by Maisey Yates
He was not deterred.
He nosed her gently and shifted her hand to the side, pressing a kiss to her skin, sending electric sensations firing through her. “Don’t be shy,” he said, “not with me.”
She waited for a reason why. He didn’t give one, but she found that the more persistent he was—the more hot, open-mouthed kisses he pressed to her skin—the less able she was to deny him anything. Anything at all. She found herself shifting her hands and then letting them fall away.
As soon as she did, he closed his lips over her nipple, sucking deep. She gasped, her hips rocking up off the bed. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her against his hardness as he teased her with his lips and tongue.
Every time she wiggled, either closer to him, or in a moment of self-consciousness, away, it only brought him more in contact with that aching place between her thighs, and then she would forget why she was moving at all. Why she wasn’t just letting him take the lead.
So she relaxed into him, and let herself get lost. She was in a daze when he took her hand and pushed it down his stomach, to the front of his jeans. She gasped when his hard, denim-covered length filled her palm.
“Feel that? That’s how much I want you. That’s what you do to me.”
A strange surge of power rocketed through her. That she could cause such a raw, sexual response... Well, it was intoxicating in a way she hadn’t appreciated it could be.
Especially because he was such a man. A hot man. A sexy man, and she had never thought of anyone that way in her life. But he was. He most definitely was.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She nodded, sliding her hand experimentally over him. He moved, undoing his pants and shoving them quickly down, hardly giving her a chance to prepare. Her mouth dried when she saw him, all of him. She hadn’t really... Well, she had been content to allow her fantasies to be somewhat hazy. Though reading that romance novel had made those fantasies a little sharper.
Still, she hadn’t really imagined specifically how large a man might be. But suffice it to say, he was a bit larger than she had allowed for.
Her breath left her lungs in a rush. But along with the wave of nerves that washed over her came a sense of relief. “You are... I like the way you look,” she said finally.
A crooked smile tipped his mouth upward. “Thank you.”
“I told you, I’ve never seen a naked man before. I was a little afraid I wouldn’t like it.”
“Well, I’m glad you do. Because let me tell you, that’s a lot of pressure. Being the first naked man you’ve ever seen.” His eyes darkened and his voice got lower, huskier. “Being the first naked man you’ve ever touched.” He took her hand again and placed it around his bare shaft, the skin there hotter and much softer than she had imagined. She slid her thumb up and down, marveling at the feel of him.
“You’re the first man I’ve ever kissed,” she said, the words slurred, because she had lost the full connection between her brain and her mouth. All her blood had flowed to her extremities.
He swore, and then crushed her to him, kissing her deeply and driving her back down to the mattress. His erection pressed into her stomach, his tongue slick against hers, his lips insistent. She barely noticed when he divested her of her underwear, until he placed his hand between her legs. The rough pads of his fingers sliding through her slick flesh, the white-hot pleasure his touch left behind, made her gasp.
“I’m going to make sure you’re ready,” he said.
She had no idea what that meant. But he started doing wicked, magical things with his fingers, so she didn’t much care. Then he slid one finger deep inside her and she arched away, not sure whether she wanted more of that completely unfamiliar sensation, or if she needed to escape it.
“It’s okay,” he said, moving his thumb in a circle over a sensitive bundle of nerves as he continued to slide his finger in and out of her body.
After a few passes of his thumb, she agreed.
He shifted his position, adding a second finger, making her gasp. It burned slightly, made her feel like she was being stretched, but after a moment, she adjusted to that, too.
That lovely, spiraling tension built inside her again, and she knew she was close to the edge. But every time he took her to the brink, he would drop back again.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Please what?” he asked, being dastardly, asking her to clarify, when he knew saying the words would embarrass her.
“You know,” she said, placing her hand over his, like she might take control, increase the pressure, increase the pace, since he refused.
But, of course, he was too strong for her to guide him at all. “I need to hear it.”
“I need... I need to have an orgasm,” she said quickly.
For a moment, he stopped. He looked at her like she mystified him. Like he had never seen anything like her before. Then he withdrew his hand and slid down her body, gripping her hips roughly before drawing her quickly against his mouth.
She squeaked when his lips and tongue touched her right in her most intimate place. She reached down, grabbing hold of his hair, because she was going to pull him away, but then his tongue touched her in the most amazing spot and she found herself lacing her fingers through his hair instead.
She found herself holding him against her instead of pushing him away.
She moved her hips in time with him, gasping for air as pleasure, arousal, built to impossible heights. She had been on the edge for so long now it felt like she was poised on the brink of something else entirely. But right when she was about to break, he moved away from her, drawing himself up her body. He grabbed a small, round packet from the bedspread that she hadn’t noticed until now, and tore it open, quickly sheathing himself before moving to position the blunt head of his arousal at her entrance.
He flexed his hips, thrusting deep inside her, and her arousal broke like a mirror hit with a hammer. She gritted her teeth as pain—sharp and jagged—cut through all the hidden places within her. But along with the pain came the intense sensation of being full. Of being connected to another person like she never had been before.
She reached up, taking his heavily muscled arms and holding him, just holding him, as he moved slowly inside her.
He was inside her.
She marveled at that truth even as the pain eased, even as pleasure began to push its way into the foreground again.
“Move with me,” he said, nuzzling her neck, kissing the tender skin there.
So she did, meeting his every thrust, clinging to him. She could see the effort it took for him to maintain control, and she could see when his control began to fray. When his thrusts became erratic, his golden skin slick with sweat, his breathing rough and ragged, matching her own.
When he thrust deep, she arched her hips, an electric shower of sparks shimmering through her each time.
His hands were braced on either side of her shoulders, his strong fingers gripping the sheets. His movements became hard, rough, but none of the earlier pain remained, and she welcomed him. Opened her thighs wider and then wrapped her legs around his lean hips so she could take him even deeper.
There was no pain. There was no shame. There was no doubt at all.
As far as she was concerned, there was only the two of them.
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, his dark gaze intense as his rhythm increased. He went shallow, then deep, the change pushing her even closer to the edge.
Then he pulled out almost completely, his hips pulsing slightly. The denial of that deep, intimate contact made her feel frantic. Made her feel needy. Made her feel desperate.
“Jonathan,” she said. “Jonathan, please.”
“Tell me you want to come,” he told her, the words a growl.
“I want to come,” she said, not wasting a moment on self-consciousness.
He slammed back home, and she saw stars. This orgasm grabbed her deep, reached places she hadn’t known were
there. The pleasure seemed to go on and on, and when it was done, she felt like she was floating on a sea, gazing up at a sky full of infinite stars.
She felt adrift, but only for a moment. Because when she came back to herself, she was still clutching his strong arms, Jonathan Bear rooting her to the earth.
And then she waited.
Waited for regret. Waited for guilt.
But she didn’t feel any of it. Right now, she just felt a bone-deep satisfaction she hoped never went away.
“I...” He started to say something, moving away from her. Then he frowned. “You don’t have a toothbrush or anything, do you?”
It was such a strange question that it threw her for a loop. “What?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. He bent down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll work something out in the morning.”
She was glad he’d said there was nothing to worry about, because her head was starting to get fuzzy and her eyelids were heavy. Which sucked, because she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to bask in her newfound warm and fuzzy feelings.
But she was far too sleepy, far too sated to do anything but allow herself to be enveloped by that warmth. By him.
He drew her into his arms, and she snuggled into his chest, pressing her palm against him. She could feel his heartbeat, hard and steady, beneath her hand.
And then, for the first time in her life, Hayley Thompson fell asleep in a man’s arms.
Eight
Jonathan didn’t sleep. As soon as Hayley drifted off, he went into his office, busying himself with work that didn’t need to be done.
Women didn’t spend the night at his house. He had never even brought a woman back to this house. But when Hayley had looked up at him like that... He hadn’t been able to tell her to leave. He realized that she expected to stay. Because as far as she was concerned, sex included sleeping with somebody.
He had no idea where she had formed her ideas about relationships, but they were innocent. And he was a bastard. He had already known that, but tonight just confirmed it.
Except he had let her stay.
He couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. Couldn’t decide if letting her stay had been a kindness or a cruelty. Because the one thing it hadn’t been was the reality of the situation.
The reality was this wasn’t a relationship. The reality was, it had been... Well, a very bad idea.
He stood up from his desk, rubbing the back of his neck. It was getting light outside, pale edges beginning to bleed from the mountaintops, encroaching on the velvet middle of the sky.
He might as well go outside and get busy on morning chores. And if some of those chores were in the name of avoiding Hayley, then so be it.
He made his way downstairs, shoved his feet into his boots and grabbed his hat, walking outside with heavy footsteps.
He paused, inhaling deeply, taking a moment to let the scent of the pines wash through him. This was his. All of it was his. He didn’t think that revelation would ever get old.
He remembered well the way it had smelled on his front porch in the trailer park. Cigarette smoke and exhaust from cars as people got ready to leave for work. The noise of talking, families shouting at each other. It didn’t matter if you were inside the house or outside. You lived way too close to your neighbors to avoid them.
He had fantasized about a place like this back then. Isolated. His. Where he wouldn’t have to see another person unless he went out of his way to do so. He shook his head. And he had gone and invited Hayley to stay the night. He was a dumb ass.
He needed a ride to clear his head. The fact that he got to take weekends off now was one of his favorite things about his new position in life. He was a workaholic, and he had never minded that. But ranching was the kind of work he really enjoyed, and that was what he preferred to do with his free time.
He saddled his horse and mounted up, urging the bay gelding toward the biggest pasture. They started out at a slow walk, then Jonathan increased the pace until he and his horse were flying over the grass, patches of flowers blurring on either side of them, blending with the rich green.
It didn’t matter what mess he had left behind at the house. Didn’t matter what mistakes he had made last night. It never did, not when he was on a horse. Not when he was in his sanctuary. The house... Well, he would be lying if he said that big custom house hadn’t been a goal for him. Of course it had been. It was evidence that he had made it.
But this... The trees, the mountains, the wind in his face, being able to ride his horse until his lungs burned, and not reach the end of his property... That was the real achievement. It belonged to him and no one else. In this place he didn’t have to answer to anyone.
Out here it didn’t matter if he was bad. You couldn’t let the sky down. You couldn’t disappoint the mountains.
He leaned forward to go uphill, tightening his hold on the reins as the animal changed its gait. He pulled back, easing to a stop. He looked down the mountain, at the valley of trees spread out before him, an evergreen patchwork stitched together by rock and river. And beyond that, the ocean, brighter blue than usual on this exceptionally clear morning, the waves capped with a rosy pink handed down from the still-rising sun.
Hayley would love this.
That thought brought him up short, because he wasn’t exactly sure why he thought she would. Or why he cared. Why he suddenly wanted to show her. He had never shown this view to anybody. Not even to his sister, Rebecca.
He had wanted to keep it for himself, because growing up, he’d had very little that belonged to him and him alone. In fact, up here, gazing at everything that belonged to him now, he couldn’t think of a single damn thing that had truly belonged to him when he’d been younger.
It had all been for a landlord, for his sister, for the future.
This was what he had worked for his entire life.
He didn’t need to show it to some woman he’d slept with last night.
He shook his head, turning the horse around and trotting down the hill, moving to a gallop back down to the barn.
When he exited the gate that would take him out of the pasture and back to the paddock, Jonathan saw Hayley standing in the path. Wearing last night’s dress, her hair disheveled, she was holding two mugs of coffee.
He was tempted to imagine he had conjured her up just by thinking of her up on the ridge. But if it were a fantasy, she would have been wearing nothing, rather than being back in that black cotton contraption.
She was here, and it disturbed him just how happy that made him.
“I thought I might find you out here,” she said. “And I figured you would probably want your coffee.”
He dismounted, taking the reins and walking the horse toward Hayley. “It’s your day off. You don’t have to make me coffee.”
Her cheeks turned pink, and he marveled at the blush. And on the heels of that marveling came the sharp bite of guilt. She was a woman who blushed routinely. And he had... Well, he had started down the path of corrupting her last night.
He had taken her virginity. Before her he’d never slept with a virgin in his damn life. In high school, that hadn’t been so much out of a sense of honor as it had been out of a desire not to face down an angry dad with a shotgun. Better to associate with girls who had reputations worse than his own.
All that restraint had culminated in him screwing the pastor’s daughter.
At least when people came with torches and pitchforks, he would have a decent-sized fortress to hole up in.
“I just thought maybe it would be nice,” she said finally, taking a step toward him and extending the coffee mug in his direction.
“It is,” he said, taking the cup, knowing he didn’t sound quite as grateful as he might have. “Sorry,” he conceded, sipping the strong brew, which was exactly the way he liked it. “I’m not used to people being nice. I’m never quite sure what to make of it when you are.”
“Just take it at face val
ue,” she said, lifting her shoulder.
“Yeah, I don’t do that.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“I have to take care of the horse,” he said. “If you want story time, you’re going to have to follow me.”
He thought his gruff demeanor might scare her off, but instead, she followed him along the fence line. He tethered his horse and set his mug on the fence post, then grabbed the pick and started on the gelding’s hooves.
Hayley stepped up carefully on the bottom rung of the fence, settling herself on the top rung, clutching her mug and looking at him with an intensity he could feel even with his focus on the task at hand.
“I’m ready,” she said.
He looked up at her, perched there like an inquisitive owl, her lips at the edge of her cup, her blue eyes round. She was...a study in contradictions. Innocent as hell. Soft in some ways, but determined in others.
It was her innocence that allowed her to be so open—that was his conclusion. The fact that she’d never really been hurt before made it easy for her to come at people from the front.
“It’s not a happy story,” he warned.
It wasn’t a secret one, either. Pretty much everybody knew his tragic backstory. He didn’t go around talking about it, but there was no reason not to give her what she was asking for.
Except for the fact that he never talked to the women he hooked up with. There was just no point to it.
But then, the women he usually hooked up with never stumbled out of his house early in the morning with cups of coffee. So he supposed it was an unusual situation all around.
“I’m a big girl,” she said, her tone comically serious. It was followed by a small slurp as she took another sip of coffee. The sound should not have been cute, but it was.
“Right.” He looked up at her, started to speak and then stopped.
Would hearing about his past, about his childhood, change something in her? Just by talking to her he might ruin some of her optimism.
It was too late for worrying about that, he supposed. Since sleeping with her when she’d never even kissed anyone before had undoubtedly changed her.