by Lisa Plumley
Chapter Nineteen
Mason made his hand move slowly, easing toward Amy’s waist. She felt small, warm, wonderfully curved beneath him. Sweat beaded on his forehead, wrung from him by the need to move faster, surer. The need to take her…now.
She panted and twisted below him, and he slid one hand to her hip to hold her steady, afraid he’d accidentally hurt her if she kept on so wild. Watching her, he grasped the drawstring on her underclothes and pulled. She came up off the bed along with it, shivering, arching toward him. Gently, he eased her back down…and cupped her woman’s mound in his hand.
Sweet heat seared his palm; through her clothes he felt her delicate curls prickle his skin. His shaft throbbed in response, hurting him, stealing his breath and pulsing against his too-tight pants. Mason ground his teeth, fought for control. Damn, he’d been a fool to start this between them, when all he wanted was to make love to her hard and fast and forever.
His promise to Amy echoed in his ears, underlaid by her throaty whimpers and urgent, breathless pleas. She whispered his name and Mason bent his head to her breast.
“Mason, ohhh…”
She bucked beneath him, wild and trembling, and her heart pounded beneath his cheek. He sucked harder, set his teeth gently against her skin, nipped slow, faint circles over her breast, and all the while Amy’s warmth pulsed around him, lured him.
God, he needed this. Needed her. So good….
“It’s all right,” he whispered to her, calming them both with the words. “Mmmmm, so sweet…”
His hand curved over her, covering her completely through her underclothes, his fingers sweeping lower into the heat between her thighs. Stroking upward again, Mason coaxed her legs wider. She opened herself to him, gave herself to him, and the enormity of her gift humbled him.
She trusted, loved, wanted him. No gift could have meant more.
Steeling himself to go slowly, he went on stroking her, urged forward by her hands on his arms, his back, his belly, compelled by the bite of her nails against his skin. Her lips touched his shoulder, then her teeth.
Amy’s kisses, her delicate bites and shuddering sighs, inflamed him. He trailed his tongue from her nipple to the smooth roundness of her breast, moving lower, kissing toward the alluring curve of her belly. She quivered, clutched him harder. The moist musky scent of her feminine arousal rose from between her thighs, tantalizing him more than any perfume…tempting him as much as her softness did.
He had to feel her, love her…touch her.
Her legs and belly tensed as Mason moved to her waist and bunched her wadded-up chemise in his hands. Guiding Amy upward, he slid the garment past her hips, down her legs to the floor. She drifted back to the mattress, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her eyes wide and beautiful beneath the pillow-tangled mass of her hair. She reached for him, and her welcome made his heart pound faster.
Caressing her breast, her hip, he lowered himself until his chin nearly touched her stomach. She thrust her fingers into his hair and whimpered as he drew his cheek across her middle, then repeated the motion, coming ever closer to her pantalets’ drawstring and the secrets her clothes hid from him. Catching the waistband in his teeth, Mason tugged hard, too savage with need to tease either of them much longer.
Slowly, too slowly, Amy’s underclothes eased past the smooth curves and scented secrets of her hips and thighs. Moaning, he clawed with both hands at her waistband, dragged it lower, buried his face in the lush curls of her woman’s mound. The slick, perfumed moistness there drove him wild, made him gasp and shake to possess her. Her curls tickled his jaw as he eased lower, impatiently pushing her pantalets past her knees, past her ankles to the floor.
“Ahhh,” he murmured, caressing her luxuriant hips in both hands, holding her tight against him. His heart felt near bursting from his chest…his shaft ached and pulsed, heavy with need. “Ahhh, Amy, I can’t…can’t wait. Oh, God, I-”
Convulsively his fingers tightened. Gasping, he reared over her, slid the length of her body to capture her mouth with his. She met him eagerly, moaning low in her throat as their tongues met and mated with a ferocity he’d soon make their bodies match. Closer and closer he held her, his mind ablaze with the pleasure of feeling her next to him, of making her his, of the knowledge that she wanted him, too.
Amy arched, opening her legs wide to receive him. Her knees brushed his pants legs, rubbed against the fabric, and suddenly Mason needed the rest of his clothes to be gone. He grabbed at his pants buttons, clumsy with just one hand but needing the other to hold her. Panting, he undid the first button. The second. Amy kissed him, cried out for him, and Mason managed the remaining buttons in a fevered rush.
He tore himself from her body, rose from the bed wrenching open the waistband of his pants. She moaned, tossing her head against the pillows, watching him through half-closed eyes that glittered with desire.
“Mason, Mason…”
He wanted to swear, wanted to rip the clothes from his body and feel her naked against him. His heavy arousal demanded more caution. Carefully, quickly, he shed his pants and drawers, leaving them to puddle beside the massive bedstead along with everything else they’d worn. He looked up at her…and the wonder in her expression rooted his feet to the rug.
“Oh, Mason…” Easing upward in bed, Amy reached her trembling hand toward him, her mouth a circle of surprise and shyness.
Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes, readying himself for the silken feel of her hand. He opened them just as her fingers sheathed him, making him throb and surge high against her palm. Need raked him, drawing shudders that swept from heels to head as he fought not to shove her down on the bed, not to take her then as he longed to do.
Tentatively, she stroked him, raising her other hand to fondle him with an innocent joy that melted into his heart even as it made him grind his teeth with torturous need. Finally Mason wrapped his hand around hers, slowing her maddening strokes and silencing her confused protest with a kiss, leaving them both breathless. Cradling her, he lowered himself to the bed, unable to stop touching her…touching her everywhere.
Quivering, Amy opened herself to him, wrapped her arms around his waist…sighed as he came to her. Nothing had ever felt so good, so right, as their bodies touching, skin on skin. Mason held her tighter, closing his eyes. Slowly his hand slid down the warmth of her side and hip, lower to the softness between her legs. Slowly he stroked her there, felt her tremble beneath him as his fingertips found every tender, private place that had been hidden to him before.
Leisurely he caressed her, urged on by her muted cries and the secret shuddering within her. He lay his head on her shoulder and cradled her with his other hand, keeping her close enough to feel every tremor that passed through her, every quickening of her heartbeat, every panted cry.
“Mmmm…you feel so good.” Mason slowed his fingers’ motions, savoring their glide over her slick, sensitive flesh. Amy clutched his arm, grabbed fistfuls of bunched-up quilt, arched higher against his hand, and every movement made need burn hotter inside him.
“Mason, ohhh…”
“It’s all right,” he murmured, biting back a moan as he gently slipped his finger within her softness, felt her heat convulse around him. “It’s all right, Amy…let it come.”
Incoherent, velvety cries rose from her throat. Wildly, she bucked against him, nearly sending him over the edge as her hips thrust again and again…then stilled as her fulfillment peaked, leaving her breathless. Gasping, she sank onto the bed, pulling him down along with her, trembling anew with every contact their bodies made.
Mason lay his head on the pillow just over her shoulder and watched her, his arm across her chest holding her, feeling her breasts rise and fall as her breathing gradually slowed. Gently, he stroked her cheek, turned her face toward him.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, kissing her damp, flushed cheek. Nothing in the world could have stopped the smile that rose to his lips. “So beautiful.”
S
miling too, Amy opened her eyes. Sleepy satisfaction filled her gaze, turning her eyes a darker blue. Then, slowly, her eyes widened, her gaze reflecting a growing dismay as she realized all that had happened between them. Her hand clapped over her mouth, stifling a gasp.
“Oh, my goodness!” The blush of her cheeks spread lower, dappled her neck and bare bosom with mottled pink. Frowning slightly, she craned her neck back into the pillow to peer at him and stammered, “M—Mason, I—”
He quieted her, drew her hand away, kissing each long, slender finger in turn. Amy squirmed and tossed her head on the pillow beside him, her gaze traveling from the nubbly adobe wall to the oil lamp to the shadows on the ceiling—anyplace but at him.
She rolled all the way onto her back, her other arm flung over her closed eyelids to hide her expression. Propping himself on his elbow, still holding her hand, Mason looked down at her. As though she sensed his attention, her blush swept lower, drawing his gaze to her barely shimmying breasts and their pink tips.
Smiling his pleasure at the sight, anticipating the loving still to come, he moved over her, settled himself on his haunches between her thighs. Oblivious, Amy kept on talking, her voice quavering more than he liked to hear. Especially when it was his woman talking.
His woman.
“Oh, Mason, I’m sorry!” she cried, half-heartedly trying to twist her fingers from his grasp. “I don’t know what came over me, but I—”
“Shhh.” Threading his fingers with hers, Mason pressed their hands into the jumbled quilts and lowered his mouth to hers, easing them both into the pillows beneath. Sweetness filled his heart even as he felt her stir beneath him.
The moment the kiss ended, she drew a quick—and to his pleasure, a chest-expanding—breath. “But you must think—oh, I’m not sure how I can ever look at you again, after—”
“Quiet.” Mason slid lower, cupped her breasts in both hands and felt her nipples bud beneath his palms. He groaned, settling himself firmly between her thighs. “We’ll talk later.”
“But—”
“Later.” He kissed her again, moved aside her arm and kissed her closed eyelids, caressed the smooth roundness of her breasts and felt her shudder beneath his hands. Amy moaned, brought her hands to his shoulders, held him closer. Her stroking hands urged him, welcomed him. His breath held as he nestled himself between her thighs, felt her warmth and wetness caress him…a tremor shook him as the head of his shaft nudged deeper, nearly joining with her.
He stroked himself intimately against her, almost overcome with the pleasure of touching her. Ahhh, but he had to wait, wait until she was ready…Frantically, Mason held her head in his hands and kissed her, his hips tilting to stroke again and again, arousing them both.
As the kiss ended she gasped, arching higher, trembling. He gritted his teeth, savage with the need to take her. “Amy…Ahhh…”
She clutched him, pulled him tighter, and her response drove the last of his control from him. Groaning, shaking with the effort to go slowly for her sake, he entered her inch by inch. Her body pulsed around him, sending pleasure coursing through him, and all of it was nothing compared with the pleasure of raising his head and seeing her eyes open to meet his gaze.
Love, and loving desire, flowed between them. Her face glowed with it, and her body spoke of it with every touch, every arch to meet him, every sensuous meeting of skin against skin. Mason gazed at her, stroked her cheek, and in that moment he was lost.
“Are you ready?” he whispered, and some part of him knew it was more than lovemaking he spoke of, even as he shuddered and slowly entered her a little further, even as he felt her tremble in response.
Her eyes widened briefly. “There’s more?”
Ahhh, true Curly Top. The thought glimmered through him, smiled into his heart, then vanished beneath a fresh, urgent desire to possess her.
“Yes,” was all he could manage aloud, his mind and body urging him toward completion. Love her, love her…
She smiled, writhed beneath him, and at her whispered, “Yes,” Mason made their union complete. His first smooth thrust ended their isolation, joined them in heat and blind pleasure and the snug, perfect fitting of their bodies together. Pleasure shafted through him, increasing quickly as he searched Amy’s face for signs he’d hurt her and found none. Instead she lay still for only a moment, wonder filling her eyes, then instinctively rose to meet him.
Wanting her, needing her, he slipped his hands to her bottom and squeezed. He cupped her, lifted her to him, thrusting again and again. Again. Their cries of pleasure mingled, Mason’s hoarse with a need too long denied. Loving her was all he’d ever wanted, ever needed, and he abandoned himself to the sheer pleasure of it with each loving stroke.
Each thrust joined them more fully, sent him nearer and nearer to the edge of fulfillment…and, finally, beyond. He clutched her as each spasm took him, wrung his body of anything beyond his release, leaving only warmth and their joining behind.
Breathing hard, Mason cradled Amy to his chest. His heart pounded, his ears rung, and the cool night air against his damp skin raised goose bumps all along his backside…but he’d never felt better in his life. A wide grin rose to his lips, too powerful to be denied, as he buried his head in the crook of her neck and kissed her shoulder.
“Oh, Mason,” she whispered, her hands roving over his back, his shoulders. “Oh…oh, my!”
She giggled, and he felt her legs and toes wriggle next to his along the length of the quilt beneath them.
“Not funny,” he growled, nipping her neck.
“Oh, I’m sorry, but I—” She stroked him, craned her neck back to peer at his face again, and stretched like a cat beneath him. “I just never imagined a person could feel so good,” she said, blushing again. “I just…”
She cupped his cheek in her hand and gave him a serious look. “Mason, I just love you so much.”
Love. Loved him.
She’d said it before, but now—now it seared deeper within him, called forth a response that…
That Mason wasn’t free to give her.
Hell. Closing his eyes, he lifted and rolled to lay beside her. Yawning, Amy snuggled against his chest, bringing one worn edge of the quilt with her and tucking her head atop his shoulder with a trust he didn’t deserve.
A trust he wanted all the more, just the same.
Uneasiness stole over him, moving as stealthily as the roving moonlight that snaked in between the shutter slats at the window. Beside him her breathing evened, fluttering across his chest as she eased into sleep.
Love.
That wasn’t what he felt. Lust, hunger…but not love.
Not love, no matter how near it his heart felt.
With a muttered curse Mason rolled from the bed, sending the rope springs creaking. His toes curled into the rag rug as he crossed it, then padded across the smoothness of the cool earth floor to stand beside the lamp. He paused beside it, waiting for Amy’s breathing to deepen again. Waiting until she wouldn’t know he’d gone.
“Mason?” Her throaty whisper came toward him from the pile of blankets, then grew louder as she turned her head on the pillow. “What’s wrong?”
Nothing. Everything.
“I just need to turn out the lamp.”
“Hurry and come back to bed,” she mumbled, and he heard the smiling invitation in her voice. “It’s cold without you.”
Mason turned the key, cast the room into darkness except for the shadow of the shutters on the far wall. Cast his heart into the light one last time as he lifted the blankets and crawled into the warmth beside Amy. She nestled against him, all sweet-smelling, smooth woman, and it was so good to find her waiting for him.
Amy pressed her cheek against his heart and drifted asleep, and just those simple acts awakened all the yearning he’d hidden for so long. What would it be like to find such warmth waiting for him, night after night? What would it be like to come inside her, to pleasure her, night after night? To love her?
And hoped it would make it that much easier to turn away from her tomorrow—when he took Ben across the border and left her forever.
Chapter Twenty
The crash of wood on adobe jerked Amelia awake. Heart pounding, she lurched upright in bed, only to find herself alone and squinting against the bright shafts of early morning sunlight streaming in between the shutter slats.
A man loomed in the doorway. Manuel. He came inside frowning, boot heels thunking solidly on the floor with every stride. He glanced first toward the window, then toward the bed.
Stifling a shriek, Amelia raised the quilts higher. Dimly, she registered Manuel’s frown and the opened door in his wake, now creaking slowly away from the adobe wall it had crashed into. Sunlight divided him into stripes of brightness and shade, and fresh air swept in along with him, telling her he’d been outside until only moments earlier.
Where was Mason? She scooted nearer to the wall that bordered the bed, horribly conscious of her nakedness beneath the blankets—and of being alone with a man she barely knew.
“Stay there, Curly Top.”
Mason’s voice sent relief sweeping through her. Amelia looked for him and found him beside the oil lamp, kicking his way into his wrinkled trousers. Straightening, he buttoned them and gave her a look that warned her to obey.
She did—and realized that now that Manuel had discovered them together, all of Mason’s friends would know what had happened between them last night. They’d likely think poorly of her because of it, too. With reason. Whatever had possessed her, to give herself so wantonly to a man she’d known mere days? Even the love between them didn’t excuse such behavior. A shamed blush heated Amelia’s face, climbing nearly to the roots of her hair.