Lamplight from one of the nearby buildings illuminated her ass as she stepped out on the porch. “Go ahead,
Jefa
. Keep walking away from me. I like the view.”
THIRTEEN
“You are so beautiful,” the dream-Rosa said.
She
had
to be dreaming because she didn’t speak to men like that, certainly not ones she barely knew. But it was one of those dreams, where she could only watch while her other self did whatever the hell she wanted. And apparently, she wanted Chris Welsh.
But this was fine. Better than fine, actually. She could indulge curiosity here without worrying about how it would affect the balance of power. Falco couldn’t see inside her head and bitch about the fact that he didn’t factor into her wet ones.
So she drank him in. Like a golden cat, Chris sprawled on her sisal mattress, her handwoven blanket covering one lean hip. His belly made her want to trace each ripped muscle with her tongue. God, he was gorgeous. He had the scruffy wildness of a man who knew how to take care of himself. It couldn’t be otherwise if he’d really been out there alone for years.
She felt for him something like tenderness. Perhaps it was the ageless allure of the cowboy, riding the plains alone, so that when he rolled into town with a barely leashed air of violence and blood spilling in his wake, a woman’s pulse quickened. Chris only needed a horse and a battered hat, because he already had the broken-down boots. They lay on her bedroom floor.
“You think I’m beautiful?” he asked with endearing skepticism.
A guy like him must’ve had women crawling all over him before the Change. Even dream-Rosa shook her head in disbelief. An ease existed between them. According to the dream, then, they had been lovers for some time.
“Does that modesty thing really work for you?” she asked.
“Come over here, and I’ll show you how confident I can be.” His low rasp sent shivers through her.
She eased into his arms and was astonished to find how perfectly she fit. Arousal curled into her stomach. Such an unfamiliar response, but it wasn’t their first time together. He wouldn’t be so comfortable in her bed otherwise.
Maybe I’ve been drinking.
That notion matched her blurry feeling as she sank into the moment. It was impossible to remain unmoved when he sat up, muscles rippling in his chest and shoulders. Some men grew weathered and ugly through trial and hardship, but it had molded Chris into a god. The heat of his skin seared hers.
She wished for more than lamplight to study him by. In the morning she would kiss every bit of him as the sunlight spilled through the open archway. Lick the rays of light patterning his body, all laid out for her pleasure. She would make him come again and again, until he was too weak to move, let alone work.
She whispered,
“Mi corazón, mi vida. ‘Te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras, / secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.’ ”
Grinning softly, he offered his translation. “‘I love you as certain dark things are loved, / secretly, between the shadow and the soul.’ Where’s it from?”
“Pablo Neruda.”
“Never heard of him.”
“I’d be surprised if you had.”
But even if he had never read Neruda, he loved books as much as she did. That was more than any other man could offer these days.
“You kill me with poetry in a world like this,” he said. “You’re like a desert flower, all hidden sweetness. The rain brings you to bloom.”
“Are you the rain, then?”
“Maybe. When did you get this one?” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
“Before the Change.”
She’d never told anyone that before. Too many bad memories made up the past, ones of impotence and failure. It did no good to look backward—a direction that would only break her into pieces. So she resolved to enjoy this respite.
“I hate knowing you’ve been hurt . . . but I admire you for being so strong.”
“You’re strong too,” she said, testing his biceps, then working lower. Slowly.
No reason not to go for what she wanted. She liked taking charge because of the times she’d taken no pleasure in sex, pinned down and hurting. Now she felt most comfortable on top, and he showed no sign of minding her preferences.
“Not the sort of strength I meant.
Oh
.”
Rosa leaned in, watching his face as she touched him. She knew exactly how he wanted it, how much pressure, how much friction. Lovely cock, smooth and hard, a glimmer of fluid at the tip that said he was hers. With her other hand, she cupped his balls, thumbing the underside. He tensed his thighs, lifting up.
“You like that, Cristián?” She gave it the Spanish pronunciation, which made him growl. He was hers, right down to what she called him.
“God, I love the way you say my name.”
“
Lo sé
. That’s why I do it.”
He pulled her on top and she lay down to kiss him, her dark hair falling in a silky curtain around them. Rosa seldom let it down, but it was her one vanity in a world where the sensible course would have been to hack it off. Instead she wore it to the middle of her back, using braids and tails to keep it tidy. Right now she was fervently glad she’d never cut it. She was like Salome dropping her seven veils, one by one.
His mouth tasted of agave wine and fierce desire. Chris buried his fingers in her hair and she moaned softly, his tongue stroking hers. The kiss went on forever, sweetness and lust commingled. He already knew she liked little bites on her lower lip and gentle suction.
“
Sí. Perfecto. Más, mi amor.
”
Unlike most men, he knew the importance of those long, languid kisses and the caresses that set her whole body alight. Rosa let her thighs spill to either side of his hips and rocked against him. Bare skin, hot and smooth. He traced his fingers down her spine, stroking. Tingles spiraled through her, her nipples pebbling against his chest. She shifted to nudge his erection against her wetness and rose a little, teasing him. He groaned long and low.
“Mmm.” With a smooth motion, he sat up so she was straddling his lap. He bent his head to her breasts. “So pretty.”
It wasn’t fair how well he knew her body, how quickly he could bring her to boiling. Rosa held his head and floated on the hot, buoyant tide that surged through her each time he licked or bit or nuzzled. She trembled as he sipped at her nipples, perfect delicacy interspersed with the barest edge of teeth. A moan escaped her.
In retaliation she took his earlobe between her teeth and bit gently, then licked. She knew how he felt about hot breath, right there. She whispered, “You want to fuck?”
He jerked in reaction.
Sí
, he liked the dirty talk, and she loved teasing him.
“What do you think?” He eased back in invitation.
“I think you can’t wait to get inside me again. I’m the hottest piece of ass you ever had.” She laughed down at him as he grinned, delighted by his responsiveness and his need.
But it only matched her own. For some reason it felt like forever since she’d touched him. Her memory had fogged, but it didn’t matter. He was here and he wasn’t going anywhere.
Suddenly she couldn’t wait another second.
Rosa reached between their bodies and curled her fingers around his cock. Splendid. She lifted up and his expression of open adoration nearly killed her. Nobody ever looked at her like that. Not at Rosa Cortez. She glided down slowly, taking him so slowly, savoring his delicious skin.
“Ay, sí,”
she whispered.
She loved this angle, when he was so deep inside her. For a moment she held still, just feeling him—the heat and hardness. His heartbeat sounded in her body, the throb unmistakable and sublime. His breath quickened, though they were just joined. No movement yet.
“Ride me.” His hands framed her hips, a slight tremor revealing his urgency.
Another low growl slid out of him as she started the smooth up-and-down glide. The pleasure built in her belly, a heat she’d never known. Not from sex. It sank barbed hooks into her, a passion that ravaged and shook.
She moved faster, nearly overwhelmed by the intensity. Surely they should be slow and easy, playful this time. They’d already slaked the urge once today. Hadn’t they? Rosa wrestled with the sense that she didn’t understand everything, but lost the thread when he shifted and found a sweeter spot. Leaning forward, she blew out a breath and rocked harder.
“You like it fast,” he teased, wrapping his arms about her. “It’s a race, love. Let’s see who can get there first.”
Me,
she thought, arching and stilling on him. The climax surprised her with its long, luxuriant waves, nothing quick or furtive, but endless beauty unfurling like a single perfect rose in a field of thorns. Overwhelmed by a storm of wildness, she bent and took his mouth, savaging him with a teeth-and-tongue claim that drove his orgasm. At the right time, she knew it was possible to make him come with a kiss and a whisper of “Cristián” against his lips. He went with a roar, bowing beneath her, and she savored each pulse.
She lay down on him, in no hurry to disrupt the closeness. Chris held her and stroked her back, soothing away the occasional shiver. Lightly, he dusted kisses on her brow and temples, all sated male beauty. What a gorgeous face, such strong bones and slightly imperfect symmetry. Looking at a man like him made a woman think of babies, simply because he was so fucking lovely. She touched her fingertips to his chest, testing the muscle, and he gave a pleased purr.
A feeling swelled in her, so deep and profound that she had to say the words. It was no longer enough to quote someone else’s lines of adoration.
“Love—”
Sweaty and disoriented, Rosa awoke alone in the predawn light. She panicked, thinking she wasn’t alone. Scrambling to her feet like a scalded cat, she stumbled to the wall, in need of its cool solidity at her back. She traced the whitewashed adobe with a shaking fingertip.
I know this crack. And that one. This is the real world. I’m not crazy.
In the silence she listened for any sign she wasn’t alone, that someone had come in and . . . done things to her in her sleep.
But no, she was fully dressed—though somewhat sticky.
No sounds came from outside, apart from a distant woodpecker and the quiet hum of insects. At times like this she missed music.
It took a long time for her heartbeat to settle.
Means nothing. Just a dream, some echo of how I felt patching him up the other night.
Sí
, she’d enjoyed the feel of his skin more than she expected. Rosa was a sucker for a taut, lean, muscled back, and Chris had one of the finest she’d ever seen—a back made for fingernails. And to be honest, she didn’t think he’d mind some scratch marks. He radiated wildness in the same way as the mountain lions that sometimes came down from the hills. She could never bring herself to shoot them, so the bravos just ran them off.
Eventually, as her heartbeat slowed, she convinced herself it was nothing. Not a big deal. She was a normal woman with normal needs, even if she lived like a nun. So what if a hot guy got her a little worked up in her sleep? Hell, at least she was pretty relaxed.
It was a damn fine dream.
Smiling, she gathered her things so she could head to the communal bath—just a jury-rigged gravity shower, but it served the purpose. She needed to wash away the memory. Indulging in such fantasies at night was one thing, but during the day she had to be in charge. Falco was a good man, but he didn’t see the sense in her carrying the burden alone, and he wanted like hell to take his place beside her. She’d worked too hard to share.
God only knew what the doc would see in her when they met next. As she walked, she tried to perfect her poker face. The memories still wouldn’t let go. That hadn’t been just a sex dream, but something deeper and more profound. That scene had filled her with soft, troubling emotions, and right now, she kind of wanted to shoot him for messing up her head.
Why him?
The question plagued her as she carried her basket of shower things—homemade soap, rough cloth for washing, and a dry towel—toward the bath. At that early hour, she wouldn’t find anyone else around, which was why she preferred to get clean before the rest of the town stirred. Some of the bravos liked to watch, and the women didn’t mind, she guessed, or she would’ve heard about it. But Rosa valued her privacy—the one thing that hadn’t been taken from her. She refused to explain where she had gotten her scars, or that she’d collected many of them before the world went to hell and monsters prowled the dark.
Rosa rounded the corner and stopped short. Chris was already in the shower, eyes closed, his hair sleek and dark. Diamond droplets of water glistened over his tanned skin, and her mouth went dry.
FOURTEEN
Chris couldn’t shake that damn dream.
He scrubbed his scalp, eyes pinched shut, as the image of Rosa riding him sent shock waves down his spine. Lukewarm water skated over his skin, but it was just a tease. Her fingernails had dug deeper, giving him a jolt with each caress. That was what he wanted. A shudder rippled across his shoulders.