Trespass (5 page)

Chapter Three

Russ set the lid on the stew and left it to its endless simmering, tidying the kitchen as quietly as he could so he wouldn’t wake Nicole. Her injuries must be doing better as she’d fallen asleep flopped to one side, looking perfectly comfortable.

He turned the stereo down and cued up another of Hank’s albums. He’d saved a pair of fatty, gristly hunks of meat for the dogs, and he took them outside, flung them far into the grass and made Tulah and Kit work for it. He led the horses on a few final runs around the paddock and gave the stables the nightly looking over.

Once back inside, he stopped in the middle of the den and stared at Nicole. She was damn pretty, and not simply because Russ was seven long years into his involuntary celibacy. Just plain old sexy. Bit thin, though who knew what she’d been busy doing for the last few days or weeks or months. But in any case, a lovely face, long wavy hair a couple of shades too dark to be called blonde. Those freckles and crazy honey-colored eyes.

She stirred, and Russ jumped into action, not wanting to get caught staring. He grabbed her mug off the table as if that was why he’d been there.

“Rise and shine,” he said.

She yawned broadly, flashed all her teeth like a bear waking up from the winter. She glanced around, probably trying to figure out for the second time today where in the heck she was. Her gaze moved to Russ, then the stereo.

She blinked groggily through a verse then asked, “Does he ever sing about anything aside from women who done him wrong?”

“What else would a man
want
to sing about?” Russ serenaded her with the chorus as he rinsed her mug. “Stew’ll be ready in an hour, I’d say. Can I get you a beer?”

“Oh, God yes.” She sat up so quick Russ laughed.

He grabbed two bottles from the fridge and twisted them open, handed her one and clanked it with his own as he sank into the easy chair.

“What was that toast for?” she asked.

He thought a moment. “For you not getting lead poisoning—or worse—and for me having some company for a change.”

She nodded and took a sip.

“You cold?” he asked. “I’m cold. I’ll get a fire going.”

“Wow, rustic.”

He smiled at her, wanting to do worse. Wanting to walk over and kiss her, if only that weren’t several kinds of pushy given the shape she’d arrived in. Instead he built a fire, flames crackling in the hearth in no time. He realized all these things—warm food, fire, a lazy afternoon following a morning’s work, a cold drink—weren’t anywhere near as enjoyable alone. A relief maybe, but not a pleasure. He took a long swallow and decided having a woman around again was like having a big mirror in the room, multiplying all the light and heat. He smiled at that, thinking even his boring old default beer tasted exciting with Nicole camped out in his den, hopefully not for the last night. If the flirting kept up, maybe once her side was healed he’d let his dick win its shouting match with his conscience and make a move on the girl.

They chitchatted while the stew simmered, its smell underscoring everything nourishing and comfortable about the atmosphere. When the laundry was done, Nicole changed into her clean clothes. She kept Russ’s button-up as well, probably to hide the faded brown bloodstain on her top.

Russ got up occasionally to stoke the fire, tried now and then to get some personal information out of his guest, and failed. Instead he let her grill him about himself, about all the boring aspects of his daily life she seemed to find so exotic. He doled out two big bowls of stew and opened two more beers. They ate in the living room, she cross-legged in the easy chair, he on the couch with his heels propped on the coffee table. He had seconds and she had thirds, and once again her uncensored appetite had Russ’s mind and body twitching with undignified thoughts.

Around seven, after a full hour’s lazy digestion and even lazier conversation punctuated by long stretches of easy silence, Russ took away their bowls. He grabbed another pair of bottles and put a Gene Autry record on, sinking back into the couch with a satisfied sigh.

Nicole leaned forward for her beer. Perched at the edge of her seat, she took a drink then held the bottle by its neck between her knees. Her gaze was fixed on Russ’s face, and the tip of her tongue teased the corner of her mouth.

He thought he knew that look…but no fucking way was he about to hit
that
jackpot. After the wait he’d had, it’d be too much to wish for. Or to fall to his knees and beg for.

Then Nicole moved, setting her beer back on the table and getting up, only to plop herself down right next to Russ. He swallowed, attention snapping between her eyes and her mouth, the small female hand on his knee.

He said something stupid, something he himself barely registered like “hello” or “what’s up?” Then she put her cool, smooth palm to his neck the world dissolved.

Russ closed his eyes and brought his head down to meet hers, plunged a too-eager hand into her long, soft hair as his tongue dove between her lips, unwilling to be held back. She tasted amazing, like beer and sex and a hundred subtle female things he’d forgotten about. He cupped the back of her head and made the kiss deeper and hungrier, as dirty as the pounding erection between his legs demanded. It was demanding
more
, and the only thing that kept him from yanking her into his lap and grinding their bodies together was fear of hurting her wounded side. Instead he grabbed her thigh, tugged until she got the message and relocated herself, swinging a leg over his just how he wanted. The fire crackled and flickered in his periphery and all Russ could think was,
Christmas.

When their mouths separated he stared down at her hips, the crotch of her jeans so tauntingly close to his. He reached around and grabbed her ass, pulled her against him. He was so hard there’d be no mistaking it through four layers of damnable fabric.

“You feel good,” she muttered. Her hands stroked his chest, fingers grasping his T-shirt collar and tugging, her eager touch sliding down his back beneath the cotton, exploring. If this was pushy, Russ decided he liked pushy. He’d lost touch with this part of himself, and it was intoxicating to have a woman not just willing for him, but practically
clawing
at him. He wanted that hungry touch all over his body, those greedy hands and warm mouth, her small body beneath him, above him, buried in his covers and lodged in his chest and brain.

When her lips grazed his neck, he lost his mind.

“Lie down,” he ordered, already pushing her.

He got on top, knees between hers, and he reached down to adjust himself before shoving his arms beneath her back. His mouth found hers just as he pressed his cock between her thighs, their clothes pure torture now. His hips dictated, thrusting his pounding dick against her in fast, needy strokes. He felt her legs wrap around his waist, those bossy fingers digging into his shoulders. Russ’s mother had warned him at length about the perils of fast women when he’d been a teenager, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember a single one of those dangers now.

Her moans hummed against his lips and she pulled her mouth away. “I want you,” she whispered.

“Do you?” An idiotic reply, but all he could think to say.

“Yeah. Do you have any…?”

“No.”

She nodded, looking one millionth as sad as Russ felt.

“That’s okay,” she said. “There’s plenty of other stuff to do.” Her gaze flicked between his face and the miniscule space between their bodies, seeming to peruse the items from a menu of “other stuff”. She tugged at the hem of his shirt, and he leaned back to peel it up and off.

Russ got lost in the pleasure, unable to do anything but watch her hands as they floated over his chest and stomach and sides then came to a halt at his belt, her fingertips so tauntingly close to his aching cock.

“Let me up?” she asked.

He got to his feet and watched her shed his work shirt and gently ease her tee and tank top off and give her bandage a quick press. If she’d planned on stripping further, Russ didn’t give her the chance. He dragged her back down against the worn leather, one palm plastered to her back, the other to her breast. He brought his face in, put his nose to the space where a heavier girl would keep her cleavage and just breathed Nicole in, her sweat and skin. Miracle of miracles, he felt her touch his side, his hip, his thigh. He couldn’t wait. He abandoned her breast and grabbed her hand, moving it between his legs and pressing it against his screaming cock.

“Oh God.” The words erupted from his throat in a groan. It took all of his self-control to not hold her there, thrust his hips against her squeezing hand and come right here, right now.

“Tell me what you want, Russ.”

He laughed, fighting for composure. He suppressed every last one of his male instincts and moved her hand down his thigh to the safety of his knee. He wasn’t used to having conversations in the middle of fooling around and struggled to form an answer. “I want…I want to not wreck this before it even starts.”

“I think it’s already started.”

He laughed again, the desperate noise trapped between paradise and hell. “Tell me what
you
want.”

“I want to show you how grateful I am.”

His body cooled in an instant. “Is that what this is about? About thanking me?” He held her gaze unsteadily.

“Partly, yeah. But I want this too, Russ. Trust me, it’s not a favor. Or a debt.”

He let go of a held breath, relieved.

“I want you to use me,” she said with a smile. “But not how I’m making it sound… I want to make you feel good, to say thanks for everything you’re doing for me.”

“It’s been ages since I’ve been with a woman. I could explode in about two seconds, but I miss other things way worse.” His eyes and hands moved to her breasts, squeezing gently, thumbs circling the fabric of her bra until he coaxed her nipples to stiff peaks. “Let me explore you.”

She nodded and Russ watched her throat twitch as she swallowed. “Let me hear you,” he added, fascinated by the prospect of being with a woman who seemed likely to talk in the midst of messing around.

“Sure.”

Shit, that single breathy syllable was enough to set his cock pounding again. Russ buried his mouth against her neck, tasting her skin as his hands drank their fill of her breasts. She moved against him, reaching behind to unhook her bra. He pulled the straps down her arms, probably more eager than was polite but screw it. His mouth slid downward, taking one bare brown nipple as this fingers teased the other. His free palm grazed her bandaging and he pulled away. She took his hand in hers and pressed it back over the spot, some gesture of tenderness Russ didn’t fully understand but wasn’t about to argue with. He felt her fingers in his hair as he suckled, her touch hungry. Sounds rose from her throat, harsh breaths and faint grunts, all of them fanning the fire blazing in his body.

He moved back. Too horny to articulate a request, he fumbled with the button of her jeans until she lay back and did it for him. She let him tug the denim down her slim legs and toss it to the floor. Russ took her in, milky pale skin, golden in the firelight. He pressed his lips to a fading bruise on the outside of her thigh, wanting to make up for whatever the world had done to her before she arrived here.

Her cotton panties were pale yellow with a pattern of tiny strawberries. Russ didn’t think she could look any sexier if she had on a red lace thong and garter belts. He got to his knees on the couch, leaned in and kissed his way up her legs, welcomed her hand on the back of his head as he reached her inner thighs. He slid a thumb beneath the fabric at her hips, bringing his mouth and nose to her center.

“God, you smell amazing.” Amazing wasn’t the half of it—amazing was so far off it was a lie. There was no word for how good she smelled. Russ dug his fingers into the bit of extra flesh at her hips and brought his mouth right to her, nuzzling through the cotton. Her fingernails scraped his scalp. He took it as encouragement, pressing his tongue against her, tracing the folds he found as the cotton grew wet from one or both of them.

“Russ.”

He thought he’d faint from all this—her voice, her smell, the intimate skin he could just about taste. He leaned back, yanking her panties down her legs and off her ankles. His eyes took in every inch of the new and exciting body draped on his couch, on a piece of furniture so familiar it had been invisible to him until this moment.

“Holy God.” All he could do for a few seconds was stare at her, trying to commit her to memory. Then he leaned back in, brushed a hand over the curls between her thighs, light brown and soft as the hair on her head. He coaxed her legs open wide, sliding his hands beneath her ass and taking one final savoring breath before he put his mouth to her.

Soft, warm, wet…a thousand times more perfect than the imagined experience he’d have put himself to sleep jerking off over. Goddamn, he’d missed this. He prayed he was still half-good at it. Judging from the noises she made, he was just fine.

He tasted and sucked, licked and delved and got lost in her flavor and sounds, the warm, smooth skin of her thighs against his cheeks. After a couple of selfish minutes he redirected his focus, got one hand out from under her and laid it across her mound, thumb strumming her clit as he tasted her folds.

“God, Russ.”

More fuel for the flames. His hips thrust softly of their own accord, and he imagined sliding inside her, feeling all this slick heat hugging his dick. Her small hand covered his, squeezing his fingers.

“Inside me, Russ.”

He didn’t mind taking orders. Hell, he wished girls had done that in his twenties—would’ve saved him a lot of hopeless guesswork. He eased two fingers inside her, thrusting shallow and slow, then deeper.

“Just like that. Suck my clit.”

He smiled to himself. “Yes, ma’am.”

The moan she rewarded him with was all Russ needed to convert officially to bossy-woman fandom. He took every pleading order she gave him—faster, deeper, lighter, harder. He felt powerful as her thighs began trembling, the fingers gripping his hair clenching and releasing, voice reduced to sighs and grunts and tiny whispers of the sweetest word in Creation.