Smolder (Firefighters of Montana Book 1) (10 page)

“Of course, if you’d like me to do the honors,” he said as he climbed on the bed. “I certainly can.”

Laurel sat up quickly. The idea of him peeling off her clothes was both arousing and terrifying. She needed to keep some control of the situation and his hands on her too soon might not be a good idea. Not if she wanted this to last longer than the storm outside. Reaching down, she pulled her cami up from her midriff and over her head. It was Sam’s turn to haul in a breath. His appreciative nod spurred her on and she kicked off her sleep pants. She was immensely glad she’d worn lace bikini panties today and not the Wonder Woman undies Tyson had insisted she buy to match his.

“Leave them,” Sam growled when she tucked her fingers inside the elastic to pull them off.

Lightning flashed seconds before the thunder shook the barn. Sam didn’t seem to notice as he crawled toward her. She shivered despite the warm heat radiating off his bare skin. And then he did something that caught her completely by surprise—he reached up and gently pulled the elastic band from her hair.

“It’s a mess,” she whispered when he brushed her hair out with his fingers.

“Why must women always complain about their hair?” he murmured. “FYI, it’s not the first thing a guy notices.”

Laurel’s laugh sounded more like a snort. “Not surprised.” She wanted to ask him what he’d first noticed about her but his lips had found the erogenous spot where her neck met her shoulder and she was too busy melting into the bed. Sam’s body covered hers and her hands, tentatively at first, slid along the muscled planes of his back.

“This,” he said when his lips began to nibble at the corners of her mouth.

“This, what?” Laurel was falling into a very nice sensual haze and she was having trouble keeping up with his words.

“This is what I first noticed about you. Your stubborn, outrageous, sexy-as-hell mouth.”

Before Laurel could respond, he’d opened her lips with his and his tongue was ruthlessly dueling with hers. She hated how vulnerable and exposed she was with this man. How he seemed to know what she was thinking. But right now, she loved the things his mouth and his hands were doing to her body to object too much.

His fingers reached beneath her panties to trace her wet seam. She sighed in pleasure and before she knew it, her panties were down around her knees, Sam’s lips kissing a path down her thighs.
Right there,
she wanted to scream as she arched her hips toward him. Ignoring her, he yanked the scrap of lace over her feet and tossed them to the floor before crawling up her body and delving into her mouth again.

Her hands skimmed the dimples on his ass, forcing a moan from deep in the back of Sam’s throat. His reaction empowered Laurel and she trailed her hands up his sides before pushing at his chest in an effort to reverse their positions. Despite the fact he could easily subdue her, Sam let Laurel have her way. He gripped her waist and rolled onto his back, taking her with him. His jaw clenched tightly at the contact with his arousal when she straddled him.

Sam’s hands went immediately to her breasts, cupping them in his palms.

“I might have noticed these second,” he said. “But only because it was a chilly morning.”

She swatted at his wrists. “Figures. But now it’s my turn to explore.”

He looked like he might object, but then his hands settled at her hips where his fingers gently traced circles on the tender skin there.

“Do your best.” His amber eyes were amused despite the challenge.

She sensed the well-contained power beneath the surface of his body and she knew he would only let her have the reins for so long. It had been an eternity since she’d had a sexy man beneath her thighs and she intended to take full advantage of the situation.

Leaning over him, Laurel breathed in his musky smell when her lips traced the rounded muscle on his shoulder. Her hair trailed along his skin as her mouth made its way toward his sternum and lower toward their target of the dark nipples on his chest. She scraped her teeth over the first one, already tight with desire, and his cock nudged enticingly against her inner thigh. Desire, fierce and hot, shot to her core and her hands shook slightly when she took him in her fingers.

Sam’s eyes slammed shut and he let out a hiss of pleasure as she stroked the velvet skin repeatedly between her palms. The pressure from his fingertips against her skin increased and she rocked her hips over him. His fingers were sliding between her entrance in an instant and she moaned at the pleasure of it, all the while gripping him more tightly. He swore violently when her breathing fractured and her body began to tremble.

“Come here,” he commanded, pulling her hands away from his hard length before grabbing her hips and guiding her forward so that she was seated just above his mouth.

“Oh.” Laurel moaned when his tongue delved into the spot where his fingers had just been. She wrapped her hands around the cool metal headboard to keep her knees from buckling from the sheer pleasure that was coursing through her body. Thunder roared overhead while Sam’s relentless mouth banked up an internal storm within Laurel. Her climax overtook her gradually, like a slow rain after a lengthy drought, until she finally came in a powerful wave of heat, a thousand pinpoints of lights descending behind her eyelids. She threw back her head in relief, calling out Sam’s name like a hallelujah chorus.

His lips were kissing the inside of her thighs and his fingers were kneading her butt when Laurel came back to earth. She rocked back onto her heels and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she murmured against Sam’s mouth, her hands reaching for his erection. “Thank you very, very much.”

He laughed, the rich sound of it melting Laurel a little bit more, before he quickly sobered again. “No,” he said when her hand wrapped around him. His heart was hammering beneath the other palm Laurel had flat on his chest. “No more playing. Now we get to the good stuff.”

“That last part was pretty damn good.”

“This part will be better than damn good,” he said just before executing a move that had her breathless beneath him.

“You must be very fluid with a parachute.” She traced a finger over his chest, trying not to let the sensual fog lift so she’d be thinking about Sam jumping out of airplanes—into fires.

His eyes locked with hers. “Put the condom on me,” he demanded. “That’s all I want you thinking about right now.”

She did what he asked, still in awe of the way he could read her mind. But then he was slowly pushing into her tight body and she lost all coherent thought except for the intimate feel of him inside of her. Lowering her lashes so he wouldn’t gain any more access to her emotions, she drew him in deeper, letting the heat unfurl in her belly again.

“That’s a girl,” he murmured next to her ear. “You feel so damn good.”

He began to move, slowly, almost reverently at first. But Laurel’s insides were on fire again and her hips refused to stay still beneath his hot, heavy weight. She nipped at his shoulder. Message received, he picked up the pace as Laurel strained to meet his every move. Wrapping her legs behind his back to give him better access to her core, she cried out when he thrust against her. Her fingernails dug into the muscles of his back, slick from their exertion, as her head thrashed from side to side. Sam kept up the pace, all the while whispering lusty words of encouragement in her ear. This time, her climax came in a powerful wave, blinding her with its intensity. Sam stilled above her, poised on outstretched arms that shook slightly as he watched her shatter. Time stopped for a moment. Then his mouth found hers and she melted into him. Laurel rocked her hips and squeezed him tightly until he came in a rush, her name tumbling from his lips in a low growl.

S
am woke with
a start as something cold and wet nudged his chin. He caught a whiff of kibble and realized disappointedly that it wasn’t Laurel in the bed beside him.

“Down boy,” he commanded both his hard-on and the terrier nuzzling his face.

He cracked open an eyelid. Bright sunlight was streaming in from the high window behind him and Sam had to squint against the pain of it to read the clock on the night stand. Ten-thirty. Slowly, he turned his head toward the hot breath fanning his face. Oreo was indeed lying down, but with his head on his paws and his butt in the air, he looked as if he was likely to spring at Sam any minute.

“Down.”

With a frustrated whimper, Oreo settled into the pillow. Sam slowly stretched his weary body. Just as he suspected, Laurel was as impulsive in bed as she was out of it. A slow grin spread over his face just thinking about the things she’d done to him—and he’d done to her—last night. One part of him was up for doing it all over again, but Sam wasn’t sure precisely where they stood this morning. Her side of the bed was cold, which meant she was long gone. But she had promised him breakfast and Sam knew exactly how he wanted to break his fast.

Climbing out of bed, he snatched up his clothes off the floor. A framed picture on the wall caught his eye and he paused to study it more closely. It was a charcoal drawing of a landscape that looked a lot like the ranch. Next to it was a stunning painting of a horse racing through the valley. The colors and details were so vivid it looked like a photograph. A black and white sketch of a laughing Tyson sat in a frame on the nightstand. Sam picked it up, carefully scanning the portrait for the initials that were in the corners of the other artwork decorating the room—LEK.

He smiled in wonderment. Laurel was an artist. A good one if he was any judge. That certainly fit her impetuous personality more than a bean counter. It seemed Laurel was quashing more of her true self than he thought.

Oreo was snoring contentedly when Sam made his way to the large, modern bathroom. The room featured a double vanity, a spacious walk-in shower and a vintage claw-foot tub. His junk grew tight just thinking of how he’d bent Laurel over that tub hours earlier. Reaching into the shower, he turned the water to cold. He was going to need it.

When he emerged fifteen minutes later, Laurel was in the kitchen rummaging through the cabinets. She was dressed in her riding uniform of ass-hugging jeans, a bright western shirt, and cowboy boots.

“Hi.” There was a wary tone to her voice. Sam hoped like hell it wasn’t regret.

“Morning.” He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her and kissing the look of uncertainty off her face. Oreo trotted over and sat on Sam’s boot.

“Oreo hates strangers. What did you do to him?”

The little dog was gazing up at Sam expectantly while its stumpy tail swished back and forth.

“I’m sure he just misses Tyson,” Sam said.

Laurel reached down and patted the dog. “He’s having fun without us, little buddy.”

The wistful way she said it made something catch in Sam’s chest. “How long will Tyson be away?”

“Five days.” Her lips trembled before settling into a tenuous smile, as though she was trying to convince herself five days wasn’t an eternity.

“Does he spend a lot of time with his dad?”

“They see each other a few times a year,” she said. “But Bryce usually comes here. This is the longest I’ve ever been away from Tyson and, to be honest, I’m not handling it well.”

While Sam was relieved her anxiety wasn’t morning-after regret, her words stunned him. What father would only see his son “a few times a year”?

“Come here.” Sam wrapped his arms around her. He brushed his lips over the soft hair on top of her head and she relaxed against him. “He’ll be home before you know it.”

“I know. And I keep telling myself that it isn’t fair that I have Tyson all to myself every day.”

Sam wasn’t sure he saw the situation the same way Laurel did. In his opinion, it wasn’t fair that she should have all the responsibility of raising her son. Bryce Johnson had gone on with his life, gallivanting all over the world and chasing his dreams while Laurel shouldered the day-to-day burden of caring for Tyson. Based on the artwork in the loft, he suspected she’d given up her own dreams, likely blaming herself for the unplanned pregnancy.

“You’ve done a great job with him,” he reassured her. “He’s a cute kid.”

Her smile was beaming when she leaned back, her arms still draped around Sam’s waist. “Why thank you, Captain Cowboy. Keep up the sweet talk and you’ll definitely get lucky again.” She stretched up on her toes and kissed him soundly.

He slid his hands down to cup her ass, bringing her in contact with the part of him that wanted to do all the talking.

Her sigh was lusty, but she pulled out of his embrace. “I promised you breakfast. Breakfast
food
,” she said with a cheeky grin as though she’d read his mind. “Unfortunately, I hadn’t counted on company so our selection is limited to Pop Tarts or Special K. I could go over to my parents’ house and raid their fridge if you want something a little more sustentative.” She arched an eyebrow in question.

“Only if you don’t have the brown sugar cinnamon Pop Tarts.”

She smiled broadly again, waving a box in front of him. “Tyson’s favorite.”

Laurel made him a cup of coffee as they munched on their food and chatted about everything and nothing at the same time. The wistful look that had been dragging her mouth down at the corners was gone. Sam told her about his sisters, their children, and his parents, now retired in North Carolina. Laurel laughed as she shared humorous stories of her childhood, her mom’s tenure as mayor of Glacier Creek and her days as a champion rider.

“Why did you stop competing?” Sam asked.

She shrugged. “Horses were always my parents’ passion. I loved my competition days—especially because they took me out of Montana—but I had different passions I wanted to pursue.”

“Like art?” Sam took a sip from his coffee mug.

“Kind of hard for you not to notice, huh?” She shook her head in exasperation. “My mom ran out of room in her house so she put several pieces in here.”

“I’m sure she’s proud of you. And she should be. You’re very talented.”

Most women would have blushed at the compliment, but Laurel accepted it as her due. “Thanks. My art professors still bug me to take it up again, but ‘Starving Artist’ doesn’t go hand in hand with motherhood.” She shrugged again. “Maybe when Tyson gets older.”