Part 47 (2/2)

Thirty-Three.

There was no violence in it this time, when her lips found his. No desperation. Marie could feel something else there to replace it, though. A softer sort of need. His arms wrapped around her slowly, clinging to her and holding her in a grip that was comforting in its tightness.

His beard scratched against her skin, threatening to tickle at any moment, but she held off, because she knew that he needed something that she could offer him. Some sort of comfort. After the excitement of the day, Marie thought, she could use the comfort as well.

Her arms wrapped around him as best as they could, with their weight pressing down into the bed, and pulled him in tighter. He seemed to enjoy the closeness as much as she did. The kiss deepened, their desire tightening them together as much as their arms and the weight of their bodies.

She pushed herself up, off of him, and settled her weight back on her hips. They pushed down on the part of him that made him a man, and he pushed back up against her, his body letting her know exactly how he felt about her.

Marie could feel his eyes on her all the time as she reached down to fiddle with the b.u.t.tons on her dress, undoing them one by one. The first was easy, but as her fingers fought for grip on the little bead of a b.u.t.ton with the second, finally getting it to slip out, she realized that she'd been overconfident.

Suddenly, the reality of what she was doing hit her all at once. She'd done this before. She'd done it before, with him. But that had been in the dark, it had been rough and something that had happened in a moment of No, not a moment of weakness, she cut herself off. But a moment of pa.s.sion? Certainly. Now she was undressing herself for the first time before a man who'd just admitted to being every bit the vagabond that some accused him of being, and her fingers froze up.

Was he going to find her adequate? Would he have high expectations for her, after all this time? What if he didn't find her, you knowattractive? After all, there was a big difference between a convenient woman and a pretty one, wasn't there?

He reached up as her breathing started to hitch in her chest with one broad, strong hand and ran a thumb across her cheek. He seemed strangely vulnerable to her, which ought to have been impossible for a man like Chris Broadmoor.

”Are you alright?”

Her jaw tightened. She was alright. She wasn't going to say that she was nervous. She'd never been nervous about anything in her life, before this, and she wasn't going to start now.

”I'm fine,” she said, her voice hard, and pulled the next b.u.t.ton roughly, to prove to herself as much as to him that she had complete control of herself. That she could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

Chris smiled, and then rolled his hips up into her, rubbing the rough fabric of his clothes against her through layers of dress. Her eyes shut themselves tight reflexively, her hips meeting his and temporarily halting her fingers.

The man below didn't wait for her to continue, reaching up and taking the next b.u.t.ton between his thick fingers and with a gentle flip, it came undone, showing more of her body.

His hips rolled up into hers again, but she kept her focus this time, brus.h.i.+ng his hands away. She'd do it herself, if only to prove that she wasn't afraid.

The shoulders of the dress hung loose on her shoulders, threatening to fall off and leave her there wearing only her camisole to hide her b.r.e.a.s.t.s from his eyes. He moved his hips again, threatening to rob her of her senses once more. Reluctantly, Marie slipped off of him, claiming control of herself for a fleeting moment.

The dress fell away easily when she let the top fall, leaving her in her unmentionables, which may as well have been nude, the way that his eyes raked over her. Marie's face burned red, but she continued undressing, her hands shaking.

The camisole came apart easily. Five b.u.t.tons. They were no different than any other, she reminded herself. It was nothing special, even as each one revealed inches of ivory-colored skin that she'd never let any man see.

He didn't waste a moment in pus.h.i.+ng himself out of bed to wrap his arms around her, his skin rough against the smooth skin of her sides. His face dipped low and took one dusky-colored nipple between his lips, sending a jolt of pleasure through her shoulders and into the rest of her body.

Her hands worked the drawstring keeping her petticoat up before she lost her nerve, and then realized with a start that she was the only one with her clothes off. A gentle bite on her nipples, though, drove the thought quickly from her mind. His lips left her for a moment, only to rejoin again on the other side, balancing out the pleasure as Chris replaced his teeth with this fingers, pinching and pulling until her nipple stood at attention.

His arm wrapped around her hip, then, and his weight s.h.i.+fted back, pulling Marie into bed. She let him, turning and falling into the soft mattress as his lips pulled away from her with a soft 'pop.'

He stepped back for a moment himself, his own clothing coming off simply, hurried but without desperation. His s.h.i.+rt fell to the floor, already forgotten in favor of working the clasp on his belt. Then he was pulling down his pants, and Marie couldn't help but gasp.

His c.o.c.k was big, from this close up. She'd felt it before, even seen it, but this was a completely different circ.u.mstance. Now she had time, she had good lighting, and she wondered how it could have possibly fit inside her. She reached out tentatively, wondering if she could even fit it in her hand.

She couldn't, she discoveredit filled her grip completely, her fingers not quite able to close around the shaft. The bartender's hips rolled into her hand, his voice coming out hoa.r.s.e and thick with need.

”Jesus, Marie”

The way he was looking at her had her heart racing. Set her on edge, full with need. She held herself still, in spite of all that. Then, slowly, she moved her hand up and down his shaft again, taking great care to be gentle. Chris's eyes fluttered shut.

”I need you,” he growled, putting his hand around her wrist.

”Do you now?”

Marie let him push her back, one strong hand pressed in the middle of her chest, providing an illusion that he'd hold her down and take whatever he wanted. Marie knew better, but the feeling sent a surge of arousal shooting into her. His knee pressed her thighs apart and he took the place between them, his hands hooking under her thighs and lifting them, spreading them wide to wrap around his waist.

He pressed himself up against her, his hardness teasing her with temptations that she didn't know how she could go without when they inevitably had to return to their lives, even if only for a few hours.

”I'm going to f.u.c.k you now,” he growled. She let her eyes drift shut at the words and noddedhe didn't need a second invitation before pus.h.i.+ng himself into her, filling her all the way in a single rough thrust.

Her eyes shot open but saw nothing, whatever power her mind used to see turned off for the sake of containing the pleasure that coiled her body around him. His hips pushed into her again, hitting her deepest places and setting fire to every nerve along the way.

Her lungs spasmed and forced a gasp from Marie's lips, a little voice escaping when she let the air out. She sounded every bit likelike the sort of woman she certainly wasn't. Then again, maybe she was. He thrust into her again and she met his hips again with an upward roll of her own. Another o.r.g.a.s.m built in her belly, coming up fast as he moved deep and rough, holding onto her for any purchase he could get.

And then, all at once, he let out a hoa.r.s.e cry and pushed deep inside, his tightening fingers and the way that he hit exactly where she needed it sending her over the edge. Her body milked him for his seed as he shot himself into her, warmth filling her body.

Her breath came hard, the fire of need slowly leaving her body and leaving her to move her body on her own. It didn't want to, though. She'd much rather have laid there beside him as long as she could. But it wasn't going to last forever, and she knew it couldn't.

Thirty-Four.

Chris laid his head back on the bed. Should have been at work. Should have been doing his job. At this rate, he was going to lose it, no doubt about that. But there were things needed doing, and Stan would understand or he'd find more work. There wasn't any special shortage of jobs, after all. That much, at least, he could praise Applewood Junction for.

He looked down at Marie, who dozed lightly against his chest, her soft b.r.e.a.s.t.s pooling and pressing against his ribs. She felt good against him, pressed there. It killed him to do it, but he shook her awake.

”I'm up,” she said softly, as if she thought she hadn't been softly snoring a moment before.

”I have to go,” he said. She nodded and sat back up. He took a moment to watch her, to watch the way that her body moved. He didn't deserve her, that much was for certain. But if she was going to be here, he'd at least enjoy the show.

”You have to promise,” she said, pinning her hair back.

”Promise what?” He swung his legs off the side of the bed and pulled on his blue jeans.

”Promise you won't go off trying to get yourself killed.”

He took a deep breath. That would be the easiest way out of all this trouble. Just get his own head blown off and everyone else could just walk away. But she had the right idea, whether he liked it or not.

”I promise,” he said, before he was even entirely conscious of speaking. ”I'm just going to talk to the Sheriff.”

”And you're not going to get yourself involved any further?”

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