Do Me Right (12 page)

"You do?" He lowered the zipper a scant inch. "You look pretty hot to me." Another inch. "You make
me
hot."

She swallowed hard, not saying anything.

"You've got more dollars there." He nodded to the wad of money in her lap. "Aren't you going to use them?"

"But what will they buy me?" She leaned forward and tucked a bill in the opening of the zipper, dragging her nails across his erection.

He hissed in a breath and grasped her wrist. "Remember what I said about touching."

She tried for an innocent look. "It was an accident."

He shoved her back. "Sit down and watch."

She did as he asked, enjoying the sharp edge of desire that had ahold of her. Her eyes tracked his hand as he lowered the zipper the rest of the way. His black briefs bulged in the opening, the head of his penis clearly outlined. She chewed her thumb, stifling a groan.

"Think I should take 'em off the rest of the way?" he asked.

"I don't know. Should you?" She traced the neckline of her halter, her nails scraping across her exposed cleavage. Her nipples were hard pearls pressed against the fabric of the top.

Their eyes met and she had trouble breathing. In that one look, she could read everything he wanted to do to her. Everything he
would
do.

He whirled around, putting his back to her, and lowered the jeans, keeping the briefs and chaps in place.

The sight of his ass framed by the leather straps of the chaps made her squeeze her thighs together against the rush of longing. Her hands itched to squeeze his cheeks, to feel her naked breasts against the hard plane of his back.

He turned to face her again and she choked back a moan. If the view from the back had been enticing, the scene from the front made her want to shout out a big thank you that she was a woman. "You ought to be on a calendar somewhere," she said.

"Why settle for a picture when you can have the real thing?" In one move, he ripped off the briefs. The seams parted and he tossed the resulting rag over his shoulder. He was naked now, except for the chaps and the hat and the bandanna around his neck. Naked and beautiful and sexy as hell.

He shimmied and his erection quivered, beckoning her. He put his hands behind his head and struck a pose. "What do you think? You think I've got what it takes?"

"I don't know about that, but I'm ready to take what you've got." She stood and slipped another bill beneath the strap of the chaps. This time he didn't try to stop her when she cupped him in her hand, his balls velvet-smooth and hot in her palm. She traced one finger around his asshole, then pressed the skin over his scrotum firmly but not too hard. He groaned and steadied himself with his hands on her shoulders.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asked, a little breathless.

She nodded. "Much better." She leaned closer as she spoke, her mouth almost but not quite touching the head of his penis, her warm breath caressing him.

"I'll bet we can make us both feel even better," he said, arching forward slightly, bumping against her mouth.

She took the hint and encircled him with her tongue. His hands on her shoulders tightened and he rocked farther forward.

He was hot and hard and smelled of herbal soap and sex, and tasted clean and faintly salty. She took as much of him as she could into her mouth, feeling the head bump against the roof of her mouth and the weight of his torso bear down on her shoulders as he tried to steady himself.

She showed no mercy, stroking and sucking, his arousal feeding her own desire.

After a moment, he pulled away, stumbling back. His eyes were glazed and he was breathing hard. "Slow down," he said.

She smiled. "Did you have something else in mind?"

He gave her a greedy look. "I have a lot in mind." He jumped down off the table and pulled her close. Before she could speak, he covered her mouth with his, his kiss demanding, insatiable.

She twined her hands in his hair and arched against him, reveling in the feel of his skin, anxious to be naked herself.

He slipped his hand into the waistband of her jeans, brushing her pubic hair with his fingers. "So watching me turned you on?" he asked.

"What do you think?" She nibbled his earlobe and smoothed her hands down his back.

He pushed his hand lower. "I think it did. You're wet."

She drew back enough to look him in the eye. "You're a lousy dancer, did you know that?"

"I'm a lousy stripper. There are some dances I do very well." He unsnapped her jeans and lowered the zipper.

"Oh, yeah. What did you call it? The horizontal mambo?"

"That's one of them. I'm not bad at the perpendicular polka, either." He moved his hands to her hips and shoved jeans and underwear together toward the floor. "And then there's my personal favorite--the pokey pokey."

"The pokey pokey?" She laughed, even as he slid two fingers into her, turning the laughter into a moan. "What's that?"

"It's first cousin to the hokey pokey, but you don't use your feet." He began to sing softly. "You put one finger in, you put one finger out. You put one finger in and you shake it all about." He demonstrated, kissing his way down the side of her face as he did so. "It also works with other parts."

"I--I think I like that particular dance, too." She had trouble forming words as his fingers continued to stir amazing sensations in her.

He reached back and unfastened her halter, then let the straps fall to her waist, baring her breasts. While his fingers continued their rhythm, he drew one nipple into his mouth. She clutched his shoulders and arched her back against the sharp desire that lanced through her as his teeth lightly grazed her.

With his free hand, he fondled her other breast. "You are so gorgeous," he murmured. "Sometimes I have dreams about you."

"Wh-what kind of dreams?"

"Wet ones."

She closed her eyes and let her head fall back as he transferred his mouth to her other breast. Any minute now, she was sure her knees would buckle and she'd melt at his feet. Or maybe he'd been right earlier when he'd said she would burst into flames.

The next thing she knew, he was leading her to the bedroom. Standing beside her bed, he started to take off the chaps. She put out a hand to stop him. "No. Leave them on."

He grinned. "You like them?"

She put her hands on his waist and gave him an admiring look. "Let's just say I like the way they frame your, um, assets." She reached up and took off his hat. "You can lose this, though."

He pulled her close in another breath-stealing kiss, then they fell onto the bed. She lay back against the pillows while he knelt beside her and rolled on a condom. The sight of him in those chaps and that bandanna and the memory of him dancing just for her--risking dignity and all--overwhelmed her, and she felt herself getting all emotional again. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened, even as a fresh wave of need swelled within her.

He entered her slowly, sinking as far as he could go. She moaned in ecstasy and arched up to bring him closer still. "I don't think I can go slow this time, darlin'," he said.

She shook her head. "Then don't go slow. Go fast."

He withdrew and sank into her again, filling her completely with each thrust, leaving her bereft and aching with each withdrawal. Still it wasn't enough, and she writhed beneath him, reaching for feelings that were just beyond her.

When he brought one hand down between them to fondle her clit, she screamed, "Yes!"

His fingers worked their magic, and she went off like a firecracker, intense and burning, little shattering aftershocks rocketing through her, leaving her breathless. She felt tears slip from beneath her tightly shut eyes and tasted salt, but was confident Kyle never noticed, as his own climax overtook him. He shouted her name and pressed her back into the mattress. She wrapped her legs around him, holding him close.

After a few moments, his thrusts slowed, then stopped, and he lowered himself gently over her. "Was it worth the price of admission?" he mumbled against her throat.

She smiled and combed her fingers through his hair. It was slightly damp, curling up at the ends, tickling the palm of her hand. "I'd pay to see it again."

"That's good. But not right now. Not for a few hours." He pressed his forehead against her shoulder, eyes closed, breaths still coming in hard pants. "Maybe not even tomorrow."

"Mmm." She stroked her hand down his back, enjoying the dragging lethargy of being fully sated. She didn't want to think about tomorrow or even the next hour. She was happy and satisfied now--what else mattered? "I don't have anywhere I have to be," she murmured. "Do you?"

He rolled off her and looked down at her, grinning. "Nowhere but here, darlin'. Nowhere but here."

"Hey, there, yourself." He kissed her cheek. She smelled like vanilla and face powder. A soft, feminine scent.

She turned toward him a little, and her vision focused on his new tattoo. "Your tat turned out nice," she said.

"The artist does good work." He buried his nose in her neck and planted a kiss on her collarbone. He couldn't have slept long, but the little nap had recharged his batteries and the feel of her naked body against his had him ready for action again.

But she was obviously in the mood to talk. "So stallions are really independent?"

"A wild mustang especially. You've heard the expression 'stubborn as a mule'? Well, a mule ain't got nothing on a wild horse. And they're smart, too."

"How do you know so much about it?"

"A few years back I volunteered to help round up a herd of wild horses that was being moved to a sanctuary in Nevada. We spent a week gathering up maybe three dozen animals. And the stallion was the last to come in. He liked to wear us out, leading us in and out of every draw and canyon within fifty miles, doubling back and circling around. Just when we thought we had him cornered, he'd pop up behind us. After a while, every time he whinnied, it sounded like he was laughing at us."

She rested her head on his shoulder. "Independent, stubborn and smart. I can relate."

He smoothed her hair. "Guess folks like us need to stick together. It's getting harder all the time to be a nonconformist, seems like."

"Nah, there's still room for us. We keep things interesting for everybody else." She idly traced patterns in the hair on his chest. The light, tickling touches were sending definite messages below the belt. He was getting downright anxious for round two. Just to make sure she got the idea, he brought his hand up and began stroking the side of her breast.

She squirmed but didn't stop him. "Speaking of nonconformists, I talked to Zach this afternoon."

"What's he up to?"

"He sounded good. One of his paintings has been chosen for an exhibition. I guess it's kind of a big deal." But she didn't sound particularly thrilled about the news. She sounded sad.

He stopped fondling and hugged her close. "You miss him, don't you?"

She nodded, her chin brushing against his chest. "Yes, but he's so happy now. And I want him to be happy."

He stroked his thumb along her cheek. "What about you? You deserve to be happy, too."

"Yeah. I do."

He smiled at the certainty behind the words. Count on Theresa not to wallow in self-pity. It was one of the things he admired most about her. "So what would make you happy?"

"Does anybody know that? I mean, if there was a book you could look up the answer to that question in, it would make billions."

"What do you
think
would make you happy?"

She shook her head. "I can't tell you."

The answer struck him as odd. He slid out from under her and propped himself up on one elbow so that he could see her face. "Because you don't know or because you don't trust me with the answer?"

She smoothed the sheet between them, her eyes following the movement of her hand. "Maybe I don't trust myself."

He kissed her shoulder. "You're a strong woman. You can trust yourself."

Then she looked into his eyes. "What do you think would make
you
happy?"

How had this conversation gotten so serious, anyway? He hadn't meant for that to happen. They were here to have a good time. To forget about their problems. He lay back and pulled her over on top of him. "Right now,
this
makes me happy. That's all I need to know."

She stared down into his eyes and fit her crotch more firmly against his. "Right now, this makes me happy, too. This morning I was wondering if I even remembered how to be happy, so I guess that's something."

"Yeah, I'd say it's something." He smoothed his hand across her back until it was resting on the curve of her bottom. He wanted her to be happy. Especially when she was with him. Because he sure as hell felt better around her than at any other time lately. "Why don't you come to the ranch with me this weekend?"

She blinked. "What?"

"I mean it. You could stand to get away from the shop and everything going on down there. And I'd like you to see the place."

Deep frown lines formed between her eyes and she worried her lower lip between her teeth. "I don't know about going away for the weekend...."

"Come on. You don't have other plans, do you? You need a break."

"What will your sister think?"

That she'd even care about his sister's opinion touched him; he'd come to think of her as someone who didn't waste time worrying about what others thought of her. He patted her bottom with both hands. "You won't be what she'll expect at first, but once she gets to know you, I know she'll like you. Besides, we'll stay at the guesthouse. You won't even see her that much." He squeezed her buns, feeling himself grow harder. "The ranch isn't that exciting, but I have a feeling we'll find plenty to
entertain
us." He grinned.

A sultry look wiped out the nervousness he thought he'd glimpsed in her eyes. "All right. I'll do it. I'll admit I've always wondered what it would be like to have a
real
roll in the hay."

"From what I remember, it's itchy." He rolled them both onto their sides and lowered his head to kiss the top of her breast.

"Oh, so you take women home to the ranch all the time?" Her tone had an edge beyond teasing.

He smiled, then closed his lips over her nipple, enjoying the way she suddenly arched against him. "Not unless you count Becky Sue Frazier in eleventh grade. And she wasn't there for the weekend, only one afternoon. And she fussed at me for messing up her hair and getting chaff down her underwear." Theresa's nipple was wet and very pink now; a hard, sensitive nub against his tongue. "I don't think she enjoyed the afternoon nearly as much as I did."

"Oh. So you haven't taken a girl home since then?"

"Nope." He'd always made it a point to keep his personal life separate from his family life. Not to mention, he didn't want to give his sister any ideas. He always figured if he brought a gal home, she'd start picking out a dress to wear to the wedding. But he didn't have to worry about that with Theresa. Kristen would take one look at the leather-clad tattoo artist and all thoughts of wedding planning would fly right out of her head.

He transferred his attention to the other nipple. Theresa was breathing hard now. He loved that she was so responsive. Listening to her get turned on was a huge turn-on for him, too. "I think it's time for another dancing lesson," he said.

"The perpendicular polka?"

"Maybe." He slid down her body, pausing to suckle gently at her navel. "It'll be a surprise."

"I'm beginning to like your surprises."

"That's good, because I'm full of them. Sometimes I even surprise myself."

Inviting her to the ranch had been a surprise; something he hadn't planned. But what the heck, they'd have a good time. He and Theresa always had a good time together. How many people in his life could he say that about?

He slid lower until his mouth hovered over her clit, his hands on her thighs. "Should I keep going?" he asked--a purely rhetorical question, he was sure.

She arched toward him. "What do you think?"

"I think I'll keep going." He lowered his mouth on her and she let out a low moan.

"That's good," she whispered. "Don't stop. Whatever you do, don't stop."