Chapter Fourteen
Jayce
Jayce didn’t rush with an answer. He’d battled with himself the entire day, and he was exhausted. She might be a grown woman who knew her own mind, but she didn’t know as much about sex as she liked to think.
Her engagement to another man was a bigger problem for him than her lack of experience. She wasn’t free. If they took matters to their logical conclusion, they’d have to get married.
He had no real objections to marrying Malika.
She wasn’t hung up on romance the way most women were, which was good.
She fit in well with ranch life, and Burning Scrub too.
His mom and dad liked her. There was also the next generation of Hansons to consider, and right now, she was his best bet.
She liked children. All women loved babies.
She went on and on about how marriage required compatibility in the bedroom, and that requirement was shaping up well, so he couldn’t imagine she’d have any objections to him in that regard.
He wasn’t rich, but he wasn’t poor, and she didn’t really have a good handle on the distinction between them—which was a point in his favor.
He’d need Ali’s permission, of course. He understood that much. He didn’t think Ali would mind. Not enough to have him killed.
The bought and paid for problem his mother had raised would be the real issue. Her fiancé would need to be compensated.
But that was a problem for later. He hadn’t yet made up his own mind about the direction this evening would take. The final decision was hers.
“There is no comparison,” he said, because when women brought up other women, he knew it meant danger. “You’re two different people.”
“But you still think about her.”
He took his time sorting his answer out in his head. Belle might have seemed perfect in ways he’d thought mattered to the ranch and its future, but he was no longer as sure. She was more interested in science than ranching. She always had her head in a book.
“I think about how happy she is, and how well suited she and Beau are. They make each other happy. And I’m happy for her. For them both.” Even if Beau Jones was an ass.
His arm worked its way around Malika’s shoulders.
His fingers played with the collar of the sweatshirt she wore, brushing the smooth skin underneath. “Right now, I’m here with you, and I’m perfectly happy about it.”
She tilted her chin so that it fit into the curve of his shoulder.
Her eyes studied him. Hard. Her palm heated the crease between his hip and thigh.
She enjoyed touch and wasn’t the least bit shy about exploration, and he really liked how physical she was—unless she was fighting him off due to a misunderstanding. He could live without that.
Her eyes challenged him. “If you’re so happy, then why aren’t you kissing me now?”
Another fair question.
One he could do something about. He dropped a light peck on her cheek, just to torment her, and see what she’d do. Maybe he’d read her wrong. But he didn’t think so.
Her hand dipped lower, toward the inside of his thigh, where his gonads leaped with joyous anticipation, and his thought train derailed. They’d had enough fooling around. Things were about to get serious.
Before his ’nads got too excited, however, he needed to use the brain in his head to set their brain’s expectations. Touching was fine, hands and mouths all-inclusive. Genitals were fair game.
But genitalia to genitalia was off-limits. No matter how many protests his boys launched on the matter. He didn’t have condoms on him, and it was highly unlikely that Malika used birth control, so there was no point in asking.
There were things he could do to satisfy her, however.
He maneuvered her so that she straddled his thighs, her knees hugging his hips, with his fingers in her hair and cupping the back of her head, and he kissed her again.
She’d figured out what to do with her hands.
She rested them on his shoulders. But they didn’t remain there.
She eased one palm inside his shirt, where her fingertips toyed with his nipple.
Southern parts of him jolted to life, demanding immediate attention.
He guided her hand to the hard, aching bulge.
He’d expected a woman as sheltered as she was to be somewhat more confused when things got this heated, but she needed no further guidance from him.
She massaged the bulge for a few intense, mind-numbing moments, her fingers exploring, then she fumbled with the buttons on the fly of his jeans.
A few seconds later, he was free of his shorts.
He’d never been a big fan of French kissing, but in this instance, his tongue disagreed. It made little darting motions between her lips, that in turn had her tightening her hand just enough to border on pain. She glided her hand up and down until he saw stars.
“Would you like to watch me undress?” she suggested, and his ’nads wept with joy. As far as they were concerned, the evening’s direction was set, and he no longer had it in him to argue. No man turned down an invitation like that.
“Yes, I believe I would.”
He’d follow up by exploring every inch of her body with his hands and his mouth.
She lifted her sweatshirt and pulled it over her head, then dropped it to the ground. She did the same with the T-shirt she wore. Next, she unfastened her bra, taking her time, fondling her breasts for him while he watched.
She had beautiful breasts—round and firm. He’d been dreaming about them since the night he first saw them. He raised his head, hefted the weight of one breast with his palm, and drew the pert, perfect tip into his mouth.
“That feels so wonderful.” She sighed, proving it was better to give than to receive, because he almost exploded, right then and there, thanks to the heated purr in her voice.
He stroked his hands up the narrow length of her back, then down to her hips. He leaned back and admired how beautiful she looked in the fading light. He’d made a mess of her hair and they’d barely begun.
She unfastened his shirt. He shucked it off, then eased out of his jeans and shorts. He’d lost his boots at some point, probably when they were kissing.
They’d flattened a small section of wheat, forming a soft mat to lie on. He tipped her onto her back and divested her of her shoes, then her panties and jeans, easing them slowly off her hips. He trailed his fingers the length of her long, slender legs.
They were both naked, now. Stars salted the cobalt-blue sky. She smiled as he admired her. That smile cost the brain in his head its place in the chain of command.
“Should I touch myself for you?” she asked, not the least bit hesitant about it, and while his original goal had involved him touching her, no way was he turning that offer down, either.
“Go ahead. Show me how you like to be touched,” he said.
She glided her hands from her breasts to her flat belly, arching her back as he sat on his heels, a smile on her lips and in her eyes. His throat went as dry as the Arabian Peninsula’s Empty Quarter. One of her hands slid over the mound of dark hair at the base of her belly.
“Like this,” she commanded, without opening her eyes. Her hips rose. A small sigh crossed her lips. “Touch me like this.”
Jayce intended to touch her. And he had more than his fingers at his disposal.
She clutched his head in her hands, her hips pumping wildly, and she cried out as she stiffened, then shuddered.
“Oh, my,” she said, once the shudders had passed.
She opened eyes reflecting a satisfied, baffled wonder in the murky light.
He admitted to a decent amount of satisfaction himself, even though his gonads were tight with regret.
He’d managed to hang onto his self-control while giving her what appeared to be her first orgasm, judging by her reaction.
Then she went and spoiled his satisfaction.
“Now I get to do the same thing to you,” she said, as if the matter were settled. “Show me.”
This wasn’t a problem. It would make his boys happy. And she seemed to know what she wanted, so there was no need to argue. Besides, if he didn’t get some sort of satisfaction soon, it was going to be a long, painful night.
“Hold me, like this.”
He showed her how to cradle the base of his shaft while she took the tip in her mouth. She explored the rim with her tongue while she pumped him with her hand, and it was only sheer willpower, gritted teeth, and a fervent prayer to the powers above that kept him from disgrace.
He pulled back, shaking with need, and flopped on his back, trying to steady his breathing.
She straddled his thighs, which made matters far worse.
“Why are you stopping?” she said, sounding so annoyed with him that he might have laughed if he wasn’t in such a precarious position. Her annoyance changed to concern. “Did I hurt you? Is that the problem?”
“No. No problem. I just … I need a minute.”
Maybe a week, or a month. And a condom.
“I see,” she said, which meant she didn’t. “You like this better.”
She stroked his eager parts with the tips of her fingers, and he gave up any hope of salvaging even a pretense of honor. She wanted him. He wanted her. He didn’t give a damn anymore about looking anyone in the eye. So what if they got a jump start on a family?
They were going to be married.
He shifted her weight and positioned himself.
He tried to go slowly, considering this was her first time, but taking things slow wasn’t part of her nature.
After a few seconds of startled hesitation while she adjusted to him being inside her, seconds in which he thought it likely he was going to die, she decided everything was okay.
Once she began moving, he lost any say. The evening was hers, and she took full control. He was almost certain he felt her inner muscles contracting, and that he didn’t finish first, but it was too close to call.