She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy (2 page)

Chance let the words rip through her like a knife, slicing her heart apart. Then his lips smashed hers with bruising force. She didn't
want
to do this; she needed to do it. She hadn't been with a man since their wedding night. She made a huge mistake. She got scared, and she ran. He would not understand. He would not know how scary it was to love someone as she loved him and then find out he didn't trust her.

I must be crazy.
The man just said he hated her, but his kiss was telling her something else entirely. Heath was always one for restraint, but he was like a wild beast now. She knew he was always gentle with her. She did not know he could be so rough.

Her arms left his big wrists and wrapped around his neck. She tried not to enjoy it, knowing it wasn't a lasting moment. Every stroke of his tongue against hers filled her with fire.

When he pulled back, he bit her lip so hard she was amazed he did not draw blood. His brown eyes looked so dark they were almost black with anger. Why she felt the surge of moisture on her panties was a mystery.
You can't possibly be turned on by this!
It was like something or someone else was taking her over entirely.

"Dammit!” he shouted.

"You want to fuck me, don't you?” she asked before she thought about the words. Watching his inner turmoil turn outward was both a rush and a shock. Could she possibly still have some affect on him? The stupid notion was enough reason to entice him on. She was always good at goading him, and anyone else for that matter, but this was different. She never talked during sex. “But you're mad."

"I'm pissed!” he shouted, and she could feel her toes leave the ground as he pulled her up closer to him by the jacket. If he lifted any higher, she was likely to fall out of the damn thing!

"So! So am I Heath. But you feel it. You feel it like I do, so let's just do it and get it over with. Let's just fuck!” Her skin prickled with gooseflesh as a nervous surge skittered throughout her body. She watched him frown, and his eyebrows drew down into a fierce scowl. Men would cower under that glare, but she knew no matter what she had done, he would never hurt her, not physically anyways. He could probably spit nails right now, but he wouldn't raise a hand to her.

Knowing a man would not hit her allowed her more freedom to torture him in the past. She didn't believe it back then. She thought if she pushed him harder, he would eventually snap. She realized after she left, it just wasn't in him.
God, what have I done to you?

"You say that to all the boys?” He barely moved his lips when he spoke now.

"There's only been you, Heath. Believe it or not. It's the God's honest truth."

His stream of curses in response to her statement left her a little unsure as to what he was going to do next. Then their eyes locked. Like illegal fireworks on the Fourth of July they exploded into a clash of heat.

He pulled the zipper down and pushed the coat off her shoulders. He laid it on the counter beside him with more care than he handled her at the moment. Chance tried in vain to pull his t-shirt up. He was bigger and faster than she was.

Heath simply grabbed the vee in her tank top and ripped it like a piece of paper.
Please don't rip my bra.
Her eyes closed as his fingers diligently unsnapped the bra and let it hang open. She had no idea if her clothes were still here or not. He could have thrown her stuff away or just as likely burned it, from the tales she had heard.

"Ah shit!” he said and roughly nuzzled her neck with the side of his face as his fingers probed between her legs. His beard stubble scratched and raked against her neck. It seemed as though he was torn between wanting to be nice to her and wanting to make her pay by not being nice at all. She was used to the latter, but not used to it from Heath. He stripped her jeans down her hips.

She stepped out of them. His cheeks scratched over her stomach and his nose came dangerously close to her groin. She knew her cheeks were hot. She would never let him do this before. Now, he no longer asked for her permission.

As she started for her panties, he stood up, unfastened his jeans then pulled both jeans and underwear down just enough. He pinned her against the wall and said, “Don't bother."

Her hands left the underwear in place and grabbed his neck to hold on. Heath wasn't much for diversity. In all the years she'd known him, they had been in one position, missionary. He was a true male about it always, dominant and taking his pleasure though he did care if she came, which she never had. But this, this was so unexpected and thrilling. After twelve months without any sexual contact, Chance could feel herself already winding up for a release.

He snaked his fingers around her bottom and pulled her panties off to the side, exposing her dripping wet sex. He cursed again as two fingers pulled her nether lips apart. She inhaled deeply. The scent of her own arousal, his, the smell of the house she left a year ago, the memories flashing through her mind all combined to form one heady aphrodisiac.
I missed you so much.
She shook her head. He looked at her; the broad head of his dick probed the opening. She could hear the suctioning of her lips against it.

"Yes.” She realized then he thought she was shaking her head no to him, with her saying yes, giving him permission; he let out a strangled breath.

Heath closed his eyes and pushed inside with one long hard thrust. The jolt of it felt so good she threw her head back and cracked it against the wall. “Ouch."

"Damn it all to hell!” Heath made long hard strokes, root to tip and back again. His fingers dug into her skin. His chest grazed her nipples. The bra fell off somewhere between his pulling off her jeans and lifting her against the wall. His chest hair tickled and teased.

"Son of a bitch.” Chance moaned. Her fingers twined in his hair and pulled. She couldn't get him close enough, couldn't get enough. Angry or not he was still the only man she ever loved, and he still wracked her from head to toe with emotions.

"I hate you,” he said as his thrusts became shorter and faster.

"Go on, Heath, let it out.” He'd never talked about his emotions. She, on the other hand, always acted like her mother, never satisfied. If anger was one he could express verbally, well, it was a start. For both of them.

"You left me. Humiliated me, you..."

"Say it, Heath.” Chance felt the pull of her orgasm and toppled right over the edge. Her head hit the wall again as she looked at him. He opened his eyes, and she knew he felt every throb and pulse. She gulped as the first orgasm she shared with a man pulsed through her like a freight train. “Say it."

"You lying ... bitch.” He whispered the word as his eyes closed, and he came in short jerks.

Seconds later they were sliding down the wall, still joined in the most intimate manner possible, as the remnants of their union made skittering pulses and ticks throughout both of them. Neither let go. He sat back on his heels and rested his forehead on her shoulder. She felt the tears spring to her eyes though she fought to hold them back.
I was a bitch, but I'm not anymore.

"What the hell's wrong with me?” His voice was low barely above a whisper. “Just a few hours ago I told myself I didn't need you, I didn't want you, and now, look at me."

Her heart ached. But before she could find out if he meant he still needed or wanted her, he abruptly pulled out and lifted her off of him. “Come on, let's get a shower and get to bed."

Does that mean I'm sleeping with you?
Hope filtered through her.

"Do you want me to stay in the guest room?” She felt exposed standing there readjusting her panties as Heath pulled up his underwear and jeans. His eyes raked over her body without comment or expression. When he looked her in the eyes again, that glare of pure rage was back.

"So you can run out on me again? Hell no! You're not leaving my sight until we see Paul."

"Paul? So you can get your money?” Her heart thundered. Paul was the family lawyer, and maybe, just maybe he still needed his inheritance badly enough to let her stay a while.

"No. So we can get our divorce.” He moved behind her and flipped out the light. He guided her down the dark hallway. It felt like she was walking into the abyss. Lost, lonely, and scared she simply let him guide her into what was once their bedroom, and technically it still was, but the room felt cold now, where it seemed so warm and inviting before.

Heath flipped on the bathroom light and started to undress. Chance rolled the scrap of material covering her to the floor. Tears silently streamed down her cheeks, but he didn't notice, or he didn't care.

He turned on both showerheads, and she stepped in behind him. It was routine, one they followed so long ago. He turned on the water to hers and stepped over to his shower, taking in all the initial cold water spray. Then she stepped in as it warmed up. With his back to her, she looked him over. His hair was longer. He still had a farmer's tan. His white ass still wore an “I ‘heart’ Chance” tattoo. The sight of it made her smile. She touched her own butt cheek where the matching one remained.

"I saw Jack in jail,” she said.

"His wife picked him up.” Heath seemed pleased at the announcement.

She didn't know why the fact that Jack was married bugged her, but it did. Maybe because the jealousy Heath harbored over her dating Jack in high school served her well as a weapon against him over the years. The jealousy also led to mistrust. That awful day Heath found her and Jack in the stables embraced in a hug, flashed through her mind.

"Oh.” She didn't know what else to say.

"Let's get some sleep. I want to get to Paul's as soon as possible.” He turned off his shower and stepped out. He dried himself as she did the same. They went about bedtime preparations as though nothing had changed. It was eerie and yet somehow comforting. Like she fell into a time warp in some ways, where things were still the same, but it was a false sense of security. Everything had changed.

"Shoot,” she said as she got to the end of the braid she just made. “I need a hair-tie."

He looked at her with a narrow gaze. She watched him watch her as she reached for what used to be her drawer in the bathroom. As soon as it opened, he walked out.

She looked into the drawer and gasped. Everything was still there. Every tie, every clip, she could have used her brush instead of his. Her heart thundered while tears threatened to fall again. Quickly, she grabbed a hair-tie and bound the end of the braid. She heard a loud scrapping sound coming from the bedroom. Fear shot through her.
Is he leaving?

No.

He was definitely not leaving.

"What the hell are you doing, Heath?” She watched him push the dresser another inch in front of the bedroom door.

"Making sure I have a fair chance of catching you if you decide to slip out.” He removed the towel wrapped around his waist. The pure awesome sight of him naked was enough to scatter her brain to the four winds.

Her mouth opened and closed, but no sounds came out.

"Stop gawking at me and get in the bed.” He pointed to the large four-poster bed he bought right before they were married because she loved it, and then he turned out the bathroom light leaving her in virtual darkness. Only the moon provided light in the bedroom.

"I need a nightgown.” Her mind could process again in the dark.

"Ha. I don't think so. Honey, you get no clothes until morning.” He snatched the towel she had wrapped around her and threw it across the room. “Now, get in the bed."

"You're being stubborn for no reason.” But she knew he had reason to believe she would try to escape him; she did before. What a mistake it was. Now, he wanted to divorce her.

Shit! What a mess things turned into.
Time did not heal his wounds; instead, it made them deeper.

"You're on talk revoke. I need to sleep.” He pulled back the sheets and crawled into the darkness. “You could have talked anytime in the past twelve months. I'm over it. Get to bed."

She stumbled forward until she felt the edge of the bed. She couldn't see anything, but he walked around like he had night vision goggles on.
The big jerk!
When she curled up under the cool sheets, she shivered.
Man, it is going to be a long cold night.

His big callused hand wrapped around her. His fingers spread on her stomach, and he pulled her across the king size bed against him. He didn't say a word; she didn't either. Instead, she pressed herself against his warm chest, letting the fine hairs tickle her back. She warmed instantly, but she didn't sleep.

At some point, her breathing must have slowed enough for him to think she was asleep. The hand on her stomach let go, reached up, stroked her cheek, and then pushed her braid off her neck. The hand went back to her stomach. She tried to control her breathing. Silently, she prayed her heartbeat would remain steady. He pulled her tighter against him.

His voice came in a soft whisper, like a thief in the night. It stole her heart all over again.

"You broke my heart into a thousand pieces. I won't let you do it again. I can't.” He nuzzled his nose into the back of her head and then squeezed her with his arm.

Moments later, he was snoring.

Safe to move now he was actually sleeping, she finally cried. He only told her he loved her twice in the years they knew each other. The first time was when he asked her to marry him, and the second time was on their wedding night. What a damn fool she had been! What was she so afraid of? She actually turned into her mother, became what she feared the most. God help her, she ran away from the only man who actually loved her. Now, he was dead set against taking her back.