1001 Dark Nights (13 page)

The one night he’d left her alone because he had mysterious “other commitments” she found herself watching the clock as she crafted eight necklaces, anxious for him to come home. The man had been so impatient to have her he’d practically swept all her beads off the kitchen counter like in one of those romantic movies. But the way he’d fucked her on the counter had been hot and nasty—X-rated—not a romantic thing about it, thank god.

They’d watched TV together. Cooked together. Danced around the house and the patio in the moonlight together. They’d made love in every position imaginable. Sometimes their interludes included kink—London still remembered the high from when he used ice on her after he’d bound her hands and how he’d heated up all the cold spots with his hot mouth. Sometimes their interludes were just hot and fast—new lovers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Sometimes Sutton woke her up in the middle of the night, loving on her with such tenderness she wondered if she’d dreamt it. Which was a real possibility because not one night in the last week had he spent the entire night in her bed.

London continued to work with Dial, but she’d cut the horse’s training sessions short because there wasn’t much more she could do with him. Not that she could tell Sutton that yet. Partly because just after two short weeks she wasn’t ready to close the deal she’d made with him. For one thing, whenever she asked the bulldogger if he’d been cleared to compete, he changed the subject, so she knew he was hiding something. But what? Did it have anything to do with her?

The one wrinkle in their intimacy was Sutton hadn’t invited London to move into his bedroom. If they made love in a bed, it was hers in the guestroom. Even if Sutton fell asleep with her afterward, when she woke in the middle of the night or at dawn, the man was gone. That didn’t mean he’d just crashed in his bed. No. That meant gone—she couldn’t find the man in his house.

She hadn’t tried to track him down, figuring if he needed time alone outside or wherever, then it wasn’t her place to disturb him.

In the last day he’d become restless, but in a brooding manner. London suspected mindless chattering would get on his nerves so she...did exactly that. Jabbered on and on until he’d threatened to gag her. She’d retorted if he gagged her, he’d better plan on spanking her too.

That’s how she ended up gagged with her own thong, her hands roped up with pigging string, bent over the back of the couch as Sutton whacked her bare ass until she came. Twice. Then he replaced the gag with his cock and she’d sucked him off, loving the sharp sting as he pulled her hair, which countered the gentle caress of his thumb on her jaw as he released in her mouth.

Afterward, he’d carried her to her bed and spooned her. She’d soothed him, but he still wasn’t quite himself.

Right before she dozed off, she murmured, “Sutton, baby, you know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I know. I just...can’t. Not yet.”

When she’d awoken in the morning, Sutton was gone.

As the weekend loomed, she didn’t give a damn if they ran into Stitch and Paige or not. After being with Sutton, she knew even if Stitch came crawling back on his hands and knees she wouldn’t take him back. She didn’t want him. Hell, she’d never wanted him like she wanted Sutton. So any time Sutton asked about a specific plan to make Stitch jealous, she changed the subject.

Tit for tat, my man. You tell me what you’re hiding and I’ll admit you ruined me for all other men and I’m milking the training in the hopes you’ll fall for me as hard as I’ve fallen for you.

* * * *

These late nights were killing him.

Sutton had agreed to help out his family by haying the field closest to his house. Cutting and baling was tedious work and left him more tired than if he’d run a marathon.

But he couldn’t say no to his brothers—they’d pulled his ass out of the fire plenty of times. He couldn’t say no to London—being with her was always the high point of his day. So the only time he had to practice the shooting requirements was after normal people went to bed. Add in the practice written tests, which weren’t as easy as Ramsey claimed, and he’d been skating by on two hours of sleep a night.

Since last weekend’s county fair was only forty-five minutes from his place, London decided to make the drive to her clinics every day rather than stay overnight.

Sutton had breathed a huge sigh of relief because it gave him the extra time he needed to study and prepare for the range master test. It also indicated that London had moved on for real in the make-Stitch-jealous game.

They’d entered the third week of their deal, trade—whatever it was. If he could make it through the next ten days, he’d be golden. Hopefully he’d pass the test, then he could come clean to London and his family about his future career plans and settle into a real relationship with his hot-blooded horse trainer. She’d seemed a little distant the past couple of days.

He’d managed to get two hours of dead-to-the-world sleep. Upon waking, he crept into the guest bedroom, intent on putting his wide-awake state to good use—waking London up with his face between her thighs. Nothing revved his engines like sucking down her sweet juice first thing in the morning.

The first time she came, she’d arched so hard against his mouth that his teeth had pressed into her delicate tissues. The tiny bite of pain had her fingers gripping his hair as the orgasm pulsed through her. Then he’d instructed her to grab onto the headboard and hold on.

The wait for orgasm number two, when she couldn’t direct him at all, was much longer. Sutton took his time exploring her reactions. Suckling just her pussy lips. Jamming his tongue into her hole. Lightly flicking the skin surrounding her swollen clit but avoiding direct contact with the pulsing bundle. Slipping two fingers into her wet cunt, he spread her open and feasted until she begged him to let her come. When he relented and focused entirely on her clit, London’s body quivered and she’d screamed her release.

Her pussy walls were still pulsating when he rammed his cock in deep. He paused for a moment, watching the sunbeams fall across her face. Probably, he should’ve made love to her with a gentle wake up.

But Sutton was too far gone. “The Saint” that London teasingly called him was still sawing logs; his beast was ravenous for a hard morning fuck. The headboard banged into the wall as he relentlessly hammered into her, sweat dripping into his eyes, his jaw tightened in anticipation with every stroke into that tight, wet heat. His fingers curled over hers on the brass bars, the backs of her thighs pressed against his chest. Her calves on his shoulders provided extra resistance as he drove his cock into her over and over.

After he’d spent himself—physically and emotionally—he unhooked their hands from the headboard and placed a soft kiss on each of her anklebones, then slowly lowered her legs to the mattress. He planted more kisses up the center of her body. Looming over her, he pecked her once on the lips. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Helluva way to start the day, bulldogger,” she said with a satisfied feminine sigh. Her fingertips scraped the stubble on his cheeks. “I like the way this feels on the inside of my thighs.”

When she kept petting him but didn’t speak, he said, “Something wrong?”

“No. I was just happily surprised to have you in my bed this morning.”

Sutton suspected this question would come up. He wasn’t sure how to answer it. “We shared a bed in the camper for two nights on two different weekends.” And it’d killed his back.

“But we didn’t get much sleep. Oh. Now I get it. That’s why we’re in separate bedrooms? So you’re not tempted to fuck me all the time and we can rest between rounds to keep it hot and exciting?”

“Smartass.”

Her eyes clouded. “Why don’t you want to sleep in the same bed with me? Do I snore? Did I fart?”

“Why’re you taking the blame?” He kissed the frown line between her eyes. “I don’t wanna fight with you. It’s not a big deal that our sleep patterns don’t mesh.”

London slid out from beneath him and perched on the edge of the bed. “You’re right. It’s not a big deal. And it won’t matter tonight because I won’t be here.”

“What? Why not?”

She stood and slipped on her nightgown. “Commuting from here will work most days, just not today.”

Sutton studied her. Something else was going on with her. “And tomorrow? Are you coming back here before we head to the Jackson County Fair?”

London fiddled with the bow on her nightgown strap. “We’ll see.”

The idea of her not being here, not talking to her, not touching her, kicked him into sort of a red rage. She was not inserting herself into his life so completely, making him fall for her, and then just walking away, leaving him so crazy about her that he’d do anything to keep her.

Anything except telling her the truth.

He yanked his sweatpants on and pulled his T-shirt over his head. “We’re not doin’ this.”

“Not doing what? Being honest with each other? You’re the one who’s keeping to himself. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were sneaking off and trying to rope and ride in the middle of the damn night. But since I haven’t seen you out in the barn at all in the last weeks since I started working with Dial, I know that’s not where you’ve been keeping yourself.

Sutton hesitated all of ten seconds. “You really wanna see what I’ve been up to and where I’ve been?”

“Yes!”

“It’ll change things between us.”

London cocked a hand on her hip. “Some things need to change between us, Sutton.”

“Fine.” He snagged her hand. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

They stopped in front of the door at the far end of the hall. He opened the little box next to the doorframe that looked like a thermostat and punched in a code. The locks disengaged and he turned the door handle.

“After you.”

London said nothing as she ducked inside.

After the door shut and latched behind them, he flipped on the main lights and led her down the stairs, keeping his back to her.

The space had been completely finished. Textured walls, acoustic ceiling, tile flooring, a built-in gun vault, locking cabinets for ammo. Tall benches lined the walls with a pegboard between the bench and the cabinets. The corner held a reloading station.

Sutton loved the absolute silence in his hidey hole. Once that upper door closed, he was vacuum-sealed in. The apocalypse could happen above him and he’d be oblivious. For that reason, so he didn’t venture into “survivalist” territory, he didn’t keep so much as a can of soda down here, say nothing of cases of weanies and beans and plastic jugs of water.

The actual range had been built from huge circular sections of concrete culverts. The targeting system was on an electronic pulley that ran along the top and bottom, allowing him to change the size, angle, and the distance of the practice targets with the push of a button.

It’d been an unconventional choice, foregoing a traditional basement family room, but he never regretted creating this for himself.

“Omigod! What is this place?”

Sutton hated—
hated
—London’s wide-eyed look of horror as her gaze encompassed the space, as if she expected to see electrical tape, mini-saws, an array of pliers, dental instruments, and other devices of torture. “It’s a gun range.”

“
Inside
your house?”

Technically it was under his house, but he said, “Yeah.”

“You have a fucking
gun range
inside your house?” she repeated.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t been raised around guns—her dad was a huge gun collector. He’d even invited Chuck to come over and shoot. He forced himself to keep his tone cool. “So? Some people have photography studios or theater rooms or a woodworking shop.” He shrugged. “Shooting is my hobby. So I had a regulation range put in.”

“But...isn’t that illegal?”

“Jesus, London. You think I’m the law-breaking type? You think I would’ve showed it to you if I was trying to keep it on the down low?”

“Don’t get snappy with me. I didn’t realize people could have a gun range inside their house!” she snapped back.

“It’s not that uncommon,” he assured her. “I had dozens of designs to choose from. I first got the idea when a guy on my college rodeo team showed me his dad’s inside shooting range.”

“I assume the guy lived in a rural area like this?”

Sutton shook his head. “In town. Don’t know what the building code restrictions are there, I know I had to jump through some hoops here to get approval and to pass inspection afterward.”

London marched up to him and jabbed her finger into his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Because—”

“This is where you’ve been disappearing to at night?”

“Mostly. Some nights I work out. And I didn’t think it’d be in my best interest to tell my houseguest that I was down here target shooting while she slept.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What if I would’ve stumbled down here in the middle of the night? Would you’ve shot me as an intruder?”

“For Christsake, London! I’m not a fucking trigger-happy rube! And you can’t just
stumble
down here because the area is secured with a coded locking system and a self-closing door. That means even if you get pissed off, know the code and come down here looking for my Smith and Wesson .460 to do some real damage to me, unless you chop off my thumb to get biometric access to my gun vault, you ain’t getting nothing but even more pissed off.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

“I’m not. And see that?” He pointed to the red ambulance light on the ceiling. “If someone opens the door while I’m down here, it triggers an alarm. I cannot be caught unaware.” Then he pointed to the range itself. “That enclosed space is bulletproof. I can’t shoot out, no one can shoot in. I also have a secret panic alarm that goes straight to the sheriff’s department.”

“God. It’s like I’m in Dr. Evil’s underground lair.”

He clenched his jaw and bit out, “Dr. Evil? Seriously?”

“No. But goddammit, Sutton, you had to expect I’d be freaked out by this.”

She had him there.