Authors: Kimball Lee
“Y-yesssss,” I groan, arching into his touch, ravenous for more, for anything, everything—his fingers, mouth, tongue, cock—HIM, all at once. I’m at the brink so quickly, (how the fuck does he do that?!) my hips jutting forward, crying out as he slides two fingers inside me,
Ohhhh
, it’s too much and not enough, and I’m moving to the rhythm of his fingers, riding a wave that’s ready to crash and carry me away.
“Slow down, beauty,” he says, and his magic fingers are gone and I want to scream but he flips me around on his lap, parts my lips with his tongue and I’m crazily sucking at his lips, my hands clutched in his thick, silky hair, my tongue meeting his, thrusting, twining… divine.
He deepens the kiss as his hands stroke my back, my breasts, rinsing the soap away before he lifts, pushes me up until I’m standing before him, clear water dripping down my body, my sex level with his mouth. My knees nearly buckle then, when I realize what’s coming, his big hands wrap my thighs to hold me steady as he urges my legs apart and his hot tongue lashes my sex. And that’s it, I’m in heaven, I’m lost to feeling, quivering as I spread my legs eagerly without an ounce of shame. I lean forward and rest my hands on his shoulders, our eyes meet and hold, his eyes are fucking blazing as he licks and sucks, tender and rough, magic, exactly like he’d kiss my mouth. His hands cup my ass, fingers digging into my skin and he groans, loud and long, choking out words that push me close, so close—
Sweet, so sweet, I fucking love your sweet, high ass! You feel so good in my hands, and you taste like a fucking miracle! You like that, beauty? You love my mouth or my cock? Tell me what you want, I need to hear it.
I’m quivering, quaking, coming on his lips and begging for his cock. His hands move up to my waist and pull me down hard on his length, water splashes out of the tub in waves and who the fuck cares! He thrusts into me until I’m so, so full, and he’s so, so deep, it’s like I’ve never been this full in my life and he’s mumbling as I ride a spasm and clench down hard on his cock and he’s holding back, jaw clenched, knuckles white as he grips the edge of the tub and I fall against him, my chest heaving as I work to suck in a single breath.
His cock is still rock hard inside me and finally I lift my head and see that he looks strained and miserable.
“What is it?” I ask, summoning the strength to sit up and he groans again, lifts me off his lap and stands up.
“I need a condom, Scarlet, we shouldn’t push it two times in one day. Don’t get out of the bath, I’ll be right back, just hold on, it’s okay,” he says, rising out of the water like a glorious Sea God, and damn, I feel bad for riding his face and his body like an unhinged maniac and he just let me while holding his own raging need in check. “Hey, I’ll be right back, don’t look so shattered, we get to do it all again.”
He ducks into the house and returns with a condom packet, pauses next to the tub and rips it open with his teeth, one hand holding his pulsing erection. I rise to my knees, push his hand aside, grasp the pulsing shaft, and glide my hands up and down while my tongue flicks over the tightly flared crown. He moans, a deep, guttural sound, and thrusts into my mouth instinctively. My tongue circles and swirls, and my cheeks hollow as I suck, until he pulls out panting hard and lifts me up and against him in one swift motion.
“Too close, too good, beauty. I can’t stop,” he mumbles, his lips on my eyelids, my cheek, my mouth, he slides the condom down his cock as my legs circle his waist. He’s wild and rough then, lifting me up and pulling me down hard on his thick length, pounding into me, willing himself to make it last. Then coming so hard and fast it’s like a jolt of heat pouring into me, and I’m right there with him, falling to pieces, gripping his cock, refusing to let go, clawing his back as we shout, our animal sounds rising, brazen and primal, filling the humid air.
My ears are buzzing as I cling to him and how he’s able to stand still and hold me I’ll never understand. The buzzing turns into a whirring, whooshing sound, and an impish grin tugs at the corners of his mouth as I raise my head from his shoulder in time to see a dozen or more cyclists rush past outside on the trail to the creek. We’re in perfect view with the lantern lighting the interior of the porch against the darkening night, and the bicycle riders wave and laugh, and I gasp and cling to him harder.
“Hey Holt, looks like fun!” One of the bikers calls out, and then they all grin and flash a thumbs-up or a peace sign like it’s the most natural thing in the world to see this giant of a man naked and fucking a girl on his porch.
“Hey, y’all! Nice night for a ride,” He calls back, grinning, not the least bit surprised or incensed. “Idiots,” He says when they’re gone, he’s breathing hard against my chest, his arms holding me as if he never intends to let me go. “They pass by here all the time. The trail that cuts through my land leads to the State Park on the other side of the creek, they’ll camp there for the night but they’ll be in agony in the morning. Mosquitos and chiggers love to get inside those fucking tight bike shorts, this is Texas for Christ’s sake, they need to rethink their hobby, or invest in industrial strength bug repellant.”
*
I wake in the morning with a combined feeling that I might possibly suffocate from the weight of Holt’s giant arm and leg thrown over me, and just thrilled to death to be in his bed with him curled around me, holding me in his iron grip. He stirs, loosens his hold on my waist, and turns over, pressing that glorious, hot ass into my belly as he gathers the pillow under his head, mumbles a few incoherent words, and sleeps on. Holt is usually up with the first rays of sunlight, but last night we made up for the time we spent apart—with Holt doing most of the work—and he’s obviously wiped out. I turn on my side to get an optimal view and take this private time to study his body up close and personal.
God
, there really are NO words to describe his ass! It’s perfectly proportioned to his massive body, round and so muscular that it dips in at the sides, which makes my head spin and my brain scream—
This body, this man, belongs to me! He is mine, mine, mine!
I have to reach out and place both my hands on the satiny skin over diamond-hard muscle, feeling his heat, trying to convince myself this is real and not some photo shopped pic from the cover of an erotic novel. Maybe I’m a pervert because I could run my hands over this ass for hours and not get the least bit bored, and it’s real alright, and so damn tight I’m positive I could bounce a quarter off of it. I’m thanking my lucky stars that I used Zumba and spinning classes to take my mind off my bruised feelings and sexual frustration while we were apart. I need to look better than
good
to compare to his mouthwatering physique, not to mention the stamina required for his rough and tumble marathon love making.
My fingers ghost over the faint scars on his back, they’re identical to the ones on his chest, five or six inches long, thin, straight lines. Cuts to the skin that must not have been too deep, but surely painful, none the less. Finally as he begins to stir I lean forward and plant a soft kiss on his neck, then force my hands away and go to the bathroom. I slip on one of his gigantic T-shirts, and even though I’m five-foot-ten, it hangs half way down my thighs. Really, it’s sort of amazing, this T-shirt fits him like a glove, the man is definitely super-sized, every inch of him, and I have a delicious, throbbing ache in my nether region to prove it.
I pop a little gourmet coffee pod into a sleek machine in the vintage-meets-industrial kitchen and at the same time try without any luck to text Gigi. It’s hopeless, cell service is nonexistent on this part of planet Earth. I lay my phone on the polished-concrete counter and examine the box in my other hand. It’s the morning after pill, and I feel a sad little flutter in my heart as I read the directions. What in hell is wrong with me I wonder as I pop the pill out of the protective foil packet? I swallow it with a touch of remorse and a sip of coffee, and walk out onto the back deck. Why does being with Holt make me feel so… domestic? I hardly know him, and it’s like that old Bryan Adams song—I can see my unborn children in his eyes. It’s just too crazy to feel so much so soon…. But then, why do I like it
so
much?
Beyond the deck at the edge of the creek three White-tailed deer lift their heads and fix their huge, soft eyes on me. They don’t spook easily, they’re used to Holt feeding them in the mornings, he tosses dried corn to them as if he were feeding pet chickens. A vegetable garden is planted a few yards away and when I stayed here before I remarked about the rabbits who boldly sat munching the salad greens. He said he actually planted it for the animals enjoyment, not his own. A large part of his ranch is leased to the corporation Traeger’s twin brother runs, and those fields yield acre upon acre of organic produce for
Alice-Anne’s Farm Market’s
. Holt buys his vegetables from them and allows the local wildlife to feast on his own garden.
“Morning,” Holt says, slipping his arms around me from behind and motioning with a tilt of his chin for me to lift my coffee cup to his lips.
“Hi,” I say sinking back against him. “Nice,” I add, and he shakes his head and chuckles as his erection presses into me. “You’re insatiable, I’m insatiable, what are we gonna do about that?”
“I’ll show you,” he says, taking the coffee cup from me and leading me back into the house. His lips cover mine and the look in his eyes is seriously overheated, which can only mean one thing—he’s going to teach me the pleasure of being bound with his silken rope.
“Beauty,” he whispers, his hands tangle in my hair and he crushes my mouth to his, and then the fucking phone rings.
“Fuck,” he shouts and reluctantly reaches for the land line and answers gruffly, “What?!!”
He listens, nods, his forehead furrows, he leans back against the kitchen counter and rubs his hand across the morning stubble on his jaw. “Yeah, it slipped my mind, be there in twenty. Hey, have Lonnie Jim put a saddle on Sugar, would you? And cinch it up good and tight, I’m bringing the most beautiful woman in the world with me and there’ll be hell to pay if she falls off that horse and gets even one tiny bruise.”
I roll my eyes and lift the hem of the T-shirt I’m wearing so he can see the multitude of unintentional bruises his hands have left on my body. He takes one look at his handprints on my skin and the look on his face is breathtaking—raw, hungry, possessive… and just a bit bewildered. For the very first time, Holt Corrigan, former football star, hard-ass (literally) cowboy, and Texas alpha-male extraordinaire—blushes. I can’t help but laugh even as a wave of hot desire shoots through me as shame and confusion cloud his emerald eyes, seriously, doesn’t he realize he’s
big and rough
?
“Sorry if I caused those, I’ll be more careful… I’ll go easier on you from now on,” he says stuffing his hands in the back pockets of his faded jeans as if to stop himself from touching me.
Holy moly! Just the sight of him standing there looking truly apologetic for fucking me so well that I’m ruined for any other man is enough to undo me. Combined with those low-slung jeans and the soft, dark trail of hair that leads from his naval down to that ever-present bulge….
“Don’t you dare,” I say, and my voice is barely more than a raspy whisper. “I’m… extremely fond of every one of these little bruises, and all the other parts you’ve left marked and achy. They make me think of you, of us doing what we do…..”
“Okay, Scarlet, stop right there or we’ll never get out of this house. We need to get dressed and get going, do you have boots you can wear today, just until we buy you a serviceable pair? Can you ride a horse? Do you want to?” He asks, springing into action, he scoops my hand into his and leads me to the bedroom where he deliberately turns his back on the rumpled bed and begins to get dressed.
“I have boots… but I don’t think they’re snake-proof. I’ve never ridden a horse, but how hard can it be?” I say, as I run a brush through my hair and twist the wild waves into two long braids, and then pull on jeans, tank top, socks and boots. He tucks a plaid western shirt into his jeans, buckles his belt, grabs a pair of worn, scarred boots from the closet.
“What’s going on, Holt? Who was on the phone?”
“That was Campbell, don’t know if you’ve met him, he’s Jon-Wylder’s older brother? Anyway, it’s amateur roundup time. Kids from the Lone Star Boys Ranch come to the Corazon Perdido on Sundays and we teach them to ride and rope, feed and groom the horses, shit like that. They’re kids who are battered, abused, abandoned, the State places them at the Boys Ranch for therapy before they transition to foster homes. It’s a good cause and the kids love it, working with animals seems to help them reconnect with… I don’t know, an innate need for kindness toward other living creatures. So, let’s go Annie Oakley,” He laughs, tugging on the two long braids that hang over my shoulders.
He snags a cowboy hat from a hall-tree before we leave, not the nice black hat he wore when I first met him, this one is greyish-tan, sweat stained and infinitely sexy as he settles it on his head and tugs it into place. The color rushes to my cheeks as I watch him perform this small ritual and he laughs and plucks a feminine version from the rack and settles it on my head.
“Whose hat is this?” I ask, reaching up to adjust it and surprised that it’s a good fit. It seems brand new but my gut twists as I imagine other women, the red haired veterinarian or some other filthy, sex-hungry slut, keeping a hat at Holt’s house.
“It’s yours, I was hoping you’d come back with me so I bought it, just in case,” He grins like a big/little boy, plants a sweet kiss on my lips, opens the front door and sweeps an arm toward his truck as if my gilded carriage awaits. “Now let’s go, we need to get a horse and saddle under that pretty ass of yours.”