What Not to Were

by Dakota Cassidy

  “So the rumor about Miss Dottie’s is true,” he said, his voice tight and thick, the muscles of his neck working.

  Calla smiled, planting her hands on her hips. “I guess it is,” she responded teasingly, her heart crashing against her ribs, heat pooling between her thighs.

  Nash wiggled his finger at the spot on the floor directly in front of him, his grin rakish. “Here. Now.”

  Calla closed the space between them until they were but an inch apart and then Nash hauled her into his arms, molding her to him, their flesh meeting for the first time, making them both groan into each other’s mouths.

  She saw stars when his tongue dipped between her lips, stroking hers as his hands roamed over her back and down along the cheeks of her ass. Strong, callused, skilled, his fingers teased her, avoiding the space between her legs until she wanted to beg him to touch her.

  Nash walked her backward toward the bed until the mattress hit the backs of her knees and she was sitting on the cool comforter. Placing himself between her thighs, he knelt before her and slid her bottom to the edge of the bed.

  Her hands instantly wove through his thick hair, loving the feel of the silky strands threading through her fingers.

  Nuzzling her chin, Nash moved along her jaw to her earlobe and whispered, “I can’t believe how beautiful you are,” before he wrapped his hand around the length of her hair and tilted her head back until her neck and spine arched in unison.

  “Spread your legs, Calla,” he ordered husky and low as his tongue wisped over the length of her neck and over her collarbone.

  She was vulnerable in this position, her soul as naked as her body. Yet, there was no hesitation—no fear.

  He nipped at her skin, setting it on fire with each rasp of his tongue. Nearing her breast, Nash leaned into her, letting his head rest against her chest.

  Her unconscious impulse was to pull him away when she stiffened, but Nash kept a firm grip on her hair. “Don’t. Don’t ever hide from me, Calla.”

  Her shoulders sagged and as he let her hair go, and her head lifted, she glanced down at him, his face nestled at her chest. The stark contrast of pale skin and his dark hair made her stomach clench, her heart twist and shudder.

  Then he took his first swipe of her tight nipple, making her forget everything but the heat of his tongue, the white-hot need settling between her legs.

  Nash cupped her breast, rolling his thumb over her peaked nipple, chasing that thumb with his mouth until her hips bucked upward at the raw, achy pleasure he was evoking.

  Calla’s hands went to his head again, keeping him close, savoring the scent of his arousal, the hard press of his body against hers.

  Splaying his hand over her belly, he gave her a gentle nudge, pushing her to her back and spreading her legs wide. He hooked her knees over his broad shoulders, dropping kisses along her inner thighs, making her squirm with anticipation.

  Her mouth was dry, her senses keen when he spread her wet flesh and took his first stroke to her clit. Her hips bounced upward in response to the wicked feel of his tongue on the most intimate part of her body, her chest went tight as she gripped the comforter with hard fists.

  Nash hummed approval against her, stroking, licking, tasting before sliding a finger deeply within her, thrusting, pushing against her body.

  Her pulse raced as hot flames licked at her veins, a swirling vortex of desperate need building until Calla thought her eyes would roll to the back of her head.

  She almost came, the pleasure was so deep, but he withdrew, sensing the tightening of her body, making her cry out when he removed his finger, soothing her with his hands as he ran them over her thighs.

  Her body shuddered, trembled with a need so sharp, she wanted to scream at him to finish her off, make her come until she was wrung dry, but Nash was determined to keep her on that ledge.

  Nash began to stoke her throbbing clit again in long, slow swipes, slipping his hand beneath her ass and pressing his mouth flush to her.

  Flashes of brilliant color flitted behind her eyelids, her thighs clenched and tightened when she reared up against the silky press of his lips, suspended for a moment before she nosedived into her orgasm.

  Shivers of delight coursed through her body as she thrust against Nash’s mouth, rode his tongue, dug her heels into his strong back, rocking against him.

  Her breath exploded with a gasp, a hissing attempt to pull air into her lungs while her hips fell back to the bed and she struggled to regain balance while the world tilted sideways.

  Nash slid up her body, letting it graze every part of her flesh, damp from sweat. He covered her frame with his, and sunk into her. Their bodies touched at every point, their breathing mingled, their skin rubbed with delicious friction.

  Slipping a hand between them, she reached for his cock, thick, rock-hard, and wrapped her hand around it. Her first stroke made him buck forward into the cavern of her hand, hiss a groan of pleasure, but then he was brushing her away.

  Cradling her face with his hands, he murmured against her lips, “I’ll never last, honey. I’ve waited a long time for this. I don’t want to wait any longer.”

  Calla’s heart fisted and shuddered with pleasure. Without a word, she wrapped her legs around his waist and hooked her ankles together in agreement.

  Wrapping his elbow at the bend of her knee, he lifted her leg high and poised at her entrance.

  Her hips bucked in response as she writhed beneath him, luxuriating in his raw strength, loving the feel of his heavy weight on top of her.

  And then he was thrusting upward, stretching her, filling her, his shaft hot and pulsing. Calla cried out, gripping his shoulders with her hands and raising the lower half of her body until Nash was deeply imbedded inside her.

  His slick thrusts made her dig her nails into his back, grind against him until her head swam, and that tendril of white-hot heat bloomed into a raging fire, a quest for fulfillment.

  Neither of them denied the rush of climax, it happened suddenly and simultaneously, each of them lost in the wonder of this pleasure they’d found with one another.

  Nash’s low groan tickled her ear, the flex and release of his muscles matching her own as they sought their final release—together.

  Calla’s breathing wheezed from her lungs as she gasped for air while Nash smoothed her hair, damp from perspiration on her forehead.

  Raising himself up on his elbows, he gazed down into her eyes. “You, Miss Cupcake Maker, were totally worth the wait.”

  She giggled beneath him, sighing into his mouth when he took her lips and gave her a quick kiss. “Just you remember that, Cowboy,” she teased, content and so happy her toes tingled.

  “What just happened here is something I’ll never forget.”

  Snuggling beneath him, she let Nash roll her to her side, tucking her back close to his chest. He nipped her shoulder and whispered, “Stay the night?”

  “Like you could get rid of me.”

  “Will Ezra and Twyla Faye worry?”

  She loved that about Nash. He was always thinking of everyone around him. “Are you kidding? If I’d let him, he would have bought a subscription for the condom of the month club after our first date. You have Gramps’ seal of approval.”

  Sliding his hand over her ass and slipping it between her legs, Nash chuckled, the deep rumble penetrating her back. “Phew. He’s a tough old codger to impress. Glad to have passed inspection.”

  “Enough talk, Cowboy. There are raffles and pools all over Paris tonight betting on whether we’re making each other’s eyeballs roll. You’re better get to the business at hand or suffer the humiliation when I tell everyone we only did it once.”

  Cupping her breast, he moaned a laugh when she arched her back against him, his cock rigid again. “I’m a little crazy about you, you know that, Cupcake Lady?”

  Leaning into his hand with a soft purr, she smiled.

  She knew.

  She
really did.

  Chapter 6

  Reaching upward, Calla stretched her arms, numb from sleeping in the same position all night long—in Nash’s strong embrace.

  A warm thrill shot through her when she remembered last night, and not just their incredible lovemaking, but how well loved she felt once she’d revealed everything to him.

  How secure and sexy he’d left her feeling made her smile just before she yawned. She knew she should get up and see if Nash had some toothpaste she could scrub on her teeth with her finger, but his strong body, still in sleep, kept her in the bed.

  She forced the small niggle of regret, that she’d put Nash on the spot the way she had, out of her head. It was the only way she’d felt comfortable enough to do it, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

  Her last encounter had been horrible. Turned out, Reed claiming he understood what he’d see versus actually seeing it was just cheap talk. It had been humiliating entering an encounter with anticipation, only to find herself shunned and rejected.

  Going into last night, Calla had opted to show rather than tell, rolling the dice and gambling that Nash would love her anyway.

  She took a deep breath and sighed a happy sigh at how right she’d been.

  Calla peered over at him. He rested on his side, the morning sun peeking through the illusion he’d created last night, giving his skin a glow. She rolled to her side, too, admiring how beautifully sculpted he was, with his long lashes sweeping across his cheek and his thick dark hair tousled from sleep.

  Inching closer, she ran the palm of her hand over his chest, reveling in the heat of his skin. Moving in, she brushed her lips against his nipple, making him stir. He groaned and shifted, catching her hand in his.

  Then he stilled, becoming almost frozen in place.

  Which was odd.

  But she didn’t let that deter her. Maybe he just wasn’t a morning person. She had plans to fix that as she scooted beneath the covers…

  Until he roared, “Who the hell are you?” from above her before leaping from the bed, his feet hitting the hardwood with a solid thud.

  Calla sat up in surprise, forgetting to take the sheet with her, but then she giggled. Nash was always joking around. Holding out her hand, she summoned him. “Very funny, Cowboy. Finally get me into bed and suddenly you can’t remember my name? A likely story.”

  He whirled around, locating a blanket tossed on the floor, then scooping it up to wrap around his waist, his eyes wild and angry…

  Angry? Her nostrils flared.

  He was red-hot pissed off—it rolled off him in waves, vibrating the stifling air.

  His eyes narrowed at her. “I said, who the fuck are you and why the hell are you in my damn bed?” The cord of muscles along his neck strained against his skin.

  His question rang hard in Calla’s ears, making her cock her head. “You’re joking, right?” Of course he was joking.

  Ha-ha.

  Nash’s eyes scanned the landscape of the room, noting her dress and underthings on the floor. He began furiously picking up her clothing, lobbing it on the bed. When he came to her prosthetic, he fumbled.

  It slipped from his fingers like a fumbled football before he caught it again and held it in his hand as though he’d just picked up droppings from Bitty with unprotected fingers, staring down at it then looking to her.

  “What the hell is this?”

  Okay, now he’d gone too far. This was no longer funny. It was almost cruel. She didn’t know who this man was. Was he having some sort of blackout? A brain malfunction?

  Sliding from the bed, she pointed to her chest. “You know damn well what that is. It’s my prosthetic. You know, because I’m the one-boobed wonder?”

  For a brief moment, the fury of his tight face relaxed. He dropped the prosthetic on the bed, the gel misshapen from his clutch on it. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”

  “Damn right it was insensitive. This isn’t funny anymore, Nash!”

  Planting his hands on his hips, his blue eyes fiery, he pointed to the bedroom door. “Look, lady, I don’t know who in the bloody blazes you are or why the hell your clothes are all over my floor or even why you’re naked in my bed, but you need to get dressed and get the hell out of her. Now!” he yelled, so loud, Calla felt it in her bones.

  Tears stung her eyes, salty and bitter. What the hell was going on? “Did you just say you don’t know who I am?”

  His lips, so often tilted upward in a warm smile, thinned to a tight line. “I’ve never seen you before in my life, and if this is some kind of joke, if you drugged me or whatever, I’ll take you to the Witch Council and see to it you end up in jail if you don’t get out of my damn house in the time it takes me to count to ten!”

  “Drugged?” she muttered, her knees trembling.

  “You tell me,” he responded with scathing sarcasm, pointing to the rumpled bed. “Apparently, you were in charge of this rodeo.”

  Calla’s mouth fell open, her throat going tight. He was serious, deadly so. She’d only seen him angry once or twice, and it had been over Denny’s advances toward her, but it wasn’t even close to the rage she smelled on him now. His large body literally shook with it, the muscles in his arms tense, his stance defensive.

  Pulling the sheet to her, she yanked it off the bed, suddenly embarrassed to be standing completely naked. “I don’t…understand.” What was going on?

  Grabbing her by the arm, he hurled her clothes at her. “How convenient. Somehow you tricked me into bed with you. Put something in my drink at the dance, maybe? I don’t know and I don’t give a damn. Get out of my house!”

  Searching his gaze, she sniffed the air between them, forced herself to see his eyes full of anger and wild with disapproval, and it shook her to her core, digging a hole in her soul, deep and agonizing.

  Whether it was shock or disbelief or fear, rather than try to explain or rationalize or even prove he knew who she was, Calla tore her arm from his grip and ran.

  With the sheet still around her, leaving everything but her purse, which she grabbed by the front door, she yanked the door to his house open so hard, she pulled it clear off the hinges.

  She stuck her clutch purse between her teeth and let the sheet fall away, caring little if any of the ranch hands saw her as she took off toward the pasture, letting her shift take over.

  As she flew past Bitty, he muttered a “Mornin’, Calla,” but she ignored everything except for the overwhelming need to get home—to hide.

  The crunch of bone shifting, the stretch of skin, freed her as she made a dash for the fence, arcing high over it and landing on the other side with her paws now intact.

  And she kept right on running over Nash’s vast acreage, her brain racing, her heart aching and tattered. She panted for breath around her purse, the harsh sunlight beating down on her back as she aimlessly tore through a patch of pecan trees.

  Nothing made sense. Nothing. But she didn’t think about it. She didn’t do anything but let the hot air swish past her sleek fur as she tried to outrun her pain.

  * * * *

  Nash stared after the woman who’d just left his bedroom, furious. What the hell had he had at that dance last night and who the hell was that woman?

  His lips thinned when he looked down at her clothes scattered over his floor, but as his eye caught what she’d called a prosthetic, he remembered his ugly words and regretted them. Despite the fact that she had no business in his house, he’d said something cruel in his surprise, and that disgusted him.

  He needed coffee and a shower, in that order, and then he was going to investigate what had happened at the dance last night. He didn’t even remember leaving the hall.

  In fact, curiously, he didn’t remember going to it either. He only remembered that his plan was to attend. Period.

  How fucked-up.

  But hold on. Had he been the one to initiate a one-night stand with her? That was so unlike him these days.
r />   Yeah, but chemistry happens, Ryder, and you have to admit you found her pretty attractive even as angry as you were.

  Damn. He’d acted like a real ass.

  Someone had to have some answers, and if she was responsible, he was going to see her ass, as sweet as it was, in the pokey until he could contact the Council.

  And if you’re responsible?

  Then he was damn well going to figure out why he couldn’t remember how she got into his bed and in the process, see if she might be interested in beginning again.

  For some reason, some unexplainable, irrational reason, he almost hoped for the latter rather than the former.

  * * * *

  Calla pushed her way onto the tiny fire-escape at her grandfather’s window, her bulky body pressing against the iron rails, and scratched the glass with her paw, dropping her purse on the small landing. Ezra was a sound sleeper. So sound, she doubted he’d wake if a tornado landed in the middle of the bedroom.

  When he didn’t stir, she scratched and whined again. The last thing she needed was for anyone to see her like this. Not today. Not after…

  Popping upright, Ezra ran a hand over his bead and scrubbed at his eyes as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Calla-Lilly? What in the hell are you doin’ out there, Sunshine?”

  She scratched again, harder this time, with a desperate whine spewing from her throat.

  Ezra opened the paint-peeled window, shoving it upward with a grunt as she fell inside, dropping to the floor. Forcing her way past her gramps, who wore old, worn flannel pajamas and an astonished expression, she headed straight to her room as she began to shift back to human.

  Nudging the door shut with her muzzle, she listened, satisfied when the latch caught just as her limbs began to return to their human form. She collapsed on the floor by her bed, panting, exhausted.

  Ezra pounded on the door. “Calla! You let me in, young lady! I want an explanation! If I have to go kick that Nash Ryder’s ass from here to China, I wanna know why I’m doin’ it!”

  Tears began to seep from her eyes, fat, salty droplets of shame. She didn’t know if she understood what had just happened well enough to give Ezra permission to kick Nash’s ass.