Rode Hard, Put Up Wet (21 page)

“Gemma, doll, please. Finish me off.”

“I love making you squirm.”

“Goddamn, you’re good at it too. But I can’t stand much longer.”

“Then come in my mouth this time.”

When she’d given him head in the past month, he’d always pulled out at the moment of truth and come on her tits or her belly or in her pussy.

Thinking of his cock pumping his seed over her tongue and feeling her swallowing part of him seemed more intimate that the act itself. He usually avoided that portion of blowjobs and the women he’d been with hadn’t cared.

Until now.

“Cash?”

“Okay. But I’m gonna need to put my hands on your head.”

“Whatever you want.” Then her greedy lips parted and she took him in all the way.

He grabbed her hair. “Open wider.”

She did.

“Get me wet with that hot fuckin’ mouth.”

She made slurping sounds and sexy moans as his cock tunneled in and out.

“Suck harder, JESUS, just like that. Fuck, Gemma. I’m close. Tilt your head. Hold on.” He shoved the last couple inches until he felt the tip of his cock hit her soft palette.

He roared as his balls lifted, and streams of come poured down her throat as he kept her firmly in place and pumped his pelvis.

Even through the dull roar in his ears Cash heard Gemma gulping. After the last spasm, she slowly released him from the haven that was her mouth.

She stood and pushed him back, because he lost the ability to stand.

Maybe his knees were buckling in shame.

Yeah. Bet her late husband never grabbed her by the hair and fucked her face like a savage beast. He didn’t know what the hell had gotten into him.

The tangy lemony scent of her shampoo drifted up. He kissed the top of her head then reached down and yanked up his pants.

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“Why don’t you hop up on the couch and let me return the favor, eh?”

Without responding, Gemma took his hand and led him through the darkened house and upstairs to her bedroom.

He braced himself, expecting she’d turn on the lights. Had she noticed that every time they’d made love, no matter the position, no matter the time of day, it’d been dark?

Or she’d worn the blindfold?

Yes. But so far she hadn’t mentioned it.

He heard the click of the door shutting.

She said, “Take off your clothes and lay on the bed. Facing up.”

“I like the sound of that.” He stripped. “You have some kinda wicked games planned, Gem?”

No answer. Then her nakedness pressed him into the mattress. She was warm. Soft.

Willing. She smelled like heaven and her body felt like sin. Her lips sought his and she kissed him with tenderness that set his alarm bells ringing.

“Hey. What do you say we get this party started?” He slapped her butt. “Slide on up here and let me taste that pussy.”

“No.”

“Why? I know you didn’t get off when you were blowin’ my mind. You too tired or something?”

“No. Cash. I want you.”

“And luckily I’m right here.”

She rubbed her cheek over his bare chest. “I love the way you touch me. I love how you push me to the limit. I love how you’ve bulldozed through whatever sexual boundaries I might’ve thought I had. I love every single thing we’ve done together.”

“But?”

“But it doesn’t always have to bawdy. Sometimes it can be…sweet.”

He froze.

“Let me show you sweet. Let me make love to you. No lights. No sex toys. No games. No dirty talk. Just you and me and the potential of what it can be between us, Cash.”

For once, he wished he could see her face. He reached for her anyway. “Is this because you need sweetness tonight?”

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“No.” Gemma’s lips clung to his after she kissed him. “It’s because you do.”

Her words undid him. Because he couldn’t speak, Cash surrendered to her, in body, mind and soul. The night was the sweetest he’d ever known.

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Carter McKay wasn’t feeling very sweet at all.

The night was so dark it was like swimming in an inkwell. Only a half moon remained. Clouds obscured it and the stars. So much for his plan to take Macie for a romantic horseback ride.

He reined Deacon to a stop beside Gemma’s barn. Then he dismounted, removed the saddle, blanket and bridle, and led his horse into the last stall. He shoveled a bucketful of oats in the trough and stepped from the dim barn outside into the warm night air with a nearly moonless sky.

Instead of working on plan B and deciding which sweet, romantic words to use on Macie, he found himself irritated he had to be thinking of that kind of shit at all. Why was he sneaking in on horseback? Why couldn’t he just drive his damn truck right up to Macie’s door? Who cared what her father thought?

Evidently Macie did. Which meant he had to care too.

Dammit. Carter glanced at Gemma’s house. Pitch black. He walked toward the faint light glowing from Macie’s camper and put his boot on the pullout step. Should he have brought flowers? A bottle of wine? She probably wouldn’t consider a handful of rainbow-colored condoms and a bottle of lube very damn romantic.

He rapped on the door. The music inside ended abruptly. A curtain fluttered and the door swung outward.

“Dad?”

“No. It’s me. Carter.”

“Carter?”

Was that disappointment in her voice?

She peered behind him, squinting at the darkness. “What are you doing here?

Where’s your truck?”

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“I didn’t drive. I rode my horse.”

“Oh. Do you want to come in?”

“Yes.”

He’d forgotten how cramped it was in her camper. Especially since they were avoiding touching. He sat on the bench next to the foldout kitchen table.

“How are the projects going? Sculptures this week, right?” she asked.

Carter looked at her. Really looked at her. And was struck dumb by his stupidity and pride. He couldn’t believe he’d grumbled about having to romance her. She was beautiful and sweet and funny; he was the luckiest guy on the planet for getting a chance to woo her.

“I miss you, Macie.”

“What?” Her hand flew to her throat. A nervous gesture? From stand-offish Macie?

“I miss you.”

“Carter—”

“I miss you.”

“You already said that.”

“It bears repeatin’.”

Talk to her. Ask her questions. Show her you’re interested in her mind, not just her
body.

“So what were you doin’ before I barged in?”

She pointed to the tin on the table next to him. “I was just about to have a piece of pie. You hungry?”

For you. I want to savor you. I want to devour you.

“Carter?”

“No.”

“You sure? It’s a new recipe and I have whipped cream. Not fresh, it’s the canned kind—”

“Have you even been listenin’ to me, Macie?” He stood and crowded her against the small refrigerator imbedded in the wall. “I said I miss you.”

“How can that be? It’s only been two days since we—”

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“—fucked? Yeah, I know. But it’s been a couple of weeks since we talked. Really sat down and talked. Or fought. Or did anything but fuck like wild rabbits then disappear into our separate little hidey holes.”

“Sorry to be such a disappointment to you.”

“There ain’t a single goddamn thing about you that disappoints me, that’s what I’m tryin’ to tell you. I miss you.”

“Then why are you here scowling at me?” She held up a hand and he automatically stepped back. “Besides the ‘missing me’ thing you keep bringing up?”

Carter smiled. “Because I wanted to see you. Can we just hang out and talk? Act like a normal couple?”

Her hazel eyes turned shrewd. “Are we a couple?”

“Hell yes, we’re a couple. A normal couple, doin’ normal couple things. Talkin’ an’

shit.”

“Fine.” Macie cocked her head. “A normal couple would sit down and have pie.”

“Then dish it up, darlin’. Extra whipped cream on mine.”

Once they were seated across from one another, Carter took a bite. He groaned.

“That’s the best pie I’ve ever tasted.” Another quick bite elicited another heartfelt groan of delight. “My mother would wash my mouth out for sayin’ that to anybody but her.”

Macie finally smiled at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Where’d you learn to cook?”

“Self-taught out of self-preservation.”

Another bite of ambrosia. He moaned again. “Meaning?”

“My mom didn’t cook. I needed to eat. My first job was in a restaurant. I like to experiment with food. I’d still rather cook than waitress, but the money is better waiting tables.”

“Ever thought about goin’ to cookin’ school?”

“Now and again, but I wasn’t the best student. I don’t want to study in a specific area like French, Italian, European or vegetarian dishes. Being a fulltime sous chef would be boring. Same goes for a pastry chef. Or a baker. I don’t think I’d do well with people telling me what I don’t know, or telling me what to do all the time.”

“No? I’m shocked.”

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She swatted at him. “Plus, I like mixing it up and doing it all myself. I’ve heard some of those specialized schools suck the creativity right out of you.” She gave him a sheepish look. “I wasn’t talking about the kind of stuff you do. Art.”

“But it’s true there too. The instructors make you learn how to do it the ‘right’ way so you can eventually do it your own way.” He shoveled in the last chunk of flaky crust and chewed slowly, drawing out the taste. “Then when you do the kind of art that makes you happy, no one thinks it’s real art. It gets called ‘folk’ or ‘rural’ or something that belittles it.”

“That’s happened to you?”

“Every damn day.” Whoa. He’d finished his dessert in record time. He looked over at her full plate; she’d scarcely eaten a bite. Shrugging, he helped himself to a taste of her pie. “Then there’s the whole all ‘artists are gay’ mentality. I’m constantly getting hit on.”

“Never in a million years would I look at you and peg you as gay.”

“Which is why I’m the perfect foil, darlin’.”

“The last guy I dated? He was an artist and I found out in a rude fashion he was gay.”

“Yeah? If anyone could turn a man from the dark side, it’d be you.” He scooped in two more heaping forkfuls of caramelly goodness and sighed. “A couple of the bolder ones thought I was playin’ hard to get, so they tried to convert me.”

“How’d that go for them?”

“I think the one guy from New York is probably still pickin’ up his teeth.” Carter plucked up the last chunk of pie from Macie’s plate, rammed it in his mouth with a happy little moan.

He froze. Lord. Was he smacking? Would it be bad manners to lick the plate?

Yes.

Would it be rude to offer to lick her?

Yes.

Focus. Romance. Normal couple things.

He licked the tines on his fork. “I don’t have nothin’ against gays.”

“Carter.”

He dabbed up every single sugared crumb of the delicious piecrust from the pie tin, sucking the sweetness of the apple filling from the pad of his thumb, lost in thought.

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“Although, I think it would’ve killed Dad to have a gay son. I’m pretty sure he developed an ulcer when I switched my major from ag to art. My brothers joked about it—until I told them how much I get paid for a sculpture.”

“Carter.”

“But it’s feast or famine in the art world. I could bomb and be broke as easily as I could be touted as the next best thing.”

“McKay.”

“I just don’t know how this show’ll go over. It’s a mix of styles. There’s some pressure from my agent and I need it to do well financially so I’ll have options. The thought of spongin’ off my folks indefinitely…Don’t get me wrong. I love them. I love the rest of my family and where I grew up.” He brooded and fiddled with his utensil.

Thinking about this stuff made him crazy. “I don’t want to go far, Wyoming is in my blood, but there’s no place for me on the home place if I’m not ranchin’. I’ve always been a bit of a loner and it appeals to me to be on my own. Even if no one understands.”

“Carter. Shut up.”

He froze again. Had he been yappin’ like an unwanted dog? He shot her a covert glance.

And lust kicked him right in the balls.

“Macie. Darlin’, don’t look at me like that. We’re supposed to be hangin’ out.

Talkin’. Actin’ like a normal couple.”

“Fuck being normal. I’d rather have you fucking me.” She lunged across the table.

The pie plates skidded and crashed to the floor. He barely caught the can of whipped cream before it rolled off the table.

Macie smashed her mouth to his and he fell into heaven.

Yeah. Fuck normal.

He scooted from the bench and took the four short steps to the bedroom with her clinging to him like a vine. Kissing her. Lord. It’d been a lifetime since he’d kissed her.

They half-landed on the bed. She ripped open his shirt and scraped her nails down his torso to his belt buckle.

Buttons flew as he tugged on the lapels of her pajama top.

“Hurry. Did you bring condoms?”

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He didn’t answer. He’d seem like a selfish prick whether he said yes or no. Add in the tiny bottle of lube…

No use hiding them now. He tossed the whole shootin’ match by the pile of floral pillows.

Macie demanded, “Lose the jeans.”

Why was she always in such a damn hurry? He still had his boots on. She jammed her hands in his boxers and grabbed his dick. “Hey, hey. Let’s start at the bottom and work our way up. I gotta get rid of these shitkickers.”

“I don’t care if you leave the damn boots on as long as the damn pants come off.

Now.” Macie pulled his lips to hers as her fingers worked his Wranglers down his legs.