Authors: Beth D. Carter
Tristan understood her command and met the demands. He bent his knees slightly, getting a better angle, which caused his cock to bump against her sweet spot. Stars exploded behind her eyes. Heather gasped and started bucking wildly.
They strained together, dangling on the edge of a precipice. His breathing was harsh in her ear, and he shuddered first, crying out as he convulsed and poured himself into her. The knowledge that she had caused him to lose control triggered her climax.
As their bodies collapsed, they half slid off the back of the couch. He pulled from her, and immediately their combined juices started flowing down her thighs. Tristan caught her and heaved her warm body next to his. He just stood there for a long moment, holding her.
"Are you going to spend the night?” he asked in a quiet voice.
"No."
He eased back a little to stare into her eyes. She met his gaze, but veiled any hint of emotion she felt. This was just sex. This was all they could ever have. She reached for her panties, jeans, shirt, and bra before marching toward the hallway to find the bathroom.
As she cleaned herself up, her reflection caught her attention. Pale blonde hair, bleached lighter than her normal color, and big hazel eyes that seemed too hard for someone her age. She barely resembled the girl she'd been twenty years ago.
When she returned to the living room, Tristan had his jeans back on and sat at the table drinking a beer. Without another word, she turned and left. She walked back over the dark land, not quite sure what to think. But even if everything else confused her, she did know that sure as the sun rose in the morning, she'd be at Tristan's trailer again.
The next few days proved her theory correct. Every night she would leave the house to find her way to his trailer, where they would push aside everything between them and use each other's bodies to satisfy their insatiable hunger for one another. During the day she kept herself busy by either visiting with her grandfather or watching the ranch hands perform their duties.
So when he left during the day to run some ranch errands and hadn't come home for dinner, the restlessness settled over her once again. She took her usual walk and, without realizing it, had made her way to the stable. Most of the horses watched her, nodding their heads in greeting or snorting their hellos. She could tell it was time to muck out the stalls again from the odor of manure that grew stronger the farther she walked in.
She greeted her little mare with a lump of sugar, petting the pretty horse around the ears. Tristan's bay gelding watched her with dark eyes from his stall, and with a last pat to the mare, she walked over to the other horse and patted the white star on his forehead. He leaned into her caress, the hair flopping over his face and obscuring his eyes. Heather laughed and picked up a brush from a bench. Gently she brushed his hair out.
He must have liked it, because he rested his forehead on her shoulder, his big body shuddering in pleasure. Over and over she ran the brush through his wiry hair, the motion as soothing to her as it was to the big horse.
"This hair is just going to flop in your face again,” she said softly and scratched around his ear. “I have an idea; stay right here."
She sat the brush back down and hurried from the stable. She ran to the house, making her way silently to her room and searching through her luggage until she found what she was looking for. Then she made her way back to the stable, smiling at the greeting the horses gave her.
Tristan's horse watched her with alert eyes. Heather picked up the brush and started the grooming session again.
Heather sat at the breakfast table, drinking her coffee and eating a bagel. Mabel stood at the stove, cooking the usual breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, and whatever else cowboys liked to eat.
"Do you do all the cooking, Mabel?"
"Sure do. I like cooking."
"Why do Tony, Jim, and Duke get to eat here too?"
"Because besides Tristan they're full-timers here; the rest of the hands are contracted to come every day."
"Cool. So you're a cook, an accountant, a nursemaid, and a housekeeper all rolled into one? You're Wonder Woman!"
Mabel chuckled. “I don't know about the housekeeper part. This place is a mess, if you hadn't noticed."
"Yeah, what's up with the nostalgic decor?"
"Lincoln never cared about that kind of stuff. Gloria did, but when she died, he just ignored it all."
"He loved her a lot?"
"Yep. I think one of the reasons why he didn't fight the cancer was because he wanted to be with her and Avery as quickly as possible."
Heather sighed. “I wonder what that's like."
"What?"
"Loving someone."
Heather could feel Mabel's searching glance, but she wasn't brave enough to meet it.
"Heather!” Tristan yelled her name a moment before he marched into the kitchen. He stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, glaring at her.
"What?"
"What did you do to my horse?"
Heather blinked and relaxed, sipping her coffee. “I brushed his hair. He liked it."
"I'm not talking about the brushing. I'm talking about the decoration!"
"Hold up, Tristan,” Mabel said. “What did she do?"
He pointed to the screen door. “Go look."
Mabel wiped her hands and then went to the door. A moment later she started laughing. Heather got up and stood beside her.
Tristan's horse stood there, the reins dangling on the ground, his mane brushed and molded into many braids with ribbons tied around the ends. His bangs had been teased to stand up and were held in place with a bright pink bow.
"See, his hair isn't in his eyes anymore,” Heather explained, very pleased with herself. “He likes being able to see."
The situation only got worse when Duke, Tony, and Jim walked up and got an eyeful of the horse, immediately laughing. Duke actually doubled over, holding his stomach.
"Heather!” Tristan growled. “He's a boy!"
"He's gelded."
"That doesn't make him gay!"
"There's nothing wrong with being gay."
"I didn't say that! Get the fucking ribbons out of his hair!"
"All right, all right,” she said with a huff as she stomped down the steps and up to the horse. He nudged her shoulder as she patted his forehead and untied her handiwork. “By the way, what's his name?"
There was an obvious hesitation on his part, so she turned her head to look at him, one eyebrow arching.
Finally he said, “His name is Dorian."
She didn't say anything; she didn't have to. Tristan swore under his breath and marched over, grabbing the dangling reins. Dorian followed his master meekly, his tail swishing, a pink bow tied at the top.
Duke and Tony collapsed upon each other, laughing so hard that tears streamed down their cheeks.
"That's got to be the funniest thing I've ever seen,” Mabel said, smiling widely.
But Heather wasn't laughing. She stared after Tristan, and her heart hammered against her chest. Unexpected tenderness sluiced through her, an emotion she had long thought dead, spreading warmth throughout her body. She blinked back tears, turning abruptly to march back into the house.
It was just a name, damn it. Why did it make her want to cry?
Damn it! Why hadn't he named his horse something else? A name not associated with her favorite book?
Tristan ran a hand over his face. She was tearing him apart. He wanted her all the time, thought about her all the time. He looked for her whenever she wasn't near and smelled her scent on his skin. She sneaked into his dreams, usually turning them into something wet and wild. He was quickly losing his mind.
And then the obvious hit him, causing him to stumble and stop in horror.
He loved her.
Dear God in heaven. Somehow, some way, she'd wormed her way into his heart.
Fuck!
Tristan came stomping in around dinnertime. He hung up his coat, then slipped out of his boots before entering the kitchen. The few minutes allowed Heather to watch him openly, without having to conceal her feelings.
It wasn't the first time she wished she was a normal woman with uncomplicated feelings. But her baggage included a whole armada of suitcases.
He turned, and Heather immediately focused back on the potatoes she was currently peeling. She had spent all afternoon cutting up a whole grocery store of fresh food. Her fingers were sore and stiff, but she didn't complain. There was something very therapeutic about cutting up vegetables.
Tristan grabbed a beer out of the fridge. He turned to face her as he popped the top. She was acutely aware of his stare though he didn't say a word. By the end of supper, her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. He left immediately after, walking out of the kitchen without so much as a good-night.
Tony, Jim, and Duke left a little while later, so Heather helped Mabel wash dishes and clean up the kitchen. Yet through all the chores, her mind stayed focused on Tristan. It seemed all she did lately was think about him. When did that happen? When Mabel excused herself to go check in on Lincoln, Heather quickly dried her hands and left.
She banged on his screen door until he opened it with force.
"What?” he said with a growl.
"Let me in."
"No."
"Tristan, let me in."
With a sigh, he turned and stalked back inside. She followed, walking up to him, and though she didn't touch him, she felt the coiled tension thrumming through his body. A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw as he regarded her with wary eyes. She swallowed heavily, her heart beating like a hammer. “Tristan, touch me."
She thought he was going to ignore her. She could see in his eyes that he wanted to tell her to get the hell out, but she also felt the threads of desire weaving around them. Ensnaring them. And he was just as helpless to ignore them as she.
With a groan he reached for her, yanking her to his body, folding her back as he took her mouth with a kiss that touched her soul. He mastered her mouth, dominating it, his tongue sweeping inside to twirl with hers. Heather strained against him, feeling his erection, hot and hard for her welcoming warmth.
Tristan took her shoulders and pushed her back until she hit the wall, then he brought her hands up and held on to both of them with one of his.
"What are you doing?” she demanded as she tested the strength of his grip.
"You came to me,” he told her.
She struggled. “Let me go."
He leaned in close, sniffing the fragrance of her hair near her temples. “Don't you trust me?"
He wedged his knee between her legs, causing her breasts to be thrust upward. He bent his head and nuzzled her cleavage.
"Heather?” he prompted, his breath tickling her sensitive skin. “Do you trust me?"
There came a point in every relationship, good or bad, where trust had to be considered. Heather thought back to every moment with Tristan and realized that, yes, she did trust him. She'd trusted him from the moment she met him so long ago.
"Yes,” she replied softly.
He jerked his gaze to hers. Something passed between them, tangible and electric. He took her mouth again with his, the kiss somehow deeper. Emotional. He picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he took her to the bedroom. He practically threw her on his bed, and before she could gather her scattered wits, he was on her, ripping clothes away. His, hers, they all disappeared in moments.
He kissed his way down her body, licking, nipping, making her cry out with pleasure. His hard body pressed against her, branding her. His scent, a blend of sweat, male and wind, filled her senses. She wanted him, wanted everything about him.
Tristan flipped her over, brought her to her hands and knees, positioned himself behind her, and thrust hard, impaling her. Heather cried out at the exquisite feeling as he slid in and out, stuffing her full. Her sex sucked him in deeper as she used her walls to milk his pleasure. She was so wet that a syrupy sound accompanied each thrust.
Eventually her arms collapsed, unable to hold her up any longer, and she fell facedown. Tristan held her ass up by curving one hand around her waist and propping the other on the bed.
"Yes, oh God yes,” she panted. “Harder."
She pushed against him as much as she could, reaching under to flick her own clit against his onslaught.
"Heather!” he said with a groan. “You're so beautiful. So tight. God, I can't last!"
With a loud moan, his climax shot out of him. He stiffened, jerking once, his ragged cry triggering her release.
They collapsed in a pile of sweaty arms and legs. She felt him kiss her tenderly on the top of her head, and emotions she'd never felt before suddenly crashed over her in waves. There were so many, it became difficult to sort through them, to identify all of them. Heather tried reining them in, pushing them away. Not here, not in his arms. She couldn't lose it now.
But her mind no longer controlled her heart, and before she knew it, tears were sliding down her cheeks as words she never thought she'd say came tumbling out of her mouth.
"I was raped."
Heather felt him stiffen, but he didn't pull away. That gave her the courage to soldier on, to open the wound that had been festering for years.
"After I left here, we went back to LA, but things were already deteriorating between my parents. They should never have gotten married, and they most certainly never should've had a kid."
His arms tightened around her, but he didn't say anything.
Heather cleared her throat. “In a typical teenage thought process, I determined that it had to be my fault, that they were both stuck in the awkward situation because of me. So I tried everything to make sure I didn't cause them any problems. But my dad, you know, he was just too immature to be a family man."
"I remember him,” Tristan replied.
"In school I was this nerd who kept to herself, usually reading or drawing.” She shuddered as the memories tumbled forth. “And then
he
asked me to meet him under the bleachers after a game, and I went because I wanted to know what it was like to be popular, to have the captain of the football team like me.” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “No one believed me when I said he raped me. He told everyone I asked for it, that I led him under the bleachers, that I seduced him. They called me a tease and a slut, and he got away with it."