Stripped Down (22 page)

She hums some inexplicable, happy noise of fucking contentment that I love. “Sit down for me, Angel?”

Before I can straighten out my emotions or my words, she wraps her hands in my shirt, turning me like I’m a reluctant calf in the chute. I go willingly, my dick straining at my jeans. I get the feeling that if she stays here in Lonesome, I’ll still be jonesing for her in fifty years.

I love Rose Jordan.

That’s a fucking surprise, but maybe not a bad one. She pushes gently, and I park it obligingly on the picnic table where I found her.

There’s no explaining how I’ve wound up in this position, but here I am, seated on the table’s top, while she gets on my lap, facing away from me. That little distance sucks, although her position is also sexy as hell. I cup her hips with my hands to steady her.

“You still with me, Angel?” she asks, and I ease her hair away from her nape, exposing the pale curve of skin. She’s got white marks from bikini straps and that just makes me think about stripping her naked. Then she wriggles in, getting comfortable or something, and my brain stops thinking altogether.

She straddles me, draping her legs on either side of mine. Those long bare legs in too-short denim cut-offs kill me, and that’s before she sets her hands on my thighs.

I can feel the heat of her through my jeans. Hell, I’m about to shoot right out of those jeans.

She deserves a warning. “You’re playing with fire, darling.”

“And you don’t play at all.” She rocks forward and the pressure on my dick is a fiery burst of sensation. Hell. Yeah. Before I can catch my breath, she’s moving rhythmically, up and down, forward and back, and I’m fucking lost.

I get the button on her shorts open, my fingers exploring the edges of her silky little panties. Just barely touching her in a liquid tease as she rides me. Her breath catches as she really gets into what she’s doing, and then she makes a frustrated noise like it’s not enough.

I gotta get inside, need to be there with her. Scooping her up in my arms, I get off the table and set her at the edge. It only takes a moment to strip off her shorts and panties. Parting her thighs, I step between them, curving my hands around her ass as my thumbs sink into sweet, wet flesh.

“Angel.” The way she says my name, I think she’s okay with seeing me more. She’s okay with me, and something inside my chest loosens up, eases open. I don’t know what to say to her, but her hands are busy, too, opening my jeans and finding my dick.

She’s so fucking pretty. I watch her, drinking in the way her skin flushes and grow pinker, wetter. I’m the one who’s gonna make her come. I’m her man. We’re out in the open and anyone could come driving along that road, but Rose is all that matters now. I can’t stop now and find someplace else, not when I can make her scream my name.

Or fuck me, I might holler hers. I touch her, but I’m the one going up in flames. Truth is, I’m used to being right, to knowing exactly what the right thing to do is. I run tens of thousands of acres, and hundreds of men depend on me for everything. But the happiness, the sheer joy on Rose’s face? That’s something new, something I haven’t seen before. I feel like a real king now if I can put that look on her face today, tomorrow, and every day after.

She reaches for me and her fingers brush my dick. I fight the need to lean into her touch. That part of me knows where it belongs, but I don’t like being led. The damn memories won’t leave me alone. Other hands reaching, grabbing. Fucking holding me down and shoving me places.

I’m home, I remind myself. It’s daylight, and this is my girl. This is good stuff, not bad.

“Let me,” she whispers and I’ve got no idea what she sees when her eyes scour my face.

“Gotcha,” I whisper right back, rubbing my fingers through her slick, pouty folds. She’s everything good.

She wraps her fingers around me, and I’m almost too much for her too hold. The fact that I’m big hasn’t meant much, but now I’m glad. I’ll be enough.

“Angel?” Her palm slides up and it’s a good thing she knows my name, because I’ve fucking forgotten it. And then her palm return-trips it down my dick, cupping my balls. I’ve got no idea if I can let her take charge. If we do this my way, I lay her back on the table and finish what we started, but she asked me for something, and I’ll give her anything and everything. Whatever Rose needs, I provide. She wants me let go. To let her.

My dick’s onboard with the idea, but my dick’s turned traitor before. The fact that I’m tired of saying no to her counts for something, too. Her hand slides over me, learning me, fucking taming me and I’m good with it. I really am. Her pretty fingers wrapped around my flesh squeezes some part of me way too close to my heart for comfort. It’s the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen, the way she holds me, the sweet heat of her palms cupping me. Truth is, she’s already turned me inside out.

“You do whatever you want, darling.” I lean back on my elbows, giving her full access to my body. She steps closer into the vee of my spread thighs, her fingers working my belt buckle and zipper to get my jeans open farther. It takes her under twenty to get me out of the denim completely.

When she dances her fingers up my thighs, heat explodes through me. Christ, she’s really going to do this. Go the distance outside, where anyone can see. If she isn’t careful, I’ll come before I ever get inside her, because being the center of Rose Jordan’s attention makes me hard. Makes me ache.

“Let’s see if you mean those words, Angel,” she breathes and damned if I don’t feel each word like a heartbeat in my dick. “You want to be very still for me right now.”

She leans forward, and I fist my hands on my thighs because I’m not moving away from her, not now, not ever. Her mouth covers me, and the slick, wet sound of my dick popping through the ring she forms with her pretty lips can’t drown out my groan.
Christ.
She’s wicked perfection. She tongues me, sliding over the head, exploring the hard tip until I’m this close to coming on the spot.

She’s gonna kill me and I’ll die a happy man.

It’s exactly what I need, her taking me but giving back, too. She loves me with her mouth, her eyes watching me. Keeping still now is impossible. My hips move and jerk, and I drive my cock in and out of her soft mouth.

When her hands move, stroking my balls, I give it up her, releasing my fists and plunging my fingers deep into her hair. I’m not guiding, but I’m damned sure hanging on. I’ve got the whole world around us but all I can see now is this woman, the erotic heat of her mouth followed by the cooler sensation of the air hitting my dick when I pop free.

Out, then right back in. Real good. I lose myself in the slick, hot feelings. It’s just the two of us giving and taking and giving some more. The tension picks up inside me, the orgasm building deep in my balls. I fuck her mouth harder, faster. Christ, she’s open and trusting, and she’s gonna make me come.

“I need to pull out, Rose.” No way she misunderstands that warning. My dick’s jerking in her mouth, my hips ramming forward, but she increases the hot pull of her mouth, her tongue raking my length. I’m gonna blow in her mouth if she doesn’t quit.

And then she takes her mouth off me, and yeah… begging isn’t an impossibility. A wicked smile lights up her face as she wraps her palms around me. As if she’s not ready to lose the contact either.

“You taste real good, Angel. Maybe I’m not stopping.”

Oh yeah.

But she doesn’t move.

“You’re gonna make me beg for it, aren’t you?”

Guess I can learn new tricks after all.

“I’m considering it.” She rubs her thumb over the crown.

They’re only words—because she already owns me. I can say it. “Let me come inside you. Please.”

Her smile gets wider. “Whatever you want.”

The erotic power of her words slams into me. The fantasies. What I can do to her. With her. She’s got me stripped down, laid bare, and I’m all hers.

I lie back, because no way I slam into her on top of the damned table. As soon as I yank a condom on and she’s shucked her shorts and panties, I pull her over me and tuck the head of my dick into her. Push. She parts around me, tight and wet where she stretches to take me.

“Let me give this to you.” I growl the words. She parts more, sliding down my dick inch by delicious inch. “You can take this. Take me.”

She watches me through half-closed eyes as she does what I tell her to do, her position letting her control the angle of my penetration, her forehead screwed up with a sexy little look of concentration. Slowly, she moves down my dick. Then up. Back down again, taking me with her, and it’s so damned good.

Fucking perfect, really.

“So good,” I bite out, fingers stroking her hips as I drink in her little hum of agreement. I should give her more words, let her know just how she undoes me. How she makes me feel, makes me want her so bad, but all I can do is lie back and let her ride me.

My Rose
.

I can’t even wait for her. There’s no more holding back. The orgasm hits me hard, has me thrusting up, my hands cinched on her hips, as I push myself deep and hard into her. I’m not sure if I’m holding on, but I’m damned sure I’m not steering this. The sun behind her lights her face up all golden. She bites her lip, nails digging into my shoulders and she reaches for her own orgasm. And then thank God, I feel the sweet, tight clench of her pussy on me as she finds her way to the edge.

“Angel.” She chants my name, eyes shut, lost in her pleasure, but I can’t stop watching her face any more than I can stop moving in and out of her. Funny how something so simple makes us so connected. Just the two of us, right here, right now, on the picnic table, where the whole damned world could line up to watch, but I don’t care. All that matters is the woman in my arms and making sure she finds what she needs.

“Oh, God, Angel.” My name is part-scream, part sigh.

She stiffens, the muscles in her thighs tensing, and I reach between us to help. Gently, I stroke her clit and then I tap it. Hard. She flies apart with a shriek, coming around me as my arms wrap around her, pulling her down to me as I bury myself one last time inside her.

Maybe the blowjob is a gift, but it comes with a price tag. My heart’s attached to it. Rose pushes me, challenges me. Nothing’s easy around her, and she dared me to come after her and convince her to follow my rules. We’re lovers now, and all the rules have gone out the window. This time, if Rose runs, she takes a part of me with her.

ANGEL

I
’m no Jesus Christ, but it’s like my hopes have been buried in a fucking tomb, and now I’ve got to find a way to resurrect them. Rose didn’t come home after she blew me on the picnic table. In three days, I have an appointment at the lawyer’s office and we’re going to file the paperwork to force the sale. It will take time—nothing that happens in a courtroom is speedy—but it
will
happen. I’ve got the demolition team standing by, ready to go. All I have to do is give the word, and I’ll be that much closer to gaining the new well my ranch needs so badly. Instead, my head spins me in circles, trying to find another way out of the mess I’ve landed himself in. Three days to choose between Rose and the water. Her hopes and my future.

Even if I show up on Friday to sign the papers in the lawyer’s office to take title of the Jordan place, there’s no predicting what Rose does. She’s moved the RV to Auntie Dee’s house, but she hasn’t packed up that pink eyesore of hers and she hasn’t put Lonesome behind her. Not yet. I check at least twice a day and that her car is parked in Auntie Dee’s driveway. I arranged to have the electricity turned on, but her camping spot still isn’t ideal. It’s better, though, than her up and running further away from me.

She won’t make this easy for me.

Fair enough.

She hasn’t sought me out she took me on that picnic table. I’d like to have the damned thing bronzed, can’t stop myself from doing a driving-by while I give her the space she claims she needs to think things through.

I have it bad.

Which explains why I’m headed toward the corral where J.J. is working his horse in some complicated, fancy-ass pattern that’s probably worth a million points to the rodeo judges. J.J. is an expert on competing and winning. If anyone can straighten me out, it’s him.

I ride up the ring and swing down from my horse. The poor stallion’s probably got rider envy now, but I tie him to the railing anyhow.

I let myself relax into the familiar rhythm of hooves hitting the sunbaked ground. Later today I’ll ride out and check the northern fence line. I haven’t been there in three weeks, so it’s time. I have cowboys to ride the line, but some things are better seen for myself.

J.J. raises a hand, the horse bucks, and I have no idea how he hangs on. “Be with you in a minute,” he hollers.

I tip my hat at him and settle back against the railing. I’ve got a nice view of the ranch from here. On the other side of the fencing, where our open range begins, one of my cowboys rides after an escaping calf, moving seamlessly with his horse as his lariat slips through the air and over the head of the recalcitrant calf. That man has ridden for Blackhawk Ranch for thirty years now. Where’s he gonna find work if the ranch goes under and becomes housing developments instead of range? The number of California beef outfits shrinks each year, which makes this battle about more than just water. I’ve got an entire way of life to preserve, so no fucking pressure.