Unforgettable (The Dalton Gang #3)

by Alison Kent

  “Breakfast.”

  He nodded. “Breakfast.”

  “Now?” Her entire body bloomed with heat.

  He gave a single nod. “Sheets are clean. I’m clean.” He reached for his wallet, tossed two foil packets to her bedside table, then popped the snaps of his shirt, leaving it on, the two sides parting to show off a strip of shadowed skin.

  The skin she’d touched when tucking him in, pulling the sheet up to cover him, dragging her nails through the wedge of hair on his chest, wanting to drag them elsewhere. She wondered if he remembered her touching the ridge of his penis where the head met the shaft. He’d been so hard, and so very soft.

  There were so many ways she wanted to touch him. “Just so you know, I am on the pill and I’m clean, but you might want to hear me out before getting undressed. I do have . . . conditions.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “No one, absolutely no one knows about this.”

  “Okay. Next.”

  “I’m on top,” she said, and his hand went to his belt buckle. “I’m in charge,” she added, and he shrugged out of his shirt, lowered his zipper, rubbed his thumb across the bulbous head of his cock covered by his white cotton briefs.

  “Anything else?” he asked, still rubbing and making her wet.

  She touched her lips with her tongue and nodded, then walked into her closet where she kicked off the leopard print stilettos she wore with skinny brown pants and a lacy ecru tunic, and came back with the handful of scarves that would guarantee her safety and the orgasms she was aching for.

  “Wrists and ankles. Yours. Tied to the bed.”

  FOUR

  NEVER AGAIN WOULD Boone take a schoolteacher at face value. The woman wanted to tie him to her bed. He’d done a lot of tying in his day, cows, calves, a horse or two. Dax to the grill of the flatbed when the other man had pissed him off. But he didn’t think he’d ever been the one tied up.

  Should be a thing a man remembered, but there’d been a lot of years go by, and when the women had been in short supply, the beer had been plentiful. It could’ve happened, but somehow he didn’t think it had. And he was happy about that because this woman he would never forget.

  He shucked off his shorts and his jeans, hooked a finger in one sock and then the other, tugging them off and standing buck naked in front of her. A smile came over her face then, one he couldn’t give a name to, but he held out his wrists anyway, ready to be bound. Ready to be fucked within an inch of his life. And that wasn’t even a question. He could see it in her eyes. A curious, needy hunger that had his cock going thick.

  “On the bed,” she said, her voice reedy, nearly breathless. “On your back.”

  He walked close to her, brushed the fabric covering her hip with his that was bare, felt her shiver before he moved away to roll into the center of the bed. He lay there spread-eagle, waiting. It wasn’t exactly the most comfortable position he’d ever been in, the goods on display like the dessert she’d wanted and her tongue slicking her mouth, but he wasn’t about to complain.

  The bulk of his cock rested against his thigh as he stretched out his arms, turning to watch her circle the bed. She knotted one end of a scarf around each of his wrists, the other around the largest spindle of the headboard’s black iron frame. She did the same with his ankles, binding them to the footboard.

  He tested each bond once she’d moved to the next; she wasn’t kidding about wanting him bound. He might’ve been able to slip the knots, but it felt more like the harder he tugged, the tighter they drew, and he didn’t want to test his theory and cut off his circulation. Plus, the fact that she’d roped him first and not made doing so part of the sex play told him a lot.

  For some reason, she was keeping her distance, walking from corner to corner, making sure he couldn’t get loose. He tried not to let it get to him, that distance. He was here to get blown or laid or whatever she had on her mind. The fact that he wouldn’t get to touch her didn’t matter, he told himself, as long as she’d be touching him—though he hated not getting to fuck her tits. That thought had his cock stirring, lifting from his thigh, going just hard enough to cause him to suck in a breath he then had to slowly let go.

  She liked the sound. He could see it in her face where she stood at the foot of the bed. She’d already gotten rid of her shoes, and was now starting in on her blouse, a long, sleeveless number with a lot of buttons down the front. Judging by this outfit and last night’s, she seemed to like buttons. He like them, too, and eventually would get his turn. He had to believe that. He couldn’t imagine this would be the only time they’d get naked, or that she’d want him tied up the next. If she did, well, that’s when they’d have to do some discussing of turnabout and fair play.

  For now, he’d content himself with watching the show. And it was a show, one he would’ve gladly paid to see: the buttons coming undone, her tits swelling out of the lacy bra she wore, her nipples like dark juicy centers in the sheer cups. The long blond waves of her hair fell around her shoulders. Her lips parted. Her tongue peeked from between. Her eyelids grew heavy over her big black pupils.

  She kept the blouse where it was as she reached back to unzip her pants, pulling them down her hips and leaving her bottom half wearing only a thong. It was the same creamy color as her bra, which was the same creamy color as her blouse, and all of it was pretty close to the same creamy color as her skin. He wondered how creamy her pussy was, how soon he would get to find out.

  Because surely he would get to find out. Surely she wasn’t doing all of this just to make him sweat. If he hadn’t been so long without having his cock seen to, he might’ve insisted on supper before dessert, giving them a little more time to get acquainted, but he was pretty sure they were on the same page. He’d been pretty sure of that while they’d danced last night. He’d been damn sure of it when he’d caught her watching him cleaning his rifle in the shower. Then he stopped worrying and got back to enjoying, because her blouse was falling off her arms to the floor.

  She might as well have been naked, what little good her underthings did, but he wanted her out of them; and she, wanting the same thing, was getting there, reaching back to take care of her bra, then slipping off the scrap of fabric serving as panties. Both pieces were gone when she straightened. And when she did, so did his cock, bobbing up as a drop of clear fluid beaded on the tip.

  She studied him, her head canted a bit to the side, then cupped both breasts, reaching up to twist and pinch her nipples, shuddering as she did, shuddering again as she slid her hands down her stomach to her bare pussy and spread open her lips, toying with her clit before fingering herself. Before fucking herself, gasping as she pushed into her cunt and pulled out.

  He tugged against the scarves, tugged hard, bruising both wrists in the process. He wanted to finger her. He wanted to fuck her. He wanted that cunt and that ass and those tits. A growl came rumbling up his throat and he didn’t even try to stop it, howling when it reached his mouth because he couldn’t keep it in.

  Raising his head, he gave it a jerk as he said, “Turn around,” his cock jerking, too.

  She did, offering him a look at her very fine ass, and then she bent over, offering him a look at a whole lot more, her hair falling like a curtain as she glanced at him, as she slid her middle finger into her mouth, then reached between her legs and slid it into her cunt. She fucked herself, spread herself open, showed him every bit of herself he was dying to see. Dying to stick his tongue in. Dying to bury his cock in.

  He wanted her on his face so he could breathe her and taste her and lap her up till she came. But she was on the floor, and he was on the bed, and there was a good six feet of space between them. And damn but her pussy was gorgeous. A deep dark pink, and so wet he couldn’t think of anything but the heat of her lube coating his shaft as she took him deep and ground down.

  She came to the foot of the bed then, her tits smaller than he’d expected, but perfect and unbound, and climbed onto the mattress between his legs.
She knelt there, looking down at his cock. As he watched, her eyes darkened, and she licked her lips before parting them.

  If there’d been any room left in his cock for more blood, it was gone now. He didn’t think he’d ever been this hard. And damn if he wasn’t getting pissed that his hands weren’t free to hold his shaft, to guide her head. But it was too late for that, and her lips were closing around him, and calf nuts on a cracker the woman knew what to do with her tongue.

  With her lips tight beneath the ridge of his head, she toyed with the seam, with the slit, with the skin pulled tight, until he couldn’t help himself and he bucked up into her mouth. She lifted with him, anticipating, following him down again and never letting go. She sucked him, ringing the fingers of one hand beneath her mouth to squeeze, sliding to the base of his shaft and back. The fingers of the other found their way between his legs, holding his balls, rolling them, before sliding into the shadows and parts unknown.

  He started to object, but closed his eyes instead, and left her to go where she wanted. That seemed to be into his ass, and he squirmed against her finger there as her other hand stroked him but good. He clenched his abs, trying to hold back the sounds coming up out of his gut, but he grunted and groaned, then he gave up. He hadn’t had a woman take him over like this in, well, probably never, and since he liked hearing he was doing things right, he imagined she might enjoy the same.

  What he wasn’t sure she was going to enjoy was him unloading in her mouth, and that was going to happen real soon if she didn’t let up and give him a minute to stanch the flow. And it seemed she came to the same realization at just about the same time because she pulled off in one long slow suck, then climbed up his body, dragging her wet pussy up his chest to his face, holding on to the headboard and lowering herself to his mouth.

  He did this a lot better when he had use of his hands as well as his tongue, but she knew her own mind, and who was he to say no? He might not be wearing prison stripes, but she had him jailed just the same. He had to say, he didn’t much mind. There was something about a woman knowing what she wanted, and doing whatever it took to get it. Even if that meant tying a man up and riding his face.

  He blew a stream of air down the seam of her lips, then lifted his head to part them with his tongue. She slid along the tip, back and forth, putting him where she wanted him. He flicked over her clit, short, sweet butterfly touches until she couldn’t take it anymore and ordered him to give it to her, “Harder.”

  He pushed the flat of his tongue against her, then held the tip there like he would his cock. It was rod stiff as he licked her hard, dragging her clit upward, then letting it go to pop down. Her tits bounced as she moved, and that had him wanting to buck his hips upward again, but he stayed where he was, using his tongue and his lips, licking and sucking, and finally catching her clit with his teeth.

  She laughed, then slid her fingers down between her legs, rubbing places he wanted to rub but couldn’t reach with his mouth. Her upper arms pushed her tits together, and the tips pouted and begged. His mouth was watering, his cock leaking, and all he could smell was cunt. She was juicy and fresh and he wanted to eat her, but her eyes were closed, her mouth open. She was lost in getting herself off.

  He felt it when she came, her whole body going tight then shuddering, melting over him, her limbs first, then her torso as she collapsed on his. His cock stood at attention against the crack of her ass, and he waited for her to realize he was there, flexing so that he bobbed against her. Moments later, she giggled, then groaned, scooting down his body and holding his eyes while she rolled on his condom.

  He wanted to grab his cock, swipe the head through the folds of her pussy, spread her moisture and find her entrance and push home. But he couldn’t hold anything. And he had to trust she wasn’t going to make him regret letting her have her way.

  She put him at ease then, doing exactly what he’d wanted to do, wrapping her fingers around his shaft and positioning him, lowering her body just enough to take the head of his cock inside and hold him there. She moved her hands to his shoulders, bracing her weight and drawing in a deep breath as she pushed her way down. All the way down. Embedding him to the hilt.

  She didn’t give him a chance to groan, to close his eyes and savor the sensation of being gloved: the compression, the heat, the rush of blood thickening his already thick cock. She brought her mouth down to cover his, sliding her tongue between his lips as she began to ride. Up and down, up and down, grinding in a mean figure eight until it took everything he had not to blow.

  Fuck it. Why was he waiting? He’d given her what she’d asked for. It was his turn now, and he took it. Surging up into her, pumping with his hips, setting the rhythm he wanted, and kissing her all the while. She was the one to pull away, to gasp, to toss back her head and cry out as she came for the second time. Her long blond hair tumbled down her back, and goddamn but he wanted to wrap the waves around his wrists instead of the scarves.

  He watched her until he couldn’t watch anymore, closing his eyes as his own release burst free, his cum shooting in such powerful spurts he felt as if his guts were being mangled. He clenched hard and bore down, filling her until he couldn’t move, until she couldn’t move, the both of them nearly shaking with the violence of what had just passed between them.

  It was a long time before she rolled from on top of his body, stretching from where she lay at his side to release his left hand, holding his wrist and rubbing the skin with her thumbs. It felt so good, the way she touched him, the way her tits dragged across his chest when she untied his right and did the same.

  After that, he sat up to release his ankles, then lay back down, wrapping both of his arms around her and holding her close, feeling her heart beat against his chest. Feeling his heart tumble, and take a really bad, really long and damn dangerous fall into a place it had no business going.

  FIVE

  AT A KNOCK on her office door later that morning, Everly looked up to see her boss, Whitey Simmons, editor in chief of the Crow Hill Reporter. Whitey was also editor of the sports section and the business section.

  Everly covered human interest and local happenings. Clark Howard took care of classifieds and advertising, while Cicely Warren worked part-time to handle the occasional letter to the editor or opinion piece, and the obits. And that was it. The entire Reporter staff.

  Whitey walked farther into Everly’s office, which did have a door but was barely large enough for her desk, her chair, and the long visitors’ bench beneath the window that faced the newsroom. That was where Clark and Cicely shared opposite sides of a cubicle. Since her first day here, Everly had thought the space would be better served by gutting her office and Whitey’s and giving them cubicles as well.

  But her boss would never go for it. He liked the illusion of power that having a door gave him, when all he did behind it when closed was nap. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to make it in this morning, Grant.”

  Everly had been wondering the same thing. She leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs, felt the pull of long-unused muscles and skin scraped raw by Boone Mitchell’s beard. “Late night with the fund-raiser. But I’ve got my notes and I’ll have the story on your desk before lunch.”

  “You got a final tally on the cabbage raised?”

  Cabbage. Lordy. “No, but I’ve got checking with Kendall on my schedule. She’ll have an estimate at least.”

  Whitey gave her a nod. “Once you’re done with that, I’ve got a new assignment for you.”

  Good. She needed something to get her mind off the fact that Boone Mitchell had washed his own dishes before he’d come back to her bedroom and taken off his clothes. That he’d put away the syrup. Put away the butter. Rinsed out the coffeepot and dumped the grounds. What man did all of that?

  Or had she just always known the wrong men? “What’s up?”

  “A human interest piece. I’m thinking three issues at least. Big spread. Lots of photos.”

  What in
Crow Hill could be worth that many column inches? “What’s the topic?”

  “The Dalton Gang.”

  Gulp. This couldn’t be good for her newfound sex life. “The Dalton Gang? Why?”

  Whitey propped a hip on the corner of her desk. That forced him to turn at an awkward angle to see her. “Everyone’s been talking about their return to Crow Hill, but it’s been what? Four months now? Five? And there’s been nary a hint of scandal from the past popping up the way folks figured would happen.”

  Intrigued in spite of her apprehension, she asked, “And you think something should have popped up by now?”

  But Whitey was off in his own world. “Dax Campbell shacks up with Arwen Poole and finds out he has a half brother—”

  “That’s hardly scandalous—”

  “Casper Jayne owns a piece of Crow Hill history free and clear, and is adopting a teenage kid—”

  “That’s not scandalous either—”

  “And Boone Mitchell’s coming up clean as a whistle when everyone knows he got in more trouble than the others back in the day.”

  She hadn’t known that. She hadn’t known that at all. She knew what it felt like to hold him in her mouth, to straddle him, to ride him to an orgasm she would never forget. She knew she was in trouble because of that. So much trouble because of that.

  But she hadn’t known he’d left trouble of another sort in his wake. Looked like she needed to go digging in the Reporter’s archives. “You’re talking about their personal lives. Those things aren’t anyone else’s business.”

  “They’re everyone’s business. That’s what news is.”

  He was right, but still she heard herself arguing. “That’s gossip. That’s speculation. That’s—”

  “It’s what people want of their celebrities. Look at TMZ.”

  So the Dalton Gang were celebrities? And Whitey wanted them exposed? “They’re ranchers—”