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Authors: Kat Murray
Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled) (14 page)
BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)
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Those long legs carried him until he stood a spare inch from her. One deep breath and her breasts would brush against his chest.
“Maybe it’s time someone gave you a break. A small one, anyway. And took care of you.”
Before she could even process that, which would have led to the inevitable question of why, he bent and kissed her. Not a searching kiss, not a testing kiss. A devouring one. A kiss her body responded to without hesitation, even if her mind was still reeling to catch up.
Her arms lifted on their own and wound around his neck, pulling him down lower, closer, into her. Strong, long hands pressed her back until her hips met his, until she couldn’t miss the erection straining against the zipper of his jeans. Until she . . .
Until she was close to bursting into flames.
“Let me,” he whispered, lips moving to below her ear, over her cheek, her brow, down the bridge of her nose.
“Let you what?” she asked on a gasp of air.
“Let me take care of you. Just for tonight.”
There were so many ways he could have ended that request. But it was as if he read her mind, realized how tired she was, how worried and exhausted from carrying the load. And that for one night—just one, she swore—she was ready to set the burden down and allow someone else to carry it.
Just one night.
“Just for tonight,” she repeated.
God, thank you.
Red wasn’t sure how in the good Lord’s name he could have stopped his body, now that they’d started on this journey. But he would have pulled back, even if it had killed him.
Red wasn’t sure how in the good Lord’s name he could have stopped his body, now that they’d started on this journey. But he would have pulled back, even if it had killed him.
And sweet baby Jesus, he didn’t have to. He could do what he’d been dreaming about, thinking about, craving for weeks now.
Already bent over to accommodate their height difference, he kept bending until she stretched out on his bed, her knees bent over the side. With a little wiggling, she was fully across the mattress. Resting his weight on his forearms, he took a moment to satisfy his mind and stare down at her.
This was definitely not a position he’d thought he’d ever see her in. Time to savor. With soft kisses, he tasted her. The tender skin at her throat, the inside of her elbow, below her ear. When he ran out of exposed skin, he skimmed one hand beneath the hem of her T-shirt and urged her to sit up so he could get rid of it.
No bra. Of course not, she’d been ready for bed. Her breasts were small, firm, perfectly proportioned for her. He filled both hands with the mounds and kneaded.
But Peyton’s eyes went from intense, lust-filled blue to a more smoky, uncertain shade. “Never needed a bra for bed. Or anything else, really,” she joked. But he heard the uncertainty in her self-deprecation.
“They’re perfect. Perfect on you.” Red silenced her huff of laughter with another kiss, pulling hard at the tips until she gasped into his mouth and arched for more.
One hand obliged, while the other worked its way down her ribs to investigate the shorts she wore. Which weren’t quite shorts at all, but a pair of men’s boxers. “Where the hell did these come from?”
The self-confident woman was back, her gaze teasing. “Jealous? Of a pair of shorts?”
He smirked. “Hardly. Since you obviously didn’t just walk out of some other man’s bed wearing them.”
She lifted a shoulder. “They’re comfortable.”
“True enough.” Except when you were packing a hard-on that could pound in fence posts. Then nothing south of the border was comfortable. Sort of like now . . .
He slithered the shorts down, pushing them completely off her feet, and let his hand wander between her thighs. Thighs hard with muscle, thanks to years of daily riding and hard work. No extra stuffing to be found on this woman. But a feminine body nonetheless, with compact curves in the right places. And those curves were driving him five shades of insane.
“Come on, sweetheart.” His hand stilled when her thighs clamped shut, barring him from all but the top of her mound. “Open up.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, as if making a decision. Then as her eyes opened again, so did her legs. Just enough for him to slip in and feel her damp heat, know she was already wet, excited, anticipating.
One finger trailed down and explored, finding her clit and lingering to touch there. She moaned and pressed against his hand, her own fingers gripping his upper arms like a lifeline.
“There’s a spot, huh.” He drifted lower, following the slickness until he could slip inside her. “And there’s another.” He pressed kisses to her mouth, her cheeks, her eyes. “Lots of sweet spots, hidden under that sometimes-sour disposition.”
“I’m not candy,” she mumbled.
“Of course not.” His thumb added to the mix, pressing against her while his finger worked its way in and out, circling around. “Candy’s easy to predict. You chew a piece of spearmint gum, you know you’ll get that cooling mint sensation.”
He worked his mouth down to her breasts. “Now a Fireball, that’s straight cinnamon and spice.” He circled the tip with his tongue, enjoying the way she squirmed beneath him. “Butterscotch, now there’s one I really like. Smooth, creamy flavors mingling together.” He pulled at her nipple with his lips, then teeth, listening for the changes in her breathing. “And chocolate will give you that nice sweet treat.”
“Oh my God,” she moaned as he added a second finger inside her, his thumb upping its pace.
“But Peyton Muldoon, she’s a grab bag. Never know what you might get from day to day. Sassy?” He moved to the other breast, giving it just as much attention. “Fiery? Maybe even shy.”
He heard it then, that quick hitch that told him she was close, so close.
“I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted to sample every single flavor of Peyton there is.”
It might have been sexy bed talk, but he meant every goddamn word. She pulled at him in ways he could never have anticipated. In ways he didn’t always like, didn’t always want. But the pull was there, and he was so tired of fighting it. So no more fighting. At least, not that kind.
She arched, gripped the bedding, and cried out her release. And Red knew true triumph, better than any buckle, more worthy than any paycheck, watching Peyton Muldoon lose herself in his arms.
Oh, holy mother of God. Peyton’s knuckles ached, and she realized she’d wound her fingers so tightly in the bedspread, they were starting to lose sensation.
The man had a way with more than horses. And he was still dressed. Once she mentally assessed that her limbs would work, she let go of the blanket and propped herself up on her elbows. “Not bad, cowboy.”
“Not bad? I think that was better than not bad.” His grin lit something in her, something not even physical release could touch. But she pushed it back. This was a one-night-only performance. No time for fires . . . other than the ones they could set between the sheets.
“Well then, let’s see what you’ve got on under that cocky grin.” She worked the snaps of his shirt easily enough, only mildly annoyed when she encountered a simple white undershirt. She gripped and tugged until the soft material came loose from his waistband. “Off, off, off.”
He chuckled and sat up, pulling at the shirt from behind until it sailed across the room. And she could instantly see his body was nothing to laugh about. Smooth skin, tan muscles, a light dusting of hair, just a little darker than the hair on his head . . .
Thank you, Patron Saint of Cowboys. Whoever the hell you are.
As she attacked his belt buckle, frustration got in her way and she bit back a scream. “Help, please.”
“Peyton.” His hands covered hers, stilling them. When she looked up, his face was serious. “There’s no rush. Slow down. We’ll get there.”
Technically, she’d already been there once. But she’d like to go back again. Repeatedly.
But the solemn way he stared at her, as if he could tell she was eager to leave the emotion at the door and concentrate on the physical, as if he was ready to call her out on her bullshit at a moment’s notice . . . Damn, that fire was starting to spark again.
She ruthlessly tossed water on it. No time, and no choice. “Well then. I’ve been put in my place.” She scooted up until her back was against the headboard. Like a woman bored with the show, she waved a hand at him. “Continue on.”
He smirked, but said nothing more. His hand worked the buckle—a buckle much smaller than the dinner-plate sized versions so many cowboys flashed around—and loosened his belt.
“I don’t want this to go so fast.” He kissed her knee before unsnapping the top of his jeans. “I’m not really in the mood to rush.”
“I can tell,” she said dryly, but her mouth was practically watering with anticipation.
She really needed to get out more.
His hand paused. “I’m starting to feel like a purchased stud here. Did you want to see my papers first?”
“You have papers?” At his look, she sighed and crawled to her knees. With one hand on either side of his face, she kissed him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that as an insult. I’m nervous.”
He nuzzled into her neck. “I know.” More quietly he added, “We’ll figure that out.”
She didn’t want to know what his idea of “that” was. It didn’t matter though, because he pulled away and stood, pushing his jeans to the ground as he did. And suddenly, the idea of calling him a stud seemed applicable all over again. She swallowed once and took her time drinking in the full effect of Redford Callahan, completely naked, and totally erect, right in front of her.
“Yeah. I think I can work with that.”
He snorted and gripped the base of his cock. “Well good, because I didn’t bring a spare.” He crawled over until she was flat on her back, the thick flesh pressing against her hip, so hot she would swear it was a brand.
“I’m done waiting, Peyton.”
Waiting. Tonight? Or longer than that. How long had he wanted to get her like this? And no, she scolded herself. Going down that road was too high school, even for her. They were here now, so live in the moment.
He kissed her then, and her mind blanked to anything but the two of them, as if the entire world outside their dingy motel room had melted away into nothingness. If only . . . Then he used his knees to push her legs wider apart, and one hand nudged between her thighs.
Oh, God, he knew exactly how she wanted it, where she wanted it. How to touch her, and when to pull back because it was almost too much. And right before she jumped off another peak, he pulled away entirely.
“What the . . . ? She lifted her head and found him digging through his overnight bag, ass in the air. “What are you doing?”
“Condom.”
Shit. “Right. Good.” She took the moment to study his backside, the only view she hadn’t had so far. And found herself smiling at the severe tan line that separated his back from his butt. The man, if he didn’t get sun, would be pale white. But clearly he worked with his shirt off enough to at least keep some color. For some reason, that pale butt made her want to laugh. But she bit her lip, determined not to ruin the moment.
She must not have hid it well though. He turned around and tilted his head to the side. “What?”
Peyton shook her head. “Nothing.” She reached for him then, and he came over her, settled between her legs, and his cock nudged against her.
Red’s lips rested against her neck, not moving, not pressing. Just a silent reminder he was still with her. That heartbreaking piece of contact had tears pricking her eyes. But she blinked furiously at the ceiling until the moment passed. And as he slid inside her, fully and completely, tenderness was the last thing on her mind.
He rose up on his forearms and grinned down at her. “I’d apologize for how fast this is going to be, but you’re already one up. And I’ve wanted you longer than I’m willing to admit. So I think I’m entitled to break a few speed records.” He kissed her, erasing her surprise at hearing him admit that bit of information, and slid out before thrusting back in. Finding a rhythm that set them both on fire . . . the right sort of flame this time.
Gripping his shoulders, she stretched up to meet his every pulse, to work with him, stay with him, just keep up. And when she felt his muscles stiffen beneath her fingers, it was time to give them both a little nudge. Reaching down between them, she touched herself.
“Oh, Jesus,” he muttered, the backs of her fingers bumping against his lower abdomen with every push. “Tell me you’re close.”
No need to answer, as she tightened around him, fluttering with a release she couldn’t have held back for anything. And though he might have arched back with his own orgasm, she selfishly grabbed his neck and pulled him down for a kiss instead. Wanting to drown her cries in his mouth. Taste what that level of desire was like, in that heated moment, melting together.
Minutes later, Red pushed up and headed for the bathroom. She indulged herself with one more good look at his butt before it disappeared behind the dividing wall, then she laughed to herself. When had she ever honestly checked out a man’s ass before? She was as bad as her teenage summer ranch workers.
BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)
7.62Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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