Clarissa and the Cowboy: An opposites-attract romance

by Alix Nichols

  Clarissa gives me a nod. “OK. So, you see, archeologists are still not sure why cave dwellers made art. One big theory is that they would get bored, sitting around after a meal, not doing anything special. So some of them made up tales. Others made graffiti.”

  “It figures. I sing when I’m bored.”

  “Will you sing for me?”

  “Maybe later.” I flash her a smile. “But, please, go on. Is there another theory?”

  “The other big theory is that making those paintings was part of some ritual.”

  “What kind of ritual?”

  “Nobody knows.”

  “Hmm…” I scratch the back of my head. “I don’t like that theory.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Why not?”

  “It’s too easy.” I shrug before saying, in what I hope is a professorial voice, “When clueless about why folks did what they did, call it a ritual.”

  She turns toward me—not just her head, but her entire body—and leans forward. “That’s exactly how I feel about it.”

  “So what’s your theory?”

  She stares into my eyes for a moment, before speaking. “The horse in the Dance Room would suggest that at least some of the paintings were made with the purpose of recording and transmitting practical knowledge. They had an educational function.”

  “Makes sense to me.”

  She beams. “Really?”

  “I’d wager that paint was a lot more expensive in those days than now, so if I were a caveman, I’d make sure my art did double duty.”

  She blinks and stares at me like I’ve just given her a map to the Holy Grail. “That’s an excellent point, Nathan!”

  “Happy to help, ma’am.”

  “Naturally, I’ll need to find many other examples in other caves before I can postulate a theory,” she says.

  I give her a solemn nod. “Naturally.”

  “I wouldn’t want to make a fool of myself.” There’s that crease again.

  “Mum’s the word, trust me.”

  She nods. “I trust you.”

  We stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Clarissa’s gaze is filled with excitement, and something else, something a pessimist would describe as warmth, and an optimist, as longing.

  I’m an optimist.

  My body tenses, aching for her touch. My hand on the bench burns to inch closer to hers and brush it. But my instincts tell me it’s too soon. Clarissa is just beginning to see a man with a functioning brain behind the jacked hick.

  She isn’t flirting with me yet.

  Hold your horses, Nathan.

  “Speaking of horses,” I say before correcting myself, “I mean, education, do you think that was also the purpose of that shape?”

  I stride to the opposite wall and point the beam of the flashlight up at what looks like an erect penis.

  She comes near me and says without batting an eye, “The phallus?”

  What a handy word! “Yes, the phallus. Do you believe it was a teaching aid for a lesson in human anatomy?”

  She smiles. “That’s a bit far-fetched but can’t be excluded.”

  “Do you think it’s life-size?”

  “I don’t think so.” She tilts her head to the side and squints. “It’s much too large.”

  Er… not really.

  “There are men,” I say, “Living men, who would compare favorably.”

  My traitorous eyes dart to my fly before I look up at the wall again.

  Clarissa is silent.

  No giggling, no comment, not a sound.

  Shit. I went too far.

  Discussing cave-art phalluses is one thing, but drawing her attention to my real cock is quite another.

  She’s going to bristle. She won’t want to speak to me anymore.

  “Those men, they sound… intimidating,” Clarissa finally says, laughter in her voice.

  My whole body slackens in relief. “They aren’t! Their… phalluses aren’t freakishly big.”

  “Then, how would you describe them?”

  An adjective, quick! One that would both reassure and entice her, one that won’t be too vulgar or too—

  Her lips twitch. “Would you call them fulfilling?”

  Yes! “That’s exactly what I would call them.”

  My eyes drill into hers.

  She holds my gaze and begins to stroke the back of her neck as she did earlier in front of the horse with twisted hooves.

  Dude—she’s flirting.

  In fact, she’s beyond flirting.

  Consciously or not, Clarissa is seducing me.

  My eyes wander over her face and body. Suddenly, brushing her hand is not enough. It won’t even scratch the surface of my wanting.

  Need to hold her, all of her, need to press her to me.

  My control snapping, I place the flashlight on the ground, lunge forward, and grip her shoulders. The next second, my lips descend on hers, kissing and coaxing her to open up. I pull her closer to my chest, almost crushing her soft breasts. My hands roam freely, exploring the shape of her.

  So fucking good.

  Clarissa doesn’t resist me, doesn’t push me away. Better still, her eyes become hooded as she melts into me. She wants me, there’s no doubt about it, but… she’s too passive. Her arms hang at her sides. She’s turned her face up toward me, but she hasn’t parted her lips.

  Is this her way?

  Nah. It doesn’t track.

  Driven, independent women like her don’t make inert lovers. Something’s holding her back.

  “Rissa,” I whisper against her mouth. “It’s OK. Let go—I have you.”

  I have no idea why I called her Rissa. Nor do I fully understand what I’ve asked her to let go of. But, somehow, it feels right. Both felt right.

  On a gasp, she parts her lips.

  I push my tongue between them and devour her sweet mouth. Can’t get enough of her taste. Standing on tiptoe, she kisses me with passion. As our tongues dance together, she lifts her arms and grips my neck.

  I back her against the closest stalagmite column, and allow my erection to prod her tummy through her layers of clothing.

  Will she shrink from it?

  Rissa moans softly and pushes into me. Sweet Jesus, she’s pressing her taut stomach against my cock. I begin to grind, all while kissing her and fondling her breasts.

  And then her right hand lets go of my neck and settles, fingers splayed, on my bulge.

  Inert, you say?

  Bending my knees, I reach for the hem of her narrow skirt and push it up her smooth thighs. Up, up, up, until the skirt is bunched around her waist. Then I make quick work of unzipping both jackets.

  Need to see her.

  Tearing my mouth from hers, I draw back a notch and look at her. “Oh my God, Rissa…”

  The sight before me is sexier than anything I’ve seen.

  My cock twitches beneath her palm. She smiles.

  She’s killing me.

  Her legs, clad in tight little boots and stay-up stockings, are long and shapely. Made to be stroked and kissed. She’s wearing black panties with a bit of lace. I picture them dangling from one of her ankles, her legs wrapped around my waist, ankles crossed, squeezing me as I fill her.

  Whoa, going too fast, Nathan!

  I shoo that image away… only to make room for another one in which her legs are on my shoulders.

  That’s it, I must touch her. I simply can’t go on living if I don’t.

  I cup her between her legs and find she’s already wet.

  “Yes, please,” she whispers, nuzzling the side of my face.

  I must have died and gone to heaven.

  She throbs under my fingers, pressing into them. When I push the crotch of her panties aside and slip in a finger, she lets out a ragged moan and clenches her muscles around it. I’m loving how wet and eager Rissa is. What I’m loving a lot less is that she’s tight.

  Much too tight.

  Truth is, calling my cock “fulfilling” rat
her than “freakish” doesn’t shrink it to… manageable proportions. I’m not complaining. Better too large than too small, right? But experience tells me she might recoil when she sees it.

  With her hand still on my cock, she gives it a gentle upward stroke. “You weren’t lying about your size.”

  My lids grow heavy. “Why would I?”

  “Men often do.”

  She trails her hand down, then up again. Her fingers reach the buckle of my belt and stop there.

  Will she undo it? Will she free my cock and stroke it, skin to skin? What will her expression be when she looks at it?

  My hand is still between her legs, but I’ve stopped thrusting.

  She takes my wrist and pulls my hand away from her. “We’ll continue this later.”

  “Promise?”

  She nods.

  I wait for her next move.

  Slowly, she unbuckles my belt and opens the fly of my jeans. Her gaze locks with mine as she fumbles with my underwear, freeing my raging erection.

  Her fingers begin to explore me, but she won’t look down.

  Is she panicked by what she’ll see? I try to read her expression, but I’m too crazed with lust to play shrink.

  “Look at it, Rissa,” I say softly.

  She gives me a tight little smile and lowers her eyes. “Oh my.”

  Hooking my index finger under her chin, I tip her head up to see her face. Rissa’s eyes are wide, but there’s no distress or, worse, dread in them.

  That’s a start.

  “You were telling the truth,” she says. “The one on the wall can’t hold a candle to it.”

  I arch an eyebrow in mock affront. “I’d never lie about something so sacred.”

  She giggles.

  So far so good.

  “It’s too big for me,” she says just as I begin to relax.

  “You don’t know that.”

  She looks down and studies me. “It’s absolutely gorgeous, Nathan, but if you… it’ll hurt me if you—”

  “Shush.” I press a finger against her lips. “Hurting you is the last thing I want.”

  She nods.

  I brush a gentle kiss on her mouth. “You don’t have to decide anything now. We can just fool around and see where it leads us.”

  “OK.” She gives me a relieved smile and tightens her grip on my cock. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s a privilege.”

  “Is it?”

  She nods. “May I?”

  Before I realize what she’s asking, she squats and gives the tip of my cock a tentative lick. I shudder, my hips twitching involuntarily. She licks again and again, stroking the base with her hands, squeezing gently and kissing it.

  When she looks up at me, her gaze is dark and intense.

  “I’ll come if you don’t stop now,” I rasp.

  “That’s OK.”

  “No.” I grab her shoulders and pull her up. “Ladies first.”

  “You fiend,” she protests. “I was enjoying myself!”

  “I have principles.”

  “They are too old-fashioned.”

  I shrug.

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “For starters,”—I hook my thumbs into her lacy panties at the sides and pull them down—“we get rid of these.”

  She helps me remove her panties. I leave the rest of her clothing on, so she won’t be too cold. Her pubes are dark and only lightly trimmed, which is a godsend for a man who’s never liked bald pussy. Reaching down, I play with her moist curls and spread her folds, exposing her hooded little bud. My breath hitches and my cock pulses like crazy as I stare at her.

  She lets out an amused snort. “You look like you could eat me.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  She chuckles.

  “Lean back on the column,” I say, my voice coarse.

  She does immediately.

  I kneel before her and settle her right thigh on my shoulder.

  And then I carry out my plan.

  7

  Clarissa

  Nathan tongues me like I’m the world’s most delicious ice cream.

  His fingers stretch and probe.

  I tangle my fingers in his hair as I moan.

  He abrades my sensitive skin with his evening stubble, and I love it.

  When my legs begin to tremble, he wraps his big hands around my bottom and squeezes, his mouth still doing its magic between my legs.

  In a rush of heat and exquisite pleasure, I shudder. Then another wave, and one more. Barely conscious of my surroundings, I hear myself making strange noises, mumbling between groans and whimpers. “Oh God… Nathan… I can’t… Oh God.” It’s too much. I want him to stop.

  I don’t want him to stop.

  As I ride the last aftershock, he strokes my hips and trails his tongue up to my stomach. He rises and leans his forehead against mine.

  I encase his face between my hands and kiss him deeply.

  A long moment later, we break the kiss. Nathan stares at my face and then at my bared sex, his gaze scalding me.

  “Still hungry?” I tease.

  He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even smile back.

  Heat creeps up my neck and cheeks.

  Who knew being selectively undressed like this would make me feel more bared—and more turned on—than full nudity?

  My heart quickening, I lower my gaze to his enormous shaft. I want it as much as I’m apprehensive about it. What will I do when he presses its tip against my entrance? How will my body react? Can I stretch enough to receive it without pain?

  But he said I didn’t have to decide yet.

  He said we could just fool around.

  Gingerly, I palm him and begin to stroke up and down his hot length. He groans, one hand on the column next to my head, the other on the side of my neck. I rub a little harder, curling my fingers around him. He throbs against my palm.

  I look up into his heavy-lidded eyes. “May I?”

  A nod.

  Finally.

  I’ve been burning to press my lips around it since I first saw it. As I explore its hard shape, its cordlike veins and the softness of its skin against my lips and tongue, I feel like an ancient priestess performing an act of worship.

  If that phallus on the wall is life-size, then the man it was attached to must have had quite a following. I envy his groupies who were no doubt sturdier than I am and more apt to accommodate him.

  Were all the women Nathan slept with able to take him in? Would he tell me the truth if I ask him? It’s damn tempting to ask.

  Except, I won’t.

  Asking him about his exes might give him the wrong idea. Regardless of how he makes me feel or what happens here tonight, I’m not going to date a farmer from Verlezy. We belong in different worlds, and the only bridge between those worlds is our lust.

  Lust fades away. Complications remain.

  OK, if tonight is all we have, I’d better shut that chatterbox in my head and let my hair down.

  I increase my pace and the amount of pressure, feeling him grow even harder, thicker and bigger than he already is. Wetness pools again between my legs. My core is heavy, empty, wanting to be filled.

  “Rissa,” he murmurs. “Careful, or I’ll come.”

  I lift my eyes to him.

  He smooths his hand on my cheek, his eyes drilling into mine, searching.

  With my hands tight on his shaft, I pull back a little and bite my lower lip. “That’s the plan.”

  “Really?” He searches my face. “You don’t mind the mess?”

  “I have tissues in my purse.”

  “You sure?”

  “Oh yes, I always carry a pocket pack—”

  “I mean, are you sure you want me to come on your face?”

  It takes me a moment to adjust to the rawness of his words. I’m not used to that. The men I’ve dated before I got too busy—and too picky—would never talk to me like that. They’d use euphemisms and avoid crude words at any cost. But they
never went down on me with so much passion… if they did go down at all.

  Slowly, I nod.

  He trails the pad of his thumb over my mouth. “You know, you’ve done that already in my fantasies. Many times. But I had no idea you’d be up for it in real life. I thought you’d be squeamish.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving,” I say, omitting to mention I’ve never actually tried a facial before.

  The mere thought of such an act had appeared distasteful. Degrading, even.

  Except, with Nathan, it doesn’t.

  He grips the nape of my head and guides me gently back to his groin. A few enthusiastic minutes later, his face contorts in pleasure and pain. I find that both beautiful and empowering.

  “Shut your eyes,” he prompts, visibly struggling to hold his peak off a little longer.

  I do just before his warm seed hits my face.

  He growls, pumping.

  When he’s done, I lick my lips to taste him and laugh nervously, feeling a little awkward.

  “Don’t move,” he says. “And don’t open your eyes.”

  Noises, steps, then his voice again. “I have your purse here.”

  He opens it so I can dip my hand inside and find the tissues. Taking the pack from me, he wipes my eyes, my forehead, and my cheeks.

  “Do you mind if I use some of the water from the bottle in your purse?” he asks.

  “Please.”

  He wipes my face again with a wet tissue. “All clean.”

  Smiling, I open my eyes.

  He collects the tissues and tosses them in the trash can next to the bench. “You must be thinking this was crazy.”

  “It was fun,” I say, standing up.

  I pull the hem of my skirt down, ignoring the aching and clenching in my center.

  One can’t have everything. He’s too big for me.

  But even without penetration, I just had the sexiest time in my life, and that will have to do.

  Nathan picks up the now-flickering flashlight and offers me his hand. Back at the bench, we sit down next to each other, our knees touching.

  He turns to me. “Will you come sit on my lap?”

  “I thought you’d never ask!”

  The frankness of my reply startles me.

  Nathan looks a little surprised, too. And happy.

  The moment my butt touches his thighs, he puts his arms around me and pulls me closer. “Rissa.”