Melissa Cutler - Cowboy Justice

His brain and his cock screamed, AGAIN.

That morning, he’d jerked off in the shower to the memory of her making that sound. And here he was, a few hours later, hearing it fall from her lips. He hadn’t even touched her but a little, and nowhere near her erogenous zones. If she were that close to coming already, then maybe she needed this even worse than he’d suspected.

“Turn around and face me.”

His cock pulsed as she obeyed. There was no more battle in her eyes as she looked at him. Arousal had won the day.

“Lie back.”

She hitched her ass on the edge of the lid and reclined. He grabbed hold of the knot binding her wrists to support her weight as she lowered. When she’d settled, he kicked her boots as far apart as her legs would go. The end of the rein in hand, he walked to the far side of the box and threaded the leather through the handle, pulling it tight, stringing her torso across the box. The act brought out a moan from her, but it wasn’t the sound he needed to hear again.

She watched his face as he secured the rein to the handle with a second bowline knot. He brushed hair away from her eyes, then traced over the cinnamon freckles of her cheeks. She was so damn pretty, and the fire of life and intelligence in her eyes glowed so damn bright. His flame. His beautiful, complicated flame.

She drew his finger into her mouth and held it in place with her teeth as she suckled it, flicking the end with her tongue.

Given the position and angle she lay at, he could brace his knees on the box and feed her his cock. He knew she’d take it greedily. She’d do whatever he asked of her—suck him off, swallow. Whatever he wanted. The knowledge of his power nearly had him unzipping his pants. But then, if he did that, she wouldn’t make the sounds he craved, nor experience the sharp, sweeping pleasure he wanted so fervently to bring her before they got to anything else.

“Stay,” he growled.

His senses dazed, he stumbled away from her and snagged a rope hanging from a nail in the wall. His vision tunneled on the sliding stable doors.

At the door, he glanced sideways at her. She lay where he’d left her, her legs apart. Beautiful, strong, gifting him with the power to command her pleasure.

He threaded the rope through the door handles and knotted it. No one would get through the door now. Unless lightning struck, or the world collapsed beneath them, nothing was going to interrupt what he was about to do to Rachel.

He stopped by the washbasin to scrub his hands again, deliberately slow, letting her lie there, letting the tension build between them until he couldn’t stand it anymore. Then he advanced on her, adjusting his rock-hard erection to run diagonally along his hip within his briefs. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Disco stroll lazily into his stall. None of the animals seemed to be paying them any mind. Good. He didn’t have the patience to deal with them now.

He stopped near her head and lowered his lips onto hers, kissing her deeply. Beneath her T-shirt, her small, gorgeous breasts thrust toward the ceiling, beckoning to be touched. He cupped one, loving the way it felt in his hand. Breaking the kiss, he moved his mouth to her chest, pulling the shirt up and the bra down to gain access. Her freed breast jiggled beneath a nipple drawn up so tight, hardly any areola remained around it. He set his mouth over her, curling his tongue around her taut flesh. He flicked it with the slightest touch, knowing she preferred it harder.

“Suck it,” she whispered, panting. “Please.”

Her plea laid waste to the last vestiges of his control.

He tore away from her nipple and loomed over her, cupping the back of her head in his hand. With his mouth close to hers, he said quietly, “Are you telling me what to do? I think you were. You know what that means?”

“What?” she breathed, her eyes dark with passion.

“It means I’m going to touch you so lightly you won’t be able to stand it.”

She shivered.

He pulled her other breast free and traced her nipple with his fingertip. She arched up to him, but he stayed with her, adjusting his pressure to her squirming, desperate body. Closing his mouth over her nipple, he brushed the tip with his tongue as gently as a feather might, then he traced her areola with his tongue as his finger had. When it was good and wet, he lifted his mouth and blew on it.

Rachel groaned.

He fixed his mouth on it again and captured her nipple in his teeth. But instead of flicking it with his tongue, he simply held it there and breathed on it. Her groans became a panting cry, but still not the sound he wanted to hear from her again.

Holding her nipple in his teeth, he pressed a hand between her legs along the seam of her pants until his hand was over where her clit would be, two layers of fabric below. With his fingertip, he tapped hard and rhythmically against the warm denim, willing the sound he wanted to hear into being. Though she squirmed and arched, she remained silent until he wound his hand back and unleashed a single, forceful throttle against her crotch as, finally, he sucked her nipple as hard as he could.

That brought up the mewling whimper from her throat.

After several more forceful sucks on her nipple, he repositioned himself between her legs. Steeling his hand into a flat paddle, he let rip with another hard hit right into the seam of her jeans.

“More,” she begged.

So demanding. He unsnapped the button of her fly, then rolled her to her stomach and yanked her jeans and panties down as far as they’d go with her legs spread, which wasn’t all that far. Still, the round swells of her bottom were exposed. Taking her soft, willing flesh in his hands, he parted the cheeks to catch a glimpse of the secrets her body protected. The places he wanted to sink his fingers and tongue and cock inside.

He ran his thumb inside the crease, delving deeper, lower, until he hit the honey of her arousal. Whew, she was wet for him. He dipped lower still, and she bucked the second his fingertip hit the swollen rise of her clit. She squirmed, clearly trying to increase the pressure of his touch. He lightly pinched her clit, plumping it between two fingers.

There was sound again, a primal, guttural whimper that meant she would come as soon as he allowed her to. He backed off, slipping two fingers into her wet, swollen opening. She squeezed his fingers and his mouth went dry. When he got around to fucking her, it was going to feel out of this world. It was going to blow his fucking mind.

First things first.

She wanted him to spank her again. Harder, And, well, that was one demand he was happy to oblige. He unlatched his belt one-handed.

It sagged in his hand, much heavier than he’d expected.

Shaking his head to clear it of the fever dream he was operating within, he looked down. This wasn’t his off-duty belt. It was his equipment belt, complete with radio, firearm, utility knife, and all the other trappings of his job as sheriff.

He blinked at it, reality hitting him hard.

What, in God’s name, was he doing? Had he gone crazy? He’d come to Rachel’s ranch with two of his employees to process crime scenes for evidence. And not an hour later, he was knuckle-deep inside her in the middle of the day. In uniform. With his squad car sitting out front. And with her sisters home.

My God. He had no integrity at all. He’d become a sheriff to fight against Meyer and the other good old boys who abused the power of their positions. But look where he was—getting his rocks off with a victim in an open case while he was on the clock. Could he ever feel superior to Meyer again? Because he sure didn’t now.

The instinct to pull his hand away from her was a strong one. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that she was close to release. So utterly close. And the damage was done. There was no taking back the choice he’d made any more than he could take back all the other terrible choices he’d made involving Rachel.

Remember this, you rotten prick. Because this is the last time you’ll have her like this. Never again. You’d better brand into your memory her sounds and the way she feels on your hand when she comes. Because this is it.

He rocked forward, set the belt on the box next to Rachel’s hip, and braced his hand on the lid as he leaned over her, as close to her ear as he could get.

“Rachel?”

Her eyes, blissed out and half lidded, regarded him dreamily.

He dragged his fingers from her depths and swirled them over her clit. Smashing her eyes closed again, she whimpered and panted, her hips straining toward his touch.

He stared at her beautiful face, her freckled nose and long lashes, the tightening of her jaw as he swirled and stroked her. “Say my name when you come.”

She lifted her head and opened her eyelids all the way, questioning. He thought she was going to ask him why, but then one corner of her lip turned up, and she whispered, “I always do.”

Then her body tensed. Her eyes rolled back and she dropped her cheek to the box lid. That mewling whimper spilled out of her throat, and then, as her back practically levitated from the box, she chanted his name.

He watched, unblinking, trying not to miss any detail of her orgasm. Her pulsing muscles, her wet heat, the sound of his name. Her wild, bucking body coming apart all around him.

When her release subsided and she stilled, he almost said, “I love you.” Except it didn’t matter that he’d finally figured out that’s what he felt for her. Because she’d told him in so many words, too many times to count over the last year and a half, that she couldn’t love him, not after what happened with her mom. Even if she could grow to return his feelings, what could they do about it? Some things weren’t meant to be, and, clearly, he and Rachel were doomed to keep looping back to each other in the same vicious cycle of impulse and denial.

The bowline knot released easy enough from her wrists, though she’d tightened it considerably since he’d bound her. That was the kinky thing about a bowline—the harder the bound person pulled against it, the tighter it got. Rachel’s wrists were red and raw.

She straightened her bra and shirt, then stretched up, tugging her panties and pants in place as she stood. “Why did you stop?”

“I wanted to take care of you. That’s all I need.” He rubbed her wrists. “These marks look bad. Do they hurt?”

She pulled away from his touch. “I’m fine. Give me a real answer. Why did you stop?”

He snagged his belt and held it up as proof of his sins. “I’m on the job and I should’ve never . . . we should’ve never . . . You put that rein in my hand and I forgot who I was.”

Nodding, she hugged herself. “You should have thought about that before you chose to go by horse with me.”

“You’re right.” His chest grew tight, seeing the defeat in her expression. So much for an afterglow. Shunting the pain aside, he reattached his belt, then went in search of his hat. When he found it, he pulled it low over his forehead so she wouldn’t see the storm in his eyes. He almost didn’t elaborate, the truth hit so close to home. But he owed it to her because she was right. He tipped the first domino when he decided to accompany her. “But I couldn’t pass up my one chance to ride with you.”

She swallowed, her eyes locked on a spot near his feet. Then she rubbed her wrist and he had to wonder if the binding had hurt her, after all. “I’ve always wanted to ride with you too.”

He let out a hard laugh. “We are so screwed up, you and me. My God, we are a mess.”

She swayed, like all the energy had drained from her in one mighty whoosh. He reached for her, but she caught herself on a post, sagging against it. He smoothed a hand over her back. “You all right?”

“No, I’m not.” She turned her eyes up to his, resolve as hard as steel glinted in them. “Recuse yourself from the investigation. For me. For us.”

The stuffy heat of the stable pressed down on him. The buzz of flies he’d previously been oblivious to filled his ears. He ran a finger between his collar and his neck to combat the heat and the excruciating tickle in his throat.

Why the hell had he ever thought it was a good plan to quit smoking at the same time he tried to quit Rachel? He would hand over the deed to his house if a cigarette would materialize in his hand. Stupid thought to flit across his mind, but he couldn’t have possibly heard Rachel right. Because that would mean she felt something for him besides blinding lust, besides infuriating resentment for that lust—which, he’d decided a while back, were pretty much the only two feelings she harbored for him.