7. Zack
7
ZACK
H annah started guiltily. She scrambled into a seated position against the headboard and dragged a pillow against her torso, like that was something that could keep me from her.
“What do you mean?” she squeaked.
I didn’t answer, just strolled toward her, her eyes widening with every step that brought me closer. When I was right next to her, I picked up her right hand and brought it to my mouth. Gave her fingers a long, hard suck. The sweet taste of her pussy on my tongue woke my dick right up again.
I raised my eyebrows at her, my gaze locked on hers as I slid her fingers from my mouth. “You should have told me you wanted another orgasm, darlin’. I would have been happy to oblige.”
Her eyes darted sideways, her fingers twisting in the pillowcase, and my world went sideways with it.
Because she didn’t look like a woman who had been completely satisfied by a man.
“I need you to give me the truth, Hannah,” I said slowly. “Was it another orgasm?”
She bit her lip. Fuck .
“Aw, hell.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have made it right for you. What did you need? More pressure? My tongue?”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she blurted.
I tilted my head. “Who said anything about fault? This is a collaboration. We get you there together.”
She had already started shaking her head before I was done talking. “It doesn’t work that way. Not for me. I can’t?—”
“I know you’re not about to tell me you can’t orgasm because I just tasted yours on your fingers,” I interjected. “I was gone for what, twenty seconds?”
The flush that had given her away deepened. “I only needed ten.”
“I would have given you ten seconds,” I said. I would have given her as much time as she needed, and it fucked me up a little that she didn’t realize that.
“No, I needed ten seconds,” she clarified. “You would have needed…” Her voice trailed off like she couldn’t think of a number high enough.
Now that was just mean. I played it back in my mind, that moment her hips had tilted and I swore I felt her pussy clench around me. The sounds she had made. She hadn’t even given me a real chance to give her whatever it was she’d needed. She’d faked it.
I was fucking offended .
“Show me,” I demanded.
She laughed like she thought I was joking, which I sure as fuck was not. “How can I show you? I already did it. It’s done.”
“Let me be clear on this. It’s not done until we’re both done. Are you really done, Hannah?” I rubbed my thumb over the back of her hand, then slipped my fingers in a V on either side of her middle finger. “I don’t think you are.”
She shifted restlessly, rubbing her thighs together. She wasn’t done. And this time, I wasn’t going to let her do it without me.
I stretched out next to her, tugged the pillow from her arms, and propped it behind my head so I could look down at her. “Show me,” I urged. I kissed her shoulder, then nuzzled the crook of her neck. “I’ll be such a good boy, Hannah. I won’t touch. I’ll just watch and learn.”
Her chest rose and fell on rapid breaths. I felt her throat move beneath my lips as she swallowed.
“Can I keep my eyes closed?” she whispered.
“Do whatever you need to do to get yourself there.”
She swallowed again. “It might not work. I’ve never?—”
I covered her hand with mine, both our palms facing down, my fingers interlocked with hers, and slid it down her soft belly to the honey-gold hair between her legs. “You’re still so wet, sweetheart,” I murmured. She shivered as our fingers brushed her clit. “One more time. That’s all.”
Slowly, slowly, I withdrew my hand, leaving hers there between her legs. And fuck, I wanted it to be mine. My fingers sliding through all that wet heat. My hand bringing her pleasure. But I wanted this , too. I wanted to watch. Maybe even more than I wanted to touch her.
On a deep breath, her hand started to move. She pushed one finger inside her entrance, then brought it out and swirled the wetness around her clit. I leaned closer to get a better look at those slim, pale fingers playing with her pretty pussy.
“Fuck,” I groaned. “You’re perfect. God, you should see yourself, Hannah. So fucking wet and pink. I want to put my mouth there. Tasting your fingers wasn’t enough. It just made me hungry for more. You’re so sweet and soft.”
She whimpered and her fingers went faster, harder.
“Yes,” I hissed between my teeth. My dick was hard again even though I had come maybe ten minutes ago. I took it in hand and squeezed the base. “That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good. I want to see you come like this, giving yourself all the pleasure you deserve.”
She dug her heels into the mattress and her hips bucked, grinding her pussy against her hand. She cried out and froze like that, hips arched forward, for one beat and then another, before lowering limply.
Her eyes opened and she turned her head to look at me, a dazed expression on her face.
“Fuck, Hannah.” I didn’t bother trying to keep the awe out of my voice. “That was gorgeous.”
She watched me stroke my cock, her gaze still slightly unfocused. Having her eyes on me like that, somehow looking sated and hungry at the same time, made my dick so hard it almost hurt. My grip tightened, my stroke roughened.
“You don’t look done, either,” she noted.
Usually I needed a good thirty minutes to recover from coming before I was ready to go again. Watching Hannah get herself off had cut that time in half. “I’m close. Look at my cock, Hannah. Look what you did to me.”
She felt behind her for her glasses, her eyes never leaving my cock, then fumbled them onto her face, and fuck. Fuck . That damn near finished me right there. A bead of pre-cum leaked out and I spread it around the crown with my thumb.
It wasn’t enough. I needed more.
Her tongue swiped over her bottom lip and I groaned. God, that fucking mouth. More pre-cum leaked imagining it on me.
“What do you need?” she asked, her tone crisp and almost business-like, despite the rosy flush on her cheeks and chest.
I liked it. I had the feeling I could ask her for anything right then, and she would simply do it. There was nothing squeamish about her.
“I need you to make it wet.” I groaned as she licked her lips again. “Spit on it, Hannah.”
She pushed her glasses up her nose for no other reason than to wreck my self-control, I was sure, then leaned forward. I stopped pumping and wrapped my hand around the base like an offering.
But she didn’t spit. Instead, she licked the shaft from my hand to the crown, then swirled her tongue around the head and pulled me inside. She swallowed me down with enough suction to hollow her cheeks. My eyes crossed. My hips bucked.
Then she did it again, sucking me down, then slowly slid me from her warm, wet mouth. Our eyes caught as she spit on the head.
“Fuck, honey.” I stroked her saliva over my dick with brutal pulls. “I’m gonna come?—”
She didn’t even blink. “Do it.”
My balls pulled tight and I shattered, painting her chest with ropes of cum.
When I was wrung dry, I laid back, panting, and looked at her. She looked down at her chest, at my cum shimmering like a pearl necklace against her flushed skin, and then back at me, her lips curved into an impish smile.
“ Now are we done?” she asked.
I laughed. “Now we’re done.”
A fucking lie if there ever was one.
I wasn’t done with Hannah. Not by a long shot.
I slept like the dead. Between the long drive, the rodeo, and the double orgasms, my body and brain finally shut down. For a couple hours, anyway. An hour or so before dawn, I awoke aching and stiff, Hannah curled into my side, still fast asleep.
For a moment I didn’t move. Just lay there and matched my breaths to Hannah’s.
I wasn’t one of those dipshits who had rules about spending the night with a woman after sex. If you could put your dick in a woman, you could damn well lay your head down on the pillow next to hers. It was a few hours of shuteye, not a binding marriage contract. Most times I had been too drunk or tired to make it back to my hotel room, anyway. So, this wasn’t the first time I had woken up next to a woman.
But it was the first time I didn’t feel a pressing need to get gone.
More than that, even, it was the first time I woke up wanting to stay.
So I lay there, breathed, and considered.
The way my muscles ached and my skin itched, I couldn’t lay there much longer without losing my goddamn mind or waking Hannah up with my twitching. But I didn’t want her to wake up and find me gone. Last night had been…different. Like nothing I had ever experienced before. The idea of walking away without a word felt all kinds of wrong.
I slid from the bed as quietly as I could, careful not to shake it and wake her up. I headed for the living room, where I grabbed my boxers from the floor and tugged them on. I didn’t bother with my jeans or T-shirt. Hannah kept her house toasty warm and I tended to run hot anyway.
I flipped on the table lamp and looked around. Last night I had been much more interested in seeing Hannah out of her clothes than taking stock of her decorating choices. Honestly, it was about what I expected. It could have been my grandma living here instead of a twenty-nine-year-old. There were embroidered throw pillows on every cushion and some on the floor. Apparently the wall-to-ceiling built-in bookcase on one wall wasn’t enough, because there were also books stacked on the end tables and on every random surface.
With nothing better to do, I wandered over to the bookshelves to investigate. There didn’t seem to be any kind of rhyme or reason to the order of it, which was an interesting choice for a librarian. I caught sight of the one I had started reading at the library the other day, about a mail-order bride who accidentally shot her husband in the Old West. Fucking hilarious. I had never been much of a reader, but I had ended up taking that one home with me, figuring it would give me something to do when insomnia hit.
I looked for something else. There were a few biographies tucked here and there and what looked like mysteries or thrillers, but most of the books were romance.
Romancing the Duke.
A Duke in Shining Armor.
The Duke’s Wicked Wife .
Gabriela and His Grace —wait, was that about a priest? Kinky. I flipped it over and read the back. Nope, still a duke.
Damn. Hannah definitely had a thing for dukes. Everything I knew about dukes was from Bridgerton on television, but I figured it was safe to say they were all rich, stern, and stuffy. The exact opposite of a rough and dirty bronc rider. I didn’t entirely know how to feel about that.
But I grabbed one of those damn duke books, anyway. Just to see what it was all about.
Something soft tickled my ankle. I looked down to find Evie winding her fluffy body between my legs. She yowled pitifully at me, and I scooped her up.
“Hope you’re not wanting breakfast, darlin’, because I don’t know how to feed you. But you can come read a book with me.”
We settled lengthwise on the couch so I could stretch my legs. I grabbed one of those embroidered pillows for my head and then did a double take. Roses, lilies, and violets twisted and bloomed, forming the words oh, for fuck’s sake . I couldn’t recall ever hearing Hannah swear before, but somehow I didn’t have any trouble imagining her saying those exact words with dry exasperation, pushing her glasses up her nose.
I burst out laughing.
“Your mom is something, isn’t she?” I murmured to Evie. So prim and proper on the outside. But on the inside? She was fucking funny . A little filthy, in the best possible way. And she was kind. I liked her. I liked her a lot.
Evie didn’t answer, being too busy making biscuits on my abdomen. Trying to, anyway. My six-pack didn’t offer a whole lot of give. Finally, with a look of deep disapproval that rivaled her owner’s, she settled into the crook of my elbow instead. Within seconds, her eyes were closed and she was purring like a motorboat.
“You don’t care that I’m not a duke, do you, darlin’?” I rubbed her little head, and her brown ears drooped to give me more space. “Of course you don’t. Because you know cowboys do it better.”