Spurs 'n Surrender (Operation Cowboy Book 2)(15)

“I’ll clear them out. C’mere, wench.” A sideways grin accompanied his words. He cupped her ass and drew her up to meet his thrust. He kissed her as each inch slid home, and stole her mind.

She locked her arms and legs around Wydell’s strong body and let him carry her to the finish line. His kisses tasted like her, which was crazy-hot. When he dragged his length through her tight inner walls, he hit a spot that made her moan. He did it again. And again.

Breaking from the kiss to watch her face, he fucked her with a slow, maddening precision. “Come for me. I know you’re on the edge.”

His voice seemed directly linked to her body. He shoved deep. Hard. And bent to suck her nipple into his mouth at the same time.

Small screams erupted from her, and her mind flew.

She soared as he bit into her nipple. Need gripping her, she drew him closer and felt him stiffen. His muscles rolled as he pistoned his hips. Eyes darkening, his features chiseled in granite.

“I’m coming.” His roar reverberated in her ears, and his body was rock-hard. For a solid minute he pumped liquid heat into her while he gazed into her deeply.

When she returned to earth, her limbs were heavy and her mind sluggish. The minute she focused on his serious expression, she realized what she’d done.

Regret washed over her, and his face reflected it.

With a grunt, he rolled off—and bashed his head hard. “Jesus Christ!”

She floundered in the sea of pillows, reaching for him. He clutched his head, biting off curses. When he parted his fingers over his skull, she saw blood.

Her head swam, but she pushed through it. “You’re cut.”

“I know. Dammit.” He flailed free of the nook, dragging several pillows and a coverlet with him. She sat up to see the big, naked, angry cowboy grab his shirt and press it to his head.

“Wait. You’ll stain your shirt.”

He eyed her darkly. “Should I use your dress?”

This couldn’t happen again. They got on each other’s nerves. Practically the only time they’d gotten along since they’d met was when he was buried balls-deep in her.

Her body ached in all the right places, and she had to admit she was satisfied like never before. But at what cost?

“Let me get you a cold cloth.” She got out of bed, dragging a sheet around her toga-style, and took a few steps to the little bathroom. There, she ran a fluffy washcloth beneath the faucet.

By the time she was finished, he’d put his boxers and jeans back on. His fly hung open, though, revealing his erection was still fully present.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dried out. She offered the washcloth, and he stuck it against his head.

They stared at each other.

After several heartbeats, he said quietly. “This probably shouldn’t happen again.”

“No, it shouldn’t.” She was relieved he was in agreement.

“Okay then. We both have stuff to do. You need to make those calls to the bank and I need to contract the cement truck. I’ll see you around.” With his shirt, boots and socks in hand, he left the Airstream without a backward glance.

She watched his fine ass go, aware her brow was creased with the confusion she felt.

Still clad in only a sheet and boots, she fell back into bed and tried not to relive every moment of that big, delicious mistake.



*



“Where the hell’s your head today, Wydell?” Garrett’s teasing tone cut through his haze and he snapped his attention back to his friend.

Years at war and he’d never felt so fucked up as he did right now. Anya’s sweet little moans and her plush curves had a hold on him. He shook himself and focused on the twisted mass of rubble he and Garrett were clearing.

Before this he’d talked with a plumber who used to be a Los Vista resident and scheduled him to come and lay the network of pipes in the crawl space of the first tiny home. Then he and the guys would be erecting walls. Between the four of them, they should be able to have the framework built in half a day.

Because the house is the size of a shoebox.

He didn’t know whether to growl in frustration with Anya or laugh at her absurd idea to build these little houses. Either way, it was her money.

But it was his town. If this failed, they were left with places nobody wanted to buy and the place would still have a population of twenty-eight. Twenty-nine with Anya, but she wouldn’t be sticking around. She’d soon pull her silver Twinkie out of town and stop giving him such a raging hard-on.

Fat chance of that. He’d never forget every stroke of his cock in her tight little pussy.

“My head’s not on straight today. Sorry.” Wydell jerked his chin toward the wooden beam that needed to be lifted off the mess they were trying to untangle.

Garrett grabbed the other end and Wydell used the center point to lever it up and away. With two harsh grunts, they rolled the beam off. The accomplishment had them exchanging a grin. Just like old times with the two-man mortar after a particularly good shot.

Funny how thoughts of war could rip away his control, like when that champagne cork had popped. Or they could center him, like now.

They worked until sweat poured down their faces and necks. He had too many distractions, though. As soon as the thought of Anya’s round thighs riding high on his hips hit his mind, he pushed harder. When he imagined the silken flip of her tongue over his, he worked faster.