Long Hard Ride (Rough Riders #1)(42)

No answer.


Channing sucked in a harsh breath as he slowly removed his softened cock and her whole body flopped to the bed.


In the tiny bathroom Colby cleaned himself up and brought a warm washcloth with him to do the same for Channing. Gently, he smoothed her hair while he wiped the warmth over her tender flesh. When he finished, he tossed the washcloth away and crawled in, spooning behind her.


Luckily, she didn’t squirm away from his touch.


She didn’t say a single word, either.


He held her in silence for the longest time. Wanting to demand answers, needing reassurance he hadn’t hurt her.


She stayed uncharacteristically quiet.


Colby pressed his lips to the back of her head. “You ever gonna talk to me again?”


“Yeah. I’m just a little stunned right now, to tell you the truth.”


A long sigh escaped from him, ruffling her hair. “In a good way or a bad way?”


“Both.”


His patience snapped. He rolled on top of her, pinning her hands near the headboard as he stared into her face. “What the hell does that mean, Channing?”


A beat passed. “It means I never thought I’d get to experience the passion that you’ve shown me. I’ve never had a man look at me the way you did tonight, Colby. Like I was…everything,” she whispered. “I’ve never been utterly incapable of speech because I couldn’t think beyond how you felt on me. In me. My world has never been distilled down to such an elemental need. It scares me to death.”


Now he was absolutely stunned. And scared shitless. He’d never been more in tune with a woman—a woman who was guaranteed to leave him.


And as each day with her progressed, he suspected she’d mostly likely leave him a broken man.


Instead of trying to come up with flowery love words or a sly retort, he kissed her. Pouring his heart and soul into that sweet, steady mating of mouths, hoping she understood all he couldn’t say.


Exhausted, for the first time in three nights they didn’t share lovers’


pillow talk, or dissect how things had changed between them—even when it was obvious it had.


Chapter Twelve


Early the next morning Colby brought her new coffee pot into the motel room before he headed out to watch the morning “slack”


competition. He urged her to stay in bed and rest until check-out time.


Channing didn’t argue. She was wiped out. Too much tension. Too much sun. Too much booze. Too much sex.


She groaned and rolled over. Her whole body ached. Talk about sore.


She’d had sex with Colby twice early yesterday morning. Oral and sixty-nine with Trevor mid-morning, and then last night…


Wowza. Hot flash. Last night had been the most erotic night of her life. Not only because she’d been initiated into the pain/pleasure of anal sex, but because she’d been initiated into dark, possessive side of consuming lust. Hers. His. The scary beauty of it when they came together in unrestrained passion.


Maybe it’d been foolish in the aftermath of such a scintillating episode, but Channing couldn’t stop from telling Colby how she’d felt last night. No. How he’d made her feel. Sensual. Beautiful. Desired. And he couldn’t have marked her as his any more clearly than if he’d whipped out a branding iron and burned his initials into her ass.


Oh, it would be easier if she could be blasé about it. Chalk up the experience to another rocking sexual encounter and move on. Problem was, she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. And she didn’t want to analyze why things had changed last night.


She’d rather curl up in a ball, comforted by the scent of sex lingering on the sheets as she napped. Naturally her brain wouldn’t stop spinning.



After fifteen minutes of tossing and turning, drifting off into blessed slumber wasn’t an option.


Rather than taking a shower, Channing indulged in an hour-long bath. The heat leached out some of the soreness, but it might be a few days before her butt quit hurting. She snickered. Now she totally understood the phrase hurt so good.


She dressed in loose-fitting jeans, a lightweight, long-sleeved white cotton shirt, hoping it’d reflect the sun’s brutal rays. Even after slathering on sunscreen yesterday, her skin had turned crimson from a day in the stands. Good thing she’d kept her hat on and saved her scalp from frying. Instead of boots she wore strappy sandals. Cool head and cool feet meant a cooler core temperature.


With her bags packed and lined up by Colby’s by the door, she slurped the last of the coffee. Then she lovingly cleaned the carafe and packed it back in the box. It would probably sound silly to Colby, but she knew it would become one of her most treasured possessions.


She wasn’t a stranger to gifts. Mostly big, expensive ones. Her parents had given her a BMW for her sixteenth birthday. When she’d turned twenty-one, a flawless string of pearls. But they’d never given her a gift from the heart or paid much attention to her sentimental yearning for something unique and well thought out. Like a handmade scarf. Or pair of skates and a promise to take her to the rink for an afternoon of frolicking on the ice. They’d never really listened to her.