Wanted!. Vicki Thompson Lewis
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for his zipper.
“Mmm.” His groan of approval vibrated against her mouth.
She shoved the jeans down over his hips, and as they dropped, he stepped out of them without breaking their kiss. She shivered in anticipation. And gratitude. Fate had sent her a cowboy with all the right moves.
When he hooked his thumbs inside the waistband of her panties and sent them sliding to the ground, she borrowed his strategy and stepped out of them. She’d wondered if she’d have the nerve to carry through, but here she was, naked in the forest with a ruggedly handsome man. And that man was kissing her in some very interesting places. Dominique Jeffries was back, baby!
Ah, she’d forgotten how much she loved foreplay. This cowboy seemed to love it, too. He moved slowly from her mouth to the sensitive spot behind her ear before making his way along the curve of her neck and across her shoulder. After kissing his way down the inside of her arm all the way to her wrist, he repeated the process on the other side.
Her collarbone got its share of attention, and the indentation at the base of her throat. By the time his moist caress reached the swell of her breast, she was a ball of fiery need, flushed and craving … everything.
And he gave it. After paying homage to her breasts, he moved slowly to her navel. When he circled it with his tongue, she felt an orgasmic tug that made her tremble.
On his knees now, he caressed her thighs. With his warm breath on her curls, he wrapped a supporting arm around her hips as he slid his other hand up, seeking. Finding.
She gasped as he pushed two fingers deep inside at the same moment his tongue made contact with her flash point. One stroke, one flick of his tongue, and she erupted. Crying out, she clutched his head, both to keep her balance and to hold him there … right there.
Then she lost her battle with gravity as he urged her down to the tarp. Vaguely she was aware of the rough canvas against her back and the cushion of pine needles underneath that perfumed the air she dragged into her lungs in great gulps. Somewhere nearby a creek splashed over smooth stones. But her main focus was this man, divesting himself of his last bit of clothing.
Dazed as she was by her recent climax, she still possessed enough brain cells to appreciate the wonder of her cowboy’s package. If this was an example of Wyoming manhood, the state had much to be proud of.
As he moved over her and braced a hand on either side of her shoulders, he smiled. Then with one smooth thrust, he shoved home. “Welcome to Wyoming.”
“My goodness.” She reveled in the sensation of being filled to the brim, almost to overflowing.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. “More than okay.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
She gazed up at him, anticipation sending tremors through her. If this connection felt so amazing, what would happen when he began to move? Every nerve ending in her body was on alert, waiting.
He drew slowly back, and the sweet friction intensified the climactic hum building inside her. Forward again, and she started losing her mind. Three strokes later she came, filling the clearing with her hoarse scream of joy.
But still he didn’t stop. Instead he increased the rhythm and shifted his angle. “Again,” he murmured. “Once more.”
She was nothing if not obliging. That new angle was finding all sorts of places where she hadn’t known she had places. And she was dripping with sweat, glorious sweat.
“Good?” He was breathing heavily, but seemed in complete control.
“Oh, yes.” She, on the other hand, had absolutely no control. He was driving this bus and she was merely a very ecstatic passenger.
As she tumbled into her third orgasm, he groaned and moved in tight. The steady pulse of his climax kept time with the waves of completion rolling through her. It was, without a doubt, the best sex of her life.
Sated and relaxed, she wondered dreamily if she should catch the first plane out of Jackson. This experience had surpassed her wildest hopes and dreams. Her vacation could only go downhill from here.
3
NICK HAD EXPECTED GOOD. Good would have done nicely to bind up her psychological wounds and scratch his temporary itch. Good would have made her fairly easy to forget when she left Wyoming. But just his luck, she’d turned out to be great.
Worse yet, he’d told her so as they laughingly searched for their clothes, both of them staggering a little from the effects of incredible sex.
“You were great, too.” She smiled as she reached behind her back to fasten her bra.
He’d always adored watching a woman do that, and this woman was especially graceful at it. He had the urge to unhook her bra so she’d have to refasten it. But if he unhooked it, he’d want to touch her, and that would lead to more of what they’d recently shared. He wasn’t sure where she stood on that issue.
“I can’t tell you how this has improved my outlook,” she said.
That statement had a ring of finality, of completion, as if one session had fixed her right up and she had no inclination for another round. Bummer. “How long are you here for?” he heard himself ask while pulling on his boots.
Damn, he’d probably tipped his hand with that dumb question. And an unnecessary question at that. He could find out when he returned to the house. Ordinarily his mom welcomed the Bunk and Grub overflow guests, but she was staying in town while Grandma Judy recovered from a hip replacement. Jack must have handled getting this woman settled, and would have all the details.
“Five nights,” she said. “It was all the time I could spare from work.”
“Which is?” He shouldn’t have asked that, either. He was behaving like some lovesick fool desperate for information about the object of his affections. That was so wrong. They’d had terrific sex. Period. Sex wasn’t everything. But.he’d never had any better than this.
She buttoned her blouse. “I guess there’s no harm in saying. I own a photography studio. And before you get all impressed, let me assure you it’s strictly a meat-and-potatoes operation. I specialize in family portraits, graduation photos and weddings. The basics.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” But unless he was reading her wrong, she thought there was something wrong with that. Her description of her studio invited him to dismiss it as pedestrian. “My mom treasures her wedding pictures,” he said. “Especially since my dad passed last fall.”
His mystery woman had leaned against the truck’s front fender so she could pull on her boots. She paused in midmotion. “I’m so sorry. Was it sudden?”
“Yeah.” And he wished to hell he hadn’t brought up the subject. Way to put a damper on the proceedings. “Rollover.”
“How tragic. How long were they married?”
“Almost thirty years. They got married after I was born. I guess it makes sense, considering the times. All that free love and flower power. But then my mom got pregnant again, and that must have tipped the scales toward matrimony.” Sheesh. Maybe next he’d trot out the history of the Last Chance Ranch and regale her with that. He needed to shut up and take her back to. the road? Or the ranch house? Dilemma. He hadn’t thought past the sex, but he’d better start thinking tout de suite.
A gentleman would take her back to the ranch house. He liked to think of himself as a gentleman, despite having just had sex with a woman out in the woods, a woman whose name he didn’t know. But that had been gentlemanly, hadn’t it? She’d needed something from him, and judging from her response, he’d provided it.
Turns out it was also what he’d needed, and would probably need again soon. That was the thing about good sex. It reminded you that sex was a lot of fun and should