Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
DELLA
My body hurts.
Slowly, I’m aware of a bright light. Peeling my eyelids open, gray mountains and hills fill my vision, especially a big one in the center.
The sun sits above the horizon, shining directly into the window.
My stomach is painfully empty. My head is full of static. There’s a tender stinging down below.
With effort, I roll over to the other side. My eyes widen, and despite everything, I bolt upright.
He’s asleep, on his back. The sheet is pulled up to the middle of his thigh, and his other knee is cocked. Everything is out in the open, before God and everybody. Everybody being me, in this case.
Guilty over staring, I wonder if I should pull the sheet up over his waist.
Except, I can’t stop looking, and not just at his dick.
He’s pretty in such a rough way. Sexy, gorgeous, big and tall, with leanness that streamlines his muscles.
The tattoos over his right forearm are blown out and faded, but I like it.
I think I prefer that over crisp ink. Between his pectorals, over the half bullseye, is the perfect amount of hair.
I follow it with my gaze, down his stomach, back to the V above his groin.
I don’t know how he doesn’t know he’s big.
I might have only been with Leland, but I’m not naive.
Jensen is blessed in that department, and it’s all out, laying soft against his thigh.
The revolver tattooed up the underside is a nice touch to his rough charm.
I shift to sit on my heels and press my fingers between my thighs. It’s sore, and it probably will be for a few days. It kind of feels like the day after I slept with Leland for the first time.
I think the fact Jensen made me come is more surprising than anything else.
After five years with Leland, I thought it was never going to happen. But then came Jensen, who just walked in and made it happen like it was no big deal.
Was it a matter of skill?
Or something else?
I sink back against the headboard and pull the sheet over my body. I can’t deny there’s something here, and that’s devastating, because I came here to seduce him, to use him, not to be raised from the dead after Leland did his best to put my spirit six feet under.
No, I can’t let this happen.
I’m here for one thing only.
He stirs, and I freeze. Then, to my horror, he goes hard, even though he’s still out cold. Without thinking, I yank the blanket over his waist. He startles, sitting upright, reaching for the bedside table.
“Sorry,” I gasp.
He stops, blinking. Then, he pulls his hand back and pushes himself upright. “What’s going on?
I shake my head. “Nothing. I just woke up.”
He’s looking at me kind of funny for a half second.
My nipples go hard under his stare. He leans in and takes me by the waist, flipping me onto my back.
His warm body slides over mine. All my desire from last night comes flooding back as his mouth grazes my throat.
My hands come up, and he gathers them, pinning them to the pillow above my head.
“Stay where you are,” he says.
I keep perfectly still. He doesn’t break eye contact as he kisses between my breasts, pausing to flick his tongue over my nipples, then down to my navel.
His mouth skims over my scar. My breath catches as he kisses it, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.
He just watches my reaction. Then, he goes lower, and my toes curl at the warmth of his tongue.
Suddenly, it doesn’t matter that I’m sore. I want him again.
“Goddamn,” he murmurs, voice husky. “You taste like somebody was fucking you all night.”
I touch his curly hair, smoothing it back. “Somebody was.”
He lifts his mouth. “Was he any good?”
I consider giving him a snappy response, but seeing him between my thighs, looking up at me with those beautiful eyes, I can’t.
“Yeah, he was really good,” I whisper.
He goes back down, pulling the sheet over his head.
It’s sexy just watching him move beneath the fabric.
I stretch my arms above my head, enjoying the slow rise of pleasure.
This feels so luxurious, all I can do is gasp when I come and ride my pussy up against his mouth.
He licks me clean and resurfaces, reaching for a condom on the nightstand.
He looks down at me, lids heavy, forearms flexing as he rolls the condom on. God, he is so effortlessly sexy. I really don’t think he knows it either.
“You gonna be a good girl and take it?” he says.
I roll my eyes. He lifts my thigh and spanks my ass, flipping me onto my belly. Then, he’s over me, hand beneath my hips as he lifts my body to work his cock inside. I’m so tender, I have to bite my lip. He sinks over me, letting me adjust.
“Fuck. Me,” he murmurs, rolling his hips.
I glance over my shoulder, enjoying the way his muscles ripple when he thrusts. He’s gentle this morning, like he’s savoring every stroke. When he’s done, he tells me to lie still while he gets a washcloth. Then, he wipes me down, rolling me on my back.
“You need to get to farm chores, cowboy?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “My horses and cattle have access to the outdoors, and they have water and hay. It’s pretty self-sufficient up here because I only have a couple guys helping me out.”
He gets up and throws out the condom, wiping himself off. I roll to my side to watch him pull on a pair of sweats. It’s a nice view, seeing him in the early morning sun.
He’s so backwoods pretty. Low slung pants give away a faint outline of his firearm underneath, all below a V that makes my mouth water. Shitty tattoos, a bruised thumbnail from smashing it in some scenario where he was probably shirtless and sweaty, tanned skin dotted with scars and hair.
I think I found out what my type is.
“You like coffee, baby?” he says.
I nod. He takes a pack of cigarettes from the bedside table and disappears downstairs. Maybe he means for me to stay in the bed, but I don’t want to. I get up and open the dresser, taking out a white t-shirt. Then, I pad barefoot downstairs in it.
He’s in the kitchen, opening cupboards, taking down a percolator. I creep into the kitchen, studying everything. The house has evidence of being lived in, but it’s still sparse, like he’s expecting to leave at any minute.
A muscle in his bicep flickers as he turns on the gas stove. It ticks, then ignites. I sink onto the wooden chair.
He turns, leaning on the counter. I get the sudden urge to ask him if he’s like this with other women. Does he clean them up like a gentleman and make them coffee when he’s done fucking them all night too?
Or could it be just me?
Instead, I say, “Want to show me around your ranch after coffee? You’ve got a nice place.”
He shrugs. “Sure. After.”
“After?”
He clears his throat. “Round two.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “I think that would be round eight. You weren’t lying when you said you had a couple rounds in you, Shotgun.”
He smiles but doesn’t answer. That gets me thinking about his age again. In the old photo I was given, he looked like an older teen. Fresh faced, boyish. There was a light in his eyes that isn’t there anymore. Now, the peripheries of his eyes are subtly haunted.
“Why don’t you like me being on top?” I blurt out, not meaning to.
That’s been on my mind since he said it. Last night, he was careful to keep me underneath him. Maybe it’s a fragile masculinity thing, like he feels he’s somehow not in control if he’s not physically on top. That doesn’t seem right, but I don’t know him well.
“I get claustrophobia,” he says.
That makes sense, and it sounds like he believes it. The coffee is bubbling by his elbow. He flicks it off and takes down two beige cups and fills them. I rise and cross to him, accepting one.
“You got any milk?” I ask.
“Like cream?”
“No, whole milk only. No sweetener.”
He opens the fridge, scanning it. “You’re very specific.”
“I know what I like.”
He shuts the fridge. “Unfortunately not. I usually drink it bitter.”
“That tracks,” I say, taking my cup and sinking down at the table.
He walks past me and out into the hall. “Come on, let’s sit on the porch.”
That trips me up. Before Leland, I used to drink my coffee on the porch every morning when it was warm enough. It was my ritual. A little whole milk, my bare feet in the sun, watching the wrens squabble in the garden.
Then, I married Leland, and we had breakfast in the dining room with the shades still drawn.
He holds the door, and I step out, inhaling sharply.
His house sits on a hill, surrounded by flat plains and distant mountains.
One is much taller than the others, with a darker aura.
The grass is already dry for the summer, and it moves in a dusty wave as the hot breeze hits it.
Everything smells sweet, even the faint scent of cattle and horses coming from the stained wood barn maybe a quarter mile away.
This place is beautiful. It’s different from home, but there’s the same sense of peace here.
He sinks down on the bench, naked back to the wall. I stand at the edge of the steps, enjoying the sun’s warmth.
“All this is yours?” I say. “You always lived out here?”
“All mine, but no, I haven’t lived here all my life.” He frowns slightly. “You ready to finally tell me where you’re from?”
I hesitate, knowing I need to stick to the plan. It’s hard, now that I’m here with him, feeling all the things he makes me feel. But I have to stay focused.
“Tennessee,” I say.
“I thought you had a little accent,” he says lightly.
“Some of my folks are from Kentucky, some from Ohio, West Virginia,” I say. “I reckon I’ve got some accent from all over.”
“It is a bit all over the place.” His lids flicker, but his face stays neutral.