Strokes Vol #3
Authors: Delilah Devlin
Tags: #Short Stories & Anthologies, #Anthologies, #Romance
Delilah Devlin
This eBook is
not
transferable.
It cannot be resold, shared or given away because that will be considered an infringement on the copyright for this work.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the Delilah’s imagination and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Strokes, Vol. 3
Copyright © 2016 by Delilah Devlin
Kindle Edition
Cover by April Martinez
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission
by the author
, except for brief quotations for review purposes.
I write to be read. So, as always, this volume is for my lovely, loyal readers…
I didn’t begin my career writing short stories. In fact, I was already a well-published novelist when I took up the challenge to send a short story to an editor on an open call. That first story hooked me, and now, I’ve been a fan of the format now for some time. I’ve had the great good fortune to edit a few collections of my own, as well as building a stock of personal shorts that I can share with readers.
Well, here I am again with my third volume of
Strokes
! These stories are intended for bed-time reading—a week’s worth of naughty tales. Read them alone or with your partner.
Read them to your partner.
I hope you enjoy the stories as much as I enjoyed writing them. As always, I can promise that even though they are short, they are not lacking in passion.
Bon appétit!
Delilah Devlin
‡
L
ightning clawed the
sky with a crow’s foot, illuminating thick thunderheads that glowed yellow-green and ominous. The color the sky often turned before a tornado twisted its nasty tail. Glad to be out of the rain and safe from the jagged streaks, I shivered against the cool vinyl seat as another flash lashed out like the end of a whip, lighting the sky so intensely that for a moment the darkened parking lot was as bright as high noon.
That was when I saw the pickup roll in towing a large horse trailer. The Ford F-160 ground to a halt beside the diner’s plate-glass window. The driver wasn’t going to bother trying to park it in the flooded lot.
I heard the muffled slam of the truck door when the end of the lightning strike flickered out, plunging the parking lot back into darkness. The driver would be soaked to the skin before he even hit the door. The distance was only twelve feet, but the rain was coming down in sheets. I’d been lucky, arriving before the worst of the storm struck. Mostly dry, I peered through the window at the deepening night, waiting for a lull before continuing my journey home.
Earlier, I’d read the clouds as well as any West Texas native could and headed to the nearest shelter. The tiny diner with its 70’s style brick façade, split vinyl bench seats, and chipped, laminated table tops was a welcome haven. The attached string of dingy motel rooms was part of Plan B, if the storm didn’t wane before midnight.
My arrival had been nearly forty minutes ago. Except for a bored waitress smoking a cigarette at a far table, I was the only customer. Until now.
The door squeaked open, and a cowboy strode inside. He pulled off his cream-colored hat and shook shaggy dark brown hair like a dog, sending droplets of water lashing against the glass door. His white T-shirt, soaked almost to transparency, clung to the hills and hollows of sharply defined muscles along his chest and abdomen.
I straightened in my seat, eyeing his tall, lean frame, liking what I saw. Instant lust drew me, stripping away my usual reticence with strangers. He wasn’t
just
my type, he could freaking set the mold. I licked my lips.
Setting his cowboy hat on the table, the deeply tanned man sank into a booth near the door, his expression a study in irritation. Dark brows drawn in a fierce frown, his lips crimped in a thin line.
This cowboy needed a reason to smile.
I pursed my lips and let out a low whistle. His green gaze sliced my way, taking away my breath. One dark eyebrow rose, his gaze sharpening, giving my face and chest a quick sweep.
His glance locked with mine again, and I figured I didn’t look exactly Coyote Ugly. Feeling brazen as hell, I smiled. “’Fraid you’ll melt?”
The corner of his mouth curled—just a slight easing of tension I found promising.
“I’m not that fragile,” he drawled.
I liked the raw texture of his voice—a scratchy rumble that started deep in his chest and scraped upward. Already I could imagine it softening to a rasp when he whispered. “Seein’ as we’re the only ones here, cowboy, wanna join me?”
With a nod, he gripped the top edge of the bench seat to haul himself up, giving me an interesting view of flexing biceps. He set his cowboy hat back on his head and sauntered my way. The easy roll of his hips and the dull clap of his boots on the tiled floor heightened the little flame of awareness growing inside me. The man certainly filled out a pair of blue jeans.
My gaze dipped only a moment, taking in the oversized belt buckle and the equally impressive bulge at the front of his pants before sliding up to cling to his mossy-green eyes, the corners wrinkling as he narrowed his gaze.
Something about him seemed familiar, like maybe we’d met once a long time ago. Only I knew I’d never forget someone like him. I shook my head, guessing I wanted a connection to this man that didn’t exist—something to make the plan unfolding in my mind a little less outrageous.
His eyelids dipped then widened, a subtle once-over that left my breasts tingling and my thighs tightening.
He nodded toward the window. “Storm catch you, too?”
So he was willing to exchange small talk to extend our encounter while he politely studied me to figure out where I was leading him and whether he was willing to be led.
I’d never considered myself especially easy, but I was quick to make up my mind when I saw something I wanted. Something I had to have—and this cowboy, I definitely had to have. “I don’t mind the storm. I needed a break anyway,” I said, trying to keep our conversation light and flowing. Soon enough, I’d figure out if he was ripe for a little more than flirting.
He continued to stare—at my hair and my breasts, again—until I warmed past the need to be cool. “You change your mind? Or you gonna have a seat?”
His soft snort, so typically male, plucked at my nipples. But he slid into the bench opposite me, stretching his bare arms wide across the top of the vinyl, all that lovely muscle and the shadows of his small male nipples coming into prominence with the stretch of thin, wet opaque cotton. “Travel far?” he asked, the texture of his voice deepening to a sexy growl.
Again, I pressed my thighs together, enjoying the slowly building heat. “From Atlanta.”
“Much farther to go?”
“Home’s just down the road a piece.”
He cleared his throat. “My name’s Da—”
“Cowboy,” I interrupted him, setting the rules of this game.
Interest flickered in his eyes. He nodded slowly and lifted his hat from his head to rake thick long fingers through his black-brown hair. “Am I gonna call you ‘lady’?”
I gave him a cheeky grin. “My name’s Carly.” My middle name. I’d used anonymity before when I’d been on the prowl. Kept a little mystery to heighten a man’s interest. “I saw you pull up with that horse trailer.”
“I took a string of horses to auction. I’m headin’ home now.” He sounded tired, but his steady stare told me he was waiting to see how this game played out.
I hated the awkward silence that followed, as though we’d run out of polite conversation. At this point, I had to cut or run. I cleared my throat. “So, it looks like we’re both stuck here for awhile…” I let my voice trail off.
His gaze sharpened, and I felt my bluster begin to fade. Had I been too bold?
“Look…” He glanced around. “I don’t know what you have in mind, but our options seem a little limited, sweetheart.”
The rusty rasp of his voice didn’t hold a single note of hesitation. He wasn’t pulling away. His gaze remained steady; curiosity gleamed—and maybe there was a little hint of challenge.
Something I never backed away from. I nibbled on my bottom lip, satisfied when his glance dropped to watch. My confidence restored, I arched a brow. “You don’t appear to be a man with a lack of imagination.”
“Not something I’ve ever been accused of,” he murmured. “But I generally like a little comfort for my partner.” He leaned over the table and whispered. “Something soft underneath her back or her knees.”
Day-um!
He wasn’t the least bit shy. My nipples spiked, and I leaned back and stretched my own arms across the back of the bench seat, giving him a clear view of just how aroused those little points had become. “Sounds like you can be a little rough,” I said, kicking off one sandal and lifting my foot to reach beneath the table.
I slid my toes along the inside of one booted calf, trailing up his thigh slowly, skipped his crotch and teased him with a glide along the opposite thigh. I found his cock nestled there, and squeezed it with my toes before settling the ball of my foot between his legs.
He drew in a deep breath, his eyelids falling halfway closed as he eased down in his seat and widened his legs. “I’m just a cowboy,” he said, his voice tightening as I gave his crotch a rub. “I tend to ride my horses and my women hard.”
My thin cotton panties soaked up the moisture seeping from inside me. I massaged his dick, rolling my foot, heel-to-toe, eliciting a roll of his hips as he nudged his cock deeper against my foot. One last caress and I let my foot fall back to the floor.
His eyes widened and his chest rose sharply with his next indrawn breath. “Anyone waitin’ at home for you?”
I shook my head. “You?”
“Uh-uhn.”
My slow-spreading grin matched his for wicked delight. No impediments then to our pleasure.
He cleared his throat and glanced away.
I was glad for that hint of reticence in him. It emboldened me to make the next move. Set the pace.
“Need a cup of coffee?” I asked.
The side of his mouth quirked up. “Think you can pry her away from her crossword puzzle?” he asked, nodding toward the waitress.
“Oh, she and I are old friends by now. I just help myself.” So I got up, taking my time, letting him get a nice view of what I’d worked so hard at the gym to perfect. I knew there was a little extra baggage in the trunk, but most men didn’t seem to mind. So I made use of it, swaying slowly, knowing he was smart enough to pick up on the invitation.
I poured his coffee and came back, giving him a mischievous smile. His expression heated me. Narrowed eyes, crooked grin. Like he was taking my measure. Sticking his thumb into the air to read the windage before taking aim.
He lifted his cup to his lips, and I leaned forward, resting my breasts on the table. “So, how much time do you think we have?” I whispered.
He must have gulped a little too fast, because he winced and set down his cup hard on the table before clearing his throat, his gaze glued to the cleavage I displayed above the low-neck tank tank top I wore. “Time?”
“Yeah, until the storm ends and you have to move along.”
He gave a short bark of laughter. “Lady, anyone ever tell you that you move fast?”
I shrugged, pretending a nonchalance my tight little nipples belied. “The way I see it,” I drawled, “if I don’t move quick, we’ll never know.”