Smooth-Talking Cowboy

by Maisey Yates

  Damn, she was soft. He squeezed her, not too gently either, because she was in his hands and he was all out of restraint. Restraint that he hadn’t fully appreciated until now. That he hadn’t fully realized he possessed. Funny how being aware of it made it seem unreasonable.

  He let his other hand drift up the line of her spine, to the band of her bra. He made quick work of it with one hand, then wrenched the insubstantial fabric down her arms, casting it down to the floor. She sucked in a sharp breath, right in time with his.

  He swore, the sound as reverent as a word like that could be. He dragged his thumb over one tightened nipple and Olivia’s head fell back, the motion almost helpless, unconscious. A small, tortured sound of pleasure on her trembling lips as he continued to stroke her.

  He pressed his hands down firmly against her lower back, then lowered himself down to his knees, kissing the valley between her breasts, down to the waistband of her pants. She was panting heavily, her stomach rising and falling with each labored breath. He looked up at her, saw that she was watching him with an almost-horrified expression. He treated her to a half smile and slowly peeled one side of her jeans open, then the other, eye level with the lacy white panties she was wearing. Then he slowly pushed the denim down her legs, revealing each inch of skin, torturing himself because part of him kind of liked it. His chest hurt, his throat was dry and part of him wanted to exist in this torment forever.

  This place between the hell of wanting her and the heaven of having her.

  He could see dark curls through the wispy fabric of her underwear, and he lifted his hand, pressing one fingertip beneath the edge of her panties, tracing a line from her hip bone down between her legs, that crease between her thigh and the most intimate part of her. She gasped, her breathing getting harder, faster as he teased her, as he pressed his finger deeper and found her wet with her desire for him.

  He groaned, shifting position, hooking his finger across that filmy fabric and drawing it aside before cupping her in his hand, pressing his middle finger deep, parting her lips so that he could have greater access.

  He grabbed her ass with his free hand and dragged her toward him, lowering his head and tasting her deeply as he continued to tease her with his fingers.

  She made a short, shocked sound, her hands coming up, grabbing hold of his head, tugging his hair. He ignored her, nuzzling his nose against that most sensitive part of her before sliding his tongue down her crease as he pushed a finger inside of her.

  “Luke,” she said, her voice breathless. “You can’t...” She gasped. “You really can’t.” But she was bucking her hips against him, and she might be saying that he couldn’t, but her body was begging him to.

  “Sure I can, Liv,” he said, “just watch me.”

  He angled his head, tasting her deeply like he had done with her mouth earlier. She was sweeter than he had ever imagined. Better than anything. He could satisfy himself this way for hours. Olivia, under his mouth, under his hands, wet and hot and slick, her internal muscles beginning to pulse around that finger pushed inside of her. She was rocking against him, the sounds she was making increasingly distressed, as if pleasure was a foreign thing, a near enemy.

  But then, he wondered if for a woman like Olivia it was. God knew he had practice being out of control. He liked to drink. He liked to have a good time. Control wasn’t always part of the equation. Oblivion mattered to him a hell of a lot more than control. But not Liv. He knew that for sure.

  He imagined she liked to be in charge. That she liked to have pleasure on her own terms.

  But the hen was in the fox’s house now.

  He gripped her more firmly, pulling her harder against his mouth as he increased the pace. And she quit pulling against him and lowered her hands to his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin as she surrendered. As she gave into him. Into this. Pleasure washed through him, more than he’d ever had without a woman’s hand in his pants. He had no experience with this. With enjoying her pleasure more than he wanted to satisfy his own.

  He pressed another finger inside of her and a sharp, intense cry escaped her lips as she rolled her hips forward, as her internal muscles tightened around him, spasmed as her orgasm overtook her. It was sweeter than he remembered it being. Better than that time in his truck. Because he could feel it. Could taste it.

  And in the end, he was going to know what it was like to feel all of this need, her hot, wet body, pulsing around him, and that was enough to set him off then and there.

  She slumped against him, boneless, and he stood, lifting her up off the ground, holding her in his arms as he walked through the small living area, down the narrow hallway and into his bedroom. Typically, when he hooked up with a woman, they did it over at her place. But his bed was big enough. It would do.

  He set her down in the center of his bed, on his well-worn, flannel comforter that looked like a work shirt, and didn’t look near fine enough for Olivia Logan’s pretty, naked body.

  But he already knew that he wasn’t good enough. Already knew that he never would be. But she was embracing him, so he didn’t see why the hell he shouldn’t embrace this thing happening between them.

  He leaned forward, grabbing the sides of her panties and drawing them down all the way, throwing them to the floor. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, the words thick, difficult to squeeze out of his tightened throat.

  She shifted, her knees pressed tightly together, drawing one leg up slightly, as though she was trying to cover that beautiful, shadowed triangle there at the apex of her thighs.

  He didn’t even scold her, because every inch of her body was a joy to look at, and there would be plenty of time to examine that part of her later.

  He walked around to the side of the bed with his nightstand, opened up the drawer and grabbed the unopened box of condoms inside. He ripped the top off, tearing one condom off the strip of them, and setting it down on the bed. Then he pulled his T-shirt up over his head. She watched him, watched every movement he made, those brown eyes fixed on him, not angry anymore.

  Anger might have propelled her here, but it was desire that kept her going now. And even if it meant letting go of all his pride to know that she was at his house, in his bed, to get back at another man... That wasn’t what kept her here.

  He undid the button on his jeans, drew the zipper down slowly, and then pushed his pants and his underwear down to the floor. Olivia might be shy, but he wasn’t.

  Her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open. “Careful,” he said, “you’re going to make my ego bigger.”

  “I don’t think any part of you needs to be bigger,” she said, the words strangled.

  Then he joined her on the bed, pressing her back against the mattress, every inch of his skin against every inch of hers. Her thighs parted, as if by instinct, and his erection settled there against her slick skin. He arched his hips forward, moving through her folds, teasing them both.

  He shivered, pressing his forehead against hers.

  Delicate fingertips came up and pressed against his cheek. “Are you cold?” she asked, her teeth chattering slightly.

  “Burning up,” he answered. “How about you.”

  “I’m not cold,” she answered, her whole body trembling beneath his.

  He held her chin, looked into her eyes, didn’t ignore the sheen of tears in them this time. “You okay?”

  She nodded wordlessly. “I want you.”

  She said it with that kind of grim determination that let him know this was another Olivia plan, rather than an act of passion. And that was unacceptable. He wanted her back the way she had been in the living room. Boneless and sated and beyond control.

  He kissed her, rocking his hips against her again, wrapping his hand around his length, guiding it through her slickness, over her where she was most sensitive, repeating the motion until she was clinging to him, until she was
making small sounds of pleasure, like she had done earlier.

  He kissed her neck, her collarbone, down to her breasts, sucking one nipple into his mouth, sliding his tongue around that sensitive flesh in time with the motion of his hips. Then he moved on to the other one, drawing a harsh cry from deep inside of her. She was on edge again. And best of all, she wasn’t thinking.

  He reached to the side, grabbing the condom packet, tearing it open and rolling the latex over himself before moving back into position between her legs. He pressed his thick head against the entrance to her body, rocking forward slowly.

  She gripped his shoulders, then down lower, her hands moving almost frantically as he pressed himself into her. He grabbed hold of her wrists, pushed her hands up overhead, forcing them down to the mattress as he bucked forward, taking her completely, a sound of wrenching pain coming from her as he did.

  And that was when he realized that Olivia Logan was a virgin. Or had been, until a second ago.

  She wasn’t anymore. Because he was inside of her.

  She had been so angry at Bennett that she had gone to give her virginity to Luke.

  He couldn’t process that.

  On a good day, he wouldn’t be able to process it, but this was a damned great day. He was inside of the woman he had wanted for years, and rational thought wasn’t in his grasp.

  She was a virgin.

  He was sure that there was something to be angry about in that, but right now all he felt was triumph. Pure masculine, possessive triumph.

  He didn’t care what it meant. Not now. Because nothing mattered except having more of her.

  All of her.

  The only man to ever have this. He shuddered, eased himself out a couple of inches before thrusting back in. She groaned, lowering her head, burying her face in his neck as he tried to establish a rhythm that was gentle enough for her.

  “Tell me if it hurts,” he whispered against her lips. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Just you,” she said, the words watery, unsteady.

  He kept hold of her wrists as he moved inside of her, as he found exactly what she liked, listening to the sounds she made, paying attention to the subtle ways the movements of her body changed as he found ways to make contact with the source of her pleasure.

  And then he could feel her release beginning to build again. He was familiar with it now. And he couldn’t hold back his own any longer. His control snapped completely as she shivered and shuddered beneath him, her internal muscles pulsing around him as she climaxed, deeper and more intense than last time.

  His blood roared in his ears, his restraint gone completely. He forgot to be gentle. He forgot to hold her steady. He let go of her wrists, held on to her hips and pounded himself into her, conscious now of nothing beyond his own need. This need that he had held back in his truck, against the tree, earlier in the living room.

  The moment he had become conscious that she was a woman. A woman that he wanted. A woman he couldn’t have.

  But he was having her. He was having Olivia Logan right there in his bed, in his shitty cabin that was hardly fit for company. And she had been incandescent with pleasure in his arms.

  He came on a growl, digging his fingers more firmly into her hips, knowing that he might leave marks behind, not able to do anything to stop himself. He should have been more gentle with her. From the beginning.

  But this was all part of him living up to the only promises he had ever made her. That he wouldn’t be good enough. That he wasn’t right for a woman like her.

  But none of it mattered. None of it mattered at all as pleasure burst through him like a bomb.

  He could only hope it didn’t blow them both to pieces.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SHE HAD BEEN right to be afraid of this.

  As Olivia lay on Luke’s bed, his large, naked body pressed over the top of her, buried inside of her, the bed soft beneath her and him hard above her, her chest feeling like it would crack in two... That was all she could think of.

  That sex was every inch as terrifying as she had been scared it might be.

  Everything had been so hot. So bright and real, sweaty and incredibly clear. In her mind, it had always been a foggy thing. Hidden behind the mists of secrecy, shrouded in mystery. Yes, she had known about how sex worked. But there had been a certain measure of fantasy in her thoughts about it. Whenever she had let herself think about having it with Bennett she hadn’t focused on body parts. Hadn’t focused on the physical act itself. But on feelings. On how nice it would be for the two of them to be so close. On what it would symbolize.

  She hadn’t thought about skin. Sweaty, close, intimate. Hadn’t thought of what it would be like to have something so hard, so male, inside of her. And how close that really made you with someone.

  Hadn’t thought about large, strong hands that would hold her so tight she was afraid she might be bruised, and the kind of strange, overheated pleasure that made that somehow seem like a good idea.

  She really hadn’t thought about the possibility of anyone putting their mouth where Luke had. Again, not that she philosophically didn’t understand that happened, it was just that she hadn’t thought about it. She had avoided. Avoided and pushed to the side and covered it all up.

  But here she was, uncovered, naked in his arms, a completely different creature to the one that she would say she had been all of her life. Except, this was her. There was no denying it. This was her with no makeup, no clothes and no defenses at all. She had no idea what to do with that.

  She wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear, but that was impossible to do with that hard, rangy body still on top of her. Those intense, green eyes burning into hers.

  She was about to say something, about to tell him that she needed to get up, but he pressed his palm to her cheek. Then he kissed her. It was tender, in comparison with everything that had come before it. Shockingly, impossibly, it stoked the fire inside of her again. A fire she would have said didn’t exist, then would have said had been extinguished handily by Luke in the past few minutes. But there it was again. All it took was that firm mouth on hers. The slick sweep of his tongue.

  Too soon, the kiss stopped, and he pushed himself up and away from her, withdrawing from her body. She gasped. She wasn’t prepared for the way that her heart twisted, for the way that the loss of him felt. As if he had taken part of her with him.

  As overwhelming as it had been to be joined, being separated again was worse. She had felt fine before. Now she felt like something was missing.

  He turned away from her, and she took that opportunity to study his naked body. She had never seen a naked man in person before. His back was muscular—which she had known already, because she had seen him without a shirt before—but then, the muscle continued, all the way down. To his butt, which was a thing of art, and his thighs, which were sculpted and made her mouth water. Which was weird, because she had never devoted any time to thinking about a man’s thighs before.

  He walked out of the room without saying anything and she let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in. She looked up at the ceiling, at the unfamiliar wooden slats, then over at his nightstand. The condom box was sitting on the bed in front of it, looking half demolished. The nightstand itself had very little on it. A lamp and what looked like a phone charger.

  His whole house was sparse.

  It didn’t contain a single thing that she would identify as being Luke. Which fit, really. Because Luke couldn’t be contained in a cabin. Not even pieces of him.

  She realized after a breath that she was lying there completely naked, on her back with her legs spread, and her arms flung out to the side. Her clothes were... Well, everywhere. Some in the living room, some in here.

  She hadn’t anticipated that, either.

  She scurried up to the top of the bed and situate
d herself beneath the covers, drawing the blankets up to her chin.

  A moment later, Luke reappeared in the doorway. Completely naked. Still naked, and not at all ashamed. Not like her.

  But then Luke had probably been naked in front of a lot of women. Like the woman in the bathroom at the saloon, for instance.

  Thinking about that made her stomach twist, an intense, vile feeling that she didn’t like at all.

  But even as she battled that, she took the opportunity to admire him. The man was the mysteries of the universe revealed as far as she was concerned. The answer to the question of what a naked man looked like. The answer to the question of what an orgasm felt like, what sex was actually all about.

  So strange that she had associated it with romance.

  What had happened between them had not felt romantic. It had felt like willingly throwing herself down on a knife’s edge. Far too sharp. Far too intense.

  And yet, somehow, even as it ached from the unfamiliar invasion, her body seemed to want more.

  He walked across the room and sat on the edge of the bed, looking over at her. “Something that you want to talk about?” he asked.

  “Quite the rainstorm outside,” she said, curling up into a ball and burrowing deeper into the bedding. “Otherwise, it’s been a fairly mild January.”

  “Not the weather, little squirrel girl, try again.”

  “I’ve never done that before,” she said, the words sticking in her throat. “Sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought that maybe you had guessed.”

  “I knew that you were inexperienced. I didn’t think you were lacking in experience entirely. I figured... Bennett.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “He’s a fucking idiot.”

  The response was so shocking that Olivia laughed. She would have said that was impossible a split second ago, but the absurdity of all of it gripped her. And she found herself giggling helplessly, naked beneath the covers in Luke’s bed, while he sat on the edge of the mattress with nothing covering him at all, looking at her like she had lost her mind.