by BJ Wane
“Keep that up and this will be over before I get inside you,” he growled as she slowly rolled the latex down his rigid cock and then scraped her nails over his large sac. Shoving her hand aside, he ripped off her panties and settled between her splayed legs, one hand slipping between their bodies.
Leslie cried out with his deep fingered thrust, lifting up against his pumping hand. “Yes!”
“I guess I don’t have to ask again since you’re being quite clear. Deep breath, Leslie.”
She inhaled, gripping his arms as he surged inside her, stretching un-used muscles and abrading long-neglected nerve endings in one fell swoop. He pulled back and she shook her head, wrapping her legs around his hips. “No, please, don’t… just keep going,” she begged.
“You’re tight. I don’t want to hurt you.” Ignoring her plea, he retreated and then worked himself back inside her snug sheath much slower. She dug her nails into his biceps and he swore, grabbed her hands and returned them over her head. “Grip the armrest and don’t let go until I say. Got it?”
The dark commanding tone of his rough voice tugged at her nipples, prompted her sheath to gush with anticipation. This was what she craved, someone to take her over, giving her no choice but to comply or end it. The past didn’t exist and she didn’t have to think about tomorrow. Only now mattered.
“Answer me, Leslie,” he insisted with a shallow jab.
She nodded, her head bumping his chin. “Yes, I understand.”
“Good enough.”
Kurt pulled back and then set up a steady rhythm that robbed her of breath and coherent thought. She arched like a bow under his pistoning hips, her pussy clamping around his steely erection, the spasming muscles too slippery to hold him inside her. Her breathing grew ragged as he went deeper, pounded harder between her gripping thighs. Just as the small contractions heralding an orgasm started, he sat back on his knees, grasped her buttocks and lifted her pelvis for even deeper penetration. His face was as hard as his pummeling invasion, those coal black eyes in constant motion, sliding from her face down to their connected bodies and then back up to her face.
Leslie blushed, something she rarely did anymore after becoming a regular member at the club. In this position, everything was right there, open and on display for both of them to see. In between his jackhammer thrusts and her face, her perspiration shiny breasts jiggled, the reddened tips puckered into tight, up thrusting pinpoints. His focused attention, not only between her legs where her denuded folds clung to his glistening, pumping cock but also checking on her expressions, made it easy to fantasize he cared for her, in some way. Her pussy quivered around his cock, and heat blurred her vision as she fisted her hands above her to keep from reaching for him.
Kurt admired her control and saw more evidence of a submissive streak in the way she held back. “Now, Leslie,” he ground out, sinking balls deep inside her slick pussy, unable to hold back any longer. Her damp muscles squeezed and massaged his thick girth as she climaxed on a gasp, the friction incredibly hot as she bathed him with her creamy release. Letting go with his own orgasm, he groaned at the hot pleasure sweeping up from his balls to spew into the latex, his head stuck in a euphoric fog for several moments before he came down from the high with slower dips inside her snug, quaking body.
“Jesus, girl, you could scorch a man alive.” Kurt kissed her soft lips, fast and hard and then lifted off her. The sated pleasure softening her blue eyes changed to the same desolate expression from earlier. She made no move to cover herself as he stood next to the couch, gazing down at the carnal picture she presented with her dress scrunched around her waist, breasts pink from his rough face and her bare labia still swollen and wet. “If you want me to stay, you have to say so.”
“I want you to stay,” she breathed softly without a second of hesitation.
He was afraid she would say that. Well, he’d already taken several risky chances tonight, why not add another? At least he managed to cover his ass when he flicked his phone to record as he’d fished out the condom. A verbal recording proving she was a willing participant would come in handy if tomorrow she woke with lying regrets.
Bending down, those vivid eyes widened in surprise as he lifted her over his shoulder. Her very attractive ass perched so close to his face was too tempting to resist. Swatting one round globe, Kurt turned toward the darkened hall. “Let’s take this party to your bedroom then.”
Chapter 2
Kurt awoke just as the sun was rising, a soft, warm body wrapped around him. How long had it been since he’d spent the entire night in a woman’s bed? Too damn long, he mused as he found himself reluctant to disentangle his limbs from Leslie’s. Too bad that pesky word, responsibilities, intruded with the break of dawn. She didn’t stir as he slid out of her bed, which was good. Mornings after could be a bitch, more so if you didn’t even know the person’s last name, or anything else about her.
Grabbing his clothes off the floor, he saw more of her room in the gray light shining through the shades of the one window than he had last night. Just like in the kitchen and living area of the small apartment, the lack of personal items, such as knickknacks and pictures, was noticeable. He’d never known any woman who didn’t enjoy displaying collectibles, photos or sprucing up their place with other decorative items that revealed facets of their personality, of who they were.
He took one more look at Leslie lying on her stomach, one hand curled by her face on the pillow, the plump softness of one smooshed breast visible above the sheet covering her from the waist down. He wondered what heartache she’d been trying to forget last night, figuring his odd reluctance to leave stemmed more from lingering curiosity than anything else. They’d fucked twice more after coming to her bedroom, and she’d embraced his every command with a cock-hardening lack of hesitation. She’d said little except ‘please’, and that one word whispered with that slight catch in her voice had gotten to him every time.
The carpeted floor muffled his footsteps as Kurt left the room to dress and leave. Making sure the door was locked after stepping out, he strode to his truck. He hoped the stable where he’d left Atlas, his American Quarter horse, was open this early. By the time he hitched the trailer, grabbed a quick breakfast and made the thirty-minute drive to the Wilcox Ranch, it would be mid-morning. Maybe he should have called the house last night and let someone know he wouldn’t arrive until today, then again, if his father hadn’t driven him away with his accusations eight years ago, he never would have left.
Ninety minutes later, Kurt spotted the ten-foot high iron gates to his family’s two-hundred-thousand-acre ranch looming ahead and a heart-wrenching spasm robbed him of breath. Eight years was a long time to deprive himself of the home he loved. He’d been content, if not ecstatic with the life he’d made for himself managing their oil interests in Texas. But the Lone Star State wasn’t Montana and living in a Houston high-rise apartment in the country’s fourth largest city was a far cry from growing up in the least populated state on acreage that sprawled as far as the eye could see. After the last blow-up with his father, he’d had enough and caved to the bitter regret and anger that had defined their relationship for far too long and moved away. Even now, as he pulled his truck over and soaked up the view of miles and miles of open prairie interrupted in the distance by isolated island ranges he’d longed to set eyes on every morning again, the resentment his father’s accusations conjured up still burned a hole in his gut.
God, he’d missed spending his days on this land, his nights in his family home. Not the constant, belittling and guilt-inducing words hurled by his father, but the wide-open spaces dotted with the best prime cattle in the industry all blanketed by a cloudless, clear blue sky; of riding the herd for hours or seeing to the Thoroughbreds; of joking with the hands and falling into bed every night exhausted from the physical activity and a day outdoors. Making the annual, obligatory trip back for the holidays every year had done little to soothe the ache of separating himself from his home. Si
tting in an office all day with a view of downtown Houston just couldn’t compare, even if he had enjoyed the new challenge managing their oil interests offered him.
Despite employing over fifty ranch hands, from where Kurt sat, the land appeared isolated. If he looked hard enough, he could spot a few cowpokes among the herds or glimpse one of their prized horses galloping across the wildflower-strewn pasture.
An impatient thump resounded from the horse trailer, Atlas’ way of letting him know the stallion was ready to get out of there. Kurt’s mouth curled in a humorless grin. Leland Wilcox wouldn’t welcome the quarter horse in the stable allotted for his valuable equines, but that was too damn bad. He refused to leave his beloved steed behind and wanted him housed in one of the roomier stalls.
Another kick against the metal back end of the trailer was accompanied by a high-pitched neigh of irritation. “Okay, big guy, I get it.” Shifting the gear back into drive, he pulled forward and turned toward the slowly opening gates, waving to employees who noted his arrival. As one of the wealthiest landowners in the state, his father had never spared any expense to protect what had come down to him from his father, and his grandfather before that. Too bad Leland’s money couldn’t protect his daughter from herself or his wife from cancer.
May as well not go down that road until I have to. He was sure Leland wouldn’t let a simple thing like a stroke keep him from reminding Kurt it had been his responsibility to keep his sister, Brittany from self-destructing. When he’d gotten the call three months ago from their manager, Roy Jacobs, informing him of Leland’s stroke, he’d flown to Billings and stayed a week round the clock at St. Vincent’s Healthcare, ensuring his father was getting the best care despite his usual surly attitude. Before returning to Houston, he’d gotten Leland to promise to give rehab his best shot and offered to run the ranch while he was recovering. He’d always known where his responsibility lay, even if he’d turned his back on it these past years. Coming back home wasn’t the hardship though. Dealing with Leland would be.
It took five minutes to drive from the gates to the sprawling Spanish style ranch house he’d grown up in. Pulling in front, he got out and inhaled a deep breath of the fresh, early morning air, catching a whiff of livestock mingling with the sweeter scents of wheat and hay from the fields. They would harvest the summer crops soon, if they hadn’t already begun. He wasn’t surprised to hear the front door open or Babs’ excited squeal of welcome as she came rushing down the porch steps to throw her soft, round arms around him.
Laughing, Kurt hugged her back. “Missed me, did you?”
Leaning back, the older woman gazed at him fondly even as she smacked his arm. “Darn right. I hear you’re back to stay. Please tell me that’s true.”
Roy’s wife and their housekeeper for the past thirty years, Babs was the employee he’d missed seeing every day the most. The couple lived in one of the cabins they provided for a few employees and had raised their two children on the ranch, both of whom now lived in the smaller, nearby town of Willow Springs with their own families.
“That’s true. Someone has to take over for the old man.” He grew serious as he looked toward the house. “Has he been difficult?”
“No more than usual, less than I thought he would be when he returned from the hospital. He’s actually been on pretty good behavior ever since you told him you were coming in this week. Although,” she scolded, “we were expecting you yesterday.”
“Yeah, sorry for the delay. Something came up.” More like someone, he mused, thinking of Leslie, and how tempting she looked in her bed as he’d left. At least he’d had the chance to see her blue eyes glaze with passion and then glow with stunned pleasure before leaving. Now he wouldn’t have that haunted gaze shadowing their pretty color plaguing his conscience. “Let me get Atlas turned out to pasture and I’ll be in. Tell him I’m here, would you?”
“Oh, he already knows. He’s been watching out the window. Dr. Hoffstetter will be here at eleven and Mr. Wilcox wanted you here by then.”
“That’s Willow Springs new physician? He makes house calls?” Kurt cast Babs a skeptical look. “Is Dad sure this guy is on the up and up?”
“See, you do care.” Babs’ eyes turned watery before she blinked the moisture away. “Yes, he comes with some impressive credentials, including five years as the lead trauma surgeon at Denver Health. He and your father have a love/hate relationship.” Her lips quirked, as if she knew what he would say to that.
“Like Leland has with everyone, including me.”
She chuckled and gave his arm a slight push. “Go, take care of your horse and I’ll tell him you’ll be in shortly.”
Kurt drove around to the stables where they housed the Thoroughbreds and ushered Atlas out of the trailer. With a coat color somewhere between white and tan and white tail and mane, the stallion was a striking animal and one he’d grown fond of since buying him six years ago. Spending time riding Atlas every day instead of having to settle for weekends at the boarding stables was one of the perks of returning to the ranch he was looking forward to most.
“Here you go, boy.” Opening the gate into the pasture behind the stable, he unhooked the lead from his halter and slapped his rump. Atlas took off at an exuberant gallop and it was a pleasure watching his enthusiastic acceptance of his new surroundings. He found a small group of other horses and after a few nips and head butts to establish territory, everyone seemed to get along. With a sigh of inevitability, Kurt turned toward the house and strode across the lawn to check in with his parent before unpacking.
He could hear Leland’s brittle tone as he veered toward the master bedroom suite on the south side of the house. Reaching the double doors to his parent’s room, he pushed one open and saw him sitting in a wheelchair facing the wide window where he must have watched him walking from the stable. Kurt cut a quick glance toward Cory, his father’s private aide, who gave him a welcoming smile.
“Sir, it’s good to see you again. Mr. Wilcox is happy you’ve come back to stay.”
Shaking his hand, Kurt glanced at Leland with a lifted brow. “Is that so? Nice to see you again, too, Cory. Dad, have you been giving him a hard time?”
Leland grunted. “Boy’s always pestering me to do more. Man can’t even get any peace in his own damn room. You’re late.”
“So I am,” he returned without an explanation. Leland’s frail appearance jolted Kurt, kept him rooted in place for a moment as he took in the lost weight and the lack of muscle tone in his right arm and leg. So much for hoping for more progress by this time. “Babs said the doctor will be here soon. Anything you want to tell me before he gets his say.” Nodding to Cory, he waited until the younger man slipped out before padding over to the man who, for the first time, looked all of his seventy-two years. His mother had been ten years younger than Leland, and yet, had still died in her mid-forties of a cancer all their money couldn’t buy off.
“He’s okay, he lectures but knows when to quit, unlike Cory.” Leland scowled, irritation flashing in his eyes. “That young therapist is a thorn in my side. You know her, she married one of the Dunbar boys.”
“I heard last year, Connor and Cade held a double wedding. I was sorry I couldn’t make it.” As much as he’d wanted to attend his friends’ wedding, he couldn’t get away from Houston in July. Having spent two weeks here the Christmas before, he’d had a chance to meet Sydney, Cade’s wife, and he remembered Tamara from years ago as a cute kid who had eyes only for her neighbor, Connor. The Dunbars lucked out with those girls, both of whom proved to enjoy their dominant control as much as spending time at their private club, The Barn.
Leland snorted again. “About as sorry as you are for taking off in the first place. Your choice.”
Kurt couldn’t keep from flicking a glance at the ten-by-ten picture of Brittany sitting on the small bedside table with some of her collectible knickknacks surrounding it. His tone carried an edge of warning as he returned his gaze to his father and said, “I’m n
ot going down that road again. You’re dealing with a lot, I get that, Dad, and I’m willing to do all I can to ease your burden in running the ranch and help you recover, but I will not rehash Brittany’s death or let you continue blaming me. Understood?” He’d decided to pull off the gloves first thing regarding his father’s health and any accusations about the drunken car accident that had taken his twenty-year-old sister’s life along with three others.
Leland’s face clouded with sorrow, his dark eyes shifting from Kurt to out the window and the small, fenced family plot up on a hill. His grandparents, uncle and aunt, mother and sister were buried there, resting, he hoped, in peace.
“I saw you unloading a quarter horse. Nice looking animal.”
Kurt shook his head, as if he hadn’t heard him right. “Not the response I was expecting. What gives?”
“People change, Kurt, and sometimes life throws you a curve ball that knocks you in the head and wakes you up to a few things.” He waved his hand without looking at him. “Go, get settled back in. We’ll talk again when the doc gets here.”
Reaching out to him for the first time, he squeezed Leland’s unaffected shoulder, the muscle bulk a small relief. At least he wasn’t letting his good side deteriorate along with the weak side. “Give me an hour.” He turned to go, but swiveled his head to say, “His name is Atlas. Maybe, when you’re ready, we can go for a ride. I’ve heard that can be good therapy.”
“Don’t push it, boy,” he growled and Kurt felt better at the return of his disagreeable attitude. It had been so long since he’d seen his accommodating side, he didn’t know how to handle it.
As he started hauling his things in from the truck, Kurt listened to Babs bustling in the kitchen and smelled something good as he veered down the hall opposite the one leading to his father’s quarters. Four rooms, each with a private bath, were in the east wing of the six thousand square foot house, his room since birth the first one on the right. His sister’s across the hall remained closed and he knew, if he were to peek inside, it would look the same as it had almost ten years ago when she’d died. That closed door bothered him as much as the shrine arranged on a table next to the fireplace, right below the big screened television in the den. You couldn’t watch TV without her eleven by fourteen inch picture surrounded by the ceramic animals she loved to collect filling your peripheral vision. Her smiling face tugged on his conscience, and his heart.