Impulsion (Station 32 #1)(18)

“For what?” He nearly cussed the words, which didn’t put Harley any more at ease.

Harley’s first thought was to become a veterinarian. From the way her mother gasped, you would have thought she’d told her mother she wanted to be a waitress. In the end, her mother—with her father backing her—convinced Harley that she could do more for animals if she entered law, specifically business law, and that if she did so she would have more power when she began charities for animal rights.

Harley knew the education was just a ruse; all in all, her mother never expected her to work a day in her life. She wanted her to have a vibrant resume that said she studied abroad, that she spoke so many languages and was educated in such a manner, but that wasn’t for a career; that was to become a wife, a wife of some powerful man that would further extend the family’s wealth, maybe even add some kind of fame or notoriety.

Harley told her father—and meant it—that she did not want to study abroad because she would be too far from him, that she wanted to be close. He agreed with her, so her mother was reasoned down and convinced into only taking Harley away for a summer at best. But that was only after she argued that Harley could not wait for her father to pass away to begin her life, that she should give him the pleasure of knowing she was well cared for before that point.

“Experience, I guess.”

“When are you going to know for sure?”

“Maybe in a few months. I still have time to talk her down to a few weeks, could argue that I want to ride while I still have the chance.”

She winced, moving her shoulder. Today was a hard ride. Basically, she was thinking too much now, trying to figure out how to be naturally calm.

Wyatt seemed to feel that pain. He rolled her to her side and moved his hand across her back, her shoulders, working out the tension. “I don’t know that this hard ground is helping you.”

“If he can read me so well, how does he not know how to read that I need him not to pull?”

“A different language,” he said quietly as he landed a kiss on her shoulder. He rolled her to her back, moved himself between her legs. Harley’s heart quickened, and he smiled shyly, landing a sweet kiss on her lips as her hands moved to his face, caressing him.

His lips left hers, and one hand reached for the hand she had on his face. “Soft hands,” he breathed. She blushed. His hand moved back to her thigh, pulled it closer to his waist. “Strong legs.”

She laughed aloud.

“I’m serious,” he said just before his lips connected with hers. Her legs didn’t tighten around him as he deepened that kiss, as he moved into the cradle of her body. “Stronger,” he whispered against her lips as his hand reached back for her thigh once more, sliding closer, edging to the warmth of her.

Her hands continued that soft sway on his face, his shoulders, and chest as she devoured his kiss.

“Stronger,” he said again as his lips moved from her lips, past her chin, leaving slow, passionate kisses across her neck, daring to display more seduction with the flesh of his lips each time.

She squeezed him with her thighs, but not with all her strength; he was powerful, but the idea of hurting him, or even stopping them, was keeping her to a seductive hug with her legs, especially since she could feel his hand moving ever closer to the part of her body that was craving him.

“Stronger,” he said against her neck as he rocked into her, as that hand moved even closer. She squeezed him with all of her strength, and he barely gasped as he moved her hands above her head; every time she would tighten her grip, he would loosen it, caress her palms.

She had no idea how he was doing it, but he seemed to be everywhere. His hands were soft, his lips were fierce, and his body was moving at a rhythm against her all at once.

His lips rose from her neck, and one hand left hers and trailed down her arm, her shoulders, her chest. “Don’t think about one thing when you ride; think about nothing, just be. Feel the sensations, dance with the rhythm, give, take.” That hand of his moved back to her thigh, so close to where she wanted him.

She was trying to hear his words, but her heart was racing; right now, she was thinking too much. Any time before she had told him she was ready, her mind would have been numb at this point, her body would have been running the show, she would have been fighting him for control, they would have rolled off the blanket they were on more than once. But right now, all she could do was focus on his hand as it moved away from her thigh and up to slip beneath her shirt and caress her skin. Every time her legs would loosen, he would move his hand to her thigh to tell her to tighten them again, dare to let the tips of his fingers slide beneath her shorts, brushing the silk of her panties. He did the same with her hands. “Soft hands,” he whispered every time her hand gripped the one he was holding, which was bracing him above her.

That game didn’t end; it intensified as his fingertips did make it past that silk barrier, as they stole her breath with each movement. It was killing her, but she kept her hand soft on his, and the one that was brushing through his hair only barely showed force.

She felt the power of seductive energy inside her building with each touch of his deft fingers against her flesh, building, and building, and building even more.

They had been here before, this was part of their rhythm, but even this had changed now; there was more want behind it, a deep desire to cross that line they had never touched, only brushed against.