Foolin'

by Allyson Young

  He had to force himself to slow down in order to properly do her calves, next circling her ankles and finishing with firm presses and tugs on her narrow feet and toes. Then it was her sweet ass he could turn his attention to.

  Full buttocks, heart-shaped, lots of soft flesh to grip and hang on to. He worked the oil into every pore, kneading and pressing, fighting the urge to yank her up and do her from behind. As he parted her cheeks to run a fingertip down the crevice that bisected them, he spied her puckered star, titillated that she didn’t squirm away when he took a risk and drifted that same finger over it.

  Pushing too hard. He knew it, yet wanted to claim this woman in every possible fashion a man could claim a woman. Back off. He made himself cease and desist without testing her boundaries further, removing his hands, his heart beating hard in his chest.

  “What are your rates?” Her tone was languid.

  “We country boys tend to take things out in trade.” He pressed a kiss on the nape of her neck, nuzzling through the strands of hair. “Turn over.”

  She rolled to her side, the dip of her waist highlighting the curve of her hip, and dropped onto her back. Her breasts seemed to weigh heavily on her torso, tight nipples pointing at the ceiling. Her face was slack and her eyes glazed.

  His hands shaking a little, he went for more oil and didn’t deny himself going for the prize. Anointing her breasts, he filled his hands and used the touch she preferred—a firm hold and squeeze, followed by a hard pinch on either nub. Kathleen pushed into his hold and moaned with pleasure.

  Reluctantly, he released her and smoothed his exploration lower, molding her curves and skimming over her thighs before returning to stop at her apex.

  “You missed a spot,” she murmured, rolling her thighs apart. Feminine musk scented the air and he gave up any pretense of avoidance.

  His slippery fingers parted her folds and delved between them, meeting a totally different kind of lubrication that he followed to its source. Easing a finger inside of her, he probed for her sweet spot, feathering over a slightly rougher place in her hot, wet channel. She clenched around his questing digit and arched.

  “Right there. Hurry.”

  Ignoring her plea, he pulled out to the sound of her protest and dipped his head, placing a kiss on her swollen pussy.

  “Oh, my God.”

  Hearing her thrash, he lapped at her, broad strokes of his tongue seeking every sensitive part of her, settling on her distended clit. He worried it with his lips and tiny nibbles of his teeth, using his weight to pin her open and vulnerable to his feasting.

  Flitting through his head was Merry’s assertion of how digestible coconut oil was, a wonderful foil for a meal. He was enjoying this one, a different hunger being assuaged, and inserted a finger again to tease her sweet spot at the same time as he sucked her clit hard.

  She called his name on a long, wavering cry, shattering against his face, squeezing his finger as she stiffened and held hard against what he hoped was an orgasm to replace all others. Not that he didn’t intend to improve with each and every one in the future.

  She leaves tomorrow. Okay, so he’d seize the moment. The little time they had. He fumbled a condom out of the nightstand drawer.

  Lowering his weight over her, he fit between her thighs. She bent her knees to grip his hips, her knees gripping firmly. His cock jerked with a mind of its own, blindly seeking her. As if she knew it, she found him to grip his flesh and fit it at her opening.

  Too primed to be gentle, he pushed inside on one long glide, opening her swollen tissues until he bottomed out, clasped by a sensation he knew would feel both familiar and brand spanking new, each and every time.

  He gathered her to him, not an optimum position to fuck her, but he needed her close. She met him, thrust for shallow thrust, rocking in tandem until he couldn’t hang on.

  “I’m gonna…”

  “I’ve got you,” she whispered against his lips.

  He groaned through his release, a final shudder draining him, and somehow took his weight off of her and to the side.

  Drifting, he wondered how anything could possibly feel better as she sighed with contentment. He wanted to lounge beside her all afternoon, and it took a supreme effort to shove up onto an elbow.

  Kathleen rested, eyes closed, her hair every which way, the orgasmic flush still evident on the top of her breasts and on her cheeks. His inner caveman beat his chest. Nothing like a well-satisfied woman to make a man feel on top of the world. He’d never understand guys who took their pleasure and thought it enough.

  I’ve got you. She did, and she lived nearly four hours away, led a different life, and how the hell was he going to see her again? Enough to maintain some resemblance of a relationship? And holy shit, he was thinking and using the R-word. Did that infer the T-word? Too soon. Had to be.

  “I have to get to work.” He knew he sounded abrupt.

  Her eyes blinked open. “I know. I’ll put the laundry away and check out dishwashers. Figure out supper.”

  Freaking amazing. His tone immediately softened. “Don’t overdo it.”

  She snorted, an honest-to-God snort. An earthy woman indeed. He liked it.

  She said, “I like this trade deal. Conserve a bit of energy for tonight.”

  “I will.” He would, somehow, despite the work ahead. He kissed her. “See you about six?”

  “You got it.”

  Climbing out of bed, he went into the bathroom to clean up a bit, the front of him baby smooth, his hands not so rough, and soaked a washcloth in warm water. He snagged a towel and sauntered back to the bedroom before kneeling to pass the cloth over her pussy.

  “What?” She squinted at him. “I thought you had to go?”

  “Let me.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t resist as he swabbed her clean and then patted her dry with the towel.

  When he looked at her as he wrapped the washcloth in the towel, she was blinking harder, her eyes bright with moisture.

  “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” What the hell had he done? He couldn’t do tears.

  “You didn’t hurt me. Nothing’s wrong. It was unexpected, is all.”

  “I take care of—” He bit off the rest. She wasn’t his, didn’t belong to him. Forcing a smile, he said, “I wanted to take care of you.”

  “Appreciated.”

  He backed away and tossed the bundle of fabric through the open bathroom door and into the sink. He was getting in deeper. It was hard to take full advantage and enjoy the moment without blurring the lines. He stepped into his underwear and pulled up his jeans, grabbing his shirt. “See you later.”

  Chapter Six

  Abandoned again. She giggled, the sound flirty and female in the room. He’d found time for her and bestowed that incredible massage before heading out. It was crazy, stealing every available minute—and exciting.

  He had an amazing body. Broad, yet lean. All those corded muscles… She didn’t have personal experience with many cocks, but his seemed superior. Thick and long, it filled her up and hit all the right places. He hit all the right places, his fingers, and tongue, his lips.

  He clearly had experience in droves. Hers was ancient, but it was coming back. Her body knew what to do, and Carter seemingly had no complaints. How was she going to do without now he’d awakened her? And not merely physically?

  She struggled to sort out her thoughts and failed. But there was no point in overtaxing her brain when she had but one more night with him and maybe, with luck, time for more intimacy. If he had the energy…

  He worked so hard, had so much to do—if she understood the half of it—and it had to be taxing. And they’d done the deed three times now, and she’d set the scene for tonight. He was forty-four! How much time did men that age need to recuperate? And she was acting like a sex-starved twenty-year-old!

  Samuel was always up for sex, no pun intended. Any kind of sex, they’d done it all, she figured. Even when Lisa kept them up half the night as an infant
. After graduating with a full load, he worked long hours too, albeit different work than Carter. She smiled. It was so nice to think of her husband without—

  She sat up, mouth agape. She was thinking about Sam, nostalgic, a little melancholy, but without that horrible pinch in her heart. Again. She waited for the guilt to flood in and sink her, wash away her new feeling of well-being. In vain.

  Had she moved on? Was it possible after all this time? Cautiously, she explored the feeling and rejoiced in the contentment. But only for a moment. Her time with Carter was so short. What if he was the One? Her second One. If she was that lucky, then why was life so unfair?

  Grumbling, she clambered out of bed and yanked the sheet off the mattress. It sported patches of oil and other things that required laundering. She’d maybe gather a load for tomorrow—including the cloth and towel Carter had disposed of.

  She stilled. He’d taken care of her. That was his nature. Possessive and caring. It was a complete change to her independent spirit and yet a sweet balm. Freaking unfair. She found her clothes and his shirt and got dressed. She’d deal with the clean laundry and get on her laptop, but before that, she would explore the freezer.

  A short while later, she emailed the information she’d compiled on dishwashers to Carter, finding his address on a business card in his office. She sure hoped he knew where everything was in there, considering the state of his desk. Did he do his own books? The spreadsheets folded in various piles suggested he did, but that she wasn’t going to stick her nose into.

  Scalloped potatoes baked in the oven with slices of onion, dusted with paprika, the white sauce dangerously close to the top. The bottom of the oven was thick with charred food, so she wasn’t worried about adding to it. The thought of a self-clean oven made her flinch in horror—the first time it got turned on would probably burn the house down. All the same, her good nature wouldn’t stretch to cleaning this one.

  He really needed some of those foil trays, and she started a list of things that would make his life easier. Not to mention some more supplies.

  An enormous ham, soaked in the juice from a can of fruit cocktail hulked in another baking dish beside the potatoes, and she planned to steam a bag of frozen corn as a side. There were no makings for salad, so either the men didn’t eat greens, or they were out of them. The crisper drawers in the freezer suggested the former, a few sad, curled-up, and dry pieces of something leafy huddled in the bottom.

  She had no idea how long the store-bought bags of frozen fruit had been in the bottom of the freezer, and the contents hardly looked appetizing. But she emptied them into a huge mixing bowl and topped them with sugar and cinnamon, leaving them to thaw and the flavors to meld. Frozen foods didn’t go bad, merely lost their physical appeal.

  There were steel-cut oats in a metal tin, probably around for a long time, but she sifted them into another bowl and didn’t find anything to deter her from using them. Adding butter, flour—she sifted that too—and salt, she cut the mixture into a rough crumble.

  When the fruit was sufficiently thawed, she utilized the casserole dish from lunch—now scrubbed clean—and dumped the fruit into it. Crowning it with the crumble, she decided to wait until she pulled out supper, and stick it in then. There was nothing like hot fruit crumble unless it was garnished with ice cream. That she couldn’t find, though she had located some packets of something claiming to whip up into a topping. Maybe the milk required was still within the parameters of the due date.

  Her cell chimed, and she fished it out of her pocket. She’d texted Lisa in the morning with sparse details, just enough to fend off any questions, but her daughter might need something. Or maybe it was from work…

  Carter’s name filled the screen. She had an insane impulse to change it to something like Midnight Cowboy, or maybe Hard Rider, something for her eyes only. She stifled the urge—it wasn’t likely she’d hear from him after tomorrow.

  “Hello?”

  “Darlin’, Merry called. Wondered if you might want to head over tonight.”

  She really didn’t. She had nothing to wear, and she wanted to be with Carter. It wasn’t likely this was going anyplace to warrant formally meeting his family.

  Her silence must have been eloquent. “I’ll tell her another time. But I wanted you to have the option,” he said.

  Gah, he was perfect. And another time meant lots of things. She’d used it herself to ward off an invitation she never planned to accept, ever. “Thank you.”

  “See you in an hour.”

  Was he watching the time too? She went upstairs to fix her hair and face, add some lip gloss. The house really needed a powder room downstairs. There was room beside the stairs— She quashed that thought with dismay. You didn’t just renovate someone else’s home, not even in your head.

  She was setting the table when he shoved through the door. She knew it was him, familiar with his footsteps. His boots clunked off, and then he filled the archway, face further bronzed by the sun. A bolt of lust made her grab hold of the back of a chair to keep her in place.

  His eyes blazed a wintry fire of passion. “I keep coming home to an amazing woman.”

  The breath stalled in her lungs. He needed to stop saying things like that. She somehow smiled and sucked in a little air. “Dinner’s almost ready. I’ll leave the carving of the ham to you.”

  “I’ll go wash up. The guys are cleaning up in the bunkhouse.”

  Supper was a replay of lunch. There was a little more conversation—about ranch-related things she listened to with interest—but mostly there were only the sounds of chewing and silverware clattering against plates.

  The crisp was greeted with delight and the pseudo-whipped cream, nicely chilled, blanketed each serving. As soon as the plates were scraped clean, a chorus of thank yous came her way and the hands stampeded out the door.

  “Saturday night,” Carter said. “They’ll head down to the Watering Hole. George doesn’t drink anymore, so he’ll ride herd on them. Hopefully, they’ll be good for something in the morning.”

  Something in his voice grated. “Do they drink a lot, or something?”

  He stretched, and she checked out the sliver of flesh showing at his waist. Not a hint of excess flesh. Involuntarily, she sucked in her belly before chastising herself and focused on the bolt of desire the sight of his firm skin elicited.

  He said, “A couple of them drink. But as long as it doesn’t interfere with work or they don’t drive, I let it go.”

  She remembered him sipping his bourbon last night, the second glass virtually untouched. “I enjoy a drink. I appreciate a glass of wine at meals, but I’d never get behind the wheel. Lisa has been taught better, and I want to be a role model for her.”

  He didn’t respond and seemed lost in thought. She sat quietly until he roused and said, “I’ll clean up.”

  “I’ll help.”

  “You can sit and tell me about dishwashers.”

  She went and got her laptop and filled him in. “I sent you an email, though.”

  “Can you order the one you think works best?”

  “Um…” He was filling the sink with hot, soapy water, his back to her, so she couldn’t read him, but said, “I can. But you need to take a look at the space where I think it might work.”

  She showed him, and he dug a tape measure out of a junk drawer. Together, they referenced the size, and he agreed on what would fit.

  “There’s a guy in town, retired, who does some plumbing and a bit of carpentry to fill his time. Order it and have it sent to the gas station.” He rattled off the address before fishing his wallet out of his back pocket, and she took the opportunity to admire his firm ass. “Use the Visa.”

  Holding a man’s wallet in her hands made her shiver. It felt as personal as her purse did to her. All sorts of things were contained in there. Gingerly, she flipped it open, taking note of his driver’s license—he photographed well, unlike her. He had a considerable amount of cash bulking up the slot reserved f
or bills, and a bunch of folded notes that were no doubt important messages and reminders. Samuel did the same thing. The men were alike in the best ways, yet different in others she appreciated as well.

  Extracting his Visa, she then typed in the numbers on the online order form. Carter Ezekiel Rodgers. She had a sudden, intrusive thought about suggesting they look for one tomorrow in the city, where she could accompany him, and then shook it off. This was more efficient, and he probably hated shopping.

  “It says it’ll take up to five days.”

  “I’ll call Ray tomorrow.” He took out his phone and typed something. “Give him notice.”

  She quietly carried the dirty dishes to the sink and then grabbed a dish towel.

  “Hey. You cooked,” he said.

  “They won’t all fit in the sink to drain.”

  He stared and then nodded, accepting her help. “That thing’s a commercial size. A dishwasher and a half. It’d better clean everything the first time around.”

  She swallowed a chuckle. “If you scrape the dishes and put them in right away it will. Just remember it’s not a garburator and not magical.”

  He released the water, and the sound of gurgling filled the air. She set the last cooking dish in the cabinet. The rest could dry overnight. Carter looked done in, and she wanted him to rest. She hid a grimace. She wasn’t his mother, and he probably wouldn’t thank her for the sentiment.

  “I’m bushed. Someone kept me up last night.” He wrapped her up and nipped her ear.

  He didn’t feel bushed, at least not south of his belt buckle. She said, “Can we watch a movie?”

  “Depends. I’ve got some DVDs. And I guess there’s something on pay-for-view.” He drew back and looked in her eyes. “You don’t want to see one of those mushy ones, do you?”

  “Of course! The more romance and tears and angst, the better!”

  It took all she had not to laugh when he visibly manned up and hid his wary regard, setting his mouth in a straight, resigned line. “We’ll find something.”