by Kira Blakely
“What’s your problem?”
“Nothing. You, on the other hand, have a serious problem.”
“I don’t,” she slurs.
“You’re drunk,” I reply.
“No, I’m not. I’ve only had one bottle.”
“And how many have you had before?”
“Hmm. Just the one.”
“My point exactly.”
She falls silent, her resistance ebbing away.
She’s quiet as we follow the path back to Little Peace Ranch. Then just as we’re at the border, she stops.
“Slow down,” she pants. “I can’t walk that fast.”
I turn to face her. “See. You are drunk.”
“And you’re mean.” She places a hand on her knee. “You could have borrowed one of Kelly’s horses.”
Yeah, it hadn’t crossed my mind. I’d been hell-bent on getting Lauren out of that guy’s clutches as quickly as possible.
“Sorry.”
She sits on the ground. “I don’t think I can walk anymore.”
“Fine. I’ll carry you.”
I place my arm around her and lift her in my arms. She laughs again.
She’s heavy and my broken rib aches under her weight. I don’t complain, though. I carry her past the gate and through the moonlit patch of woods in the direction of the house. It’s a good thing the moon is full because my hands are too, and I can’t hold the flashlight.
“What’s with that serious look?” she asks me.
“I’m trying not to drop you,” I answer.
“You look hot when you’re so serious. And when you’re up close.”
My face is close to hers, her alcohol-laden breath tickling my skin and her hair sweeping over my face whenever the wind blows.
“You’re drunk,” I repeat.
“And you’re too serious.” She strokes my cheek, her thumb stopping at the corner of my mouth. “Kiss me.”
I pause at the daring invitation, meeting her gaze.
I shouldn’t have. Smoldering bedroom eyes peer back at me, and my cock springs to life. Then she closes her eyes, parting her lips and puckers up.
I put her down.
“Walk,” I tell her. “If you can flirt, then you can walk.”
“Flirting?” she asks with a chuckle, stumbling after me. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Really? You seemed like an expert back there with that guy.”
“What guy?”
I don’t answer, but turn on the flashlight and shine it on the path.
“Wait.” Lauren tugs my arm. “You’re not jealous, are you?”
I keep silent.
“You are jealous.” She tugs my arm harder, throwing herself at me. “Why? Do you want to dance with me, too?”
I suck in a deep breath. Her breasts graze my chest, and her misty, amber eyes absorb me. Tug me deeper under her spell.
“I don’t dance,” I tell her through gritted teeth.
“Bullshit.” Lauren places her hands around my neck, rubbing her curves against mine.
I force myself to pull away from her. She’s a virgin, dick wad. Go easy.
I grab her wrist. “Let’s go home.”
“You’re no fun at all,” she whines.
“And you’ve had too much fun.”
“What are you scared of, huh? Are you scared of my dad? Well, I don’t see him around.”
I pay her no attention and push a low branch aside.
“Oh, come on. You were so eager to fuck me before.” Bitterness drips from her voice. “What’s the matter, hmm? Are you bored? Scared?”
“Lauren…”
She frees her arm from my grasp. I stop and turn around. “We should go home.”
“Or we can have fun.” She kicks her boots off so that she’s barefoot then unfastens the top button of her dress.
I watch her fingers, speechless and unable to move. Another button comes off, then another, giving me a glimpse of the black bra she’s wearing beneath her dress.
“Are you going to watch?” she challenges.
I swallow.
She holds one flap of her dress open, bites her lip, and crooks a finger at me.
I take a deep breath as I place my hands on my hips, focus on the moon instead.
Oh, what have I done to deserve this torture?
“Lauren…”
“Enough talk.”
She stands in front of me, drawing my attention back to her face. She runs her fingers over my lips.
“I’m sure you can put that mouth to better use.”
I say nothing.
“I’m sure I can put mine to better use.”
She folds to the ground, down on her knees. Her hands wrap around my waist.
“Lauren…”
She moves her face forward, lips parted. I grow thicker, harder. She plants a kiss on my clothed, bulging crotch. She takes the zipper of my pants between her teeth.
She succeeds on the third try, pulls it down.
And just like that, every bit of my resistance crumbles, the flashlight falls from my fingers and spills its light over the leaves and branches on the ground.
“Oh, fuck it.”
Chapter 7
Lauren
A rumble of victorious laughter wells in my chest, the corners of my lips curving into a grin. Chase rasps a curse above me.
I’ve got him now.
Ignoring the abrasive soil beneath my knees, I pop out the lone button of his jeans then pause to take in the sight.
There’s a tent in his dark blue boxers, a darker stain at the tip which strains against the cotton. I breathe in and inhale the scent of soap, and something else – intangible, but delicious.
I press my nose against it and sniff the soaked cotton. It’s soothing and stimulating all at once. Then, as carefully as I can, I reach inside and wrap my fingers around his cock, freeing it.
It springs free before my eyes, its shaft about nine inches long and as thick as an unopened tube of toothpaste, the girth the same from tip to root. It curves outward, its engorged mushroom head pointing up and dripping.
I’ve never seen anything like it. I swallow.
Now what?
The alcohol has made me brave enough to flirt with him and take out his cock – maybe I am drunk – but now that I am faced with it, I don’t know what to do.
True, I’ve read books where the hero and the heroine engage in something… naughty but they’ve never been detailed. Well, the heroine takes the hero’s cock in her mouth and savors it like some treat. But how exactly does it start?
“Lauren,” Chase says my name and I look up, meet his clouded gaze. “You don’t have to do this,” he tells me.
And that makes me want to do it all the more, whatever it is.
I stare at his cock wide-eyed and wrap my fingers around its base. I slide them up to the tip. His skin is smooth, firm, and veins bulge beneath it. I near the tip – there’s warm, stickiness on my palm and I bring it to my lips. My tongue darts out, tastes it.
It’s a little salty but unlike anything I’ve tasted before. I can’t quite place the taste so I take another lick, smacking my lips after.
“Well?” Chase asks.
I still can’t describe exactly how it tastes but I like it. I want more of it.
“It tastes better than beer,” I say.
He grins.
I lean forward, gripping his cock and swiping the rest of the liquid with the tip of my tongue, all the way up to the soft head where there’s a puddle of it gathered.
Chase gasps and tugs on my hair.
I must be on the right track.
Opening my mouth wider, I stick my tongue out to let his cock slide across it and then wrap my lips around him.
His hips buck, his hands tugging on my scalp. “Fuck.”
Closing my eyes and breathing through my nostrils, I take his cock in my mouth, inch by inch.
My throat constricts around him, and I gag, spitting
him out and coughing.
“Lauren?”
I don’t answer or look up, my eyes teary.
I try again, relaxing my throat, telling myself that I can do this, that I want to do it.
This time, I don’t gag, though my throat burns and more tears spill out of the corners of my eyes. I must be doing something right, though, because Chase gasps for air.
I suck his cock and his knees shake, his hands moving to my shoulders.
“Fuck!”
I blink away tears, grip one firm ass cheek and wrap the other hand around his cock. I move my head back and forth, hollow my cheeks and friction builds between his cock and my tongue, my lips, the heat traveling through the rest of my body.
Saliva dribbles from the corner of my mouth and down my chin.
I’m hot, messy, and wet.
And I don’t care.
I move my head faster, my headband falling off. Chase gathers my hair, keeping it out of my face as he guides me. His hips start moving. His pants fall to his knees.
I keep at it. God, the slurping sound is hot. It sounds as good as this tastes.
He clutches my hair tighter, hips shaking. “I’m coming, Lauren.”
He tries to push me away but I place both hands on his backside, burying my nails in the cotton and the soft flesh as I keep bobbing my head.
“Lauren!”
His hands move to the back of my head, keeping it in place as his cock pulsates in my mouth, his entire body trembling. Warm fluid hits my tongue and slides down my throat.
His hips jerk, then he lets my head go and I release his cock. I swallow the liquid in my mouth. It’s a bit saltier, its taste stronger, and I love it. I love every second of this.
It’s so new, so unbelievably exciting.
I sit on the ground, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and catch my breath.
Chase pants and leans against a tree, pulls his pants back up and tucks himself away.
“Now I’m drunk,” I say, grinning mischievously.
My naughtiness must have climbed up a few notches, now.
“Fuck, Lauren,” he mutters, kneeling beside me.
Gripping my hair again, Chase kisses me, his lips bruising, demanding what breath I’ve managed to catch. His tongue slips past both our lips to caress and battle with mine.
I kiss him back.
A delicious shiver goes up my spine then heat surges down it, swirling in my cunt. I’m dripping for him.
One of his hands reaches inside my dress to cup a breast through the lace and I give another shiver, gasping into his mouth. His hand slips beneath the thin fabric, his thumb finding my stiff nipple.
I moan.
Chase lays me down on the ground, leaves crunching beneath my weight. Those eyes of blue flame capture me, the moon and the stars shining far above his head.
He kisses my neck, his fingers traveling up one of my thighs and slipping past the hem of my dress. As his hand crawls beneath the denim, I hold my breath, my pussy pounding in anticipation.
His lips move to the hollow of my throat as his fingers brush against my underwear. T
he breath I’m holding comes out as a sharp gasp as those long fingers stroke me through the saturated cotton, one of them grazing my sensitive nub.
My hands rake the leaves at my sides, my hips rising off the ground.
Chase buries his head between my breasts, planting a tender kiss there as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my panties. He pulls the piece of clothing down my legs and off one ankle then he moves lower, lifting my skirt and spreading my thighs to settle between them.
I lift my head, eyes wide.
Wait. He’s not going to lick me there, is he?
He grips my thighs, and the hair on his jaws tickling them. A second later, something soft and warm rubs against my clit. My eyes fall shut, my head crashes down to the ground.
Oh holy hell.
He licks my clit over and over, teasing the nub then he moves even lower, spreading my other pair of lips open to let his tongue delve between them.
I grab his curls and lift my head to let out a strangled breath, my trembling thighs closing around him.
That wicked tongue of his explores me without mercy as my body breaks into shivers, my mind spinning as I thrash my head from side to side. My toes curl and my nails scratch his scalp.
I’m getting hotter in spite of the night breeze. And wetter. I’m sure there’s a puddle beneath me by now even as Chase laps up my juices.
My eyes moisten as I squeeze them shut.
“Chase!”
That’s the only warning I give. My back arches, my toes dig into the soil and my hips buck forward. I throw my head back. My fingers become entangled with his hair as I hold him fast, smothering him. Then like a band of rubber that’s been stretched too far, I snap, my back, arms, and knees falling to the ground.
I stare at the moon, through the wisps of hair swept over my face. Oh my god.
Beside me, leaves rustle.
“Are you okay?” Chase asks, brushing the strands of hair off my cheeks.
I haven’t found my voice, but I nod.
He sits beside me and I reach for my underwear, lifting my hips to put them back on and pull down my dress. Then I lie there, too tired to move. A lone firefly drifts above me and I smile.
I’m a mess. My dad will be furious at me for drinking too much and I may regret what I did.
Still, I don’t care. This is the most magical night of my life.
* * *
The next day, I wake up on a soft bed to bright sunlight seeping through the thin curtains.
I squint then rub my eyes, which grow wide as the creaky wheels of my head start turning and it’s probably almost noon.
“Shit.”
I reach for the brass clock on the bedside table, its hands confirming my suspicion.
11:08.
The side of my head throbs. I sit up and pain shoots up my legs. The former is probably from drinking more than I should, the latter from walking too much or kneeling for too long.
That last thought conjures up a naughty image. I dismiss it, though, as I comb my hair, a hard task with all the tangles, specks of dirt even caught in them. I remove as much of them as I can, taking note to use more conditioner when I take my bath later. Then I put on my shoes and head downstairs.
The living room is empty. The kitchen, too.
Even Smoke isn’t there.
There are dirty dishes in the sink, though, and a used bowl that has traces of batter on it.
I smell the batter. Pancakes.
Thank goodness my dad at least knows how to make those for breakfast. Or did Chase make them?
At any rate, my father must be angry enough that I came home drunk and woke up late so I wash the dishes and then prepare lunch.
I peel the vegetables, and movement catches my focus. It’s Chase, heading to dad’s old, green pickup truck. I put down my knife and wipe my hands on my apron, then go after him.
Surely, after last night, I’m not supposed to stay away from him anymore.
“Hey,” I greet him as I approach.
“Good morning.” Chase gives me a smile, then loads a box on to the back of the truck. “Though it’s almost afternoon already.”
“I know.” I sigh, my hands on my hips. “Was Dad mad?”
“He was grumbling a lot,” Chase answers, loading another box. “But I wasn’t really listening. So, how are you? Hangover?”
“A little.” I touch my head.
“Drink lots of water.”
“I will.” I approach the truck. “So, where are you going?”
“Billings,” he says. “I need to get some supplies for the farm.”
“Oh.”
My eyebrows crease. Don’t we usually get our supplies from Bozeman and not Billings? Besides, didn’t Dad get some supplies last week? How quickly could they run out?
He’s lying.
There’s something else at work here, a
nother secret he’s keeping.
I frown. After last night, he’s still keeping secrets from me. Unbelievable.
A car approaches, tires crunching along. I turn my head, shade my hand over my eyes. What the heck? It’s a patrol car winding down the driveway. Chase sees it, and his eyes grow wide, and the color drains from his cheeks.
“I have to go,” he mumbles and gets into the truck.
He pulls away and speeds off. A patrol car takes his place, almost immediately.
A uniformed policeman, tanned and about six feet tall gets out of the driver’s seat. He sniffs, jerks his chin toward the retreating truck.
“He’s in a hurry,” he says.
“He is,” I agree, watching the faded green truck disappear from sight, a hand clasped over the lower part of my face to keep myself from inhaling the cloud of dust it has stirred and left behind in its hasty departure.
What I don’t know is why. Why did Chase scurry off at the first sign of the cops? Is he a fugitive, after all? What crime has he committed?
“I’m Detective Allen from Billings PD,” the cop introduces himself, showing me his badge.
Billings?
“Do you live here?”
“Yes,” I answer, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear and smoothing the front of my apron. “What’s this about?”
“Don’t worry. I’m going to ask you some questions.” He puts away his badge. “Well, one question really.”
He reaches into his front pocket for a picture and shows it to me.
“Have you by any chance seen this man around here?”
I take the photo, my breath catching. The man staring out from it has shaved, his hair clean cut and neatly combed, his skin smooth and pale, but I would know those macaroon-colored curls and turquoise eyes anywhere.
Shit.
“Well?”
I pause, thinking.
I shouldn’t lie to a police officer but every cell screams I shouldn’t say anything about Chase.
Whoever he is, I intend to find out myself.
I shake my head, handing the photo back to him. “Why? Who is he?”
“Chester Donahue. I’ve received reports he might be in the area.”
Chester Donahue. Chase Donner. I’m sure it’s the same man.
“I’ve never heard of the name,” I tell the officer.
That, at least, isn’t a lie.