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Her body burning from within, lost, she panted, drawing in deep breaths as she began to topple, every muscle in her body tensing. She wrapped her legs around him and dug the heels of her feet into the globes of his ass, pushing him into her as she cried out, her orgasm crashing over her in waves of trembling bliss. Dragging in a deep breath, she looked up and watched Deacon’s face as he slammed into her one last time and came, pleasure contorting his features in the most wonderful display of ecstasy she had ever seen.

Reaching up, she ran the palm of her hand over his sweat-covered cheek. Still breathing heavily, she smiled up at him for a quick second before he crashed his lips to hers, kissing her, their bodies moist from sweat, his mouth warm and yummy in their post-orgasm feast. They remained fused at the mouth, devouring each other, until he began to soften.

Gently slipping out of her, he removed the condom and tied it off, wrapping it in a tissue from the bedside table before tossing it in the trash can. Throwing back the covers, they snuggled in, drawing her in close and kissing the top of her head as she laid it on his chest.

“Happy Valentine’s Day. Rest up sweet Ivy. We are so doing that again as soon as I get my strength back.”

She smiled, sated and content in his arms, as they both drifted off for a needed rest, waking to make love every few hours until dawn. It had been the best Valentine’s she’d ever had.

Chapter Six

After a morning quickie in the shower, they both retreated to their own rooms to dress and pack. Bringing their luggage down to the lobby, they checked out of the resort, grabbed a quick breakfast, and got out onto the open road headed toward Deacon’s ranch in Honor, Colorado, roughly sixty miles northeast of Denver.. Nothing but open land and farms, the scenery was breathtaking, and the ride smoother than expected. In his big, brand new GMC Sierra 1500 pickup truck with plush, heated leather seats, it didn’t take long for Ivy to drift off, the steady sounds of the road lulling her to sleep as country western music played softly on the radio.

“We’re almost there sleepyhead.”

Opening her eyes to the smooth tenor of Deacon’s voice and the sight of his brilliant smile were definitely much more pleasant than the alarm on her iPhone.

“Oh God…please tell me I didn’t snore, or drool!” she playfully whined.

Chewing gum, he stopped, bit down, and grinned. “Not too bad, but I do think you were dreaming about us burning up the sheets last night. You were crying out all sorts of things about how amazing I was.”

Her mouth gaped open as she playfully slapped his arm and laughed. “I DID NOT! You are such a liar!

Letting out a hearty roar, he confessed. “Nah. I’m just kidding.” They turned off the main road onto a graveled path. Wood picket fencing ran the perimeter of the property, leading to a large double gate. Stopping the truck, Deacon shifted it into park and reached over into the

glove box to take out the remote that opened the gate. She told him that she remembered her uncle having to get out of the truck and manually open and close the gate back in Vermont, and what a pain it had been. He laughed, telling her that it had been that way here until he and his brother took over running the ranch.

The snow-covered pastures and the bare trees of winter made it seem as if she could see forever. It was peaceful, and the ride seemed quite long before they came to the main house. His home was a large, white farmhouse with black shutters and a wrap-around porch—old in style, but beautifully maintained—and behind it were a few large structures and penned-in areas. The sweet smell of hay and the unmistakably pungent scent of horses hung in the crisp, cold air surrounding them, reminding her of her time as a child back in Vermont, riding on her uncle’s farm.

“Wow…this is breathtaking, and huge. How many acres do you own?” she asked, as they parked the truck and began to unload their luggage.

“Well, here’s a little over 130 acres, but I also own some acreage down in southern Colorado that’s undeveloped at this time,” he responded, as he lifted both their bags and tilted his head toward the house. “Let’s get settled and I’ll take you out back to the stables.”

As soon as they entered the house, an older woman, mid to late fifties, of Spanish descent, her long black hair pulled back neatly in a bun, rushed over. “Mr. Brooks, welcome home. It’s good to have you back,” she said, with an accent.

“Thank you, Marisol. This is my friend, Ivy Hughes. Ivy, this is my housekeeper, Marisol. She’s been with our family for over 30 years. Practically raised me. Naturally, she stayed on after my parents’ death.”

While getting to know each other, Deacon had shared that his parents were gone, and that he and his brother split the responsibilities of the ranch as equal partners in White Stallion Enterprises. His brother’s family lived in a house he’d built on ranch property close by. Deacon inherited his parents’, fully renovating and updating it before moving in.

After giving her a brief tour of the house, Deacon took their bags upstairs to his master bedroom, then turned to Ivy and wrapped her in his arms. “I was originally going to put you up in the guest room down the hall, but I figured you’d stay here with me if that’s all right.”

Nodding her head, Ivy stood on her tippy toes, snaked her hands around Deacon’s neck and leaned into him for a kiss. “I’d really like to stay here with you. I want to spend every moment with you before I have to leave.” The reality of the situation hit her for the first time. They only had one more day together before she headed back to New York. There was no turning back at this point; her heart was involved, and she wasn’t going to spend their last day together dwelling on how hurt she would be to leave, justifying that she would deal with that after tomorrow. Kissing him one more time, she pulled away, grabbing his hand. “Come on cowboy, you have a ranch to show me!”

“Oh darlin’, I’d much rather stay in bed all day with you,” he grunted, as she pulled him along.

“Oh, I’ll bet you would, Mr. Insatiable, but I want to see the horses, and you promised me we could ride.”

“Okay, okay. Anything for you, Ivy, but bundle up sweetheart, it’s cold out there,” he acquiesced.

Tightening the scarf around her neck, she slipped on her gloves and buttoned up her jacket before heading out. The large stables were bustling with activity as the workers finished mucking out the stalls and feeding the horses. Deacon stopped to talk to his stable manager, George, and introduced Ivy to him. George was an older gentleman, probably in his sixties, with a full head of white hair and a polite, slow, southern drawl. Lifting his hat, he called her ma’am and told her it was a pleasure to meet her.

“Ivy and I are going to take a short ride George. Can you have one of your men saddle up Daisy and Gert for us?” Deacon requested.

Scratching the back of his neck, George looked over at Deacon. “Now, Daisy is no problem, but Gert…She’s been a little under the weather these past two days. Ornery as the day is long, I tell you!”

“Well then, let’s saddle up Amethyst. I’ll go check on Gert while you get them ready.”

Grabbing her hand, Deacon led her out of the back of the first stable and into the one directly behind it. As they walked along, Deacon explained that each of the six large stables held twelve horses, and that they bred and sold horses all over country. They also had a riding academy on premises with a heated indoor riding ring.

Ivy watched Deacon as he approached Gert.

“What’s the matter ole girl?” he asked, patting her head and running the palm of his hand down her neck as she stuck her head out of her stall.

Her shiny, chestnut coat, big black eyes, and red mane were stunning, but, being a graphic artist, Ivy had learned to catch subtle differences in symmetry. Stepping back and studying her facial features, she noticed a slight swelling on the left side of her face, right under her eye socket. “Deacon, I’m no expert, and maybe it’s nothing, but there’s a slight difference on the left side of her face. Do you see that?”

Deacon stepped back for a moment to look, then approached Gert, running his hand gently over the elevated area. “You know, you might be on to something. Feels a little warm.” He called out to George and showed him what they had discovered.

“Maybe…It’s very slight, but I’ll put a call in to Doc Stone. I’ll have him come out and take a look at her,” George replied. “Amethyst and Daisy should be ready for y’all. They’re in the arena.”

Taking her hand, Deacon led her to the indoor arena where he helped her mount Daisy and led them on a few rounds around the indoor ring before taking them outside to the snow-covered property. Its well-ridden trails were easy to follow since there had not been a fresh snowfall in a few days. The property was breathtaking. They meandered through open fields and trails through the woods, giving Ivy only a small amount of insight into how big the ranch was. After an hour, her butt and thighs were burning and she jumped at the suggestion of heading back. They both laughed about how she walked once she dismounted. She knew she would be sore. With the promise of a massage from Deacon, they happily headed back to the main house, stopping at the kitchen for a quick bite to eat—nothing fancy, just sandwiches and sweet tea. After eating, they headed up to Deacon’s bedroom where he drew a bath in the large Jacuzzi tub in the en suite, adding lavender-scented salts to soothe her, and then proceeded to strip her down.

Draping a large bath towel over the comforter of his bed, Deacon instructed Ivy to lay face down and expertly massaged her aching muscles, rubbing her down with vanilla scented oil, concentrating on the muscles of her thighs and calves. Moaning with approval, she couldn’t believe how

attentive he was—although, when she looked back and caught a glimpse of him adjusting himself, she was quite certain he was enjoying it too.

After checking the bath, he stripped himself down and carried her into the bathroom, where both of them settled into the hot, soothing water. She nestled between his legs, her head resting against his chest, as the jets of turbulent water and Deacon’s arms wrapped around her, comforting her sore, aching body. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she had felt more at peace and cared for.

His hands never stopped moving, even in the tub, kneading the muscles in the fronts of her tender thighs and shoulders, brushing the sides of her breasts as he skimmed them up and down her sides. Her tight nipples crested above the surface of the water, begging for his touch. It didn’t take long before Deacon cupped her breasts in his hands and began to play with her nipples, rolling them between his fingers and pulling them gently. She felt his erection growing and pressing against her back. Turning, she faced him and straddled his thighs, ignoring her aching muscles as she wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed her lips against his.

“Deacon,” she whispered, through sweet kisses and sweeps of her tongue against his lips, “I want to feel you. Just you—nothing between us— no condom. I’m on the pill, and I know from the medical clearance that you’re clean.”

He nodded as he tilted his head slightly and leaned toward her— devoured her, tasted her, and licked into her mouth—blowing her circuits with a consuming kiss that made her toes curl and her sex throb.

“Yes,” he rasped back. “I haven’t been with anyone since I was tested. I’m clean baby.”

Reaching between them, she stroked up his length and fused their mouths together before lifting up and positioning the head of his cock at her entrance, then sinking down onto it. Pressing her forehead to his, she looked into his eyes, both of them groaning at the feel of skin-on-skin—the thick, flared head of his shaft stretching her pliant tissue inch by glorious inch—her thighs, a quivering mass of strained muscle as she lowered herself onto him fully.

This time, as if they could read each other, was a leisurely fucking. Long, slow strokes. Relishing the feel of one another with no barriers. Her sheath snuggly gripping his throbbing staff from tip to root. Their eyes locked, unspoken words communicated through their gaze and bodies. Need, want, adoration consuming them on every level. So very intimate. So very personal. Two hearts tumbling at the same time—two souls intertwining—as they showed with their bodies what words could not possibly say. Ivy came first, her body trembling and shaking as she incoherently cried out with sobs of bliss. Deacon came with Ivy’s name on his lips, chanting it over and over as his seed emptied deep into her core.

Ivy collapsed forward, her body pressed to his, her face in the crook of his neck. Still connected, she began to weep. Deacon held onto her like a lifeline in the middle of the sea, his arms enfolding her, calming and caressing her. Their time together was slipping away, and the reality of it washed over Ivy, threatening to drown her.

“Shhhh baby…I got you. Let it out…it’s gonna be okay.” She didn’t know how long they stayed like that. At some point, she

felt him slip out of her, and that made her cry even more. Deacon lifted her up, dried her off, and wrapped her in one of his big,

fluffy, terry cloth robes, tightening the belt around her as a parent would dress a child…and Ivy let him. He carried her to his bed and slid in behind her, holding her and kissing her, whispering in her ear that they would work it all out somehow—her heart desperately needing to believe him, her head calculating the distance between them. They both fell asleep. It was early evening, but both of them were both physically and mentally exhausted. They slept through the night. When Ivy woke, she was alone.