Mac's Law

by Sarah McCarty

  As soon as she was in place, he slid the vibrator all the way out. Before she could tighten up, he slid it smoothly back in. Her fingers tore at the sheets and she whimpered with every breath. He gave the base a light tap as he reached for the pillows. “From now on you keep this sweet ass lubed all the time. I want to be able to flip up your skirt and know you’re ready for me.”

  The strength of her shudder would have taken her off the bed if he hadn’t been lifting her to place the pillows.

  “Is this another of your laws?”

  “Yup. And one you’d better follow. Hurts like hell to have your ass messed with dry.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  No. He wouldn’t but she didn’t know that. “I wouldn’t suggest finding out the hard way.”

  He positioned her to his height, bent his knees and aligned his cock with the red pulsing entrance to her vagina.

  “Are you ready for me, Jess?”

  She was so wet, the question was rhetorical. Her juices were spilling over her pussy onto the pillows. Her scent rose to surround him.

  “Please.” She was almost weeping.

  With steady pressure he pushed his cock in, feeling the hard ridge of the vibrator as he did. When he was three-quarters in, she tensed. He paused, then slowly, deliberately thrust against her, pushing at her resistance. She groaned, her hands caught in the bed sheets, as he leaned into her harder before pulling out and shoving back in. She was so tight that he didn’t so much slide as forge into her, the ultra-snug grip, and incredible friction ripping at his control.

  This time he got a little deeper, and brought his hand between them. Wrapping it around the base of the vibrator, he wedged one side against his groin. This time when he pulled out, the vibrator came, too. She screamed his name frantically as his cock and the vibrator stretched her simultaneously. She cried out again as they both shot back into her, driving deep, stroking hard. He did it again and again, her screams getting louder with each thrust, her body taking more of him until, finally, finally, he was seated to the hilt and his heavy balls slapped against her engorged clit. She sobbed into the comforter, her muscles tight under his hand as she tried to push back, her body begging for more.

  He stroked her gently. “There you go, honey girl. All of me. Tight and deep.” He pressed his cock a fraction deeper, his groin nudging the base of the toy into her ass. She whimpered a “Please.”

  “Do you want to come now, Jess?”

  “Yes.”

  Her pussy flexed around him, stretched too far to hug him, but trying anyway.

  “Good. So do I.” He pulled out just far enough to reach the dial on the base of the toy. He turned the switch, paused at low and then turned it all the way to high. The heavy throbs were instantaneous. “Come for me, Jessie.”

  His hips drove back into hers. She shrieked and slammed her hands on the mattress arching back to him, her entire body convulsing on his third stroke, her pussy and ass clamping down on him like a vise as he orgasmed, stopping the flow of his seed in a painful interruption. He gritted his teeth and rode out her climax, his cries joining hers as her muscles relaxed and his come burst from his cock, flooding her channel. She came again as he pumped into her, crying and shaking before finally collapsing on the bed.

  He was right behind her, catching his weight on his elbows, her pussy milking him long past dry as the vibrator kept him painfully hard. It took him three minutes to find his breath. He dragged himself out of her, wincing as his cock protested the movement. Turning off the vibrator and slipping it free, he let it drop to the floor as he hauled them both up on the bed, dragging her over him. “Go to sleep, honey girl.”

  He pulled the covers up and wedged his softening cock back into her eager pussy. She gasped and winced, but then wiggled down, not satisfied until she was taking more than he thought she should. He stroked her hair, tucked her head into the hollow of his shoulder and sighed.

  They were really going to have to talk limits.

  Chapter Nine

  They were definitely going to be talking limits. Mac shoved open the door to the pickup. The late afternoon sun burned his eyes. He pulled his hat off and wiped the sweat from his brow before settling the brim low over his eyes and heading for the house. As soon as he got his hands on Jessie, he was going to flip up her skirt and paddle her bare ass. And not in a good way either. Son of a bitch, she was going to kill herself.

  He didn’t know where she got the energy to do the stunts she did. Lord knows he kept her up nights, working off as much of that pent-up energy as he could, to the point that he was dragging. Yet, every day for the last four, one of the hands had found a reason to come out to where he was working and fill him in on her latest antic. Every time he started swearing, they started laughing.

  Today was absolutely the last straw. He should have known when he’d told her about climbing that windmill as a kid that she’d be up there first chance she got. Not a care in the world that the thing was twenty years older and in a sad state of neglect that any fool could see. She just charged forward like she had every other day since she’d been there, grabbing every experience she could, no matter how dangerous, as if she had something to prove. Well, it was stopping today. If he had to chain her to his side, she was not indulging in one more risk. His heart couldn’t take the stress.

  A loud whoop followed by a chorus of shouts came from down by the corrals, pulling him up short. He slowly turned in the direction of the noise, just knowing it wasn’t Jessie down there. Couldn’t be Jessie, because he’d told her this morning that she was not learning to “bust a bronc” as she’d put it. He’d also gone out of his way to let Will know to put a quick death to any efforts to see her try. Yet, somehow, in his gut, he knew what he was going to see when he cleared the crowd.

  Slim was the first to notice his approach. He nudged Chuck and shot a nervous glance at the corral. Chuck ducked away as Slim stepped in front of Mac.

  “Hi, Boss.”

  Mac pushed his hat back and did his best to look calm. “Who’s riding?” he asked, knowing what the answer would be, not needing Slim’s nervous rubbing of his hand on his jeans, or the anxious glances in Chuck’s wake to understand that he was being stalled. He stepped to the left.

  Slim shrugged and stepped with him, effectively blocking his progress. “Just somebody trying out old Busy Bob.”

  Old Busy Bob was the first horse that had ever bucked Mac off. He was twenty-two now, and the ranch’s mascot. Mac couldn’t name one cowboy who would consider that ornery bag of bones a challenge. He could think of one small woman who would find a trip up on him the time of her life.

  He pushed Slim aside, just in time to see Jessie on top of that “old bag of bones”, her body whipping around in the saddle like a sheet on the wash line riding out a hurricane.

  “Someone get her off there!” Will shouted, coming onto the scene from the opposite direction. “He’ll throw her.”

  Mac was vaulting over the corral fence before Will got the last word out. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chuck cutting across the corral. Before either of them could get close enough to grab Busy Bob’s bridle, it was too late. The big sorrel did two crow hops and then whipped his hindquarters up and around. Jessie went sailing off his back like a rag doll hurled in a tantrum. Straight into the fence. There was a sickening crack as she struck the hard wood and then a flat thud followed by a short “Uff” as she landed in the dirt. Dust puffed up around her still form.

  Mac swore, and grabbed Bob’s bridle as the horse continued dancing around Jessie’s body, pulling him to a halt. Even with the rider off, Bob kept prancing and side-stepping. Mac frowned and passed the reins to Chuck. Busy Bob tossed his head and rolled his eyes. Mac spared one second to order, “Check him out,” and then there was nothing to do but see how badly Jessie was hurt.

  It took two steps to reach her side. Two steps in which he got to relive the moment of impact when her delicate body collided with the fence. Two strides in which
he got to curse himself for not seeing this coming. For underestimating her need for adventure. Two steps in which to call himself seven kinds of a fool.

  He crouched down beside Jessie in the dirt. Her chest labored with the effort to breathe. Her eyes were closed, her face white. He needed to check for breaks, concussion, or worse but for the first time in his life, he couldn’t just get down to doing what needed to be done. He was paralyzed. Afraid of what he would find. Afraid of what he wouldn’t. This was Jessie, lying in the dirt, hurt. There was a scratch on her cheek. A strand of hair lay across her mouth. He brushed it aside, took a breath and put both hands to the sides of her neck. Her pulse was strong, her neck slender beneath his hands—so damned fragile. He gently probed. Nothing felt out of alignment, though that was indicative of nothing. Jessie’s eyes were still closed, and her breathing wasn’t normal.

  “Ah, honey girl, what did you do to yourself?”

  She didn’t answer. There was a soft grunt as someone else knelt by his side.

  “How’s she doing?” Rafe asked, dropping the emergency kit down beside his thigh.

  “She’s breathing.”

  Rafe leaned over, forcing Mac to move further up as he put his fingers against her pulse. “Well, that’s a plus.”

  Mac curled his fingers around the impulse to lash out. Rafe was an EMT. He was doing his job with his usual calm efficiency and easygoing manner. No reason to flatten the man. Still, Mac couldn’t make his “Yeah” as light.

  Rafe glanced up from where he was checking her skull. “She probably just got the wind knocked out of her.”

  Maybe. Or she might have broken her damned back. “What do you need me to do?” Mac asked.

  “Hold her hand and sweet talk her while I get her ready for the ambulance.”

  “Someone called?”

  “Jeremy did.”

  He deserved the pitying look Rafe cut him. Of course, someone had called. Just because his crew lost their heads when it came to indulging Jessie’s wild side didn’t mean they didn’t know the drill when there was an accident. He was the only one who couldn’t string two thoughts together. “Good.”

  He worked around to Jessie’s right side. He carefully slid his hand under hers, lifting it just far enough so her palm could rest in his.

  “C’mon Jessie, open your eyes,” he whispered. Her lashes fluttered. She moaned and her fingers twitched in his hand. He watched her face for a second. Her fingers twitched again, and he changed his focus. Her hand looked so small in his. Defenseless. The ranch had been hell on her manicure. Her nails, which a week ago had been perfectly manicured, were bare of polish. There was a chip in the middle one and dirt under all four. He stroked his thumb over the back of her fingers.

  He touched her dirt-streaked cheek with his free hand. The Circle H had been hell on her, period. His finger shook as he traced a smear over her cheekbone. Rafe nudged his hand aside as he continued his examination. Mac sat back out of the way, looking at the ring of concerned, guilty faces staring down at Jessie. He was going to kill them, he decided. Each and every one of them for ferreting out Jessie’s weakness for a dare and challenging that flaw in her character.

  Will was apparently of the same mind. “What in hell were you jackasses thinking of putting her up on that aging devil?” he growled.

  Jute was fool enough to answer, his drawl insolent, too new to realize that Will had a temper beneath his normal calm, and the muscle to back it up. “Hell, how were we supposed to know that Busy Bob had more than a hop left in him?”

  “You could have tried using that lump you call a brain,” Will snapped, shoving Jute back as he stepped forward into his space, daring the younger man to give him a reason to flatten him as he said disgustedly, “Jessie’s only been riding a couple days. Even that hop you expected would land her in the dirt.”

  “You can’t pin this on me,” Jute spat contemptuously.

  “The Hell I can’t,” Will snapped, and shoved the younger man into the fence.

  “I wasn’t the only one standing around here while she got on that nag,” Jute whined, more deference in his tone as Will towered over him.

  There was a hint of puzzlement in Slim’s voice as he agreed. “He’s right there, Will. No one expected old Busy Bob to relive his glory days like that. Hell, we didn’t even put on the bucking strap.” He shook his head and looked at his companions, waving his hand helplessly at Jessie. “It was a joke. We just like to see Jess get her dander up. We figured she’d get all worked up, hop on, walk Old Busy Bob around the corral twice, and then glow all evening because of her accomplishment. Thought maybe we’d get some of those brownies out of the deal,” he confessed sheepishly, running his hand through his hair.

  Good God!Mac thought, staring at his men. He had a crew of idiots. He shot them all a disgusted look, watching as Rafe cupped Jessie’s head in his hand and eased the neck brace under her.

  “You can open your eyes now,” he said to her.

  Mac looked at Jessie and then at Rafe. “She’s awake?”

  “Yup.”

  “Then why isn’t she responding?”

  Rafe worked the buckles on the brace. “Probably terrified you’re going to tear the hide off her.”

  “She’d be right.” Mac looked down. “You open your eyes right now, honey girl, or I’ll paddle your ass hard enough you won’t sit for a week.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s encouragement,” Rafe injected wryly.

  Jessie’s fingers curled around Mac’s. “Promises, promises.”

  “Uh-uh.” He needed for her to open her eyes. Needed to see that she was okay. “Do it.”

  Her fingers squeezed his. “I’m okay, Mac.”

  “Open your eyes and prove it.”

  She wet her lips with her tongue. “Give me a minute.”

  Rafe frowned and leaned over her. “Are you feeling dizzy?”

  She tried to shake her head in the brace. “Sick to my stomach.”

  Rafe immediately leaned back. Mac leaned in. “Don’t try to move anything.”

  “I’ll tell my stomach.” Her smile was a mere shadow of its normal intensity.

  Rafe laughed. “Do that. Are you hurt anywhere?”

  She tried to nod. Mac cursed and cradled her chin in his palm, stilling the attempt as she answered, “My arm.”

  “Which one?” Rafe asked, his gaze narrowing the way it did when he focused.

  “The left one. I hit the fence.”

  Rafe gently rolled back her sleeve. The area of the injury was immediately apparent, already beginning to bruise and swell. Skimming the area with his fingers, Rafe looked at Mac and mouthed, “Ouch.”

  When he attempted to move her fingers, she moaned.

  Mac swore again and drew his thumb across Jessie’s cheek. He’d broken a few bones, and knew what she was feeling. “It’s broken, Jess,” he told her as gently as possible.

  She took a shaky breath and expelled it. “Damn.”

  Ah shit!Mac thought. He should have seen this coming. He’d had enough experience with his mother to have seen this coming. To have known he had to be more vigilant.

  “Hold her while I get the inflatable splint,” Rafe ordered. “She’ll feel better with the arm immobilized.”

  “Sure.”

  “I need to be held?” Jessie asked.

  Mac looked at her poor battered body. “Oh, yeah.”

  Jessie opened her eyes a crack. Mac was staring down at her, his blue gaze dark, the frown on his face belying the incredible gentleness in his voice.

  “It doesn’t hurt that much,” she whispered, her breath just coming back to her. In truth it was beginning to hurt like hell, but it’d take more than being thrown from Busy Bob to make her admit that. Not when Mac’s face was that deathly white.

  His gaze left hers. She followed it as it traveled over her chest and then paused. There was a smudge across her shirt, level with her left breast. A big, wide smudge. About the width of a fence rail. A bit of anger replaced the
gentleness in his voice as he said, “You shouldn’t be hurt at all.”

  She opened her eyes a little wider. Without the filter of her lashes, he looked damned mad. And determined to do something about it. She groaned silently to herself. “You have no intention of being reasonable about this, do you?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Rats.”

  His right brow arched up, and he gently pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “I thought you promised me no more dangerous stunts?”

  She shrugged without thinking. Pain halted the move halfway in. Mac’s fingers against her cheek—those strong masculine capable fingers—trembled. She reached up with her right hand and caught them in hers. “I didn’t consider riding that bag of bones dangerous.”