Saddle Up (12 page)

“And I thought you would be shy about these things.” His mouth stretched into a full-blown grin. “Every time I think I'm beginning to figure you out, you surprise me again.”

* * *

Anticipation already had Keith hard as a post, but her suggestion engorged him with a fresh surge of hot blood that ramped his excitement to a whole a new level. Her initiative had taken him by surprise, after seeming so timid, but she wasn't so timid now.

Watching his eyes, Miranda made a long, slow swipe of her tongue. The first velvety rasp up his shaft had his knees nearly buckling. Almost knocked him on his ass, actually. Not that he minded.
Hell no.
It had been too damned long since he'd been sucked off. Nothing made a man feel more like a god than a beautiful woman worshipping his cock—stroking, sucking, and massaging his sac.

Drawing in a breath, he braced his hands on the tiled wall behind him. His heart thrummed a frantic tempo as she took him into her mouth. Although she began tentatively, she soon made up for it with enthusiasm. His chest tightened as he watched her through half-closed lids. The vision alone pushed him to the brink.

So good. So fucking good.

She took him deeper, sucking harder, flicking his underside with her tongue on every release 'til he thought he'd lose his mind. His balls reacted, tightening, drawing up. Shit, she'd hardly started, and he was about to blow like a volcano. He reached out to her, grinding his words through his teeth. “You'd best stop if you don't want me exploding in your mouth.”

She slid her hands up to grip his ass with a look that shredded any remnant of self-control. His chest constricted with her sounds of pleasure, with the look of ecstasy etching her face. Hissing a long stream of Shoshoni, he threw his head back against the wall, his lungs burning and hips bucking as he pumped to a raw and raging release.

Miranda's growling stomach woke her from a deep, sexually sated sleep. After the hot bath and bout of mutual gratification, they'd crashed together in bed, falling almost instantly asleep. She opened her eyes, filled with a sense of perfect contentment, outside of ravenous hunger.

Keith was propped on an elbow, watching her. “Hungry again?”

“Yeah.” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “I was too nervous to eat much before.”

“Maybe I can give you something else to think about?” He traced a finger across her lips with a look that gave her a craving of a different kind.

“Like what?” she asked breathlessly.

He rolled her beneath him. “Since you seem to be recovered, maybe we can finish now?”

“Me? What about you?” She laughed. “I wasn't the only one who went into a coma.”

He grinned. “I admit you drained me of everything, but I've had time to recuperate.”

“Keith?” she began tentatively.

“What,
Aiwattsi
?”

“Do you intend to stay the whole night?”

He looked up in surprise. “You thought otherwise?”

“Um. I wasn't really sure.” Her gaze darted away. “I just assumed that leaving was how it usually plays out.”

“Sometimes it goes that way,” he confessed. “But not this time.” He reached out to touch her face. “Unless that's what you want?”

“No,” she replied solemnly. “That's not what I want.”

He pulled her into another long, lingering kiss, and then moved to the space between her breasts. He peeled the sheet back, warming her skin with his hot breath, as he slid down her belly, caressing, kissing, and swirling inside her navel with his tongue. His hands stroked up and down her thighs. Slipping a hand between them, he glanced up at her with a smug smile playing over his mouth. “You're already wet.”

She blushed. “You seem to have that effect on me.”

“I like it. A lot,
Aiwattsi
. It makes me want to taste you.” She tensed, her heart racing as he positioned his shoulders between her legs. Her breath hitched as he nuzzled her mons. “Relax,” he said. “Close your eyes. I promise you'll like it.”

She gasped outright at the slow sweep of his scorching tongue.

“See? You do like that.” He chuckled darkly and positioned her thighs on his shoulders. “I knew you would.”

She should have been sated after what they'd already done, but apparently she, like he, only wanted more. If given the choice, she'd never leave the bed. Miranda clenched the sheets as he began pleasuring her with his magical mouth, licking, sucking, using his lips, teeth, and tongue in ways she'd never dreamed of. God, he did incredible things with his mouth. But his hands were just as talented.

Tangling her fingers in his hair, she writhed against his mouth. “Please, Keith…I want…I need.”

“You want more?” he asked.

“Yes. I want more. I want you inside me.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Do you have—”

“Yes. I have.” He sat up, retrieving a box of condoms from the bag he'd brought in with him. He offered her the packet.

She shook her head. “You do it. I haven't had much practice. At least not for a while.”

After gloving himself, he knelt between her legs. Their gazes met as he teased her entrance, escalating her want, her need, her ache. She reached for him with a moan, her inner muscles clenching in rhythm with her pulsing heart. “I want to feel you inside me. Now, Keith. Please.”

His penetration was agonizingly slow as he filled and stretched her. Once fully impaled, he dipped his head for a mind-melting kiss. He followed with a gasp-inducing thrust that sent a jolt of sensation careening to her core. “Oh God,” she moaned. “Do that again.”

He brought her legs tightly around his flanks, retreated a few inches, and thrust again. Harder. Deeper. Pure pleasure made her cry out. He stifled her sounds with another long, lush kiss. Tongues still tangling, he moved inside her again, this time in a slow, sweet, steady cadence. Thrust. Kiss. Thrust. Kiss.

With eyes squeezed shut, she clenched her inner muscles, squeezing and milking him in tempo with his advance and retreat. He grunted, jerking her hips toward him, taking her deeper. Harder.

As their mouths melded, her mind emptied to all but sensation—the sultry, breathless sounds filling the air, the scent of sex teasing her nose, their tangling tongues and the tight, wet friction of him moving deep inside her.

Thrust. Kiss. Slow and steady then hard and deep. Thrust. Kiss. Deeper, harder until her climax surged and swelled like a tsunami, cresting and crashing over her in ceaseless spasms. Pumping madly, Keith brought himself to a swift finish, emptying inside her with a feral cry then collapsing breathlessly beside her.

* * *

The sun was only beginning to creep through the cracks between the closed drapes when Miranda opened her eyes. Carefully, she rolled onto her side to study Keith, who lay on his back, sprawled like a king. He'd flung the covers aside during the night, or maybe they'd never covered up at all. She could hardly recall anything now beyond the mind-blowing orgasms. Her insides clenched reflexively at the memory of him moving inside her.

She still didn't know what to think about this thing between them. All of it had happened so unexpectedly, from the coincidental meeting to the combustive chemistry. He was so different now from the man she'd first seen in California, and even from the one she'd met only two days ago. The brooding warrior had all but vanished. The man taking his place was warm and tender and teasing—and she was falling hard. He'd said that it was more than just a hookup, but where did they go from here? In the light of day, it seemed far too much like a fantastical journey to nowhere.

His breathing was still slow, steady, and even. She allowed herself the luxury of studying him in his full naked glory, eating him up with hungry eyes. Reaching out with an index finger, she traced the wings of the tribal eagle tattoo covering his right shoulder.

He stirred in his sleep. The sheet slid completely away. Her gaze lingered in awe on his manhood: long, thick, purple headed, and erect.
Very erect.
Unable to resist the temptation, she wrapped her hand around him, but before she could do anything more, Keith's eyes snapped open.

His hand came over hers with a mumbled curse He brought it to his mouth and kissed it. “As much as I want to,
Aiwattsi
, we can't. I still have a job to do. We should have been up and out of here an hour ago.”

“I understand.” Her gaze slid away. “All good things must come to an end, right?”

He reached for her, cupping her chin. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I'm okay. Honestly. I knew how it would be.” Her heart gave a wrench as the glib words stumbled over her tongue. She'd worried that it would be awkward between them afterward, but Keith maintained his easy manner from the night before. She knew she wasn't the type for this kind of thing. The thought of parting hurt like hell, but she still couldn't regret it. If given the option of a do over, she'd do it all again. In a heartbeat.

Her fascination with him had only grown with the hours they'd spent together. The real Keith was not only naturally charismatic, but personable, knowledgeable, and confident. It was easy to see why women had flocked to him—a pang of undeniable jealousy accompanied that thought, and then a hollow ache took its place.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
She was half in love with a guy she'd never see again.

* * *

After catching a quick shower and dressing, Keith and Miranda headed out of Reno, stopping only long enough to drive through Starbucks for two Ventis before tracking back to Palomino Valley, where he loaded up the horses to be transported to the prison.

When they arrived at the prison, Miranda stayed in the background with her camera, out of sight maybe, but never out of his mind. Just being with her felt so good and right, as if she brought his world back into balance. He'd been with a lot of different women, but last night was unique in so many ways. How could he ever explain that? And even harder, how was he going to let go of it? Anything more than what they'd already shared was impossible. They were from separate worlds, and hers was everything he'd vowed to leave behind.

“You see that one over there?” An inmate named Jim Davies nudged him back to the present. Jim nodded to a flashy black-and-white pinto. With head held high, neck arched, and nostrils flared, the horse glared at several inmates sitting on the corral panel, watching him watch them. The men snickered and poked one another in the ribs, either taking bets or making dares. After a time, one of them spat a wad of chew, then climbed down from the corral panel. Eying him with suspicion, the horse blew a loud warning snort that he followed with a rebellious toss of his mane.

“Easy, ol' son.” With one palm outstretched, the inmate tentatively approached the animal. As he moved forward, the horse bared his teeth.

“Watch you don't lose an ear,” one of the inmates jeered.

“What's his story?” Keith asked, nodding to the horse.

“That's one of 'em they gathered up from the Fort McDermitt Reservation last year,” Jim answered.

“I heard about that one. There was a big controversy surrounding it.”

“Yeah, the Paiute claimed ownership of all the horses and were going to sell them off to the kill buyer, but over a hundred of 'em were unbranded. When the activists got wind of it, it all turned into a major shit storm, with everyone suing everyone else. In the end, the mustangs were separated out and shipped over to the BLM in Fallon.”

“No doubt many once
were
tribal horses,” Keith said. “They bred some fantastic color in those herds. Markings like this horse has were greatly valued. He should bring a real good price at auction.”

“That he would,” Jim agreed, “if only we could lay our hands on him.”

“What do you mean?” Keith asked.

“We've had 'im almost three months,” Jim replied, “but so far none of us has been able to do a damned thing with 'im. Still can't even touch the ornery SOB.”

“Three months? And you still can't touch him?” Keith remarked in surprise.

“Yup. The whole thing's an experiment gone bad.”

“What do you mean
experiment
?” Keith asked, now watching the would-be horse tamer more critically. There was nothing
technically
wrong in his approach, but the animal was obviously not receptive. At all. Its entire body language declared mistrust and simmering aggression—the defensive behavior of a herd stallion. It was then Keith noticed. “He's not cut? Since when did they start sending you stud horses?”

“That's the experiment I was talking about. The activists made such a stink about the particular genetics of this herd that they got a court injunction barring the BLM from gelding the stallions. Given no other choice, they decided to try chemical castration.”

The horse suddenly reared and struck out with a foreleg, missing the man's head by mere inches. It was only the inmate's reflexive nosedive that saved him from the striking front hooves. Watching over his shoulder, he was quick to scramble back to safety.

Jim heaved a sigh of frustration. “Least no one got hurt
this
time. You might as well just load him up and take 'im back with you to PVC. He's a certified outlaw. Even if they take his balls outright, this horse is never gonna be adoptable.”

Keith was struck by how similar those words matched what his family had once said of him—that he would never be good for anything. The school counselor had agreed, labeling him an intractable delinquent. When he left for the rez, his stepfather's parting remark was “good riddance to the little bastard.”

“What's it gonna cost me?” Keith blurted.

Jim scratched his jaw. “Whaddya mean?”

“How much to take him off your hands? I want to adopt him.”

“You're kidding, right? That horse is gonna kill somebody.”

“Then I'm
dead
serious,” he quipped.

“You'd be crazy to take him on,” Jim insisted.

“Maybe I am.” Keith shrugged. “Or maybe I just have a yen to own a sacred horse. We Injuns are kinda funny that way.”

“You really want that renegade stud?”

“Said so, didn't I?” It was stupid as hell, but looking at the horse was like seeing himself, or who he would have been. He had no doubt that if he hadn't left New York, he'd have ended up in juvenile detention. Only his grandfather's patience, the freedom, and the wide-open spaces of Wyoming had saved him from that fate.

“It's your neck, I s'pose.” Jim shook his head with a sigh. “Minimum adoption fee is a hundred twenty-five.”

“Will you take cash?”

“Sure 'nuff. Cash is real money.”

“What are you doing?” Miranda asked.

“Buying the horse,” Keith replied with a shrug.

“But why? Haven't you said all along that you don't believe in mustang adoption? What are you going to do with him?”

“Dunno yet. Maybe I'll gift him to my grandfather.”

“Why?” Miranda asked. “Is black and white so uncommon?”

“It's not so much the color combination as his markings. A horse like this is considered sacred in our culture. The dark place on the top of his head is called a medicine hat, and the splash of color on his chest is a war shield. These markings were highly prized by war chiefs and shaman,” Keith explained. “I have a few things to take care of,” he told Jim. “I'll come back and pick him up in a couple of hours.”

“Suits me. I'm just happy to have him out of here. C'mon.” He clapped Keith on the shoulder. “You've still gotta do the paperwork.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Keith and Miranda left the prison. Her boots felt more like lead the closer she got to her car. “Thank you for bringing me out here, Keith. It was very enlightening. This whole experience has been.”