Pinch of Naughty (10 page)

There she was, drunker than a Saturday night cowboy, weaving and dancing over his cock, tempting him to sink it deep and forget about putting cover between him and sure-fire disaster. He had a policy. He never fucked bareback. He just didn’t. But goddamn it right then he wanted to. She was cute as a button, with her uninhibited bouncing and giggles. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and love on her all night with nothing standing between them.

Instead he made her stand up, still straddling his thighs so her mound was on eye-level with him. She giggled again, a sound so foreign from her usual prim notes he had to look up and check her eyes to see if she was still lucid. She was and she wasn’t. Instead of giving him her usual glare, she winked.

“I trim it,” she said.

He looked back at the short hairs feathering along the seam of her cleft and blew a puff of air on the lips of her sex. “Why?” he asked curiously.

“It’s more subdued,” she said sedately and folded her arms, watching him inspect her. “Well, did I clip it too short?”

“See if you can hook your leg over my shoulder. I want to look a little closer to see what kind of job you did.”

“I can’t do that,” Eleanor shook her head. “Water is sure to splash all over the floor.” She tapped him on the nose, scolding him.

“I’ll sop it up with a towel.” Before she could argue more, he lifted her leg, resting her thigh on his shoulder.

“Like that?” She shifted unsteadily on her one leg, trying to get comfortable.

He didn’t answer. His stuck out his tongue and licked.

“That tickled.” She grabbed his head and laughed. “Do it again.”

She was cocked open and ready for him and he buried his face, bumping his nose against her nub of pleasure at the same time he explored her entrance. He flicked in and out, feeling the mouth of her channel squeeze shut trying to catch his tongue. Holding her by the rump, he pulled her closer and commenced eating her up.

He didn’t have to tell her what to do. Her hips did a slow roll, grinding into the sensation. Damn, she tasted fine. Hot honey flowed for him and he savored it, sliding his tongue as deep as he could, using his nose to rub her pearl.

When she came, she latched on to his ears for purchase, muffling the sound of her scream as her orgasm rolled over her. But damn, what he could hear sounded good—she moaned begging for more even as he kissed and tasted her back to earth.

Gently he shifted her leg, letting her slide back into the water before he sat up on his knees facing her. His cock jutted out, about even with her head and she looked at it, bleary-eyed but game.

“My turn,” she said and stuck her tongue out, licking the white cream already dribbling from his slit. She closed her eyes and did one of those taste-testing things. He could see her concentrating on the flavor as she rolled it around in her mouth. He held his breath, cursing himself for forgetting to have a condom ready to slap on.

Women didn’t suck naked dicks. At least none he’d ever had wanted to actually put their mouth on him. Which was fine. A hot mouth on a rubber-coated cock was almost as good as a tight pussy.

“Delicious.” She licked her lips and went back for another swipe.

“Suck on it,” he growled, forgetting about the condom, cupping her face and presenting more of
delicious
.

She did. By God, she wrapped her lips around the head of his cock and sucked hard enough to pull his stones through his nose. “Easy there,” he cautioned, not wanting her to stop but not sure she wouldn’t decide to take a bite in a moment.

“It has an odd texture,” she said before taking him deeper, the end of his cock brushing the back of her throat. She tilted her head, trying to talk while she explored, commenting in garbled speech as she ran her tongue over, around and then down his shaft.

She gagged and he tensed, ready to pull out and apologize. She grabbed him by the ass, pulled him closer, and hollowed her cheeks, sucking him deeper with long pulls that spelled his imminent demise.

Cyrus let her play until the last possible moment but before he came in her mouth and made her sick, he thought he’d better back off a bit. She slapped his hands when he tried to pry her mouth off him.

“Goddamn, don’t say I didn’t try,” he groaned and lost it, pumping in and out of her mouth and watching her swallow his seed as it jetted out of him. With back bowed and muscles rigid, his orgasm blasted through him like hellfire and he knew it was the best goddamn fucking he’d ever had.

He got both of them out of the tub before they collapsed and drowned in the three inches of water left in the bottom. Kicking a towel over the spill on the floor, he carried her to the bedroom.

“That was lovely, just lovely,” she said, rubbing her head against his chest.

“Yep,” he agreed. He didn’t even consider ruining the night with a rubber glove corrupting the sensations. He pulled her on top of him, arranged her thighs over his face and her face over his cock, and they did it again—and again.

When she started to flag, he fucked her with one finger, then two, sucking her pearl and licking her honey while she writhed on top of him and did the same for him, laving his cock with her mouth and tongue, swallowing it deep. And when he came, damned if Ellie didn’t drink his release as though it were French champagne.

Cyrus pulled her up beside him, resting his chin on her head. She pressed her face against his chest and snored softly. He didn’t think he was drunk, but his world was rocking sideways just the same.

It wasn’t hard playing a sophisticated lover with a woman as inexperienced as Ellie. Hell, she made him feel like a stud. Possessively, he tightened his arms around her.
Pastry shop be damned, Ellie isn’t leaving.

* * * * *

Cyrus woke with a smile on his face, picturing Ellie on a trapeze. The night before, she’d been wild, uninhibited and flying with the greatest of ease
.
His satisfied grin changed to a frown.

She was drunk.
He should feel guilty for plying her with alcohol. He didn’t. Cyrus was pretty damned sure that as soon as Eleanor woke, she’d point out the error of his ways.
He kept his eyes clamped shut, enjoying his memories, not ready to face feminine hysterics or accusations.

She twitched next to him and then he could feel her creeping toward the side of the mattress. Cyrus turned his head and met her gaze. Her eyes, smoky lavender and as big as fifty-cent pieces, blinked at him and he knew—she remembered.

She scrambled off the bed, grabbed the sheet to hide her nakedness and headed for the door. He cleared his throat, preparing to say something even if it was wrong.

At the sound, Eleanor turned, facing him, her blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders and pink flesh peeping out of the sheet. She was a wet dream come alive. As they stared at each other, her cheeks blushed rosy and her eyes deepened to purple.

She held a finger up. “Not a word.”

She ordered his silence, he agreed it was a good time to keep his mouth shut, and she left, presumably to get dressed but more likely to hide.

Cyrus pulled on his own clothes, trying to get his wits about him. Since she hadn’t run screaming from the bedroom or tendered her resignation, he took that as agreement that their night had been mighty fine. As he was tucking in his shirt, he remembered the corset.

He couldn’t resist deviling her some more so he put on his most autocratic expression and followed her to the bathing room. Sure as hell, she was trying to sneak it on before he arrived. His tension melted into laughter he was hard put not to show.

“Leave it off,” he ordered her.

“I told you that would happen.” In the process of hooking the corset, Eleanor paused, pointing at the water marking the floor.

Cyrus snorted, recognizing misdirection and avoidance. Pulling her into his arms, he rocked her against his big frame, hugging her close.

“You taste delicious too.” Tipping her chin up, Cyrus brushed his lips across Ellie’s, trying to keep from whooping laughter at the blush threatening to incinerate her. Patting her on the fanny he added, “Better get breakfast started, sweetheart. I’ll take care of this.”

She fled.

He mopped up the mess, giving the room a final satisfied look before glancing up at the ceiling. Remembering Ellie’s concern about a heavenly witness, he flinched.
Mama, if you’re watching over me from up there, you need to close your eyes for a spell.

By the end of her second week of employment, Eleanor realized she’d formed a tendre for her boss. When he was gone, she composed sassy remarks she’d say to him. When he was with her, whether it was a quick visit in the afternoon or a long sensuous night in his bed, every beat of her heart was attuned to what he said and did. She found ways to spoil him—trimming his hair, rubbing linseed oil into his work glove to make it supple and soft, and even polishing his boots.

Eleanor was besotted, enjoying the freedom of working alone in the house, choosing which task to undertake or set aside as her mood dictated. She found housekeeping for the dear man arduous but wonderfully satisfying. He was a rustic rascal, endearing under his gruff exterior.

Their harmonious relationship had her daydreaming like a fifteen-year-old girl over her first sweetheart. She reveled in the home she was creating for him and in her zeal, moved her cleaning and primping to the second floor—to the closet in his bedroom to be exact.

Her sentimental thoughts and maudlin affection screeched to a halt when she uncovered a purple garter sporting a garish red rose, followed by an assortment of silk stockings, a lush green velvet robe, corset strings and a pair of mauve slippers.

“I wonder if William bought his lady love such items.” Eleanor stared at the castoffs from a long line of predecessors. Nothing could have reminded her so eloquently of her status. Rubbing the velvet material between her fingers, she inspected the wares—expensive, flamboyant and wicked. She snooped further, looking with interest at the sheer scarves she found tucked in a wooden chest. The box also held a supply of condoms plentiful enough to provide for the needs of an army battalion.

She was appalled. Scandalized. The tenets of decent womanhood resounded in her head. She was furious.

“Thank God I found these before I made a bigger fool of myself.” She vibrated indignation at the same time it occurred to her that she was now as much a floozy as William’s mistress.

* * * * *

Two evenings later, Eleanor had already retired for the night but returned to the kitchen for a last chore. She hurried downstairs, not bothering to light a lamp while she fiddled with her breakfast preparations. Cyrus was outside tending his garden, talking over ranch business with his friend, Sage Beckett.

“You planning on telling me why you called me here?” Beckett asked.

Eleanor wondered the same thing. Beckett’s sudden appearance did seem odd given that there was already a foreman on the ranch.             

“I brought you here to watch over the spread while I do my courting.” Cyrus straightened, passing one bucket to be refilled and picking up the other. “I’ve been looking for a permanent solution to my housekeeping problems for a long time. Never thought I’d say it, but I intend to take a wife. Mrs. Lacey fits all my requirements and then some.”

Happiness blossomed in Eleanor’s heart and she smiled, her previous animus melting away. So she
was
more than just one of the many women who’d graced his sheets.

Sage snorted. “Thought you’d be protecting your territory after the boys started considering your housekeeper’s marriage prospects. Why this woman?  If I recall, it was you who said all cats look the same in the dark.”

Ready to march outside and use a skillet to clobber Sage Beckett over the head, Eleanor waited for Cyrus to put the other man in his place. Instead, he laughed.

“But not all cats can cook,” Cyrus said smugly.

“You’ve only known her—”

“Around two weeks,” Cyrus interrupted. “And that’s long enough to recognize a good deal when I see it. Damn, Sage. Do you have any idea how much time and trouble, not to mention money I’ll save by marrying Ellie?”

“You scoundrel,” she murmured.

“There’s hidden costs dealing with females, old friend,” Sage reminded him, laughing as he walked away.

Indeed.
Eleanor itemized those costs as she slipped into bed, waiting for Cyrus to join her.

* * * * *

A few days later, Cyrus stood inspecting the changes in his house. The cobwebs were gone from the corners and he was exhausted, testimony to Eleanor’s recent whirlwind activity both downstairs and up. At night, she fucked him until his brains rattled in his head. During the day—frowning, he crossed to look out the clean window—more evidence of her labor. He should have been pleased. Instead he felt uneasy, as though he’d missed something.

Sage stuck his head in the front door, interrupting Cyrus with ranch business. “Your mare’s restless. She may foal before morning.”

“I’ll check on her during the night.”

“You don’t need me. Admit it. You brought me here to appreciate your find.” Sage pointedly glanced at the kitchen where they could hear Ellie moving around.

“Maybe,” Cyrus said gruffly. “Anyway, I have to scope out the situation before I begin my negotiations. No sense in offering more than necessary to get it done.” He shut up his negotiating talk when Eleanor entered the hall carrying a tray loaded with pastries.

“I thought you might share these with the ranch crew. After they sample them for me, they might be able to suggest what will sell the best.”

As Sage reached for the tray, Eleanor smiled brightly at him. Cyrus felt a prickle of jealously run up his spine. He said stiffly, “Don’t be spoiling my ranch hands.”

“We’ll let you know what we think.” Sage winked, whisking the tray from Ellie and balancing it in one hand as he ate an éclair on his way to the bunkhouse.

“You’re serious about this pastry business, aren’t you?” Cyrus admired anyone with grit and Eleanor had her share, but her plans were getting in the way of his.

“Yes. Mable says my building needs a new roof.”

He opened his mouth to let her know she didn’t need the building or the roof. She had his—permanently. But she wanted to talk pastry shop and wore a distant expression not conducive to proposals.
Probably been working too hard. I owe her extra for cobweb removal.

“Mable says the owner refuses to make improvements.”

“Give me a list of what you want done, and I’ll pass it on. A month should be plenty of time to get it ready.”

“I’ll need a sign for my business. And don’t forget the shelves that should be no more than shoulder high, and of course, the counter top—”

“I’ll tell the owner.” Cyrus interrupted her. Dammit she had her list of needs ready at hand.

“Why thank you, Mr. Burke. I appreciate your help. Mable suggested the owner is sometimes difficult in business matters.” She hesitated on her way upstairs. “My pastries are ready for tomorrow…”

“Your desserts will continue to get transported—as we arranged.”
So Mable says I’m disagreeable.
I’ll need to have a word with the old lady. Does she think I’m the kind of bastard who’d cheat Ellie?

Cyrus didn’t want to be classified with the sorry bunch who’d taken advantage of Eleanor. Then he squirmed remembering the night he’d plied her with liquor
. A decent woman like that left to the mercy of a man like me.
Half of him was appalled at Eleanor’s unfair fall from grace. The other half was damned glad he’d been around to catch her.

After she went to bed, he visited the kitchen and inspected the confections packed loosely, each new row separated by tissue paper layered in boxes.

“Pretty fancy fare for a town like ours.” Selling baked goods seemed like a silly plan for Eleanor to make a living. “Good thing I don’t intend to cut her loose.”

Eleanor found her employer’s pragmatic plan to lure her into unpaid servitude outrageous. Rather than become either his slave or a castoff memento gracing his closet floor, she’d decided to demonstrate her value, making a dent in both his wallet and his hard head on the way out the door. Sighing, she stepped into the tub, organizing her strategies as she relaxed. She woke when Cyrus lifted her from the water.

“Jesus Christ, girl, it’s a wonder you didn’t drown in here.”

Before she could protest or thoroughly come awake, he tucked her into bed and slid in behind her, wrapping her in his heat. ”Don’t pay attention to me. Just go back to sleep.”

She kept her eyes closed when he nibbled her ear, sending heat coursing through her veins. He lifted her thigh, entering her with gentle thrusts from behind, and her muscles clenched, tightening her cunny around his shaft. He grunted his appreciation, burying himself deeper, splaying her butt cheeks wider.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, Ellie? How about you?” Cyrus cupped her breast, tweaking the nipple while below he stroked his hard length in and out of her.

”Yes,” she groaned, turning her head to whisper her agreement against his lips. His hand burned hot—a brand of fire across her stomach. Suddenly, he lifted her, positioning her on her knees, her head pillowed on her arms, her rump in the air. 

“Feel,” he ordered her. And she did, squeezing his shaft and relaxing then tightening again, rotating her hips to tease both of them with pleasure, spreading her thighs to take him even deeper.

His hand slid from stomach to mound, his fingers gathering her wet heat before playing with the button of nerves that pulsed at her apex.

“My cock, deep inside you, fucking you until you come, then fucking you more. I can’t get enough of you.”

Shifting positions in continual harmony, they pleasured each other into oblivion, afterward lying entwined in a sweaty heap.

“Good night, Ellie.” Cyrus brushed his lips over the nape of her neck. His snores lulled Eleanor to sleep.

When she woke the next morning she was alone in the bed. It was still early, the eerie feel of half dawn hung over the ranch. She had no idea where Cyrus was or what had jarred her awake. She had the coffee on and perking when he came through the back door, a smug expression on his face.

“I’ve been busy while you lollygagged in the bed.” Cyrus crossed to the sink where he scrubbed and bragged.

Eleanor set a mug and a plate of toast on the counter and looked admiringly at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Had to help Bonfire. She dropped her foal in the middle of the night.” He grinned proudly as if he’d fathered the newborn horse.

“Was it a difficult birth?” Eleanor had often wondered about the birth process. Like so many other areas of female information, it remained a mystery to her. Since Cyrus had no reluctance in discussing anything, she asked.

“Nope, mare and filly are doing fine.” He slid his arm around her shoulders, giving her a quick squeeze. “Come to the barn and see my progeny.”

“I have breakfast to fix.”

Ignoring her halfhearted protest, Cyrus ushered her to the door. His arm remained snugly around her, matching his steps to hers so they walked in tandem. He smiled down at her, guiding her into the barn where he presented mother and daughter as if they were royalty.

Eleanor leaned over the stall gate and watched the filly suckle, feeling stirrings of hunger in her womb.

“Pretty picture, isn’t it?” Cyrus’ thigh was molded to her hip and he hugged her close. “Come back to bed,” he whispered the words in her ear.

“Breakfast…”

“God, I like the feel of you in my hand.” Without the constricting corset it was easy for him to thumb her nipple through the material, teasing her to give in.

“Please me,” he coaxed, nibbling on her neck, sliding his hand up to cup her breast.

“Mr. Burke, it’s daylight.” Her protest was halfhearted at best.

“Not quite yet.” He hustled her back inside the house and up the stairs before she could resist further. “Hurry and we’ll catch the last of dark.”

Eleanor slid out of her dress, ready to feel his weight and heat again. He always made her want. Cyrus stripped quickly and joined her on the mattress, parting her legs and entering her with a growl of pleasure.

Play with me…
Eleanor twisted under him, glorying in the sensations. His chest brushed her nipples sending a flash of desire pulsing to her core. The walls of her channel gripped him, flexing and squeezing around his shaft.

She loved his intense expression as he thrust in and out of her, taking his time. Eleanor claimed his lips, touching her tongue to his when he opened for her.

She felt a giggle escape when he rolled them over, seating her astride. His shoulder muscles bunched under her hands and his shaft thickened when the tips of her nipples caressed his chest.

Give this up?
Her heart clenched at the idea.

He took her nipple between his lips, biting the end enough to get her attention. “Harder?” Teeth and lips tugged on one peak while he pulled and twisted the other with teasing fingers.

Her cunny flexed and her hips rocked, carrying him deeper. She cradled his head as he suckled first one breast and then the other. Settling her thighs wider, she ground her soft flesh against his groin and he growled his approval.

He rolled with her to the side of the mattress, stood, and positioned her legs over his shoulders before entering her again. His hips jerked a staccato rhythm that drove his groin against her pearl until she shattered, her release triggering his. The hot pulse of his spill flowed into her body and she arched upward, her womb greedily capturing his seed before he lowered her legs and collapsed on top of her.