Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose(30)

Compelled by her request, Trace raised his head and lovingly did the same to the other breast. Her hands moved against his shoulders, kneading the muscles, urging him on. His fingers slid down her ribcage, while he made love to her breasts, and came to rest upon her hips. The more he kissed, the tighter his trousers became. His libido demanded their bodies be skin to skin.

Mary Rose whimpered as his mouth drew away. God, but she was beautiful. The soft blush of arousal painted her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders. Trace stood. His eyes roved possessively across her as his trousers slipped away. To his surprise, she didn’t flinch or turn away. A coy twist of her mouth and she gathered the hem of her chemise. Rising to her knees, Mary Rose drew it over her head and let it flutter to the floor beside them.

“Madre Dios,” he swore. “How can one woman be so perfect?”

He closed the distance between their bodies and took her breasts in his hands. He stared down, surprised to find tears choking his vision as his thumbs brushed her nipples and caused them to bead.

“Kiss me.”

Her wish was his command. He leaned into her embrace and lowered his lips to hers. His hands drifted over her back, then further down to cup her sweet bottom, bringing them together. Trace’s erection pushed against his innerwear, straining to be set free. His belly jerked as her fingers brushed across his navel and moved lower. With one easy tug, his innerwear fell to his knees, and he pulled his body free.

She sighed against his lips and he gave in to the wonder of her touch. As they kissed, she stroked and explored his anatomy until his reserve nearly broke. Capturing her hands, he pulled back.

“Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head. “No. But if you continue, your pleasure will be lost before it even begins.”

In her eyes he could see wonder. Their gazes locked, and her sapphire-blue eyes deepened to midnight blue. His hand found the string of her silk bloomers, and within seconds they were gone. Now nothing stood between them and desire’s end.

Lying back, she raised one hand to him. He took her lifeline. His hand brushed the rise of her hip. “You are beautiful, my Querida.”

“Tell me,” she sighed as his lips licked across her collarbone. “Tell me what that word, querida, means.”

“Querida?” he asked, kissing the hollow of her chest.

She moaned and nodded as his tongue flicked against the swell of her breasts.

“Dear one. You are my dear one.” His breath came in husky gasps with each word.

“Querida,” she repeated and smiled as his mouth moved lower. Mary Rose closed her eyes and gave over to the moment. His hands moved in an intoxicating rhythm, sliding over her hips and across her thighs. She felt powerless to resist anything he should ask.

The more he touched, the greater the tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach. Lifting her heavy lashes from her cheek, she caught sight of the bronze skin of his shoulders. A scar near his left shoulder blade marred its perfection. Reaching out, she brushed her index finger over it.

His head rose. He looked back at her, his gaze like a soft caress, and her heart rocked against her chest. Mary Rose knew she was in love. Her breath caught. His gaze sharpened. Something cherished passed between them. Something only lovers knew. He moved toward her face and she dampened her lips for the kiss she knew would come.

His mouth covered hers, no longer soft but crushing with want, the same want she could feel rising in the hollow of her hips. As their tongues labored in a seductive duel, he nudged her thighs apart. She gasped as he covered her mound with his hand and, using his fingers, stroked the silken curls between her legs. A wave of heat washed over her. She couldn’t get enough air. Her hands moved to his shoulders, and she clung there for life.

The more he stroked, the more he brought her untried senses to life. She moaned. Her hips began to mimic his fingers’ movements. A dull ache began to grow below her belly. She needed something to fill her. Something only he possessed.

Lost in the sensations that rolled over her, she concentrated on filling that void. Her hands fell away from his body, too heavy to lift. Mary Rose found it difficult to catch her breath. She could feel the damp strands of hair clinging to the sides of her face.

“I need you,” she begged.

“Where?”

His voice seemed as breathless as her own. Where? Did she know? She tried to concentrate, and one of his fingers slipped inside, using her own slickness as a guide. It felt good to have him stroke her there. But she needed more, wanted more. Her thighs opened wider.

“I need you,” she groaned again, and this time instinct took over. “Inside,” she gasped.

Another finger slipped inside. Mary Rose clamped down, trying to keep him from withdrawing. His thumb brushed another part of her, near her mound, and she cried out. The coil below her belly wrapped tighter. She needed release. Thrashing her head side to side, she called upon the one man who could save her from this wondrous misery. “Trace.”

“Look at me,” he called to her.

She whimpered but opened her eyes. He sat positioned between her legs, his manhood jutting proudly before him. Her breathing grew rapid. Her eyes widened. The time was now.

“I want to look into your eyes, my Irish Rose, as we become one.”

“Yes,” she murmured, quivering with excitement.

The ache for his touch as his fingers left her grew to fever pitch. Mary Rose wanted to cry for the loss, but as he moved over her something more marvelous took its place. Warm, thick, it glided into the velvet of her grasp. Frightened at first, she tightened. He paused and leaned forward, capturing the tip of her breast in his mouth. As he suckled, she forgot about her fear. He moved, rocking his hips so that she might learn the steps.

Oh, how good it felt. For he could reach the itch she so needed to scratch. He moved deeper. She felt the luxury of his heat building. There was pressure. Mary Rose tightened to push it away, but then his voice soothed her. She felt his mouth close, whispering in her ear.

“It will hurt for only a moment.”

Her eyes locked on his. She concentrated on the vivid blue. He thrust forward. A tear, a gasp, and the pressure disappeared. She paused and felt her body mold itself to him, as if she were made for no one else. He drew back and she cried out for his warmth. Reaching for his body, her arms encircled his waist and, when he entered once more, she pulled him home.

She arched as her body contracted around him. Wave upon wave of pleasure coursed through her. She couldn’t stop. Instead, she bit her lip to stifle her outcry of delight. He moved again, riding her surge of enchantment. Clinging to his body, her heart gave up and she took that perilous leap, crying out his name. Before her voice even stopped, he did the same. Her name never sounded so lovely as when it fell from his lips as he crushed her body to him.

Boneless, she felt him lay her down upon the sheets. Her lungs felt starved for oxygen. But her smile consumed her. Trace settled beside her, his hand beneath her head as he held her close. Wrapped in the glow of their lovemaking, neither found the strength to stir. When her energy returned, she rolled on her side to see him.

Sensing her stare, he turned and looked upon her.

“That was incredible,” she replied.

“More than that,” he whispered back. He reached for her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips.

Mary Rose smiled and nestled her head upon his shoulder. “How long did Sheriff Weston say he’d be gone?”

“Two hours.” Trace released her hand.

“Hm,” she murmured, tracing the skin around his nipple. “We’ve a little time left.”

She leaned against his chest and tasted the salt of his sweat with her tongue. “Perhaps we can find something to occupy our time while we wait?”

Trace glanced over at her. His mouth drew back in a wide smile. “I can think of a way.”

Her smile matched his as he drew her across his chest and they kissed.

****

Rand sat at the corner table in the hotel café to sip his coffee. He couldn’t imagine a finer woman for Trace. Mary Rose was the type who would keep a man stable, feet nailed to the floor, and grateful to come home. Trace needed that. Leaning back, Rand pulled his pocket watch from his vest pocket and flicked the cover open.

The softness of a familiar haunting tune filled the air around him. He gazed back at the portrait of a smiling dark-haired woman.

“I got an extra piece of pie, if you’re interested?”

Rand blinked and looked up to find Elaine’s smile. “I promised a friend I wouldn’t bother him for two hours. I could use some company.” He slipped the watch back into its place.

She winked. “I’ll get two plates.”

He watched her go. Perhaps, he thought to himself, it is time. Still contemplating the idea of calling on Elaine, he almost missed the hurried steps of the bank manager approaching his table.

“Sheriff Weston, can I speak to you a moment?”

Rand looked up. “What’s wrong, Howard, someone rob the bank?”