Cowgirls Don't Cry
Page 36

“Stay like this.” He slid her hands to the edge of the countertop, slipping his knee between her legs in a signal to widen her stance. “Perfect.”
“Brandt—”
“Trust me, Jess?”
It took about ten seconds, but she nodded.
“Good. Close your eyes. Relax.”
She let her eyes drift shut, but she was in no way relaxed. His body shifted as he reached for something on the counter. Then his wonderfully rough hand glided down her bare stomach, stopping to cover her mound. His fingers stroked her cleft, teasing her folds until she felt herself growing wet, heavy with need.
His fingers vanished. Before she could protest, a cool, round object connected with her clit and she gasped, “What is that?”
“No fair peeking. Keep your eyes closed.” Brandt steadily dragged it up and down her slit in a smooth glide that followed the contour of her sex from top to bottom. He whispered, “Does it feel good?”
“Yes.”
His lips feathered hot, moist kisses across her neck. He circled her clit, never too hard, or too soft, exacting the ideal amount of pressure to keep her wanting more. Then he’d slide it down to the juncture of her thighs, using her slick juices to slide back up.
Jessie noticed the rounded object was no longer cool, but warmed from friction against her body. It didn’t feel as hard. It’d become soft, pliable.
“Imagine this is my cock riding your slit.” He arced it from the opening of her body, up to the top of her pubic bone. Each stroke faster. Shorter. His breath stirred her hair and she had no problem imagining it was Brandt’s cock gently driving her toward orgasm.
On the next upstroke, he brought that mysterious object up the center of her torso, between her cleavage, over the column of her throat to rest on her lips. She felt the stickiness of her juices, not only on her mouth, but in a trail from her chin to her bikini line.
Brandt growled in her ear. “Lick it.”
Jessie’s tongue darted out and she lapped up the taste of her own musky essence from the warm and rounded slope.
“Bite down.”
Her teeth sank in, and the sweet, earthy taste of pear juice burst in her mouth. A moan escaped as she sucked at the fruit, greedily biting off a chunk of perfect ripeness. The flesh nearly melted against her tongue. The fruit flowed down her throat as she swallowed, but more juice spilled from her lips and dripped over her chin as she stole another juicy bite. And another. And another.
Brandt plucked the fruit away, spun her around and fused their mouths together. The taste of Brandt exploded on her tongue, mixing with the sweetness of the pear and the hint of her own juices. He sucked at her tongue, licking the soft depths of her mouth, guiding them to a new level of lust just with his potent kiss.
And then he gently pressed that squishy, sticky fruit to the top of her pubic bone until pear juice trickled down her cleft in a syrupy stream and dampened her thighs.
Jessie gasped at the sensation, breaking the kiss.
Brandt growled, leaving sucking kisses on the sticky trail down her body. He fell to his knees and buried his face in her pussy.
“Brandt! Oh God.” Jessie’s fingers scrabbled for purchase on the counter behind her as she attempted to hold on against his sensual assault.
Brandt’s thumbs pulled the skin back to expose her clit. He lapped the juices—hers and the pear’s—
like a junkie. Thoroughly tasting every inch of her while that rumbling noise in his throat that vibrated against her swollen tissues.
When he switched to those flickering butterfly licks, she was toast. Her body shook with every orgasmic pulse. She might’ve gasped. Actually, she might’ve screamed. But she mostly couldn’t hear anything over the blood pounding in ears that mimicked the throbbing goodness pounding in her groin.
It would’ve been embarrassing, how quickly she’d started to come after Brandt put his mouth on her, but the orgasm was so incredibly volatile that any lucid thought beyond Yes! Yes! Yes! didn’t register at all.
Only when Brandt started kissing her quivering thighs did she float back to earth. She peeled her lids open and peered down at him.
Maybe she expected he’d be munching on the leftover chunk of pear with a gleam in his eye. But he had an even wilder look to him.
Keeping his fiery gaze on her, he ditched his sweatpants and smothered her mouth in another controlling kiss as he brought them down to the floor.
There were no sweet words. No asking permission. As Brandt scrambled her brain with savage kisses, he settled between her thighs, hiked her hips up and plunged inside her.
His lower body pumped into hers, and he attempted to pin her arms over her head, but Jessie twisted free of his grip, digging her nails into his ass as her legs circled his waist. Keeping him exactly where she wanted him.
Brandt slammed into her harder. Pushed her higher off the floor. The kiss became impossible to sustain, given the ferocity of his thrusts.
She canted her pelvis, changing his angle of entry so his every plunge brushed her clit. She hissed,
“Yes. Like that.”
He grunted, flexing his hips with enough velocity they skidded across the linoleum.
Jessie knew he was close, knew she needed to send him over in order to reach that pinnacle herself.
She dragged her nails down his sweat-covered back, loving how the tactile sensation and the hint of pain always surprised him. Always drove him wild. Immediately his whole body shuddered as he started to come, bucking against her forcefully.
Brandt threw his head back and roared. God he was magnificent. Pure male animal.
Her interior muscles took over, tightening around his shaft, pushing her to the place where those rhythmic pulses reverberated throughout her entire being. She had the fleeting thought that this could easily become her sole reason for living—to find this sheer pleasure with this man. And she might’ve started speaking in tongues, because god knew she’d definitely been singing this man’s praises, even if it sounded like gibberish.
His deep thrusts slowed. But didn’t stop. Brandt buried his face in her neck and panted, still pumping into her. It was almost like he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t bear to break their connection.
Jessie ran her palms down his back of his flawlessly rounded butt cheeks. She pressed down in a silent signal for him to stop.
He lifted his head. His eyes were still wild.
She smiled. “Hey.”
But Brandt didn’t return her smile, nor did he bestow those yummy post-orgasm kisses she hungered for. No. A look of shock flitted through his eyes and he abruptly moved off her. So abruptly that his ass hit the floor. Hard. He jammed his hand across his scalp in a move that looked like he was adjusting his hat.
“Brandt?”
No answer.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just…give me a second, okay?”
She pushed up on her elbows and let her toes slide up his shin. “You out of breath or something?”
His gaze swept over her body. Almost clinically. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. Why would you ask me that?”
Brandt looked away.
Jessie reached up and grabbed his chin, forcing his gaze back to her. “Why?”
“Why? Jesus, Jessie. Because I lost it. Completely. I took you down and fucked you on the kitchen floor, for Christsake.”
“So?” She stretched provocatively because she loved the way his focus immediately zoomed to her breasts. “You always mention my floor is clean enough to eat off of, why wouldn’t it be okay to fuck on?”
He just stared at her.
Oh hell no. Was that…regret in his eyes?
“Don’t piss me off, Brandt.”
“Which brings up the question why aren’t you pissed off at me for attacking you?”
“Because I liked it. Actually, I loved it. Not only did I love that I made you lose control, I loved the fact you were so hot to have me right then, that you didn’t stop what you were doing, you didn’t second guess what you were feeling, you didn’t feel guilty. No. You fucked me on the floor. Hard and dirty. It was fucking spectacular and I don’t regret a single second.”
When he continued to wear that hangdog expression, she’d had enough. She started to get up, but Brandt brought her back down. Two hundred odd pounds of cowboy pinned her to the floor and got right in her face.
“For the record, that was the hottest sex ever. Ever. No regrets, Jessie. Just lookin’ at you calms me.
But just lookin’ at you also revs me up.”
She touched his face, letting the tips of her fingers follow that strong jawline. “That’s good to hear even when I know it’s hard for you to admit.”
“I can be rough.”
“You think I don’t know that? I’ve known you for four years. I’ve seen that dark look in your eye and then you come back a day or two later bloody and bruised. I don’t fault you for not wanting me to see that side of you, but I’m fully aware it’s there.”
He rested his forehead to hers. “You have no idea what it means to me to hear you say that.”
“I think I do.” She touched her lips to his in a gentle kiss.
“Come to bed with me, Jess,” he murmured in her hair. “Let me show you my other side.”
“Okay. But I think I might be stuck to the floor.”
“Shit. Sorry.” Brandt rolled and brought her to her feet. “Shower first.”
“Deal.”
Halfway down the hallway she snickered.
“What?”
“Isn’t it ironic that I have pear-scented soap?”
Chapter Sixteen
“I really wish you’d reconsider and stay here for Thanksgiving, Jess. The roads in Wyoming ain’t the best this time of year and I don’t want you to get stranded someplace.”
Jessie set her duffel bag by the door and snagged her winter coat off the coat rack. “I’ll be fine. It’ll be easier for everyone if I’m with my family. Besides, it’s only three days.” Driving to her mom’s was preferable to staying by herself when Brandt took Landon to his parent’s on Thanksgiving Day—since she hadn’t been issued an invite. She’d spent last Thanksgiving alone, eating a microwaved turkey and dressing meal, watching reruns of holiday classics and bawling her eyes out about the pathetic state of her life. An experience she’d rather not repeat.