump.

  She jerked with the sensation. She grabbed his head—to pull in closer? push him away?—she wasn’t sure. It was crazy good. She slapped the wall with flat palms.

  His mouth closed around her clit, sucking and stroking and making her come again, hard. She moaned something, a guttural exclamation. It felt like all the blood left her head, rushing to her nipples and clit and hands and feet. Her orgasm shook her like a rag doll, then let her flop back against the wall.

  He must have helped her to the bed. She certainly couldn’t have walked there on her own power.

  She lay back as he stripped off and donned a condom. A flash of disappointment zipped through her as the latex sheath rolled down his cock—she’d wanted to hold it and kiss it and do to him what he’d done to her.

  He caught her looking. “Don’t worry, we’ll get to that later.” His voice was rich, like whiskey after a long day. It lulled her back to a simmering desire.

  He kissed his way up her body, licking her belly button, the faint mark made by the waistband of her jeans, her breasts, breastbone and neck. By the time he kissed her mouth, she wasn’t sleepy anymore. He slipped inside her, a tight fit stretching her right up to the outer edge where pleasure turned
into pain. He hooked an arm under her leg, lifting it to improve the angle of his assault.

  Diana thought she’d swoon, he filled her so well. Then he started to thrust. Their kisses echoed their joining and she strained to get them even closer.

  This was the slow road up the mountain, but by God he got her there, coiled so tight she thought she’d explode when she finally came. He was pounding into her, controlled jabs that reverberated in her clit and nipples. Her orgasm had so much force built up behind it, it was impossible to experience in a conscious way. She could tell, though, when he came as she was uncoiling into relaxation. She hugged him tight, kissing his chin and jaw and ear before he buried his face into her neck.

  She fell asleep smiling.

  When she woke, Ben was gone.

  *

  The August heat felt like two blankets too many, only Ben couldn’t kick them off. It was a relief to finish work for the day, watch the guys climb into their pickups and head back to their girlfriends in town, and collapse in front of the television with a beer. Some nights he even remembered to eat.

  He ignored the damn fool sitcom blaring on the set. He tried to quell the familiar sense of panic, his fear that he’d screw up and lose the ranch. The summer had gone well. The ranch was going to make a tidy sum with this harvest. He’d been lucky with the weather, and the hay crop should allow him to invest in a small herd next spring. He’d gotten a good price from the bank in the foreclosure, so he’d been able to invest a lot of the money he’d inherited from his father, enough to see him through a lean year or two. He might even be able to hire someone full-time. Eventually.

  He closed his eyes as the beer—his second?—cooled his throat. Only, that was a mistake because as soon as his lids came down, he saw Diana. Diana at the Short Stack, her cute cheeks blushing when he’d look at her. Diana in the kitchen, compassionate and understanding even when he had no idea what he was feeling. Diana—oh God, this was the worst—leaning against the wall, pleasuring herself for no reason other than that he’d asked it of her.

  He wanted her. He could jack off right now, just reliving that one night. It wouldn’t help with the ache he carried with him even into his dreams.

  He watched the show without having a clue what was going on. He should probably eat something, distract himself from his guilt.

  He never should have walked away from Diana, even if she was just passing through. He’d told himself it was about the ranch deal that had come through, he’d gotten distracted, he figured she was better off without him, he had to deal with issues on the property. Before he knew it, three weeks had passed. He couldn’t call her then. What woman would understand a guy calling nearly a month after a single night in bed?

  That was what he told himself.

  After six weeks, he admitted he’d been afraid. Afraid she’d want more than he could give. Afraid he’d want more than she had to offer. Just fucking afraid.

  After three months, he couldn’t lie to himself anymore. He wanted her. He didn’t care on what terms, he just wanted her.

  It had to be too late. She’d have left Laramie ages ago. What was that part she needed? A single part, and she was gone. She hadn’t even asked if she could use his workspace.

  He’d been a man in a town she got stuck in. She wouldn’t remember him. Or worse, she’d remember him as the asshole who fucked her once and ran out. He was a shit like his dad.

  Ben jabbed the remote with his thumb, flipping through channels looking for something to watch. He settled on a baseball game without even checking who was playing. When the phone rang, he was more relieved than worried.

  It was his mother. “Hi, Ma.” He watched the team in the silver uniforms end the inning by tagging out a white-clad runner.

  “Benjamin. I thought this lunatic rush to buy a ranch would calm you down, make you happier. Instead, I never hear from you.”

  “What? You thought I’d buy the ranch and just sit back on the front porch and do nothing with it? I’ve been working.” He rolled a shoulder, which ached like the dickens, just to prove his point.

  “I know you have, sweetheart. But I’m your mother.”

  “So come out here. Visit. There are two bedrooms.”

  Anthea Bedford Hastings Jarvis was never going to leave her Third Avenue apartment, with its commanding views of the East River and the UN, to come to Laramie and stay in a cramped home attached to the shed where the equipment was stored. Ben had gotten used to the smell of diesel permeating his home, but no way his mother could stand that.

  “Oh, darling, you know I want to. But the fall season of charity balls is right around the corner, and I’m on so many committees…” Anthea rattled off the litany of obligations that kept her in New York, even though they both knew everyone who was anyone was in the Hamptons. Hell, probably Anthea was, staying with her best friend Buffy or Biffy or some other rabbity name.

  Chalk up another crazy pairing to the magic of Cheyenne’s Frontier Days. When hothouse flower Anthea had bumped into local rancher Ralph Hastings at a local watering hole, they were smitten almost immediately. She settled into the sprawling cattle ranch, he tolerated trips to Manhattan for the holidays, and Ben was raised with the knowledge his parents loved him.

  Then Ralph cheated with Courtney, a dark-eyed waitress with two young boys. Next thing Ben knew from the safety of his snooty East Coast university was that his parents were divorced and Dad had married Courtney. Ben came home but moved into his own place, a small cabin on the ranch. When Ralph died a few years later, his will left everything to Courtney, except for a modest amount for Ben. Unless Courtney sold it, two boys more interested in Xbox than roping steers were going to inherit close to twenty thousand acres of prime Wyoming grassland.

  Easy to be bitter about the will, but that missed the point. Ralph died about thirty years before he expected to, so of course the will hadn’t been the way he’d wanted things. Ben got that. What pissed him off was the sheer lunacy of expecting Courtney, a woman who thought herself so fucking clever, not to screw up a good ranch. Hell, two of their best hands had already come to Ben asking for a job.

  “So, you see, sweetheart, I simply can’t leave New York now. I have responsibilities.”

  “Yeah, Ma, I see that.” She hated when he called her “Ma.” She’d have preferred “Mummy,” for chrissakes.

  “But you should call me, Benjamin. I miss hearing from my little man.”

  Ben rapped softly on his coffee table. “Ma, I’m sorry. There’s someone at the door. I gotta go.”

  “Okay, baby. I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  He hung up, turned off the television, rinsed out his beer bottles and went to bed.

  *

  On Saturday, Ben allowed the hands, Jeff and Willy, to drag him into town for some honky-tonk and beer. It was his first trip back to Grand Avenue. He walked past the Short Stack—closed but a few lights on in the kitchen area illuminated the front enough for Ben to see “his” table. He could picture Diana’s slim legs and sensible shoes standing alongside the table, waiting for him to look up. She always looked so pretty and fresh, smiling down at him. He’d bring his Kindle along so he’d have something to read, someplace to park his eyes other than watching her move around the space. He’d have looked like a puppy desperate for attention.

  “Hey, Ben, you coming or not?”

  Willy was crossing the street, waving back at him.

  “Yeah, sorry,” Ben called.

  The Saloon, as the locals called it, was a huge space, empty in the middle for dancing, a bar along one side, tables on the other, and all of it covered in John Ford Western-style gear for the tourists. Jeff led them to a table in the back corner, where they could watch the dancing—it got pretty funny as people drank a bit too much—and still have a few beers without interruption.

  The air-conditioning was trying to keep the air cool, but as more people crowded in, Ben could smell the sweat and perfume of active bodies mixing with bee
r and fried foods.

  Jeff asked Willy about some girl he was dating. Ben listened with half an ear, but he could tell he was going to be disinterested in his companions and unwilling to talk about himself. He’d leave, but he was the designated driver.

  A song ended and the dancers started to leave the floor. The bodies parted. A gap opened all the way to the bar, perfectly framing Diana talking to some guy.

  Ben was shocked. He’d assumed she’d left Laramie. That had been her plan. No way she’d stay in town just because she was hung up on him. He stared at her as though she’d disappear if he looked away. After the shock wore off, he was consumed with anger, annoyance, desire…and something else. Something dark and deep and gut-twisting. It swept him right back to the lawyer’s office, when the terms of Dad’s will were explained.

  Envy.

  That was what the black pit looming in front of him was. He was envious because someone else got to keep the one thing he’d ever wanted.

  “Hey, that’s that waitress, isn’t it?” Willy nudged Jeff with an elbow. “You know, from the Stack.”

  “You guys go there?” Ben asked.

  “Yeah, well, you know, sometimes. Like when you don’t need us,” Jeff said.

  Ben nodded but didn’t look away from Diana.

  The music started, a slow ballad by Lee Ann Womack. Ben got up and crossed the nearly full dance floor. He caught up with Diana just before she and her date could walk away from the bar. Ben caught her upper arm.

  “Dance with me?” He must have looked grim when she turned around, but he couldn’t manage a smile to save his life.

  They stared at each other. Diana looked startled and maybe even alarmed, but oh, so pretty. Her hair was down around her shoulders. She had on a sleeveless shirt open at the neck that made her skin look like the palest honey.

  Finally she nodded, then turned to her date. “Go grab us a table, okay?”

  Ben didn’t even bother to look at the guy, who had to want him dead. After the guy walked away, Ben took Diana in his arms and began to shuffle them around the dance floor.

  “You look good,” he said into her hair.