Turn Me Loose (Paradise, Idaho)

by Rosalind James

  He stopped about ten feet from her, set down the cooler, and kicked off his shoes. She didn’t say anything, just turned and looked at him. And then she got her hands on the hem of that white tee and pulled it over her head, the same way she’d done at the reservoir, and he was staring in exactly the same way he’d done then.

  No red-checked bikini. A pale-pink bra, cut low. Then her hands were on the snap of her shorts, and those were getting tossed with her T-shirt.

  Bikini underwear that matched the bra. Just those couple pieces of fabric between his hands and every luscious bit of her.

  “You didn’t tell me to bring my suit,” she said.

  “Nope.” He pulled his own shirt over his head and dropped it on top of his shoes. “I figured your underwear would be good enough. And I was right.”

  “Really? I thought this was pedal to the metal.” And just like that, she had her hands behind her back, and that bra was coming off.

  Oh, yeah.

  Another flick of her thumbs, and the final scrap of pink was falling at her feet and getting kicked aside. And there she was. Every glorious inch of her, rich and full and all for him.

  “What do you think, big boy?” she asked him. “Ready to put your money where your mouth is?”

  She didn’t wait to take his hand. She just turned around and jumped straight into the water.

  Rochelle dropped, and her stomach dropped with her. The water hit her like a punch in the face, cold enough to make her gasp once she rose to the surface and headed across the pool.

  She didn’t look back for him. She heard the splash behind her and smiled, the water cold against her teeth. And she increased her pace. She was warming up now, stroking hard and kicking harder, curving around the shore, knowing he was behind her, and knowing exactly how fast he was, too.

  Which didn’t make it any less of a shock to be caught. She was being pulled straight across the water by one leg, gliding right into his arms, rolling half onto her back as she went. And then taken in a rescuer’s sidestroke, his arm across her chest, her back against his front, feeling him kicking strongly beneath her, his single arm carrying them closer to shore.

  His feet touched bottom before hers did, and he was rising with her, both arms around her now, holding her tight, turning her in the water until she faced him.

  She slid her way down his body, gasping at the shock of that, too. He had a hand under her, was pulling her up high, onto her toes, and he was kissing her.

  If he’d been maddeningly slow the night before, that was gone. This man wasn’t patient, and he wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t asking anymore, either. He was telling, and she loved it, so she got her hands around his head and kissed him right back. But he didn’t stay there. His mouth dropped to her neck, and he bit her, the same way he had that day in the lab. His hand was on her breast, cool against her skin, and her nipple, already hardened by the cold water, tightened to an aching point as his thumb flicked across it.

  He moved his head down to the spot where her neck met her shoulder, bit again, kept that thumb rubbing over her, until he trapped her sensitized nipple between two fingers and began a gentle squeeze and release that had her moaning.

  They’d barely started, and she was ready to do it right now. Right here.

  That was when the sky opened up.

  It wasn’t “rain.” It was more like “flood.” She was being swallowed by water. Drowned.

  “Whoa,” Travis gasped. “Back to the truck.” He let her go, and she settled back down into the water—the water beneath them, that is, because it was raining so hard, the drops bouncing against the surface of the pond and rising again, that it was as if the whole world were liquid.

  He stayed behind her all the way across. Watching, she registered in some dim corner of her mind, to see that she made it. It was true: the sheet of rain made the shape of the pond and even direction confusing, but she was at the other side—what she thought was the other side—finding a level spot between the rocks and climbing out. He had hold of her hand then, and was pulling her with him. The sky had darkened, the world gone gray. She stumbled, he slowed to allow her to regain her footing, and then they were moving through the deluge again.

  A white shape appeared in front of them, and just as she registered it as his ice chest, Travis dropped down and felt around on the ground. Then a wide white circle of light appeared, silver streaks of rain shining in its beam.

  Flashlight.

  “All right?” he asked, gasping against the force of the downpour.

  “Fine,” she said, her teeth beginning to chatter. He grabbed her hand again, moved the flashlight around until the beam of light picked up the trail, then they were nearly running, following that white circle up over the hill and out to the road. Travis pulled the truck’s passenger door open, lifted her up, and threw her bodily in. Then he was around the other side, turning the flashlight off, pulling the seat forward, and grabbing a couple towels from behind it. He tossed one to her, finally climbed in himself, and slammed the door. And they were safe.

  She was laughing now, overwhelmed by the night, by the rain, by the dash through the water and the woods, and he was laughing along with her, toweling her hair dry while she rubbed at her body and felt the tingle of warmth returning. And something else, too, as she scrubbed at his own short hair, then moved on down to his broad chest. He was taking the towel out of her hands, dropping it behind her, pulling her into him again, and kissing her, and neither of them was laughing now. The rain beat against the roof like a hail of bullets, the truck was rocking with the force of the wind, and then there was a flash so bright, it lit the whole cab, followed almost immediately by a clap of thunder that rattled their teeth. Which was when the hail started.

  The noise was surrounding them, pounding them, and Rochelle was back against the door, somehow, the glass of the window cold against the back of her head, Travis’s mouth hot and hard on the side of her neck, his hand on her breast, teasing the nipple until she was moaning.

  “Travis . . .” she managed to say, but he wasn’t listening. His mouth had moved farther down, his lips had closed around the hardened peak, and her hips were lifting, straining toward him. His other hand was stroking down her body, over her hip, down to her thigh, and then he’d grabbed hold of her leg and was shoving it all the way up and over the back of the seat, was pushing the other leg down until her foot hit the floor.

  Another flash of lightning lit his body up, showed it stark and vivid. Bending over her, so big, so strong, like an image from a dream, or the best fantasy ever. The cab wasn’t nearly big enough, and it didn’t matter. The hail was drumming, the truck was rocking, and inside, Travis was moving down, and down some more, and her hands were grasping. Flailing. Coming around behind her and holding the grab bar at the top of the door, hanging on while her hips rose desperately into the air.

  He didn’t ask, and he didn’t wait. He had one hand on her other thigh, holding her legs open, and his fingers inside her, thrusting hard, finding the spot. His fingers were so long, and that was so good. And then he put his mouth to her as the lightning flashed and the thunder rocked and rolled around the truck. The hair on the back of her neck was standing up straight, and she was crying out, barely hanging on. Caught up in the storm, the bolts going straight through her body, hard as iron, sharp as sin.

  There was no patience at all in that mouth, those hands. Her upper body jerked forward from the door, and she was straining, climbing, starting to wail. Until she was there. Convulsing again and again. Struck by the lightning, free-falling as the thunder rolled over her, around her, through her. All the way gone.

  The hail stopped as abruptly as it had started, and all Travis could see was Rochelle lying under his hands, her body lush and pale as some night-blooming flower. She was shaking, her panting breath loud in the sudden silence.

  “Uhh . . .” she said, and that was all.

  “Come on.” He sat up, pulled her leg down, then reached across her and opened t
he glove compartment, grateful beyond measure that he’d tossed the condoms into the truck and not the cooler.

  Her hair was tumbled, she was trembling, and he had to have her. Right now.

  “Wait,” he told her, handing her the condom packet.

  “What?” She blinked at him and pushed herself up to sitting.

  “Wait,” he said again. He opened the door, climbed down, barely feeling the gravel under his bare feet, and grabbed the sleeping bag from behind the seat, then ran around to the back of the truck and opened the tailgate. He swept at the hail with an arm, then gave it up, opened the sleeping bag, and tossed it down. Close enough.

  She was climbing down when he got back to her.

  “I told you to wait,” he said. “Gravel’s too sharp.”

  “Travis. I—” she began, but she didn’t get the rest out, because he had an arm under her hips, another under her shoulders, and was carrying her to the back of the truck and setting her on the edge of the tailgate, on top of the sleeping bag. The open door of the truck cast a glow that lit up her hair and the rich curves of her body, and he stood over her, got a hard rush, and welcomed it.

  He said, “Lie down, baby,” saw the shudder run through her, and that was another rush. Then she was easing back, lying down on her elbows until she was flat on her back. He was pulling her forward so her hips were at the edge of the tailgate, taking the condom from her with the absolute screaming last of his self-control, and shoving her thighs apart.

  A single hard thrust, and he was all the way inside her. And it was almost too much right there.

  He’d had a plan for this. A plan to go slowly, to make it last, to do all the things he’d imagined. And he wasn’t doing a bit of it. She had her legs pulled up high, wrapped around his back, and there was going to be nothing in the world slow or subtle or easy about any of it.

  He needed more, though. He needed it all. He got his hands on her knees and shoved them up until her heels rested on his shoulders. She whimpered, and just like that, he was all the way from ‘hard’ to ‘savage.’ She was crying out, taking him so deep, and he was lost. His fingers dug into her thighs and hips, holding her in place for him, holding her down. She was bucking, her rich body laid out before him, her arms flung out behind her, and the roaring in his head was louder than any storm.

  “Travis,” she gasped. “Harder. More. Please. Hard.”

  So he gave it to her the way she wanted it. The way he needed to do it. He gave it to her hard. He gave her everything he had, and he took her right along with him, trembling and shaking, lying underneath him and begging him, exactly the way she needed to be. The desire had its claws in him, raking him, shaking him loose from his foundations. Until, at the end, he threw his head back, gritted his teeth, and let it all go.

  AFTERMATH

  Rochelle was back in the cab at last, because he’d carried her there. Nobody had ever done that, because frankly, nobody had ever been big and strong enough to manage it. But Travis was both, and no question, it thrilled her.

  Right now, he was driving down the mountain again. He’d had to run back through the mud for the cooler and their sodden clothes first, though. She’d offered to help, he’d refused, and she had to admit that it felt absolutely terrific to have somebody else carrying the competence banner for once and letting her relax.

  Now, he had his soaking-wet shorts back on, and that was all. And as for her—well, she had the sleeping bag pulled over her torso, at least. And if she were sitting right beside Travis with her hand up on his leg? Maybe that was because she needed to touch him some more.

  “That wasn’t exactly what I meant to do,” he said, pulling onto the county road again and heading toward town.

  “No?” She stretched, her body utterly relaxed, cocooned in well-being, and sent her hand down the inside of his thigh. “Now, see, I would’ve sworn that that was exactly what you meant to do. And that you meant it when you did it, too. I’m going to have some interesting bruises tomorrow.”

  He glanced sharply across at her. “What? I hurt you?”

  “If you’re going to grab that hard . . .” She sighed. “Well, I guess there are worse things than a few fingerprints to remind me of how much you wanted it. Besides, sometimes you just need that throwdown. And, boy, you can throw a woman down.”

  He took one hand off the steering wheel and took hers. “So you’re not sorry?”

  Her own smile felt as slow and lazy as a summer day on the river. “I’ll let you know after you do it again. I’m a slow learner, I guess.”

  “Come lie down on my bed,” he said, his hand holding hers to his thigh, “and I’ll do my best to convince you. I’m prepared to give the matter my undivided attention. You’d better be planning to spend the night, because I’m thinking it could take a while. But I won’t be hurting you again. That’s a promise.”

  The pulse had started its heavy, low thrum all the way back before she’d hopped into his truck, as if her heart were beating from a whole new spot. Now, it picked right up again. “What about if you need to bite me some more?” she asked, and if her hand had moved up his leg some? Well, you could hardly blame her. He had a lot of hard muscle on that thigh, and she hadn’t felt it nearly enough. “I noticed you enjoy that.”

  He groaned. “We’re going to crash. I hope you realize that.”

  “Oh,” she purred, “I have faith in you.” Her sleeping bag might have slipped, and she knew he’d noticed, so she didn’t make one single effort to pull it back up. “I think you’re going to get us there, because I think you need to.”

  “Yeah,” he said, then had to clear his throat. “You could be right.”

  Time to torture him some more. She put a hand to her wet hair and said, “On the other hand—I have to work in the morning. I need a shower, too.”

  “I’ve got a shower. Only one thing wrong with it.”

  “What’s that?” She was still playing, and so glad to be able to do it. “I’d say I’ve had enough cold water tonight.”

  “It hasn’t had you in it. And don’t worry, it’s going to be plenty hot in there. I know some things showers are good for.”

  “Getting clean?” She was giving it her best shot, but her brain cells didn’t have much to work with, not with him diverting her blood to the exact opposite place.

  “Oh, no,” he promised. “It’s not going to be clean. We’re going to be getting down and dirty. I’ve got plans.”

  “And you get to say that?” She was still in there swinging, at least.

  “I get to say it.” He braked for the stop sign that marked the city limits. “And you get to say yes or no.”

  He might have felt her shiver, because he turned his head to smile at her, then took his hand off hers for the first of the turns that would lead back to his place. When she tugged the sleeping bag up, though, his hand shot back out to grab her own. “Leave it. Nothing says, ‘Welcome to Paradise’ like the naked woman of my dreams snuggled up next to me with her hands all over me, headed straight for my bed.”

  “Somebody could see,” she said, slapping his hand away and laughing, then yanking up the sodden fabric.

  He sighed. “I was having a precious moment. You had to rain on my parade, didn’t you?”

  When he pulled up in front of Carol Ritter’s big white-frame house, though, it wasn’t quite that sexy. Rochelle wrapped the soaked sleeping bag around herself and stepped down as best she could, holding her boots in one hand, while Travis followed behind her with an armful of wet clothes and the ice chest.

  It would have been just fine if Carol hadn’t been out in her backyard, sweeping her patio. At night, because heaven forbid that Carol would wake up to wet leaves on her pristine flagstones.

  Rochelle rocked to a stop when Carol stopped sweeping to stare at her, and could sense Travis stopping right behind her.

  “Hey, Carol,” Rochelle said, trying to pretend that she wasn’t quite so obviously naked. “We finally got that storm, huh?”


  Carol’s eyes went from her to Travis, but it was Travis who spoke next. “I took Rochelle for a swim,” he said. “Worked out a little differently than we expected.”

  “Uh-huh,” Carol said.

  “She’s cold now, though,” Travis said. “Got to get her inside and warm her up. When you finally get the girl, you’ve got to take care of her, or she could change her mind. At least that’s what my mom always told me.”

  He stepped around Rochelle, set down his ice chest in front of the door of the white cottage, opened the door, and said, “And my mom was usually right. Come on, baby. Let’s go.”

  As Rochelle stepped through the door ahead of him, she heard him say, “Night, Carol.”

  Now everyone would know. And she couldn’t even be sorry.

  “I need to ask you a favor,” Rochelle said, coming out of his bathroom at six the next morning and distracting him.

  He dumped the pile of dry, wrinkled clothes onto the bed he’d made while she’d been in there. “I thought it was fairly obvious that I’m willing to do you any favors you might need.”

  She smiled, her tousled hair falling down over one blue eye, and picked through the pile for her underwear. “This one might not be quite as much fun, though. My car’s in the shop. Has been since yesterday, actually, because they couldn’t get to it until today. You willing to hang around my place while I get a little less obviously, umm . . . ?”

  “Oh, go on, baby,” he said. “You can say the word. Seems to me you said it last night. I could swear I remember that. Turns out I loved hearing it, too. Guess it’s all about the context.”

  When she’d been on her hands and knees on the floor, that is, because they hadn’t made it to the bed after all, once they’d finally turned off the shower. Her head had been down, the rasp of her breath hard in his ears, her wet hair hanging around her face. The marks of his fingertips from the first time had showed livid against the white skin on the sides of her hips and backs of her thighs, and that had excited him even more. It was wrong, and he’d known it, and he hadn’t cared. He’d been holding her hips again, careful not to bruise her this time, but not one bit careful about anything else. And she’d been moaning out the words, her arms shaking so much that she’d finally collapsed onto her elbows and buried her face in her hands as he’d buried himself in her body. Deep, hard, and all the way home.