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And when he stepped back and—holding her attention—whipped off his shirt, she cared even less.
Oh, yeah, it had only been this morning, but it had been far too long since she’d seen him, touched him. Somehow he was in her blood. A sizzling need raced through her and she set her palm on his chest, exploring the fascinating landscape of muscles, skin and hair.
He chuckled and caught her wrist. “Don’t start anything.”
“Was I starting something?”
“I think you were.” He tipped his head and added in a low voice, “You did want to go for a swim, didn’t you?”
“Or something.”
“Well, if you keep that up, we’ll never make it into the water.”
The implication—of exactly where they’d end up—snarled in her belly. Memories of the glory of this morning rocked her. The thought of doing it again, of doing that again, was beyond tempting.
She shot him a wicked grin and something flashed in his eyes, a resonance, an understanding. They weren’t going to make it into the water.
He fiddled with the buttons on her blouse. “Regardless, you need to keep up.”
“Keep up?” Her breath caught as he undid one, then another, then another, revealing her breasts. But what really got her, what sent a bolt of electricity through her, was the expression on his face. As he stared at her, his jaw firmed. He cupped her, skimming rough pads of his thumbs over her nipples, and even as sensation screamed through her, his nostrils flared. His arousal was blatant, bestial and fierce.
When his gaze lifted to meet and tangle with hers, her pulse thrummed, her knees locked.
It was as though the world wafted away. The birds chattering in the trees, the rustle of the breeze, the snuffle of the horses, faded. It was only the two of them. The connection. The warmth of his hands on her. His smile.
He scudded lower, scraping his palm over her ribs and waist, studying her, soaking her in. Her skin rippled with pleasure.
This morning it had been hard, hot and fast, but this…this was slower, sweeter, a delicious orgy of sensation.
As he stroked her, she stroked him, meeting him caress for caress. When he eased her blouse off, she helped, shaking it to the ground in an unheeded pile. Her bra followed and—
He froze. His attention locked on. He hissed out a breath. “Jesus, Crystal.”
She shuddered as he took her breasts, touched her, skin to skin. This time there was a tremble in his touch as he worshiped her. He bent his head and kissed the areola, just to the side of one nipple. It was gentle. Sweet. Reverent.
It annoyed her.
She wanted to feel his mouth on her. Now.
She nested her fingers in his hair and attempted to direct his head where it belonged and he chuckled. He didn’t comply, but he did circle the other nipple. He circled it until it stood out in an aching bundle. She tightened her hold and he chuckled again.
“Stop teasing me.”
He glanced up. “I’m not teasing you.”
“Aren’t you?”
His smile was unrepentant. “I’m teasing me.”
That hit her and hit her hard, the weight of his words staggering her. Revealing that he indeed wanted this as much as she. “You like being teased?” she asked, yes, in a teasing voice, though it was slightly rough.
He stilled. A flicker of something—trepidation, perhaps—crossed his face. “I…ah…sometimes.”
Resolve and mischief and need danced within her. “Lie down. I’ll tease you.”
His throat worked. “I didn’t mean now—”
She glowered. “Lie down.” She invested the words with a commanding tone, which seemed to baffle him, but he complied, quickly grabbing the blanket from the saddle and settling it in a small clearing surrounded by bushes. Even though there was no one here, she appreciated the privacy. Making love in the absolute open would inhibit her, and she did not want to be inhibited. Not now. Not with him.
He lounged back on the blanket, rested his head on his hands and stared up at her. “Well?”
He was so beautiful, lying there. With his chest bared, his muscles bunched, his expression hopeful. She knelt at his feet and he peeped up so he could see what she was doing.
What she was doing was removing his boots.
It took her a while because they were pretty tight and in the end he helped, sitting up and yanking them off in a heated rush. That he tossed them heedlessly to the side spoke volumes. Because they were his boots.
Then he settled back again and, to her amusement, lifted his hips. Not in a blatant way. It was a nudge. A hint.
But she didn’t remove his jeans. Not yet. This was a tease. At least it would be until she achieved the result she wanted. Which was: Ford losing all control.
She smiled and sauntered closer and unzipped her jeans. His gaze was locked on her fingers, but it was restless and flicked up to her breasts with frequency. As she shimmied out of her pants, he shifted. When she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties, his muscles locked. His attention snapped back down. His breath stalled.
Crystal shook her head and gave a little chuckle.
No. Panties stayed on.
This was a tease.
Instead of stripping completely, she knelt at his side and arranged his arms over his head. When he opened his mouth to protest, she shook her finger at him. “Don’t move.”
“Don’t move?”
“Not a muscle.”
“Oh, God,” he wailed, but she could tell, from the ferocious intensity of his features, he was enraptured.
There was something terribly thrilling about having a magnificent man like this sprawled out before her, hot, hard and enraptured. She could do whatever she wanted. Taste or touch or torment him…
And oh. She did. It was glorious. She began with kisses on his chest and then, because she couldn’t not, stroked him as well. She loved the sensation of his skin, his bristly hair beneath her palm. She loved his smell, his heat, his essence. She sank into it, into him, exploring every fascinating bulge, every curve and jut. But always, and only, above the belt. It didn’t take long until he began twitching impatiently. Huffing sighs and biting back groans.
She edged up to place a kiss on his lips—and ah, how delicious that was. When she moved away, to continue her exploration, he tried to follow her lips. She smiled at him and shook her head.
“I think I like this,” she said. “This being in control.”
“You’re killing me, you know.”
“Am I?”
“Jesus. Look.” He arched his hips and she glanced at his crotch. The evidence was undeniable.
“Hmm,” she murmured, considering his impressive erection. “Maybe I should do something about that swelling.”
“Oh, do,” he grunted on a laugh.
But when she measured his length against her palm, he stopped laughing. The sound ended on something of an eep. She stroked him and his cock surged.
Her mouth watered; her pulse raced. Her clit began to ache and throb.
A wicked imp within her rose up. She shot him a naughty smile and levered her leg over his hips, straddling him. His eyes widened. His lips parted. He might have uttered, “Yes.” When she lowered herself onto the rock-hard lump in his jeans, his eyes crossed. “God, yes.”
“Do you like this, Ford?”
“Yes, Crystal.”
She rocked forward and the pressure, the friction of her sensitive clit against the steel of his erection and the rough pattern of his zipper, sent sensations careening through her. It was so good, she did it again and again, dry humping him there in the little clearing by a lovely lake as he lay beneath her, fists clenched and muscles tight.
She braced herself on his chest and rode him, rubbing herself to bliss, leaning forward to scrape her breasts against his chest and reveling in the harsh abrasion of his chest hair on her sensitive nipples.
Closer and closer, she came to heaven, using him as her whipping boy, her nipping boy. She raked him with her nails, lapped at the sweat beading on his brow and took. And took.
She had forgotten her purpose. She had forgotten her intention to make him so crazy for her that he broke her flimsy rules and took her the way she wanted to be taken—in a frenzy.
In her delirium, in the delight of the moment, she had forgotten.
Amazing that it still worked.
At one particularly delicious lunge, he reared up, eyes wide and jaw clenched. He took hold of her shoulders and rolled her off him and onto the side. He pinned her there, beneath him, and she gloried in it. Gloried in his weight, his heat, his unbridled passion.
“Ford,” she whispered, more an encouragement than a rebuke. She coiled her arms around his neck and rifled the hair at his nape. “What are you doing?”
“Turnabout,” he huffed. “Fair play.” And he slipped his fingers beneath the band of her panties. And then, after a moment’s reflection, bunched the scrap of lace in his fist and ripped it off.
A snarl of heat lashed her. Yes. Yes. This was what she wanted. But she forced a pout. “Those were expensive.”
His grin was wicked. Also, not a grin. More of a feral show of teeth. “Guess you shouldn’t have worn them then. Next time you’ll know better.”
A shudder walked through her at the thought. Next time.
And then, God help her, he touched her. The brush of his finger on her clit sent an exquisite heat dancing along her veins, a sweet snarl of pleasure that made her melt and clench and want to howl.
He played with her, around and over the sensitive head, a tickle on the underside, just the right pressure over the top, until she was panting and writhing and very close to begging. But she would not beg. She compromised with his name, on a whisper.
“Ford.”
“Crystal,” he murmured. Dipping his head to suck in a nipple, to nibble.
She moaned. Dug her fingers into his lush curls and held him there.
“You’re so wet,” he said around her. And then he slipped in. His fingers filled her with a delicious pressure. She tightened on him and, despite her ferocious grip on his hair, he raised his head and locked gazes with her. “Jesus.” He rooted around, exploring, teasing, searching. And he found it. That spot. The one that made every nerve ending in her body go on point and hum. She tried to hold back. She wanted to hold back, but she couldn’t.
A powerful, untamed orgasm screamed through her body, showering her, and him, with delight. Through it all, he continued to work her, play her, strum her like a guitar. And she sang for him. It was a slow and easy ride, wave after wave of mounting bliss.
She was so bemused, so befuddled, she wasn’t even aware that he had undone his jeans, that he’d fished in his pocket for a condom. That he’d slipped it on with one hand. And what a talent that was.
Before she was done riding the crest, he settled between her legs with his sheathed cock in his fist and drove home.
He was so hard. So dominant and forceful and intense. She was so awakened, so attuned, so ready for his possession, the first thrust sent her into the ether once more. She spread her legs wider to give him more room. To allow him to drive deeper…and he did. He took advantage of her welcome and thrust again. It stole her breath, stole her sanity and knocked her all askew.
The feel of him taking her, filling her, pummeling her was blinding. When he hit her again, just there, just where it made her weep, she went a little wild. She wrapped her legs around him, raked his back with her nails, nipped at his chin. Her ferocity fueled his. With a growl he launched into a frenetic rhythm, pounding into her faster and harder and deeper.
She’d never felt so complete. So possessed. So fulfilled.
Tension between them ratcheted up as his thrusts took on a new intensity. His muscles clenched, his cock swelled and his pants came in harsher, quicker succession.
Her body coiled with his, around his, as the pressure mounted. Though she’d come at least once already, she felt it stalking her, that ephemeral beast. She clung to him in an attempt to hang on to her control, ragged though it was, but he would not be denied.
As he came, burying his face between her breasts with a groan that seemed to well up from somewhere deep in his soul, she released with him. And this one, ah, this one, with him, was the most magnificent release yet.
The rapture flooded them, blanketed them as they shuddered and groaned and gloried in tandem. Together.
It was amazing. Astounding.
They were so well matched in this. So perfect together.
She didn’t allow herself to think about tomorrow or the next day or all the future days after they parted.
Now was all that mattered. Now. This moment. With Ford buried deep within her. With his chest and groin sealed to hers. With his breath huffing against her neck. His weight on her. His heat soaking in. His scent surrounding her.
As he recovered, she trailed her fingers through his hair, over his nape and down to the bunched muscles of his back. She would memorize this moment. Take it with her. Hold it close. Forever.
Because it was perfect.
Ford realized he was lying on top of her and he levered up on his elbows. He didn’t want to crush her. But she wouldn’t let him go. Instead she pulled him back down for a kiss. It was a wonderful kiss, openmouthed and damp. Boneless. He loved the taste of her, loved her scent. Loved the tiny beads of sweat on her brow, and the way they made the fine hairs there curl.
She was so beautiful. Such a perfect partner. He felt at home inside her.
With a ping of regret, he eased out and settled at her side, pulling her with him, because he couldn’t bear to let go. Not now. Not yet.
He kissed her and she nestled closer. “That was…good,” he murmured. Hardly the right word. Hardly a sufficient word. But they both knew there were no words for what had just happened. Not in this world.
“It was. Very good.” She nuzzled his neck and he shivered. Hunger rose. He was utterly drained. He knew it couldn’t be hunger for that. It was a deeper hunger. One that had clawed at him for a long while.
It wasn’t a logical or rational urge. They’d only just met. But he couldn’t deny its power.
He wanted her. And not just for a roll in the hay. He wanted her beside him in the morning when the passion had waned. He wanted her beside him when the day ended—cuddled on the couch. He had the sudden irrational urge to go grocery shopping with her.
It was far too early for such thoughts, but even as he tried to banish them, he couldn’t. And he couldn’t stop the tantalizing reminder that she wasn’t a city girl, as he’d suspected. She wasn’t a girl who would become frustrated with the isolation of ranch life and want to go to fancy restaurants and clubs and bars. She wouldn’t itch to soak herself in a metropolitan milieu. Indeed, she missed the simpler life. She ached for it.
Yeah, it was too early to jump to any crazy conclusions, or to fantasize that she might be the woman he’d been searching for. Though holding her like this made him want to.
But it wasn’t too early to make a decision. It wasn’t too early to ask if she wanted to…explore what could be between them.
The resolve sent a shaft of sunlight through his soul. A hope. A certainty.
He could be a patient man…if circumstances were right. He could be patient with her.
But he wasn’t patient enough to wait. He needed to ask her, pose the question, plant the seed, now. While she was soft and receptive and her walls were down.
He lifted up on an elbow and stared down at her beautiful face. Gently, he traced the lines of her features and eased a wayward strand of golden hair from her cheek. Her eyes flittered open. He sank into them. She smiled, and an ember sparked in his chest. “Crystal?”
“Mmm hmm?”
He swallowed heavily, hoping he wasn’t rushing his fences. Judging from her dreamy expression, he was not. “Do you think…?”
His thoughts stalled as a laugh drifted through the trees. His body clenched. He knew that laugh.
Shit.
He leaned up and glanced over the bushes and his gut clenched as he saw Porsche emerge from the path. And fuck. She wasn’t alone. There was some dude with her, one of the strippers, the one with the way-too-long hair, the one who’d had his hand on her ass this morning at breakfast.
Madly, Ford collected Crystal’s clothes and his shirt. “Get dressed,” he said.
“Hmm?” She stretched out and the arch of her body snagged his attention. Damn, she was gorgeous.
It took some effort, but he ripped his attention away. He swallowed heavily. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “We’re not alone. Get dressed.” He tugged on his shirt, buttoning it quickly. The two were heading this way. They’d find them soon.
Crystal snapped up and peered through the foliage and paled. “Oh, dang.” As she pulled on her bra—and what a damn shame that was—Ford divided his attention between her and his sister and her…consort. And fuckitall. They were consorting.
The douche bag stopped her and pulled her into his arms and grinned down at her. His expression made Ford’s hackles rise. “So? What did I tell you?”
“Oh, yes. This is nice.”
“And secluded,” he purred. The ass. What gall, bringing Porsche to this isolated spot with the intention of seducing her. He pressed down the niggle reminding him that he had done exactly the same with Crystal.
But it wasn’t exactly the same. This was completely different.
This was Porsche.
The creep with his hands on his sister’s ass walked her backward toward a tree and then sealed their bodies together. He tipped up her chin and kissed her.
Ford’s fists closed of their own accord. “That jackass. I want to rip his head off.”
Crystal set her hand on his arm. “Remember, Ford. She’s a grown woman.”
“He looks so…sleazy.” He did. Long, stringy hair, smarmy smirk. The way his hands were roving made Ford want to do damage.
“Relax.”
He tried. Couldn’t. Especially when the dude grabbed Porsche’s breast. The hair on his nape stood on end. It didn’t help that Porsche brushed it away. The hand skated to her waist, then to her hip, then around to her behind. When Porsche wriggled free and danced away, he followed.
“What is she thinking? Coming to a place like this with some random guy?” he muttered. “Doesn’t she know what he has in mind?”
“Indeed.” Crystal’s smile was crooked. Yeah. She’d come here with him.
But this was different.
Ford shot another glance at the clearing and set his teeth. Porsche was weaving through the trees, with the dude right behind her. He caught her arm, yanked her around and into his arms and kissed her again. This time with more heat, more intent.
Aw, hell. Wherever this was going, he did not want to witness it. “We should probably let them know we’re here.” That they hadn’t noticed the horses was a testament to their oblivion, though the mounts were hobbled on the far side of the clearing behind some growth.
“Probably.” Crystal nodded.
Ford tugged up his jeans—though he had only slipped them down as far as they’d needed to go in his rampant frenzy to get to Crystal—but before he was done buttoning them up, a cry echoed over the pond. His head jerked up. His gaze locked on to… Fuck.
The douche had Porsche pinned against the tree, and though she struggled to get away, he wouldn’t allow it.
“Stop. Ricardo, stop!” There was real fear in her tone. It wasn’t a case of some chick murmuring, “Don’t. Stop. Don’t stop.”
It infuriated him that the asswipe just laughed. “Come on, baby. You want it. You know you do.”
“No!”
Porsche really began to fight then and, even as Ford launched to his feet, the fucker whipped her around and threw her to the ground. Her cry was like a lance in his gut. Fury snaked through him like a summer storm. His muscles bunched.
“Okay,” Crystal said. “Now you can rip his head off.” He really liked the way she snarled.
He was on his feet in a heartbeat, sprinting across the clearing. A sound ripped from him, something between a growl and a howl of outrage. It resonated through the trees.
Ricardo saw him coming and his eyes went wide. His face paled. He took a step back, but it was hardly enough. Ford was on him in a heartbeat. His fist slammed into the bastard’s face with a satisfying thud.
It was awesome watching him fall.
But Ford didn’t revel in the sight of Ricardo laid out in the dirt with a trickle of blood seeping from his nose. He whirled toward Porsche. Crystal was already there.
“Oh, my God. Are you all right?” she asked.
Porsche sniffed and, with Crystal’s help, sat up and touched her brow. “I’m… I’m fine.”
She wasn’t fine. Her face was white, her body trembled. Her eyes were wild and wounded. Crystal seemed to know what she needed. She wrapped Porsche in a hug and held her, stroking her back and murmuring over and over, “It’s all right. It’s all right.”
But it wasn’t.
Ford stomped over to Ricardo and nudged him with a toe. The fucker groaned but didn’t move.
“Did you knock him out, Ford?” Porsche asked.
“I guess I did.” He shrugged apologetically. Oh, he wasn’t sorry he’d knocked Ricardo out. He was sorry it went against his principles to pummel an unconscious fuckwad.
Maybe later.
Crystal helped Porsche to her feet and occupied herself with brushing the dirt and leaves from her back and legs.
Ford occupied himself with reining in his panic. His terror. His fury. He failed. “What the hell were you thinking, coming with a guy like that to a place like this?”
He would have said more, but two things stopped him. First was Porsche’s wounded stare. And the other was Crystal’s speaking look.
Ah, shit.
She was right. He should just shut up. Porsche didn’t need a lecture right now. She needed support. “Come here,” he grumbled and pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry I yelled. I was just really scared.”
“I was scared too, Ford.”
He wanted to say more, something like, I told you so, but he decided to hold his tongue. She knew. She wasn’t stupid. And maybe this near disaster had taught her something that lectures never could. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
“I’m glad you were here…” She pulled back and fixed him with a curious glance. “Why… Why were you here? And… Where were you?”
His pulse stalled. His throat locked. Sweat popped out on his brow. “I…ah…we…” He glanced at Crystal, hoping that wasn’t panic in his expression.
“We went for a ride,” she said, saving him.
“A ride?” Porsche’s brow wrinkled.
“The horses are over on the other side of the pond.” Crystal waved in that direction.
Porsche studied Crystal’s face, and then Ford’s. Her eyes widened and her lips quirked. “Ah. I see.”
And crap. She did. She did see.
Heat crept up his cheeks.
“We should probably go back to the house,” Crystal said, wrapping her arm around Porsche’s shoulders.
“What about him?” Porsche waved to the lump in the dirt.
“Leave him there,” Ford snapped. “I’ll send Cody back to pick him up. I’m sure he’ll want to have a conversation with Don Juan.”
“His name is Ricardo.”
“His name is mud as far as I’m concerned. And if he ever touches you again, I swear it’ll be carved on a tombstone.”
Unaccountably—because she hated when he got all protective—Porsche smiled. It was a bright, wide smile. “I do love you, Ford,” she said.
Something warm blossomed in his chest. “I love you too, Porsche. All I ever wanted was for you to be safe.”
“I know.” She sighed. “But you can’t keep me safe from everything.”
“I can try.”
“I think it would be nice to have someone to protect you,” Crystal said in a wistful tone. One that made Ford want to wrap her in his arms and protect the shit out of her.
“Well, if you ever need me,” he said, “just whistle.” It was a lame response and he knew it. But he liked her smile, the glimmer in her eye.
“I just might.”
“Oh, please, you two. Can we go back now?”
Ford chuckled and riffled Porsche’s hair. And she allowed it.