Kristen Ashley - Games of the Heart

He knew this because he could taste it.

She was so hot, so agitated, so close, in no time she took Mike to the same place just by hearing her noises and feeling her move. But he wanted that around his dick. No way Dusty could fake an orgasm with him, not that he’d give her reason. But he knew when she came because her pussy clenched and spasmed around his dick. He’d give her that with his mouth and he had.

He just wasn’t going to now.

He lifted up and grasped her hips, yanking her under him.

His hands went to his belt. Her hands went to the buttons of his shirt.

“Want your skin,” she breathed.

He let her do what she wanted. He was busy.

By the time he freed himself, she got his buttons undone and spread his shirt. He covered her with his body and drove inside. Then he watched as her neck arched back, her lips parted and fuck, fuck, he’d been wrong earlier. She was never more beautiful than the first instant she took him inside. She loved it; it washed over her features and every time he saw it he was certain he’d come early. He didn’t because he knew the rest of the show was nearly as spectacular.

He drove in and drew out, riding her hard and her arms circled his shoulders.

“Knees high,” he grunted and she acquiesced immediately, tipping her chin down and giving him her eyes.

“Nothing feels better than you,” she whispered.

Fuck. He liked that.

Mike held her eyes and kept thrusting but doing it harder.

“Nothing, baby,” she breathed, her thighs clasped tight at his sides, her arms tensed and she gave it to him. Her pussy clenched and spasmed around his dick.

Mike drove in faster, harder, her body jolting, he shoved a hand under her, wrapping his arm around the top of her hips and yanking her down as he powered up.

She lifted her head, shoved her face in his neck and, still coming, gasped, “That’s it, baby, fuck me.”

He did as she asked.

Then he plunged his fingers in her hair, fisted, positioned her head for her mouth to take his and his groan drove down her throat as he buried his dick inside her and came.

Each time, it was phenomenal. Each time, he knew the next could never top it.

Each time, he was wrong.

He came down and she was kissing him, her tongue gliding sweet against his. Mike took over, soft at first, building it then taking her to the whimper. When he got it, he ended the kiss, slid his lips down her cheek to her neck and worked his mouth there.

This was different than he had with any other woman. Even Audrey, he disengaged quickly. He didn’t mind closeness, cuddling but, whatever it said about him, when he was done, he was done. With every woman he had, every encounter, within moments he pulled out and rolled away. He might eventually roll them into him but he never stayed buried, kissed, savored the feel of the woman’s limbs rounding him, the smell of her perfume in his nostrils, the taste of her on his tongue, the feel of her wrapped around his dick.

He did it with Dusty every time. He couldn’t get enough of her, enough of her scent, her feel, their connection.

He felt her legs wrap tight and her fingers glide over the skin of his back, light, sweet, her other hand sliding into his hair and playing. It sent prickles across his scalp, down his neck but not the bad kind.

He was about to lift his head when her body bucked in a strange way and she made a noise low in her throat like she was in pain.

His head jerked up and he looked down at her to see her warm brown eyes filled with tears. Filled so full, they spilled over, gliding down her temples into her hair.

“Sweetheart, what the fuck?” he whispered and when he did, she lifted her head, shoved it in his neck, her arms and legs getting tight and she began to sob. As in sob, body wrenching, breath hitching, moans tearing up her throat.

Jesus.

He pulled out. It took effort and not a small amount of time since it seemed with her actions Dusty wanted to burrow into him, for him to absorb her into his skin but he got his jeans adjusted and his shirt off. Then he forced her arms in the sleeves and got two buttons done at her breasts before she plastered herself against him, face buried in his neck, ass in his lap, arms around him in a death grip.

He slid the fingers of one hand up and down her spine soothingly, the fingers of other gliding through her hair as he twisted his neck and whispered in her ear, “Angel, get a handle on it long enough to talk to me. Tell me, what’s wrong?”

“Da…Da…Darrin,” she sobbed into his neck and her body reared with another hitched breath. “He’d be so…so…ha…happy!”

That was not what he expected her to say. Then again, he had no fucking clue what she was going to say.

Mike’s hands stopped moving so he could circle his arms around her and he whispered, “Dusty.”

“He…he…wanted us together sah…sah…so bad,” she continued blubbering. “And he did…did…didn’t live to see it. In…in fact, him dying is why it happened.”

Jesus.

Mike’s arms got tighter and he kept whispering in her ear when he said, “Honey.”

She jerked back, looked down at him, her face red, her eyes wet, the trails of tears still tracking over her cheeks. “I know I’m weird!” she cried. “Talking about my brah…brah…brother after sex but he would, Mike. He would be happy.” She pulled an arm from around him and dashed a hand across her cheek so clumsily he feared she’d do herself harm but luckily she stopped, took a long shuddering breath and kept talking. “Not the sex part because he was kind of conservative but the you and me part.”

“He wanted us together?” Mike asked and she nodded fervently. “Why?”

“He read my diaries, Mike!” she exclaimed then collapsed against him again. “And he knew you were a good guy.”

Well, that would definitely explain it, at least the diaries.

She’d ratcheted it down to sniffling so Mike moved his hands on her soothingly again, giving her some time before he murmured, “My girl, takin’ everything on, she hasn’t had time to deal with her own shit.”

“No,” Dusty mumbled then sniffed.

“You need to give yourself time to grieve, Angel,” Mike advised.

“When?” she replied. “There is no time with my bitchface sister, budding teenage romance, shadowy, nefarious businessmen lurking and Rhonda baffling science by being the first case of a walking, talking, cooking, grocery shopping coma patient.”

He shouldn’t, he knew he shouldn’t. But his body started rocking with laughter anyway.

This went on a while before Dusty muttered, “This isn’t funny.”

He knew she wasn’t pissed because her words held a smile but Mike calmed his laughter and gathered her close before he said gently, “No, darlin’, it isn’t. But you are.”

She snuggled deep and fell silent.

After a few moments, she whispered, “I miss him, Mike. He used to call once a week, sometimes twice. And I…well, I just miss him.”

“Yeah,” Mike whispered back wishing there was more to say, magic words. But there just wasn’t.

She took in a stuttering breath.

Mike held her close and Dusty held him close right back.

After a while, he dipped his chin and asked softly in her ear, “You want me to clean you up and put you to bed?”

She didn’t answer verbally, just nodded, her head moving against his shoulder and neck.

At her answer, Mike lifted her up, straightening from the couch and he walked her to the bathroom. She leaned heavy into him as he ran a warm cloth between her legs.

This was something else Mike had never done with any woman. With Dusty, he didn’t do it every time, not even often, but he did it. And each time he did it, he found it profound. This was because the woman he held was a woman who could take care of herself but when she was with him, she trusted that to his care. That was a gift but with this act, so intimate, it was more. It was treasure, precious and it never failed to move him.

When he was done, he carried her to her bed. He took off his jeans. He left her in his shirt.

The minute he joined her in bed, he pulled her close even as she burrowed deep.

In the dark, staring at the ceiling, tangled up in Dusty, Mike asked, “You wanna talk?”

She shook her head against his chest.

“I think the beer, tequila, mechanical bull, witnessing an alpha badass in action times two, hot sex and a crying jag took it all out of me,” she replied and Mike grinned.

“That shit happens.”

Her voice held a smile when she muttered, “Yeah.”

“Rain check,” he whispered, “Call it anytime.”

He figured she’d eventually accept his offer but right then she just sighed.

“Sleep, Angel,” he ordered gently.

She sighed again.

Then she whispered, “Yeah.”

He fell silent.

She did too until, “Mike?”

“Right here, sweetheart.”

“Love you, babe.”

Mike’s chest got warm and his arm around his woman got tight.

Then he whispered, “Love you too.”

She pressed closer and within minutes fell asleep.

Seconds after that, Mike followed her.

* * *

It was Monday morning. The bags were packed. The boxes taped. The agent had been through the house to add it to her rental listings. There was a shitload more work to do but Dusty’s manager was going to see to any of it that had to do with the pottery, Jerra any of it that had to do with Dusty’s personal shit and Javier anything that had to do with the horses or the land.

Good employees, good friends. They had her back.

They’d had breakfast with Rivera, Jerra and their two loud, crazy kids who definitely took after Mom and Dad and were supposed to be in school but were out to say good-bye to Auntie Dusty. Now the kids were chasing each other on the sidewalk, Jerra and Dusty were hanging on each other, quietly talking and barely holding back tears.

Mike and Rivera were five feet away, giving them time.

Mike put his hand out to Rivera and muttered, “Glad we had this opportunity.”

Rivera took his hand, gripped it and locked shades with Mike, muttering back, “Yeah.”

They dropped hands and looked at the women.

“Jesus, shoulda brought my scalpel,” Rivera mumbled and Mike grinned.

Then he looked at his watch and he said, “We gotta get on the road.”

“Right, I’ll take Jerra, you take Dusty. Plan?”

Mike looked at Rivera and nodded.

Mike started to move to the women but stopped when Rivera called, “Mike?”

He tipped up his chin.

“Take good care of her,” Rivera whispered.

Good friends.

They had her back.

Mike again locked shades with him.

The he replied, “Absolutely.”

Fin pulled his books out of his locker and shoved them in his bag. Reesee was standing next to him, shoulders to the lockers beside his, eyes scanning the emptying halls.

It was after school and Fin was taking Reesee home.

This was because, since she and Mr. Haines came back from Texas a week and a half ago, his Aunt Dusty had totally stepped up.

And today was the most recent example of that. No was off with one of his classes on some field trip where he wouldn’t get back until five and Mr. Haines was in Indianapolis doing some cop shit. Since Clarisse’s mother was pretty much checked out like his Ma, but in a different way, when he had to go to Indy, Mr. Haines called Aunt Dusty to ask her to go to the school and pick up Rees. When his Aunt Dusty called Fin that afternoon, she told him that she’d explained to Mr. Haines that Fin was already at the school, he had a ride and Reesee was coming to the farm anyway after school to study so why didn’t he just bring her home? She told Fin she also explained to Mr. Haines that Kirb would be in the truck with them.

Fin figured Mr. Haines probably didn’t like it but he agreed. Fin also figured he agreed mostly because Kirb was going to be there.

But for Fin it would be the first time he had his girl in his truck.

And he was looking forward to it.

Since getting back from Texas, Aunt Dusty had been pulling this kind of shit all the time.

Like, right after she got back, a couple of days later, it was after dinner. Reesee was over and they were sitting on the couch. His grandparents were out with some cronies, his Ma was up in her fucking room (as usual) and Aunt Dusty and Kirb were upstairs doing whatever they did up there. Then Aunt Dusty came down.