Saddle Up(56)

He kissed her before she could reply. The moment their tongues tangled, his lust roared back to life. He wanted her with an ache that reached deep into his bones, but the ache was more than sex alone could relieve. She’d asked him before if his life was lonely. It was. Lonely, empty, unfulfilled. He hadn’t even realized how empty he was until now. Was he damaged beyond repair? Beyond any hope of redemption? He didn’t know. It was damned hard to fix what you didn’t even know was broken.

He suddenly thought of his cousin’s words. You don’t even know who you are anymore, and you won’t belong anywhere until you do. Maybe he had lost his way for a while, but he was trying real hard to find his way back, and Miranda suddenly seemed like a homing beacon.

Let me touch you. Let me feed your soul. How could he tell her she already had?





Chapter 20


Miranda sensed there was something special growing between them, but how much more of himself was Keith willing to share beyond sex? He’d succeeded in turning her desire against her to stem the flow of questions. Was he already looking for an escape from any emotional entanglements? Would he try to find an excuse to break it off because she was getting too close? Her head roiled with unanswered questions, but the moment their mouths met, her mind blurred to all but the need to feel him inside her again.

Breaking away from her mouth, Keith worked his way down her body. Miranda shut her eyes to scorching sensation lapping at the place between her thighs. Hot. Wet. Slick. His tongue sliding and swirling, every flick and dart eliciting an answering flutter deep inside her. Her arousal shortened her breath, hardened her nipples. Her lungs burned for air. She ached to be filled, the emptiness like a piercing pain. She reached out for him with a needy sound.

Pressure, sweet and steady, answered her prayer.

Probing fingers teased and tormented, wreaking havoc on her senses. Long, lush lashes of his tongue. His lips pressing against her clit, gently squeezing, insistently sucking. Alternating anguish with bliss. Her pulse thudded a pounding drumbeat in her ears as he coaxed her to climax. Her orgasm came slowly, swelling and spreading in low ripples of sensation that left her panting.

He came over her, eyes dilated with desire. She parted her lips in expectation of his kiss and got his fingers instead. Wet. Slick. Scented, like his breath, with the remnants of her climax. He stroked them over her mouth and then reclaimed what he’d given her with lush licks of his hot tongue. Adding tiny flicks and teasing nips, he sucked her lower lip into his mouth and then breached her in a long, slow penetration, stretching, joining her body with his. Eyes locked on hers, he moved inside her, slow and deliberate, every thrust claiming another little piece of her soul. Whether he knew it or not, wanted her or not, she was his. It could never be like this with anyone else.

*

With almost four hours of driving ahead of them, they had to rise well before the sun to make up for the hours they’d spent making love. Although bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived, Miranda didn’t regret a minute they’d passed exploring each other, but this morning she once again sensed Keith’s withdrawal, could almost see him recoiling into himself.

The silence as they drove was now charged with another kind of tension—uncertainty and unease. It had all happened so fast. They both needed time and space to figure it out. So she gave him space—or as much as the truck cab would allow.

She was glad she’d brought her iPad. At least she could pretend to read. She kept her eyes glued to the screen even as she felt his gaze seeking hers. She wondered what he was thinking but didn’t dare ask, knowing any perceived pressure on her part would lead only to further retreat on his.

She wondered why Keith had chosen such a solitary path. Did he keep himself apart purely out of fear of rejection? Freedom and independence were long cowboy traditions. But with freedom and independence often came isolation and loneliness.

She stole another glance at him. Tension sharpened his features, and his hands were tight on the wheel. She was suddenly reminded of the mustang stallion that had leapt out of the holding pen, leaving the others behind, because his freedom was more important than even the familial bonds with his herd mates.

Although he’d tried not to show it, she’d felt his pain when he’d spoken of his family, and partially understood his wariness after the hurt and rejection he’d suffered. There were only three people she’d ever trusted implicitly, and two of them, her father and her grandfather, were both gone. Only Jo-Jo remained.

After a time, the quiet became stifling. “Do you mind if I play some music?” she asked.

“Go ahead,” he replied. “The truck doesn’t have an MP3 jack, and the radio reception out here is piss poor, so I always carry CDs in the glove box.”

Curious to know what kind of music he listened to, she opened it to take a look. She found Iron Maiden, Manowar, and Anthrax on top of the stack. “Wow. I never would have figured you for a metalhead.” There was so much she still didn’t know about him. They’d jumped into bed so quickly that they hadn’t had a chance to truly get to know each other.

He shrugged. “A lot of the metal bands honor Indian culture. Just listen to ‘Run to the Hills,’ ‘Spirit Horse of the Cherokee,’ or ‘Indians.’ Or if you want to hear some hardcore NA death metal, listen to ‘Warpath’ by Dark Kloud.”

“No thanks,” she replied. “I prefer to keep my rage bottled. Do you have any music that isn’t dark or depressing?” She flipped through a few others in the stack. Staind. Breaking Benjamin, Linkin Park, Seether. “Ah, here’s one.” She popped Nickelback into the player, skipping to her favorite power ballad. Shutting her eyes, she immersed herself in the music. They arrived in Gunnison without speaking another word.