Sam’s Creed (25 page)

“Let me hear that again, duchess.”

She shook her head, not sure she could survive.

His “Yes” brooked no resistance. Neither did the brush of his chin, across the tip, nor the heat of his mouth, the swirl of his tongue, the glide of his teeth up the taut stretch of her nipple. He got his cry and more as she arched into his caress, pleasure ripping through her as he spread his palm underneath her shoulder blades, supporting her, taking more and more of her weight as he sucked and nipped at her nipple. His hand worked between her legs and then he stopped, the only stimulation on her ultrasensitive flesh his low, “Look at me.”

She did, because he ordered it. Did because the way his finger tapped her clit promised a reward she desperately wanted. His gaze was hot on hers, very involved with her pleasure. Very involved with her. “Whose mouth is on your breasts?”

A soft nip, a delicate sting, and her voice lost its power. “Yours.”

“Whose hand is cupping this sweet pussy?” A stroke of his thumb emphasized his point.

“Yours.”

Blunt-tipped fingers curled into the well of her pussy, pressing but not entering. The rough pad of his thumb hovered on her clit, promising but not delivering and his breath blew across the aching point of her nipple, teasing but not easing, while his eyes burned with an intensity that seared deeper than lust.

His thumb circled her clit, sending the pleasure burning through her body in a shocking arc that jerked her spine taut. His chin grazed her nipple, the pinpricks from his beard ricocheting the sensation back down to her pussy where the slow steady intrusion of his fingers parted her muscles with relentless demand.

“And who do you come for, duchess?”

“You. Only you.”

“Then come for me, Bella,” he ordered in a voice aching with tenderness. “Just me.”

She expected violence, force, the rough edge of his passion, but instead he gave her easy thrusts, soft swirls and delicate suction. And love. So much love, the kind that understood and healed. The only kind that mattered. “Now.”

And she came for him with the same devastating tenderness with which he milked the response from her body, sobbing his name, holding on to him as her body drifted over the precipice, trusting him to catch her, to hold her. Because this was Sam. The only man who could ever touch her. The only man’s touch she would hold to her heart. The only man who mattered.

When the last pulse faded from her womb, he was still holding her. His touch was soothing in direct contrast to the urgency she could feel humming under his skin. His fingers grazed the side of her neck with infinite tenderness. “Now, that was nice.”

“Yes, it was.” The river still rippled in the background. Birds still chirped in the trees and clouds still drifted across the sky. There was no going back. Not anymore. She was Sam’s woman. She opened her palm across his chest, disliking the cotton of his shirt which kept her from his skin. It was a good thing to be, even if it complicated things. “Can we stay here forever?”

“If forever is the next four hours, yes.”

She smiled. “Always you joke.”

The blanket tugged as he rolled on his side. “And always you laugh, so I think that works out fine.”

Lines of strain hovered around his eyes and mouth. He still had not recovered from his injury. “You have been doing too much around the ranch.”

“There’s a lot to do in a place this size.”

“Zacharias speaks very highly of you and Tucker.”

“Your father hired good men.”

“They are not hired like you think.”

“I know. Zach explained his family has been in service to yours for a century.”

“It is our way to bind our futures.”

“I’m not saying it’s bad, just different.”

She bit her lip. “It will be hard on them when I leave.”

They had been dancing around this subject for a week, ever since her mother made it clear that she expected Sam to take over as
El Montoya.

“I told your mother and I told Zach, I’m Hell’s Eight. My loyalty is there.”

“Could you not be Hell’s Eight here?”

“It’s not the same, Bella.”

The depth of his frown spoke of his conflict. Sam could be happy here, she knew this, but in his mind he did not have a reason to stay. He did not have something that made it all right for him to make his own place away from the men with whom he had always ridden. In his mind the ranch was hers and for him to stay as
el patron
was assuming a role that wasn’t his.

“I do not understand if what is yours is mine why what is mine does not become yours.”

“Because a man supports his wife, not the other way around.”

Ah, pride. This she understood. She let her hand drop to the hot bulge of his cock trapped within his pants. “You are man enough to support me wherever we are and still be Hell’s Eight, my Sam.”

She rubbed her fingers over his shaft in the short teasing caress that drove him wild, the roughness of the material caught on her skin in a provocative invitation to take it away. It would be so easy to slip the buttons from their holes, free his flesh, maybe make him as vulnerable as she felt.

The muscles in his thighs flexed, pushing against her forearm. Well, maybe not that vulnerable. Vulnerable was not a word that went with Sam, but maybe just a little less alone. She drew a figure eight on his flesh, smiled when his powerful body jerked and his nostrils flared. His hand caught hers and he knelt beside her, his hands on her lapels spreading her shirt. “We can argue about this later.”

“Can we not just agree you are
El Montoya
now?”

His smile made every nerve ending leap to life with the promise it contained. “No, we cannot. Sit up.”

She scooted onto her knees as he slid her shirt down her arms. The sleeves caught on her wrists, locking her arms behind her. He didn’t immediately remove them, his gaze locked on her bound state, the thrust of her breasts. “Now, that’s a pretty sight.”

Alarm and passion flared with equal strength. Embarrassment was forced to take third place.

His hand under her elbow steadied her as he ordered, “Stand up.”

She did, blushing more as the sun’s warmth struck her breasts, very conscious how her corset pushed them up. “Anyone can see.”

“All you need to focus on is that I want to see.”

It was amazingly easy to do that.

He pulled her two steps forward until she was fully in the sun, supporting her weight when she stumbled, letting her go when she regained her balance. His hand left her arm and two seconds later was tugging her skirts off her hips. The chill that raced over her skin had noting to do with temperature and everything to do with the conflicting emotions raging within. Fear, embarrassment, anticipation, desire. The last time she had been naked before a man had been Tejala.

She leaned against him as he pulled her right shoe off. “What are you doing?”

“Undressing you.”

She rolled her eyes. “If you untied my hands I could help.”

“I’ve got it under control.”

So he did. The left shoe came off. Three tugs and two “lift ups” and all she was clothed in was warm air and sunlight.

Sam sat back on his heels, his eyes burning hotter than a touch as they roamed first up and then down, and then up again before stopping at her core.

His tongue passed over his lips. The implication was as good as a touch. Her hips jerked as her clit throbbed and her womb clamped. Sam’s low laugh wove through the moment, adding to the illusion of touch. He reached out. It seemed to take forever for his finger to reach her, and when it did the touch was too light. A mere teasing trace of her labia.

His brow arched in inquiry. “Hungry, duchess?”

She swallowed and nodded.

“And you want to please me?”

Pressure from the back of his fingers separated her thighs. She nodded again. The breeze whispered over her flesh. She shivered. His gaze sharpened. His eyes narrowed. His finger dipped lower. “I like you like this, bound and poised, ready for whatever I decide.”

His finger slipped between the inner lips of her pussy, pushing inward and upward, circling the well of her vagina still too light. Still too knowing.

She swallowed back her whimper and squared her shoulders. She could take this.

“Oh yeah, thrust those pretty breasts out.”

His finger entered, hooked on her pubic bone, pressing against a spot that seared with sensation. This time she couldn’t help her cry.

“Come here.” She went, three steps stretching into eternity as the movement rubbed his finger against that bundle of nerves that hurtled her toward another climax. When she straddled his knees, her pussy level with his mouth, Sam slipped his fingers free. Her pussy clenched around the devastating loss. Cream wept from her body as her knees buckled. He caught her hips in his big hands, holding her in position.

“Not yet.”

“Yes.”

His grip on her rear tightened. His “No” blew across her clit and it dawned on her that this position also had possibilities. She held still, not daring to breathe as he leaned in, the red of his tongue a fleeting glimpse before he got too close to see anything. But she could feel. The heat of his mouth, the moisture of his breath. The slightly rough, featherlight rasp of his tongue over her clit.

“Stand up straight.”

The order didn’t process at first. Neither did the sharp sting on her ass but then the heat of the spank burned through her haze, gaining her attention. The sting of the next sent strength through her knees. “Come closer.”

She looked down. How much closer could she get? She shuffled forward a few steps. Sam leaned in and she discovered how snugly his tongue fit the crease in her mound. The slightly rough surface flowed over the smooth tip of her clit in a heartbreaking prelude before withdrawing. The brush of his lips on her inner lips was exquisite. The kiss he placed there tender.

“I’m feeling lazy, duchess. So I’m just going to sit here and enjoy your sighs and taste while you find your pleasure.”

“Sam, I can’t hold back.”

His laugh teased. “I’m not asking you to hold back, I want you screaming but I also want you to do the work.”

“I do not understand.”

The tip of his tongue flicked her. “Work yourself on my tongue, baby, until you come. And don’t hold back. Let me hear every whimper.” He flicked her again with a stinging whip of sensation. “Every sigh. Every gasp. They’re mine and I want them.”

This time when his tongue came out, it stayed, firm and soft against her clit. She didn’t have to move much to find the pleasure. Just a pulse of her hips, a bend of her knees as she was riding her way to bliss. More. She needed more something. She pulled him harder against her as the agony spiked to an unrelenting demand. To move. To cry out. To give him what he wanted.

His fingers dug into her buttocks, drawing her harder against him when the ability to hold herself upright collapsed beneath need. And still she couldn’t come, couldn’t climb over the ledge to the place he wanted. She needed and she needed but she couldn’t achieve. She yanked on his hair. “Sam. Please. Please.”

At first, she did not think he was going to answer her plea, but then his grip tightened and she was yanked forward. He nuzzled his face between her legs and caught her clit between his teeth as he sucked and lashed, giving her the edge she needed to cling to, giving her a wave to ride until she was no longer climbing but hurtling over into the sun, searing her inside and out as she bucked and fought, unable to get away, forced to take her pleasure as he willed it. And he willed her so much. Too much for one woman to withstand. She exploded with a scream, collapsing into Sam’s hold, giving him the responsibility for anchoring her as her climax ripped reality away.

Damn, she was something, Sam thought, laving her clit gently as her pussy spasmed, prolonging the moment for her as long as he could. When the last quiver rippled through her damp folds, he stood, her taste on his tongue, her scent in his nostrils, his cock pounding to the rhythm of Bella’s rapid breaths.

She collapsed against his chest, murmuring a protest as he lifted her up, twisting in his arms as the wind blew over her swollen flesh. He carried her over to the sunlit boulder, stripping the rest of her clothes from her while she quivered in the aftermath of her pleasure. A simple push of his hand had her rolling over on the rock, her hands still bound behind her. He brushed the hair back from her cheek. Her face was flushed, her eyes drowsy, her legs splayed and limp, a wanton invitation to his desire.

He covered her body with his, bringing his chest down over her slender back. “Duchess?”

“¿Qué?”

The airy little question was barely audible.

“I’m going to make you mine now.”

“I have always been yours.”

Yes, she had. “But since you seemed to forget that, we’ll just call this a refresher.”

He brought his cock in alignment with the soft, wet heat of her pussy, letting it drop into the well. The red swollen flesh welcomed his eagerly, conforming to the broad helmet of his cock with a lover’s thoroughness, wrapping around and holding him as he settled into the shallow well. His cock looked huge against her delicate flesh, appearing almost brutally big against the lush folds. She whimpered. Her pussy twitched. Tension entered her muscles. He stroked his fingertips down her spine.

“Trust me, duchess.”

She took a shuddering breath. And then muscle by muscle relaxed. He pressed in. She took him as she always did with a feminine surrender that went deeper than the physical. Deeper than she wanted to accept, but she took him. He kept going, not pulling out, filling her with a steady pressure. “That’s it, Bella. Just relax and let me in.”

“You’re so—” her breath caught “—so big.”

“And you like that.”

Her lips slid between her teeth. The flush on her cheek deepened as muscle gave and she took another inch. Her “yes” came out on a groan.

“You almost have all of me.”

Her hands clenched to fists.

“Almost?”

He couldn’t blame her for the high squeak. He was bound to feel bigger to her this way. “Just a little more.”