7. Laramie
CHAPTER SEVEN
laramie
I could drive my truck through War’s open mouth.
He straightens, his honey-brown eyes searching mine. “You want to get a room?”
The evening has been hours of foreplay: every kiss, every teasing touch, every heated look. I can see he’s as affected as I am, thanks to the fit of the jeans he’s wearing.
“Yeah, I want to get a room.” I skim my nose down his jaw while my hand slides higher up his thigh. “To spend the night with you.”
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. Watching this man swallow is like erotic art. The thought of War on the bed beneath me, moaning as I lick a path over his bare skin, sends desire burning through me.
Until, like a bucket of cold water, I realize he still hasn’t answered. A sliver of doubt slithers through me, and I pull away and move my hand from his leg. “Shit. I’m sorry. I thought…” I hold my hands up. “If you’re not feeling this or don’t want to fu… sleep with me?—”
He silences me with his lips. There’s depth to this kiss, a yearning. A shiver slinks from my scalp to my spine as his tongue smoothly strokes mine. I lean into the caress of his hands as they wander from my arms to my shoulders before settling on my back, holding me tight. I’m not misreading the situation. He wants this. Wants me.
War’s lips hover over mine as he rasps, “Trust me when I say I’ve been thinking of how good it would be between us since I laid eyes on you last week.”
I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck and suck on the pulse point there. “If you haven’t figured it out, I hate going slow, but be honest. Am I moving too fast?”
“Maybe I need someone to encourage me to pick up the pace.” He smirks and lifts my chin. “How about we get out of here?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I sweep my hat off the table and plop it onto his head. His eyebrows quirk. “Claiming me, sweetheart?”
“You know the saying. Wear the hat, and the cowgirl rides you.”
He lets out a loud laugh that draws attention from the people around us. “That’s not quite how I remember it.”
Shrugging, I lay cash on the table to cover our tab and meal, plus a generous tip for Dolores. “Hmm, your memory is slipping in your old age. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
War frowns at the cash, then me. “Laramie?—”
“I asked, so I pay. Plus, this is one more way for you to practice giving up some of that control.” Moving closer to him, I add, “Once we get to the room, I have a few more ways you can practice.”
His responding growl is a direct line to the warmth building in my stomach. I want to make him pant and moan and keen. For me. To have him on his knees with his groans buried in my pussy. For my noises of satisfaction to come from around the thick length of his cock.
My heart thrums, the rhythm echoed by the throbbing between my thighs. I lace our fingers together and drag him out the door. The crisp December air does little to cool the fire scorching my blood. In an instant, I’m on War. Lust riding me hard.
He’s used to leading, but I give as good as I get, running my tongue over his teeth, nibbling and sucking his bottom lip into my mouth.
“Fuck, Laramie,” War pants.
“Yes. That’s the idea.” I tug on his hand again as we stumble across the gravel parking lot toward The Rusty Spur. The ancient neon sign flickers, half the letters burned out so only h usy pur remain .
“Welcome to the Hussy Purr , Pretty Boy.” Shit, maybe I should have stopped at three shots tonight. No, it isn’t tequila I’m drunk on; it’s War Phillips.
I fight off a snort of glee at the shock and disgust on War’s face. He blinks, then blinks again as if this will change the questionable exterior of the motel into five-star accommodations.
“This is where you want to stay?”
Elbowing him, I tease, “Don’t be a snob!”
He squints and waves at the dingy building, where the night clerk is visible behind the plexiglass of his office. “It’s not about being a snob. I-it’s about standard health regulations. This is how people get bed bugs.”
I nudge him, mindful of our shoulders. “Come on, where’s your sense of adventure? I have a spare turnout blanket in my truck.”
“Trouble, you are living up to every inch of your name.”
My smile pulls at my cheeks, impossible to hold back. “Did I steer you wrong on the steak fingers?”
“No, but?—”
“Then trust me. I promise to ask for the nicest room they have.” Chucking his chin, I add, “I’ll even let you pay.”
War crosses his arms, but when he sighs and rolls his eyes, I know I have him.
Sliding up to the window, I rap against the glass. “Hey, Mel, we need your best room.”
“Mel? As in Dolores and Mel?” War glances between the bar and the motel.
“One and the same.”
Mel ambles toward us and slides the small partition open, his wizened face lighting up at the sight of us. “Laramie! Good to see ya, girly. Did you say hi to Dolly? She’ll have my hide if you came here without stopping in.”
“Don’t worry; you’re in the clear. We had dinner first. Can we get a room? My date’s getting cold.”
Mel looks over at War and winks. “Nice hat.”
War’s hand flies to my Stetson, still resting on his head, and pink colors his cheeks.
“No reason to be embarrassed, young man. How do you think Dolly and I started out?” Mel lets out a raspy laugh.
With a grumble, War hands over his credit card and gets the old-fashioned metal key, complete with a palm-sized plastic keychain attached.
“Room 101. You two enjoy!”
“Don’t worry, Mel, we will,” I shout as War pulls me away and laughter overtakes me.
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” War mutters. As we reach the door, his arm bands around my waist, and he twirls me so my back meets the faux-stucco wall outside our room. The key clatters to the ground, and his fingers weave into my hair, guiding my head where he wants me. From beneath the wide brim of my hat, he kisses me. Lips firm and punishing, not bothering to wait for my answer. A ragged moan spills from my throat when his thigh slips between my knees. Waves of pleasure crash over me, and I drop my head back, not minding the bite of pain where it hits with a thud.
I ache to guide him exactly where I want him most. For now, I settle for rocking against his leg, searching out that wonderful friction. Like I’m a puppet, he pulls my strings, maneuvering my hips, marshaling my pace. It’s not quite enough. While the coarse seam of my jeans hits just right, I need more. Faster. Harder. A slightly different angle. I squirm and roll in desperate circles.
I’m so close.
Heat pools at the base of my spine and spreads, raising prickles along my skin. That glorious edge is in sight.
Ready to fall.
Ready to expl?—
“Not yet.”
I groan when I lose purchase on War’s leg—and my orgasm. Jutting my lip out, I reach for his hand, but he spins me and presses his front to my back. The length of his cock twitches against me, so I do what comes naturally and press back.
“Shit. You are going to kill me.” He pins my ass against his hips and thrusts once. “You’ve been running this date all night, teasing me about giving up control, but it’s time you gave up some instead.” Leaving one hand digging into my waist, the other fists my hair, tugging it to the side before his mouth travels the length of my neck, leaving a burning trail of love bites.
For a heartbeat, we’re apart as he snags the discarded key, fumbling it against the lock until it clicks open. Together, we crash through the door into a heap of arms, legs, teeth, tongues, and longing.
It’s a mad dash—a flurry of buttons and zips . A race to see who can undress the other faster, as if the winner will retain control over the other’s pleasure. Ultimately, no matter how this plays out, we’ll both be winners.
I strip away his pearl snap shirt, snap his belt from the loops, and tug off his jeans until War is left in only his tight, black boxer briefs.
He’s exquisite.
I soak in the masculine lines of his lean but well-muscled body. The veins in his forearms, where he still wears the fancy timepiece. The smattering of reddish-brown hair that dapples his chest, tapers off, and then reappears, darker and thicker, below his navel. The ridges of his stomach and… I lick my lips, every atom of my being hyper-focused on the way his cock strains against his boxer briefs, a deliciously thick treat begging to be tasted.
When I finally tear my eyes away, I find him appreciating me in the same way. The heat of his stare is like a beam piercing through me. Can he see my failures? My ambition? How much I want him? How much I wish I’d met him in another life so I could keep him? I shift my weight, reminding myself of who I am and why I’m here, before taking a breath, tossing my hair, and arching my back.
The bright red panties with black cats all over them and the non-matching sheer orange bra aren’t landing me a lingerie ad anytime soon, but War doesn’t seem to mind. Especially when I toss the bra at his head.
It’s as if we’re in a high-noon showdown, each of us standing and staring. Silently demanding the other to take the next step.
Giving an inch, War licks his lips with the grin of a man confident in what he’s bringing to the table, tugs his boxer briefs down, and frees his cock from the confines of its cotton prison.
It’s a gorgeous cock, just like its owner. War strides toward me, wearing nothing but his watch and a smile as he strokes the thick, veiny length. He moves forward until his chest is against mine, leaving the hot heat of him pinned between us. The faint sensation of dampness trails on my stomach. The overwhelming need to touch him, taste him, feel him has me reaching between our bodies. I glide my hand over his cock, scarcely touching him, before flirting with the type of pressure that will make him fall apart.
“Such a tease.” He croaks the words and tips his head before snapping his greedy gaze to my tits. His long fingers skate over my sides, then higher, until they stop to trace slow circles around my pebbled nipples. “So beautiful.”
Reaching around him, I snag my discarded hat. With a coy pout, I say, “You’re too tall for me to put it on you from there.” We both know it isn’t true, but I want to see what he’ll do. If he’ll concede control once more.
My blood turns to molten honey, and my hat falls from my hands—completely forgotten—when he sinks to his knees. Petal-soft kisses flutter over my sternum and stomach, brushing my hips and the sides of my thighs. Then he buries his nose into the lacy material of my panties.
“You want to take these off?”
Gripping his hair, I tilt his head, guiding him to look up at me. “I want you to.”
“Fuck. You’ve already got me kneeling.” But he hooks his fingers in the elastic of my panties and tugs them down my legs. When they pool at my feet, I widen my stance, giving him a better view of, well, everything .
“Now what?” I swear I can feel the tension in his whispered words.
“Now, I want you to be a good boy and make me come.”
Whatever thread of control was balancing between us snaps, and War wraps his arms around my thighs and rushes to stand. He takes two tottering steps before dropping me onto the mattress, the springs creaking beneath our weight. Then, like I’m water at the end of a twelve-hour workday in one hundred-degree temps, his mouth is on me.
A pained groan rumbles against my clit. “ Laramie .”
The way he moans my name sends a fresh wave of arousal to my core, and I must be flooding his mouth. War pants against me, the warmth sending waves of desire crashing over me. He sucks my lower lips, then thrusts his tongue into me, mimicking the rhythm of his hips against the mattress.
It’s a whirl of sensations: hot licks, grazing teeth, soothing kisses. Then he slips a single finger into my pussy. One quickly becomes two, and when he curls his fingers, pressing against the magical spot inside me, I let my baser instincts take over.
My walls contract around his fingers, and he lets out another needy moan. “I’ll be your good boy,” he promises against my pussy. “But only if you come all over my face.”
The warring sensations of his talented tongue tracing figure-eights around my clit and his nimble fingers combating for supremacy inside me push me to the brink. A delicious jolt surges through my body, and I cry out as I come, stars bursting behind my eyes.
War gentles two more kisses to my clit, then nuzzles his lips and messy chin against my inner thigh. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
I fling an arm over my eyes and smile into the crook of my elbow. “Even better than the steak fingers and tequila?” I bask in his responding laugh like it’s the sun.
“Yeah, sweetheart, way better.”
My stomach flutters at the sincerity in his words, along with a heaping dose of guilt. Am I really going to walk out on this man?
On one side, I have Dr. Panter’s advice about focusing while I’m in PT. My goals. My plans. On the other is a connection I never expected. Turmoil coils through me like a snake slithering for shelter.
But then War rests his head on my stomach and trails a hand up my side, banishing all those worries and leaving lust and a much deeper longing behind.
Embracing the emotions, I lift War’s face and swoop my lips over his before sneaking my tongue between them. With a soft nip, I say, “I promised to ride you, and that’s what I’m gonna do.”
He grunts when I give him a playful shove so I can climb off the bed and find my jeans. Snagging the slim pack of condoms from my pocket, I saunter back to him. “You ready for this?”
A dark growl rumbles from his throat, and he scrambles to lie on the bed. As soon as he’s settled, I’m astride him, legs spread wide over his hips. He’s so sexy, his hair rumpled, his pupils dilated, his cheeks flushed.
I stroke his cock, my thumb swiping the bead of pre-cum at his crown, bringing it to my mouth. With a whimper, I suck his flavor from my skin. “Are you ready?” I repeat. What I mean is, are you sure? Do you really want me?
He nods, digging his fingers into my hips.
“Say it. I want to hear you.”
“I’m so fucking ready, Laramie. And so are you. You’re dripping for me.”
I yank open the condom and roll it down his length. Then, with a teasing grin, I rub my pussy against the flared head of his cock, not taking him in. Not yet. Instead, I tease us both, lowering myself so that just the tip broaches my slit before rising up and away.
“Trouble,” War grits out from clenched teeth.
“Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want.”
I repeat my movements, rising and dropping just enough to take the first half inch of him into my core before pulling away. “No, be specific. Tell me exactly what you want.”
He grunts and swallows. “Fuck. I want you to ride me until I come inside your perfect pussy. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Good boy.” I reward him by sinking down, taking him inch by inch, loving the fucks and shit, sweethearts spilling from his lips. Why are man moans so damn sexy?
I give myself a minute to adjust, enjoying the heat of his hard cock inside me. His thumbs press into my hips, and he grits as if fighting the longing to chase what he needs.
“So good. So patient, waiting for me to tell you to move,” I croon at him as I work myself up and down his length in slow, sensuous strokes. Leaning back against his raised knees, I purr, “Look at us. We’re a perfect fit.”
His honey eyes snap to where we meet, and at the plea in his wordless groan, I rotate my hips. And he lets out a wanton groan when I shift so my clit slides against the lowest part of his stomach over and over again. The world-warping sensation of him inside me, the pressure where I need it most, his scent, the twitch of his muscles—god, it’s glorious. I grip his shoulders, my fingers digging in like he’s all that’s tethering me to reality.
With each writhing circle I make, he thrusts up, watching me from below like I’m something special. Something he can’t live without. A primal urge comes over me, and I lean forward, capturing his lips with my own. Usually I’m not much for this level of intimacy during sex, but I can’t get enough of this man’s drugging kisses. Our tongues tangle and twist, another point of connection between us.
Chest to chest, mouth to mouth, locked together in the most ancient of ways.
My thighs burn as I grind and rock against him, chasing my climax and his. Each glorious press of his hard pelvis against my clit brings me closer to the edge. But I’m not going alone.
“Do it, War. Come.”
“Not until you do.” His hands glide along my skin, roaming from my hips, up my sides, and then down to grab my ass, spreading me wide.
“You feel so fucking good.” He mutters the praise against my mouth, his breath slipping into my lungs.
So does he. Full and thick and strong and warm. I clench my innermost muscles, wanting to bring War along with me. Not daring to leave him behind, not on this.
“Yes, just like that. Squeeze me.” War thrusts deep, and my muscles tense, my body simultaneously trying to pull him in and push him out.
“War!” His name is a battle cry, a triumph, an exaltation. Just as it’s been for centuries before, only this time, I’m the one conquered.
As if triggered by my orgasm, my Pretty Boy comes, the heat of his release tangible even through the thin latex of the condom. We collapse into a spent heap, his softening cock still inside me.
“ Where it belongs,” one of my devils whispers. The other remains oddly silent.
War wraps his arms around me, my head cradled in the nook of his neck. Our chests rise and fall in unison as we work to come down from the high of our shared release.
“That was…” I trail off, not sure how to finish the sentence. Ho w can it be like this? How can any one person make me feel so alight? So alive? So right?
Fingers comb through my hair and run over my body as if checking me for injury. Then, with a touch so careful, you’d think I was porcelain, War kisses me. This kiss, more than any other tonight, shakes something in me. It’s the one where I become irreversibly addicted to this man and break both our hearts.
Thankfully, War rises with a groan before I can dig further into those thoughts. He pinches off the used condom, knots it, and then tosses it into the nearby trash can. When he tugs on his boxer briefs and steps into the small bathroom, I wonder if he’ll be the one to suggest we part ways—making this easier on me.
Instead, he returns with a damp washcloth. A pang of affection warms me. This part of sex is one I’m less familiar with. I’m usually here for the flash. The bang. Not the cuddle and the cleanup.
While War tenderly wipes away the mess, I study the popcorn ceiling above our heads, gnawing my lower lip like it’s a bit. Unease and guilt knot in my stomach. This man doesn’t deserve a love ‘em and leave ‘em moment. And certainly not one at The Rusty Spur.
What is he doing here with me? He should be drinking wine in Uptown with a leggy blonde who has soft hands and perfect nails. A woman who would concede to his dominance and be there for him in the morning. Not a speed-chasing cowgirl who doesn’t have room in her life for anything but getting better.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I miss him climbing into bed. It isn’t until his arms wrap around me and he presses his lips to my neck that it registers. He’s talking to me.
“Sorry, what? ”
He chuckles. “What did Dolores mean when she said you’d have taken the title?”
Great. The one thing I don’t want to talk about. I clear my throat. “You caught that, huh?”
“I caught you tensing up in my arms and heard words that sound like you practice them in front of a mirror slipping out.”
He’s too good for me. I’m an asshole. I swallow and say, “I told you I’m a barrel racer.” At his nod, I continue. “This week is the national finals. I, um, should be there competing right now.”
War tugs on my shoulder, his brow creasing as he hovers over me. “So you do that full-time? Like a job? I guess I thought it was a hobby or something.”
“Definitely not a hobby.”
My terse answer doesn’t derail the conversation. “I didn’t know that… is that why you travel so much, too?”
Dipping my head, I say, “Gotta go where the purses and the points are.”
“Traveling like that must make relationships hard.”
“Why do you say that?” There’s a sharpness to my question and to my fingers digging into the bed.
My tone catches him off guard. “Well, I mean anyone who travels that much, unless you’re good with long distances, it would strain—I’m guessing. Do you usually date?—”
I cut his stammer off with my mouth.
Kissing War is effortless, but pushing down the storm of growing feelings for him isn’t. But tonight has to be it. He’s a distraction—a beautiful distraction. I would love to see where this could go, but I can’t afford it.
Refocusing on the delicious man above me, I nip his full bottom lip and tug. His hips pin me to the bed, pressing into me in a slow, seductive grind. Each movement causes whimpers to escape my mouth. With an aching moan, War breaks the kiss and shifts his weight, pulling me into his arms and resting his chin on the crown of my head.
“If refractory periods weren’t a real thing, I’d take you again right now.”
I tilt my head back and laugh, thankful for the change in topic. “Let me get us some water.” As I move, I poke his thigh with my toe. “To help with your recovery.”
War props himself up against the headboard, watching me pad across the room to get a plastic cup. With one arm behind his head, he looks for all the world like the snack of my dreams. We pass the tepid tap water back and forth until it’s gone, and then I slip beneath the sheets.
I rest my chin on his chest and drink in my fill of him like the greedy goblin I am.
“Agreeing to go on this date and ending up in bed with you are probably in the top five most impulsive things I’ve ever done.”
“You never packed up and took a road trip somewhere new or got a dealer’s choice tattoo? Not even when you were…” I smirk. “Young?”
With a mutter, War rolls us and pins me to the bed. “Again with the old thing? I’m six years older than you, not sixty.”
My laugh is breathy as I stare up at him. “You’ll just have to prove how virile you are, Pretty Boy.”
“That’s an oxymoron, you know? Calling me Pretty Boy and an old man all at once.”
“You’re an oxymoron. Now kiss me and then answer my original question. You’ve never done anything reckless or irresponsible?”
Following my command, he sinks his mouth against mine. The plush give of his lips sends a fresh wave of arousal through me. War tastes like the remnants of the drinks we shared and the lingering flavor of my orgasm. It’s heady and delicious—my new favorite.
A hum escapes my lips when he coils a tangled strand of my hair around his finger. “No. Never. I was always the yes man, the perfect son. Anything that would make my parents look bad or damage the company’s reputation was never on the table.”
“Sounds boring. And stifling. You’re supposed to be impulsive and make mistakes when you’re young. And your parents should be there to teach you why you shouldn’t steal the tractor and chase the neighbor’s stud bull.”
He huffs a laugh into my hair. His words have a bitter edge. “You and I had very different childhoods.”
Using every ounce of strength in my thighs, I twist until I’m straddling his torso. Then I wriggle until my pussy rests against the base of his cock. He grows thicker and firmer with each glide of my wet center against him until he’s at full attention. I grip the base of his cock, pumping him from tip to root, then rubbing his hard length against my clit and between my lower lips.
“God, you look like some sort of queen sitting there.” I love how his hips buck as if he has no control over them. As if he can’t keep himself from chasing that connection—fullness for me and tight heat for him.
“Do you want to talk more about what happened today? Or those other top five impulsive moments?” I ask, writhing against the base of his cock.
War’s hands rise to my hips, squeezing as I rock against him. “The rest of my list is tied to today. But honestly, you don’t seem like you want to talk anymore.”
I stroke his cheek, and in the flickering glow of the neon signs outside our window, I drink him in. Softening my voice, I say, “I’m a pretty good listener, War. I also happen to be a wonderful distraction. The question is, which do you need more?”
Crunching up, he snags my lips with his. “Talk later. Distraction now.”
Blackness seeps into the room. The creeping dark that precedes the dawn. This is it, Laramie. You should go. You’ve stayed too long as it is.
I blink back the burning in my eyes. I don’t want to go. I want to stay. Here. In Mel and Dolores’ crappy little motel. In a too-small bed. With a man I hardly know but long to.
War is out cold beside me, his soft breathing an arresting contrast to his hard body. The warm weight of his arm around my waist is an anchor, but it isn’t drowning me. No, it’s simply mooring me. Keeping me steady.
But steady has never been my goal. And War, with his business suits and fancy Dallas life, doesn’t fit into the foolhardy future I’m chasing.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I carefully lift his arm. Once I’m out of his hold, I take one last look. One last chance to capture him in my memories. Placing a kiss on his forehead, I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
Then, I run.