He couldn’t believe his cock was ready for action again. Tabby’s bj had just about drained the life right out of him.
He grinned, thinking of it. Yeah. Just as he’d suspected. Passion in spades and magic lips.
And he was determined to give her all of that passion back.
"Lay yourself right down here, sugar,” he crooned, guiding her backwards onto the sand as she hung on to him as he pillowed her head on a grassy patch. “And now why don’t we see about getting rid of that skirt. Okay?”
He felt her frame tense, then relax. “Alright.”
The magnanimity of the moment hit him, even as his cock jerked to life. And he remembered another moment, one that had taught him how to be with her if he ever got the chance. Shown him to go slow.
He'd seen her through a tear in the curtains one night in a motel room, applying the cream to herself oh so carefully, like a ritual. The jagged scars crisscrossed her abdomen clear up to her torso, angry ridges snaking up her neck all the way to her cheek. He'd realized quickly then why she wore the heavy pancake makeup on her face. A bit of research on the Internet, and he'd learned that she'd been hospitalized for a year, though the article had said it was something to do with a rare case of an immune disorder.
But when he'd read about the huge car accident she'd been in just before that, he'd known the truth.
The woman, though young, had suffered great loss.
Two years of her life. Uncertainly about her recovery. Then her fiancé. Her body image, possibly. And who knew what the accident had done to her in other ways.
She’d obviously spent the year writing, getting lost in her imagination—and he bet it was the only thing that saved her. Kept her sane. A strong foray into fantasy.
And damn, she was so good at the reality, though she likely hadn’t known she was. Or still would be.
The woman was a survivor. Incredible.
The scars made no difference to him. None at all.
But seriously? The city gals he’d met, the ones who cried if their diet meal wasn't available or if they missed their appointment with their manicurist, those gals he’d never understood. It had made him hunger for a real woman.
For her.
Real life was dirty. Messy. And the more he'd seen of Tabby, the decent way she treated all her readers, the way she shouldered her own bags when he’d offered to carry them for her and just plain worked hard made him respect her like crazy. Despite her sudden success, the movie rights, all of it, she wasn’t spoiled.
Those scars were a symbol. A damn symbol. They represented a powerful damn woman who hadn’t let life beat her down. Who’d taken misfortune and spit in its eye. Built a life for herself.
Yeah. An admirable woman, who it also happened, was smokin’ hot.
And under him in a few scant seconds.
Lucky bastard, him.
His gaze panned up and down her form as she lay on the warm sand, wiggling her ass around, getting comfortable, still clad in her outfit. “So, Tabitha Grey, you’ve had some serious fantasies about cowboys, I understand.”
She halted suddenly, raised her brows, then shifted her eyes first to one side and then the other, as if considering what he’d said. “Hmm. I wonder where you heard that?”
He grinned. Punishment. She just had to be punished for that.
He slid his hand up under her skirt quickly and she gasped, even as he pulled the tiny scrap of lace down, and she did some sort of sexy acrobatics he couldn’t quite pull his gaze away from to pull her legs out of her panties. He tossed them away, purposely far away, onto a patch of dirt. More symbolism. No need of them here. Not around him.
Enough time to collect them later, if she still wanted them. Maybe she’d ride back with him in the cab bare-pussied. Accessible.
The idea filled his brain and threatened to combust it but he had enough to deal with in front of him, right here, right now. “I think…”
And then he saw them, in the moonlight. Up close.
Angry scars, wide, puckering the flesh around them.
He glanced quickly at her face, and noticed she was watching him, but then, her concern turned, miraculously, to a grin. Saucy. “Something there you might be interested in, Cowboy?”
His heart eased. It looked like she’d made her decision, and she’d chosen life. Living.
Happiness flooded through him, and his dick—it was way happy too.
“Lemme take a closer look.” Bending down to where the plump lips of her pussy swelled, he bent and tasted her.
Tabby squealed, the sound quickly giving way to a lustful groan. “That’s like no look I’ve ever had before. Keep it up, cowboy.”
Soft thighs came up to rest against his ears, urging his head to stay just where he had it. The hard leather of her boots knocked against each other behind his head.
But he had other ideas.
“One minute there, lady. I’m on an exploration mission. What’s this?” Noting that one of her scars ended just above her pussy, he bent to give it a tiny lick. He raised his head quickly, shot a glance at her face.
But she was smiling, eyes closed, her face awash in moonlight, a look of utter sensuality on her.
He continued, his tongue tracing the jagged line upwards, as he pushed her top upward a few inches. “Ah, my very favorite. Raspberry icing.”
Teasing it, he nibbled at it with soft nips. Soon, that one ended, and he found another. Laved it until he came to the hem of her top. He wondered what to do, what she’d be comfortable with but he didn’t have to wonder long.
“Let me,” she breathed. Pulled the top up, and off. Tossed it herself, and she lay there, naked except for the thin scrunched-up fabric of her skirt around her waist. But spread out before him, on the grass and dirt. In the raw. Pretty much bare.
Victory.
From then on, he tried really hard to make a personal acquaintance with each and every one of her scars, but somehow he got off track. It had something to do with her soft breasts jiggling in front of him as she writhed and twisted under his attentions. Then the fact that her hands threaded into his hair, yanking him close, positioning him where she wanted him, while increasingly frenzied cries escaped her.
His blood heated, the agony of not being in this woman just too hard to take. But she’d taken care of him and he needed to make her know how important she was.
Moving quickly to her pussy, he was halted by the sudden clamp of her legs around his waist.
But the clench was strong. He looked at her in confusion. “Tabby?”
“No more, Cole. Now.”
But he wanted to take care of her. “I need to…”
She grabbed his face between her hands, her expression demanding, inches from him, etched with desire and decision. “Do you understand now?”
Raw desire plunged to his swollen member.
He could do now.
Cradling her ass in his hands, he positioned her under him, her ragged breath egging him on.
God, she was gorgeous. Alive. On fire.
All woman.
He eyed her spread knees. Dipped his gaze lower.
Yes. That. Right there. Her sweet, wet pussy.
His balls tightened and his cock leapt.
Kneeling between her legs, he moved them apart some more. Moved over her, then held himself there. Guided his shaft to her pussy, let the head rest against her wet pubic lips.
A gasp. Tabby shut her eyes, face tight. “Now,” she demanded, her hands grabbing clumps of sand out of the beach at her sides.
He pushed forward, felt the clench. Saw her breasts quiver. Closed his own eyes. Moved ahead, slowly, steadily, until he was fully encased in the body of the vibrant woman under him.
“Oh god, Cole.”
“Hold on, honey.” He could barely talk, the feel of her was so damn good.
Too damn good.
Forcing himself to handle the pulsating sensations around his cock, he pulled out a ways. Pushed steadily back in. The grass pushed lines into his palms.
In. out. In, out. The delicious slide was mind-blowing and her face was a sensual carnival ride. Ever changing, intense expressions.
He sped up as she cried out, slapped against her. Eager to please her, as fire licked through his balls.
And when he finally came, there was only one name on his lips.
Tabby.