Ever After at Sweetheart Ranch (14 page)

“Then they turned it into a ringtone. The boys were calling each other quite deliberately to see what would happen, and Silver could hear it. Not me. Guess I'm too old.”

“Me neither. I didn't even see what was going on,” he said, shaking his head in disgust.

“You were focused on Silver—­as you had to be.”

“But you focused on the kids, too. I don't know how you teachers keep track of everything. If you hadn't been here . . .”

“You'd have been fine,” she said with a chuckle. “I think you taught the newbies a lot—­Matias was certainly impressed!—­and the old hands learned some tricks.”

“The old hands?” he said, looking down at her, a smile turning up one corner of his mouth. “You make them sound ancient instead of thirteen.”

“And fourteen, don't forget. So, can you do this again next week?”

“Sure, and I promise to keep a better eye on the boys. Guess I wasn't above a prank or two at their age.”

“But I bet not a prank that would bother an innocent animal.”

He rocked back on his heels and glanced at Silver. “You're probably right about that. Maybe you can give me more pointers before then. I was only thinking I had to be prepared about horses, and that was the
easy
part.”

“You were very prepared about the horses. I can see the kids are really excited to ride.”

“Are you? I've never even asked if you've ridden.”

“I've been on a horse a time or two. But I'm certainly no expert.”

“Then one of these days, you'll have to show me what you got. But maybe not at this moment.”

With his body, he walked her backward until she came up against the barn, pinned in place by his hips pressed hard to hers. She forgot about where they were, forgot about taking things slowly and drawing it out. She simply clung to him, letting his strong arms hold her up. His hands slid down her back and cupped her butt, pulling her even harder against him. She let her head drop back. He swept moist kisses down her neck, and she sighed and burrowed into him.

He murmured into her hair, “Perhaps there's something you can help me with. We could sort the equipment up in the hayloft.”

“Sort the equipment?” she echoed, dazed.

“Don't you want to see what's up there? It's not hay.”

“Now that's tempting.” She gasped as he lightly bit where her neck met her shoulder. His day-­old beard scraped her sensitive skin. “What's even more tempting is I've never been in a hayloft.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

“Well, it's an experience every young woman should have. Now go climb the ladder and I'll make very certain you don't fall down.”

But he kissed her again, and before she knew it, she was like a languid rag doll in his arms as he guided her toward the ladder. Dizzy, she turned and began to climb, knowing he was watching her from just below. The hayloft had shelves along the sides, and in the center—­heaps of fabric, different colors and thicknesses, with various buckles and Velcro straps protruding.

When Will was standing at her side, she gave him a curious glance.

“Horse blankets,” he explained. “Some are for warming, some for cooling, some for flies. These are newly washed, and I haven't folded them away in their bins yet . . . what a perfect opportunity.”

And then he gave her a gentle push backward, and she grabbed hold of him and pulled him down with her. He landed partially sprawled atop her, but he'd caught himself so she didn't have the impact of his weight. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him tighter, and he settled on top of her. He covered her mouth with his, slanting his head, tasting deep within her. She moaned, arching into him, then gasping when she felt his hand at her waistline, beneath her t-­shirt.

He kissed her cheek, murmuring, “Was that a yes or no gasp?”

“Yes. Oh, please, yes.”

But he was so slow, as if his aim was counting her ribs individually. His mouth was moving down her neck, his hand up her torso, and when at last he cupped her breast through her bra, she clenched his leg tight between her own. But it wasn't enough. As he teased her nipple through the thin, lacy fabric, she spread her legs wide so that he could settle deeper against her. She wanted to moan at the tantalizing pressure against her most sensitive place, but it was still broad daylight outside—­anyone could come into the barn and hear them. She muffled her cries against his shoulder, shuddering when he rolled his hips against hers.

She dug her heels into the wool blankets and pushed back against him. It wasn't enough. She needed to feel his skin against hers, so she reached down his back and pulled both his shirts up as far as she could. He braced himself on one hand so she could pull them off his head and one arm, then he tossed them aside.

And she was able to see that gorgeous chest up close, the chest she'd seen on display in “The Men of Valentine Valley” calendar or on hot summer days when they'd all been hanging out. He had the pecs and abs of an athlete—­of a cowboy. She spent a moment just running her hands across his skin, feeling the scattering of dark blond hair, then lightly touched his nipples.

He trembled. “Lyndsay—­”

She lifted her head and licked him, feeling the pebble-­hardness. When he moaned, she put her hand against his lips and met his half-­closed eyes.

“Shh,” she whispered.

“Let's see how quiet you can be, then.”

And he pulled her shirt up. She lifted her upper body, and the shirt came off easily. But he didn't pause to admire, just held her up with one hand while he quickly unclasped her bra.

She arched a brow at his expertise, but he only shrugged, too intent as he lifted the white lace away from her skin. She wanted to hold him again, to feel his hot skin against hers, but he kept himself propped on one elbow, staring down at her with such admiration and need that she didn't have a moment to wonder how she compared to all the other women he'd been with. Of course, she'd been with several men, but no one had ever been able to compare with Will.

And maybe that was one of the reasons she'd never found the right man to marry. Was she always subconsciously comparing them to him? But surely that was only physical.

And then he bent his head to her breast and paused just above it, glancing up at her beneath light brown eyelashes, as if waiting for permission.

She pulled his head down and bit her lip to keep from crying out when he took her nipple deep into his mouth and sucked. She shuddered beneath him, hips grinding into his as he licked and nipped and then sucked her deep again. She arched up against him, feeling mindless as she descended into a heightened sense of desire, her nerve endings fairly zapping as they came to life. He moved to her other breast, and with this one he became as light as a butterfly alighting just on the tip with a flick of his tongue, over and over. And then his hand clasped her other breast and caressed it.

She lifted her head and put her mouth into his hair, whispering, “I know we're practically out in the open, that any of your family could come in. But I need you, Will. I need you.”

He pulled her up onto her knees, and they kissed passionately, naked skin to naked skin. Then his hands dropped to her jeans and unbuttoned and unzipped.

Forehead to forehead, he met her eyes with urgency. “Are you on the pill?”

“You bet I am,” she said with a grin.

He briefly closed his eyes as if in thanksgiving. “And I have a condom. We're good to go.”

While he still kissed her, he tormented her with his fingers down inside her jeans, touching her lace underwear, just dipping beneath, until she had to clutch his hot shoulders or sink right into a puddle.

With strong hands, he slid her jeans right over her hips, taking her underwear, too. He paused the briefest moment, while her clothing hung just beneath the fullness of her hips, just covering what she most wanted him to take, as if he were torturing himself.

She pushed them down to her knees herself, then sank onto her elbows, lifting both legs high. He unlaced her boots, then pulled everything off until she was naked, but he kept her legs together with one big hand, as if silently telling her what he needed. Slowly, he tipped her legs toward her, and she felt the fingers of his other hand slide gently between her thighs, teasing, tickling, as she trembled and writhed. His gaze darted repeatedly between her breasts and her thighs, as slowly, slowly, his finger moved ever closer to what she so desperately needed him to touch.

At last he just touched the moist center of her. She held her breath, afraid she'd scream, her back arched with the tension of hovering on the edge of such perfect pleasure.

And then he slid his finger inside her, and she clasped both hands over her mouth to cover her moan. He released her ankles and spread her knees, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his heavy breathing. His wet finger traced her, dipping inside and back out, circling, touching her clitoris softly, then circling harder. He came down at her side, leaning over to take her breast into his mouth again, and it wasn't long before she lost her mind completely, fading into the whirlwind of pleasure until it crashed over her and receded, leaving her shuddering.

At last she opened her eyes to see him up on his elbow leaning over her, a sweet, sexy smile of awareness on his face—­he damn well knew what he could do to a woman.

“What are you waiting for?” she whispered as demandingly as she could.

He jumped to his feet and began to unbuckle and unzip. Lyndsay came to her knees and pushed his hands out of the way, her head tilted so she could meet his eyes. Without looking away, she tugged at the waistband of his jeans, bringing them slowly down over his hips, catching his briefs with her fingers to bring them along, too. When they dropped around his feet, she put her hands on his thighs and leaned forward to pleasure him. He arched and threw his head back, and by his ragged breathing, she knew what it cost him to keep silent. At last he pushed her away, and when she would have helped him with the condom, he did it himself.

“Come on and ride me, cowboy,” she said, then gave a deep chuckle.

He came down on top of her and she welcomed him against her. Hands braced on either side of her shoulders, he teased her with his erection, sliding against her, dipping briefly then moving away, until she began that slow climb to bliss again. She did her own teasing, cupping his chest, lifting her head to lick his nipples, until at last, with a moan buried against her mouth, he sank deep inside her. He held still for one exquisite moment so that she could feel the fullness of him. And then he started to move, thrusting strongly, then gently, altering his pace and his hips, so that her body never knew what he would do next. She felt fractured and desperate, clutched him to her, lifted her hips to meet his as if she could silently show him what he did to her.

When he came to a complete stop to lavish attention on her breasts, she clutched his ass tight with her hands to urge him on.

“Impatient,” he said lightly, before concentrating again on her nipple.

When she was quivering with anticipation and need, whispering his name over and over, he started to move again, deepening his rhythm. They were slick with heated perspiration from being in the loft, and from being locked together. They moved as one, finding the pleasure, taking it higher, until at last Lyndsay found her climax and shuddered down through it, leaving her a sated, exhausted heap of contentment. After a few more thrusts, Will joined her over the edge, burying his face in her neck as he slowly sank against her, into her.

The silent moment seemed to stretch out, and she let herself touch his warm, moist back and slide her hands into his damp hair. The weight of him felt . . . right and good. Being with him so intimately touched a place inside her she hadn't imagined, a sweet place that made her ache to feel even closer to him.

“Where's Will?” called a man down below.

Wide-­eyed, Lyndsay covered her mouth so that not a sound would escape. Will lifted his shoulders and stared down at her, his reckless grin almost infuriating her.

He mouthed, “Chris.”

“I don't know. Lyndsay's car is still here. They're probably off somewhere.”

“Daniel,” Will mouthed.

She closed her eyes as if she could shut out the world. At least it wasn't his parents.

As if on some kind of psychic wave, Chris said, “Mom said dinner'll be ready soon. Should we call Will?”

“Naw, leave 'em alone. It's not like he makes it to dinner regularly.”

And then their voices began to fade as they left the barn, still chatting.

Lyndsay's tense body went boneless beneath him. “I can't breathe,” she whispered against his ear.

He lifted himself off and to the side, gathering her against him.

She started to push away. “We need to get dressed.”

“Just stay still. Let's wait for the bell before we start making a racket.”

“Bell?”

“Dinner bell. My mom's old-­fashioned that way. Then we'll know we won't be interrupted again. So just stay here, all hot and sweaty, up against me.”

She
was
hot and sweaty—­they were both perspiring in the humid warmth of the hayloft. But she enjoyed being flush against him, feeling the mellow thud of his heart as it slowed down, enjoying his erection still hard against her hip.

“So, have you ever done this up here before?” she asked in a soft voice.

He eyed her speculatively, as if trying to decide if she meant it. “I live on a ranch—­every teenage boy tries to get a girl alone in the hayloft.”

“I'm so easy that way.”

He laughed softly. “I do like that about you.”

She turned her head to look into his warm hazel eyes. He rested his head on his extended arm, and his other hand seemed to want to span her diaphragm, fingers curled on her rib cage, thumb riding between her breasts.