Cowgirl, Unexpectedly

by Vicki Tharp

  His gaze bored into mine and as the starlight shone in his eyes, his sincerity seeped into my soul. More shards slammed back together with a force of a punch to my heart.

  I reached up and drew his mouth down toward mine. “I guess we’re both a little selfish then.”

  His breath brushed against me as if he’d been holding it in while he waited for my response. Hank’s an incredible man.

  A man I don’t deserve.

  Hank dipped his chin, rubbed his lips against mine. I opened to him immediately and he didn’t hesitate to dive in. Our tongues dueled. Giving, taking. Plundering. Goose bumps ran up my back when his hands skimmed beneath the hem of my T-shirt and found my bare flesh. His skin was hot on mine, and I hadn’t noticed until then how the chill of the night had settled in. When he broke the kiss, the vapor from our combined breath wrapped us in a warm fog.

  Heat pooled at my core and I shifted until Hank’s good leg slipped between mine. I rubbed up against him. He muttered a curse, pulling me in tight, his hands on the curve of my ass. God, I loved the way he responded to me.

  He licked and nibbled his way from my ear down to the base of my neck where he used his teeth and then cooled the angry skin with the tip of his tongue. He backed me up against the rails of the pen, the metal hard slashes of cold against my back, but at least it would keep me from melting into a puddle at his feet.

  His hands skimmed around the waistband of my jeans, beneath my shirt, and up my belly. My stomach muscles quivered beneath his touch and all I wanted to do was rip my clothes off and let him take me right there. He chuckled softly and the reverberations settled around my heart, digging in. I knew without a doubt this was the first man who’d ever had the ability to rip the heart from my chest. The first one I wasn’t sure I could live without.

  He nipped at the corner of my jaw then whispered in my ear, “You’re thinking too much, Army. I must not be doing a good enough job if you can still think.”

  “Maybe you need to work a little harder, Cowboy.”

  A salacious smile raised his lips as he boosted me up and wrapped my legs around his waist. His erection was hard against the crotch of my jeans. I groaned in appreciation. I really needed to get my hands on him.

  My mouth too.

  With the rails at my back and Hank at my front, I didn’t need both hands to hold me up so I slipped one from around his neck, ran it down the long length of his white-T-shirted torso. His pupils dilated and the muscles in his belly jumped. I traced a finger across his rippled abdomen and snagged a finger into his waistband. He hissed as the tip of my finger brushed against the head of his cock, poised beneath the band of his jeans. “Christ. You gotta stop that.”

  “Make me.”

  I teased him again, raking my finger down the slit. The moisture of pre-cum slicked my skin. He nipped my lip and caught my wrist in a firm grip. “For someone who served in the military,” he huffed out, “you suck at following orders.”

  “It’s called discretion. It’s called conscientious objection. If we have a moral objection to an order, we don’t have to follow it.” I tried to free my wrist, but his grip proved fierce.

  “Moral objection?” Humor laced his words, low, throaty, like if he gave me enough rope he hoped I’d do something erotic with it.

  I tried again to free myself, still no joy. “Yeah, like if it went against the greater good.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re making crap up as you go along.”

  “Most probably.”

  Something hit my shoulder, and I fell, Hank grabbed at me, but was only able to break my fall. My mare stood over me, nibbled the tip of my boot, and then went back to her hay.

  “I think that’s her way of telling us to get a room,” Hank deadpanned.

  * * * *

  We made it back to the cabin in record time despite Hank’s leg and I high-tailed it to the shower before he could stop me. I stank like my mare and if I was going to have sex with Hank, I sure as hell didn’t want to have to worry about how badly I smelled. However, my lack of cleanliness and eau de dirty horse hadn’t seemed to slow him down any in the round pen.

  I was in and out of the shower in a flash—my years in the corps had served me well. In a hurry, I barely dried off before wrapping the damp towel around me and grabbing my toothbrush. Water dripped down my legs and pooled at my feet, but I ignored it.

  “Ticktock” came Hank’s husky voice from the bedroom.

  I leaned my head around the doorjamb. “Excuse me?” I laughed.

  The light above the kitchen sink was on, but it was more than ample to see him laid out on his bed, chest bare, sheets down around his waist, leaning on a couple pillows with one arm behind his head and a paperback in his hand. No wonder the buckle bunnies had flocked to his bed.

  Don’t think about the bunnies.

  Mentally, heartlessly, I clubbed the cute furry creatures back into their burrows and leaned into the bathroom to finish brushing my teeth. I glanced in the mirror. My face was flushed and excitement lit my eyes. It had been a long time since I’d seen that in my reflection. I knew it was more than the anticipation of sex that put the light there. It was this ranch. It was my coworkers. It was Hank. How did I get so lucky to find them?

  “Shiiit!” Hank’s banshee howl of pain rent the quiet of the cabin.

  Dread knifed me in the gut, the sadistic bastard. I managed to spit my toothpaste in the general vicinity of the sink, wiped the remaining spittle off my mouth with the back of my hand, and exploded out of the bathroom. The front door was closed so my initial fear someone had busted in plummeted to the bottom of my Oh, Shit! list.

  I ran to his bedside where he clutched the old goring scar on his thigh with both hands, digging his fingers into the meat of his leg as if he were trying to rip the flesh off piece by piece. “Cramp?”

  “Ah, fuck!” he roared, stinging my ears as he dug his fingers to the bone. “Yeah,” he ground out as a grunt ripped out of his lungs. Sweat broke out on his chest and face as he battled the excruciating pain.

  “Lie back,” I ordered as I shoved his hands away and began kneading the hoof-sized knot of muscle on his thigh. He did as I told him, one hand covering his eyes, squeezing into his temples, his jaw clamped tight. If I didn’t find him relief soon, his molars would shatter. Using my weight to my advantage, I used the heel of my hand in the center of the contracted mass of muscle.

  He jack-knifed up, grabbing my hands with his. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

  I shoved him back down and held him there with my other hand. “If you don’t hold still, I will.”

  His laugh caught on a sharp edge of agony and was lost. Deciding I’d trust him to remain put, I released him so I could use both hands again. I worked the muscle from the center out. I had no idea if that was the right or wrong thing to do, but after a few minutes, Hank’s breathing slowed and the pounding pulse at the base of his neck no longer made me fear he’d stroke out.

  I’m not sure how long I kept at it, but long enough that my muscles grumbled and burned with fatigue. Hank’s chest rose and fell at a normal rate, and the sweat was all but dry on his torso. Shame. Not that I wasn’t glad he was out of pain, but seeing his chest all slicked up and sweaty, well, frankly, it had been glorious.

  Jesus, Mac. Give the man a break. If the situation were reversed, you’d kick his ass.

  I grabbed his extra pillow and dropped it on the floor so I could kneel beside the bed and continue my ministrations. I gentled the pressure as the cramped muscles gave way beneath my fingers. It was a wonder he managed as well as he did on that leg. My hands were small, but there was a divot the size of my fist on the front of his thigh where the bull had obliterated a large chunk of muscle. The skin puckered in places and stretched tight in others where it had healed over what must have been a gaping wound. I traced my fingertips over the damaged area, mesmerized b
y the hairless silkiness of the scar tissue.

  He rubbed his hands down his face and groaned, and this time, I didn’t detect a hint of pain in the sound. He dropped his hands. One landed on his belly, the other on the hand I had on his thigh. It ghosted over mine, following my motion as I traced the starred pattern of tissue. His eyes were closed, and a field of goose bumps blossomed over his skin. He raked his fingers through my shower-damp hair, cupping and gently massaging the back of my head. “Feels good,” he managed.

  Yeah, he most definitely did.

  I rested my head against the side of the bed and glanced up at him, across his rippled abdomen, the smattering of blond hair covering his bulging pecs, and the tautness in his perfect, peaked nipples. I bit back the urge to rake his nipples with my teeth and swallowed a frustrated sigh. Then that old Nike commercial flashed in my head: Just Do It!

  Seriously, he’d barely recovered from a massive leg cramp. I’m sure the last thing on his mind was—I stifled a squeak of surprise when I turned my head and saw the impressive bulge beneath the sheets at the junction of his thighs.

  I don’t think I’d successfully hid my surprise because his fingers stilled at the back of my neck and I knew, knew without glancing up that those baby blues where were locked on my face, watching me as I ogled his cock. Well, not his actual cock because the sheet was covering it, but my imagination was without exception.

  He released my head. I followed the movement of his arm, the silky patch of hair capping his pits, the bulge of his bicep as his arm bent and his large hand cradled the back of his head. His eyelids were half-mast, and if I wasn’t mistaken, a cocky—what else?—tilt at the corners of his lips.

  “See something you like?” His voice was rough, but he was maddeningly sure of himself and all but daring me to deny it.

  I shrugged like a teenager, bored and indifferent, and threw a pretend yawn in there to poke his ego. “Eh…maybe.”

  Laughter warmed his expression, then he dropped his head back on the pillow and ran his hands down his face again, shaking his head.

  “You’re somethin’ else.” He said in such a way that it made me think that maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

  On its own accord, my hand eased up his thigh, skittered across the curls of hair on his legs until I reached the junction between thigh and groin where no hair grew. His leg fell to the side, granting me easier access. When my fingers slipped under the sheet, crossed that critical junction, and wandered further into intimate territory, his breath hitched and his gaze snared mine.

  With little light in the cabin, his eyes seemed impossibly dark, but I didn’t need the light to feel their burning intensity. No one had ever looked at me that way. Like they’d seen all of me, even though my body was still covered. My cheeks flared with heat as if scorched by an exploding grenade, yet I knew there was no balm on earth that could ever soothe it, and like light hitting the silver on exposed film, it etched his look permanently into my brain. Into my being.

  My senses heightened. Blood whooshed past my eardrums, but not so loud that I missed the soft glide of the sheet on his skin, and the crinkle of the downy hair surrounding his penis as I eased the silky material down his body, inch by sensuous inch. His cock jumped when the sheet slid free, and I watched as it grew impossibly firmer before my eyes.

  Anticipation was a bitch to string along, coaxed. Mastered. I itched to get my palm on him. My mouth watered, but I wouldn’t give him or myself that satisfaction.

  Yet.

  I climbed onto the narrow bed and settled on my knees between his legs; thankful that his bed wasn’t as cramped as an army cot. I ran my hands up the inside of his thighs, to his groin and cupped his balls in one hand as I ran my palm across his pubis, catching the thickness of him in the crook of my thumb and forefinger.

  Hank blew out a breath, his hips flexing beneath my hands, the muscles in his lower abdomen quivering from my touch, from the anticipation of what I’d do next. I glanced up at him, the intensity of his gaze never wavered. His nostrils flared as if he scented the hot moisture pooling between my legs and slicking the tops of my thighs. I wanted to climb on top of him and bury him to the hilt.

  But first, I wanted a little payback.

  I wanted him to squirm. I wanted him fighting for oxygen the way his words had done to me before I’d left this morning. I narrowed my eyes with the mental challenge and my lips curved up with delicious, evil intent.

  I gave his balls a teasing squeeze and gripped the base of his cock. Hank groaned, and before I could move my hand up the silky hard length of him, his hand shot out and manacled my wrist. “Christ, Army.”

  “What?” I pasted on my most innocent smile and glanced up at him through my eyelashes. His jaw locked again, but I figured it was from him fighting for control, not from pain.

  “I’m not some sixteen-year-old virgin, but if you keep that up, I’ll make that kid look like the king of self-control.”

  I peeled his fingers from around my wrist and released him long enough to capture both of his wrists and pin them above his head.

  “Don’t move,” I ordered with as much authority as I could muster, considering I was kneeling between a naked man’s legs with only a damp towel wrapped around me, my breasts mere inches above his face.

  He raised his head and nipped at the soft skin where my neck met my shoulders. “Or?”

  I sat back enough so I could see his face, my hands on either side of his chest for support. “Or you will be punished accordingly.” An expression flashed across his face, full of intrigue and playful mayhem that made me think he’d enjoy whatever punishment I’d dish out. I shelved that away for future consideration as I watched a grin split his face.

  There was nothing more mesmerizing than that grin.

  Or those firm lips.

  I leaned forward to brush my lips against his. I went in for a teasing, tantalizing taste, but he had other plans and captured my mouth with his, controlling the kiss, diving his tongue into my mouth fighting, dueling with mine, letting me know in no uncertain terms that though his position may be submissive, I shouldn’t doubt for one minute it was only because he humored me. The image of him taking control, of turning the tide and tossing me beneath him as he drove up into me—the way his tongue in my mouth promised—enticed a tight groan from my throat as my core throbbed in anticipation. Musk filled the air and we’d barely gotten started.

  Before I changed my mind and let him off the hook, I broke the kiss. Nipping and kissing my way down his chin and across the raw edge of his jawline and down the corded muscles in his neck. His hot pulse pounded beneath my pursed lips, his cock bounced and my stomach clenched as I rubbed across it.

  Who was teasing whom?

  Slowly, I worked my way down his torso, kissing the tiny tips of his nipples, his skin salty from the sweat that had recently covered his body. The scent of Irish-inspired soap wafted up his heated skin and I knew I’d never be able to smell that scent without instantly wanting this man.

  I headed farther south, and without warning, Hank snagged a finger under the top edge of my towel and jerked it clear of my body with a quick snap of his wrist. It dropped to the floor with a soft, moist whomp.

  “Last chance,” I warned, but my voice cracked and pitched high, devoid of any hint of authority.

  His hand eased back above his head, palms up in the universal sign of surrender. “Promise. Scout’s honor.” He tried to form the symbol for the Boy Scouts with his right hand, but I am sure whatever he’d managed was not what the Scouts had developed.

  “Scout, my ass,” I muttered as I traced the thin blond trail of hair down the center of his abdomen and dipped the tip of my tongue into his navel.

  He groaned, either at the mention of my ass or as my tongue invaded his belly button. He tensed and I knew he’d reach for me even before he attempted it.

  “Ah,
ah, ah.”

  “Damn,” he ground out. The seconds he gifted me weren’t my own. If I didn’t speed things up, Hank would take matters into his own hands. “Yer killin’ me.” His drawl thickened.

  My heart pumped its meaty little fist. I enjoyed the sense of power, the sense of rightness, and the sense of peace being with him gave me. In a way, I felt selfish, felt like I was getting so much more than I gave, but when I glanced up and absorbed the unbridled heat in his eyes, the desire etched across his features, he certainly wouldn’t be the first in line down at the complaint department.

  The rounded tip of Hank’s cock laid on his abdomen a couple inches below his navel where a nickel sized dollop of pre-cum slicked his skin. I licked him clean, savoring the musky, salty, masculine taste of him. He groaned. I chuckled as I swallowed him deep, down to the back of my throat, until my lips lodged at his base.

  “I need to touch you.” His voice was low and coarse; his words abraded as if they’d ripped past a stricture in his throat.

  “Uh, uh,” I mumbled, the utterance muffled, vibrating at the back of my throat. His hips surged and I knew I’d taken him to the ragged edge. I grabbed the base of him and eased my hand up his engorged, heavily veined shaft as I ever so slowly sucked my way toward his tip, the flat of my tongue adding pressure all along the way. When I reached the tip, I circled the ridged flesh of skin with my tongue.

  Then my world tilted. We spun and crashed onto the floor, the soft swirls of the rag rug beneath my back and a hard hunk of a man at my front. Hank braced himself on his arms and somehow had managed to cup the back of my head as we fell to keep it from smacking against the floor.

  “I’d sell my horse for a dollar to have a larger bed right now.”

  “If you’d minded me, we wouldn’t be in this position.”

  Hank flashed an I-got-you-where-I-want-you grin and nipped the end of my chin. “Nothin’ wrong with this position. And I don’t care if you court-martial me or shoot me or make me walk the plank or whatever it is you Marines do, but I’m going to put my hands on you.”