To Love a Wilde (16 page)

It was his own damn fault.

He forced himself to move away from the temptation she presented and went into the bathroom instead. He
closed the door, shed his clothes and turned on the shower.

The room he’d chosen was a large suite, and the bathroom was located far enough from the bedroom area that he knew the sound wouldn’t wake her.

He stepped inside the shower and immediately turned his face into the stinging spray.

It had been pure hell leaving her earlier. And he knew that it wouldn’t have taken much persuasion for him to have her naked and under his body, calling his name as he stroked deep inside her, giving them both what they wanted, what they needed.

The memory of how good she felt wrapped around him, the way her walls clung to him perfectly, the way she moved her hips until neither one of them could walk the next day.

But she’d looked so damn vulnerable, the strain of the day showing on her face.

He grabbed the bar of soap and quickly lathered it over his body, thinking he should have turned the water to cold, anything to make the images of her and what he wanted to do to her sinfully delicious body go the hell away.

Y
asmine woke up out of a light sleep when she heard the shower come on.

She turned toward the clock again, and saw that somehow she must have managed to get some sleep, the illuminated numbers telling her it was almost 1:00 a.m.

She plopped back down on the bed, lost in thought.

Her sleep had been fractured at best, as even in her dreams Holt refused to go away.

She could either lie in bed and try and pretend her body wasn’t on fire, in need of his touch, or she could do something about it.

She made a decision and left the bed.

She was going to do something about it. Her bare feet sank into the plush carpeting as she crossed over to the
bathroom. Before she could lose her nerve, she turned the knob and walked inside.

She came to a standstill just inside the door when she saw his silhouetted form in the shower and her feet carried her as though with a will of their own.

His face was directly in the spray, the water sluicing off his hair and skin, running down over his big body.

Unable to look away, she watched as he grabbed the bar of soap. After getting a good lather, he ran his soapy hands over his body, down his chest and thighs, before he grasped his shaft.

She swallowed, her gaze fixed on his hand, big, cupped around his straining shaft.

He ran his hand over the length of his cock, root to stem, the movements slow, methodical.

He hesitated and the speed of his hand movement gliding along his cock quickened, the motion becoming shorter, faster.

Yasmine felt her body respond to the way he was touching himself. She imagined it was her hand running along the thick ridge, her hand lightly touching the mushroom cap … her tongue …

Holt raised his eyes and met Yasmine’s.

Slowly, keeping his gaze on hers, he casually removed his hand from his cock and turned off the water.

He opened the glass door and stepped out, not bothering to grab the towel draped over the bar to cover himself as he walked toward her.

Her glance fell to his naked shaft, jutting out thick, male. Eager.

She slowly dragged her passion-glazed eyes to meet his.

“Touch it,” he dared her, and her eyes flew to his as her tongue snaked out to moisten her dry lips.

“I … I’d better go,” she said, and he caught her before she spun around. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s not like you haven’t seen it before,” he murmured, his words making her stop.

Her heart raced and her nipples beaded against her silk gown when she felt him approach her.

“You know you want to.” His warm breath fanned the side of her head as he bent close to whisper the words.

Yasmine swallowed.

“Go ahead. Touch it.” The words were a dark challenge, as though he knew she wouldn’t do it. He placed his hands on the tops of her shoulders, moving her body so that she faced him.

She licked her tongue over her mouth a second time, her eyes drawn again to his shaft.

Thick, long, it was flushed a dark rose, straining.

She glanced up at him. The ends of his nostrils were flared, the look of carnal lust brightening his eyes, yet he didn’t move. Didn’t take her hand and place it over that part of him she desperately wanted to feel. To taste. To touch.

She swallowed. Hesitantly her hand reached for him, taking him in her palm and stroking over the velvet skin
of his shaft.

She heard his groan, but continued her soft caress. Her fingers danced over his entire length, tracing over the deep vein that pulsed beneath her fingertips from his base, where his sac tightly nestled against his shaft, to the mushroom tip, and she ran a finger over the small eye, wiping away at the bead of moisture.

“You’re beautiful.” The words escaped without conscious thought.

“Yasmine.” He choked out her name. Seeing the look on his face, the way her touch was affecting him, gave her a surge of feminine power. For her to have such an effect on him was a heady feeling.

She kept her eyes on his as she leaned toward him, planting a kiss over his male nipple. Although she wasn’t experienced in making the first moves, instinct took over, and she mimicked what he’d done to her when they made love.

Her tongue darted out to stroke and lick the nub, drawing it deeply into her mouth and suckling him, much as he’d done to her.

As she kissed and laved him, her hand closed around his shaft, her fingers barely able to circle him. She continued her teasing touches, her hand running up and over his rock-hard shaft.

With a final lick, she ran her tongue down his chest.

“What are you doing?” he rasped, and placed his hand at the back of her head, anchoring her to his chest.

Continuing her path she followed the line of hair in the center of his body, stopping when she came to his
belly button. Bending slightly to better reach him, she struck her tongue inside, smiling against his stomach when she felt his low goan.

The hand in her hair clenched, tightening when her tongue went lower.

“Enough,” he bit out, forcing her to stand.

He lifted her, placing his hands beneath her bottom, and sat her on the bathroom counter. Before she could protest, if she was of a mind to, he had her panties off and on the floor. Crouched low, he glanced up at her.

Slowly, his big hands grasped her by both of her ankles, moving up, past her knees, until they rested on her thighs. Keeping his eyes on hers, he parted her thighs, moved in closer.

She held her breath when his head moved in, expelling on a long breath when she felt the tip of his tongue against her inner thigh, the brush of his mouth against her mound.

“Mmm,” she sighed, releasing the breath slowly, her hands planted on the counter on either side of her.

His fingers dug into her hips as he angled her so that her mound rested firmly against his mouth.

She felt his breath fan against the hairs covering her, and she screamed when he stroked between her crease with one long sweep of his tongue.

With each stroke, he carefully avoided her quivering bud, swirling his tongue around it, beside it, but not taking it inside his mouth. He took his time with her. Savored her as though she were his last meal.

Yasmine glanced down, moaning, her body on fire;

the sight of his dark blond head between her thighs, the feel of him catering to her, was too much. As much as she wanted him to continue his sensual torture, she didn’t know that she could accept much more.

“Oh God, Holt, baby … please … Holt, slow down. I—” Her protest ended on a sharp cry of disbelief when he brought her straining nub into his mouth and bit down lightly on it.

She felt the erotic sting of his kiss all the way to her toes, and her spine arched, her head falling back, as he continued his teasing strokes.

He finally drew her bud deep into his mouth; tugging gently on it, he gave her what she desperately needed.

When her orgasm hit, she grabbed his head, pulling him closer, and screamed her release.

“I can’t wait, baby. I’m sorry, I’ve got to have you.” She heard Holt speak as though from a distance, her body completely boneless. She barely had enough strength to place her hands around his neck when he lifted her from the counter.

She nodded her head weakly against his hard chest, too spent to speak as he carried her out of the bathroom and laid her on the bed.

He reached over, fumbled in the bedside table and withdrew a package before he joined her on the bed. Then he was on the bed, positioning her body so that he lay directly behind her.

“I need you, baby. I need you now.” He growled the words against her neck. “Please tell me you need me, too,” he begged huskily. He reached around her, his
fingers delving between her legs, finding her core and testing her readiness for him, his fingers coming away with proof that she was.

She heard a rip behind her, the rustling of movement and jostling of her body before moments later, she felt the tip of his shaft as he slowly penetrated her from the back.

In one long, hot glide, Holt pushed inside Yasmine’s body, pressing past the slight resistance until he was fully seated.

Once he was all the way in, he stopped, resting his head against the curve of her neck. Her walls clamped so tightly on him he had to grit his teeth and force himself not to move for fear he’d release too soon.

God, she felt so good wrapped around him.

So right.

He held the position for as long as he could.

“Are you ready for me?” He breathed the words against her neck.

She nodded her head, glancing over her shoulder at him.

The light from the bathroom cast a sensual glow over her face, the look in her eyes as she stared at him one of lust, desire … and something more.

He swallowed deeply, gritting his teeth as he felt his shaft grow even harder wedged deep inside her body.

Closing his eyes, he tightened his jaw, his mind fighting against what she made him feel with just one look.

The only thought on his mind was making love to
her. For as long as they had together, he intended to love her as no man ever had, or ever would.

She looked back over her shoulder, the expression on her face a combination of virginal innocence mixed with sultry seductiveness. “What are you waiting for?” she asked, her voice low, throaty.

With a growl, Holt tightened his hold on her and shifted his hips, drawing himself nearly out of her before gliding back in.

Her mewling echoed in the room.

The feel of her walls clamping down on him, molding and adjusting to his length and girth, sent an electric shock of pleasure through his body.

She was his. For as long as he had her, as long as she was at Wyoming Wilde, she belonged to him.

His hands shook as they gripped her hips tighter, plunging into her softness, his pace and depth of stroke quickening as she bucked back against him, grinding her body against his shaft, accepting his body, molding and adjusting to his, as though she’d been made just for him.

With every plunge of his body, she gave back as much, until their seesawing motion began to rock the bed.

She felt so tight, so good wrapped around him, her walls milking him as he delved into her, over and over. Her firm globes slapped in a rhythmic beat against his stomach, her mewling cries growing with every glide and retreat.

A roll of her hips against his body was his undoing.

He felt the beginnings of an orgasm, but he held on. Sweat dripped down from his chest to land on her back.

She arched, slowly, sensually, as though she felt even that smallest of nuances.

God, she was so responsive to him.

Gritting his teeth, Holt lifted her by the waist, rose and moved one of his bent knees so that one foot was flat on the mattress and continued to thrust, realigning their bodies so that with every downward plunge the top of his shaft scraped her straining clitoris.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh …. ” she panted, her voice hoarse. “Holt, baby … Holt, Holt, Holt, Holt, Holt.” She cried out his name, blurring it together as though it were some erotic prayer, over and over, until he felt her body stiffen, her spine arch.

“I’m coming, baby, I—” Her words ended in a scream when he reached between their joined bodies, found her hot nub and pinched. With one last thrust he sent them both over into oblivion, their cries of release echoing, bouncing off the walls, melding into one harmonious cry of satisfaction.

“I remember the first day you came to the ranch.” It was several minutes before Yasmine could muster enough energy to speak. Her body limp, she’d collapsed onto the mattress after her tumultuous release.

She opened drowsy eyes, found herself lying on Holt’s chest and smiled. She didn’t know the last time
she’d felt so … relaxed.

“Oh, you do, do you?” she asked, her voice husky. She cleared her throat, blushing when she realized her voice was so scratchy from all of her yelling. “And what do you remember?”

Although she lay on top of him and was unable to see his face, Yasmine heard the smile come through in Holt’s voice.

“I remember you were wearing a really fancy-looking little dress, complete with black shiny shoes and a hat.” He laughed and she groaned, remembering the outfit and how out of place she’d felt when she’d arrived at the ranch dressed up, the only girl on the ranch filled with men and boys in dirty jeans. She wrinkled her nose.

“I can’t believe you remember that!”

“I do. But mostly I remember the hat. It was pretty,” he said, startling a laugh out of her. “I had never seen a hat like that. If you tell my brothers that, I swear I’ll hunt you down,” he said, laughing with her.

“I won’t,” she promised. “Scout’s honor.” She held up two fingers, making the vow official.

“I remember that day, as well. I remember mostly how afraid I was during the plane trip over.” A reminiscent smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “We flew over the Teton Mountains. And I remember looking down and everything looking so different than what I was used to. When Aunt Lilly came to get me at the airport I remember the ride back and only seeing mountains, flatlands and bush.” She laughed. “She thought I was quiet because I was shy. I was just taking it all in.” She smiled in memory.