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Glen could feel her through the fabric of her Sunday clothes. Could feel the burn in his fingers of touching her skin. They'd just gotten out of church, and she still dandled little Cole and Grace in her lap. Now was no time for inappropriate thoughts, but he was having them.
Glen let out a soft growl. Had to keep it under wraps until—well, forever, strictly speaking. But at the very least until they were back in private.
The whole church experience had an odd effect on Glen. He had expected something dull, and to an extent, that's what he'd gotten. There was nothing amazing about it. No magician on the stage. No miracles he could see. But the man on the stage seemed to know a thing or two, and that was good enough.
The thing that he had noticed more than anything, though, was the talk around. He hadn't caught much of it. Folks at least had the decency, it seemed, to try to keep quiet about their bullshit. Now if only they were better at it.
Catherine had heard it too. She hadn't reacted, hadn't shown it on her face, but if he could hear it then she could hear it. She was just too damn proper to give it any sort of reaction. She was too good of a person to make any response at all. But not him. He was riled up.
Getting angry, shouting, none of tha
t was going to help her. Not now and not in the long run. They'd only talk more. Only hurt her more. What he needed was a way to make them shut their mouths.
The more that he thought about it, the more obvious the solution was. He could be wrong, sure. But he noticed that none of the talk had been going his way. Nobody said, look at that man she's with. Maybe they weren't sure of him and it would take time for folks to come around to the idea of giving him lip.
Or maybe they were afraid of him. That was the right idea, Glen thought. They were right to be, and with them talking about Catherine it put him in the sort of mood that they should have been afraid of.
He helped them back off the horse, daubed his forehead with the back of his sleeve, and then took it out to the stable. Maybe it would help to distract him. Hell knows, he needed the distraction, spending time with a woman like her. Alone out there, for all it mattered.
Nobody could tell them not to do what he knew they both wanted to. Nobody had the right and nobody, it seemed, had the inclination. He let out a breath. The hardness wasn't going down. It had hurt for most of the ride home, and every movement seemed to rub just the wrong way. What he wouldn't give for just a few minutes alone with that woman…
Something moved outside the barn, and as Catherine stepped inside, Glen dropped the tack he'd been carrying.
She'd changed out of her good Sunday clothes. But she hadn't, it seemed, bothered to change into anything else. Glen looked down at the tack, fallen at his feet. It would still be there when he was finished.
"Hey there, cowboy. Feeling good?"
He wrapped his arms around her waist. "You have no idea."
"I think I have a pretty good idea, Glen Riley. Unless you brought that pistol with you to church, something was poking into my hip pretty good."
He smiled. "Well, I suppose you got me there."
She undid his belt buckle easily enough, and undid the zip on his blue jeans. His cock still ached, sensitive to even the slightest touch. It hurt when she took him in her hand, but he could feel the pleasure overriding it. A few experimental jerks, and he let out an unsteady breath and closed his eyes.
Then she took advantage of him not being able to see, and took him into her mouth. If her soft hands had felt good, then her mouth was pure heaven. Or if it wasn't heaven, then he didn't want to go.
He let his fingers trace through her hair, pushing her head where he wanted her to go.
"Not that this isn't nice," he gasped out. "But when you're finished, I need to talk to you."
She pulled off, stood up. She wasn't exactly being subtle about what she wanted. In fact, the way she leaned over, presenting herself, she was being about as overt as she could get. "Talk later."
Hard and ready, he got between her, pressing her knees open with his thighs and lining his hardness up with her entrance. It was easy to push into her. She must have been thinking about this for a while now, he thought. The thought lit a fire in him.
He pulled out and Catherine let out a soft moan. Then he pushed back in. He took a hold of her hips, reaching down with one hand to tug softly on a nipple before moving it back around her waist.
He fucked her hard, then, using her hips as a handle to pull her pussy onto him. She was writhing and moving under him, trying to escape the pleasure. Trying to find more. Maybe she didn't know what she was doing, except that she couldn't stop herself.
Glen forced himself to keep moving, pushing off the thought of finishing. Thinking about anything but how good it felt inside his woman. Forcing himself faster. Faster. Harder. His breaths were coming in short, hard, rasping gasps, now. Catherine had started to push back against him in time to his thrusts, claiming every ounce of pleasure she could from him.
She started to tighten around him, and he could feel her body tensing up. He gripped tighter, his fingers leaving red marks where they slipped away, only to be replaced a moment later when he re-tightened his grip on her.
Glen could feel his end approaching.
"I'm gonna—"
She didn't answer.
