Pushin' Buttons (Boot Knockers) (11 page)

Breath coming faster, she swayed on her knees to envelop him in her mouth.

“Ohhh.” He coiled his fist in her hair and tugged lightly. The pull on her scalp did brand new things to her. While she didn’t think she’d ever like a spanking or whips, this was good—just right.

“Take it all the way.”

His instructions stole all thought. Sky, wind, man, earth. She became one with them. Giving Hugh pleasure would be the same as taking hers, and that deep throb in her pussy promised so much more.

As she increased the pressure on his cock, she held the base and pumped it. The pleasure on his face made her feel more beautiful than anyone ever had before.

His thighs began to tremble, and he dipped a little as if his muscles were buckling. “Damn. No, baby, stop, stop!”

She jerked back, reluctant to let him go.

“Don’t give me that look. You’re incredible—too incredible. And this time I’m going to last.” He stripped off boots, jeans and socks. His shirt followed, leaving only a god outlined by big Texas sky.

She resisted the urge to plunge her fingers between her legs and seek that elusive end. But his gaze promised he’d give it to her.

He tipped her back on the cotton blanket and began to methodically strip her. Shirt, jeans, bra. A pause when he reached her emerald panties. “God, how many of these sexy fucking thongs do you own?”

Unable to answer through the desire fogging her brain, she gripped his shoulders and opened her mouth around his tongue.

The languid strokes were at war with her driving need to orgasm. She needed it fast, rough, deep. God, could she tell him that?

When she wiggled restlessly against him, he bit into her throat. She squealed until he released her flesh. “You want this?” He ground his erection against the V of her legs.

Cream spilled from her folds, soaking his hardness.

He moaned approval. “Feels like you want it. But you’re going to have to ask.”

Her stomach leaped. Wasn’t it too bold? Could she?

She could.

“Come into me, Hugh.” Her thready voice was nearly snatched by the wind soughing through the pasture. But he heard her.

With a jerk, he rose onto his knees and scooped his jeans off the ground. A foil condom packet flashed in the sun. A second later, he was sheathed.

She stared at the rubber stretched over him, and it seemed so unnatural, like seeing him in underwear might be.

He grinned—all sexy bad boy. The cowboy who had fought to have her right here, under him. Her nipples grew painfully taut.

Covering her with his body again, Hugh kissed her until any defenses she’d regained crumbled. When he pressed his thick head against her entrance, she gave herself up to sensation.

“God, so hot.” He eased the head into her pussy. “So wet.” His jaw muscle fluttered as he gave one more hard shove, rooting himself. “So tight.”

She cried out, walls stretching around his thick length. The burn inside her increased tenfold. This was it, exactly what she needed—a cowboy between her thighs, driving her to the edge of the world.

Swallowing hard against the knot in her throat, she stared up at his rugged beauty. Half the battle was won already.

Trouble was, she was pretty sure he gripped the reins to her emotions too.

Damn, Hugh was in heaven. If his heart gave out right now—and it might—he’d die with a grin on his face.

He angled his hips to dig his cock deeper. The head butted against some inner barrier, and he ground his teeth to keep from blowing. A need to get deeper, closer, swirled hotly in his brain.

With her walls clenching around him, he watched her face. Their gazes snagged, and that electricity jolted him. Some primal need to protect her and give her only happiness for the rest of her days settled in his chest.

Hitching her hip high around his, he found the angle that made her eyes roll up in her head.

God, baby. Yes. Just like that.
Mindful of how his talking had previously affected her, he kept his jaw clamped. Her quiet moan ignited him, though, and he pistoned his hips faster. Harder. She liked it hard.

Fuck, he was so close. If he didn’t rein in his uncontrollable urges, she’d unman him again.

Come on, baby. Come.

Sliding both hands under her ass, he thrust her up and into him with every stroke. Her breasts bounced, her rosy lips parted.

That was when he heard it—the low drone of a four-wheeler.

Goddammit, no.

He moved his forefinger to rest on her clit. Tapped it twice.

And he exploded. Hot jets burst from him, and he floated on a haze of bliss mingled with the self-loathing he deserved.

In the back of his head, he knew she wasn’t coming and the four-wheeler was approaching. But he couldn’t stop the waves of ecstasy rushing from his body.

The four-wheeler changed directions, and the sound died away. With a knot in his throat, Hugh stared down at the gorgeous and unsatisfied woman under him. His heart flipped, and he hated himself even more.

He dropped his gaze, unable to meet her sweet, trusting stare. “I’m sorry,” he grated out.

She smoothed a hand down his spine. Her hand felt good against his skin, stretched tight under the blazing sun. “It’s okay.”

But it was far from okay. He was turning into a total failure. He couldn’t control himself around her, and that was inexcusable. Fighting the urge to jump up and rush her back to the ranch so he could search through the files for women with similar problems releasing, he kissed her instead.

Which was another wrong move.

When she swirled her tongue over his, so trustingly, he became putty in her hands all over again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Riggs caught a glimpse of white. He set the point of his shovel into the earth and did a double-take.

Yep, it was her. Blonde, I’ve-just-been-fucked hair and curves for a mile. Miss Sibyll had come a-visiting.

Riggs’s jeans stretched to an uncomfortable tightness as he followed her progression toward the barn door where he was busy reburying the drain pipe. During a heavy rain, water stood right at the door and he hated getting his boots wet.

When Sibyll came around the corner, her scent slammed him. Something floral, sweet woman and wine.

Had Hugh finally unloosened her with the expensive contents of their wine cellar? The idea gave Riggs a shock of annoyance as well as a little thrill.

“Oh!” She came to a dead stop but wavered back and forth. A grin spread over his face. Apparently she’d had more than one glass of wine.

His shovel thumped on the ground. He reached out and steadied her by the arm.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were…herrre.” Why was her voice so soft? And why was she looking at him with that wide-eyed, blurry expression?

It’s the alcohol.

Riggs’s desire to thrust his tongue into her mouth and taste her sweetness burned. He ached to shift his junk, but didn’t want her to catch him with a boner the size of the Oklahoma panhandle.

“I’m just working. You didn’t interrupt me.” It was impossible not to hover over her, drinking in everything from the five small freckles dotting her nose to the way she smelled faintly of Hugh.

The thought of her pussy being freshly fucked by him gave Riggs a deeper stab of need.

Maybe he
could
watch the two of them if she asked for it.

“Where’s Hugh?” he asked.

She tipped her face up to his and gnawed at her lower lip. “He said he had something to do in the office and I should sleep off this…” she waved a hand around her head as if a fly were buzzing there, “…wine.”

Riggs grinned. So she was a little tipsy. Protectiveness rose inside him. “That wine packs a wallop.”

“It does. I only had two glasses.”

Usually one loosened women too much. The Boot Knockers had to be careful with the locally-made brew, letting the effects wear off a woman before working their magic.

Hugh must really be losing it. First coming before she’d had a single orgasm and now this?

Riggs’s grin spread.

Sibyll swayed again, and he anchored her to his side to keep her upright. “I was looking for some coffee.” She glanced around as if startled to find herself in the barn.

“You want the grub house. Other direction. Come on. I could use a coffee too.” Riggs wrapped an arm around her waist—he had to, right?—and led her across the uneven turf toward the grub house.

“Why aren’t there sidewalks?” Sibyll asked, practically leaning on him.

He fought his reaction to her nearness—pretended her hair wasn’t touching his upper arm and she wasn’t wearing Hugh’s red marks on her neck.

“It’s on our to-do list. Sidewalks between buildings and bungalows. The cost of getting cement delivered out here, and in that quantity, is high. We have a fund going.”

“The ssssidewalk fund.”

He chuckled at her slur. “Yes, a little like a swear jar for Boot Knockers.”

At that, she laughed. “If you’d used a swear jar, you would have funded your improvement by now.”

He resisted the urge to drop a kiss to her perfect, upturned nose. “You’re right about that. Have you learned so much about us cowboys already?”

She nodded but her feet stopped. Apparently completing two actions at once was beyond her at the moment. Riggs stopped too, and she turned into his arms.

Now what? This was disaster in one adorable blonde package.

“Those freckles on your nose are cute as hell,” he blurted.

Sparks lit her eyes, and her whole face glowed. The fading evening light might have been responsible for the tinge of red-gold in her lashes and hair, but he didn’t think so. Sibyll had a redhead somewhere in her family. That meant she had wildcat potential. Maybe Hugh would tell Riggs a story or two—just to get him through the lonely week.

“Really?” She moved to scrub at her nose and missed.

His laugh broke free and loose. “Come on. Let’s get you that coffee.” Twisting her forward again, he continued toward the one thing that might sober her up.

The next three hundred steps to the grub house were the longest of his life. Not because Sibyll almost fell over every twenty steps or because her progress was like a junebug’s in October when the winter freeze was nearing.

No, every ten steps Riggs had to battle his need to lift her, wrap her round thighs around his waist, and carry her back to his bunk.

“What were you doing with that shovel?” She rubbed a hand through her hair, making it fluffier and more disheveled. Damn, she was gorgeous.

“Burying a drain pipe.”

“You don’t mind that sort of work.”

“’Course not. I grew up doing it.”

“But you have other people around the ranch to help. Like that guy you…”

He met her gaze. “Fought with earlier? Yeah.” He rolled his shoulder, feeling the stiffness from their tumble to the ground. His jaw still worked fine though.
Well enough to open wide over a delicious, wet pussy.

Heat clawed at his groin.

“Did he hurt you when he punched you?”

The trace of worry in her voice touched him too deeply. “Naw,” he scoffed. “A love tap.”

“Then he was your…lover too?”

It was his turn to stop walking. He looked down at her, analyzing the interest in her tone and expression. She liked the thought of two men together—it was written all over her pink cheeks.

“No, Paul would never be my lover. He and I are oil and water.”

“But Hugh?”

His stomach bottomed out. Quickly he steered her toward the grub house door. “Sometimes a client wants a third in the bedroom.”

She sucked in a harsh breath, and once again her feet stopped moving.

God, don’t let that idea take root in her pretty little head.

Please let her ask Hugh for me to be their third.

As fast as he could, he got her seated in a comfortable wingback chair near the windows. When he placed a cup of coffee in her hands, it was impossible not to see she’d sobered a bit already.

“Feeling all right? Not going to throw up?” he asked to cover his awareness.

“I’m okay.” She sipped the coffee, eyes downcast. He went after his own mug of coffee. Rather than using the specialty coffee machine as he had for Sibyll, he reached for the pot that had likely been sitting there since dinner. But scorched dregs would keep him more alert, and around this little hottie, that was imperative.

He took a chair flanking hers. She had gotten cozy, tucking her feet under her. It worried Riggs that Hugh was leaving her unattended. Was that her preference or his fuck-up?

After another sip of her coffee, she set the mug on the wooden table positioned between their chairs. Her cup was half empty, and she looked slightly more sober.

She stared through the big window overlooking the ranch. “The landscape is beautiful.”