Chapter 4
4
CLEMENTINE
T he man doesn't even give me time to catch my damn breath.
My heart rate is still up after the best self-induced orgasm of my life. I swear, if Gunner hadn't just been the hottest fantasy I've even managed to get myself off to, I'd be screaming bloody murder at him for making such a ruckus out there right now.
As it is, I throw back the sleeping bag I have draped over me like a blanket-- the summer night is warm enough with my attempts to work out my frustrations contributing to my body temperature-- and throw open the door to find out what his drama is...just in time to get a lungful of exactly what his drama is.
"Holy shit, O'Leary! I leave you alone for ten minutes and you've got the whole place skunked up."
Standing outside the door of the shack, my eyes are watering from the fresh skunk spray.
Gunner emerges from the shadows on the far side of the fire ring, near where the horses are penned. One of the dogs barks into the darkness beyond the clearing.
It's not until Gunner comes into full sight and stands openly gawking at me that I realize I'm standing on the small porch of the little shed in nothing but a tank top and my undies.
At least they're cute boy shorts, not that the style offers much coverage with my generous booty.
"Looks like I'm bunking with you," Gunner's rough voice grumbles as he stomps toward the door I'm blocking.
"Oh hell no, you are not." I put up a hand. "No way you are bringing that skunk stench in here with me."
I can't stop laughing. He looks so damn miserable, and my nose tells me it was his sleeping gear that got the worst of it. If I don't let him in, he's not likely to get a wink of sleep.
If I do let him in, it'll be me that's dead on my feet all day tomorrow after a night of not being able to sleep with this man so close but completely out of reach.
"Damn thing didn't get me."
Gunner steps onto the plywood platform that serves as foundation, flooring, and porch to the little structure I'm calling home for as long as we're up here.
It is not big enough for both of us. Not if I hope to leave any decent amount of space between us any way.
"Smell for yourself."
Gunner stands dangerously close to me and whips his t-shirt over his head. Leaving him stripped to the waist in nothing but pecs, abs, and low-slung jeans.
If that's not bad enough, the asshole steps even closer to me, putting himself firmly into my personal space, so close that if I let out the breath I'm holding, my nipples would brush his naked chest.
Then he leans in, raising his muscled arms to the sides.
He does not smell like skunk.
He smells like campfire and leather, there's a hint of spice from one of those manly deodorants, and the musk of sweat, and the combination is like getting dunked in a tank of pheromones.
Until now, I honestly didn't know it was possible for me to swoon. I've always been a little rough around the edges for a girl. Growing up working with men, even once I got old enough to look at them as more than just coworkers or buddies or my brothers' obnoxious friends-- right till this moment, not one man on the planet ever made me feel like I was about to swan right into his arms.
Taking a quick step back before I give in to the temptation to lick him, I manage to gather my wits about me and get back inside.
"Fine, but if you snore, I'm dragging your ass back outside," I tell him as I crawl back under my covers, leaving him to fend for himself.
The door closes behind him and suddenly I realize just how small the space in here is. With the loft taken up by whatever storage it's being used for, the floor space is taken up almost entirely by the blankets I laid out.
In the darkness, I hear Gunner's boots land heavily on the wooden floor. Then the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle and the soft sound of jeans sliding down those thick, muscular legs before hitting the floor.
My body has completely forgotten the orgasm from just a few minutes ago. Everything is hot again. New pressure coils through my core and I'm grateful it's so damn dark tonight so he can't see the flush on my skin as I pull the open sleeping bag over me-- no matter how warm the night, or my body, is.
At the same time, I curse the darkness for keeping me from getting a good look at his body. I'd love the visual of the lower half to complete the picture.
All I see is a vague shadow of bare skin, sinewy muscle, and dark-colored boxer briefs, highlighted by dim starlight from the open window.
Gunner stands there, running his hand through his hair a few times and muttering to himself before finally lowering himself to the floor and arranging part of the blanket over himself, leaving a polite distance between us.
Which has me irrationally angry.
Gunner
There's probably camping gear up in those bins in the loft; spare sleeping bags and blankets, ground clothes-- probably even a tent or two.
The sane part of me that still has an ounce of reason left thinks about grabbing it and bedding down as far away from Clem as I can get. That's not the part of me that's winning the argument though.
Something inside me that's stronger than good sense has me shucking my boots and jeans and crawling into the palette she's made on the floor till I can feel the heat emanating from her body.
It's only then that I manage to remind myself of our situation.
Clem's not my woman. She's my goddamn employee, for fuck's sake.
No matter what I heard earlier or how strong the need to claim her as mine is, this isn't the time or place.
And she doesn't want me anyway.
Under the blanket beside me, Clementine stirs restlessly, pushing the covers my way as if to put a barrier between us.
"Don't worry," I mutter, rolling on my side so my back is to her heat, "I'm not going to try anything."
Behind me, I hear a snort like she thinks that's funny.
"Course not..." whatever she says after that is muffled in the blankets as she turns her back to me as well.
"What was that?" I snap, turning back toward the form lying beside me in the dark.
"I said--" Clem's voice is strained with barely contained rage as she flips around to face me, "-- of course you won't try anything...you're not man enough."
Whatever restraint I was clinging to snaps. The blanket is tossed aside hastily as I move toward the woman challenging me in the darkness.
She shuts up fast enough when I'm covering her thick body with my own. Beneath me, Clementine swallows hard as I press my cock into the soft heat of her mound.
"How's that?" My voice feels gruff in my throat. "Is that man enough for you?"
Her knees fall open under me, letting me settle between those lush thighs so I feel the searing heat of her pussy along my shaft through the thin fabric still between us.
Firm fingers grip my sides and she rocks against me in a way that has my dick surging insistently.
"Any girl will tell you it's not the size of the pen that counts, O'Leary; what's important is how you write your name."
She might be snarking at me still, but there's no mistaking that invitation, especially not with the way her knees rise to cage my thighs or the feel of her fingertips dragging up my back and back down to grab my ass.
Then her lips are on mine, parting for me so I can drag my tongue against hers in a kiss that takes as much as it gives in return.
"Then let me show you how I write my name, Clementine." I rasp the words against her skin, kissing along her soft jawline and down her throat, taking my time as I make my way lower. "I'm going to sign my name on every fucking inch of you so you never forget who you belong to."
She doesn't give me any more sass. Instead, I get a deep moan, unrestrained and completely wanton, when I pull one hard nipple between my teeth through the material of the skimpy little top she's got on.
Earlier, she was doing her best to make sure I didn't hear the noises she makes when she's consumed in pleasure, but now I'm going to make sure I get them all.