Teaching the Cowboy (9 page)

Chapter Seven

J
ohn peeled back the layers of Ronnie’s clothing as if she were a Christmas present meant for him to open in private, which was close enough to the truth. No one else on the ranch besides Anna had keys to the guesthouse, and she had no reason to question their whereabouts. If Landon happened to ride past on his way up from one of the back pastures and saw the horses grazing, well, that’d be another issue. He hoped his grown son would have the good sense to keep on moseying past.

Maybe I should put a sock on the front doorknob or something.

“I hope you’re not going to regret this in the morning,” he said, nuzzling his nose against her floral-scented neck as he hooked his thumbs into the sides of her panties.

“I probably will.”

“So you’re saying no?”

His cock grazed against the inside of her warm, satiny thigh, and the clamp of her fingers around his shaft was her response.

“I don’t want you to think this is a normal thing for me, John.”

“Then what is it?”

“Where should I begin?”

He didn’t care where she began, as long as she didn’t stop squeezing. He grazed the tips of his fingers around her ribcage and found the clasp of her bra, flicking it open on the third try. A hiss escaped his teeth as he peeled the lacy contraption down her arms.

“Lovely.”

He cupped her breasts and flicked at the milk chocolate-colored areole he so hungrily wished to put his lips around, but was distracted her hand’s evacuation from his aching erection.

She took a couple of steps away from him and put her fists on her hips, the corners of her lips pushed downward into a scowl.

He growled and reached for her.

She put up her hands to still him. “You wait right there.”

He blew out a long exhale through his mouth and clamped his fists loosely at his sides. “Don’t keep me waiting long, Ron. You’re killing me.”

“I want to get this off my chest.”

“Okay, sorry. Go ahead.”
Dear fuck, go ahead.

“I don’t sleep with guys I’ve only known a week,” she started. “Hell, less than a week.”

“Good. Good. You’re very pious. I get it.” He let his gaze trail down past her collarbone over her chest.

She crossed her arms over her breasts and cleared her throat.

Goddamn.

“And as I’ve said before, I don’t sleep with my students’ fathers.”

“I hope you’ll make an exception within the next three minutes or so.” He was aching hard and he figured since she’d caused the pain, she damn well should be the salve.

She wagged a finger at him. “Quiet.”

John pressed his lips into a tight line and grunted.
Come on, woman
.

“I don’t have sex with men I’m not in a relationship with. I don’t do casual.”

“There’s nothing casual about this.” He dropped his gaze to the perfect dip of her navel and down to the place where her thighs met.

She snapped her fingers.

He looked up. “Sorry.” He had attention issues. Who could blame him?

“Sure feels that way, or else I’d be in
your
bed right now. This feels a bit illicit.”

“Honey, it’s not. It’s just a matter of circumstance. If you want to wait, we can wait, but I just want you to know I plan on this happening again.” He took a step forward and extended an arm to her. When she didn’t move, he took another. “And again.” He wrapped an arm around her tiny waist and pulled her in close against his body. “And then some more. And I don’t care who knows it. I just don’t want to be interrupted, because once I get you out of those panties, I’m not going to stop until you push me off. You have no idea what you’re doing to me, woman.”

Now it was her turn to drop her gaze downward. “Oh, I have some idea. I guess you don’t care so much about propriety.”

He inserted a finger into the elastic holding her loose ponytail and glided it down and off, raking his hands through her loose tresses.

She put her hands up to stop him.

He grabbed her wrists and eased them down to her waist.
Priss
. “Nope.”

“What are you going to tell your kids, John?”

“To do their homework and keep their noses clean. What else?”

“Are you kidding me?”

He blew out a long, frustrated breath and bent at the knees. Before she could ask him about his odd exercise, he pressed his shoulder against her waist and carried her, squirming, the short distance to the bed.

“Why don’t you just go ahead and hog-tie me, too?” she said.

He dropped her on the bed and eased her panties down her legs. “Maybe later. I’m not really into kink, though. Want to teach me?”

She rolled her eyes as he nudged her legs apart.

“Keep on and they’re going to get stuck like that.”

“Bet you use that line on Peter a lot.”

He let his smirk be his answer and crawled between her legs, lowering his body for a kiss, only to meet resistance from her palms pressed against his chest.

She shook her head.

He blew out a breath. “Quit it with the mixed signals. It’s like deciphering algebra, and I failed that the first time through.”

She gave him a forceful nudge backward and grunted. “John. Condom?”

He froze and meditated on the eyebrow slowly creeping upward. Condom?

“John? Are you having a stroke or something? I’m good, but not that good. Men usually need to touch me before they go catatonic.”

Condom
. “Be right back.” He eased backward and planted his feet on the floor at the foot of the bed, scratching his head as he strode toward the en suite bathroom. He closed the door behind him and made quick work of searching the vanity drawers, the linen closet, and the medicine cabinet. Nothing.

He paced in front of the tub, raking a hand through his hair as he studied the floor’s grout lines. Last time he’d needed a condom was…

“Got it.” He snapped his fingers and quietly opened the adjacent door that led out to the hall. He’d always thought that door was extraneous for what was supposed to be a private bathroom, but he appreciated the placement now. Maybe he’d send the builder a thank-you note for insisting on it.

In the office, he opened the metal match holder on the fireplace mantle, grabbed the matches in one fist, and dumped the single condom out of the bottom. “Shit. Just one? Where’d the rest go?”

“John?” Ronnie called out. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s perfect.” He dropped the matches back into the container, returned it to the mantel, and hurried back to the master bedroom with the single foil packet in his hand.

He crawled between her legs and sheathed himself in short order. “Dinner’s at five, so how do you want this?”

She shook her head, forehead furrowed and eyes narrowed. “What?”

He chuckled. “Fast and rough or moderate and torturous?”

She stared at him, unspeaking for a long while. “Wow, both offers sound so irresistible. I can hardly pick.”

“Between you and me, it’s been a while, so for my sake I hope you can orgasm in well under five minutes.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist and smirked. “So kind of you to consider my pleasure. You’re a real gentleman, Johan Lundstrom.”

“I keep telling you that. So, how do you want it?” He bent down and grabbed the lobe of her ear, just short of the pearl stud earring, between his teeth and pulled.

She sucked in a breath. “How about both? Both sound nice.”

The way she saw it, it didn’t matter. Approximately seventy percent of her orgasms in recent memory had been mechanically induced. She’d talked to her doctor about it and her doctor told her the cure was to “just relax.” And then he handed her a birth control prescription refill slip.

“How about you start low and slow and work up to it?” She scraped her fingers through his short hair and fantasized for a fleeting moment of him being buck naked in nothing but his cowboy hat. The thought of him hovering over her like that made her clench things down below and arch up to him.

“Mm. Sounds like a plan.” His hand was already there at her entrance, separating her lips between his fingers as he angled his hips for access. As his head probed at her muscles he whispered, “Sorry if this isn’t what you’re used to.” He pushed himself in as far as he could, groaning at the friction as his shaft plunged into her natural lubrication.

She writhed beneath him, eyes already fluttering behind their lids.

Holy hell
.

He pulled out almost all the way, and then slowly pushed back in almost to the hilt.

A whimper caught in her throat.

“You okay?” he whispered into her mouth before slipping his tongue between her lips.

“Mm-hmm.”

He increased his pace, the end of him probing that erogenous spot against the front of her belly, making her eyes water with every stroke. She kissed him back, hungrily devouring his lips as her fingers raked down his strong, muscled back. Her legs tightened around his waist, pulling his chest down even closer and forcing even more contact with her over-stimulated clit.

Thank the Lord, it’s awake. Missed you, little buddy.

He slipped one hand between their bodies and pinched her left nipple.

She nipped at his lip at the sinful jolt it sent through her and groaned as the pressure below began to escalate toward eruption. She thought he had underestimated his control and
over
estimated hers, because the next thing she knew she was setting her teeth into the thick cords of his neck and curling her toes behind his back.

“Fuck, woman.” He came next, holding her hips very still until his cock stopped writhing inside her. He pulled out and looked down the line of his body with his brow wrinkled.

“What?”

He shook his head, wrapped his fingers around his still-erect shaft, and wriggled to the edge of the bed. He put his legs over the edge, and Ronnie guessed by the movements of his shoulders he was slipping off the condom.

“Wow,” she said in such a tiny voice she wasn’t sure if it was internal dialogue or if it’d actually passed through her lips.

He looked back over his left shoulder at her, and then stood, grinning like the cat that got the cream as he strode toward the bathroom. “You all right? Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She closed her eyes and wiggled all the extremities she could feel and clamped her kegels. She couldn’t stop the little moan that came next, and clamped her hand over her mouth to stop the giggles. Who was this woman, if not staid, sensible Veronica Silver? She could hardly recognize herself but was content at the moment with being someone else if that’s what pure bliss felt like. She felt boneless and weightless and just
wonderful
, with her skin tingling against the satiny sheets.

He paused, leaning against the doorway with his back to the bathroom. “So, that was all right?”

“Oh,
God
.”

He had to ask? Did he not know?

Ronnie figured she could use a little prayer the next morning as she followed Becka and the girls up the steps into the Lutheran church in Storafalt. She thought perhaps God would strike her down right there in the vestibule for being what her thoroughly Baptist mother would call a “brazen strumpet.” She didn’t feel so guilty after the first time John had brought her to the brink. That’d been quite nice. Relaxing, even. She could sure use the relaxing.

She’d trailed him into the Lundstrom house for dinner without so much as a blush on her face, regardless of the fact that her clothes were wrinkled and quickly-braided hair matted with gnarls. But then he’d knocked on the door of her little staff house at ten o’clock, held up a box of condoms, and explained he couldn’t sleep. After that he proceeded to make damn sure she didn’t sleep, either. The man was insatiable. It wouldn’t have been so memorable, but by then the soreness from their earlier horse ride had started settling into her hips. She’d explained as much, but he’d laid her on her belly, arched her ass up to him for easy access, and told her to say, “No.” She hadn’t.

She’d lost track of how many times she’d gotten off but was damn aware when he’d left her there alone at four a.m. to go home before the kids woke looking for him.

“We usually sit all the way up front,” Becka said, bringing Ronnie back to reality with a little pat on the back.

She must have been frozen in place there as she considered her evening, because a queue was forming behind them. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she cleared her throat. She patted her perfect bun—created after a good wash, deep conditioning, a very hot half hour of blow-drying, flat ironing, and moisturizing—and mumbled, “Sorry. Excuse me,” as she got out of the way.

She followed Becka up the aisle, keeping her eyes straight ahead although the tiny hairs at the back of her neck stood and her ears burned from the scrutiny of the congregation. Even without scanning the room, she could feel them all watching. She was an outsider—a woman of color, to boot—and had dressed badly for the occasion. Most of the woman wore simple summer dresses with sandals or flats. Ronnie had chosen her favorite, slinky stretchy black wrap dress, sheer black hose, and a pair of good black leather pumps that had gotten her through a few Mistress of Ceremony gigs.