by Pamela Clare
Then from somewhere in his lust-addled brain, there came a thought. He slid his fingers into her hair, lifted her lips from his, looked into her eyes. “Megan, honey, have you ever had an orgasm?”
She stared down at him, her cheeks flushed, her pupils wide, then looked away. “Yes—by myself.”
Well, that was good news—and a good place to start.
He stroked his thumbs over her cheeks. “If you show me how you make yourself come, I’ll learn how to please you a lot faster.”
Her flushed cheeks turned scarlet, and she gaped at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Do people do that?”
“What—masturbate in front of their partners?” Shit, even saying it made his dick harder—and it was already petrified. “Hell, yeah. A lot of people find it sexy. Everyone is different. You can’t flick someone’s switch unless they show you where it is.”
“What if you think I’m weird?”
He couldn’t help but chuckle, thinking of O’Malley’s girlfriend who, according to O’Malley, had gotten off as a teen by humping her teddy bear. “Trust me, I won’t.”
She seemed to consider this for a moment, then she eased herself off of him, pushed the covers aside, and laid down beside him on her stomach, her head and left arm on a pillow, her expression saying, quite clearly, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
He propped himself up on an elbow, trailed his fingers down the skin of her bare back, watching as she tucked her other arm beneath her and slipped her hand inside her pajama bottoms. She closed her eyes, and her arm began making subtle up and down motions, her hips thrusting almost indiscernibly. And the realization hit him.
She’d learned to hide it. She’d had no choice. Between overly zealous parents and cellmates, she’d probably never had the privacy most people enjoyed when getting themselves off. With the blankets drawn up to her shoulders, she would seem to be sleeping, not jilling off.
But she didn’t need to hide any longer.
He scooted closer to her, kissed her cheek, tickled the skin of her lower back just above the waistline of her pajama bottoms. “Can I help?”
She opened her eyes. “How—”
“Like this.” He answered her question before she could finish asking it, sliding one hand inside her pajama bottoms and cupping her bare ass.
Trailing kisses over the sensitive skin of her back, he stroked the silky mounds of her butt, loving the firm, round feel of her. His motions nudged down her pajamas, revealing her glorious ass to his gaze inch by delicious inch, goose bumps rising on her skin as his fingers slowly made their way toward her warm, wet cleft, massaging and squeezing her as he went. He groaned when he found her. He nudged a finger between her labia and stroked the slick, hot entrance to her vagina from behind.
She moaned at his touch, her thighs parting a bit more, her eyes squeezed shut, her left hand clenching the pillow case.
He forced her pajamas down to her thighs, exposing her ass to his view, kissing and nipping those soft mounds while his fingers did a little recon, trying to figure out exactly what she was doing to herself. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded, not because he couldn’t find his way around by feel—he hadn’t been celibate for so long that a woman’s body was terra incognita, after all—but rather because he kept getting distracted by what he was feeling, seeing, smelling.
The dark curls on her labia. Her soft musky scent. The heat emanating from her vagina. The delicate folds of her inner lips. The swollen bud of her clit.
One of her fingers was stroking her clit—that much he could tell—but it seemed to him that she was rocking her hips against the heel of her hand, too, putting pressure on her pubic mound. Well, he could handle that—if she’d allow it.
“Let me.” He nudged her fingers aside with his own, began stroking her clit as she had done, quick flicks, slower strokes.
She let out a ragged breath, her bottom lifting up, giving him more room to work.
He kissed his way over her skin until he had a clear view, the sight of her vulva knocking the breath from his lungs. Keeping up the rhythm with his fingers, he watched as her muscles tightened, her hips giving little involuntary jerks as her arousal grew, her clit hard and swollen. He was so close now that he could almost taste her.
He kissed her inner thigh. “Let me slide my fingers inside you.”
She whimpered. “Oh, yes!”
Leaving her to deal with her clit, he parted her labia, ran slow circles around the hot, wet entrance to her vagina—then slid first one and then two fingers inside her.
She moaned, arched her lower back, raising her ass even higher, her head lifting off the pillow, her eyes still closed, her finger rubbing fast circles over her clit. “Nate!”
He shifted until he lay on his stomach between her spread legs, his own legs dangling off the foot of the bed, his face inches from heaven. Then, unable to resist, he did something he was certain no man had ever done for her, something guaranteed not to resurrect bad memories. He nudged his face between her thighs—and tasted her.
She cried out, her spine bowing again.
Oh, she tasted musky and sweet, like sex on a stick, her scent teasing his nostrils. He flicked her clit with his tongue, sucked her smaller inner lips into his mouth, circled her vagina with the tip of his tongue, taking her juices down his throat. But he couldn’t get enough—not in this position and not with her pajama bottoms catching his chin.
He yanked down her pajamas and tossed them. “Honey, roll over. Don’t hide yourself from me. Let me get closer.”
One slender thigh passed over his head as she rolled onto her back, her full beauty laid out before him.
With a groan, he lowered his mouth to her—and feasted.
*
Megan was lost, shocked to the core by the hot feel of his mouth on her, the sensations coursing through her body almost too good to be real. She curled her fingers in Nate’s hair, holding on for dear life as he sucked on her clitoris, tugged on it with his lips, flicked it with his tongue, his fingers working magic deep inside her.
She’d never dreamed anything could feel this good.
She bit her lip, fought to stay in control, but that was impossible, each tug of his lips drawing her closer to the edge, heightening her desperation, until her every exhale became a whimper, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in her belly.
Unbearable. Incandescent. Sweet.
And then she shattered.
“Oh, my God!” She came with a cry, arching off the bed, her body shaken apart by a wave of liquid bliss that seemed to roll on forever. Her vagina clenched around his fingers, the feeling of being stretched and filled adding to the intensity.
And then she was floating.
She lay there, breathless and weak and more than a little astonished. She’d just had the best orgasm of her life—with a man.
With Nate.
She opened her eyes and found him looking up at her from between her thighs, his left hand casually playing with the curls on her pubic mound, his lips pressing kisses to her inner thighs. She felt a hitch in her chest, a surge of tenderness for him, this man who had done so much for her. She didn’t understand him—why he’d been so kind to her, why he cared so much—but she was grateful for every moment she’d spent with him.
She reached for him, wanting to give him the pleasure he’d given her, willing to endure the suffocating sensation of having him on top of her, of feeling his weight press down on her, of having his penis stabbing inside her.
But rather than stretching himself out above her, he caught her up in his arms and rolled onto his back, carrying her with him, settling her on top of him, drawing her mouth down to meet his. As if he knew, as if he understood…
Her own musky, wild taste filled her mouth, his kiss demanding everything, taking everything. And she gave—willingly. His body shook with unspent sexual tension, the hard ridge of his erection pressing against her belly, still trapped inside the cloth of his boxer briefs.
Eager
to bring him the same pleasure he’d brought her, she kissed her way down the midline of his body to the dark trail of curls that disappeared beneath his briefs. She closed her fingers over the waistband and lifted it over his erection, tugging his briefs down his muscular thighs and dropping them on the floor.
Awed by the sight of him, she stared down at his naked body—and distinctly felt her womb clench. For so long, she’d believed she never wanted to see a penis again, but Nate’s body didn’t feel like enemy territory. It was his body—primal, male, beautiful. And it seemed to her that she was seeing a naked man for the first time.
His penis was thick and long, its purplish tip engorged, its satiny skin gleaming. His testicles lay heavy against his thighs, the sac sprinkled with dark curls. The IED hadn’t wounded him here, but it had come terribly close, searing the skin off his hip and upper thigh.
She took him in hand, stroked the length of him from tip to root, gratified by his gasp, by the way his hips jerked at her touch. He was so hard in her hand, the skin velvety soft, a bead of moisture appearing from the slit as she moved her hand up the length of him once more.
He reached down, stilled her hand, his gaze meeting hers. “If you don’t stop now, honey, I’m going to embarrass myself. I want to be inside you, Megan. Can you trust me that much?”
She set aside her fear—for him. “Yes.”
He reached toward his bedside table, opened a little drawer, and pulled out a…
Condom.
He tore it open, the odor of latex hitting her in the face, reminding her of another place, another time—other men.
“No.” The word was out before she realized she’d spoken. “Please, I can’t …”
His frowned, nodded, and tossed the small package into the trash bin by his bed. Then he reached for her, settled her astride him. But he didn’t try to enter her. Instead, he grasped her hips and guided her so that she rubbed against the hard length of his erection. “Use my cock this time instead of your fingers.”
She balanced her weight on her palms, her fingers splayed on his chest, flexing her hips, dragging herself from the root of his cock to the tip and down again, heat reigniting inside her.
“Oh, Megan, honey.” His hands found her breasts again, his fingers tormenting her nipples as she found a rhythm.
She opened her eyes, looked down, and watched herself slide over him, the sight intensely erotic and arousing, her labia enfolding him, his penis glistening with her wetness. And she found herself nearing an unbelievable second climax.
But then she moved her hips an inch too far forward. No longer held down, his cock sprang up, its head poised against her entrance.
She froze.
He grasped her hips. “It’s up to you.”
For a moment, Megan felt like she stood on the brink of some new threshold. She looked into his eyes—and chose Nate.
Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, her moan mingling with his as his cock filled her inch by hard inch. There was no stabbing pain, only satisfying fullness, a slick, sweet stretch. And as she took all of him inside her a thought struck her, making her breath catch, bringing tears to her eyes.
This is how it’s supposed to be.
She looked down into a gaze that burned with need. “Oh, Nate!”
He reached up, brushed a tear from her cheek. “Are you okay, honey?”
She nodded, smiled through her tears—and began to move.
He let out a shuddering breath, his muscles tensing as she ground herself against him. He reached down, grasped her hips, helping to guide her motions, his voice a ragged whisper as he urged her on. “God, yes, honey, ride me!”
Oh, and it was perfect!
She’d never dreamed she would experience this, had never believed it was possible for her to be with a man like this, had never known it could feel like this—the slippery friction of him inside her, the erotic ache of being filled, the thrum of naked joy in her chest. Each thrust felt better than the one before, left her desperate for the next, as he began to match her rhythm, driving into her from beneath, the powerful motions of his hips pushing her closer to the brink.
“Geezus!” His jaw was clenched, his brow furrowed as if he were in pain.
And she knew he was in pain, the same kind of pleasure-pain she felt—precious torment, sweet distress, torturous bliss.
She wanted it to end. She wanted it to last forever.
She moved faster, his thrusts syncing with her movements, his cock striking some sensitive place deep inside her. And then it hit her.
“Nate!” She cried out his name, tears spilling down her cheeks as orgasm claimed her once more, golden waves of pleasure washing through her, a baptism of sunlight, making the world new again.
But Nate was right behind her. He groaned, his eyes drifting shut, his body shuddering as he came inside her with deep, hard thrusts.
She collapsed onto him, kissed his chest, the left side slick with sweat. He wrapped his arms around her, drew her close, one hand stroking her hair, his heart thrumming in his chest, both of them breathless.
And as sex cooled into sleep, he kissed her tears away.
Chapter Twelve
Nate checked the girth one last time, made sure the traces were secure, then slipped his hands into his gloves and took the reins from Chuck, who’d helped him hitch Buckwheat to the sleigh. “Thanks, Chuck. I appreciate it.”
“Sure thing. Have a good time.” Chuck turned back toward the bunkhouse, his gaze lingering on Megan for one moment too long.
Nate and Megan had gone into town with Chuck early this morning to pick up supplies. While Nate had focused on the grocery list his dad had given him, Megan had picked up a packet of emergency contraception, together with a package of spermicidal sponges, their only option for protection between now and when she got a chance to go to the clinic next week. It had bothered Nate to find the foreman watching Megan’s every move—something he wondered if he should mention next time he was alone with Chuck.
Nate climbed into the sleigh beside Megan, reins in hand. He looked back over his shoulder to where Emily sat beside his dad, bundled in a bright pink snowsuit and covered with a thick sheepskin. “Are you ready back there?”
“Are you waiting for Christmas to get this show on the road?” his dad barked. “I’ve got a little girl back here who’s hungry for some s’mores. Isn’t that right, Miss Emily?”
“Go, Buckwheat!” Emily’s tiny voice rang like crystal in the cold mountain air.
Nate shared a smile with Megan, gave Buckwheat a little cluck—and they were off.
The gelding tugged at the traces, his hooves churning up snow as he pulled the little sleigh forward. A tap with the reins, and Buckwheat moved into a trot, the bells on his breast harness jingling merrily.
It was a perfect day. The sun shone down on a landscape of sparkling white, the pine trees garlanded with snow, the high peaks thrusting their summits against the endless Colorado sky. But it wasn’t the weather that had set Nate’s heart to soaring. Credit for that went to the woman sitting beside him.
Nate looked over at Megan and felt a hitch in his chest. She was laughing, a bright smile on her face, her cheeks pink from the cold, her eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, his mother’s old ski hat on her head.
She looked over at him, speaking loudly to be heard above the bells and rustling of the sleigh’s runners through the snow. “I’ve never been in a sleigh before!”
“I promised you a sleigh ride, didn’t I? When I make a promise, I keep it.”
She ducked her head in an adorably shy way, still smiling. “Yes, you do.”
He’d awoken early this morning to find her asleep in his arms, her head pillowed on the right side of his chest. He’d lain there, watching her until the urge to kiss her had become too strong to resist. Then he’d kissed her awake, the two of them making love in the shower, Nate backing her up against the marble tiles, wrapping her legs around his waist, and driving into her until she’d cr
ied out his name. When they had finished showering—and kissing on the bed—she’d gone to her room to get dressed. They’d gone down to breakfast separately, her cheeks flushing bright pink when his dad arched his eyebrows at the two of them and asked whether they’d gotten a good night’s sleep.
Subtlety had never been old man’s greatest strength, but Nate was in too good a mood to deck him.
Megan was a miracle.
Nate didn’t know how else to describe it. He’d met her, and his world had changed. Last night had been the single most amazing night of his life. He’d reveled in watching her come alive under his touch, had been humbled by the depth of her trust, had found himself with a huge lump in his throat when she’d come, tears spilling down her cheeks. And when at last he’d climaxed inside her, he had felt reborn.
Though he knew he ought to slow down, he couldn’t keep himself from imagining a future with her, the two of them raising Emily together here at the Cimarron, teaching her to ride, maybe giving Emily a sister or brother one day.
“Look!” Megan pointed toward a dark shadow among the trees.
“A bull elk.”
“Do you see that, Miss Emily?” Nate’s dad asked.
“A deer,” Emily offered.
“Nope, he’s an elk. Can you say elk?”
“Ewk.”
“Good enough.”
The animal—a big guy with a six-point rack—took a good look at them and darted deeper into the forest, probably frightened by the bells.
Nate turned to Megan. “It’s been a long time since we’ve hitched up this sleigh—since before my mother died.”
“This is magical.” She slipped her gloved hand out from beneath the blanket he’d wrapped around her and tucked it in his lap. “I feel like I’m in a living Christmas card.”
“And it’s not even Thanksgiving yet.” He found himself smiling again.
He turned Buckwheat toward the snow-packed lane that led to their destination—the stone picnic shelter he and his dad had built when Nate was sixteen. It had a slanted roof, a flagstone floor, an enormous fireplace, four walls and two windows, but the door and windows were wide open, letting the outdoors in. Nate’s dad had packed a lunch of fried chicken and potato salad, but what they were all looking forward to was the hot chocolate and the s’mores.