48
Celtic cowboy
Strange how, in the cold hard light of day, reality had slapped her upside the head.
Waking, and discovering the space beside her empty, hearing water run in the bathroom , Brandy-Lyn had berated herself for forcing his hand last night.
What the ever-loving fuck had she been thinking, inviting him to bathe with her.
A foolish woman, that’s what she had been, momentarily lost in the magic of the man taking care of her.
It was the Irish bloodline.
The ancestry of sorcery and otherworldliness.
Rafferty had cast a spell over her with freaking kindness .
And she had left the bathroom with a clearcut plan, determined to set things right.
Play the fake fiancée. Get the kids. Get back to Texas. Set things back to normal. But now …
This man …
His lips, his tongue, his teeth …
The sting on her scalp as he tugged her hair.
The pressure of his fingers digging into her back.
The bulge of his cock pressing against her belly.
They were playing havoc with her senses, leaving her powerless.
She could do nothing more than yield to the wonder of his forceful touch.
And when his lips found hers, he didn’t devour. Not like before. There was no rush this time. This kiss was slow and tender and very, very thorough.
Rafferty was making love to her mouth.
She lost track of time, submitting to the onslaught of emotion and passion rising in her. It was as if she waited twenty years for this moment to arrive, and Brandy wasn’t sure if she wanted to weep from the sheer intensity of the experience … or ride him like a bucking bronco.
What she did know was that the denim impeded her need to feel him. All of him. It had to go. She lowered her arms, sliding her hands between them, searching for the elusive metal tab.
“Careful, Red. Bare,” he growled into her neck, his teeth nipping at her already tender skin. There would be marks, but that’s okay. She had a scarf. Somewhere.
Metal tab gripped between thumb and forefinger, Brandy slowly eased the zipper down.
He sprung free, and she clasped her hand around him.
Silky steel.
Rafferty’s body trembled beneath her touch as her thumb brushed over the head, spreading the leaking liquid, and a guttural, “Red,” tore from his throat.
Intense power surged through her, and she decided on the course of action.
Bronco riding. Pronto.
She shoved his jeans past his hips, watching as he stepped free and kicked them aside. His penis jutted out, thick and turgid.
A thing of beauty. A promise of pleasure. A gourmet meal.
And Brandy changed her mind. Riding could wait. First, she had to taste him.
She lowered to her knees.
Rafferty grabbed hold of her hair, tugging her head back. Blazing blue eyes collided with hers. “You don’t—”
“I want to. I need to,” she pressed, digging her fingers into his thighs.
He eased his grip, letting the back of his hand brush gently over her cheek. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a deep swallow as he closed his eyes, then gave a small nod.
She closed a hand around him, opened her mouth, and took him in. Relishing the feel of him against her tongue, she licked up and down his length, tracing the veins. He groaned and goosebumps formed under her palm pressed against the back of his shuddering thigh. She sucked him deeper—
“Too much,” he gritted out, fisting her hair.
Brandy released him slowly, and as he popped free, Rafferty hooked his hands under her armpits and hauled her up. “Dammit, Red. I wanted to take it slow,” he complained before slamming his mouth to hers.
“Slow … is … overrated,” she gasped between breaths. She hiked a leg up, pressing her core to that hard length of his.
Hot. So hot. He scorched right through the flannel.
Then he swept her up into strong arms, and she shrieked with both shock and delight. A second later she was airborne, landing with a bounce on the bed.
His short hair sticking up, a few days scruff darkening his jawline, eyes blue laser beams raking over her, Rafferty stood before her in splendid nakedness with his chest heaving, and hands clenched by his side, and his cock proudly jutting from the dark thatch of hair.
Wicked and full of promise.
A Celtic warrior. of old about to devour the sacrificial maiden.
“Think I’ll take it slow after all.” He leaned forward and took hold of the hems of her pajama pants and slowly tugged, exposing her to his gaze inch by inch.
But there wasn’t a sacrificial or maidenly bone in Brandy’s body. She was a woman, a lusty woman, one who had waited twenty freaking years for this moment.
Rafferty flung the cream flannel aside.
And Brandy spread her legs.
“Damn, Red.’ He wiped his hand over his mouth.
Her belly flip-flopped.
“Unbutton your top.”
She obeyed, starting from the bottom, slowly working her way to the top, leaving the material in place.
His lips quirked, and his eyebrows hiked up. “I want to see your tits, Red.”
Brandy took hold of the placket and pulled the flannel apart. She sucked in a breath, her hips involuntarily bucking when her finger brushed over her sensitive nipples.
“Venus,” he rasped, running a fisted hand over his cock.
Her arms fell to her side. “Huh?”
“I once visited Florence. Italy. The Uffizi Gallery. Botticelli’s Venus and Titian’s Venus hung in that museum.” A look that could only be described as adoration shone from those fathomless blue depths. “You, Brandy-Lyn Powers, eclipse those paintings.”
Motionless, breathless , she held his stare, certain her body was melting right into the mattress. Luckily, she didn’t need bones nor her muscles. Nor the ability to shift a limb.
Because he moved.
With careful, premeditated precision.
He slowly crawled over her, trailing kisses from just above her bikini line and over her bellybutton and up the valley between her breasts.
He shifted and, grabbing hold of her hand, he freed her arm from the sleeve and stretched it above her head.
And repeated the process with her other arm.
He then pulled the flannel from beneath her body and set about winding the fabric around her arms, binding them together with the one sleeve.
Excitement, mixed with a dash of trepidation, coursed through her.
Was he into bondage? More, was she into bondage?
No one had ever tried to tie her up, but hot damn, her core spasmed at the idea.
Oh, dear Lord, do I need a freaking safe word with him?
“It’s loose,” he said, meeting her startled gaze. “More of a suggestion than a binding. And no, Red” — he gave her a lascivious wink — “you do not need a safe word.” His expression turned serious. “But if it makes you feel uncomfortable, I’ll remove it.”
“Why?” she croaked.
He was back to leaning on one arm. “Why did I tie you up?” he asked, trailing his fingers across her throat and down the center of her body.
She nodded, keeping her eyes centered on his face.
His gaze took a lazy detour down her torso and back up again. He splayed his hand over her abdomen, his pinkie brushing the edge of her pubic hair. “I kinda like seeing you completely at my mercy, Red.”
A shadow flashed over his face. It was there and gone. So fast she wondered if she imagined it.
“Completely under my control,” he said, almost inaudible, swallowing hard. He blinked, as if his words suddenly registered in his mind. A dull flush lit his cheeks, and his gaze shot back to hers. “I can remove—”
Brandy vigorously shook her head. “Leave them bound.” She still recalled his flinch all those months ago when she accidentally touched one of the scars on his back.
“Red…”
She hated, just plain hated seeing the vulnerability in his eyes.
“I’m good like this, Raff. Truly. And if I recall, last night you promised to kiss me all over, map every inch of my skin with your tongue.
Explore every nook and cranny of my body, discover what drives me wild.
And you promised me orgasms. Multiple orgasms, let me add.
With your fingers and tongue, and then with your cock.
” She raised her eyebrows, issuing a challenge.
“Were those just empty promises, Rafferty Lawson? Are you a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kinda guy, making idle boasts? ”
He narrowed his eyes to mere slits. “A wham-bam …? Oh, Red, now you’ve sealed your fate. I’m gonna make your body sing.”
Inwardly fist bumping herself at the return of the burning intensity in his gaze, Brandy arched her torso. “Show me, cowboy,” she purred.
*
Oh, he’d show her all right.Rafferty launched his body over hers, boxing her in with his arms and legs, shaking off the remnants of an unwelcome memory.
Right now, he had a beautiful woman at his mercy, a woman begging for his touch, and there was no time to dwell on his past and the reason he wanted Brandy-Lyn’s hands tied.
The woman he covertly craved for years was spread out beneath him, a veritable smorgasbord of delight waiting to be devoured.
She had literally taken his breath away when her lips touched his cock.
Within seconds he’d been ready to explode, but coming in her mouth was not what he wanted.
He wanted to feel the warmth of her surrounding him, clenching him tight as she shattered.
And then, only then, did he want to give in to his own release, filling her—
Aw, fuck . “Please tell me you have condoms,” he rasped.
Her eyes flared. “Didn’t cross my mind.”
Shit. Shit, fuck .
“I’ve an IUD and had my annual checkup several months ago. I trust you, Raff, and I’m good to go bare.”
His heart stuttered. She trusted him to take her bare. “I haven’t been with anyone since” — he swallowed, snuffing the memory of her — “back in USA. Had a full workup then. I’m clean.”
Her lips curved into a smile. “Obstacle overcome.”
“Red …” He trailed off, words failing him.
“Make love to me, Rafferty,” she whispered.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, equally softly, bending his elbows, keeping himself aloft, but only just.
Rafferty dipped his head and placed his mouth where her neck joined her shoulder. Her pulse fluttered beneath his lips, and she let out a whimper, her breath a warm gust against his ear. Arching her back, her breasts, those soft, cushiony, luscious tits of hers, pressed against his chest.
He groaned, making good on his promise, mapping her body with his lips and tongue.
He brushed his mouth over the top of her breast, plumping it up with a hand, playing homage to her nipple until she moaned and writhed beneath his hold.
His dick throbbed and strained, begging for release.
He moved his mouth to the other breast, repeating his ministration, but kept his hand on the first, playing with the already sensitized bud.
“Argh,” she whimpered, bucking under him. “Raff. Raff. Please. Please .”
And he lost hold of his restraint. He lifted his upper body and moved between her legs, hooked the right one over his shoulder, and took hold of his dick. It took everything in him to hold still and meet her eyes. “Red?”
She nodded and bucked her hips. “Now, Rafferty.”
He stared at her, splayed open for him, inviting him in.
And knew. Just knew. Deep down in his soul, he knew .
This … This would change everything.
This was what he’d been running from for months …
For years .
This woman.
She was his.
Ordained to mate with him since the beginning of time.
Rafferty’s gaze traveled over her body.
His Venus. His goddess of love and beauty.
His woman wantonly splayed out before him, waiting for him.
He met her stare, brilliant green and brimming with unspoken emotion, and slid inside her, joining them physically.
Melding their souls spiritually.
Becoming one with her.
Slick. So fucking slick. He pulled back, and pushed in again, deeper this time, taking a moment to savor the feeling of her surrounding him, holding him captive. Reality exceeded his wildest dreams. “Fuck, Red. You feel so damned good.”
Taking hold of her left leg, he brought that up to his shoulder and, clamping his hands on her thighs, he anchored her to his chest. And started moving, thrusting into her, harder, faster, over and over.
His grunts were guttural, her cries wild.
The need in him intensified, tightened. “Close, Red. So close,” he gasped.
“Almost,” she gasped back. Moving a hand down, he brushed his thumb over her clit. She convulsed, eyes closed. “Yesss.” A deep flush stained her chest. “More. Harder. There’s more.”
He thrust harder; his movements taking a violent, uncontrolled turn.
A rutting beast, out of control.
This . Her. Twenty years … no, eons in the making.
His balls tightened. Need surged. “Mine,” he called out.
Brandy-Lyn wailed, and she clamped around him, yanking his orgasm right out of him. It was electrifying, intense pleasure shooting through his body, through his convulsing cock, and emptying into her.
His mind blanked; sight faded; sound stopped.
He toppled forward, collapsing over her.
Seconds, minutes, hours — who the fuck cared ? — consciousness returned. “Red. You alive?” he grunted into her neck.
“Hmm.” Something dropped onto his head, raked through his hair. Ah, her hand, fingers.
“That was…” He trailed off, unable to express how overwhelmed he was.
Her nails scraped lazy circles on his scalp. “Yeah,” she sighed.
Rafferty was content to stay exactly where he was, breathing her musky scent, tasting the saltiness of her damp skin.
Feeling the pulse of her vein in her neck against his lips.
The beat of love.
An unbidden memory flooded in. That of a blonde woman hooked up to multiple machines keeping her alive. And later, wires removed, holding her in his arms, feeling the life seep out of her, watching her exhale her last breath.
Charlie’s death had been his fault. His complacency had left her vulnerable, giving his enemy the opportunity to strike. And he had no right, no fucking right dragging Brandy-Lyn into the fresh disaster he’d plummeted in.
There was a woman out there. A true psychopath seeking revenge.
But an impulsive move made in a moment of desperation had dragged her right into the fucking horror show called Rafferty’s Life, placing her squarely in the crosshairs of danger.
Reckless. Selfish.
Those were two words of the many his brother flung his way. And Aidan was right. He was that and so much more. His chest tightened, and he dragged in a breath, but it hurt, burning his lungs.
Fuck, he even turned the air surrounding him toxic.
With a shuddering groan, he lifted his weight from Brandy-Lyn and fled to the bathroom.