Cowboy Crush

by Liz Talley

He slathered a fair dollop across her breasts. Something about the oily whipped cream and those firm, rounded mounds worked. He smoothed the cream over them, lazily swiping his fingers through, lifting them to suck the sweetness off. Maggie had stopped laughing and lay there watching him. He could see she was definitely turned on.

  “What a mess,” he said with a gleam in his eyes.

  “You should clean up after yourself,” she said.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, bending and sucking one of her nipples into his mouth. She made a strangled noise and squirmed against the sheets. He didn’t stop. Instead he turned his attention to the other breast, laving the whipped cream off, making little mmm sounds. She tasted delicious without the whipped cream so he didn’t stop, though the white fluff was nowhere to be found.

  “Please,” Maggie moaned, tugging his head.

  “I’m not finished,” he said, reaching over to the pie and dropping another scoop onto her belly.

  “Oh,” she said, as he went to work licking the cream off her flat belly. He dipped his tongue into her navel, making his way down to her pubic bone. Cleaning up his mess in a most wicked way, leaving her sticky and, judging by the way her hips kept bucking, very horny.

  “There,” he said, dusting his hands. “All clean.”

  Maggie cracked an eye at him. “You’re done?”

  “Unless there’s something else that needs attending to.”

  She grabbed a pillow and hit him with it.

  “What?” he yelped, tackling her and rolling her onto his body. She was definitely sticky...and wet. He felt the slickness of her slide against his thigh.

  “You big tease,” she said, kissing him, biting his lower lip.

  “Says the pot to the kettle,” he said, grabbing her ass and moving her so her mound ground against his cock. Felt like heaven and must have been good for her, too, because she closed her eyes and sighed. Cal lifted his torso from the bed, taking her with him.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, sliding off him. He tossed a few pillows toward the headboard before picking her up and setting her against their fluffy down.

  Giving her a quick kiss, he tugged her hips forward a little. “I’m cleaning up my mess.”

  “What?”

  He took her hands and set them on her knees. And then he pushed her knees up so that she was open to him. “You’re a little messy down there. Hold your legs back.”

  Her face grew red and she started to drop her legs. “This is sorta...uh...”

  “No,” he said, stopping her, pushing her knees back again. “You’re so beautiful, so freaking hot. I want to taste you. I want you for dessert.”

  Pushing her knees farther apart, he dragged his gaze from the most appealing of sights to her smoky topaz eyes. “Hold your knees, darlin’.”

  Then he bent and parted her folds, moaning in satisfaction at how wet she was. Her flesh was pink and perfect, the bud of her clitoris shielded by a tiny hood. Carefully he pulled back her plump lips and dragged his tongue through her heat. She tasted much like that lemon pie, slightly tart, mostly sweet. And she smelled of their earlier sex—an aphrodisiac. He feared he’d come right there on the sheets.

  He took his time playing with her. Going slow, sliding his fingers inside her tightness, flicking her clit with his tongue. He’d work her, and then he’d let up, content to kiss her soft thighs. The wiggle of her ass and her sighs and groans told him all he needed to know. She was close, but he wanted it to last. So he gave and he took.

  “Please, please,” she begged, thrusting herself toward his mouth.

  “Ah, I love you like this, Mags. Out of control,” he said, sliding two of his fingers inside her, hooking them so he found the spot that would help take her over the edge. Then he fastened his mouth on her clit and sucked gently.

  She came hard and fast, shaking as her fingers slipped and her legs closed around his head. She screamed as another orgasm tore through her.

  Cal never let up. He held her hips, enjoying the warm gush, the slurping sounds he made as he took her again and again to climax.

  “You have to stop,” she said, pulling at his ears. “I can’t... It’s enough.”

  Cal lifted himself, grabbed the condoms he’d set on the table by the pie, and ripped open a package. “It’s never enough.”

  Maggie looked spent. He pulled her ass toward him and her legs stayed splayed. He looked down at her, rosy and flushed. Large breasts heaving, thighs open to reveal her treasure. He’d never seen anyone hotter than this women. She made him hard as a fence post.

  He lifted her ass and slid home. She was tight and hot and wet and everything a woman should be.

  “Oh.” She stiffened, arching her back.

  “That’s a girl,” he murmured, kissing her neck. “Let’s come again, baby. This time together.”

  And then he started moving, pulling her hips to him as he thrust deep.

  “Oh, no...oh, no...oh, no,” Maggie chanted in his ear. “I can’t...this is...ahhh.”

  Her body tightened, gripping his cock as she came again. The pulsating pressure tipped him over the edge. His balls tightened, that sweet pain gathering deep in his pelvis and...then blessed release.

  “Oh, shit,” he said, anchoring her hips, spilling himself inside her. Jolts of pleasure vibrated through his body, making chill bumps cover his thighs and arms. He gave one last jerk and collapsed on top of her.

  And found she was coming again.

  That made him laugh.

  She was like an engine. Once you pulled the string, she purred to life and didn’t stop. He’d revved her into a new dimension. Her breath came hard as if she’d run a race. Maybe it was like a race. It had been one helluva sex marathon, that was for sure.

  “Oh, my dear Bessie,” Maggie said after she stopped pulsating. “That was incredible.”

  He could only nod, then flop off her. All energy had fled, leaving him absolutely bushed. He wasn’t even certain he could lift his head and deal with postcoital cleanup. So he lay there, staring up at the shadows etched on the ceiling, enjoying the feel of her next to him. Usually after having sex, he liked to get up, pull on his boots and get going. But for some unexplained reason, he wanted to stay with her. Sleep in this bed. Watch the light of dawn caress her cheeks. Be there when her pretty eyes opened.

  Maybe it was because she wasn’t some one-night stand. He’d see her over the next few weeks every single day. Why not relax and wake up next to a pretty woman without the stale taste of tequila in his mouth paired with the guilt of knowing he’d never call?

  “You know,” Maggie said, her breath finally evening. “That is a pretty nasty water stain.”

  Cal laughed. “I’ll add primer to the list.”

  9

  THE CAT SHE’D seen a few days ago was a female and if Maggie was any judge of animals, she’d say Kitty Girl was preggers.

  “Here, girl,” Maggie said, holding out a piece of chicken. The cat sat in the shadow of the barn, blinking at her as if it couldn’t be bothered. Every few seconds, the cat let out a plaintive meow. Such a tease. “Come on. I won’t touch you. It’s really good.”

  The cat turned her head away.

  “You still working on that cat?” Charlie asked as he walked by, carrying two pails of something that sloshed over the sides.

  Maggie didn’t answer. Merely looked up at him because it should be fairly clear she was trying to get the cat to trust her.

  “She’s feral and don’t trust you. Gotta give her time,” he said, not looking bothered in the least that she didn’t respond.

  Thank you, King of Obvious. “She’s pregnant and needs veterinary care.”

  “Pshaw,” Charlie said, spitting in the hot Texas dirt. “She don’t need no vet. Kittens will come out fine the way they’re intended to. Happens all the time.”

  “But there could be complications,” Maggie insisted, knowing Charlie thought she was an idiot, but not caring. She’d seen plenty of shows on Animal Pl
anet where kittens got stuck during the birthing process.

  “Ah, leave her alone and she’ll be fine. You can pick a kitten out of the litter if you want. Maybe one that will cuddle with you because that cat ain’t.” The man sounded disgusted and started moving away from her. He smelled like whiskey, but he’d showed up each day and put in a good day’s work. There was still a strange vibe between him and Cal, but when she mentioned it, Cal clammed up or changed the subject.

  “Hey, Charlie,” she called, tossing the meat toward the cat and rising. The older man stopped in his tracks and turned, lifting an eyebrow.

  She swiped at the sweat threatening to roll into her eyes. Mid-July in Texas was hotter than the devil’s ass crack. Another term she’d heard from the painters. They were full of gems.

  “Huh?” he asked.

  “What’s going on between you and Cal?”

  The older man flinched. In that reaction, she could see that she hadn’t imagined the coldness. “How should I know? Besides what business is it of yours anyhow?”

  “It’s not. He doesn’t say anything about it, but it’s obvious you two don’t care for each other.”

  Charlie turned. “No need to. Whatever we had is water under the bridge.”

  “So you do have something between you,” she said, crossing her arms.

  The older man didn’t answer. Merely moved off away from her prying questions.

  Maggie brushed her hands against her shorts and started back toward the house, not knowing why she’d bothered to ask. Maybe it was because Cal was such a closed book. Sure, he flirted, told stories about towns he’d visited and took her breath away every night, but he didn’t talk about anything of substance. If she brought up Charlie or his injury or even his future after bull riding, Cal went silent.

  Wanting to understand a man better wasn’t a crime, was it? She knew they’d drawn boundaries, but something seemed to burden Cal. She suspected his shoulder wasn’t getting better and that worried him. She saw the wincing, the way he rubbed it subconsciously. But there was something more. Like a sore beneath the saddle. She wasn’t sure if it had to do with Charlie, his family, his doubts or the whole of Coyote Creek.

  But it shouldn’t matter to her. They were what they were. And what they were was down to four more weeks.

  Then they’d be a memory.

  Maggie sighed and opened the screened door to the kitchen. She’d spent all morning painting the lower bedrooms while Cal pulled up the flooring in the kitchen. A crew would come in to lay down the new tile she’d selected from a local flooring place Cal had recommended. He’d suggested the more local she could buy, the better. Invited goodwill and talk that might lead to a potential buyer for the Triple J.

  Maggie hadn’t listed the ranch yet. She wanted to complete the renovation before she got tangled up in a real estate contract. She’d love to be able to sell the place herself, but since she’d likely have to leave Texas with the place still on the market and didn’t have any experience with ranching, she figured the Realtor’s fee would be worth the money she’d probably lose in doing her own negotiations.

  Cal stood in the middle of the kitchen, shirtless, holding a metal bar and cussing.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Whoever put this son of a bitch in last time must have made a bargain with the devil. This shit won’t come up.” He threw the bar down. And then winced and grabbed his shoulder. “This isn’t working.”

  Maggie opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. Man pacifier. “Here.”

  He took the beer and popped the top, grunting his thanks.

  “I know you wanted to work and give your shoulder some natural motions rather than doing merely therapy exercises, but this is too much for one man.”

  “The hell it is.” He lifted the beer and chugged it. Sweat coated his body like some kind of fantasy. If only he weren’t so frustrated...and there weren’t so many workers surrounding them. She’d had the best sex of her life over the past week. They’d had sex in the shower, on the freshly waxed stairs and once in the rocking chair out front. That particular feat had been almost dangerous because there were so many rotten boards. She’d made plenty of sweet memories in the stillness of the hot Texas nights.

  But Cal seemed itchy today.

  “What’s up with you?” she asked, grabbing a beer for herself.

  “Nothing.”

  She leveled a look at him.

  “I’m frustrated today, is all. Damn floors are a bitch to get up and my shoulder’s hurting. Bucking barrel came in and I haven’t had time to even set it up.”

  “Let’s do it now,” Maggie said.

  “Naw, it’s okay. I have time. I’ll do it later.” He set the bottle on the counter and turned from her. They’d had a week of laughter, good sex and companionship. Right now, all of that was absent. Maggie understood. A person could only sustain happy for so long. Real life didn’t allow for total bliss 24/7.

  Reality had sharp teeth that nipped at happy.

  “You sure? I don’t mind. In fact, I can’t wait for you to show me how to ride,” she said, lobbing sexual innuendo into his court.

  Cal’s eyes shuttered. “Nah. I’ll do it later.”

  He didn’t hit it back. And at that moment, she understood why. Her strong, fearless bull rider was afraid.

  Hard to accept a man full of smiles and rock-hard confidence, among other rock-hard things, could be afraid of anything. But there it was in the tight lines around his mouth and in the flicker of something in the depths of his blue eyes. Cal was afraid to climb on the bucking barrel.

  But why?

  He was a two-time world champion. She’d gone to the PBR website and watched him ride several bulls. Phenomenal wasn’t even the word for the man. He was grace and grit atop the bulls, his body nearly fluid as he rode the twisting, turning creatures. She’d held her breath watching him, fingers pressed to her lips. She’d never seen anything that made her want to cheer, scream and hide her eyes more than Cal clinging to the back of a bull.

  She took another draw on the Texas-made beer. “You said you’d give me pointers.”

  “That was on riding me,” he said, his face relaxing.

  “I’m already good at that, but practice makes perfect.”

  He took another gulp of beer. “I guess we can set it up tonight.”

  “Good.”

  “Will you do it topless?” he asked, his lips twitching as he turned back into the teasing Cal she knew.

  “Is that a dare? Or a suggestion?” she asked, grabbing the brushes from the sink and setting them in the roller bin splattered with paint.

  “Whichever one will make you do it. Because your—”

  “I know. You have a great fascination with the girls. I’m almost jealous of my boobs.”

  “You should be. If I could live between your tits, I would.”

  “But it would make bull riding awfully awkward. Try explaining why I have to sit in front of you when you ride.”

  Cal laughed. Mission accomplished. Grumpy Cal had climbed into the backseat so the wicked, sexy cowboy could drive. She slid by him, dropping a kiss on his mouth. He tasted like sweat and beer. Which meant a second longer kiss.

  Then Maggie climbed the stairs to fetch the rollers and drop cloths. Last night they’d slept in Cal’s trailer in order to escape the fumes. The carpets had been ripped up to reveal pretty wood floors. Cal had suggested they refinish them themselves, but Maggie knew her limits. So he’d found a husband and wife team that would come next week and sand and refinish the oak planks. They’d look good with pretty hooked rugs and old iron bedsteads on them, but Maggie wouldn’t get the chance to see pretty sheer curtains at the newly paned windows or an antique rocking chair sitting in the corner. The rooms would be a blank canvas for the new owners.

  The hours flew by as she rocked out to Lenny Kravitz and chilled to James Taylor. The walls dried to a perfect shade and the room took on a bright, fresh hue. When Cal tapped her on the shoulder,
she screeched, pulling the earbuds out. “Jesus, you scared the pants off me.”

  “I wish,” he joked, eyeing the short shorts now streaked with light gray paint. Then he lifted his gaze, turning a circle. “I like this color. This place is going to look like a totally new house.”

  “I know,” she said, trying to keep the wistful tone from her voice. Not that she was getting attached, but it was the first place she’d ever owned. For at least another month, nearly four hundred acres belonged to her, not to mention 3,215 square feet of ranch house. The thought satisfied her for some reason. “How are things coming with the floor?”

  “I called for help,” he said, handing her an ice water.

  “A man who actually listens to a woman’s suggestion? I may have to sell tickets to this experience.”

  Cal made a face. “I’m not that stubborn. Well, I am, but I finally realized I can’t do the floors alone.”

  “And you admit you’re not invincible? I’m waiting for lightning to strike.”

  “Very funny,” he said, catching her around her waist. “Has anyone ever told you how sexy you look streaked with paint?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  Cal frowned. “Who was he? Where does he live? And do you have any spare ammunition lying around?”

  “It would be hard to find the entire fraternity at La Salle University. I helped paint their chapter room one summer. Lots of suggestions regarding helping me clean the paint off.”

  Cal kissed her. “I hate them all.”

  She raised on her toes and kissed him again, allowing her breasts to brush his still bared chest. He smelled like sweat and hot man. Addictive. “Did the others leave already?”

  “Yeah, Charlie said the guys rebuilding the porch had to go for more decking nails. They’ll be back tomorrow morning with those infernal nail guns.” He gave an exaggerated glower.

  “Let’s call it quits and go pick up your barrel thing. My arms ache from all the painting, anyway.” She brushed her pelvis against the hardening cock in his jeans. “But I may need some help getting this paint off first.”

  Cal slid his hand into her shorts, caressing her ass cheek. “I’m willing to scrub wherever you need me to scrub.” His fingers slid toward the wetness gathering between her thighs. She raised up on her tiptoes and parted her legs so he could have access.