by Anne Calhoun
“Keep going.”
She licked the tip again. Traced the outline of the head with her tongue. “Tell me what you like.”
Heat seared through his balls. He leaned forward and braced one forearm on the wall above her head, then used his index finger on the spot just below the flared head of his cock. “That’s a good spot. Work your tongue over it. Harder,” he added when she hesitantly lapped at it.
She focused on that spot, then closed her lips around the tip and swirled her tongue around the head. She developed a rhythm of tongue and lips, sucking and licking, her eyelashes black curves against her pink cheeks as he looked down at her. Her face was bare of makeup, no mascara, no lip gloss or color of any kind, and the simplicity of it all made him groan low in his chest. No facade, nothing for her to hide behind.
“So hot,” he murmured.
The words rasped into the air and she looked up. For a brief moment he thought he might come then and there at the sight of Rachel’s lips stretched around his cock as she peered up at him. Then she straightened, taking a moment to work her jaw and spread her saliva down his shaft. Muscles in his abdomen flinched as she jacked him.
“Again,” he said. “Harder.”
This time he reached down and moved her hand in tandem with her mouth, showing her how to stimulate every inch. When she developed the rhythm he wound his fingers in her hair, resisting the urge to cup her head. He already had her backed to the wall, already felt his orgasm seething in the tip of his cock. He was holding back from thrusting into her mouth when she leaned back and gasped.
There was probably a trick to breathing through a blow job, but he didn’t know it. She flashed him a smile as she looked up at him, her hand moving up and down his shaft, and the hot look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. He reached down and opened her blouse and bra, spreading the fabric to the side to expose her breasts. Her nipples were hard and rosy, while a paler pink flush glowed on her collarbone.
She watched him stare at her breasts like he’d never seen any before. When he looked at her face again she had a little smile on her mouth. “I want to make you come.”
“Here?” he asked as he smoothed his thumb over her lower lip, feeling the hot, swollen flesh, the slickness inside. “Or here,” he added as he trailed his abraded hand down her throat to the tops of her breasts.
How far would his former virgin go?
In response she leaned forward and took him deep inside her mouth. He groaned and leaned forward, thrusting into her mouth as deep as her fist around his cock would let him go. She didn’t just let him do it. She sucked and licked and with each stroke he coiled more of her hair in his fist until his entire body was rigid with need.
“Rachel,” he growled. “Rachel, now—”
Release exploded at the base of his spine, pulsed out into her mouth. In some dim corner of his mind he knew she’d startled under him, knew she had no idea what to expect. But then her fingers tightened on his hip, holding him in place, taking it all until he slumped back on his heels, arm still braced against the wall, shaking hard enough to reverberate through her body. He looked into her eyes, trying to decipher her emotional state as he brushed his thumb across her wet, swollen mouth.
• • •
Raw emotion poured from Ben in hard, crashing waves, breaking over Rachel from the moment she walked in the door. His face was battered, a black eye forming, his nose slightly swollen, and his gaze held a conquering warrior’s heavy-lidded, imperious look. Some primitive place, buried deep at the back of her brain, sent molten need streaming down her spine and into her sex while he took what he needed from her.
Now he slumped over her, arms braced on either side of her head, his temple next to her cheek as he breathed in deep, hard exhales intended to make space for the oxygen his body craved. He smelled like sweat and soap and sex. She turned her head and touched her tongue to his cheekbone, feeling a day’s worth of stubble rasp as she added salt to the musky, somewhat bitter taste on her tongue. She never would have done that if she’d not been carried away by Ben’s transformation into hard, rough male. She hadn’t been thinking about being pure, being chaste, being holy. She’d only felt.
Rachel the virgin was long, long gone.
More of his weight settled against her thighs as his muscles continued to relax. One hand still at his hip, she lifted the other to squeeze his biceps. He turned his head to look at her. Her heart skittered in her chest at his intense blue gaze, the satisfaction etched around his mouth and eyes.
“You okay?” he asked.
Not really. She wanted sex. Now. Not oral sex or his hand between her legs, but him inside her with all of that raw intensity back. Ben, however, was in no condition to provide it.
“No,” she said.
He sat back, going from satisfied male to alert protector in the blink of an eye. “Fuck,” he said, then swiped his hand over his eyes. “I thought . . . you didn’t . . . I . . . fuck.”
“No, no,” she said quickly. “I wanted to do that. I just . . . wanted more.”
His brows drew down. “You think we’re done?”
“We’re not?” she said.
A little huff of laughter, then he said, “The hell we are.”
He sat back and unwound his hand from her hair, then pushed back off the bed. She pulled together the edges of her blouse as he did, the scrape of cotton over aching nipples pure torture.
“Stay put,” he said, glancing at her now-covered torso, then strode into the kitchen. He came back with two bottles of water, cracked the seal on one and handed it to her. She swallowed gratefully, pulling her knees up and to one side as he leaned back against the headboard next to her.
“You okay?” he asked again.
“I liked that,” she said. She would not deny what she did. How it made her feel.
He tilted back the bottle and stretched his legs out. The focus of so much attention and energy now lay half hard against his thigh. “Why?”
She thought about how to phrase this. “It was real. Authentic.”
He looked at her and smiled. “Yeah.”
“Explain what just happened.”
He shrugged. “Adrenaline,” he said. “Fights, chases, tough takedowns, the daily ups and downs of the job. It all feels like fight or flight to the brain. All that energy has to go somewhere. In men, it goes straight to their cocks.”
“But you didn’t want to have sex?”
He choked on the last swallow of water. “Feeling a little neglected, sweetheart?” he drawled.
Neglected wasn’t the right word. Needy, demanding, desperate all came to mind, not to mention unsure how to handle the teasing. She pushed herself higher against the headboard. “Yes, to be honest,” she said. “You were very aroused and I wanted . . .”
“Tell me.”
She slid him a glance out of the corner of her eye. “I wanted to be under you. I wanted to feel what you felt. Inside me.”
He pulled her to straddle him. “And I wanted to take the edge off before we had sex,” he said.
One quick look showed he was hardening again. His pulse thumped in his shaft, lengthening and thickening it. She looked at him, noting the changes. His mouth looked as soft and swollen as hers felt, his gaze heavy lidded and intent. Twin red flags stood high on his carved cheekbones, as if passion etched away part of the mask he wore.
He smoothed his hands from her shoulders to her wrists before lifting each palm to his mouth and kissing the center. Nerves fired when the combination of hot, soft lips and rough stubble scraped her skin. She wasn’t sure if the electric jolt to her senses came from the touch, or the knowing look in his eyes as they met hers. He kissed the pads of her fingers, each in turn, then her inner wrist before she tugged her hand free.
“You do that so easily,” she said.
“Arouse me.”
He shrugged. “It’s not me. You’re a natural, honey.”
“Do all women respond the same way to the same things?”
“No,” he said. His hand lifted to her nape where his fingers trailed lightly over a patch of skin. She shuddered. “That’s a sensitive spot for you. I’d bet, with enough time and attention, I could get you hot just from kissing your neck. We’ll try that some time.”
“Good,” she said, her voice made husky by the slow, hot honey slipping along her nerves.
She traced the edge of his mouth, keeping the touch light, her gaze alternating between the captivating image of her finger at his lips and his eyes, where the secrets of arousal were most easily read. His breathing was even until she pressed the fingertip between his lips, to the tip of his tongue. His eyelids drooped for a moment, then he licked the fingertip as he looked right at her.
Eye contact turned the heat up a notch. She trailed her fingertip down over his bristled chin, along his throat to the point where stubble gave way to surprisingly soft skin. Then she bent forward and kissed that very spot, brushing her lips back and forth between scrape and silk. His pulse picked up under her mouth and the hand resting on her hip tightened momentarily.
She made a little sound of pleasure at having discovered a secret hidden in his skin, then licked the spot before continuing down to the hollow at the bottom of his strong throat. A hint of salt dissipated on her tongue when she dipped it into the depression between his collarbones.
With her head cocked she studied his face again. His lowered eyelids matched the flush on his cheekbones, and his mouth was set with intention. Purpose. Still straddling his legs, she put her fingers to her buttons and took off her blouse, then her bra, then unfastened her skirt and slid it down. He cupped her breasts, then brushed his thumbs across her nipples.
It was the give and take, she decided, the immediate, visceral response to her action that spurred his action. Heat flashed between her thighs, on her cheeks. She read her own passion on his face.
“Your turn,” he said.
This time, when she rolled to her back on the bed, she spread her legs willingly. This time, when he put his open mouth to the top of her sex, she arched to meet him.
This time, she knew what was coming.
“Jesus,” he said after one hot, wet circle of her clitoris.
She knew what he meant, could feel desire simmering between her legs, the slick moisture pooling there. “I guess I liked doing that,” she said.
A velvety little humming noise, amused, aroused. “Anytime, honey,” he said.
Then neither one of them talked. He worked his mouth between her thighs with a devastating focus, and the slow, tight circles around her clit drew her deep into herself. Oh yes, she knew what was coming, felt the sensitive flesh burning under his knowing mouth, felt the fist tightening in her belly until release bowed her back and made her cry out. His big hand flattened on her tummy, holding her down as the spasms passed.
She lay limp while he crawled onto the bed, to the nightstand for a condom. He put his hand on her hip. When she felt the thick length nudging inside, she eased herself down. Eyes closed, lips parted, head tilted back, she took him all the way inside her, stretching her, awakening nerves into hyperclarity.
“Gonna take you for a good, long ride.”
The blunt words, murmured into her open mouth, should have shocked her, embarrassed her, but instead they sent a lightning bolt of electric heat cracking through her. Heat flowed from the place where they were joined, pulsing slowly out to the edges of her body.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“So good,” she gasped back, unable to form a more detailed answer than that.
The simple words seemed to be enough. His hand tightened on her hip and his legs spread, drew up. His exhales shortened and tightened, huffing hard against her lower lip and chin. Pleasure fisted again as she strained after the release she now craved. She kissed him, her tongue stroking his each time she took him deep. Briefly she opened her eyes and caught him studying her, lust and need etched on his face, but then he closed his eyes. Orgasm pulsed through her, hot, sharp bursts of heat and light radiating from her core, through her skin.
The driven, intense way he pounded into her in search of his own release triggered another, subtly different sensation inside her, more primitive and female than even her orgasm. He was taking her, she thought. Again. Taking what he wanted, needed from her body, and when he grunted and went over, grinding his release deep inside her, it was absolutely, elementally erotic.
Sweat slid from his ribs to hers, slicked the contact between his face and her cheek. His heart raced against his rib cage, slowing as his breathing evened out and the tension ebbed from his muscles. She loosened her death grip on his shoulders. As soon as she did, he lifted himself off her body, pulling out at the same time. While he was in the bathroom she curled up on her side, her bent arm under her head.
Female. That’s how she felt. Not womanly, but female to his male. All she wanted to do was curl up on the bed, his body still hard against hers, and nuzzle into his throat. She’d never seen such a thing done, but the impulse was there.
He appeared in the bedroom doorway, hands on hips, unabashedly naked, and flashed her a hotter, softer version of his smile. “How do you like me now?”
It was the second time he’d asked. She told him the truth. “I don’t really know you.”
The smile vanished.
“I’d like to, though,” she added. She sat up on the bed and tucked her legs under her. Her hair slid forward, shielding her body.
He snagged his shorts from the floor and stepped into them. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything. Hobbies? Interests? Things you do with your free time?”
“Between the off duty and on duty, I’m working sixty hours a week. SWAT workouts the rest of the week. Sleep, eat, repeat.”
The terse description matched the interior of his apartment. “Tell me about your family.”
He cut her a look as sharp as his smile but without any of the charm. “Just a family. Mother, father, brother, sister.”
The idea of Ben with a brother made her smile. “Does he still ranch with your dad?”
His face was utterly still, arms once again folded across his chest. “No.”
“Oh. Does he live here in town?”
“Yes.”
This felt like playing Twenty Questions on a long car ride to church camp but without the sense of playfulness. “Do you see him often?”
“I’m due at his house in a couple of minutes.”
“Oh,” she said again, and scrambled to her feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you.”
Fortunately her clothes lay in a pile at the end of the bed. He didn’t say anything as she dressed, but when she began to search through the twisted sheet and beige carpet for the U-pins necessary to hold her hair in place, he joined her. In the end she sat on the bed and used the comb she pulled from her purse to smooth her hair while he hunkered down to pluck pins from the carpet and lay them in a pile beside her. Elbows across knees, he watched her coil the length into a bun at the nape of her neck and use the pins to secure it.
“It’s thick,” he commented.
He’d had his hands in it more than any other man, so he would know. She’d taught herself to braid it after her mother died because her father had no idea how to brush, let along style, a young girl’s hair, and working with it reminded her of her mother. “I can’t do anything fun with it,” she said as she inserted the last pin. “It won’t hold a perm, much less curls from a curling iron.”
“We’ve had plenty of fun with your hair,” he said.
And there was the flashing smile. She smiled back, but didn’t
miss how he’d turned the conversation away from his family, back to sex. It was a mistake to make anything more out of this. “I suppose we have,” she said as she tucked her comb back in her purse, then got to her feet.
Ben followed her to the door. “Same time next week?” he asked.
She paused in the doorway and looked at him, trying to understand the causes and consequences of desire. He wasn’t trying to trap her or second-guess her, or even protect her. All he offered was a chance to experience something intoxicating, radically thrilling. For now, it was enough.
“All right,” she said.
Chapter Ten
The following Friday traffic at the farm stand picked up as people got off work and started their weekend grocery shopping. When the A&M boys returned from town to help handle the rush, Rachel told Jess she was going to do the milking, then followed the dirt trail through the wildflowers to the goat yard. She milked the does, then turned to the nightly chores, mucking out the bedding hay and dumping it in a wheelbarrow to transfer to the compost pile, transferring the previous day’s waste hay for clean bedding, adding forkfuls of new hay to the trough. At the plastic storage bin she measured out each goat’s ration of concentrate based on where the doe was in the cycle, and dumped it into her feed bucket. The sounds of their communal munching, hooves rustling in the straw, used to make Rachel smile. Lately all she felt was a growing impatience to move on with her life.
Once again she inhaled deeply, this time getting lungfuls of sultry evening air, goats and manure and the unique scent of the concentrate. Underneath it all lay the faint scent of Ben; sex layered over sweat layered over soap, unique and distinct, something she couldn’t get out of her nostrils. Not that she really wanted to. When she closed her eyes she saw his square jaw, felt his hard body against hers.