A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe (19 page)

“Good. Next stage.”

“I hope I know what that is.”

“You don’t.” Moving to one side, she ran a line of whipped cream from his breastbone to his navel.

He yelped. “God, that’s cold.”

“I’ll warm you up.” And she began lapping at his skin with long, lazy strokes of her tongue.

“Wow.” He blew out a slow breath. “That’s so... I didn’t think I’d...”

“Like it?” she murmured against his damp skin.

“Yeah. All of it. I didn’t realize that my skin...that I’m sensitive...everywhere.”

The hint of vulnerability in his voice touched her. She’d launched into this as a sexy adventure, but it was about more than that. He’d let his guard down by allowing her to cover him in whipped cream and teach him things he hadn’t known about himself. That kind of trust was precious.

He shuddered when she dipped her tongue into his navel and his cock twitched. She became aware that he’d clutched handfuls of the sheet and was hanging on tight. Time to get this show on the road. She’d meant to play around some more, but her emphasis had shifted. She wanted to love this beautiful man who’d opened up to her.

“Last stage,” she said softly. Instead of spraying the whipped cream directly on him, she squirted it into her hand. Then she gently brushed it on his cock with the tips of her fingers before licking it away.

“Whitney.” His voice sounded rusty. “I’m about to explode.”

“That’s okay.”

“No it isn’t. I want—” His breath hissed between his teeth as she continued to smear him with whipped cream. “You need to get...to get the condom.”

“Not this time. This time it’s all about you.” She drew him into her mouth. Then she took him deeper and sucked hard.

He tensed and swore. Then with a helpless cry of surrender he came. She swallowed the salty essence of him as he gasped out more pithy swearwords. If her mouth hadn’t been busy with other things, she would have smiled.

At last he dragged in a deep breath and let it out. “Come here,” he murmured.

Gently releasing his warm cock, she scooted up beside him, propped her fist on his chest and rested her chin there. “You rang, sire?”

He combed his fingers through her hair as his gaze held hers. “I feel like a king. That was...incredible.”

“Are you sure? Because you swore a lot.”

The corners of his mouth tilted up. “That’s so I wouldn’t scream like a girl. I thought the top of my head was coming off.”

“Really? It was that good?”

“Really. Nothing beats the sensation of thrusting deep inside you, but this... It’s hard to describe but I just...”

“Let it happen?”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, but I didn’t have a choice, which made it even more amazing. You took the controls and I was done for.”

“I wanted you to be done for.” She was giddy with happiness.

“But now there’s a lonely condom lying on your side of the bed.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “You wouldn’t have taken it out of the drawer if you weren’t planning for us to use it.”

“I was, but then I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to do something special for you. I wanted to make you happy.”

“You made me very happy.”

Her long-range plan had been to have great sex followed by snuggling and falling asleep, but the whipped cream had created a small glitch. “I got you kind of sticky, though.”

“I’m sure. Maybe I should take a quick shower.”

“Too much trouble.” A shower would only wake him up. “I’ll get a warm washcloth and a hand towel.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll shower.” He started to get up.

She put a restraining hand on his chest. “My game, my rules.” She scrambled out of bed. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

“If you think we’re going to cuddle and fall asleep, you have another think coming. I’m not sleeping until we’ve used that condom.”

“That’s fine.” She had his number, now. If she bathed him with warm water and wrapped him in her arms, he’d be out like a light. He needed sleep and so did she. They had a big day ahead of them.

When she returned with the washcloth and a fresh towel, he was obviously battling to keep his eyes open.

Nevertheless, he reached for the washcloth. “I can do it.”

“Let me. I want to.”

When he gave in, she knew the battle was won. Working quickly, she wiped away the sticky residue and stroked the soft towel over every damp place she created.

“Feels nice,” he murmured, his eyelids drifting closed.

“Good.” She finished up and took the washcloth and towel back to the bathroom. By the time she returned, his eyes were closed. Smiling, she pulled the covers over him. Then she walked around the bed, put the condom on her nightstand and turned out the light.

As she climbed into bed, she debated whether to snuggle against him. But that might wake him, and she wanted him to rest. Turning her back to him so that she’d resist the temptation to watch him sleep, she closed her eyes.

Moments later a strong arm came around her and pulled her into the curve of his body. He was hard again. “Okay, we won’t use it now if you’d rather not.” His breath was warm in her ear. “I admit I’m a pretty sad specimen who definitely needs a shave.”

“That’s not the issue. You need sleep far more than you need a shave. Or more sex.”

“You need sleep, too.” He cupped her breast almost casually, his fingers flexing. “Good night.” His cock pressed against the curve of her backside. “We’ll touch base in the morning.”

She found that comment hysterical. “Touch base? Is that something you say to clients?”

He chuckled. “Sometimes. What should I say? We’ll knock boots in the morning?”

“It
is
morning, you crazy cowboy.”

“Well, there you go. It’s time to knock boots. Hand me the condom. I’ve figured out how to do this so I won’t scratch you any more than I already have.”

“You’re certifiable.” But the whipped cream incident had left her hot and achy, and now he was suggesting that he wanted to take care of that problem. “Good thing I like that in a person.” She handed the condom packet over her shoulder. “Here you go.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it.”

“Why is this all sounding like a business deal?”

“It’ll get intensely personal in just a second.” After a rustle of foil, he bracketed her hips with his large hands. “From me to you, sweet Whitney.” Holding her steady, he took her slowly from behind.

And oh, it was glorious. Once he’d filled her and had begun to pump with an easy rhythm, he slid one hand over her hip and through her curls. His knowing fingers caressed her as he rocked gently back and forth.

Compared to the frantic coupling they’d had in the past, this seemed tame, almost civilized. And yet before she quite realized it, her body clenched. Without warning she flowed into a dazzling spiral of an orgasm that seemed to go on and on because he kept moving, kept thrusting. Moaning and whimpering, she lost herself in the beauty of it.

Then he shifted his angle and drove in deeper. His fingers spread over her, cupping her and holding her steady as his thighs slapped hard against her bottom. His strokes had found a trigger point and she tightened again, wailing as a second climax crashed over her. With a loud bellow he pushed up and in, his cock pulsing deep inside her body.

As she lay there panting and dazed, he withdrew as gently as he’d entered her. Leaning forward, he combed her hair aside and placed a soft kiss on her shoulder. “Don’t go away. I still want to cuddle.”

Well, now. So much for thinking she was in control. But she had to admit that she liked knowing he would take that control back when it suited him. She could never be happy with a man who allowed her to be in charge all the time.

The jury was still out, but she thought maybe she could be happy with Ty. They still had a whole lot of things to talk about, specifically his parents and her sister, but if they could work through that, they might have a shot.

The whisper of his footsteps on the carpet made her heart beat faster. She liked having him around and wouldn’t mind turning it into a regular thing. But that was another problem, a five-hour problem.

He climbed into bed. “If you’re asleep, don’t mind me.” Once again he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

She started laughing. “
Don’t mind me?
What the hell is that supposed to mean? If I had been asleep, I wouldn’t be anymore after being manhandled.”

“I knew you weren’t asleep and you like being manhandled.” He tucked her in closer, his hand cupping her breast again.

“I could’ve been asleep. It’s possible.”

“Nah, you weren’t. You were lying there thinking about things.”

“Like what?” She was fascinated that he’d guessed that.

“Like us, and where this is all going.”

Her breath caught. “Where is it all going?”

“I don’t know.” He nestled against her. “We’ll talk about it after we get some sleep.”

“Okay.” She relaxed against him, comforted in the knowledge that she wasn’t the only one thinking about the future.

16

T
Y
WOKE
TO
soft gray light and Whitney’s smooth backside pressed against the woody of the century. On top of that, he was starving to death. How could he be so hungry and still have an erection hard enough to drive nails? Mother Nature could be cruel.

Whitney’s steady breaths told him she was zonked out and he wasn’t about to disturb her sleep if he could help it. That ruled out solving one of his problems, but he might be able to handle the other one without waking her. He had enough light to see so he wouldn’t trip over his duffel this time.

He slipped away from Whitney’s temptingly warm body and eased out of bed. Then he waited, breath held. She stirred and murmured something before her even breaths resumed.

Picking up his clothes and exiting the room without making noise was a piece of cake. After living with three boys in a cabin at Thunder Mountain, he’d learned to be quiet when others were sleeping. Guys who couldn’t manage that usually found their bunks sabotaged the next time they climbed in.

He carefully closed the bedroom door and waited until he was in the kitchen before he pulled on his clothes. The kitchen window was iced over so he couldn’t see what was going on outside. But walking naked through her apartment had taken care of his woody, and the prospect of putting something in his stomach focused his mind on a topics other than sex. God, he was hungry.

Not wasting time fastening the snaps on his shirt, he lifted the lid on the pan of eggs. They looked shriveled but they might not taste too bad. He found a fork and stabbed a chunk of the dried-out eggs.

Ugh. He chewed and swallowed because he wasn’t going to spit them into the garbage. That would be gross. If he’d had no other alternative he would have forced himself to eat everything in the pan. Instead he grabbed the loaf of cinnamon bread.

Briefly he considered toasting it and decided not to. He didn’t want to take a chance that the scent of cinnamon toast would rouse her. Or the aroma of coffee. After making that stupid statement about never wanting coffee again, he wanted some right now.

He spread peanut butter and cherry jam on two slices of bread and slapped them together. Then he bit into the sandwich and moaned. Once on his second one, he gazed with longing at her espresso machine.

Even if he could operate it, which was unlikely, he’d make noise and the smell of brewing coffee would fill the apartment. Or the smell of burned coffee because he’d screwed it up. That would be worse. He rummaged through the cupboards in the vain hope of finding instant coffee, but of course she wouldn’t have any. She was a professional.

He finished off the loaf of bread and took the spare one out of the freezer for when she woke up. She had more eggs in the refrigerator and he looked forward to eventually eating some that weren’t petrified. But he wasn’t going to cook them while she was still asleep. He quietly scraped the old ones into the garbage but decided against scouring out the pan. Instead he ran a little water in it.

The cocoa had a film over it. It should still be good, though. Too bad he couldn’t warm it up, but then he’d risk filling the apartment with the scent of hot chocolate. He checked to make sure she had more milk before skimming the film off and stirring the mixture.

He filled a mug and drank it cold. Not bad. He refilled the mug and polished off the rest of it. Then he remembered the can of whipped cream that was still in the bedroom. They could make more cocoa, but he doubted the unrefrigerated whipped cream would survive to squirt another day.

Just as well. He’d never look at another can of whipped cream without thinking of how Whitney had reduced him to a hot mess of sexual neediness. She knew some things about him now that he hadn’t known about himself. The feel of her tongue against his skin had touched off a primitive and unrecognized yearning.

He wanted to be with her as often as they both could manage it. Not living in the same city would complicate that because he probably couldn’t make the ten-hour round trip more than once or twice a month. Their schedules didn’t match up well, either. He put in a five-day week and she often had to work nights and weekends. But those were details. They’d figure it out.

He wandered barefoot into the living room with its unlit tree and a pile of wrapped presents underneath. Crouching beside the tree, he turned the timer from Auto to On and the lights glowed. Better.

He glanced at the wrapped packages, all with ribbons and tags. One said To Grammy Jones, Love, Whitty
.
So she had a nickname. And gifts for a whole slew of relatives. The back of her Subaru would be loaded up like Santa’s sleigh.

His parents’ tree used to be crowded with presents, too, even though the family had consisted of three people. His mom loved Christmas and thought everyone should have lots to open on Christmas morning.
So he and his dad made sure that she had plenty of gifts, too.

They’d shopped together, with him spending his allowance and whatever money he’d earned shoveling snow and mowing lawns, and his dad charging her gifts to his personal credit card to keep the purchases secret. Together they’d meander down the aisles of the local bookstore because his mother had been a big reader.