Page 43 of Wild and Wanted

But blue balls never killed anybody – he could wait.

Sliding his fingers down her torso once again, he took up the teasing caress along the seam of her jeans once more, her legs still akimbo. ‘Ever had a guy bring you to climax?’

Clay knew the answer but he asked anyway, and he was glad he did because the flare of desire burning brightly in her eyes licked at his libido like a wildfire.

‘No.’

‘Do you want to?’ So much for taking this slow. ‘We don’t have to,’ he assured, his fingers keeping up the action at her seam. ‘There’s plenty of time.’

His balls might just rupture but he didn’t want to push her out of her comfort zone the first time they made out.

Nodding furiously, she said, ‘Please.’

‘You want it like this?’ His finger flicked at a point along the seam he hoped was near her clit. The buck of her hips and the sharp intake of her breath told him he’d landed in the vicinity at least. ‘Or you want my hand down your panties?’

Even saying that word had anticipation fizzing in his blood like fireworks. He wanted to touch her there with no barriers. Hell, he wanted to taste her but he was barely keeping himself in check as it was; going down on her was not conducive to restraint.

Her throat bobbed but her gaze didn’t waver from his as she said, ‘Panties.’

Clay grinned. ‘Excellent choice.’

And he didn’t waste any time getting to it. He didn’t tease his way there – he’d done enough of that tonight. Nor did he slowly undo her fly in the way he’d done her shirt; he just pushed his hand beneath the denim waistband and then the silkier one beneath.

Clay knew his hands were rough and calloused from years of roping and manual labour so he urged himself to be gentle, but her gasp as his fingers slid straight to their target, finding the swollen knot of nerves at the apex of her sex, told him she did not object to his methods.

‘Christ,’ he groaned, her warm slickness lubricating his roughness, watching her face as he circled her clit. ‘You’re so wet, Stevie girl.’

‘Oh my God,’ she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut like it was impossible to keep them open, her face fixed into a grimace but not of pain or distaste.

Clay knew that look well. It was complete and total sexual immersion and hell if he was going to insert himself into that bubble. His job now was to coax her body to crescendo and even though he suspected making Stevie come would ruin him, he could think of nothing more important in this moment than doing exactly that.

He lowered his head, sucking her nearest nipple into his mouth, the arch of her back, her low moan vibrating against his lips, urging him on.

It didn’t take long; she was well primed and Clay knew exactly what he was doing, his fingers not moving from her clitoris. He didn’t try to plunge them inside her – he wanted his cock to be the first thing a man put inside her – or do anything fancy, he just rubbed at the hard nub, circling slowly as his tongue circled her nipple, waiting for signs to pick up the pace.

When she started to gasp and pant and thrash, he quickened the pace – bit by bit in time with her clues – until her hands were once again buried and twisting in his hair and she was crying out his name, straining and arching, ending in a final keening cry of ‘Claaaaay!’ as she tipped over the edge, her body bucking to the urgent dictates of her release, her nipple impossibly hard against his tongue.

He sucked it – deep – the stimulus seeming to course like an arc of electricity through her body, kicking her orgasm to new heights as she held him to her breast and moaned his name this time, long and low and perfect. A chord that reached inside him and yanked. A note that surged through his rock-hard dick, pushing him perilously close to his own orgasm.

Christ… do not come in your Levi’s, man. This is not about you.

Clamping down on the sensations threatening to overtake him, Clay concentrated on Stevie – on her pleasure. Alternating between sucking and stroking her nipple as pleasure ravaged her body, wringing every last gasp and moan from her mouth and spasm from her body before it spun away and she lay spent and lax on the blanket, gasping for air, a smile as big as Wyoming on her mouth.

13

STEVIE

Stevie didn’t know how long it took for all the disparate parts of her body to come back to her and form a cohesive human being again. All she knew was she was enjoying the bliss of floating in a bath of warm, fragrant oil while small tremors of pleasure still quaked through her system, prolonging the sensation of total and complete gratification.

Masturbating – ugh, what a horrible word – had never felt like this. It had been quick and surface, not this drifting through the ether, every part of her body aglow as if it was being stroked all over with velvet gloves.

No wonder Yolly had tried to get her to throw her purity ring into the lake at their weekender a hundred times over. Why wouldn’t her sister, the person who had loved and understood her most in the world, want her to have this experience?

Surely that was a sister’s duty?

At some point she opened her eyes, her limbs leaden with a malaise she couldn’t shake. Didn’t want to shake. Slowly, she tuned in to her surroundings – a tin roof overhead, the poke of hay beneath her, its earthy scent infusing the heavy, still air. She was on a haystack in a loft, on a ranch in the middle of Wyoming.

About the last place she ever expected to lose her virginity.