Rebel Cowboy (12 page)

One hand held him leveraged above her, and he was doing anything with his tongue that made her gasp again. A flick across her nipple, a swipe under her ear. But the other hand…wandered.

Over the soft skin of firm thighs, down to her kneecap and back up again. He inched his finger closer and closer, torturing himself, torturing her.

He thought he heard her whisper “please,” but it might have been his own imagination. It might have been his own desperation echoing in his ears. He slid his finger inside of her and groaned in time with her.

“Dan.”

When he glanced up, he found her watching him, bottom lip between her teeth, eyes slightly wide. It took her a moment to meet his gaze, and when she did, he slid his finger deeper, soaking up every moan.

“You’re beautiful,” he said earnestly—possibly the most earnest thing he’d ever said.

Her eyes fluttered closed, the blush on her cheeks going deeper. “You don’t have to sweet-talk me. I’m already naked.”

“I’m not sweet-talking. Wouldn’t work if I did. You’d see right through it. So don’t be stupid. I think you’re beautiful. Believe it.”

Her lips curved, and for the first time since the kitchen, she reached out, touched him. First lightly on the chest, then moving up to his shoulders, her hands rough from all the work she put in day after day. There was something so…enticing, that she could be so many different things—shy, bold, rough, smooth.

Her fingertips traced the curve of his shoulder blades, the length of his spine. He forgot everything except the warmth of her, the weight of her hands on him, the steady rhythm of his hand, of her breathing.

And when her hands traveled to the inside of his boxers, he was the one watching intently, the one whose verbal response couldn’t be helped.

She closed her hand around him, and he swore roughly, unable to keep his own eyes open. She stroked, the friction welcome and too much all at once.

When he managed to open his eyes and look at her, her mouth was curved. “You’re smiling smugly,” he accused.

Her hand traveled the length of his erection again, and he whistled out a breath, but two could play her game. He kept pace with her, and each time she stroked, he did the same.

“I am not smug.”

“You’re so smug. Trust me, I know smug when I”—she stroked again, and he had to give himself a minute for fear his voice would crack—“see it.”

“Okay, so what if I am smug?”

He added another finger, sliding over the spot that made her squeak.

“Just wait. I’m going to give you a whole hell of a lot more to be smug over.”

“There’s going to need to be less talking and more…actual penetrating.”

He huffed out a laugh, pained to have to leave her in order to paw through the nightstand drawer for the box of condoms he’d bought the other day.

Making her blush.

He sat on the edge of the bed, opening the box of condoms, retrieving one square from the row. “I lied, you know.”

“About what?”

He turned to her, standing so he could push the boxers off. “When I said I wasn’t buying these for you.”

She rolled her eyes, but even so, her gaze was glued to him as he rolled the condom on.

He wasn’t sure what to say, even if she did want less talking and more…penetration. Shit. Maybe there
was
nothing to say. They’d certainly done their fair share of talking.

He leveraged himself over her. No, he didn’t have the words for this thing, because it was big, and for all her hard-ass proclamations, it required some level of care. Sure, he was bad at that, but he could learn. He wasn’t an overwhelmed kid anymore. Like any skill, it just took practice and the desire to do it.

He certainly had the desire, and he was very willing to practice.

So he lowered his mouth to hers, something gentle, careful, but she grabbed him, guiding him to the hot center of her.

Okay, careful evaporated. He took her bottom lip between his teeth, scraping as he braced himself on one elbow and closed his hand over her breast, brushing his thumb back and forth across her nipple until she made that squeaking noise again…and then he slid inside her and kissed her as she moaned.

He felt like he was being swallowed alive by something he’d never truly understand. Everything about being inside of her, everything about her under him, everything…

“Honey. Mel,” he corrected. Even though she reminded him of the jar of honey he’d bought off that roadside stand on a whim. Warm and smooth, a decadent sweetness brought on by a whole hell of a lot of work.

Her fingertips dug into the backs of his shoulders, her body arching to take him deeper.

He’d ignore the little flicker of an idea that this was somehow different than his norm. That every feeling, every sensation coiled deeper, stronger, longer than it ever had. That this wasn’t just a physical thing, or even just a vague affection-type deal. Something about being with Mel was…

More.

He did not want that. So he focused on her underneath him. The way her palms were rough, but the skin of her arms was smooth. The way the breath of her sigh drifted across his ear like a whisper. A secret just between them. The tight, wet heat of her as he entered and withdrew, keeping his own release at bay as best he could.

Something changed. He had no idea what. Suddenly she was tense, and when he glanced down at her face, she had her eyes squeezed tight like she was bracing herself for a hit she couldn’t avoid.

He stopped, still inside her, trying to figure out what kind of mistake he’d made, what cue he’d misread. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, eyes still squeezed tight. “Nothing.”

“Nothing my ass. What is it?”

“Nothing. Really. This is great. I just…can’t. Or something. I don’t know. It’s me.” She made a waving gesture with her hand. “You go ahead and finish.”

It took him a few seconds to get through the shock of
I just can’t
in this context, and to see past it. “Um, no.”

“No, really, it’s fine. This was great. I just can’t.”

She still had her eyes all screwed shut, and this was…what the hell? No, he was not going to accept that. “Mel, open your eyes.”

She shook her head emphatically. “It’s too embarrassing.”

“Oh, honey.” He brushed the hair off her forehead, fingertips lingering on her cheek when she just barely opened one eye. “You know what you have to do?”

The other eye squinted open. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have this problem.”

“You’re going to have to let go.”

Her eyebrows drew together, truly perplexed, maybe a little irritated. “Let go of
what
?”

But it seemed pretty obvious to him. She carried everything, every second of every day, on her back like a million individual weights. Clouding up her mind, her heart. Even when she wasn’t thinking about it, it was there.

Which meant there was only one answer to her question. “Everything.”

She could only gape at him. Let go of
everything
? What did that even mean? She was here, wasn’t she? Ignoring all her responsibilities and saying “screw you” to the people she was supposed to be watching over? He was
inside
her.

This
was letting go. Orgasming was like that mystery llama—she had no idea where that would even come from. And she’d probably never find out. She thought she’d been so close. The way he’d touched her, kissed her, the way he’d
explored
her…it was like nothing she’d ever experienced.

Feeling him, taking him, it had been everything she’d hoped for, and she’d been so close. But something about that moment just before letting go…it was like every other time. She tensed, she froze, and she just knew…it wasn’t going to happen.

“Look, I… I just don’t think this is going to happen, okay? You should at least get something out of the deal.” Because she wasn’t selfish enough to walk away. He’d tried, so he deserved a reward.

“Something out of the… Look, Mel, you don’t get something out of the deal, neither do I. Those are the rules.”

She moved up onto her elbows and glared at him. “There are no sex rules.”

“There are. A whole book of them. Dan Sharpe’s Rules for Sex. Rule number one: her first.”

“I
can’t
,” she replied through gritted teeth. She refused to be amused by him. This wasn’t funny. He was still inside her! He just needed to understand this was
her
issue. End of story. And she wasn’t going to lay here under him and
talk
about it.

“Okay,” he finally said, and she could tell he wasn’t going to let this go. He had something up his sleeve. “Tell me one thing.”

She sighed and let her head sink back into the pillow. Of course
this
he would apply himself to. Forget getting a truck, but sex, let’s make sure that happens. “Sure, but—”

Before she could finish, his mouth closed over her nipple. “Oh God.” Everything in her mind fizzled to a stop when he did that. The way his tongue teased, tasted. It bowed that need sharp again, and she arched her back to meet him, even knowing how pointless it was.

“Tell me what you want, Mel.”

A different kind of heat filled her face, but not the sexual excitement kind of heat. The deeply ingrained “oh my God, don’t say those kind of words” kind of heat.

Tell him what she wanted? How could she do that? She didn’t know.

Okay, that wasn’t altogether true. She knew, she just…couldn’t say that. Out loud. She couldn’t… Nope. She couldn’t even say no, so she managed a childish nod.

She closed her eyes, because this was supposed to be fun or easy or anything but another hard thing, another thing that didn’t go right. Futility coursed through her, disappointment, and most stupid of all, tears threatened.

Still Dan didn’t move. But he swept the disheveled hair off her forehead and kissed her there, and then her temple. She didn’t want to open her eyes, but he kissed her cheek, her lips. He kept kissing and touching, and the embarrassment and the self-pitying pain got a little lost in the warm, affectionate touches.

She could tell everyone and herself, too, that she’d learned to live without easy affection. She didn’t need it. It was foolish and probably dangerous, the kind of thing that led to relying on someone or believing in someone wholeheartedly.

The kind of thing that led to heartbreak.

That thought alone forced her eyes open, but Dan’s gaze was intent on hers, and she lost her train of thought.

“How about this,” he said, his thumb rubbing circles over her shoulder, green eyes holding hers. Soothing, relaxing. “I’ll guess, and you at least give me an idea if I’m on the right track.”

“I don’t—”

He took her nipple in his mouth again. This time the pressure was more intense, the sensation zinged through her enough she had to grab onto the sheet. How did he
do
that?

“You were saying?”

And he claimed she’d been smiling smugly.

“O-okay, I like that,” she managed, and it wasn’t so bad admitting that. So, she liked it? She was supposed to, wasn’t she? Or he wouldn’t have done it. Or it wouldn’t feel good. So, no, saying “I like that” wasn’t a big deal at all.

“What about this?”

His hand that had been on her shoulder traveled down her side, over her abdomen, tracing her hip bones, and then it dipped to where they met. He withdrew, then slowly thrust deep again, his fingers gently brushing.

It was intense, like nothing else, not even anything she’d ever done to herself. And the orgasm she’d been trying so hard to chase earlier built again. He touched her, listened when she sighed or said “there.” He never made her feel foolish—he stroked each desire, each word with hands, with his mouth on hers.

She was so close to that precipice that always seemed so elusive, but here, with Dan, she could say what she wanted. She could
enjoy
what she wanted. Every time he slid into her, he touched every sensitive spot he could reach, lighting a fire that wouldn’t simply die. Not this time.

There was a brief flash of panic, but he surged deep, and she forgot what she was supposed to be panicking about. Forgot everything except the way the pleasure went sharp, and then warm and luxurious as sudden orgasm pulsated through her.

God, the way he moved, every muscle taut as he seemed to keep his own pleasure at bay, watching their bodies meet as he teased out the last flashes of hers…

She’d never felt this way before. She’d never thought she could.

His mouth curved into a cocky smile at her breathless noise, but then it softened, and he rested his forehead on hers, groaning as he moved deep one last time.

He held her there, and it took a while for things to work around in her brain enough for the reality of the situation to really sink in.

She’d done it. Well, he’d had a lot to do with that, so maybe
they’d
done it.

Ill-advised, sweaty,
orgasmic
sex. And Dan’s arms were around her, holding her close as he shifted to his side. She didn’t burrow in exactly, but neither did she pull away. It couldn’t be too dangerous to enjoy it for a few seconds. The aftershocks of pleasure, the simple fulfillment of someone holding her close.

He kissed the tip of her nose and eased away. “Be right back.” He disappeared into the hall, and she heard the squeak of what she assumed was his bathroom door.

She stared up at the ceiling, trying to pull together a thought through the hazy, lazy warmth enveloping her. She should get out of bed, but the sheets smelled like Dan, and that was kind of nice. To curl up here and wait for him to come back.

And then what?

Her drooping eyes popped open. Yeah, she was not dozing the night away in Dan’s bed. Geez, what was wrong with her? She scrambled out of the bed to find her clothes, except he had piles of crap everywhere, and she didn’t see them in the dim light.

She had to get out of here. This was… Oh, damn it, it had been so much bigger than anything she had begun to anticipate.

She wanted to chalk that up to orgasm, but it was more than that. Some warm, gooey emotion centering in her chest. The kind of emotion that wanted to snuggle into his bed, and breathe the smell of him, and all the things she couldn’t allow herself, because that was not what this was about.

Forgetting not wanting. Doing something irresponsible. Certainly not letting herself dwell.

She’d gotten what she’d come for, no pun intended, and now it was time to get the heck out.

When he returned, unabashedly naked and just so damn gorgeous, it was not fair. Not fair that he could look like that and her brain would grind to a halt.

“Clothes. I can’t find my…clothes,” she said lamely. He might stand there having no qualms about his nakedness, but she felt…weird. Exposed. Like he could see through to that gooey center.

He wrinkled his nose and looked around, then grabbed a lump of fabric from one of his half-opened drawers. “Here, this’ll do for bed.”

He pulled the T-shirt over her head, dressing her as though she were incapable. It should be insulting, but all it did was make the warmth spread, a completely nonsexual ache centering in her chest. It was such a
sweet
gesture. Why did he have to go and be sweet?

She looked down at the logo on the shirt. Some athletic company in Chicago. So far away. The place he’d return to.

She had no doubts about that.

He pulled the band that had already lost half her hair all the way out, raking his fingers through released strands.

“Oh, don’t,” she said, pushing his hands away. “It’s all crinkly from my braid earlier.”

He chuckled, smiling down at her like…something special. “I like it.”

She needed to get out. There were all kinds of alarm bells going off in her head, but they were drowned out by that special feeling.

Had she ever felt special?
You’re not.

Before she could begin to analyze the complications that went along with that thought, he was cupping her face—he did that a lot here, so easily, like his palms belonged on her cheeks, his fingertips belonged in her hair.

He kissed her, light and sweet. No deep, dark meaning, no demanding—it was just nice and comfortable.

Every kiss from Tyler had come to mean something, weighted with something. Always like he was searching for something, and she could never find whatever it was within herself to give to him.

It had become smothering, something to avoid or soldier through because he was a stable partner—and that was what she’d wanted. Kissing had become a chore.

But kissing Dan was like a treat, and maybe that meant affection was okay. Light and easy couldn’t be a sign of something more. Relationships were hard and painful, so the weird feelings weren’t something to worry about, probably, because they came with ease and felt good.

Maybe this meant nothing. Wouldn’t that be nice? Something light and fun and, overall, meaningless. Nothing in her life was all of those things.

So she kissed him back and let him lead her to bed. If this was her rebellion, why not rebel to the fullest?

* * *

He couldn’t imagine any scenario in which Mel would be happy with him for letting her sleep in. After all her lecturing about ranching being something you didn’t get a break from, et cetera, et cetera, she’d probably be pretty pissed he let her sleep while he went to feed and water Mystery Llama.

But he also remembered how desperately she’d said she needed a sleep in, how that would be so damn nice.

So he’d give it to her and incur whatever wrath that provoked. He was pretty sure that was taking care of someone, and it kind of shocked the hell out of him how good that felt. How much more he wanted to do for her. It didn’t feel weighty or complicated, like everything with his family. It felt right.

She deserved that, someone to take care. Lord knew she didn’t let anyone do that if she could help it, so he’d press his advantage while he could.

He jogged up the hill to the llama enclosure—his strange morning routine that he was beginning to enjoy. It wasn’t all that different than getting up and going to the gym, the rink, or for a run.

Prettier view. Fresher air. He missed the ice, the smell of it, the feel of that cool air on his face, but even late June mornings in Montana weren’t too hot.

He walked inside of the enclosure, still not quite trusting this llama’s humor. It’d stopped biting at him, but there was still a off-putting staring thing, the occasional spit. Usually the thing didn’t spit while Dan was trying to feed it, though.

He pitchforked some new hay into the space. Possibly the grass in the newly opened enclosure would be enough food for one, but he still felt like making sure there was new hay each morning.

He pumped new water into the multiple buckets, placing them around the edge of the fence, all the while chattering along. He found the more he talked, the more the llama kept away from him, and despite wanting to grow one llama into a pack of llamas, the thing still unnerved him.

“Wonder if you’ll be nicer if I get you some friends.” He’d read that llamas were herd animals and liked company. The vet who’d come by to check her out had confirmed that. Dan still needed to work a few things out first, but he had a to-do list, some potential breeders, and everything.

He was not a one-trick pony. He could do more than hockey, and if he missed the skating and the thrill of competition, well…

Yeah, he didn’t know what to do about that
well
, so he finished up his chores and headed back to the house. If Mel was still asleep—and he kind of hoped she was—he would make her breakfast.

When he stepped into the house, he was met with silence. He paused for a few seconds to see if he heard any movement, but not a peep.

Pleased, he went to the kitchen and found the pan of eggs he’d forgotten all about last night. Pleased did not begin to cover it.

He wouldn’t wonder what had brought her here, what little thread of control had snapped in her.

Okay, so maybe he wondered a little bit, but it didn’t have to matter. Maybe she’d tell him. Maybe she wouldn’t.

She probably won’t.

He ignored that voice in his head. Maybe if he focused on this whole taking-care thing enough, she’d tell him. Maybe if he got really good at it…

What? What do you hope would come of that?

He wasn’t sure. A mix of unease and hopefulness centered in his gut. He wasn’t sure if the unease was caused by the hopefulness or if they were just dual feelings fighting for prominence.

Either way…he didn’t like it. Didn’t like conflict or indecision or any of it. He wasn’t a five-year-old kid anymore, making it too hard on his parents to stay together. He wasn’t a teenager avoiding his grandparents. He was an adult, and he was going to learn how to do this taking-care thing.

One step at a time.

He focused on washing out the skillet, making a new batch of scrambled eggs, making toast.

When he heard movement in the hallway, he didn’t bother to turn around. “Good morning,” he greeted, forcing himself to sound cheerful. Forcing himself to
feel
the cheer instead of the weirdness in his head.