Cowboy Heat (5 page)

They moaned together at the exquisite pain and pleasure that washed over them like a douse of ice water followed by hot. And just when Eliza thought the feeling couldn’t get any better, he thrust again, three more inches of hot cock filling up a space inside her she hadn’t known existed.

He was inside her to the hilt before he leaned in and kissed her again. “My real name is Tyler,” he whispered.

As if set free, he began to fuck her good and deep. With each thrust, his ass flexed in her hands and pleasure spiked straight up her spine, overloading her brain with sensation. The perfume bottles on her dressing table clinked together as if toasting her good fortune.

With a grunt, he picked her up once more and slammed her against the wall, digging even deeper. He kissed her neck and kneaded her ass where he held her. He slid his hand between them and immediately found her clit, swirling the pad of his middle finger on it until she felt another orgasm rising.

“I think you want to come again,” he growled, still plucking at her clit. He picked her legs up as he plowed away at her.

Eliza trembled around him, stuck between a steel-bodied man and the cold wall behind her.

Tyler groaned and closed his eyes. His scent mingled with hers; the bedroom smelled like distilled sex.

Abruptly, he put her back on the bed and pulled out of her. “Get on your hands and knees,” he demanded.

She did so, and he dragged her backward until her hips were at the edge of the bed. He reached for his jeans, pulled out a condom, and rolled it on.

“Spread yourself open, Eliza. Let me see that delicious cunt.”

He was all cowboy and all man. When she did it, he thrust his tongue into her pussy, and she cried out. Then he shoved his cock inside her and began riding her hard. Their bodies smacked together, flesh against muscle. He straightened up and dug the head of his cock against the front wall of her pussy.

“Oh god,” she gasped.

He pushed her shoulders down until she was leaning on her forearms, her ass high in the air. He grabbed her hair in one fist and pulled her head back, then reached around her hip with his other hand and began to rub at her tender clit. He was slamming into her; the pleasure he gave her was cut with pain. His cock was enormous. His touch was no longer gentle.

But she needed what he was giving her. She needed it like she needed air to breathe. “Yes,” she rasped. At once, her body went supernova. Her pussy gnawed hard at his cock with each excruciating convulsion. But he kept fucking her. He didn’t stop, even as she came raw and hard around him.

“Let it out,” he said, almost soothingly.

He thrust into her as deeply as he could, slapping his heavy balls against her pussy lips and sliding her up and down his shaft as though she were his own personal sex toy.

“I’m coming,” he gasped. His fingers bit into her flesh. All of his muscles flexed at once, gloriously, as his orgasm ripped through him. She bent backward to look at him. His wild blue-brown eyes fixed on hers as he shuddered and emptied himself into her in sweet silence.

* * *

When Eliza woke up, Tyler was gone. He’d left a business card on her nightstand, the only evidence that she hadn’t dreamed him up.

Rising from her hangover, she took a long bubble bath to soothe her sore muscles. Penny came to pick her up at ten and they drove to their favorite coffee shop.

“You look a lot better today,” said Penny over pancakes. “Did you finally get a good night’s sleep?”

“Well,” said Eliza. “Yes, actually.” She pursed her lips. “But…I think you forgot to cancel the stripper.”

Realization dawned on Penny’s face. “Shit. I’m sorry. I called all the girls and took care of the caterer. But the dancer just slipped my mind.”

“No, it was fine,” said Eliza.
“He
was fine, too.”

“You let him dance for you?” laughed Penny. “I knew you had a wild streak in you.”

I let him do a lot more than dance for me
, thought Eliza. “At least your money didn’t go to waste,” she said.

“What?” asked Penny.

“He said you’d already paid him.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Eliza put down her fork. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” said Penny, grinning. “I didn’t give him a single cent.”

After Penny had dropped her off, Eliza picked up Tyler’s business card from the nightstand. It read,
Chase Woodcock, Entertainer, LA Studs
. She snorted at his stage name and flipped the card over. On the back he had written his personal phone number and the message,
For Eliza. From Tyler. Remember
.

As if she would ever forget.

COWBOY DOWNTIME

Cheyenne Blue

H
e was leaning against the fence watching as she led her mare out of the float.

Mel’s skin prickled into awareness, every nerve fired up by his presence. Ignoring him, she tied Minty to the rail and clomped back up the ramp to get her grooming kit. When she returned, he was standing with one hand on her horse’s neck, his hard-muscled body relaxed and at ease.

Mel grabbed the dandy brush and advanced on her horse.

Jack’s hand dropped, but he didn’t move.

“Excuse me,” she clipped.

His lazy smile stretched wide. “Don’t let me get in your way.”

“Then shift your arse.”

He moved fractionally, but remained close enough that she fancied she could feel the heat emanating from his broad chest.

Mel concentrated on her horse, hissing softly through her teeth, although it was more to soothe her own twitching nerves than for Minty.

“Ready for the game?” Jack asked, seemingly unconcerned by her prickly attitude. “Ready for a thrashing?”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” she flung back, goaded by his words. “We beat you fair and square last time. Guess we had the better attack. What was the score again? Oh yeah, fifteen to twelve.”

Methodically, she worked down Minty’s forelegs, removing the dust of the journey.

“Remains to be seen if you’ll be better this time.”

“I’ll always beat you, Jack Mitchell,” she said. “As long as polocrosse is played on this field, as long as Minty’s in good health, as long as I have hands to hold stick and reins, you haven’t a hope.”

“You always put up a good fight,” he agreed. “Such skillful resistance when a lesser player would fold.”

“I enjoy our battles. I plan to always come out on top.”

He moved closer, into her space, and dipped his head toward her ear. Hot breath puffed on her neck. “Do you like being on top, Mel? I’d let you, y’know. You could be on top and ride me until we were both spent.”

Her eyes closed momentarily in delight. It was so easy to bait him, so easy to taunt and flirt and ensnare him with double entendre until he had to walk away, hobbled by his own hard-on. She’d seen it before, a huge ridge filling his jeans.

“How presumptuous of you to assume you’ll ever get to see me naked.”

He chortled and instantly she realized her mistake.

“Who said anything about naked? I’m talking about polocrosse. But if you want naked, you only have to ask.”

“I’ve never thought of you naked,” she lied. “As for polocrosse, we’ll never know who’ll come out on top if we go one to one, so long as we both play attack.”

In polocrosse, each chukka was played by three players:
attack, center and defense. The attack and the opposing defense were the only players allowed in the goal-scoring area, as they jostled for the upper hand, and a chance to snare the ball and shoot for goal or to flick it away to safety.

He put some distance between them, enough that she could see the glitter in his blue eyes. “Which is why I’m playing defense this game. I’ll be playing opposite you.”

Her eyes widened in anticipation. Now this could be interesting. Jack pushing close, leaning in to snare an errant ball. The shoving, the aggression, the sweat. The adrenaline, the arousal. It was all there in a good game of polocrosse, where an eight-minute chukka could feel like forever.

“Bring your best game,” she said, and resumed her work with the dandy brush.

“I will. Want to make this extra interesting? Put some stakes on the outcome?”

“Sure. If I score more than ten goals, it’s your shout in the bar. The entire bar.”

“I was thinking higher than that.” His voice tickled down her spine, low, quiet. Dangerous. “Cowboy downtime.”

Cowboy downtime. Apart from polocrosse, there were few distractions in outback Queensland. Cards. Beer. Sleep. But traditional cowboy downtime usually involved the three
Fs
: flirting, fighting, fucking. Mel had no doubt as to what Jack had in mind.

“Poker?” she stalled, as her mind raced to come up with an answer. “The only time we played, I left you in your jocks.” A sight she had never forgotten. Jack’s hard chest, golden and hairless, muscled legs, and bright blue underpants stretched tight over his erection.

“I wasn’t thinking of cards.”

A hundred blowflies buzzed in her stomach. Here it was:
the proposition she’d been angling for, for weeks now. Was she ready to pay up?

Hell, yeah.

She dropped the brush at Minty’s feet, and paced forward, into his space. Grasping his shirt collar she pulled his head down to hers and slanted her mouth firmly over his. Her tongue pushed between his lips for a brief moment, tasting, dancing around his tongue before retreating. Her lips tingled and the taste of him was so overwhelming that it was a moment before she could catch breath enough to form words.

“Then I guess it’s fucking.” She licked her lips, cocked her head and gave him a hard, level stare. “If I score ten goals, you’re mine tonight to do whatever I want with. Less than that, I’m yours. Deal?”

His hand curved possessively around her butt as he pulled her toward him. “Deal. Better buy a sheepskin for your saddle, Mel, ’cause you’ll be sitting tender for a week.”

“Better wear old clothes and bring your mop and bucket,” she retorted. “I’ve got a very dirty house.”

His chuckle drifted back to her as he sauntered off, treating her to the sight of his backside in those tight, tight denims.

The game started at two. Time enough for Mel to gulp a coffee and force down a sausage from the Lions Club barbeque. Jack was bigger than her, as was his mount, but size wasn’t everything—at least not in polocrosse, she acknowledged with an inner chortle. Ten goals was high, but certainly not impossible; she’d scored more than that in the past—but Jack was an unknown quantity playing defense. She finished tacking up Minty with the low-pommeled English saddle and protective boots, mounted and went to join her teammates.

Jack’s team was warming up on the far side of the field, tossing the ball back and forth. Clouds of red dust churned by
the horses’ galloping feet hung over the field, but she could still make out Jack, sitting easily on his chestnut mare, shifting his weight as the mare twisted and turned around the field.

Anticipation tingled low in her belly. Regardless of the outcome of the game, tonight would bring an explosive resolution to the long-simmering flirtation between her and Jack. She’d known for a long time they’d end up in bed, with nothing but skin between them. Their flirtation had been drawing closer to the pinnacle, the point where one of them had to give and make the first move. Anticipation prolonged the pleasure, but it was time for the conclusion.

The first chukka was slow. Players alternated chukkas, and as their best attack, Mel played the second, fourth and sixth chukkas. Dan, who played attack in the other section, did well, and at the end of the chukka their team, the Blue Flyers, had a three-to-one lead. But only her goals counted toward their bet.

She knew from the first line up it was going to be difficult. Jack stuck to her like a shadow, and his mare seemed welded to Minty’s shoulder. Every twist and turn, every duck and weave, he was still there. She managed a break and streaked across the field, catching the ball in her net from their center. She was just outside the goal-scoring area, so she flicked it back and positioned herself inside, Jack’s mare mere inches away. Dust hung over them in a pall from the horses’ churning hooves. She dropped her weight to the right, but then pulled Minty hard to the left, and gained enough space to scoop the bounced ball flicked to her. Two fast strides and she shot for goal. The ball bulleted through the posts. One down.

Mel ignored Jack as they cantered back to the center. The game moved quickly. Two, three goals, then Jack’s team scored one. One minute to go. She snared the ball, Minty wheeled, and Mel leaned forward urging her on. Jack was on her off side and
his stick banged up against hers. Dislodged from the net, the ball spilled to the ground, but before Jack could scoop it up, Minty dropped her hindquarters and propped. Mel retrieved the ball and before Jack could stop his forward charge, she’d swung around and shot for goal. Four goals.

The chukka ended and she drew as deep a breath as she could over the pounding of her heart. Four out of ten. Not as many as she’d hoped. Jack urged his mare up alongside her.

“Worried, Mel?” His deep voice caressed her ears. “Wondering what you’ll have to do tonight? How many times I’ll take you?”