Never the Twain

by Judith B. Glad

  "So tempting," he whispered. "So damn tempting." As if burned, his hand jerked away from her.

  Genny forced her eyes open and her mind awake. "So you've lived all your life clear out on Rye Creek, so far from civilization?" No wonder he lacked social graces. He'd probably never even learned to share toys, as a child.

  "Mostly. Oh, I've been here and there. I was at the University of Idaho for a couple of years after I finished up at the Community College in Ontario."

  Swallowing her surprise, Genny said, "That must have been difficult for you, disliking crowds as you do."

  "It wasn't so bad. I had a little trailer house, outside of town, so I could get away at night."

  To think he was college educated. She would never have guessed it, just listening to him talk. Of course, a lot of the people around here had similar drawls. To her ears, Dan Walters sounded like an unlettered backwoodsman, rather than the respected scientist he was.

  "What did you major..." His lips touched lightly, just under her ear, and all coherent thought escaped Genny. She leaned into the arm that was suddenly, inexplicably around her waist. "Ahhh. That feels so good."

  "You feel so good, darlin'." He nibbled her earlobe.

  Genny stopped resisting desire. She was kidding no one when she protested too much. She wanted his love-making as much as he did, although she couldn't help acknowledging the danger he represented. They weren't friends; they weren't even very well acquainted. But the chemistry between them was so potent that nothing else seemed to matter.

  His teeth were taking little nips of her throat now, going lower with each nip, drawing ever closer to the waiting pulse. And his hands. Oh, God! His hands.

  One was rubbing up and down her back, stroking her spine, pressing her ever closer to him. The other was resting on her midriff, warm through her cotton shirt, just under her breasts.

  She inhaled, a broken, shallow inhalation that barely replenished her lungs, and tipped her head back still farther. She invited his mouth to continue its southward journey.

  "Touch me, darlin'," he murmured against her skin. "Put your hands on me, on my skin."

  She did, jerking his form-fitting western shirt free of his Levi's and tearing its snaps open. His chest was as she'd imagined, with a scattering of dark hair along the midline, but bronzed and bare otherwise. She slid her hands over the sleek slabs of muscle, letting her fingers linger on flat nipples that burgeoned under her touch.

  His inhalation was a hiss in her ear.

  Genny bared her claws, something she'd always longed to do, lightly scraping her nails across his chest and up to his shoulders. Holding him, she mimicked his actions, biting his earlobe gently before nibbling her way along the tendons of his neck. He shuddered under her touch. Her last reservation evaporated. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

  "Enough," he rasped. "Don't push me." Grabbing her hand, he forced it against the Levi's straining across his abdomen.

  This time it was her breath hissing through her teeth. He was fully engorged, enormous. A tiny frisson of fear went through her as she imagined him penetrating her, stretching her, filling her. Fear, and delicious anticipation. Oh, God, I've got it bad, don't I?

  "Unless you want this all one-sided, darlin', you'll slow down." He flicked one shirt button open. "Let me love you now." Another button. "Let me bring you up with me," he invited, slipping his fingers inside her exposed bra.

  Rough and warm, they scraped across the tender skin of her breast, never quite reaching its swelling peak, then withdrew to undo another button. His other hand cupped and lifted and his mouth came down, covering the lacy fabric of her bra, wetting it and the skin beneath, tugging and suckling.

  She felt coolness on her spine as her shirt was pulled from her jeans, felt Rock's words against her breast. "Move back darlin', so I can get this off." She complied, enjoying the touch of his hands as he slipped her shirt free of her arms.

  No sooner was she bared to his view than his hands were on her again, loosening the front closure of her bra, stroking across her aching, swollen breasts. His mouth followed, dropping kisses where his palms left her sensitized to him, aching for him.

  "No, Rock, no," she gasped, as he touched the snap of her jeans. "We can't. There's no door...."

  "Yes, we can," he assured her, even while he slipped the jeans from her hips, revealing the scrap of lace and elastic barely covering her bush. A scrap she had owned for years, but had never before had the inclination or opportunity to wear. "They're all so busy eatin' that they'll never miss us."

  "Eating? How do you know?" She struggled free of his hands, wanting to remove her boots so she could kick off her jeans.

  "I heard the music stop and the dinner bell sound. Didn't you?" He knelt and removed first his boots, then hers. Her socks followed, just before he lowered his head and kissed her toes, one by one.

  Genny all but melted, right there on the bench, as he worked his way back to her mouth.

  When he swiped his tongue across the back of her knee, she twitched, then shivered as his hot breath evaporated the wetness and left cold behind. His teeth raked along her inner thigh as he spread her legs, giving himself better access to her core. When he buried his face in her bush, she inhaled a scream. The next instant his tongue found her, and she had no voice at all, because the orgasm rolled over her like ball lightning.

  Rock held her until her breathing slowed, his arms gently enclosing her, his head resting on her thighs. When he moved, it was to rear up and take her mouth again in a long, slow, deep kiss. She smelled herself on him and felt a rebirth of desire.

  His voice was hoarse when he said, "I want to take this slow, Genny, but I don't think I can. I want you so much--too much."

  She pushed the open shirt back on his shoulders, fighting his hands on her body to get hers on his. "Let me," she said. "Your shirt...."

  He shucked it in a single motion, then popped the buttons of his Levi's open just as efficiently. Their hands tangled as they sought to lower his pants, release his eager cock from narrow maroon briefs. He kicked the Levi's aside as they fell around his feet. Picking them up, he removed a foil packet from the watch pocket.

  Genny slid her hands up along his strong thighs, across his hipbones, and along the margins of his belly. What a beautiful man he was! All sinew and strength, lean and lithe. She watched him fit the condom around himself, wishing she had the courage to push his hands aside and do it herself. "Mmmm." Without thinking, she licked her lips, remembering and anticipating the salty-sweaty taste of his skin.

  "That does it, darlin," he said, pulling her up along his body, letting her feel his readiness against her chest, then her belly. Cupping her buttocks, he lifted her until she was neatly fitted against him, almost but not quite aligned with his thrusting cock.

  She wriggled, trying to take him within herself. "Now. Rock," she whispered, wanting him. "Please. Now." But he was teasing her, touching her with a probing finger, rubbing a knuckle lightly across sensitive tissue.

  He dipped into her. Genny did her best to keep him inside, but he pulled back. She locked her legs around him, pulling him closer. His hands left her buttocks and slid along the undersides of her thighs, raising gooseflesh, making her ache even more for him. One hand slipped upwards to knead her breast, while the other held her tightly against him. She heard herself moan with frustration.

  "What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me!" he demanded in her ear. His hands were back on her buttocks, squeezing and releasing. His mouth was busy tasting her, his tongue rough against her skin.

  He was driving her to the brink of madness. She felt the pleasure, the release, hovering at the edges of her consciousness. "You, Rock. I want you. Inside me! Now!"

  "My pleasure, darlin'," he said, lifting her slightly, so that he fit between her legs. A momentary pressure, as she adjusted to the size of him, then he was filling her. "Oh, God," he groaned, his hands pulling her firmly to him. "Don't move. Don't even breathe."

 
She wrapped her arms more tightly around his shoulders, her legs more securely around his hips, waiting while he took four, then five, deep shuddering breaths. But the wave was threatening to break within her, and finally she moved against him.

  That was all it took. He pulled back, then drove into her. Again and again. And she gave as good as she got, for Genny had never felt a tempest such as this. The waves of pleasure built, until her whole body was one burning, tingling thing, out of control, bent only on achieving total satiation.

  Time ceased while they lost themselves in each other, while they found themselves in a universe of their own creation. Minutes? Hours? Eons? Later Genny lifted her weary head from his shoulder and kissed him at the corner of his eye. "I don't think I'll ever move again."

  "Me neither." His arms tightened.

  All passion spent, Genny clung to mind-boggling memories of how he'd thrust himself into her, over and over. Of how her body had responded in a way she'd never imagined possible. Good grief, much more of that and I'd become his sex slave for life. That possibility was greatly dangerous, but right now, she couldn't figure out why.

  She felt him slip from her body, spent but not entirely flaccid. Her knees were none too steady when her feet touched the ground. She clung to him for a few seconds before sinking onto the bench. Its splintery surface prickled tender skin, a small pain that somehow reminded her of his hard, callused hands on her thighs.

  Looking up at him, she watched his expression change. It went from gentle satiation to grim determination.

  "Rock? What's wrong?"

  "Nothin', little lady. Nothin' atall."

  But she knew he was lying. There was something very wrong.

  Chapter Seven

  He held her, but without the relaxed, tender closeness that Genny needed. Although the old wood bench was splintery, they were soft splinters, the kind that cushioned rather than pricked. She almost wished for the prickly kind. They would hurt her less than his withdrawal did.

  "Rock?" she finally said. "Rock, I wish you would tell me what's wrong."

  "Nothing. I told you nothing's wrong." He dipped his head and kissed her, a rough kiss, as lacking in tenderness as his embrace. "It was good, okay?" His fingers tightened at her shoulder, until Genny knew she could add one more bruise to her growing total for the afternoon. "We'd better get dressed."

  Abruptly he stood, a magnificent male animal, arrogant and proud. He picked up both pairs of jeans, tossed hers to her. Without the smallest trace of self-consciousness, he dressed, unhurriedly, gracefully.

  Genny felt all elbows and knees. Despite a short, tempestuous affair in college, she retained her fair share of body modesty. Group nudity--even a group of two--made her uncomfortable. She wasn't shy about being naked during love-making, but before and afterward were a different story. Her only other lover had told her she was a prude, and she had a feeling he'd been right.

  She turned her back on Rock while she slipped into her clothes.

  "Better hurry. I hear somebody comin'." He sat on the bench to pull on socks and boots.

  Genny's fingers stumbled at buttons, fumbled with shirttails that refused to tuck. "Don't let them come in, Rock. I'm not dressed."

  He went to stand at the door of the gazebo. She wasn't sure how much screening the lattice walls gave, but they were better than her dressing in front of half of Jordan Valley. Finally the shirt felt as neat as she could get it without a mirror. Now the boots. She could hear footsteps and voices from not too far away.

  "Lookin' for us, folks?"

  "Actually, we weren't. Pancho wanted to show me the gazebo." It was Sophie. Darn! Of all the people to catch her in a situation like this.

  "You missed a good dinner, Rock." Even Genny could hear the laughter in Pancho's voice. How could she ever face him? He had to know exactly what she and Rock had been up to.

  There. Her boots were on. Her shirt was tucked and her pants were zipped. Ducking under Rock's upraised arm, she slipped in front of him. "Hi. Sorry I deserted you, Sophie. Rock wanted to show me the gazebo. And the woodlot. Isn't it amazing that woods like these can grow here in the desert? I've never seen the like. They're so green and..."

  Sophie was looking her over like she was a specimen under a microscope. Her aunt's smile grew broader and more knowing as she took in Genny's appearance from head to toes. Involuntarily, Genny patted her hair, the style Sophie had labored over just a few hours ago. Oh, no! The braids were unpinned and hanging every which way. Some felt undone. She must look a fright.

  "I'm sure it was all very interesting, dear. You must have had an extensive tour, to have taken so long."

  Yes, that was definitely a smirk on Sophie's face. And she'd thought her aunt was a lady!

  "Well, I guess we'll go see if there's any dinner left. Come on, Rock." She knew her face was the exact shade of ripe beets as she grabbed Rock's wrist and tried to pull him with her.

  It was like trying to move Vale Butte. He didn't budge.

  "Rock, please." She tugged again. "I'm really very hungry."

  His grin was less than sympathetic, but he moved. "Gotta feed the little lady, folks. See you later."

  "Perhaps Miss Forsythe will give you a ride to the ranch, Rock," Pancho called. "I will bring Miss Enderby in my pickup later."

  Rock stopped, dragging Genny to a halt. "That's not a good idea," he said. "I think--"

  "I think it's a delightful scheme," Sophie said. "Pancho has promised to show me the home ranch on the way in." Genny saw her smile up at Pancho, a smile of amusement and something else, something more fundamental. "Don't wait up for me, Genille. We may be very late."

  Were those canary feathers all around her aunt's mouth? No, Genny decided. Not Sophie.

  Rock walked beside Genny, feeling lower than a snake's belly. He'd had her, just as he'd planned. Just as he'd hoped to do since that day in the 'copter.

  So why didn't he feel good about it?

  It had been the best sex he'd ever experienced, and not because of technique. Genny Forsythe didn't have technique as such. She was enthusiastic and passionate, instead. What had made it special was the feeling of rightness when he was inside her, the conviction that this was the first of many times when they would join bodies and more, finding pleasure and paradise together. She wasn't a woman he could use and discard--not that he ever had, but he'd intended this time to be a first.

  Genny was all wrong for him. He knew that as well as he knew his own name. He knew and he was still looking forward to next time. To many next times, if he had his druthers.

  He looked at her, walking slim and graceful beside him. Her stride was free, with none of the mincing or hesitation he had often seen in women unused to living outdoors. She swung her arms loosely, took long strides, and held her chin high.

  Her silvery hair, half-undone from the fancy style she'd started with, fluttered in the breeze of her motion, glinting in the slanting afternoon sun. It must be natural, although he had never seen hair that pale on anyone older than three before. He clenched his hands, resisting the urge to run them through the silky strands, freeing the remaining braids, letting the long strands fall naturally down her back.

  "Did you know your hair's a mess?" He heard the harshness in his voice, the abruptness of his question.

  Her hand went to her head. "I suspected as much. There's not much I can do about it without a mirror."

  "You could let it down." Oh, yes.

  "But then everyone would think..."

  "Darlin', the way you look now, everyone will think it anyhow." He didn't mention her kiss-swollen mouth, the whisker-burned cheeks. As long as she kept the next-to-top button of her shirt in its hole, the love bite on her throat wasn't too obvious.

  She stopped, right in the middle of the path. "If I do, will you help me do something respectable with it?"

  "I surely will." She worked a couple of dozen braids free, dropping hairpins in the path and ignoring them. Her hands flickered through the molten silver, bri
ght red nails flashing. He watched, fascinated.

  Her pink tongue caught in one corner of her mouth as she finger-combed her loosened hair, taming it into a fairly smooth mass of waves cascading over her shoulders. Rock took a deep breath, one that somehow seemed to catch in his chest. "I've got a comb," he said, his voice sounding strained, even in his own ears.

  She smiled. "Thanks. I'll use it." She held out her hand.

  Rock pulled it from his hip pocket. "Let me. I can get the back better." If she refused, he would not let her use the comb. He wanted to touch, to stroke, to smooth.

  Genny flashed him a trusting smile and turned her back. Gently he drew the comb through the heavy mass, finding snarls and carefully working them free. With each descent of the comb, from her scalp to below her slim waist, he stroked his other hand behind. The feel of her hair sent shivers of delight along his nerves, all the way to his gut, where they turned into waves of heat, surges of desire.

  "Rock, why did you look so...so angry, back there? Was something wrong?"

  Tarnation! Did every woman have to talk about sex afterward? "I told you, nothing was wrong. It was great. You were great." He found yet another tangle and stopped talking to concentrate on it. Finally, "I was just worried that someone was gonna come along and surprise us. That wouldn't have been funny." He forced mildness into his tone, not wanting to tell her how extraordinary he felt, how fresh and new the world seemed. If he let her know how profoundly their lovemaking had affected him, it would be like putting on a halter and handing her the lead.

  "No," she said, slowly. "No it wouldn't." He could hear the doubt in her voice.

  God! Seeing the hurt in her doe-brown eyes, he was reminded of a puppy he'd once had. All it took was a harsh word and the poor little mutt was in abject despair.