Chapter Seven
She could taste the salty sweetness of his lips, and a hint of coffee, as if he’d been drinking it on the road. His tongue invaded her mouth without waiting for an invitation, though he likely assumed her moan was one.
Close enough.
He wrapped his hand around her ponytail and tugged so her neck was arched back, exposing her throat. “God, you are sweet,” he murmured against her skin. “I don’t think I’ve tasted anything better.”
Sweet was so not a word used to describe Jo Tallen. At least not usually. Sassy, sometimes sexy, if she played it right, sarcastic for sure. But sweet? New territory.
“Okay, cowboy. Take me to bed.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He shifted and put his arms under her knees, as if he were about to lift her up. Everything girly and completely illogical in her sighed with delight . . . though she would go to her grave denying it. But then he stood again and winced. “Sorry, darling. I had these big dreams of sweeping you off your feet and carrying you in there, all movie-style like.”
“I can get behind that.”
“Except I sort of wrenched my back at the event this weekend and the only thing worse than not being able to carry out this little fantasy of mine is the thought that I might drop you.”
“Oh.” Hmm. “Good point. Well then.” Lemons into lemonade. She stepped to the side, out of reach, and pulled her polo top over her head, letting it drop to the floor. She crooked one finger and walked backwards toward the bedroom. “Follow me, if you please. No heavy lifting required.”
He snorted. “Like you’d be heavy.”
As a woman who would never be thin, Jo appreciated the comment. “You can try the he-man thing another time, when you’re less broken.” Suddenly, she stopped. “Should you even be . . .”
He waited for her to continue, but she just jerked a thumb to the bed instead of saying it. “Oh, hell no. There is no way I’m about to miss out on this again.” He growled and pounced on her, half-pushing, half-pulling her over the threshold of her bedroom. “Hell if I’m letting you escape.”
Before she could say a word or crack another joke, he had her bra off. How did he do that? The practical, beige number designed to keep her too-ample breasts in place while running her ass off behind the bar dropped to the floor unnoticed.
At least he didn’t dwell on the industrial strength underwire. So not sexy.
Trace’s hands were cupping her breasts, pushing them together, testing the weight of each one individually. Learning her body, her shape. Would he be a total breast man, or more interested in her legs? In her experience, men tended to be one or the other.
She had her answer when he leaned down to kiss the swell of one breast. “These are definitely being hidden beneath that black shirt you wear every day.”
“The health inspector warned me to stop serving drinks with my shirt off,” she said, biting back a moan when he took one nipple in his mouth and sucked. “Something about health code violations or whatever.”
“I won’t argue. If no other man knows what he’s missing, then I don’t have to share.”
“I don’t share, period.” Might as well get that out of the way now. “When I go to bed with a man, he’s it . . . until he’s not.”
He looked at her, warm mouth abandoning her breast. The now-wet skin peaked and tightened in the cooler air until she wanted to beg him to go back at it.
“I’m not looking to just fuck and run, Jo. I’m not starting a harem.”
He looked so offended at the thought, she had to laugh. “I didn’t say you were. Just telling you how I play. I’m a one-on-one kind of girl. And I expect the same from whoever I’m with.”
“I’ll try to keep my horny pants at home, unless I’m with you,” he said dryly. He started to head for her other breast, but she needed to get it out of the way now.
“And you have to wear a condom. Always.”
One brow raised. “Okay . . . any other rules?”
“I don’t like gossip.” Not anymore.
“Not a fan of it myself,” he agreed easily.
“Just saying, I don’t want to get into work tomorrow and have everyone I serve a beer to ask how you were in bed the night before. I don’t want people thinking we’re, like, together or whatever. . . .” she finished, wondering how she could have screwed that up so badly.
A thundercloud of anger crossed over his face. “So, I’m good enough to fuck in secret. Just as long as nobody knows, right?”
“No!” She replayed what he’d said. “Yes? Hold on, I’m confused.” She stepped back, out of his reach, so his touch couldn’t distract her more. “It’s not you. It’s anyone I’m with. I just don’t like the thought of anyone talking about who I’m with, or not with, or what I’m doing with my personal life.” She took a breath.
“I’m not used to the small-town thing yet. I’m used to nobody caring what everyone does with everyone else, and being anonymous. Now that that’s not an option, I want to keep things private.”
He nodded slowly. “All right. Since I feel likewise, I don’t see a problem. Now, can we pick up where we left off?” He stared at her chest meaningfully.
“Good enough for me,” she chirped, and was rewarded with a long, possessive kiss. When he broke free, she could barely open her eyes again. “God, you’re good at that.”
“Let’s see how many times we can get you to say that exact same sentence tonight.”
The prospect had her shivering.
Perfect. She was perfect. Every dream of the ideal woman was plowed over by the sight of Jo standing there, defiant as she casually laid out the rules of their affair, her chin jutting out like she was prepared to take on the world. Without a shirt on.
Her breasts were a handful, maybe more. That torture device she wore clearly kept those babies under wraps at work, and he couldn’t blame her. But now they hung free, heavy, red wine-colored nipples puckered, waiting for his touch. And he was more than willing to give them all the attention they desired.
“You have the prettiest breasts I think I’ve ever seen.” He said it softly, then mentally winced. Probably not what a woman wanted to hear.
But Jo smiled brightly. “Why thanks. I grew them myself.” She cupped one breast in each hand, the soft flesh spilling up invitingly. “You should come back here and tell them yourself.”
“Gladly.” She was short enough—or he was tall enough—that standing while attending to her homegrown breasts was difficult. After a split-second decision, he went down to one knee, biting back a wince at the soreness from his fall. Like hell would he let Lad’s bad attitude ruin this for him.
The pain subsided quickly when he nuzzled against the soft skin of her cleavage. She moaned and gripped the back of his head, guiding him to one rosy, gathered tip. He sucked it into his mouth, smiling as she tightened her hold at the back of his head. Her breasts were responsive, just as he’d hoped. And Jo wasn’t intent on letting him just run the show himself. No, when she felt she’d had enough on one side, she cupped her other breast and rubbed it along the side of his jaw, silently directing him.
He wasn’t averse to a woman leading things in bed. Not if it got them both to where they wanted. And if Jo was ready to show him what she needed? He’d give it to her without hesitation. He moved to the other breast, nibbling the skin around her pointed tip, drawing it out before finally taking her into his mouth to use his tongue and teeth to tease more.
“You’re good at this,” she said on a breath. Her fingers ran through his hair, scratching his scalp a little.
“No use in being bad.” He kissed his way down to her stomach, pausing a moment to examine the little silver bar with a dangling star hanging from her belly button. “This makes seven.”
“Seven what?”
“Piercings. Four in one ear, two in the other, and this little guy here.” He traced the bar with his tongue, wiggling it a little with his teeth. “Any more to find?”
She looked down at him and grinned. “There’s only one way to find out.”
“Guess I’ve got some exploring to do.” With hands that nearly shook with anticipation, he started to undo the button of her jeans. “Why a star?”
“Would you believe it’s a reminder to always shoot for the stars?”
The wry tone in her voice made him laugh. “For you? Not a chance in hell.”
“You’re right. Too cliché. Really, it was a gift from a friend. I have another one around here somewhere, a plainer one that I like better. I lost the bottom ball so I can’t wear it. And Marshall isn’t exactly teeming with body piercing stores to get a replacement.”
“That it’s not.” He finally managed to slip the button from its hole, then went after the zipper. It rasped down slowly and he wondered for just a moment what kind of underwear she would be wearing.
Would her panties match her bra, simple and serviceable? Maybe she went wild on the bottom and had something completely sexy.
He wasn’t expecting to find smiley faces grinning at him when he parted the denim and pulled it down.
“Don’t worry, be happy?”
She laughed. “I’m not really into lace or G-strings. So I like to have fun with them.”
“I’m all for it.” He pulled down her jeans to her knees, then realized his own knee was starting to ache like a son of a bitch. If he didn’t change positions soon, he’d struggle to get up. Nothing was sexier than stiff joints. “How about we shift this program to the bed?”
“Luckily, I happen to have one mere steps away.” She shuffle-slid over until she could sit on the edge of the queen-size mattress and started to take her simple black shoes off. Shoes she probably wore because they were easier to stand in for eight hours than anything else. When those came off, she started peeling the jeans down. “Hey, cowboy, make tracks. You’re losing steam.”
He realized she meant his clothes, and stood without groaning—barely. He toed off his boots and looked for a good place to put them.
“Under the bed will work.” She grinned when he smirked. “Hey, if I’m going to be taking a cowboy lover, I might as well go for the whole country-western song appeal, right?”
“You have a twisted mind, Jo Tallen.”
Taking that as a compliment, she beamed. “Pants off, cowboy.”
He wasn’t sure if he liked the way she used the word “cowboy,” as if she were checking this one off her list of types of lovers. Fireman, police officer, cowboy, athlete . . .
Not his concern. He unsnapped his shirt and shrugged out of it, trying his best to not mess his back up in the process. All the night needed was him half naked, locked up on the floor in agony. After that, the pants took seconds and he was completely naked.
He turned to the bed and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head in visual pleasure. She was a pagan goddess, brought down just for his enjoyment. She’d taken her ponytail out, so her long black hair spread out over the pillow around her. Her breasts were full and waiting for his touch once more. One hand rested lightly over her stomach. And the panties were gone, revealing . . . everything.
He raised a brow and stroked his cock once. He couldn’t help it. From this distance, he couldn’t tell if she was pierced below the belt. But he did see she was waxed. And holy hell, he nearly had to squeeze the base of his cock to head off an early end to the evening.
“I’m impressed.” She rubbed the heel of her hand over her stomach, silver bar glinting in the low light of the one lamp she’d turned on by her bed. “I mean, one always hopes for a decent treat once you get the wrapping off, but . . .” She crooked a finger to him. “You’re exceeding expectations so far.”
“Let’s see if I can keep that up.” He climbed on the bed next to her, taking his time. He didn’t want to just mount her and go. This wasn’t a horse trailer and they didn’t have ten minutes before his next event. He had all the time in the world, and he was going to take it.
Jo shivered in anticipation. The way Trace watched her, waited for her, stared at her body made her feel beautiful. Sexy. She hadn’t hurt for partners in the past, but half the time she’d felt like they were just taking what was in front of them, rather than pursuing her for her. Bartender at the end of a night at the bar. Convenient. If she got her bell rung in the process, who cared? End goal achieved.
But with Trace’s attention spent all directly on her, she knew what she’d been missing out on. The intensity of the experience when you wanted each other, and nobody else . . . the need for the other person, because nobody else would do. There were no substitutions. He stared at her like he would have chased after her even if she’d been a bank teller, an accountant, or a stripper.
Well, the stripper was probably a given.
His thick cock brushed against her hip as he moved over her, kissing her shoulder, her breast, the tip of her nipple. He moved down more and once again found the belly button ring she’d gotten at nineteen, and regretted by twenty.
Who knew why she kept it.
Oh, right. Because her mother hated it. Jo wasn’t above being petty when it suited her.
She wondered just for a moment if he cared that her hips had a little more padding than she’d like, if she was a little more round than what was considered sexy. But he said not a word as he found his way down to the crease between her thighs, nudging them open with his elbow.
And then making her moan as his tongue found her center with deadly accuracy. He got right to the heart of it—to the heart of her—as he licked and worked his tongue expertly. Alternating between deep, penetrating licks and quick flicks of the tongue directly on her clit, he had her biting back moans she knew would come out closer to sobs. Once he added in a finger, she couldn’t keep her hips still. She bucked and swerved and tried to keep up with his thrusts, his sliding licks, his quick sucks until she couldn’t even keep track anymore and relented to the oncoming orgasm.
A freight train might have been a softer blow. She screamed, turning her mouth into the pillow to muffle the sound, even though nobody lived near her. Some habits were hard to break.
He kissed his way back up, nuzzling into her neck. “Don’t go anywhere.”
And then he was gone. She sat up quickly. Where the hell was he?
But in the dark she could barely make out his form heading for the pile of clothes he’d left by the door. He picked up his jeans and rummaged through the pockets until he came up with a wallet.
Condom. Right. She smiled and waited until he was properly suited up before patting the top of the nightstand. “Just for future reference, I keep a stash in here.”
“Do you now?” The bed dipped as he joined her once more.
“Modern woman, and all that.” She looped her arms around his neck. “All I need is a kid clinging to my leg while I’m trying to sling drinks downstairs.”
He froze for a second, and she wondered if he’d misunderstood her. His face, what she could see of it in the dim light, gave away nothing. She’d meant it as a joke, but did he think she was serious? Time to smooth that over. “I mean, kids are cute and all, but they sort of don’t mesh with my lifestyle.”
He relaxed a little, one muscle at a time, and then he kissed her once more. Crisis averted. The tip of his penis nudged against her clit, and the little extra post-orgasmic zing made her squeal against his mouth.
Embarrassing.
But he didn’t seem to mind, or maybe he didn’t even notice. He was too intent on kissing her blind. And God, it’d be a fair tradeoff to go blind if she could have a kiss like this every night. He was methodically persistent, not leaving any centimeter of her lips untouched, unkissed. One hand found hers and linked their fingers together, raising their arms over her head. The intimate link that had nothing to do with sex was momentarily startling. His warm, roughened palm over her smaller hand felt so . . . trusting. Safe. So natural.
Back to physically gratifying sex before she started getting stupid ideas.
Her hips rose and she moved a little until she positioned him right where she wanted him. But he had to be the one to push in.
“Come on, cowboy. Let’s giddy up.” She grinned at the stupid double entendre. But Trace didn’t catch the joke. Or at least, if he did, he wasn’t amused by it.
“Say my name.”
“What?”
He pushed in, just a little, before pulling out again. “Just say my name.”
She had nothing against a little bedroom talk, but that was a first. “Trace?”
“No. Say it like you want me. Use it.”
Ah. Now she was catching on. She used her free hand to stroke down his cheek, the beard stubble catching on her own calluses. “Trace. I want you, Trace.”
With fierce pleasure, he drove into her, their hips bumping together. She arched back, finding a more comfortable angle while he pulled out and did it again, repeating the movement until she nodded and moaned. God, was she really going to come again? After already having one turn on the Ferris wheel? She never came from sex alone. What the hell?
Oh, who was she to look a gift orgasm in the mouth?
Trace’s rhythm built her up until she was ready to cry for him to end it before she combusted. Then he reached down with his free hand and found her clit once more with precision and gave her that final boost into her second orgasm of the evening.
Trace followed quickly, jerking above her until he let out a hoarse cry and then collapsed over her before shifting quickly to the side to keep her from bearing all his weight.
“Yee haw,” she whispered.
“You have this obsession with cowboys, don’t you?” His words were slurred, as if he were drunk on sexual excitement.
“When in Rome . . . or South Dakota. I forget how the saying goes.”
Trace stood and headed to her small bathroom. She waited to see what his next move would be. Damn if she would ask him to stay all night. Not her style, even if she wanted to. Would he just come back to bed? Or pick up his things and be on his way.
She got her answer quickly after that, when he shuffled back into the room and to the bed. After lifting the sheets, he crawled in and pulled her against him.
“I don’t do the cuddle thing,” she warned.
“Then don’t cuddle. Just be a prop.” His words were fading, like he was almost asleep.
She thought about arguing. Cuddling was too touchy-feely for her taste. It fostered ideas that they didn’t have any business thinking about. But the warmth his body gave off lulled her, calmed her still-fizzing nerves, made her want to stretch and curl into him like a kitten with a basket of dryer-fresh laundry.
“I can be a prop,” she said quietly. “Just this once.”
“Just this once,” he agreed, though she couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.