More Than a Cowboy (The Carmody Brothers Book 3)

by Sarah Mayberry

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. Then he thrust inside her in one powerful stroke.

  She closed her eyes, awash with pleasure, feeling the stretch, savoring the fullness and heat and hardness of him.

  “Where have you been all my life?” he said.

  “Waiting for your beautiful cock.”

  He withdrew almost to the tip, then plunged inside her again and it was just as good as the first time. She forgot to breathe as he found a rhythm, his hips pressing forward to rub the base of his shaft against her swollen clitoris on each down stroke.

  It was exactly what she needed—the steady rhythm, the pressure, the feel of his weight bearing down on her, the stretch inside her, the gentle abrasion of his chest hair against her sensitive nipples, his harsh breath against her cheek, his searching, urgent mouth on her own.

  Her climax hit her hard, an avalanche of pleasure, and she cried out his name and held on for dear life as her pussy clenched around him again and again. She felt the moment he tipped over, too, his body shuddering into orgasm just as she was coming down off her own climax. She reveled in the hard clench of his ass cheeks as he drove into her and stayed deep, the added pressure wringing the final ripples of pleasure from her own body.

  They were both breathing heavily when he lifted his head and braced himself on his elbows to look into her eyes. She wondered if she looked as flushed and spaced-out as he did, his pupils dilated with arousal. The thump of his heartbeat reverberated through his body into her own as she stared into his eyes, her thoughts still oddly detached and disjointed.

  He lifted a hand to her face, brushing a strand of hair from her temple. There was a world of gentleness and wonder in his touch, as though he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened between them.

  That made two of them, because she’d had good sex before—great sex, even—but she’d never had sex like this. He had owned her from the moment his lips found hers, and when he’d stroked inside her that first time . . .

  Her pussy clenched just thinking about it, and a slow smile curled Garret’s mouth.

  “Really?” he asked. “Already?”

  “Not my fault you’re hotter than a bike seat in summer,” she said.

  He laughed, his eyes warm on her. “I’m going to need a moment or two to catch my breath.”

  “I can live with that.”

  She stifled a protest as he withdrew from her, shifting to the edge of the bed and standing. He disappeared in what she assumed was the direction of the bathroom and she took advantage of the small moment of privacy to press her hands over her hot face.

  Dear. God.

  What the hell had just happened to her? She felt as though her body had been holding out on her. No man had ever made her feel so good so fast. And usually she needed a little extra help to get over the line—more foreplay, a helping hand—but not with Garret.

  “Hey. Want a shower?”

  She opened her eyes to find Garret standing in the doorway, his tall, muscular body framed by the opening. He looked too good to be true, and she felt a powerful need to pinch herself to prove that yes, this was real, and this gorgeous man had just been inside her.

  “You okay?” he asked, moving toward the bed.

  “Yes. Just a little . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “Blown away?” he asked.

  “Blown somewhere.”

  He laughed, then held out his hand. “Come have a shower, and I’ll do dirty things to you with the massage nozzle.”

  She blinked. Then she took his hand and let him pull her up from the bed.

  *

  He couldn’t get enough of Sierra.

  The moment they stepped into the spacious double shower he kissed her, needing to taste her again, needing to feel her instant, heated response. She gave back as good as she got, her tongue chasing his, her hands smoothing over his chest, shoulders, back. He loved the way she touched him, as though she couldn’t quite believe he was real, but he loved touching her more.

  Everything about her fascinated and aroused him. Her eyes, so expressive and revealing. Her wild, wavy hair. The lean athleticism of her body. The different textures of her skin—soft and silky here, firm and taut there.

  Backing her against the tiled wall, he gave free rein to his curiosity and need. Abandoning her mouth, he kissed his way across her cheek to her ear. He already knew she liked it when he kissed the soft skin there, and he opened his mouth against her neck as he cupped her breasts in his hands.

  Her breasts were fuller than he’d expected, heavy and round in his hands, her nipples a dark pinkish brown. When she was turned on they tightened into hard little berries, so fucking sweet to suck on, something he intended to do again very soon.

  Now, he swept his thumbs across them, enjoying the way her hips pressed forward in response. Breaking away from her briefly, he reached for the soap. Holding her eyes, he lathered up, then very deliberately reached out to cup her breasts again. She swallowed, her eyes closing briefly. He kept watching her face as he pinched her nipples lightly before soothing them with his palms. She bit her lip, her head dropping back against the tiles.

  She looked so decadent, wet hair streaming over her shoulders, skin glistening, her chest rising and falling rapidly, as though she couldn’t quite catch her breath.

  His cock stirred back to life, eager to join the party, but he ignored his own needs to concentrate on hers, gliding one hand down over her ribs and belly then between her legs.

  She was very wet, her delicate flesh plump and swollen with arousal. Watching her face, he slipped two fingers inside her. Then he found her clitoris with his thumb. She gasped, her eyes popping open. He started to fuck her very slowly with his hand, his thumb teasing the stiff little bud of her clitoris, his eyes never leaving hers. He felt every tremor, every shudder, every clench as he played with her pussy, stroking her and teasing her until she was panting, her hands tightening on his shoulders as she fought to keep her knees from buckling.

  “Come for me,” he told her.

  “That’s the plan,” she said, her mouth curving into a quick, wicked grin.

  Then she was gasping, her hips pushing forward, and he felt her pulse around his hand as pleasure took her. She didn’t break eye contact the whole time, letting him see what he’d done to her, how crazy he’d made her, how good it was between them.

  He was hard again, and all he wanted was to bury himself inside her, but he’d forgotten to bring a condom into the shower. He consoled himself with a deep, long kiss, his hands gliding down her body as he ground his erection against her thigh. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it still felt damned good. Everything with Sierra felt damned good.

  They kissed deeply for long minutes, water beating down on them, then she slipped a hand between their bodies and started stroking his aching cock. He groaned his approval, and seconds later she sank to her knees, glancing up at him with erotic intent before taking him into her mouth.

  “Oh, man.”

  Her tongue danced across the head of his cock before trailing down his shaft. Then she took him deep, the suction incredible as she slowly drew back before doing it all over again. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head. It felt so good, and it wasn’t long before he was ready to lose it a second time. He tightened his grip on her shoulder, gently pushing her away so he could finish like a gentleman, but she simply curled her fingers into his ass cheeks and kept driving him crazy with her mouth. Moments later he came, his body straining. Sierra stayed with him, only relinquishing her claim on his cock when he sighed. One hand still holding his cock, she looked up at him, satisfaction and triumph dancing in her eyes. Then she licked her lips provocatively, making him laugh.

  “Come here,” he said, drawing her back to her feet.

  The rest of the shower passed in a haze of slippery hands and steam. Afterward he dried her off before tumbling her onto his bed again.

  “You cannot be serious,” she said when she saw he was hard again already.

>   “Your fault,” he said.

  She looked a little put out. “I just gave you some of my very best work in the shower.”

  “And I appreciated it immensely. Couldn’t you tell?”

  He ran a leisurely hand down her body, stopping at all the good places along the way. By the time he was done, she was smoky-eyed and flushed, her hips moving restlessly.

  “Okay, you’re talking me around,” she said.

  “I haven’t even started yet.”

  Pressing a kiss to her left breast, then her right, he slipped farther down in the bed. Her stomach trembled as he tongued her belly button. He glanced up at her and smiled when he saw the anticipation in her eyes. “You like this?”

  “Who doesn’t?” she asked.

  He slipped farther down the bed, nudging her thighs wider. The neat patch of hair on her mons was still damp from the shower and he brushed his cheek against it before pressing a kiss to her inner thigh.

  “Feel free to scream,” he said as he eyed her plump, pink pussy.

  “Is that a threat or a promise?” she asked.

  “Both.”

  Then he lowered his head and began the delicious task of making her come again.

  Chapter Ten

  It was still dark outside when he woke. For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was—Marietta, Helena, Seattle. Then his brain kicked in and it all came back to him: Ron, pizza and wine, Sierra.

  God, Sierra.

  In the kitchen, her hand in his jeans.

  In his bed, moaning his name.

  In the shower, staring into his eyes as he made her come.

  He stretched out a hand, but all he encountered was tangled sheets and an empty bed. She must have slipped out at some point while he slept.

  Relief hit him like a sledge hammer, profound and real, closely followed by visceral regret.

  He was such a piece of shit.

  You know it, buddy. A real chip off the old block.

  For years he’d judged his father for his affairs—and it hadn’t even taken a week of working with Sierra to prove he was every bit as unethical and self-indulgent as his father.

  He sat up, raking his hands through his hair, beyond grateful Sierra wasn’t here to witness his regret and shame. She was his freaking employee. He owed her so much more than what she’d gotten from him last night.

  Angry with himself, he kicked off the sheets and strode into the bathroom. There was no way he was getting more sleep, so he might as well go into work early and get started on what was sure to be yet another life-affirming day of stressful challenges and unpleasant discoveries.

  Oh, yeah, now is definitely the time to feel sorry for yourself, sport.

  He turned the water on as hard as it would go and stepped beneath the jets. Instantly he was assailed with memories from last night—the feel of Sierra’s soapy breasts in his hands, the intense, heated suction of her mouth on his cock, the way she’d licked her lips afterward and given him a saucy, provocative smile.

  He was hard in seconds, his erection straining against his belly.

  So now he could add that to his list of things that were wrong with his life—he’d broken every tenet of decency in regard to employer/employee relations last night, and even though he was now marinating in guilty regret, he still wanted her.

  God, he probably wanted her more now that he knew how good it was between them.

  No, good didn’t even come close. Being skin to skin with her had been intense. He’d been so tuned in to her pleasure, and her to his. He’d never felt so connected, so aroused, so intimate with another human being.

  Well, hey, that makes it okay then. Three cheers for you, man. Collect two hundred dollars and pass Go.

  The voice in his head was an asshole, but it was right.

  He turned the water to full cold, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to stay beneath the punishing spray. Only when his erection was well and truly banished did he flick the water off and step out of the shower to towel his goose-fleshed body dry.

  He dressed with brisk efficiency in the walk-in, only to stop in his tracks when he returned to the bedroom and registered the state of the bed. The duvet was half on the floor, the sheets a tangled mess. He had a sudden flash of Sierra fisting her hands in the sheets as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to her pussy, her needy cries filling the room.

  Jesus. He was going to have to move rooms if these crazy flashbacks kept up. Striding forward, he yanked the duvet off the floor. The cleaner was due today, so he stripped the sheets and threw them into the corner. Then he spread the duvet across the bed and stacked the pillows against the headboard.

  He felt stupid the moment he was done. As if he could undo last night just by erasing the evidence of their encounter.

  He went to brush his teeth and fix his hair, then grabbed his briefcase and headed for the front door. It was only five thirty, and the house was utterly silent as he let himself out.

  It wasn’t until he was almost at Tate Transport that he realized he was actually looking forward to burying himself in work for the day. Anything to distract him from the tight feeling in his gut.

  You’re still going to have to look her in the eye tonight.

  He was, and he had no idea how he was going to handle the situation, what he should say, if he should say anything. They’d both agreed last night that sleeping together would be a bad idea. He’d offered to go, but she’d stopped him.

  So the bad decision had been mutual. The difference was, he had all the power in this relationship, and therefore the onus had been on him to walk away.

  And he hadn’t.

  Jaw set, he concentrated on the road ahead. He’d be seeing Sierra soon enough. Hopefully by then he’d have worked out what to say to her.

  *

  Sierra woke in lazy degrees. She felt good. Loose and relaxed, well rested. Then she stretched and yawned, registering the damp tenderness between her legs, and suddenly she was very wide awake.

  Oh, boy.

  She’d slept with Garret last night. Not just slept—she’d climbed him like a cat on a curtain.

  She stared at the ceiling with wide eyes. So much for being smart. So much for her first job as a private pilot being more important than potent sexual attraction.

  It’s almost funny, the stories you tell yourself sometimes.

  Almost.

  Because no matter what had happened last night, no matter how good it had been—and it had been very, very good—she was going to have to meet Garret at the airport this afternoon and be professional and cool and collected. She was going to have to look him in the eye and forget that he’d coaxed her to a scream-inducing climax with his mouth. She was going to have to forget the feel of his lovely cock in her hand and her mouth, and the way he’d brushed the hair from her face so tenderly after their first time.

  She rolled onto her stomach and pressed her face into the pillow.

  If only she hadn’t left that stupid charger in the kitchen.

  If only he’d been wearing a shirt.

  If only she’d had enough self-control to walk away.

  Her phone started to buzz, letting her know it was time to wake up and face the day. She reached out blindly and managed to swipe the screen to silence.

  She lay like that for another five minutes, then the knowledge that she was going to be late to meet the mechanic spurred her into action.

  It wasn’t until she was pulling on her socks and tying her boots that it occurred to her that in all likelihood, Garret was probably feeling equally awkward this morning too. After all, neither of them had planned to get hot and heavy in the middle of the night. It had just happened, and they had both been equal participants. Very eager, very enthusiastic, insatiable, equal participants.

  So this feeling she was experiencing—this sense of exposure and vulnerability and regret—he was probably feeling the same way.

  The realization helped ease the tightness in her shoulders. They’d crossed a line�
�together. It had been a mutual transgression, and all they needed to do was acknowledge that it had been inappropriate and move on.

  Excellent strategy. Because denial worked so well for you before.

  Sierra snatched her jacket and headed for the door. She had a mechanic to meet, and the taxi she’d ordered would be at the door any minute now.

  Sure enough, the car was waiting for her, and she locked the house carefully after setting the alarm. She was getting used to the speculative looks she kept receiving from taxi drivers when they saw the Tates’ house—apparently she didn’t match anyone’s idea of the sort of person who lived in a lakeside mega-mansion—but this time she didn’t bother explaining she was just the hired help. Instead, she stared out the window and thought about the day ahead, the questions she had for the mechanic, the checks she wanted to run on the Bell.

  Anything except last night.

  The mechanic was almost half an hour late, but once he got there the day proceeded smoothly enough and all the necessary maintenance tasks and checks were completed by midafternoon. Sierra grabbed a late lunch at the airport coffee shop, sitting outside to eat it in the sun while she watched the fixed-wing planes taxi down the runway.

  It was a strange thing, but she’d never been drawn to fixed-wing aircrafts the way she was to helicopters. They just didn’t have the same hands-on appeal for her. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the magic moment when the combination of the plane’s speed and the shape of the wing resulted in gravity-defying lift. Every time it looked impossible—the plane too cumbersome and heavy, the runway too short—and every time the laws of physics proved themselves as the plane swooped into the air.

  The miracle of flight really was a beautiful thing.

  The small moment of peace and contemplation helped calm her nerves as departure time approached. Apart from the first day when he’d been early, Garret typically arrived close to six o’clock, and she made a point of going to the bathroom before he was due. She retied her ponytail and straightened her polo shirt. Then, feeling like a complete dick, she practiced smiling her best friendly-yet-still-professional smile.