The Bourbon Thief(12)
“You want to know?” he asked. His voice was menacing now, not seductive, and yet she felt utterly seduced. She didn’t want to be anywhere but here against this wall. “You want to know how many girls I’ve fucked?”
“Yes,” she said because she thought that was what he wanted to hear.
“Every girl I’ve ever wanted to fuck, that’s how many,” he said, and she believed him. Maybe yesterday she wouldn’t have believed that. Yesterday he’d have been just the horse groom with the pretty eyes and sexy smile. Today he was a man with muscles and a body and hands big enough to span her waist like they were doing now. “Every girl I’ve ever wanted to fuck...minus one.”
Tamara inhaled sharply.
His hands slid from her waist to her thighs. He lifted her off the straw-covered ground and wrapped her legs around him. She clung to him as if for life, hands grasping his shoulders, her boots wound together at his lower back and locked tight. The seam along the crotch of her jodhpurs rubbed against a soft and swollen part of her, and every time Levi pushed closer, she flinched with pleasure. Her head fell back when he did it again. When she raised her head, she saw him looking into her shirt. She had larger breasts than any other girl her age at her school, not huge, but full. She couldn’t hide them and neither could her bra. Tamara took her hand off his shoulder long enough to unbutton her shirt to the center of her chest. He wanted to look at her and she wanted him to see her. He lowered his head and kissed the top of her breast where it spilled out over the lace-trim edge of her white bra. Against her neck she felt his hair and loved, loved, loved the soft tickle of it on her skin.
“You like this?” he asked, grinding against her again, flint against tinder.
“Yes.” She could scarcely catch a breath with his chest pressed so hard against hers.
“You’re not scared?”
She shook her head no.
“You a virgin?” he asked.
“I told you, I’ve never even had a real kiss.”
“You can fuck without kissing.”
“That had never occurred to me.”
“I don’t recommend it,” he said. “I like to do both at the same time.”
“That’s quite...”
“Quite what?” he asked.
“That’s quite a thought,” she said. “I like that thought.”
“I like your thoughts. I’d like to give you more of them.” Again Levi pushed against that raw sensitive place between her legs and she let out a little cry that he silenced with a kiss. At first she froze in fear, but she thawed almost instantly. Then it went beyond thawing and into an immediate burn.
His mouth moved over hers and she sighed with unfathomable pleasure.
With her eyes closed she could do nothing but taste him and smell him and feel him against her, and it was even better than seeing him. He tasted like he’d taken a nip or two of her granddaddy’s Red Thread bourbon. A good taste like apples and licorice, but hot, not on the rocks. His lips were soft, too, but insistent, like he was trying to win an argument by kissing her. She happily conceded defeat. Oh, and he smelled perfect to her. Sweat and aftershave and the leather and oil of horse tack. He smelled like a man who worked hard, even on Sundays. Sundays should be a day of rest, a day to spend in bed kissing. Kissing, and more than kissing...
It was the strangest thing, being kissed. His mouth was on her mouth. His tongue was between her teeth and nowhere else. His hands were on her hips holding her up. And yet she felt the kiss in all sorts of places she didn’t expect. She felt it in her stomach, down deep. She felt it inside her pelvis and all along her thighs. She felt it in her breasts, which were pressed against his chest. A layer of shirt and bra separated her body from his and yet her nipples were hard and wanted touching and sucking. She was almost out of her mind enough to ask him to do it.
Tamara reached up and ran her hand through his hair. He might not like that, but she wanted to touch his hair, had wanted to touch it since she first saw it two years ago when she and her mother moved into the big house at Arden. Now that his mouth was occupied kissing her, she had the chance to do anything she wanted to do without hearing a protest song about it. She ran her fingers through his hair, loving its soft, thick texture. There was so much more of him she wanted to touch, too. She stroked his cheek, his strong neck, his shoulders. She’d give anything to get his clothes off and touch every part of him that touched her.
Tamara knew about sex from school, about things she’d heard from girls who’d gone all the way and had lived to tell the tale. But no one had ever told her what to do in this situation, when she felt an erection outside her clothes and wanted it inside her body. She didn’t want to be a virgin anymore, and she wanted him to be the one to have it for what it was worth. To have her.
“Please do it, Levi...” she said into his ear.
“Only because it’s your birthday.” Levi cupped her breast and squeezed it and that was it—it was happening. Not even a stampede of the four horsemen could stop them now. He pushed the bra cup down, baring her nipple. He pinched it and she died. He lowered his mouth and licked it and she died again. Then he covered her breast with his hot mouth and sucked it and she died and was born again.
“What in God’s name do you two think you’re doing?”
Levi let Tamara down to the floor so fast her knees nearly gave out under her. The horse anklet she’d draped over her wrist fell to the ground and into the hay. She yanked her coat tight around her chest and looked at Levi, but he wasn’t looking back at her. He stared straight ahead.