Desperado (20 page)

“Too soon,” she choked out.

“Do you think so?” Supporting himself on extended arms, he pressed himself deeper and deeper until he was fully imbedded.

She stopped crying and blinked up at him.
Incredible!

He filled her, impaled her, then seemed to grow even wider as her inner folds shifted to conform to his size. He was gritting his teeth with restraint. Veins stood out on his muscled arms. He seemed to have trouble breathing.

The first time he pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in, she thought her eyes must be bouncing in her head with the violent pleasure that rocked her.

The second time, she was ready. She wasn't going to be shocked this time. She braced her feet on the ground and elevated her hips to meet his stroke.

A futile effort. Despite her resistance, skyrockets exploded in that fluttering heart of hers, setting her afire. By now, her eyes were probably circling behind her eyelids like one of those slot machines with fruit. Cherries and pineapples and oranges and . . .

“Don't fight it,” Rafe coaxed.

She tried to tell him she was trying, but there was fruit salad dancing in her head.

She lost count of Rafe's strokes. Her head rolled from side to side in the throes of mindless passion. She thrashed and pleaded. She thought she might have touched her own pulsing breasts one time, or maybe she'd guided his hands to her. She wasn't sure.

Rafe was in no better condition. His eyes were closed, the dark lashes forming perfect black fans against his flushed skin. Harsh breaths escaped his parted lips. Rearing his shoulders and neck back, he strained toward fulfillment.

And each time he thrust into her, his pubic bone pressed that engorged knot of arousal in her wet folds, bringing her higher and higher toward a keening, spiraling cataclysm of sensation.

She spread her legs wider and arched like a bow, then surrendered to the waves of ecstasy that shook her body. Every nerve ending in her body exploded into a splintering orgasm. Spasm after spasm grasped Rafe's hardness.

With a masculine growl, Rafe, too, gave in to his climax. Pumping hard, he gave one last thrust, then jerked inside her with reflexive tremors.

They both must have passed out for a few seconds because, when Helen came to, Rafe lay heavily on her. Their hearts beat a rapid counterpoint against each other, gradually slowing down to a normal rate.

Finally, Rafe raised his head. She feared he might laugh, or make a flip remark about how good they were together. Maybe even say something about her clipboard.

Instead, he gazed at her seriously, in wonder.

“I think I love you,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “God help me, but I think I love you.”

T
ongue erections? C'mon! Really? . . .

R
afe looked down at Helen, her big brown eyes gazing up at him, doelike, with shock. “Rafe, I don't know what—”

“Shhh,” he said, pressing his fingers to her lips. He was already regretting his hasty confession. “I just wanted you to know how special this was to me. I'm not asking you to reciprocate, so don't get yourself bent out of shape. Hell, it was probably just a line.”

He replaced his fingertips with his mouth and brushed his lips across hers. God, he loved kissing her.

She bit his bottom lip.

“Ouch!” he exclaimed. Sitting up, he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, checking for blood. There wasn't any, but there could have been. “Why'd you do that?”

“Was it?” She scrambled to her knees and shoved him in the chest angrily.

He nearly fell into the fire, especially since his eyes were riveted on her swaying breasts. “Are you nuts? Was it
what
?”

“A line? Was it a line?”

He started to smile.

“Don't you dare smirk.” She stood, somehow managing to wrap one of the blankets protectively around her naked body in the process. It was a feminine knack he'd never been able to figure out. All women had it. Probably could be traced back to Roman toga days. Yeah, he could see it now. A goddess screwing a centurion until his forehead vine withered, then feeling the need to cover herself modestly with a sheet afterward.

“I wasn't smirking,” he declared with a smirk, lying back down on the remaining blanket. Resting his head on arms folded under his neck, he watched as she moved to the woodpile, sulking. He
really
liked watching Helen move. He wondered if her nipples were still hard.

And those red curls of her . . . Damn, everything had happened so quickly, he hadn't had time to really explore
there
. But he had lots of time now. A sudden thought occurred to him.
Did I say “explore.”
Oh, yeah, Marco Polo, eat your heart out. He planned to explore every latitude and longitude of her hemispheres. North Pole. South Pole. The Equator.

“You are so disgusting,” she said, glaring at him as if she could read his mind. With a snarl, she picked up a small log and threw it onto the dying fire. Sparks flew everywhere. One almost hit him in a delicate spot—real close to
his
Equator. He glanced over to see if she'd noticed.

She had, and she didn't appear too concerned, either.

Women! Go figure!

“No, Helen, it wasn't a line,” he conceded, deciding he'd teased her enough. “I've never said those words before . . . to any woman.”
And you can be sure I won't be so careless again
.

“You haven't?”

He looked up. Oh, great! The doe eyes again. “Listen, forget I ever said it. Pretend that—”

“Forget? Forget?” she shrieked. “Women don't forget things like that.”

Right!
“Then don't blow it up all out of proportion. It's not like I'm proposing marriage or anything. Picket fences and babies weren't my style before, and they aren't now.”

Helen flinched. “I never said I wanted to marry you,” she said in a small voice, raising her chin haughtily.

Damn, he couldn't seem to say the right thing. And now he'd managed to insult her, too. But his loose tongue was on a roll. “Good. Because marriage is a nonnegotiable item.”

The look she gave him could have peeled bark off a redwood. “Is that lawyer talk, or—”

“Helen, let's start over.” Rafe sat up and raked the fingers of both hands through his hair. “This is ridic—”

“Or is it scared-to-the-bone-of-commitment man talk?”

“Damn straight.”

“Which one?”

“Both.”

“Hah! Cluck-cluck.”

“Are you saying I'm a chicken?”

She swept him with a telling assessment that lingered on his lower anatomy. “You do everything but cock-a-doodle-do.”

A grin crept over his lips, but he stopped it abruptly when he saw her drop down into a cross-legged position.
Oh, no!
“What?” he asked suspiciously.

“I'm going to meditate.”

She's going to
ooohm?
Now? I knew things were going too smoothly
. He groaned. “Ah, Helen, c'mon back over here. No meditating now. Let's make love again. I'm a bumbling idiot, but I'll make it up to you.”

“I'm too upset. I need to think—to find my center.”

“Baby, I've been to your center and it's just fine. Take my word for it.”

Her face turned a delicious shade of pink but she refused
to rise to his bait this time. Instead, she launched into a full-fledged chant.
“Ooohm, ooohm, ooohm, ooohm. . . .”

“At least you could take off that blanket,” he grumbled. “If you're gonna give me a headache, I should be compensated with a little peek at your nipples.”

“
Ooohm, ooohm, ooohm, ooohm. . . .”
Even though she was facing him across the fire, she stared straight ahead, her eyes blank.

That really irritated him. He didn't like the fact that she could go from red-hot sex to cool indifference in such a short time. Especially when his body was still in a fever. Okay, two could play this game.

“Ooohm, ooohm, ooohm, ooohm. . . .”

He shifted himself into that hippie-dippie lotus position, which wasn't too easy. His knees cracked and his legs didn't want to fold like a pretzel. At last, after a few swear words and some straining thigh muscles, he succeeded and faced her over the flames.

She was gaping at him in astonishment, her concentration broken.
Good!

“What are you doing?”

“Meditating. Finding my center.” He looked down, then back at her. “It's still there,” he informed her with a wink.

She tsked prissily and resumed her
ooohm
ing. He joined in, much to her chagrin.

“Aaahm, aaahm, aaahm, aaahm, . . .”
he hummed, deliberately misspeaking her refrains, just to annoy her.

“Ooohm, ooohm, ooohm, ooohm, . . .”
she said, but he could tell he'd succeeded. She was annoyed.

“Aaahm, aaahm, aaahm, aaahm, . . .”
he continued for a really long, boring time. About a minute. “This is so-o-o soothing, Helen,” he lied. “We should do this more often.”

“Ooohm, ooohm, ooohm, ooohm. . . .”
She was staring through him, as if she was in a trance.

He couldn't have that. He decided to go for variety in the tempo. When she
ooohm
ed, he interjected an
aaahm. “Oooohm, aaahm, ooohm, aaahm, ooohm, aaahm . . .”

“Would you stop that?” she snapped.

“Why? Am I breaking your karma?”

“No. You just sound stupid.” Then she tuned him out again, turning on her zombie face.
“Ooohm, ooohm, ooohm . . .”

He was tired of meditating. He wanted to explore. “How 'bout we do forms now? Naked forms. Yeah, I think I could manage those.”

She didn't even break an
ooohm
. In fact, she pretended she hadn't heard him. Maybe she hadn't. Maybe he needed a bigger shock to her senses.

“So, Prissy, did I ever tell you I can make my tongue have an erection?”

He heard her sharp intake of air before her jaw dropped in amazement. No more
ooohm
s now.

“You are pathetic.”

“Yeah.” He grinned.

“You lie.”

He jiggled his eyebrows. “Do you think so?” He crooked a finger at her. “Why don't you rhumba on over here and find out?”

Her lips twitched. Then he heard a slight giggle, followed by a spontaneous laugh.

Hallelujah!

She pulled the blanket tighter around her body and stood, walking awkwardly over to his side of the fire. He forced his hands to his sides, even though he really wanted to pull her down on top of him.

“Well?” she said, glaring down at him.

“Well what?”

“Well, show me, you fool.”

“What? You expect me to have an instant tongue hard-on without any foreplay?” he said, snickering.

She pointed to his erection. “
It
doesn't seem to have any trouble rising to the occasion.”

“
It
has no class. My tongue is a more refined instrument. It needs . . . Well, maybe if you dropped that toga, it would—”

“Toga?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Blanket. Shroud. Tent. Whatever.”

Before he had a chance to blink, she let the folds fall open to the ground and kicked them aside.

And Rafe's tongue did, indeed, seem to grow three sizes and appear to have a mind of its own. He was speechless.

Helen got tremendous satisfaction out of turning Rafe speechless. She looked down as he sputtered for breath, his eyes wide with appreciation of her nude body. Gee, she wished she had her clipboard now. She'd like to take notes on fifty ways to turn Rafe speechless, starting with female nudity.

God help me, but I think I love you
, she mimicked Rafe in her head. Then,
It was probably just a line
. The jerk couldn't fool her. He loved her, all right.

She guessed she'd just have to teach him a lesson.

Stepping over his body, she used the instep of each foot to frame his hips. “Say it,” she ordered.

“Tongue hard-on.”

“Not
that
.” She could tell he enjoyed verbal sparring with her. The lout! She touched his erection with her big toe.

He shot up off the blanket about four feet. “Holy hell!”

She was pretty sure the tremor going through his body was from extreme pleasure. She'd never dreamed she could be so bold or uninhibited or excited. Or in love.

Openly amused, she pushed him back down with a foot braced on his chest. This was fun, being the aggressor. “Say it.”

“No.” He was grinning again.

“Yes,” she insisted, using the pad of her foot to circle one of his nipples. His heart just about jumped out of his chest.

“Maybe I changed my mind.”

“Men! Don't you know
those
words can't be taken back?”

“Says who?”

“It's an unwritten rule. Now say it, damn it.” She drew her foot lower.

“Helen,” he warned. His teeth were making a funny, grinding kind of noise. Could be he was trying to exercise restraint. Good thing someone was. She'd lost hers about three miles back in Marysville. Probably with the first dip.

Before he could guess her next move—heck,
she
didn't know what her next move was going to be—she dropped to her knees and sat on his upper thighs,
real high
. His arousal pressed against her stomach.

After Rafe's eyes rolled around their sockets a few spins, he gasped out, “Son of a bitch! Are you trying to kill me?”

“Just a little,” she murmured, leaning forward. Her breasts grazed his chest hairs, then swelled and began to thrum with a sweet ache. She wanted to tease him, the way he always teased her, but she felt woozy and disoriented, as if she were drunk.

When she was so close his warm breath fanned her lips, she asked, “So, how's your tongue, honey?”

“I swallowed it.” He smiled against her lips.

And it felt so-o-o good. A smile-kiss. She liked it. So she smiled back against his lips.

He grabbed her by the waist, compelling her back up to a sitting position. God, he was so handsome, with his dark skin and flashing eyes and firm lips that begged to be kissed. She leaned forward again to do just that when he held her back. “What are you trying to do?” he ground out.

She blinked with confusion. “I don't know. I forget. Oh, I remember. I want you to say the words. Again.” She licked her lips to see if they were as puffy as they felt. Rafe's eyes followed the path of her tongue with avid interest.

“Convince me,” he rasped out.

“How?” She tilted her head questioningly.

“Touch me.”

She brushed her fingertips over his flat male nipples. “Like that?” she asked. She could tell by his loud inhale that he liked it a whole lot. Then she replaced her fingertips with her mouth and suckled him the way he had her.

He responded with a thundering heartbeat and clenched fists at his sides. No words.

“And this?” She moved lower and took him in her hand for a brief second, stroking lightly.

“Definitely,” he choked out.

The only sounds in the cave then were the background rain, the crackling fire, the shifting horses, and Rafe's ragged breathing. She relished the feel of his hot skin under her hands, the male scent of him, aroused and wanting her. With her hands and mouth and her skin abrading his skin, she worshipped his body from beautiful toes to creased forehead. And all the time, he whispered sweet, hot words of encouragement, some of them in Spanish. Some of them so explicit she blushed, all over.

When she raised her eyes to his face, it was vulnerable and open. She realized with sudden insight that she could hurt this man deeply. Thank God, she only wanted to bring him pleasure.

“My turn,” he growled, arranging her on her stomach.

“I want to see you,” she protested.

“Shhh. Later. First, I want to explore.” She heard devilment in his voice when he said the word “explore.” She raised her head to peer at him over her shoulder, but he drew her hair back, exposing her neck, and nipped gently with his teeth, forcing her face back into the blanket. “My turn, my way, sweetheart. Slow and easy.”

Slow and easy? Oh, yeah! At this point, my hormones are already programmed for fast and furious
.

First, he kissed her ear, doing those wonderful things
with his tongue—which he hadn't swallowed, after all—that he'd done to her earlier. The wet, fluttery motions that simulated the sex act made her feel like sinking right into the blanket.