by Vonna Harper
His words were still echoing around her when he took her hand, lifted it to his mouth and touched his lips to her knuckles. A rolling shiver ran from her fingers up her arm and down until it settled between her legs. Her knees nearly buckled.
“You—you do?”
“I’ve been there.”
His fingers now laced in hers, he lowered their hands so her knuckles brushed his thigh. His pulsing warmth nipped at her.
“Do you recall what announcers say when they introduce the riding events?”
Incapable of concentrating on anything beyond pounding need, she shook her head.
“They tell the bronc riders to check their gear—and for the bull riders to go behind the chutes and puke.”
Suddenly restless, she drew him into the dark. Hay and wood chips crunched underfoot, and the scent of animals and weathered wood grew stronger. The barn closed around them, sheltered them and fed her flames.
“Is that why you no longer compete as a bull rider? Because you’d done enough puking?”
“That’s part of it.”
Of course it was. Even the biggest, strongest cowboy looked like a child next to a ton of Brahma. The bulls were peaceful enough when left alone, and some became so docile they could be led around by a halter. But rodeo Brahmas were bred to buck, to demonstrate in spades that they were powerful and dangerous. The moment a cinch tightened around their gonads, fury drove them to twist and turn, pound the ground and throw back their heads with those awful horns, trying to dislodge the fool clinging to their backs. Only a minority of cowboys stayed on for the endless eight seconds a ride was supposed to last.
And then the real danger began. Whether they’d been thrown or made it to the bell, the riders had to get out of the arena alive. She didn’t know a bull rider who hadn’t had bones broken or muscles torn or flesh bruised—or all three.
“Only part of it?”
“It’s a young man’s sport, Jordan.”
She could point out that some of the best bull riders were in their thirties, but he was right. Age and years of physical punishment caught up with all of them. Instead of playing the odds with his health and life as the ultimate stake, he’d become a stock contractor. Fortunately, the physical demands were less on barrel racers.
“Do you regret your decision?” she asked.
He’d been matching her slow pace, but now he stopped, bringing her to a halt as well. He spun her toward him and wordlessly ordered her to look up at him. He drew her so close that her breasts brushed his chest. Instead of keeping what distance she could between them, she leaned forward until she found his cock.
Deny this, the bulge seemed to say. Tell me you don’t want it.
I can’t.
“Regret?” he said. “Sometimes, like now, yes.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need to get back on your horse and into the arena tomorrow. And for as many tomorrows as it takes. If you’re going to get your head on straight, you have to face down your demons. But how can I tell you that when I’m not willing to do the same thing?”
“Barrel racing isn’t going to kill me. Bull riding could destroy you.”
“Yeah.” His breath dampened her scalp. “The only thing you have to worry about is Rampage getting loose again.”
Damn but she hated hearing him speak the bull’s name!
“You’re trembling,” he said. “What is it?”
I don’t know! Or if I do, I’m not willing to tell you.
His bulge twitched and started to swell. She’d become a wild animal last night, lost all control and rational thought. It wasn’t going to happen again! It wasn’t.
Propelled by fear of what she’d become last night, she jerked free and spun away. She made it halfway to the open door before she stopped. Because her back was to him, she couldn’t be sure, but she didn’t think he’d come after her. This was her decision, her choice.
Even more upset than she’d been a moment ago, she turned and faced the human in the shadows. “I’m afraid,” she whispered.
“Of me?”
“And of me. Of what came over me when we…”
“When we fucked?”
Fucked. Had sex. Screwed. “Yes.”
“Do you regret it?”
Damn him and his hard questions! Energy pooled in her thighs and sent her back toward him. Every bit of her cried out for his touch.
“Do you?” he repeated.
“I don’t know.” Less than a yard separated them. His body called to her. But not yet. Not until— “Had you decided to seduce me last night? Is that why you came to see me? Because you knew how horny I was?” And am again.
“The seduction was deliberate, but it had nothing to do with you being horny.”
How dare he speak in riddles! “Then my needing to screw and be screwed was a bonus?”
His hand snaked out, grabbed an elbow and pulled her close. “Don’t talk like that.”
He was right. In the household she’d been raised in, words like screw and fuck were never spoken. But something had changed her. It had everything to do with the charge coursing through her and the man responsible. “It’s the truth.”
“I know.”
His soft, low, magical whisper ran through her like warm water. She’d known this man most of her life, and yet she didn’t know him at all. She certainly had had no inkling she’d respond like this or that he’d be able to see beneath her layers.
“What do you mean by deliberate?” They were standing so close, his features had blurred.
“The first time I saw you, I sensed your tension,” he said. “Because I’ve been there, I knew what you were going through. I wanted to do what I could to take your mind off it.”
“I appreciate you going out of your way to—”
“Stop it!” He shook her. “My bull nearly killed you. That’s what it all boils down to.”
And he’d decided to have sex with her as a way of making up for it? No. It couldn’t be that. They stood so close that every time one or the other shifted positions, their bodies sparked. Did an electrical current run through him? Whatever it was, she hadn’t had enough of the accompanying heat and energy. Neither did she know how to keep it, or herself, under control.
“We keep going round and round about this, don’t we?” she said. “Look, I didn’t sue you. You’re off the hook.”
The words were barely out of her mouth when he pushed her back but kept his hands on her. “I don’t want to be off the hook. You’re going down a road I know too well. I’d like to help you find your way off it so you can give some thought to the rest of your life.”
“How can you know about my road? I’m making it up as I go along.” I can’t even think about my future.
His grip relaxed, and he began running his hands up and down her arms. With each stroke, the electricity became more intense. She needed to get away from him, go outside and take a few deep breaths, jump into a cold shower, bury herself in a snowdrift.
Even more, she needed to stay and feed off him.
“You didn’t hear about it?” he asked. “No, I don’t suppose you did since it happened in Texas and, as far as I know, didn’t make the news.”
She closed a hand around her throat. The other rested on his hip. “What did?”
“I got thrown. My hand hung up in my rigging. I couldn’t get loose.”
“Oh no. The clowns—”
“They did their job. But for too damn long, they couldn’t get close enough to free me.”
The image of Cougar being thrown about was almost more than she could handle. He was warmth and life, the epitome of the rugged cowboy. But during those terrifying moments when he and a bull had been one, he’d been at the beast’s mercy. “What happened?”
“They told me a rider got close enough to use a knif
e on the rigging.”
“They told you? Had you been knocked unconscious?”
“Yeah. Probably by his hooves, although they said I hit the ground several times. The bull also ran me into a fence.”
You could have been killed! “No! Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t remember. Did you have a concussion?”
“Among other things.”
Growing up, her youngest brother had been a tough kid who wouldn’t admit it if he was bleeding to death or scared out of his mind. She’d seen a lot of cowboys like that, macho men unwilling or unable to admit to any weakness. She respected that quality in Cougar, but this was more than one acquaintance telling another about an accident he’d been in.
“Sit down.” She indicated a tarp-covered bale of hay behind him. He shrugged but obeyed. Then, well aware of the risk, she pushed his knees apart and planted herself between them. Hoping she was giving off a no-nonsense air, she placed her hands on his shoulders. “Tell me everything.”
Chapter Six
The everything didn’t take long. Not only had Cougar wound up in the emergency room with a concussion, he’d cracked a bone in his neck. For two days, he hadn’t been able to move. Despite his pounding head, he’d been awake and aware.
“You were paralyzed?” She nearly gagged on the word.
“Obviously not permanently, but long enough to get my attention.”
Get my attention had to be the understatement of the year. She couldn’t imagine anything more terrifying than losing control of one’s body. The thought of Cougar confined to a wheelchair made her blood run cold.
“Thank God you aren’t,” she whispered. Her fingers on him tightened. She couldn’t relax them because she needed to feel his strength. “Did feeling come back all at once?”
“It took a couple of months because of the bruising to the nerves.”
The story was getting worse. Only knowing how it came out kept her sane. Or was she? Last night he had been the dominant one. He’d taken them over the edge. Although she’d been more than ready for sex, she’d happily gone at his pace.
Not tonight. Tonight she needed to say things with her body that she had no words for.
“I’ve always thought of you as, I don’t know, more something than most men. Physically superior, maybe.”
“I’m not.”
Tell that to my body. Her hands were sweating, and she didn’t trust her legs. Her bra had suddenly become too small for her heavy breasts. And her pussy—a single touch there and she’d probably explode.
The power behind her need for Cougar frightened her, and yet she was too far gone to walk away. She’d drink from him, and the act would serve as affirmation of how healthy and whole he was.
Thank goodness his shirt came with snaps. Otherwise, she would have popped all the buttons the way she yanked on it. When she’d exposed his chest, he reached for her, but she pushed, forcing him to balance with his arms behind him on the hay, much as he’d done to her last night on the bed. Leaning forward, she ran first her lips and then her tongue over his newly exposed flesh. The salty, masculine taste raced through her and became part of her. Fed her need.
Moving to his side, she rested her cheek against his right nub. One hand went to the back of his neck. The other slid toward intimate territory. Damn his jeans!
Men were protective of the family jewels and hesitant to give women unmonitored access to them. She might not be a well-traveled sex partner, but she knew those elementary things.
And didn’t care.
Contain him somehow. Let him know who’s in charge. Show him how much you love the body he came too close to losing control of.
Most of all, drink from everything he has to give.
Sliding his shirt off his shoulders so it bunched around his wrists like makeshift handcuffs solved the immediate problem of keeping his hands off her. At first his jeans’ snap resisted her efforts, but she kept after it. The zipper put up less resistance.
“Just like that?” he asked.
“Just like that.”
“What if someone comes in?”
“I’ll tell them the place is taken and to mosey on down the road.”
She’d dropped to her knees and tugged off one boot before what she’d said registered. Any number of people had every right to come in here. What would they think if they ran into a couple going at each other?
Let them deal with it. Let them beat a hasty retreat.
Both of his boots now rested near the hay bale. Cougar hadn’t moved.
I’m not going to think. And I hope you don’t either. We need to do this. That’s all that matters, the need.
“Stand up,” she ordered.
He did, shaking off his shirt at the same time. She barely managed to wait until he was done, before yanking down on his jeans.
Don’t talk, please. Don’t make me explain what I’m doing.
Only a long sigh from one of the stalls broke the silence, and no outside sounds reached them. There was just the two of them, and insanity.
She drew the jeans over first one raised foot and then the other. Eyes closed, she stroked his calves. She started working her hands higher. His knees were remarkable, bone and cartilage masterfully created. But as much as they fascinated her, even more she needed to feel his thighs, to embrace his cock.
His shorts. Damn it, she hadn’t—
Biting down on frustration, she willed her fingers to glide to the back of his thighs. He shivered, and she laughed, the sound full of power and animal need. Despite the roaring in her head, it was now easier to continue her upward journey. She needed to embrace his cock, but that could wait because even the backs of his legs carried the same message of strength under smooth flesh. Downy hairs grew at the juncture of thigh and buttocks, and she gently stroked them. His hands rested on the top of her head.
She couldn’t keep her hands off his briefs, or, more precisely, out from under them. As she slid her fingers past the thin layer, the mark the elastic had left at the base of his buttocks caught her attention. She might have spent a long time exploring the thin indentations if he hadn’t twitched. Ah, the man was sensitive there.
And there too, she discovered as she inched northward. His ass was compact and nicely curved with layers of skin and muscle between her and bone. Buried in there was the strength that would come into play during the sex act. Strange how normal his muscles felt now, strange how urgent her need to have them work her.
“Damn you, Jordan. You’re driving me crazy!”
“I intend to.”
“Not if I have my way. Someone could come in. If we’re going to—”
“We are. Now.”
“No, not yet. Your clothes.”
Much as she hated ending her exploration of his ass, she stood, leaned against him and pulled off her boots. He reached for her jeans, but she shoved him away.
“No. This time I’m in charge.”
“Are you?”
Hell no. But until or unless he made a liar out of her, she would strip for him and give herself up as a gift to this man who’d nearly lost his life or, if not that, his physical freedom. Too excited to attempt a slow seduction, she dispensed with her jeans and panties at the same time. As she did, he shrugged out of his briefs and perched on the edge of the canvas-covered bale. His cock waited for her, impatient and strong.
She managed to unfasten her blouse before need gripped her. Something between a growl and a cry escaped her. Then she was on him, pushing him onto his back. He reached up, his hands gripping her shoulders and bringing her forward. Straddling him, she stood on her toes and started to lower herself over him, seeking the union of cock and cunt.
“Wait. Stop!”
“What?”
“I need a condom.”
Oh shit, shit. But even as she gathered her thoughts to tell him she
didn’t care, she knew she wouldn’t say the words. Dizzy, she tore his hands off her. “Stay there. I’ll get—”
“In my wallet.”
Fumbling in the near dark for his jeans took an unreal amount of time. She tried to make peace with her naked belly, ass, pussy and legs as she dug through his wallet. Finding the condom was more important than shedding her blouse, which still hung half off her. When her fingers closed around the small package, she snorted in triumph. Tearing at the wrapping with her teeth, she stumbled back to where she’d left Cougar.
Hard as it had been to locate the necessary protection, closing her hand around his cock felt like a homing pigeon returning to its nest. The instant her fingertips stroked the soft, potent flesh, what little strength she’d held on to deserted her. She couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t help but wonder at the near miracle that had brought them to this point.
She was going to have sex with Cougar, again take him into her. Share that deepest of intimacies.
As for why she needed this so much—
“Jordan?”
Jerked out of her knotted thoughts, she forced herself back to reality. She was standing beside this cowboy with her hands cupping his penis and the condom caught between her index and middle fingers. If they were going to have sex—which she needed to do in ways that rocked her to her soul—she had a task to perform. But once she had, she’d no longer be able to feel his flesh.
If they were married, if they were trying to create a life, nothing man-made would stand between them.
“Yes, yes,” she muttered. But instead of doing what she’d committed herself to, she placed the condom on his belly. Then, more frightened, overwhelmed and eager than maybe she’d ever been, she cradled him between her palms. So big. So strong. And so incredibly hot and alive.
Hers. For this brief time, hers.
“Oh God,” he hissed. “Damn. Damn.”
Those could be her words as well, would have been if the intimacy of what she was doing hadn’t rendered her mute. Much as she loved sex—who didn’t?—she’d always been torn between having a climax rock her and the core-deep vulnerability that went with release. She’d had no longtime lovers, no fiancé, no husband, no one she felt utterly safe with.