The Cowboy's Honor

by Amy Sandas

  Courtney shivered, feeling a precursor to that pulse deep inside. It seemed to her that he had a rather powerful way with words. And those words were having a very specific effect on her body. But he wasn’t finished.

  “I tried to convince myself to stay away—”

  “Please don’t,” she interrupted.

  He fell silent, his expression closed. Then he replied in a soft, strong voice, “I won’t.”

  His stride was slow but purposeful as he came toward her. Confident and wanting.

  Stopping just within reach, he held her gaze as he lifted his hands to release the buttons running down the front of her dress. Though anticipation and desire swirled thick in the room, he displayed no impatience as he removed her dress and draped it over a nearby chair.

  Then he took her hand and drew her forward to sit on the bed as he crouched in front of her, his denim-clad legs spread to each side of hers.

  Courtney got just a glimpse of his face before he bowed his head to focus on untying her serviceable leather ankle boots. What she saw in his tense and angled features matched everything she was feeling. Anticipation. Yearning. And something deeper. An awareness. An acknowledgment of everything they were choosing in that moment.

  After loosening her boots, he slipped them from her feet before he tugged off her stockings one at a time. Then he reached for the ends of the ribbon that cinched the bodice of her undergarment snug above her breasts. Holding her expectant gaze, he pulled on the ribbon until the garment gaped. From there, it took very little effort to slip the straps off her shoulders and down her arms, baring her breasts.

  Dean stared at her for a few long moments, crouching before her, his hands braced on the mattress, bracketing her hips. His gaze was hungry. Everywhere he looked, her skin burned, and every second that passed made her more breathless as Courtney waited anxiously, desperately, for what he would do next.

  She did not have to wait long.

  Taking her hips in his broad hands, he urged her to stand in front of him. As she did so, the undergarment slipped to the floor, leaving Courtney standing naked before Dean’s crouched form.

  A low humming sound slipped from the back of his throat. The warmth of his breath fanned across her bared belly, and she trembled. Everything inside her caught and held.

  With his shoulders strong and broad in front of her, he tipped his head back to meet her gaze. The soft glow of the lamp cast interesting shadows over his features, accenting the loneliness she’d only gotten glimpses of before. Needing to touch him, she brushed his hair off his forehead in a tender caress before sliding her fingers back through his hair.

  His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip.

  Courtney’s thighs tensed, and her hand stilled on the back of his head.

  His next words came out in a husky whisper, “I wanna taste you. Say you’ll let me.”

  Courtney nodded, expecting him to rise to his feet and take her in his arms for one of his soul-searing kisses.

  But that is not what he did.

  Not even close.

  Still holding her gaze, his eyes ablaze, he leaned forward.

  Completely stunned, Courtney watched as he pressed his nose to her soft curls and took a slow breath. Then she felt the glide of his tongue against the heated flesh between her thighs. The erotic caress shocked her with its wet, velvet heat.

  She never could have imagined such a decadent act, let alone how it made her feel.

  When his tongue extended for another languid stroke, her knees threatened to buckle, but he firmly gripped the back of her thighs, just below her buttocks, as he murmured heated words against her core. “Open for me.”

  She clumsily stepped her feet apart, and he muttered a word of appreciation she couldn’t quite make out above the thundering pulse in her ears. As his mouth closed with sinful intent over the firm bud at the apex of her sex, she grasped his head and shamelessly held him to her.

  The sound he made, somewhere between a hum and a moan, vibrated through her, making her gasp. He alternated between long strokes of his tongue against her folds, little flicks that teased her heightened nerves, and openmouthed sucking kisses that tightened every muscle in her body as he drew her into a pool of deep, swirling pleasure.

  She felt worshiped by his mouth. Everything he did incited new and wonderful sensations. But it became too much. Her legs shook beneath her, and she murmured a soft plea.

  He gave a few final devastating strokes of his tongue before rising to his feet. Standing at full height, he wrapped his arms around her naked body and hauled her in close against him as he put his mouth on hers.

  The kiss was deep and musky with the taste of her body.

  Courtney moaned before opening her lips to the hungry sweep of his tongue and wrapping her arms around his neck.

  Her body, flushed and weak, felt every shifting texture of his clothing over the hard, male body beneath. She wanted him to be as naked as she was. She wanted to feel the smooth heat of his skin. Before she could pull away to tell him so, he tightened his arms around her. Without removing his mouth from hers, he lifted her off the floor and propelled them both back onto the bed.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Need pulsed hot and demanding through Dean’s veins and echoed in his ears. He’d never known hunger like this before. He wanted to taste every inch of the woman beneath him, lick and bite her flesh, catch every sound she made in his mouth as he thrust into her body.

  Instead, he drew back to look down at her flushed face.

  Her hair had tumbled from the neat bun she had been wearing it in lately and spread in a tangled mess under her head. Her eyes were closed, and her thick lashes rested in half-moons against her skin, which had taken on a golden hue during her time on the ranch. He noted the freckles across her nose and the crest of her cheeks.

  And her lips…

  Desire flowed hot and unchecked through his blood.

  Her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes. Her gaze—deep and turbulent with longing—hit him hard in the gut.

  Then she smiled.

  And he just about lost it.

  With a raw sound in the back of his throat, he lowered his head to brush his lips back and forth over hers. He wanted to learn the shape and texture of them, memorize those perfect lips so he could recall the feel of them after she was gone. He touched the curling corners with his tongue, tested the plush firmness of her bottom lip with the edge of his teeth, drew upon her sweet, breathy sighs.

  It wasn’t enough.

  For her either.

  Her hands tugged at his shoulders, fisting in his shirt as her hips rolled in a beckoning plea.

  He knew he wouldn’t last long once his bare skin touched her silken body. Her heat already burned through his clothes. Her need called to him.

  He would have preferred to take things more slowly, but she started to release the buttons of his shirt herself as her mouth slid from his to press against the side of his throat. She sucked briefly on his skin before soothing it with her tongue.

  Damn. She did things to him.

  Pushing to his feet in a rush, he stood at the edge of the bed and swiftly removed his clothes.

  Her lips were gently parted, and her eyes were bright with desire. She openly watched his every movement, and her skin grew more flushed with every item of clothing he discarded. When he returned to her, she took his face in her hands and drew his mouth down to hers before he had even lowered his body.

  Why had he ever felt the need to resist her and this fire that burned so hot between them?

  Because it won’t last. Because she’ll leave.

  The thought was always there. Even when his head spun with scent of her skin, the sound, the heat, the demand of her desire. He tried not to think beyond the present moment, but deep down—especially when he was this close to her—he was far t
oo aware of all the reasons their union was destined to be temporary.

  Despite her occasional sass and strong opinions, she was a lady through and through. She wasn’t a rancher’s wife any more than his mother had been.

  Even if he wanted her to stay, she wouldn’t. Not for long anyway. Maybe just enough to make him miss her when she left.

  A painful tightening squeezed his chest. To think of anything but her leaving was dangerous and stupid. It was far better not to think at all. So he kissed her. Deep and hard and long.

  He covered her with his weight, pressing her into the mattress.

  He slid his hands over her body, feeling every dip and curve, the soft fullness of her buttocks, the length of her legs, the smooth surface of her belly, and the gentle mounds of her breasts. He tasted her with kisses that roamed aimlessly over her skin and licks of his tongue that incited heavy moans and deep arches of her spine.

  If all he had with her was a short time, he vowed to make the most of it by learning every bit of what pleased her. He’d just underestimated how much her pleasure would ignite his own.

  When she finally gasped her plea—“Now, Dean…I need you”—he was shaking in his efforts to keep from losing control.

  Pushing back to kneel between her spread legs, he rested his hands on the tops of his thighs and allowed himself to appreciate the stunning picture she made. Her long legs were parted around his. Her arms were bent, and her hands rested on either side of her head, slender fingers curling gently toward her palms while her pert and lovely breasts rose and fell with her labored breath.

  Unable to keep from touching her for long, he reached out to smooth his hands up the length of her thighs. When he circled his thumbs over the pale skin near her sex, she caught and held her breath. With the pad of one thumb, he explored the slick heat of her core in a gliding caress.

  Her head tipped back, and her hands came down to grasp the bedsheets beneath her.

  The heat of her body beckoned him, and he slid his thumb along her entrance again, pressing more firmly against her, coating his finger with her wetness. Then he circled the swollen bud nestled in her soft curls. And circled again. Locking his gaze on her face, he shifted his hand to gently pinch the taut nub between two fingers. In short motions, he massaged the sensitive flesh, alternating with slow thrusts of his fingers into her body.

  As her breath quickened, so did his. As her neck strained and her head pressed back into the pillow, his chest tightened and his stomach trembled. And between his legs, his cock pulsed hard and full.

  “Dean.”

  His name, gasped in a broken whisper of sexual need, pushed him to his limit. He grasped her hips in his hands and pulled her toward him until her buttocks rested atop his thighs and his erection was poised at her entrance.

  With her eyes glistening and her lips parted, she watched and waited.

  He liked seeing her like that, intent upon his next move, suspended in anticipation.

  At the first gentle press of his body into hers, she moaned. Her eyes closed as she pressed her feet to the mattress, assisting in keeping her hips aligned with his. Lengthening her spine, she reached over her head to grab hold of the iron railings of his bed frame.

  Dean stopped breathing.

  His hands tightened on her hips. His body strained. Blood thundered through his veins, and something broke within him.

  Holding her firmly in his hands, he plunged forward in a reckless act of possession. A small voice in his head warned that it was too much, too fast.

  But the sound of deep pleasure that slid from her throat erased that thought.

  She arched and tried to roll her hips, but he held her fast, setting his own pace. Long, hard strokes. Deep, penetrating thrusts.

  It was not long before he felt her approaching the peak. She fluttered and clenched around him. Her breath caught in her throat. Then she opened her eyes and trapped him in the deep, swirling depths of her green gaze.

  It was like a horse kick to the chest. With her body pulsing around him, he became lost in her release. So lost that he barely noticed his own. They seemed as one. One moment. One climax. One deep, consuming fusion.

  As the pleasure faded away, Dean was left shaken.

  He slid from Courtney’s warmth, lowering her hips to the mattress as he sat back on his heels, totally spent.

  She gave a languorous stretch of her long, pale limbs, thrusting her breasts upward as she arched her spine.

  Dean watched in renewed fascination, wondering how he could still feel the sharp spears of desire shooting through him while feeling completely sated and wrung dry. It was the nature of her sensuality, so expressive and honest.

  It did him in.

  It totally wrecked him.

  He moved to the edge of the bed and strode to the washbasin. As he poured tepid water from a pitcher into the bowl and then soaked a cotton cloth, he froze with a disturbing realization.

  Twice now, he had taken Courtney to his bed and released his seed inside her without any attempt to prevent pregnancy.

  It would be the height of irresponsibility to bring a child into the mess of a situation he’d created. Their marriage wasn’t real…or at least, it was only temporary.

  What would Courtney do if a child came into the picture?

  She’d expressed more than once that she wanted to live independently. She wanted a new adventure, and she intended to seek it out.

  Old wounds were tugged open as he recalled the day his mother left. Though Randall had been too young to know what was going on, Dean had been a mature seven-year-old. He had understood the choice his mother was making. He did not want to see Courtney facing a similar decision. He couldn’t stand for another child to watch his mother walk away.

  He didn’t think he’d survive it.

  “Dean?” Her soft, questioning voice came from the bed behind him, and Dean realized just how tense he’d become.

  He had to force his fist to loosen around the cloth. Having squeezed all the water from it, he dunked it back into the bowl, wringing away the excess before turning back to face her.

  Her expression was curious at first, but when she caught sight of his face, her fine-arched brows dipped in wary concern.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” He approached and extended the cloth to her. “You might wanna clean up a bit.”

  She held his gaze, but as soon as she took the cloth from his hand, he turned away.

  He washed at the basin, keeping his back to the bed. He didn’t dare watch as she passed the swath of cotton between her legs. Just the thought of it threatened to make him hard again, despite the emotion churning inside him.

  “Do you know much about timing?” he asked without turning around.

  There was a pause before she replied, “Timing? For what?”

  He could hear her moving on the bed, her skin sliding against the sheets. He clenched his fists and locked himself into his current position to keep from turning around. “For a baby.”

  Everything stilled behind him. It got so quiet he swore he could hear her heart beating across the room. Slowly, he turned around.

  She was standing on the opposite side of the bed—still naked, her red hair falling to her hips in a twisting, curling mass and her eyes round. “What?” she asked in a choked little voice.

  “Pregnancy,” he repeated, then gave a swift glance toward the bed. “We didn’t take any precautions.”

  She’d followed his gaze to the rumpled sheets. Her attention remained pinned on the evidence of their recent activity. “Oh. I…ah…no, I don’t, actually. My mother only covered the basics before my wedding day. She wasn’t one to expound on such delicate topics.”

  Dean lowered his chin toward his chest. Everything inside him felt tight—his lungs, his stomach, every strand of muscle that wrapped around
his bones. When he lifted his gaze again, it was to find that Courtney had replaced her shocked expression with one he was really starting to dislike. Her features were trained into a perfectly placid mask, revealing no emotion and certainly none of her thoughts.

  She was thinking something, or she wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of hiding it from him.

  “Let’s hope nothing comes of it,” he said, his voice low. “But if it does, you’ll need to tell me.”

  After a moment, she nodded. Then she turned in place and looked around on the floor, obviously searching for something.

  When he saw the scrap of thin white cotton peeking out from under the edge of the bed, he stepped forward and swept it up. “Looking for this?”

  She stopped and looked up. Seeing her undergarment in his hand, she squared her shoulders and started around the bed toward him.

  Something in her proud, restrained bearing ignited his admiration. Though they were both naked as the day they were born and her hair was a wild mess, she still looked like a damned princess in that moment.

  When she reached out for the undergarment, instead of handing it to her, he grasped her wrist and gave a tug, making her stumble forward into his arms. Her eyes narrowed at the tricky move, but she didn’t pull away when he slid one arm around her to press his open hand to the low curve of her back. Her body was warm and damp with sweat, and her heart beat in a frantic rhythm against his chest.

  “I pissed you off again,” he said gruffly. His eyes fell to her mouth, which was pressed firmly closed. “You’ve probably figured this out, but I’m not good at talking to people, especially about anything important. I should have thought of the possibility of a baby, but I didn’t. If something comes of it…” He paused. His teeth clenched as he fought back the image that rose in his mind of his child in her arms. “We’ll figure it out. But we’re gonna have to be more careful going forward.”