Page 62 of Tattered and Torn

“Honey, you don’t need to settle—”

“I’m not settling.” She stands abruptly and takes my hand. “Take me to bed, John Burke. You promised me orgasms—a dozen in fact—and I fully intend to collect.”

I stand. “Yes, ma’am.” One of the things I love about this woman is that she’s direct and speaks her mind. I lean close and kiss her. “Your wish is my command.”

Chapter 20 – Gabrielle

I should have thought this through better. I didn’t bring anything with me other than our dinners. No PJs, no toothbrush, no hair brush, nothing. Fortunately, John has a package of spare toothbrushes in his bathroom cupboard.

“Help yourself,” he says. “As for pajamas, you won’t be needing those tonight.” He stands in the bathroom doorway and watches me brush my hair first, then my teeth. He reaches out and strokes my hair. “It’s like a flame.”

I chuckle as I spit and rinse. “It was a nightmare for me as a kid. I was teased mercilessly. If I hear another joke about carrot top, I’ll lose it.”

He smiles. “They were just jealous.”

After I leave the bathroom, he takes his turn. I wander through the upstairs of his cabin, checking out the two bedrooms. The larger of the two rooms has a bookcase filled with westerns, everything from the classics by Zane Grey and Louis L’Amour to more contemporary authors. “You like to read westerns?” I ask when he walks into the bedroom.

He shrugs. “It’s what I know.”

When I turn to look at him, I’m surprised to see his shirt off. The sight of his bare chest takes my breath away—his body is rock solid and muscular, as I would expect considering all the physical work he does. But what’s more surprising is that he’s baring himself to me. Trusting me like this is a huge step for him.

I smile, and my cheeks heat. His muscles are chiseled, his arms and shoulders, his abdomen. He’s still got his jeans on and a brown leather belt. His feet are bare. Everything about him screams sexy and masculine. I’ve never been with a man like him. The guys I dated back home were academics and accountants. They never had reason to get their hands dirty. John is pure cowboy. He’s rough around the edges, yet full of integrity, and I find that combination sexy as hell.

When I start unbuttoning my top, his dark eyes widen slightly. I can tell he’s trying to act nonchalant, but his jaws are clenched, and his nostrils flare a bit. He’s excited.

Good. Because I am, too.

I toss my top onto a wooden chair beside the bed and stand there to let him look his fill. I’m wearing a cream lace bra and panty set—yeah, I planned ahead. The pale color of the ensemble contrasts nicely with my skin and freckles.

As I reach behind me to unsnap my bra strap, he steps forward and shakes his head. When he motions for me to turn around, I do so, lowering my arms to let him do the honors.

His warm fingertips brush against my back, sending a delicious shiver skating down my spine. I realize he must have noticed my reaction because he chuckles softly.

“I’m going to make you do a lot more than shiver,” he says.

His voice has dropped to a low, resonant octave, and the sound of it makes me weak in the knees.

My bra ends up on the chair, too. And then, to my surprise, I discover he’s not done. He reaches for the waistband of my slacks and gently tugs them down past my hips, down my legs. The only thing I’m wearing now is my panties.

I feel his warm breath on my bare shoulder—another shiver. Then his lips press soft kisses there. When he reaches around me, the fingers of his right hand slip beneath the waistband of my underwear, giving me the tiniest of warnings. I lean my head back onto his shoulder and groan.

Sure enough, he slips the fingers of his right hand into my panties, slowly skimming down to the warm, tingling spot where my thighs meet. I suck in a shaky breath and swallow a moan.

“Open your legs for me,” he murmurs. His rough voice does incredible things to me. When I do as he says, he slips a long finger between the lips of my sex and groans in my ear. “God, you’re so wet.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to my throat, gently sucking on my skin.

I know he’s going to leave a mark—a brand on my skin—and yet I don’t do anything to stop him. I want this. I want his mark on me.

“You are so sweet,” he whispers.

His finger glides easily between my legs, sliding through my wet arousal. He teases my clitoris with firm little circles before slipping his finger down to my opening. Now he’s tormenting me on two fronts, with his finger slipping inside me, and his thumb rubbing tight little circles on my clit.

Electricity shoots through me, firing all my nerve endings. My sex, my belly, my nipples, even my scalp—every inch of me is tingling. My legs turn to jelly, and I’m afraid I can’t stay upright for much longer. When I stumble, he steadies me with his left hand.

“John.” My voice comes out breathy.

His lips kiss their way down my throat and across my shoulder. “What is it, sweetheart? Tell me what you want.”

I chuckle shakily. “I want more of what you’re doing.” My belly clenches hotly, and my thighs stiffen. I close my eyes and lose myself in the sensations swamping me. “I’m so close.”

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