The Love of a Lawman, The Callister Trilogy, Book 3 (23 page)

He drank another cup and returned to the bedroom. He put on his worn-out jeans and well-used riding boots, the responsible adult part of him preparing to ride the horses and work them as usual and perhaps not even see Izzy. By the time he finished dressing, he had consumed the whole pot of coffee and he felt wired.

He climbed into his truck and turned the key, then had a second thought. He slid out and walked back inside to his bedroom, dug in his dresser drawer for the box of Trojan Ultras that had been there untouched since he moved back to Callister. He plucked half a dozen of the foil packets and shoved them in his jeans pocket. What might happen today was anybody's guess, but being prepared did no harm.

The Rondeau place was quiet when he arrived. He saw the palomino, but he didn't see Izzy. He parked in his usual spot between the barn and the house, walked to the back door and gave it a
rap-rap-rap.
She came to the door wearing blue sweatpants and a sweatshirt and looking soft and cuddly.

With trepidation, Isabelle had stood in the window and watched John walk to the back door. After being awake half the night, then going back to sleep after she got Ava on the school bus, she had been in the bathroom drying her hair when she heard his engine. Now, right now, this morning, she had to clarify that the insanity in the barn could never happen again.

"I thought you might not come out this morning," she said, stepping back to allow him entrance onto the porch.

"Why would you think that?"

As he walked past her, she caught a whiff of his shampoo and soap. The scent zoomed straight to her primal center.

Following him into the kitchen, even with several feet between them, she sensed that he, too, was drawn tight as a drum.

She glanced at the half-full coffeepot. Conversations over coffee seemed to have a better outcome. "There's coffee," she said.

"I don't need any more. I've already drunk a gallon." He removed his hat and set it on the table.

Okay, she could do this without coffee. She stopped beside the counter and faced him. "Tuesday in the barn was a mistake, John. I want you to know I don't blame you. It was my fault. I hope we can put it aside and—"

"Has Ava gone to school?" His green eyes bored into hers.

Her face heated under his direct gaze. "Y—Yes, but—"

"Is that what you want, to set it aside?"

She stood there like a dumbbell, her throat working, but no words came out. To her alarm, her nipples seemed to be growing too tight for her skin.

He came to where she stood. His hands came up and grasped her shoulders. "I want you," he said softly and she could see in his expressive eyes that he meant it. "I always have, even years ago. And I kind of feel like you want me, too."

Tears sprang to her eyes. This wasn't fair. No way was she prepared to deal with this. Her lips trembled. "But, John, we—"

His head bent and he kissed her.

She resisted. For about five seconds. Then, as if her traitorous limbs had minds of their own, her arms went up over his shoulders and around his neck and as if her two hands couldn't touch enough of him, she pressed her body against his. He kissed her more, cradling the back of her head with his hand, giving her his tongue and taking hers. His kisses were so good, his mouth so sweet. She drank him in like a victim dying of thirst.

The room began to spin and the next thing she became aware of was his hands under her sweatshirt, making contact with the bare skin of her back. She hadn't taken the time to put on a bra. He leaned away, his fingers at the knit band at the bottom of her sweatshirt. They stared at each other, him waiting for her to confirm the decision that had, in reality, been made Tuesday in the barn.

Unable to endure the dark intensity in his eyes, she looked at the floor, fighting back tears. Desire, want, need, loneliness—all conspired against her determination to not get involved and make her life even harder. Seconds ticked away.

Oh, hell, wasn't it her turn?

Yes!
her slutty side answered.

She pulled her sweatshirt up and over her head and let it drop to the floor.

"Lord," he choked out, staring at her breasts. He crushed her to him and devoured her mouth with another devastating kiss.

She pulled away, ducked her chin and began to work at his shirt buttons. If she didn't look into his eyes, this would be easier. Her fingers fumbled. No wonder. She was standing here half naked with her nipples sticking out like mountain peaks. "You know we shouldn't be doing this. This is not supposed to happen. I know we'll both be sorry."

He grasped her fingers and kissed them. "Let me, darlin'." As he took over undoing his shirt buttons, she clasped his face and kissed him again, thrusting her tongue into his mouth.

Swearing, he gave up on the buttons and wrapped his arms around her, grasped her bottom and brought her pelvis against his erection. Heat she hadn't felt in years sizzled through her veins and she wriggled against the firm shape of him.

His mouth dragged from hers and trailed down her neck. His ragged breath lay hot and moist on her breasts. She could hear her own breath, shallow and shaky. His hand lifted one breast and he pressed his open mouth to the pillow of flesh.

She closed her eyes and sighed. "Oh, John..."

Clutching his hair, she guided him to the swollen nipple that ached for attention. He drew deeply, sucked hard, titillated with his tongue. A maddening tingle began between her thighs. "John... John, do... do you think you should take your coat off?"

"I can't.... I don't want to let you go."

His hands slid beneath the elastic waist of her sweatpants and gripped her bottom, his fingers feeling strong and able pressing into her buttocks. Her pulse throbbed deep in her sex and she thought she might die if he didn't touch her there and relieve the tingle. "John...," she whispered, "...I need... can you..." She put space between them and parted her legs.

His hand came around, pushed between her thighs and began to rub her through her panties. "Is this what you want?"

"Oooh..." she murmured as unadulterated pleasure coursed through her. "Oh, yesss..."

He stopped abruptly. "Shit. I can't stand this."

He shoved both sweatpants and panties past her hips. They fell to her ankles.
Yes!
her slutty side proclaimed again.

She tried to kick the garments off her feet, but they became ensnared by her slippers. He dropped to one knee and began to free her feet. "Step out," he said gruffly, clasping first one ankle, then the other. She watched him lift her feet from the knot of sweatpants and lacy panties.

As he whisked the clothing aside, his head rose. His eyes leveled on the delta where her legs joined her trunk. She held her breath and her stomach began to shake. He swallowed audibly, stayed deathly still for a few seconds. When she did nothing, he leaned in to her and nuzzled.

His breath riffled across her pubic hair.
OhGodohGod. A
part of her brain demanding that she stop him struggled to override the other part that wanted this. "John, you shouldn't..."

His hands clasped her hip bones and gently pushed her back against the counter. His open mouth moved over her belly, murmuring, "I've wanted to do this for eighteen years."

She gripped the counter edge and watched as he parted her gently with his thumbs. The first thrust of his tongue brought a gasp and a shudder. She pushed her pelvis forward, giving him everything. He took, lapping and probing and flicking. She clenched her teeth and endured as sensation suspended her in a purple void of desire. On a whimper that was an undeniable plea, she bent her knees, opening herself wider still. Two fingers worked up into her and her vaginal muscles rejoiced.

Then there was nothing but his fingers and his tongue moving in rhythm with each other. Release hung millimeters away. Her head tilted back, little noises escaped her throat. When she thought she would surely die if he didn't help her, if he didn't
do
something, his mouth gently closed over the sensitive morsel of flesh at the top of her sex and the world exploded. She cried out. Her hips bucked violently. He gripped her buttocks, his hands like a vise, and held her, not missing a beat with his tongue. Pleasure tore through her again and again. When her arms gave away and her knees buckled, he let go and she wilted to the floor whimpering and shaking and clinging to him.

"Oh, God, you're sweet," he whispered and she felt herself being gathered to his chest. He stood up with her in his arms. "Where's your bed?"

"Up the hall," she said in a tiny voice.

She felt weak and helpless as a kitten as he carried her into the dim morning light of her bedroom and laid her on her unmade bed. She grabbed for the sheet, covered herself and stared as he whipped off his coat, then his shirt and T-shirt, his torso appearing inch by inch as each garment fell to the floor.

He dug in his jeans pocket, pulled out packets of condoms and dropped them on her bedside table. For an instant she bristled at his audacity for bringing them, but at the same time she was grateful. She had been off the pill for a long time.

He sank to the edge of the bed and pried off his boots. Her strength returned and when he stood to unbuckle his belt, her slutty side rose to the occasion. She scuttled across the bed and helped him push his jeans and shorts down powerful hairy legs. His erection, as thick and long and eager as she had imagined it would be, jutted from a patch of dark brown curls. "Oooh," she murmured, unable to tear her gaze away. "I knew you'd be beautiful."

"God, Isabelle, just look at me. I've been like this ever since I found out you were back in town."

He peeled his jeans and shorts the rest of the way off, crawled under the covers and stretched alongside her. The mattress sank with his weight and his long arms and legs surrounded her. His mouth devoured hers again and she suckled her own taste from his tongue and lips as they caressed each other everywhere with their hands. Little hums came from his throat, little sighs from hers.

It had been so long since she'd had a naked man at her disposal. She stroked him all over—his fuzzy belly, his hairy scrotum, closed her hand around his thick penis, appreciating the tensile strength.

His thigh thrust between hers, pressing upward, hard against her sex, where she felt hot and empty. The need built again and she pulled back, knees bent and open and begging him to come inside.

He released her long enough to snap on a condom, then moved over her. Jaw clenched, he braced on one hand and his hot penis drove into her. He was big and he stretched her, but no part of her wanted to stop. She came again, arching to him, gripping his biceps with her fingertips and gasping openmouthed.

He kissed her savagely again. She was filled with him, overwhelmed by the strength of him, engulfed by the force of him. His arm held her pelvis tight against him and he began to rock, hard and fast, pressuring the crucial point of contact in a steady rhythm. She dug her heels into the backs of his thighs and hung on until she began to spasm again and she could feel her deep muscles caressing his hot flesh with little sucking contractions. It was coming again, the overpowering wave. "Oh. Oh. Oh, John."

"Come with me," he choked out. He reared back, slid a hand between them and touched the demanding swollen nubbin inside her sex. One touch was all she needed. Her breath caught. Stars burst inside her head. She clung to him as out-of-control sensation hurled her through space and her every cell focused on the agonizing rapture. She barely heard him groan, barely felt him strain, barely was aware he had stopped moving until he collapsed on top of her.

* * *

"I told you so," Isabelle's slutty side said. Indeed, she had never known anything quite like what had just happened between her and the naked man crossing her bedroom.

She watched as he came to the bed. Only blindness could keep her eyes from feasting on him. He was a gorgeous man, the epitome of male perfection—long everywhere, with well-defined muscles that showed the physical strength that made her feel small and feminine. He had a few scars and a bit of a tan, which made her wonder where and when he had been exposed to the sun without his clothes.

He slid under the covers, wrapped his brawny arms around her and pulled her close to his big body. "Cold in here," he said on a shiver.

A half hour earlier, with the fires of passion raging, neither of them had noticed the room temperature. "I haven't opened the vent in here. It's so hot in Texas. One of the things about Callister I missed was nights made for sleeping under warm blankets."

She snuggled closer to his warm skin, tugging the quilt, hand-sewn by her mother somewhere back in time, up to their chins. She pressed her face against his chest and breathed in the earthy smell of him, needing to brand it in her memory. They lay there, belly to belly, drifting in the afterglow of lusty, satisfying sex. "I like sleeping under covers. It makes me feel safe."

"Safe from what? What scares you, Izzy-girl?"

"When I was a little girl, I was afraid of a lot of things. I thought covers would keep someone from grabbing me."

When he didn't reply, she opened her eyes and saw his closed, his long, dark lashes lying against his cheeks; saw his lips slightly parted, swollen and shiny from ardent kissing. She had observed his ability to concentrate fiercely on everything he did. She should have known he would bring the same intensity to lovemaking.