I Don't Want to be Married

by Sonja Gunter

  She put inches between them but rested her hand on his chest. It rose and fell in a steady pace.

  I can’t let him touch me again. I’m caving in to my own hankering.

  “I wasn’t drunk. You were waiting for your turn to enter the arena and sat on your horse as if you owned the heavens.”

  “So what . . .” she paused, swallowed. “You almost fell into the arena. I could’ve lost.”

  Allan shook his head, reached down, and took hold of her championship silver belt buckle. She gasped and held her breath.

  “John fell into me. If I’d been drunk, we would’ve landed in the arena. I wasn’t drunk. I’d had a reaction to some medicine I’d taken.”

  “No, you were drunk. You slurred your words.”

  He slipped two fingers behind the buckle and yanked her closer to him. She gulped as her hands drifted across his broad chest.

  “Yes, I probably did slur. I don’t recall much after we left the rodeo. I thought I’d be safe taking a Vicodin for the pain in my knee. However, instead of returning to the hotel the limo took us to the bar for more shots. Booze and Vicodin isn’t a good mix. That’s when you found me.”

  She lowered her eyes, not wanting him to see her desire, as his fingers proficiently undid her buckle. She moistened her swollen lips, willing him to kiss her again. His breath touched her mouth.

  I can’t take any more.

  Rosalind stepped to the side, out of his embrace, snatched the fallen brush, and hung it on the hook. Then she shoved Allan from Dawn’s stall.

  “Rosalind, please . . .”

  “Don’t speak.”

  Metal scraping against metal had Dawn neighing as Rosalind latched the bolt.

  “Shh. Sorry girl, I don’t have time for more.”

  The lost warmth of his arms left her feeling empty. She wanted it even more.

  He’s a step behind me. All I have to do is . . .

  Suddenly he gripped her arm and for a second time, drew her into a hug.

  “I want you.”

  Body to body. Face to face. She was forced to decide.

  “Do you get everything you want? I’m not interested in becoming a notch on your bedpost. Or whatever you use to keep track of your . . . women.”

  “Yes. No. At first I wanted you for revenge, but since I’ve been here, spent time with you, all I want is to make love to you. Not sex. Making love.”

  “If I have sex with you, it will mean we’re married. And I don’t want to be.” She couldn’t fall under his spell.

  Again, she put space between them and checked the time. Twelve-eleven. The ranch hands would be heading into the bunkhouse for lunch at this hour.

  Maybe a quickie would get him out of her system.

  “I’m not trying to trick you because of our damn marriage. You do something to me, Rosalind. For reasons I can’t perceive, I enjoy the way your temper explodes. The way you walk. The way your hair smells like a fresh breeze.”

  “No, I don’t want to hear this.”

  Allan took a handful of her hair and lifted it to his nose. “Mmmm, nice.”

  “Let me go, City Boy,” she demanded, certain he could hear her heart beating.

  “See, there’s your temper. It makes me want you more.”

  Rosalind opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, but he drew her against his body. Kissed her parted lips. She sighed as he gently sucked her bottom lip. As if on command, their tongues met.

  As one they stumbled awkwardly backward, the intensity of the kiss remained persuasive until the rough barn wall stopped their movement. Her loss of breath momentarily brought consciousness to their actions. He wrenched her jacket off her shoulders, holding her arms captive by the sleeves. His fiery trail of kisses from her mouth to her neck had her heaving in anticipation.

  “Your soft skin smells like a spring morning,” he murmured between kisses.

  Rosalind moaned as he bit and nibbled the area below her ear. She pressed her body into his. More.

  He loosened his hold and his fingers skimmed over her shirt to her breasts. Her coat fell to the floor, freeing her arms.

  “Allan, stop. I can’t. You don’t love me. I don’t love you.”

  Her tone sounded more like a moan than a demand. She forced her arms to stay at her sides as he kissed the area left open by her shirt.

  Save me Lord, he’s charmed me. Love? Who needs it to enjoy what he’s offering?

  “You ride your horse in a very sensual way. I want you to ride me. We are married. No annulment,” he stated.

  She closed her eyes, fighting her inner self. The popping of her shirt snaps unnerved her. Cool air touched her skin as he tore open her shirt. She inhaled sharply as his fingers eased inside her bra and teased her nipples. She opened her eyes and gazed at him. He stared at her.

  “Fine. It’s here and now. No complaining like a mule about the cold or straw poking you. Sex. That’s what it’ll be. Just sex with no strings attached.”

  Rosalind pushed him from her and stomped to an empty stall. Spotting fresh straw on the floor, she grabbed three saddle blankets from a bench and threw them on top.

  “This will be a first,” Allan mused.

  He’d made love to women at four-star hotels, luxury yachts, but never in a barn. Not how he’d envisioned their first time together. She collected her coat and added it to the blankets. Next she removed her shirt and rolled it into a makeshift sort of pillow. He swallowed hard as he eyed her sexy derriere, a tattoo that swirled along her beltline playing peek-a-boo.

  Lord have mercy. You’re testing me. Shit.

  His hunger climbed by degrees. Allan stepped closer, mashed his groin against her butt, and gripped her hips. Her natural response of straightening up slowly and thrusting backward had him releasing a suppressed groan.

  Surprised by her unconstrained, steamy desire, he wasted no time, and slid his hands to her breasts. He kissed the exposed back of her neck.

  The feel of her hands sliding up his thighs and grasping his butt cheeks sent his craving surging out of control. She drew him closer. His hard cock pushed against her. Rosalind’s head fell back onto his shoulder, allowing him full access to her sensitive neck.

  He found the front hook of her bra and quickly freed her swollen breasts. The minute he touched them he knew they were a hundred percent real, not man-made enhancements. The soft, natural, and yielding skin was more than a handful.

  “Your breasts are beautiful. Why do you hide them?”

  Not waiting for a reply, or expecting one, he whirled her so she faced him. Lowering his head, he kissed one breast and paused for a second before taking the other.

  Another tattoo. God wasn’t listening.

  She’s killing me.

  A single rose in full bloom with a stem that curved beneath her left breast. It was delicate, not overpowering like some of those old school tattoos. Gorgeous. He placed a gentle kiss on the red petals and tenderly traced the green stem with his thumb.

  She whimpered and held onto Allan’s shoulders for support as wave after wave of decadent craving let loose. As if he understood her want-her need—he stopped his intoxicating love licks on her breasts. The reprieve was short lived as he moved lower, leaving tantalizingly brief kisses in a path to her naval.

  “An innie. I love it.”

  Smiling, Rosalind inhaled when he kissed her there. He stopped and tore loose her belt, opening her jeans. His mouth and tongue nipped at her panties, playing havoc with her fading self-control. His fingertips traced the jagged split heart design on her upper thigh.

  “Allan,” she cried.

  Her knees gave way. Allan caught her and tenderly laid her on the makeshift bed.

  “There are no words to tell you how beautiful you
are, Rosalind. Three tattoos. Each one more intriguing than observing you ride.”

  “You find my works of art sexy?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you have any?”

  “Me? No.” He laughed as he removed his coat, tugged his shirt from his pants, and undid the buttons. “Why a broken heart? Don’t you believe in love?”

  “It’s personal,” she confided. Unwilling to break the sexual moment, she changed tones. “You’re awfully slow at undressing, City Boy. Do you need my help? If you don’t hurry, you’ll be left hanging.”

  “Are we in a hurry? Don’t you like what you’re seeing?” Allan kicked off the borrowed muck boots, unzipped his jeans, drawing one leg out at time, discarding them with a flick of his hand.

  “Plaid boxers. Nice.”

  “You’re the one who’s in need of undressing. You still have clothes on.”

  She had time to end this madness, but couldn’t as her eyes raked over his fabulous body. She smiled. Greenhorn on the inside he might be, but on the outside he bore muscles of a breed stallion. He knelt and tugged her jeans along with her undies. Her boots stopped his progress.

  “You have to take the boots off first.”

  “Right.”

  Rosalind chuckled as he tugged on one boot heel and almost went flying when it came loose. The second boot he gripped with more caution. She helped and it slid off. Eagerness heightened her hunger.

  “You ready to do the deed, Big Boy?”

  “As if you have to ask. The proof is very evident.”

  And ready he was. In a sweeping motion he shed his boxers, now naked for all the earth to see; unaware of the cold, the horses or the smells.

  Allan knelt before her. Slowly his hands moved in a caressing motion up her calves to her thighs. His touch played homage to her broken heart tattoo until she threw her head back, enthralled at the unexpected and satisfying sensation.

  Through half closed eyes, she saw him lower his head, and groaned when his tongue replaced his fingers.

  To her delight his mouth and tongue worked as one and in no time she exploded in an earth-shattering run of orgasms. She lay unmoving, drained by her uninhibited response.

  What has he done to me? Tom never made me feel like this.

  Allan curled next to her and cuddled her close.

  “Have you come down from cloud nine yet?”

  “Uh-huh,” she murmured.

  He stroked her hair and spine. Rosalind shifted out of his arms. Pushing herself up, the wintry air cooled her burning body. Green eyes met blue.

  “You ready for your ride, mister?”

  His eyes darkened with desire. She saw her answer and climbed on top of him. He throbbed against her inner thighs. Half-sitting, she slowly guided his enlarged penis, savoring the sensation of it filling her.

  With him nestled inside her warmth, she moved back and forth, bracing herself on his chest. Allan’s eyes closed, his face revealing pure bliss.

  To heighten his pleasure, she pulled up slow, slid down slower. His groans of satisfaction encouraged her to do it several more times, only to be stopped by his hands. They held her in place, poised and ready at his tip.

  “Rosalind, I’m ready to bust,” Allan groaned.

  “Well City Boy, you don’t know how to ride a horse. Let me show you.”

  Bucking like a wild thing, she took off. Up and down. In her sweet torment, she heard his grunt and felt his pulsing release. Like hers, his came fast, and hard, spilling his seed into her. She collapsed over him, drained, and astoundingly fulfilled for the first time in her life.

  Chapter 17

  Wrapped in euphoria from their lovemaking, with only her hair encasing them, cold air ruined their moment. Rosalind shivered in spite of Allan’s hands wandering over her back. The decadence of their self-indulgence faded.

  She lay naked on top of a man she barely knew, in the middle of winter. And she wasn’t one of those women who’d sleep with anything on two feet.

  A tremor of panic and apprehension coursed through her as deep shadows formed inside the barn.

  Shit, what’s wrong with me? Someone can walk in at any time.

  “We need to make like the wind. Max will be arriving to feed the horses,” she urged, and pulled away from him.

  Allan’s hold tightened. “Can I have another ride?”

  Embarrassed, she bit his shoulder. He yipped and she used his surprised reaction to spring to her feet. Locating her undies and jeans, she snatched them up. He swatted her butt in retaliation before she escaped his reach.

  “Ouch. You’ve had dessert.”

  “I’d enjoy a second helping. The first one was tasty, except not quite filling.”

  A huskiness in his voice compelled her to peer at him. He lay on his side, patting the spot next to him, visibly ready for a second round.

  She smiled at Allan’s very well endowed cock, defiantly a ten. “Sorry I can’t accommodate you. I’ve ridden enough for one day.” Laughter edged her lips. She tugged her jeans on and found her bra atop his coat.

  “Is it ever enough?” In one swift motion, Allan was on his feet and grabbed her from behind in time to cup her breasts before she closed her bra. Leaning into him, she confined his hands so he couldn’t entice her into another ride as he whispered, “I can keep going all night.”

  “Breaking in a wild mare is hard work. We need to hurry. I told you Max should be here any minute. Aren’t you hungry? I need to start dinner. Sam will be looking for me, too.”

  “Does this mean I don’t have to pack my bags? I would like to stay a while. I could help you out . . . with stuff.” Allan removed his hands and gathered his boxers and jeans.

  “It’s Thanksgiving tomorrow, and I was taught never to turn a hungry soul away from a bountiful table. I’m sorry for getting angry earlier. I have an awful temper. It makes me do things I regret later.”

  “I accept your apology. I too, have a tendency to annoy people. It’s sad you won’t be able to help those horses. Let me talk to the company for you. I’m good at negotiations.”

  As if on cue, the big barn door opened to admit Max, the very second Rosalind stepped from the stall. She nervously peeked behind her at Allan, who’d managed to slip on his coat and move into the shadows.

  “Max, make sure the horses have extra straw. The temperature is dropping. It’s gonna be a cold one tonight,” Rosalind called out and seized a feed bucket.

  He halted a few feet from the tack room. His eyes held surprise. In that instant the sexual thrill from the ecstasy Allan had brought about vanished.

  “You still in here, ma’am? Is there something wrong with Dawn? Or one of the other horses?”

  “Ummm—no, I—I took my time.”

  She carried the bucket to Dawn as a distraction to give Allan more time to dress.

  “Extra straw, right. I would’ve done it. I heard about you not gettin’ the land. We could’ve added ten more stalls to the barn. The guys and I were talking. We’d work for free.”

  “My goodness, I wouldn’t expect anyone to work for no pay. I haven’t had time to think about it yet, but I’ll work on the numbers this weekend.”

  Rosalind shifted her eyes toward the stall. No sign of Allan.

  “Sure, let us know. Will you and Sam be okay tomorrow without our help?”

  Rosalind caught Max glancing off to the right. She pivoted. Her mouth formed a tight line. To her dismay, Allan emerged with his shirttails untucked.

  Damn.

  “Mr. Smith—Allan, my soon to be ex-husband, has agreed to stay the weekend. He’s volunteered to get his manicured hands dirty.”

  Allan hung back in the shadows. Rosalind’s words stung. His blood pressure increased. He rubbed the back of his neck. Her dismissal
of him invoked memories of his long string of foster care parents, who’d uncaringly introduce him as their ward, never as their son.

  He forced the uncomfortable feeling to go away. With a clearer mind he shoved his hands into his pockets and clenched his jaw. Gone was her kind, sweet, and sensual tone from moments before.

  Manicured hands, my ass. As if he’d ever step foot in a salon for one of those things. What could’ve triggered her temper this time?

  Allan moved forward, determined to give his bride a taste of his temper, but her words stopped him.

  “You found the outhouse. You must not be used to the cold. Were you in a hurry?”

  “What?” Allan asked. Outhouse?

  He caught her sharp rise of her eyebrows as her eyes flicked over him. He looked down and saw his untucked shirt.

  Shit. What in God’s name is this woman doing to me?

  Being used to quickies and nooners, he’d never failed to make sure he was presentable afterward. Allan casually strolled to Rosalind’s side.

  “I heard a noise . . . thought it might’ve been a bear or some wild animal. I—um—as you see I made a hasty exit. Sorry for my undressed state. Usually only women I date are able to see me like this,” he taunted.

  “Okay. We don’t have bears here.” Max grinned, shaking his head.

  Rosalind’s cheeks turned a nice shade of pink as Max marched to a stack of hay bales.

  Allan shoved his shirt into his jeans. “Can I help?”

  “No, I got it.” Max lifted the bale and brought it to the middle of the floor. “Call me if you need anything, Rosalind. Have a Happy Thanksgiving. Mr. Smith, nice to meet you.”

  “Same here . . .” Allan tried to reply, but Rosalind’s elbow hit him in his side. He glanced at her. She sneered, then motioned her head toward the door.

  Time to leave. He’d dug himself into a colossal hole and knew better not to say anything else.