Chapter 14
KENZIE GRABBED THE front of Ty’s jacket and pulled him into her.
One more time, she silently pleaded. Just give me one more time with him, and then I can live with the consequences.
She would do her level best to control the moment, to give only enough of herself that Ty wouldn’t realize what she felt for him.
She would take as much as she could so she would have the memories to dole out to herself a bit at a time for the rest of her life.
It would have to be enough because she had no alternatives. Not until Ty made his move anyway.
He pulled her into his arms on a self-satisfied sigh.
“You’re like an addiction, Mackenzie. One I can’t seem to get enough of.
I come down from the high you create to find I’m already craving my next hit.
” He pulled her even closer to his body so they were pressed thigh to thigh, belly to belly, chest to chest. “And I want you to hit me again.”
Her laughter wasn’t as light as she intended. “Never ask a woman you’ve recently irritated to hit you, Tyson. Not without at least qualifying the request.”
He pulled away and looked down at her. “I’ll take whatever you dish out, woman. No complaints.”
A hard shock coursed through her, head to toe, and she jerked in his embrace. He doesn’t mean that, has no idea what he’s saying.
Brow furrowing, he stared at her with undisguised confusion. “Problem?”
No answer would have sufficed. Instead, she tightened her grip on his jacket and ran her other hand into his hair before pulling him back to her. “You talk too much.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Then, shut me up,” he whispered, the heat of his breath scalding her chilled skin.
A slight pull against his head and their lips met and their mouths fused, welded by the power of their passion.
Kenzie took what he offered and demanded more, taking his mouth with a proprietary sense for which she refused to apologize. She wanted as much of him as she could garner, as much as she could claim without scaring him. Was she selfish? Yes. But was the behavior necessary? Even more so.
Passion flared between them, the sound of his quickening breath and her hammering pulse drowning out all but the sharpest sounds.
She experienced him without reservation, memorizing the smoky flavor of coffee on his tongue and the pinewood smell of soap saturating his skin.
The well-worn flannel shirt beneath his jacket had pilled after so many washings and created a rough texture underneath her fingers.
Almost panting, the sound of his desire escalated in her ears until she matched him breath for breath.
Then his arousal punched at the zipper of his jeans, its heat juxtaposed with the cold shock of his large belt buckle.
Slipping her fingers under his waistband, her nails gently scraped the head of his erection.
His hips thrust forward, pushing more of him into her hand.
Smiling, she ended the kiss—for now—and backed across the barn. “Awfully anxious for a man who had sex less than two hours ago, aren’t you?”
“You’re responsible for this, Malone.” The growled words were almost pained.
“Then, step it up, cowboy.” She slid her fingers deeper into his boxer briefs. “Stop dragging your feet.”
“Where are we going?”
She tilted her chin toward the tack room. “I’m about to show you a new way to ride.”
His eyes nearly bugged out of his head and he lurched forward, all but knocking her over in his urgency to get them both through the doorway.
The door crashed open on the dimly lit room.
Smells of leather and saddle soap, both familiar and comforting, saturated the room.
Everything here was well organized. Saddles for the guests perched on numbered wall pegs while the larger saddles used by the Covingtons and the ranch’s cowboys were all stored over oak barrels that had been mounted length-wise on short legs.
Each saddle’s stirrups and cinch were flipped over the seat.
Bridles and reins were hung on shorter pegs, the name of the horse printed above the headstall.
There were bits and pieces of leather as well as spare equipment parts in different bins.
Buckets filled with currycombs, sweat scrapers, hoof picks, hoof oil and more lined the bare wood shelves.
It looked like so many other tack rooms but still had the feel of the Covington place to it—organized but exuberant, profitable but still fun.
Kenzie intended to stick to the fun part, if nothing else.
Leaving Ty standing with his back pressed to the closed door, she located his saddle and wordlessly moved toward it.
“I can’t ride.” The croaked admission came from Ty with such little force the words almost didn’t make it to her.
She spared him a quick glance before setting to work cinching the saddle to the barrel as tight as she could get it and adjusting the stirrups so his feet would clear the ground. “Everyone has to get back in the saddle sometime, baby.”
“Kenzie, I...” He cocked his head and considered her actions. “I’m mounting a barrel?”
“Only so I can mount you,” she said as casually as if she’d offered him the day’s weather forecast.
Crossing to her, Ty paused at the saddle and considered it. When he didn’t move any farther, she patted the tooled leather seat. “Nothing’s changed about this in hundreds, even thousands of years. One leg up and over.”
“Right. Because people ride barrels all the time.” Though the words were liberally seasoned with humor, his eyes were solemn.
“Fine. We’ll go about this backward, then.
” She turned the little space heater up and then locked the door.
With a mocking sigh of despair, she shucked her boots and then shed her layered tops.
The heater wasn’t keeping up, and goose bumps broke out over her skin.
That didn’t stop her, though. She stripped out of her jeans before stepping back into her boots.
Rounding on Ty, she realized she’d never felt more cherished, more wanted than she did right then.
And it was all due to the look of unadulterated hunger on his face. Hunger she had put there.
“Lose the boots and jeans, cowboy, and then park that fine ass of yours in the saddle, feet on the floor,” she said, voice husky. “I’m not telling you again.”
“You don’t have to.” He kicked his boots to the side, pulled his jeans and briefs off and crawled into the saddle. A little yip of shock escaped him when his bare butt hit the cold saddle leather. “I trust you’re going to do something about this cold?” he said through clenched teeth.
It took her a moment to form an answer. All she could think was that he looked like every cowgirl’s dream, sitting there with his cowboy hat tipped up, his flannel shirt pushed back over his hips and framing his arousal, that firm rear propped against the saddle’s cantle, muscular legs flexing as he pressed the balls of his feet against the wood floor.
He was the epitome of male beauty and the manifestation of feminine desire.
Moving through a haze of want, she let her feet carry her to him. She planted her hands on his chest and gently pushed.
It was a testament to his trust in her that he leaned back, never checking how far he’d have to go before he met security.
When his shoulders touched the wall, she drew a deep breath. “Hands on the skirt, grip the edges.”
He followed her commands, gripping the leather skirt on the saddle and curling his fingers into the fleecy underside.
“Lock your elbows.” She waited for his compliance before issuing her last directive. “Don’t let go until I tell you to.”
“Bossy little thing,” he murmured. Then he went silent, watching with wide eyes as she stuck one booted foot into the shortened stirrup and swung her opposite leg over the saddle—and his lap—to park that foot in the other stirrup.
She ended up in the saddle backward, facing him and straddling his lap.
Bracing her hands on the wall, one on either side of his head, she leaned in to kiss him—small, teasing nips that drew groans of frustration and approval from Ty.
Rolling her hips back and forth resulted in a delicious sexual tension as her sex rubbed over the underside of his shaft and drew even deeper sounds from him.
Kenzie deepened the kiss at the same time she managed to slide the tip of Ty’s arousal home, slowing sinking down his length until she took him all the way to the hilt.
Ty let his head fall back with a shout. He reached for her, but she slapped his hands away.
“Hands on the skirt or this stops. Now.”
He glared at her, dark eyes wild. “Don’t drag this out.”
“Impatient much?” she teased.
“Kenzie...”
She rose as high as she could without losing him, and leaving one hand on the wall and gripping his shoulder with the other, she took him in again.
Moving with controlled grace, she rode him hard, leaning forward to whisper in his ear all the things she’d dreamed of doing with him, to him and for him since they’d been apart. She was graphic.
He obviously didn’t mind.
She rode him harder as the wave of pleasure grew within her, taller and wider and so dense it blocked out all thought, all reason, all sensibility.
“Let me hear you, baby,” he ground out, clearly fighting to hold out as long as he could.
That wave of pleasure crested, hung suspended for the briefest second before crashing down and dragging her under. He was her point of reference, her anchor, her true north in all matters of the heart. She hated him for it as much as she loved him.
And love him she did.
He followed her into the abyss, seemingly willing to drown with her.
She buried her face in his neck and mouthed the one thing she most needed him to know and most needed to hear in return. I love you.
That she couldn’t say it aloud infuriated her. She was better than that.