Ride Rough Read online

  "Just how long are we talking?" he murmured, a small smile pulling up the corner of his mouth.

  "Since I brought someone home? Never."

  Huh. "And since you've been properly laid?"

  She made a noise in her throat. "Properly? Probably the same," she mumbled refusing to meet his eyes. "But if you're talking timelines, probably six months."

  "Wait... probably the same?" Was she yanking his chain? That was like throwing the gauntlet. "So what you're saying is... I'm popping your orgasm cherry," he teased with a snicker.

  She hit his shoulder harder. "I know how to have an orgasm," she said with a note of warning and motioning to the door. "But no one will be having one if you don't bring me my purse."

  He pushed off the bed, tearing his eyes away from how lovely she looked lying back against the sheets they'd wrinkled. "And what's in it for me if I run downstairs?"

  "What do you think, Captain Obvious?"

  Trace backed toward the door, puffing under her avid gaze. "Besides that. That's a given."

  A slow smile cut across her features as her eyes lit with mischief. "Anything you want, starting with those spankings you keep teasing."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Trace's eyes lit with a ferocious hunger. "Don't move." He disappeared into the hall, and she heard him bounding down the stairs at least two at a time.

  Cecilia smothered a giggle. Like she could move. Trace had wound her up into a bundle of nerves ready to go supernova at the slightest brush against her clit. Honestly, with a few more lashes of his tongue or the slide of his cock against her clit, she'd have passed right out from the ecstasy of it.

  Seconds later, his feet hit the stairs again and he appeared in the door holding her purse. "You're not winded?"

  He lifted an eyebrow as he stalked toward her. "Stamina, babe."

  "Cocky much?"

  "Confident. There's a difference." He held out her purse. "I think you know what to look for."

  Any other man would have opened her purse and looked for the condoms she suspected Izzie snuck in there. But not Trace. Another crack appeared in her defenses. The tiny gesture of respect slithered through the barbed wire around her heart and continued to chip away at the walls she'd erected. Pushing the thought aside, she opened her purse, and sure enough Izzie's favor was indeed a condom. A string of them. She pulled out the row with a grin.

  Trace grinned back, his smile lighting his eyes. "Not nearly enough," he said with a shake of his head.

  "Oh, come on." Cecilia rolled her eyes. "That's how many? Six?"

  He flicked his eyebrows again and flexed. "Stamina."

  "Did you just flex? You did, didn't you," she exclaimed with a laugh. "You really think we're going to need all six of these?" She tossed them on the bedside table. As if.

  "We're gonna need a lot more than that, sweetheart," he rumbled with the gravelly edge to his voice that turned her insides to jelly. He loomed over her and removed the purse from her lap letting it drop to the floor, and brought his face within inches of hers. "Doubt me?" he murmured, eyes fierce and determined.

  And, just like that, with one look, the arousal that had slowly dissipated during their banter roared back to life. She swallowed. "No?"

  Trace brought a hand to her neck, thumb sliding up and down at the hollow. Tingles flooded her body, racing to her nipples, her core, heating her from the inside out. Her body trembled under his intense gaze, nerve endings on fire, waiting to receive his touch. His thumb dipped lower, tracing a line from her sternum to between her breasts, pressing against the bone, then siding back to the hollow at her neck. Each caress brought his hand closer to where she wanted it, she arched into his touch inviting him to explore further, but still, he held back.

  "Trace," she whispered, more out of frustration than anything else. He lowered his head, capturing her in a tender kiss, teasing her mouth with flicks of his tongue. But only teasing. No satisfaction. She moaned.

  "Mmm?" he murmured against her lips. "Did you... want... something?"

  Want? She made a sound of pure frustration. Hell yes, she wanted. She was dying of anticipation.

  "Tell me what you want, Cecilia."

  Her core tightened at the way her name rolled off his tongue, but the words he wanted from her stuck in her throat and came out as another incoherent sound. His fingers circled her breast, first one, then the other, barely touching her sensitized nipples. She wanted his mouth on her in the worst way - sucking, scraping, biting.

  "What was that you said?" he taunted, fingers skittering over her skin, lingering at her hip, teasing lower and lower.

  The words formed on her tongue and in her mind. Dirty filthy words. Everything she wanted from him, his hands, his mouth. She'd read Fifty Shades and watched occasional online porn. It wasn't like she was some shy flower. Not by far. But the difference between writing words and saying them was... immense. Pens might be mightier than swords but spoken words held vastly more power, and the thought of naming her desires... terrified her. She could feel her cheeks flaming under his scrutiny. "Do you torture all your conquests this way?" she gasped, falling back to safer territory.

  He stood, eyes glittering, jaw twitching as a scowl darkened his features. She instantly regretted her words. Had she pushed him too far? She was an expert at that, the critical voice in her head reminded her. He bent again, bracing his hands on either side of her head. "Let's get one thing straight, sweetheart. You have never been, nor will you ever be a conquest." He practically spit out the word. "Beautiful? Yes. Intelligent? Yes. Absolutely maddening? Hell, yes." He glared at her. "Never a conquest, and don't you dare accuse me of that ever again. Clear?"

  "And if I do?" she challenged, energy rising through her.

  Trace's eyes narrowed. "Do you want a demonstration?" His voice took on a sharp, dark edge.

  A quiet little moan escaped her lips and she nodded, heart pounding, instinctively knowing what was coming, and welcoming it. In one smooth move, he gathered her up and twisted so he was sitting at the edge of the bed and she was spread across his lap, ass high. The first smack hit her before she was prepared. She squeaked, squirming on his lap as heat radiated straight to her clit. "Is this what you want?" His hand landed on her other cheek, closer to the top of her thigh, sharp enough to sting and to elicit a breathy response, but not hard enough to truly hurt. She nodded, amazed at the knot of heat building in her pussy. Yes. It was the perfect kind of hurt.

  "Say it," he gritted, delivering another stinging slap.

  Again, the words piled up in her mind, burning her tongue, but she couldn't say them.

  "I'm not a mind reader, Cecilia." Smack.

  She cried out at the sound of her name. Smack.

  Her clit rubbed against his thigh every time his hand made contact with her ass, driving her closer and closer to a climax that was certain to shatter her. "Please," she moaned.

  Slap. "Please, what?" Another pause, another smack. "Cecilia?"

  "Oh god, I'm so close." She couldn't stop trembling she was so aroused. Just one more and she'd come. She was sure of it.

  Above her, Trace sighed heavily and pulled her off his lap. She nearly cried from the loss of him. But she wasn't bereft for long. He pushed her onto her back, and climbed over her, cock once again hot and insistent at her entrance. He brushed the hair from her face, and clasped her cheeks, tracing a thumb across her lower lip. "Whatever you want, I will give you. Nothing is too much. I can be as dirty or vanilla as you want. But I need you to tell me what you want and how you want it."

  Cecilia's heart jumped to her throat. From the look in his eyes, it was like he was offering her the moon. Hell, maybe he was. How many nights in college or in Chicago had she dished with girlfriends about inept or selfish lovemaking? Yet the thought of asking for what they wanted or needed, had been utterly scandalous and completely off-limits. That wasn't how things were done. And yet... why not? Her cheeks flamed at the stream of conscious thoughts racing through her head. She sh
ut her eyes, defenses weakening with every breath.

  "Cecilia." A plea this time. "I promise I won't say no. Let me love you."

  She could barely hear his words over the buzzing in her ears. Let me love you. Had she heard right? Her eyes flew open, searching him. He was still with her, eyes warm and soft, face gentle, mouth still oh, so tempting. "I... I like how you say my name," she mumbled, body heating with mortification.

  "Cecilia." There was a smile in his voice this time.

  Her mouth crooked up. "Like that. It..." she sucked in a quick breath, mustering her courage, "makes me wet."

  A low chuckle shook his ribs, and he brushed his mouth across hers. "Now we're getting somewhere. What else?"

  Her pulse rocketed at the thoughts that began to tumble from her mouth. "I liked the spanking. A lot."

  "Noted."

  "It was fucking perfect," she blurted.

  "And she swears, too," he answered wryly. "Don't worry, it's part of your appeal," he rushed to reassure her.

  She bit her lip, gazing up at him. He groaned and kissed her again, more deeply. "And I, love it when you look at me that way. It just about kills me. In a good way," he added quickly.

  Cecilia took a big breath. "I like the teasing. But I also want biting, not too hard, but enough. And I want your mouth on me."

  "Where?"

  "Everywhere. Especially the important places."

  "Which are?"

  "You're really going to make me say them?" The look in his eye said yes. Definitively. Dear lord, he was going to make her utter every single word considered bad or off-limits. "Fine." Her hackles rose. She'd speak them just to curl his toes. Looking him straight in the eye, she laid it out. "I like oral. A lot, but not with a pokey tongue like you're just trying to get through it. I want your tongue to make love to my pussy the way it makes love to my mouth. I like fingering, too. But gentle, and light touches around my clit... and my lower back is especially sensitive."

  "I don't even want to know how you learned that," he growled as she stopped for air.

  She jumped right back in because if she thought about what was pouring out of her mouth she'd lose all her courage. "I love having my tits caressed, but not kneaded like they're bread dough. And when you suck on them, I like teeth, but not too much. I love it when you grab my hair. And your spanking threats make me want to be very, very bad." Her voice ended on a breathy note, heart racing so fast it might pound right out of her chest. She shut her eyes, because she couldn't look at him. Not right now when she'd rather the earth swallow her whole.

  "Cecilia. Look at me." His voice was firm and gentle, but definitely brooked no arguing.

  She grabbed a quick breath, let it out, then sucked in more. She hated feeling this vulnerable, this exposed.

  "Cecilia." This time fingers brushed her cheek. She cracked open one eye, then the other. Her eyes widened at his broad grin. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

  She let out a breath and rolled her eyes. "If you overlook the near heart attack that caused, then sure."

  "I appreciate you telling me."

  "Why?" She recognized she was being difficult, but she had to know why it was such a big deal to him.

  Trace's mouth twitched. "Because maybe I'm worried I'm off my game and I want to get it right. Having a roadmap... helps."

  "Wait." A slow smile spread across her face. "You're... nervous?"

  "Not anymore," he said frankly. "Now that you've shared your secrets, you better buckle up."

  "Yeah?" she palmed his cheek, relishing the scrape of his beard on her wrist. She really, really wanted that scruff on her sensitive parts.

  He didn't answer. He dropped his head and took her mouth like it was plunder, tongue invading and sweeping against hers.

  Cecilia moaned threading her fingers through his hair, and holding on for dear life as he worked over her body, tasting her neck, her collarbone, her sternum. He latched on to a nipple, tongue swirling, teeth scraping, just like she'd asked for. She arched into his mouth, offering herself without pretense or shame.

  "You're beautiful. Fucking beautiful," he uttered between kisses as he bit the soft flesh between her bellybutton and her hip, then licked it, moving lower with each lash of his tongue until he rested on her mound. "So soft," he muttered as his fingers grazed her swollen lips. "So wet." Trace settled himself between her legs, squeezing and stroking her thighs

  She cried out when at last his tongue slid along her wet seam before he sealed his mouth around her clit, licking and sucking like she was his last meal. "Oh, god, yes," she rasped, rapidly spiraling into the stratosphere. He settled into a rhythm that drew her energy into a tight, feverish knot, coiling hotter and brighter with each stroke of his tongue. Her body was no longer her own. It was simply a vessel of need moving of its own volition, carried on a surge of sensation until she thought she would break apart from the madness of it. She could feel her orgasm building, winding through her body with the force of a hurricane. She cried out, clutching Trace's head as wave upon wave crashed over her, shattering her mind into a million white shards of light.

  "Stay with me, babe," he uttered, shifting.

  She dimly registered the tearing of foil, and then he was there, pressing against her entrance, pushing into her filling her up with long, firm strokes.

  "That's it, sweetheart, ride it out, let me feel you."

  The gravel in his voice, the weight of his words, the thrust of his cock filling her up, was more than she could bear. She hadn't even come down from one orgasm, and already her body was soaring to new heights as he hit a place deep inside her. She cried out again, not recognizing her voice or the string of profanity pouring out of her. There was just more sound and more sensation. The next orgasm hit her with dizzying ferocity, blanking her mind. Above her, Trace went rigid with a strangled noise, pushing deeper, harder with each stroke, grinding against her pussy and coming at last with a shout that mingled with her own cries.

  Only one thought entered Cecilia's mind as they slowly floated back to earth. Trace Walker had ruined her for anyone else.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The moonlight shone through the curtains when Cecilia blinked awake, still tucked into Trace's embrace. Beneath her ear, his heart beat steady and strong. Unable to resist, she feathered her fingers across his perfectly chiseled chest. His abs were made for licking, something she added to her list of activities for when he awakened. But for the moment, she was content to admire without being caught. Trace... complicated things. For starters, it was getting harder and harder to stay suspicious of him when he literally swept her off her feet. Her friends liked him, but most importantly the guys respected him. She'd learned young that the latter was far more important. Her father had been a notorious charmer, but it was only after he left town that she discovered no one really respected him - a lesson she'd taken to heart. Better to be respected than liked. But had she been too prickly in past relationships as a result? If she was honest with herself, probably.

  Trace was... different. Far different than any man she'd been with. It simultaneously impressed and terrified her that he was nonplussed by her prickles. Even amused. And maybe he even liked her because of them? But something about him still niggled at her. She shifted to study his face. It was too perfect. High cheekbones, a jaw that even scruff covered was cut. And his eyes. Even in sleep, she knew she'd seen them before. But where? She'd never even been to California, and she doubted he'd ever been to Chicago or New York. In the morning she'd grill him, politely of course. No doubt they'd laugh about it when they figured it out. With a sigh, she pushed her thoughts away. A glass of milk and she'd be right as rain. Quietly, so as not to wake him, she wiggled out of his embrace and slid from the sheets, but before she could turn around, his hand snaked out and caught her wrist. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, voice still filled with sleep. Even like that, the rough edge to his speech slithered right to her core.

  "Kitchen?" He gave a tug, and she fell right onto h
is chest and into his smoldering gaze. How was it possible for him to steal her breath like that? Her heart galloped as she raked her gaze across his face, settling on his mouth.

  He threaded his fingers through her hair, working to loosen the knots. "I don't think so," he said before pulling her down for a searing kiss, then rolling so she was pinned beneath him. "Time for round two."

  The next time she woke, the sky shone pink through the curtain. Cecilia stretched and yawned, muscles pleasantly sore. She glanced at the nightstand. One condom left. Who'd have thunk? Obviously not her. She broke into a smile, giddy as she reflected on the last several hours. Stamina, indeed. Pancakes. Pancakes and coffee sounded heavenly. When was the last time she'd cooked a full-on ranch breakfast? Trace would be rising soon, heading back, she could at least cook the man a good breakfast. This time when she wriggled out from his embrace, he didn't wake. She grabbed his shirt from the floor and slipped into it, buttoning it up as she headed to the kitchen. Once Trace was on his way, she'd finish the living room project she'd begun earlier in the week. She'd never been a morning person, but since returning home to Prairie, she'd come to appreciate the stillness and expectation of early morning. Cecilia offered a word of thanks to Dottie for that as she started the coffee, then set about preparing bacon for the oven.

  Dottie had insisted she take the opening shift, "So you can have the rest of the day for reinventing yourself." So far, the only reinventing she'd done was the wallpaper in the living room. She was certain it was the same wallpaper her grandmother had grown up with. It certainly stuck to the wall like it was. But, there was something cathartic about pulling up carpet and pulling down wallpaper - destroying something to build it up again, better. There was a metaphor for life in there somewhere. If she were to reinvent herself, what would it look like? Could she make it as a stringer? Did she want to? And if so, where would she live? Chicago was out of the question. Cecilia grabbed the box of eggs from the fridge.