Promises Linger (Promise Series) (18 page)

“What are you doing to me?”

“Just a little innocent sparking.”

There was nothing innocent about what he was doing to her. It was as sinful as all get out and it was probably a lack in her moral character that she demanded more. “Do it again.”

“You do it.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Like this.” He nipped her neck. The sharp jolt of pleasure ricocheted through her torso up into his. The jerk of her hips dragged her pussy across the rough denim of his pants, abrading her sensitive flesh deliciously.

“That’s right,” he drawled in her ear when she threw her head back and moaned. His hands on her hips encouraged another slide against his thigh. “Just like riding a horse. Move with me.”

She’d been riding since she was three. Catching his rhythm was as natural as breathing. His mouth returned to hers, less gentle, more demanding. More in tune with the sensations charging through her body. Her breath came in gasps. Her grip tightened around his shoulders. Her hips took over the rhythm, freeing his hands from the obligation. Her pussy swelled and pouted, increasing the pleasure, the ache. The fire consumed her, spiraling higher. She tore her mouth from Asa’s. She needed air. She needed the freedom to express the feeling exploding through her body She’d have been embarrassed by the moans escaping her if he hadn’t been whispering in her ear how he liked them. How he wanted more.

His fingers climbed her torso, counting the ribs of her corset. When he reached the fullness of her breast where it swelled over the top of the garment, he flipped his hand and used the tender point of her nipple to count the ladder of his fingers.

She buried her face in the curve of his neck, afraid of where this was leading. Afraid she wouldn’t care. “Asa!”

He released her hips. His hands cupped her breasts, weighing their fullness. With a squeeze, he tested their resiliency. “You’re doing fine, darlin’.”

His thumbs rubbed her nipples, gliding over her cotton shirt in a caress so light, it was almost illusionary. She needed more. She froze when he grasped both nipples simultaneously between his fingers and thumbs. For the space of two heart beats, he did nothing. In those two seconds, she discovered anticipation could be agony.

When she opened her eyes, he was watching her. The blush started at her toes, but she didn’t look away. She couldn’t. All the feelings she struggled to contain, he wore openly. Proudly. And she wanted to release all that passion, to experience it. To feel it pour over her in a sensual rush. She slid her fingers into his hair. The strands were cool and soft against her flesh. A balm to her over-stretched nerves. “Please,” she whispered, holding his dark gaze with hers.

The pressure on her nipples increased, stopping just short of pain, holding her on the edge.

“Just lean back and trust me,” he drawled.

She couldn’t. She wanted to, but she couldn’t give up the pleasure she’d attained. If she moved back, it would be gone.

He bent his head. A sharp twinge in her breast immediately blossomed to pleasure, surprising her enough to scoot back. She stared into Asa’s face. His smile was sensuous. His expression intense.

“You bit my bubbies!”

His breathing was as labored as hers. “Lean back and I’ll do it again.”

She did, and he did. Gently. Thoroughly. It was almost too much. He squeezed and tugged her nipples with his lips as his hands worked her on his thigh. She tossed her head from side to side, trying to find release from the agony within. “Asa!”

“Jesus!” He was lifting her, tugging at her clothes, pushing her skirts away from between them. His hands were hot under her thighs. Even through the thin cotton of her pantaloons, she could feel their power. He lifted her. His teeth on her breast through her shirt distracted her from the intimacy of their position. She wrapped her fingers in his hair and forced his mouth harder on her breast.

“Put your legs around me.”

She did, mindlessly obeying. The hard ridge of his cock burned hot and huge against her crotch. The pulsing pressure took her higher. Every nerve stretched to the breaking point. Reaching for release. “I can’t stand it,” she gasped.

“Not yet,” he ordered, his face inches from hers, every plane etched with the passion taking them both.

“What?”

“I want to see.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but when his mouth left her breast, she groaned and pulled, but he didn’t respond. His hands gripped her hips anew. With relentless force, he slid her pussy over his cock. >From top to bottom, he let her slide. Her pantaloons, slick with her juices, caught at her pussy lips, tugging at her already sensitive flesh, adding another biting element of sensation. She moaned and twisted, pressing harder. Striving.

“That’s it, darlin’. Ride me. All the way.”

He repeated the motion, elongating the contact, forcing her to take more. Their combined gasps filled the barn, drowning out the soft sounds of horses shifting and pigeons roosting. The world dwindled until it only consisted of his touch, his breath, his will. She locked her ankles and pulled closer. It wasn’t close enough. Every thought, every sensation, her world focused on the point where her hips met his. The pleasure built until it was too much. Something was happening.

“Help!”

“Go with it,” he whispered hoarsely. She opened her eyes. His gaze locked with hers. Had she not been so far gone, his expression would have frightened her. He shifted their bodies until his hand could reach between them. His fingers grazed her swollen flesh, tracing the curves lightly, sending whispery darts of delight weaving through the heavy drive of pleasure grinding through her loins. With a firm tap on her clit, he forced all the sensation rampaging through her body to coalesce in one burning, aching, unbearably sensitive point of agony.

“Now,” he ordered. At the same time, he thrust his hips into hers, grabbed her swollen clit in his fingers, pinching and tugging with relentless demand. One she was helpless to refuse. Her senses shattered on a scream that echoed forever.

Chapter Eight

He knew the minute the reality of the situation hit her. Her body, leaning so softly against his, stiffened one muscle at a time, starting at the base of her spine and spreading outward.

He sighed. “I suppose this is where you start fretting on my reputation?”

“Would you think me horribly selfish if I admit I’m more concerned with my own?”

He laughed softly. “I suppose I could make allowances.”

Her “thanks” was a dry husk of embarrassment.

His stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly. She leapt on the sound like a kitten meeting a grasshopper. “You’re hungry.”

Her words vibrated against his chest.

“I told you, darlin’. I’ve been dreaming on that cobbler since sun-up.”

“I gave the last to Aaron.”

“You don’t sound guilty.”

The jerk of her shoulders under his hand could have been laughter. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s the most insincere apology I’ve heard in all my days.”

“Would I be redeemed if I admit I baked a cake this morning?”

“Depends on what kind.”

This time, he knew it was a laugh. Husky and sweet, slightly smothered by his shirt. “You’re not fooling me, you know.”

“Not fooling you how?” he asked.

“I heard your heart jump a beat when I mentioned cake.”

“That’s cheating.”

She looked up from his chest. Despite the redness of her cheeks, she met his gaze squarely. Not much kept the woman down. He admired that.

“I bet I could ask for anything right now and you’d give it to me,” she told him.

“That’d be a sucker’s bet, so I won’t be taking you up on it,” he countered. “But it doesn’t have anything to do with that cake you baked.”

He didn’t think her face could get any redder, but she proved him wrong. “I’ll make you a deal.”

She about strangled on the words, but he admired the fortitude that kept her fighting when she was so obviously handicapped by modesty.

“Shoot.”

“You don’t mention my outrageous behavior here, and I’ll put frosting on that cake.”

Saliva filled his mouth. “Chocolate cake with frosting?”

“Yes.” She pushed out of his arms, collided with Shameless’ side, and sidestepped out of range as if she expected him to be getting ideas again.

“You drive a hard bargain.” He was hard put to hold his laughter in. Did she really think stepping out of his arms would make him forget how good she felt?

“Is it a deal?” she asked, swatting her skirts as if the wrinkles were responsible for her lapse from proper behavior.

“Depends,” he drawled.

“On what?”

“On whether you plan on doing it again.”

“Mr. MacIntyre!”

He stared at her. Her skirt was hopelessly wrinkled. Her hair was half down. Her neck sported a small love bruise. Her lips were swollen. On the whole, she was the spitting image of a woman who’d been tumbled in the barn. And she was back to calling him Mister? He reached out and straightened her bun. It immediately lurched to the other side. “Don’t you think you could bring yourself to call me Asa?”

Her hands flew to her hair. “Oh, my goodness!” She centered the knot of hair on her head and held on for dear life. “I must look a fright.”

“I like it.”

She glared at him while clinging to her hair as if it alone had the last grip on her dignity. “I can’t believe you let me stand here, carrying on a conversation, while totally, totally…unpresentable!”

“There’s not a thing wrong with your looks.”

If glares could kill, he’d be dead for his teasing. She released her hair and started fussing with her clothes. Small gasps of dismay punctuated her twisting this way and that. Finally, the burst of energy ended in a total stillness. “I’ll never make it back to the house.”

Her voice was as accepting as her expression. He had no idea why she put such stock in being ‘presentable’ but she did. “You promise to put chocolate frosting on that cake and I’ll get you to the house without anyone being the wiser.”

All the hope of a green horn betting his last dime rested in her gaze. “I don’t see how—”

He clicked his tongue. The woman was the most suspicious critter he’d ever come across. “Getting you inside is my side of the deal. You just need to ante up.”

She held out her hand. “Done.”

He took it in his, the novelty of shaking hands with any female making him smile. “Done.” He nodded with his chin. “You get that hair under control, and I’ll get Shameless settled in his stall.”

Her gaze flew to Shameless. Her cheeks flushed scarlet anew. It wasn’t hard to follow where her memory traveled as she uttered a strangled “okay” and fled to the opposite side of the barn.

Damn! Asa thought. Who’d have thought having a wife would be so much fun? He looped a lariat around Shameless’ neck and led him to his stall. From the corner of his eye, he saw Elizabeth fussing with her hair. Her arms were raised, her body partly turned so the curve of her breast flowed into the curve of her hip like the elemental sweep of a river. It was a purely feminine pose that caught him by surprise with a wave of possessiveness. Along with some pure lust. The woman was his. No one else’s. And he wasn’t going to lose her. Not for any reason.

Which meant he had to find a way to make her want to stay, he decided, as Shameless clopped placidly behind him on the way to his stall. The scene in the kitchen with Aaron had given him some bad moments. She’d been so at ease with the other man. Truly confident, not that fake stuff she kept tossing his way. He hadn’t liked the feeling of standing outside looking in while she entertained the other man. He’d spent too much of his life that way.

He sighed. Apparently, this marriage business was trickier than he’d been led to believe. To hear married men tell it, a man got married and chains started locking tight as if by magic. Nights on the town were curtailed. Evenings were spent at home in front of the fire or carousing in the bedroom. A man had a wife to account for and to account to. Eventually, he had kids and his obligations expanded. A married man had responsibilities. He had obligations. He had people who cared about him. A married man was part of a bigger community. A married man belonged.

He nudged Shameless away from the grain bucket. The horse’s grunt echoed his own feelings. It was getting pretty obvious that he needed to work on his husbanding, because, married or not, he couldn’t be freer if he floated on a breeze. Elizabeth made no claims on him, chained him with no demands. She just let him be. He tossed the halter onto the hook with disgust. If that didn’t beat all. Here he’d waited his whole life for someone to sink their claws into him, and he married up with the only woman who couldn’t care less if he came home at night.

Maybe he was the only married man in history looking for the chains others whined about, but dammit, he was getting tired of drifting through life with no one caring whether he showed up at dusk or at dawn. He eyed Elizabeth using his corner vision. She was scrubbing at a smudge on her shirt. Damned if she didn’t make him smile. Too proud to want the world to know she’d been sparking with her husband, yet hot-blooded enough to have enjoyed it.