Real Men Do It Better

by Lora Leigh, Susan Donovan, Lori Wilde, Carrie Alexander

  So much for the cure.

  The rain drummed. Thunder gathered in a low rumbling chorus.

  Quickly. He used his thumbs to spread her, his kiss to incite her, his tongue to invade her, and an instinctive singsong from the back of his throat to quiet her bucking hips. She thrashed, then went still, holding herself as tensely as a jumper on the ledge. The suctioning pleasure increased. Her legs tried to close around his head. He gripped the back of her thighs, keeping her open to every intense sensation.

  The darkness had enveloped them. He was back to a one-track mind, bent on making her lose it as fully as he’d lost himself, in a luxury of female flesh and aroma and the thrill of feeling her body tighten to his command. He strummed her tiny clit like a virtuoso until she was gasping and pushing herself against his mouth, coming in a sweet flow that filled him with satisfaction so strong he was able to tell her searching hands and willing mouth no, and no again, while lightning slashed the night sky.

  She’d given him a gift beyond sex. He needed no more.

  6

  “Cock-a-Doodle? You answer calls for Cock-a-Doodle?” Gabe laughed uproariously.

  More than the occasion warranted, though Karen was wryly tolerant. On this clean, fresh morning, everything was brighter and better than before. The earthy scent of grass and mud and straw. Her fingers, caressing the supple, oiled leather of Spindrift’s English saddle. Sunshine glanced off the puddles and rebounded on the metal sculpture in the barnyard doorway. She found herself laughing, too.

  “Cock-a-Doodle-do,” she said. “A hundred times a day.”

  “Sheez. A hundred times a day? I’ve got to get me some of those pills.”

  “Hah. I’d be a charcoal briquette before noon.” She nipped her assumption in the tongue. “That is, if it was me you were…” She trailed off, reminding herself not to move so fast. Casual. Be casual.

  Gabe wasn’t put off. He smiled at her from across the barn, teeth gleaming against the healthy red of his lips and the brown stubble of his morning beard. “Oh, it’d definitely be you I was fucking. No other woman can take me.”

  The brashness was back. But for once, she’d found a man who could back up his egotistic statements.

  She giggled. “I’ve been wondering where my talents lie.”

  “What about this?” His hand traced the air near her abstract sculpture, following the curves as if they were a woman’s.

  “That’s, eh, not quite right.” But she was seeing the piece with clearer vision, she realized. She knew exactly where she’d gone wrong. If she hadn’t wanted to waste a minute of her time with Gabe—cool, stay cool—she’d be working on the sculpture right now, blowtorch in hand.

  “I’m no judge.” He scratched his head, studying the configuration of steel and rust. “But it looks like a woman to me. Maybe even a self-portrait.”

  Karen stared. “You think?”

  The sculpture was feminine. She’d never considered it to be autobiographical, except now that he’d said so, she realized there might be a measure of truth in the observation.

  She cinched the saddle girth. “How come you said that?”

  His shrug was self-effacing. “I don’t know.”

  “Something made you say it.” The knot of worry that she’d only produce what she saw in her head and not what she felt in her gut had loosened. Maybe she was going in the right direction after all. Gabe had recognized the sculpture’s essential meaning, if only on an instinctive level.

  “The way the metal twists, right there.” He waved at a bend in the figure. “How it flares out here. That makes me think of you.” He cocked his head at her, the blue of his eyes sparkling with wicked intent, his smile slow and predatory. “I think of you, in bed, going wild with my tongue stuck up your juicy little cunt.”

  Air sliced her throat when she inhaled. The hell with brash. He was brazenly confident. And there she was, stumbling over her tongue and worrying she’d say the wrong thing, while his boldness had her insides running with sticky sap.

  Two could play that game. Mostly because it was more fun that way.

  She unsnapped Tinker’s lead and walked the horse toward Gabe. “Want to be there again tonight?”

  He waited a beat too long. “Tonight?”

  “Or tomorrow. Tomorrow’s better. Dinner tomorrow night.” Oh, she was cool, all right.

  He dropped a possessive hand over her butt. “I’ll be there.” One hard knuckle raked the seam of her jeans, sending a mini shock wave through her private parts. “And here, too.”

  She whirled away. “I’ll be expecting you.” Armed with condoms.

  They led the horses out of the barn. Spindrift curvetted with excitement as Karen mounted, but Tinker remained placid as Gabe set his foot in the stirrup. Even though he’d explained that he usually didn’t give off as many shocks as he had the past night, she’d still noticed how he was careful with what he touched and how he moved. She’d given him a Western saddle—no irons, all good, thick leather, except for a few buckles and rings. If there were residual sparks lurking in Gabe, Tinker was so lackadaisical he could use the spur of a good shock.

  They rode across the pasture, toward the fringe of trees beyond, where they could pick up a dirt road that would take them to Torch Lake, three miles away. Since Officer Dan had most likely appropriated the bike for the Lost and Found, Gabe had announced a plan to walk back to his cabin. Over breakfast—cold cereal because the power was still out—Karen had come up with the idea of a horseback ride. Not because she hated to see him go. Turning the one-night stand to a one-week stand was good enough for her.

  She’d have her fill by then. Absolutely.

  The setting was tranquil, rife with the pale golds and greens of spring. Birds twittered and pecked, flying up from the grass as the horses approached. They rode without speaking. The nod and swish of the horses’ heads and tails became a rhythm inside Karen, fitted to the steady beat of her heart, the memory of rocking toward rapture in Gabe’s lap.

  She glanced at him, riding beside her. He was watching her, looking buff and gorgeous in his wrinkled thermal shirt and jeans. She smiled, feeling like a cheeseball, but drinking him in. Last night had been all about a dark, erotic, extraordinary journey. By daylight, she was growing captivated with the real man. The almost-but-not-quite ordinary man.

  Thereafter, whenever she looked at him, he was looking at her. Which was flattering, and electric in its own way, until she realized that every time he looked at her, she was looking at him. Thoroughly besotted. She had to laugh. With so much checking out going on, they were lucky the horses hadn’t wandered off into the gullies.

  “What’s funny?” Gabe asked.

  “Me. I’m enjoying myself.”

  “I’m enjoying you, too.”

  The saddles creaked. Gabe maintained a steady hand on the reins, keeping Tinker from snatching at mouthfuls of spring grass. Karen admired his competence. “You’ve ridden before?”

  “Now and then.”

  “I could leave Tinker at your place so you have transportation. If you’ve got a patch of grass, we could stake him out. I can drive over with—”

  “No. But thanks.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “It’s just that I don’t want to be responsible.”

  She understood. But something made her push him. “You two seem to be getting along fine.” She’d even caught him stroking the gelding’s neck. “What do you think will happen?”

  Shadows dappled Gabe’s face as they entered the grove of willows and ferns. Peepers sang from a grassy stream bank. “Anything. Another thunderstorm.”

  Of course. Karen nodded. “I’ve been wondering how you ended up in one last night. I know what you told me, but—”

  “But it wasn’t the entire truth.”

  She waited. With a jingle of the bit, Spindrift shook her head, chasing away the black fly that circled her ears. Low-hanging branches drooped in their path and Karen snapped one off to use as a whisk.

&n
bsp; “You’re right.” Gabe leaned forward in the saddle, looking ahead to the lichen-covered pile of rocks where they’d connect with the road. “I left the cabin intending to bike into town. But I was—I needed an escape. From myself. So I rode, for I don’t know how long. I wasn’t paying attention, only thinking of burning off my energy, and when I looked up the sky was getting dark.”

  “Why didn’t you stop and find shelter with someone before the storm got so bad?”

  He gave her a look. “You saw what happened.”

  “The clocks? The power? That’s not such a terrible inconvenience that you should have risked your life to avoid it.”

  His expression remained grim. “I was hoping to find an empty house or a barn.”

  “I see.” Karen whisked the flies off her mare. She could sympathize, but she couldn’t ever understand how it was, living with so many constrictions. “How long has it been?”

  “Since last August.”

  “There’s nothing to be done to help you?”

  “The doctors are mystified. There have been cases of people whose chemistry conflicts with watches and small electrical systems, but I’m off the charts.” His look darkened even more, giving her a hint of what he’d been through. “They checked me into a research hospital so they could study me. There was even talk of electric shock therapy.”

  She swallowed a gasp of horror, aware that her first reaction was to imagine something out of Dr. Frankenstein. Gabe didn’t need to see that. “No wonder you escaped.”

  “I didn’t have to steal the keys or break windows. I walked out. Months ago. My life has been fairly uneventful since then, give or take a few inconveniences.” He shrugged. “Apart from last night. But you were a nice antidote.”

  The way he looked at her made her throat thicken with emotion, but she swallowed again and croaked, “Yeah, sometimes you just have to get laid.”

  Gabe ran a hand along Tinker’s satin neck. The horse’s ears flicked forward and back. “And sometimes you just have to be loved.”

  * * *

  Sparks showered the cement. Karen squinted behind the face shield of her helmet, concentrating on the white-hot spot of molten metal while sweat trickled down her temple and nape. Over her jeans and T-shirt, she wore a leather bib apron and thick cuffed gloves with Kevlar stitching. Her muscles were rubbery with exhaustion, but she couldn’t stop. Inspiration burned as hot as the torch in her hand.

  She’d been at it for hours, cutting, brazing, and welding the sculpture into its purest form. Every choice had felt right, every weld smooth and strong.

  A cramp bit into her left shoulder. With a groan, she straightened and reluctantly set aside the electrode, the rod of filler material that melted in the arc of electricity to fill the joints of the sculpture. She tipped up the shield and rolled her head, then her shoulders, working out the aches and pains.

  The blue sky was now gunmetal, tinged with purple and pink where the sun had sunk toward the horizon. Karen put down the welding torch, realizing that she’d even managed to tune out the constant annoying sound of the buzz box, the red metal welding machine that ran off an AC current.

  She stretched. Ouch. New pangs had joined the more pleasant twinges from last night’s exertions.

  She eyed the sky. Almost dark. Damn, how late was it?

  Well past quitting time. The horses hung their heads over the rails of the corral, demanding their supper with squeals and hoof stomps. Her own stomach was hollow. She stripped off her gloves and grabbed the water bottle to quench her thirst.

  Her eyes wouldn’t stay away from the sculpture. She’d cut away a few extraneous pieces, then added several lengths of rusted iron rebar she’d foraged at the dump, each piece arrow straight, male to the sleek female curves of the steel, except at the peak, where she’d been working at configuring a zigzag that reached to the sky.

  The fatigue dropped away. She lowered her visor and pulled on the gloves.

  She was at the top of the stepladder, beading the very tip of the sculpture amid the bursting fireworks, when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Her head swiveled. It was too dark. She couldn’t see much past the visor.

  Ever mindful of safety around the hot metal and sparks, she climbed down slowly and set aside her gear. Scattershot pings of nervous excitement flew through the air. She dragged off the helmet and shook out her matted hair. Peeled away the gloves. The apron. Cool air washed her body.

  And then she turned.

  He leaned against the doorway, where the dark barn interior was cut by a slanted ray of sunset.

  Her tongue moved in her mouth long before words emerged. “I knew it would be you.”

  7

  “Officer Dan?”

  “Not him.” She pulled the T-shirt off over her head, stretching her rib cage taut. The evening air was caressing. Goose bumps popped up on her heated skin. The contrast in sensation was provocative. “He doesn’t make me feel the way you do.”

  Gabe’s gaze flicked between her and the sculpture. “You’ve been working.”

  “All day. I was inspired.”

  He looked at the cooling red tip where moments before sparks had flown. “So I see.”

  She walked toward him with a seductive smile. “I thought we had a date for tomorrow.”

  He put his hands in his jeans pockets and crossed one leg, setting his foot on the tip of the rubber-soled boots. “I couldn’t stay away.”

  Emotion had roughened his voice. She felt the uneven texture against her skin.

  His brows inched upward. “You’re shivering.”

  She dropped the shirt, stopping in front of him with her breasts pushed together in a sturdy cotton sports bra. Not sturdy enough to disguise the tightened points of her nipples. She wasn’t surprised by his arrival or hesitant about what to do next. Like her work on the sculpture, offering herself to Gabe this way felt right.

  He still hadn’t moved, except for the hot flames of his eyes, flickering across her as she peeled up the sports bra. Her breasts lifted, then dropped with a bounce. A soft hiss slid from between his teeth. “Sexy.”

  “I’m on fire.”

  “You’re electric. Do you know how hot you looked with that welding torch, making sparks fly?” He frowned a little, taking in the buzzing welding machine. “Huh. Looks like the power’s back on.”

  “The phone, too.” She listened. The machine continued to hum. “And staying on.”

  “I’ll keep my distance.”

  She pressed crisscrossed hands over her breasts, a futile attempt to ease the ache of wanting to feel them in his mouth. “I’d rather lose power.”

  He barked a deep laugh and suddenly came forward to swing her off her feet. She felt herself flying high through the air before coming around to be brought up snug against his chest. Her legs clasped his hips and their mouths came together like magnets locking in place. They were wild, with dueling tongues, clutching hands, needy noises.

  Gabe staggered into the depths of the barn, where shadows gave them privacy. He set Karen on a stack of alfalfa hay bales, the small stock remaining from the winter’s store, never removing his mouth, his supple, scouring tongue. She was dizzy from desire and exhaustion and heat and happiness, and she laced her fingers at the small of his back, holding him tight, pressing him closer, trying to rub against him with her legs spread wide, the seam of her jeans grinding into her hot crotch.

  “Make love to me,” she said. “Make love to me, Gabe.”

  His kiss was deep and moving. Swearing a promise that reached her heart. She whispered against his lips, returning the emotion, freeing herself from old disappointments and loss.

  Sometimes you just have to be loved.

  He set her back on the bale, bending to kiss the tip of one breast, then the other. She sighed, melting. He laid a palm against the twitching skin of her midriff and she felt the hot connection that had already become an addiction. Then his hands were at her zipper and he was skinning off her jeans, yanking
one shoe off her foot, but leaving the jeans puddled around her other ankle when he couldn’t tug them loose and was too impatient to try again.

  The flat of his hand slid inside the front of her panties, through the patch of curls into the wet heat. She jolted. The lopsided hay bales swayed beneath them as he bent her back, yanking away her bikinis with a quick tug and snap, pushing down his jeans and underwear so his erection reared up, hot and red like a fire-breathing dragon, a mythical beast who spat sparks and flame. For a crazed moment she wanted to ask him to put it in her like that, naked and burning, but he had pulled out a condom, sheathed himself, and pressed the head against her slit, all in one motion, so smooth and swift she could only give herself, open herself completely, surrender to the consuming fire devouring her whole, as he thrust all the way home.

  Pleasure and shock and need ripped through her. He put his arms around her and soothed the ragged edges, lipping sweet kisses across her collarbone, finding the pulse in her throat, grazing his teeth up her neck until he’d reached her mouth again—her mouth and his mouth, drowning in a rain of fire.

  She rocked on the bales, squeezing and sliding over the shaft of his cock. Their perch shifted and loosened. She pushed up with her hips, but the stack was too unstable and she cried in frustration, wanting the deep thrust so badly she clawed at him when he pulled away.

  “Like this.” He lifted and turned her, saying “Bend for me” so sweetly in her ear that she sprawled across the messy bales, not caring about the stalks that poked and scratched, as she clutched handfuls of loose hay, bracing herself for the invasion of hard cock.

  Distantly, she heard the whickering horses, the uninterrupted motor of the welding machine. Maybe she was right. Maybe she’d absorbed some of his—his—

  Or not. Her ass flinched as he took hold with two hands, caressing for a moment before he parted them. Cool air touched her most intimate area. Except for harsh breathing, he was silent. She shuddered, knowing he was watching, seeing all of her, especially as he began to press for entrance. Her lids clamped shut, but the image was burned in her mind—the swollen head of his cock parting her pussy lips, stretching her folds until they’d made a tight rim around his thick shaft as it slowly, inexorably disappeared inside her.