Faith in the Cowboy (Taming the Cowboy) (4 page)

Beneath them, though, the horse started to tire, and Teresa felt the animal’s sides bellow as she slowed to a walk. West guided the horse to the barn. He dismounted and reached for Teresa, his hands strong on her waist, making her feel tiny and feminine. She placed her hands on his shoulders as he lifted her, and she realized the horse wasn’t the only one breathing hard.

Her heart jumping in her chest, she lifted her chin in invitation. Before she could rethink her decision, he’d lifted her off her feet, turned her and pressed her against the wall of the barn. His lips, though, when they touched hers, were gentle, exploring, sliding over hers, cool and dry from their ride, before parting her lips and touching his tongue to hers.

When she opened to him, he moved closer, pinning her between his hard body and the fresh lumber of the wall, filling her with his taste, coffee and fresh air and mint. She breathed him in, tightening her arms around his shoulders. God, those shoulders.

And the way he kissed her, the rhythm not unlike the gait of the horse, forward and back, deeper, then softer. She let her tongue slide along his, exploring, seeing what made him tighten his grip on her hips, what made his breath catch. A thrill went through her at having power over such a big man. She released his shoulders to slide her hands between them, over his chest, wanting so badly to unsnap his shirt and feel his skin against hers. She went as far as crumpling the fabric in her hands before she came to her senses and smoothed the shirt against his skin. She pressed her palms against his chest and eased back, the lack of oxygen to her brain making her reckless.

He lifted his head to look at her, not releasing her, not stepping back. That should have scared her, should have worried her, but with West, she wasn’t afraid. She looked up into his blue eyes, shadowed in the dark barn.

“Not here.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “My RV is really small.”

And her bedroom was right next to Noah’s. No way could she invite him inside the house. Frustration shuddered through her. But she didn’t want to have sex in a barn. She wasn’t that desperate.

“I’m really small, too.”

His grin flashed, and he stepped back, taking her hand. The horse huffed behind them, and he released her, grin fading.

“I have to look after her. Ten minutes, tops.”

Disappointment swirled in with that reckless passion. Damn reality, always trying to intrude. “Can I help?”

He curved his hand around her cheek and bent his head to hers. “Why don’t you go to my RV and warm up? I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Before she could answer, he angled his mouth over hers again.

The kiss was sweet, his tongue barely brushing her lips, but held a promise that she felt to her core.

“Don’t change your mind,” he breathed, a glint in his eyes when he released her to turn to the horse.

What was she doing?
She fumbled for the light as she stepped into the RV. She didn’t have casual sex. The only sex she’d ever had was with Miguel, and he’d taken months to convince her to sleep with him. She’d known West two days, had first kissed him less than ten minutes ago. Crazy. But she couldn’t fathom walking away. Every nerve in her body craved his touch, was aching to see what he’d do to her, how he’d make her feel.

She distracted herself from her doubts by looking over the RV. It wasn’t big, didn’t have as many sections that expanded like Liam’s did, but was neat as a pin, the carpet clean, the counters wiped down and clear of any dishes or glasses. She eased down the hallway to the bathroom, which had one slide, or else he’d never fit in that shower, to find it as clean as the kitchen.

Who was this guy?

She stood at the end of his bed—made—and saw what he meant. Small. Queen-sized, probably, but with him in the bed—

The door opened behind her and her heart practically jumped out of her throat. She pivoted to watch him come in, tucking his hair behind his ear as he did. He smiled and stopped at the sink to wash his hands, as she just stood there, like an idiot, in his bedroom. She had no idea what she was doing.

But then it didn’t matter, because he was walking down the hall to her. He pulled her into his arms, up against that strong chest, and kissed her, long and deep, his nose cold when it brushed her cheek, his lips soft, his stubble alternately tickling and scratching her skin, but she loved it, loved the masculinity of it. He threaded his fingers through her hair before cupping her head in one big hand, turning her where he liked.

She covered his hand with hers and rose up on her toes, kissing him back, trying to work up the nerve to unbutton his shirt. Instead, she did the other thing that she’d been dying to do—touched his hair. Just the ends first, shyly, finding them as silky as she’d fantasized. For a moment, she wondered if this was a fantasy, and opened her eyes to see him looking at her.

So she slammed hers shut again and let her fingers twine in his hair, lifting on her toes to get closer, to deepen the kiss. He glided his hands down her back to cup her ass, making her gasp into his mouth. It had been so long, so long since she felt like this.

She released his hair, slid her hands down his chest. This time when she grabbed the fabric, she gave into her desire and tugged, popping the snaps, spreading the shirt and slipping her hands inside.

She may have moaned when her fingers brushed over his warm skin, the crisp chest hair. He broke the kiss to watch her explore him, gliding her fingers over his pecs, following the indentation of his sternum. She eased back to open his shirt the rest of the way, revealing hard abs, and God, defined obliques. This time, she definitely whimpered. He chuckled and captured her hands, bringing them to his lips, brushing his mouth back and forth over her knuckles, the contrast of soft skin and bristled hair sending sparks right through her.

God, it was good to feel alive.

He released her to find the hem of her shirt and he eased back to pull it over her head, his rough fingertips grazing the skin of her waist, tickling her. She flinched and giggled, making him smile as he tossed her top aside.

The giggles dried up in her throat when he looked at her breasts and his eyes darkened.

She didn’t have pretty bras, hadn’t since before she met Miguel. Her boobs were too big, for one, and when she was with Miguel, he’d been so jealous, he’d accused her of buying pretty bras to seduce other men. Since she’d been on her own, well, she didn’t have money to spend on them. The bra currently turning West on was plain and utilitarian.

But based on the way West was looking at her, it didn’t matter. She arched her back, just a bit, and he almost swallowed his tongue. He slid the straps down her arms, his touch reverent, the rasp of his calluses making her nipples tighten, the heat of his breath against the tops of her breasts making her whole body bow, arching toward him, needing...just needing.

She held her breath as he flipped the cups down, baring her nipples. His breath gusted faster against her skin as he reached behind to unhook her bra. Instead of taking her breasts in his hands, as she expected, he pulled her against him, skin to skin, oh God, so good, and kissed her, his hands stroking up and down her back, until she was one mass of sensation—his skin against hers, his chest hair against her nipples, the caresses that sent twinges of anticipation between her legs.

His thumbs rested on her waistband a moment as his tongue explored her mouth. He slid his touch between them, and up to cup her breasts, rasping his fingertips back and forth across her nipples. She sagged in his arms until he lowered her to the bed, following her down, his mouth traveling from her cheek to her ear. Arching her throat, she offered him the tender skin. As if he knew just what she needed, he dragged his lips up and down.

God, she was wet, so ready for him. She parted her legs, wanting his weight over her, but he held himself off her on those strong arms.

He kissed the hollow of her throat, then blew a cool breath over her chest before dropping kisses along her sternum. His stubble teased the tops of her breasts, tearing a frustrated groan from her. He laughed against her skin and turned his head to draw a dark nipple into his mouth, holding her gaze as he tongued it against the roof of his mouth, then suckled, his cheeks going hollow.

Everything inside her went as tight as a bowstring. She gripped his arms, then released them to push aside his shirt, sliding her palms up his back, tracing the tensed muscles there. She’d thought men like him were only in magazines.

“You’re beautiful,” she breathed, then felt her face heat when he released her breast to smile at her.

He rose on his knees and peeled the shirt off the rest of the way, God, more than beautiful, shoulders wide and strong, flat stomach. The light from behind him cast interesting shadows on his chest, but she saw scars, too, one across his ribs, one across his bicep. She couldn’t help herself from reaching for them, rubbing her fingers across them.

He leaned forward and rubbed his own thumb between her eyebrows, erasing the lines of her frown. “They’re old scars.”

“I thought you wore Kevlar.”

“I did after this one.” He pressed his hand to the back of hers over his ribs. “It was a close call.” He leaned over her then, the hand still touching hers, the other braced on the mattress by her head. “Still think I’m beautiful?”

“God, yes.”

“I think you are.” He hooked his hands in her jeans and tugged.

They were just loose enough that they slid over her hips, taking her panties with them. He hummed in approval and combed his fingers through her tight curls. She gripped his wrist.

“Not yet.”

“I’m not going to make you come yet.”

She met his gaze. “Yes, you are.”

He lifted his eyebrows and shifted so he stretched out beside her, his body heat seeping into her skin.

“You know, you can come more than once. In fact.” He slid his hand over her stomach and watched her skin jump. “I may make it my mission to make you come so many times tonight, we break the world record.”

“Is there one?” She could barely get the words past her throat.

“There will be when we’re done.” He trailed his palm down her thigh, pushing it to the side so she was open to him, dragging his fingertips up the inside of her leg until she quivered with the need for him to touch her. “Teresa?”

“Please!” The word tore from her throat, and he covered her, the heel of his hand resting on her pubic bone, his fingers stroking over her labia, teasing her until she bucked. He stroked her open, circling her entrance before pushing in, nail-deep.

God. The roughness of his finger, her own wetness. She pushed against his touch, bringing him deeper, his hand against her clit, and she came, long rolling pulses of pleasure that melted her muscles, sent her mind spiraling, freeing her in a way she hadn’t been free in months.

Then he slid his fingers over her clit, sweeping her right back up. Her hands flew to his shoulders, her short fingernails digging into his muscles.

“Wait. Wait. I want...I want to touch you. Please, West.”

He rolled onto his back, stretching his hands out to his sides. “I won’t say no.”

Feeling powerful, at once sated and aroused, she rose over him, trailing her hand over his broad chest, over his stomach. He flinched, just as she had, which made her smile. She popped the button of his jeans, slid down his zipper with shaking fingers.

He wasn’t wearing underwear. God, that gave her a jolt. His cock was long, thick and beautiful, just like the rest of him. Her hand hovered over it a moment before she stroked it, then closed her fingers around it, stroking, learning him, loving the way he sucked in his breath at her touch.

Rising on her knees, she straddled his thighs, bending to kiss his throat, tasting his salty skin, dragging her tongue along his collarbone. He wound his fingers in her hair as she descended his body, breathing in his musky scent, tracing the muscles of his abs, his oblique—God, that was sexy—before following the trail of hair from his navel to his groin.

She took a moment to admire his cock, broad-tipped, moisture glistening on the end, before she brought him to her lips, stroking his hot, hard shaft as she covered as much of him as she could.

She used to hate doing this, when Miguel would push her head down his body. But since she’d come into West’s RV, she wanted nothing more than to taste him, to show him pleasure. His hand rested lightly on the back of her head, but he wasn’t pushing her. She dared to look up the length of his body and saw him watching her, a smile canting his lips.

She stroked her tongue against the underside of his cock, feeling his pulse, finding just where to touch to make him gasp. Beneath her hand, his balls tightened, and regret lashed through her. He was going to come like this, and she wouldn’t feel him inside her.

But then he put his hands on her shoulders and lifted her off of him, lowered her to the bed before he climbed off to strip off his jeans, rolled on a condom, then stretched out between her legs. He pushed her thighs apart, guided his cock so the tip parted her pussy. He stroked a moment against her folds before positioning himself at her entrance. Holding her gaze, he pushed in, slow, filling her. She lifted her hips into him, wanting more, wanting, but he kept the same pace, reaching behind her to close his fingers around her ass, holding her, guiding her as he eased deeper.

She couldn’t—she couldn’t—he was opening her, revealing her, finding her secrets, her clit swelling against the rasp of his pubic hair, the head of his cock stroking just...

The orgasm slammed into her, no easy roll this time, but one that seized her, tightening her whole body. She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him to her, pushing against him, taking him deeper, harder, undulating around him.

“Shit, shit,” he swore softly. “Don’t make me—” He stilled over her, but she pumped her hips against him, wanting more.

“West!” she cried when he pulled out of her.

“I was going to come,” he said, his voice strangled. “I’m sorry. You were—Jesus, that felt amazing.”

“I want more.”

He laughed softly. “Get on your knees, baby.”