Stirring up the Sheriff (Wildhorse Ranch Brothers Book 3) Page 6

  The kiss was wet and hot and forceful. It was everything that had kept Marianne awake late into the night, restless and bothered; it was every intangible and unattainable fantasy she had entertained about Trent in one fell swoop. There was no cherry lip balm to tease her taste buds this time. Instead she savored the sheer heat of him, the commanding pressure, the strength of his lust for her conveyed in every insistent inch of his kiss.

  His tongue spread her lips and thrust past her teeth. She threaded her own tongue along the length of his and enjoyed the combative dance. Marianne had forgotten how much she absolutely loved kissing, and she was determined now to make up for lost time.

  The tension that had ruled her body since moving to Lockhart Bend was fast easing out of her. She hadn't ever imagined that Sheriff Wild would have anything to do with it, but he did. A tingling warmth flooded her all the way to her bones, replacing all the cold, brittle anxiety that had plagued her since day one at the brewpub.

  Trent's hand came up to cup the back of her head, and Marianne sighed with bliss as he carried her down into the dirt. She didn't spare a thought for the garden or the filth that was already attaching itself to her arms, her legs, her hair; she didn't let her thoughts wander to jackrabbits and how she might evict them. She thought only of Trent's warm weight shifting atop her and the way his taller form settled so perfectly against her own when they were horizontal.

  Just as she had imagined it would.

  It was over too soon. One minute their lips were in complete collusion, and Trent's fingers were sliding up beneath her shirt, and the next moment he was pulling himself back off her and rising. Marianne blinked at the sudden reversal. She yearned for him on a deep, instinctive level. She had been about to let him take her right then and there if he wanted—parsley and sage and rosemary be damned.

  "C'mon." He grabbed her hand and hauled her up out of the dirt. Her head was spinning so wildly in the aftermath of their make-out session that she was grateful for the assistance.

  "What? Where?" Marianne genuinely couldn't remember if she had missed something he said. Trent only shook his head.

  "You need a break," he insisted. "I know you don't want to admit it, but it's true. I'm taking you out."

  Her pulse fluttered at his offer. She wished she could physically tamp her heart back down and tell it not to get so excited. How long had it been since anyone made her feel this way?

  Since Simon. Since the beginning, when things had been good…or at least, she had still been in the dark.

  "Out where?" she asked. She already figured it was a useless question, but she may as well try.

  "I'll tell you, but you have to get in the car first. Come on," Trent said as he pulled away from her and walked back toward the parking lot. "I'll take you home to change."

  Marianne followed, her curiosity brimming over despite herself. The disastrous garden was all but forgotten; she could begin replanting tomorrow, when there wasn't a sexy sheriff around to distract her with baffling riddles.

  8

  Trent

  "What did you say this place was called again?"

  Marianne's voice was all trepidation as Trent held the door to the bar open for her. To her credit, however nervous she felt in that moment, she hid it well; she strutted with calm class into the establishment, and every male eye that wasn't occupied with a drink fixed on her in an instant.

  "When's the last time you've been inside anything that wasn't a brewpub?" he had asked her in the car on the way over.

  "Does my own home count?" she returned.

  "The Swing Station," Trent said now with pride. He fixed his hands on his hips and surveyed the terrain. "Out of my jurisdiction, which means anything that goes wrong isn't my problem."

  "I don't believe that for a second," Marianne muttered. She made a beeline for the bar, and Trent followed, raising his eyebrow in question. "I don't believe for a second that you could keep your nose out of anything even if it doesn't directly concern you."

  "Makes me a damn fine sheriff," Trent agreed. More eyes turned to him than Marianne at his claim, and he figured the bartender was in for an easy night. He rolled up to the bar and signaled the keep. "Hey, there. Mind if we take one of those back rooms off your hands?"

  "Sure," the bartender replied. "It's five bucks if you want to rent it out for the rest of the night."

  "Ouch," Trent joked as he dug for his wallet. He didn't mean it, of course; five bucks was well worth the price of admission, and he was just getting started with his plan. He dropped a twenty on the counter and passed one of the whiskeys that magically appeared there to Marianne. "Keep 'em coming," he told the bartender as he moved off toward the back of the Station.

  "What's…what's in the room?" Marianne asked nervously as she followed after him. She coughed and waved a hand in front of her to disperse a cloud of cigarette smoke; the smoker leered from his table.

  Trent grinned with what he thought was the appropriate amount of mystery as he shouldered open the door. Marianne peered inside and saw the dark green poker table. She exhaled.

  "What'd you think I was leading you into?" Trent asked her in amusement.

  "I'm not sure," she replied as she swept by him. "A den of sin, maybe? Even dennier and sinnier than the one we just left?"

  "I just wanted to give you a taste for what a real honky tonk is like. No bells, no whistles." He pulled out a chair for her, and Marianne sat down.

  "I saw plenty of bells coming in here," she noted. "And I'm pretty sure a few of those men would have definitely whistled at me—or worse—if I wasn't with you."

  "I mean it isn't fancy. It isn't high-class. What it is, is good, dirty fun. Sometimes things get wild." Trent waved toward the door as he fell into a chair. "Sometimes I have to break it up. Sometimes I even have to arrest people. But mostly it's good people, cheap drinks, hearty laughter. Music, dance, maybe a wet T-shirt here and there."

  "Classy." Marianne raised her glass to her painted lips and eyed him over the rim. It hadn't escaped him that she was wearing lipstick tonight. Was it in honor of the evening, or was it for him specifically? It had been so long since Trent had found the time to go out with a woman, he was at a complete loss trying to read her signals. "So we're going to play cards?"

  "All night long, if you want to." He rocked forward and shook out the deck he had brought along. It was his grandfather's, old and worn and timeless. He wouldn't be surprised if the cards had been printed long before Lockhart Bend officially became a town. "Pick your poison." He arrayed the cards in a clumsy fan, and Marianne laughed.

  "Well, considering we're sitting at a poker table…" She leaned forward, and her cleavage deepened. "How about we play poker?"

  "Sure. You want to make a drinking game out of it?" Trent took a long sip of his whiskey, relishing the burn, and Marianne's eyes took on the glint of a challenge.

  "I think I have a better idea," she said.

  "Shoo-oot." Trent threw his cards down. He purposefully drew out the word, because he had a feeling Marianne liked it, from the way her mouth twitched and her gaze dropped. "Guess you got me again. All right, what's next?"

  "Your shirt," she said with conviction.

  "You don't want me to take my hat off first?"

  "Leave the hat on."

  "You know…" Trent smiled as he peeled his shirt up over his head. He was forced to remove his hat and replace it immediately to appease his mistress. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a little bit kinky, Marianne Stanton."

  "Maybe you don't know better." He couldn't help but notice the way Marianne's eyes lingered on his chest. Had he known he was going to get naked this evening, he couldn't have chosen a better location; the shadows cast by the dim lightbulb suspended overhead highlighted every contour of his muscled frame. He prided himself on keeping in as good shape as his brothers, and he wasn't about to miss the opportunity to let Marianne get an eyeful now.

  "Pleased with yourself, huh?" he interrupted her study. "
Tell me what else is new." He waved a hand at the table. "Well, what are we at? I'm losing track here, girl."

  "Well…" Marianne leaned back and crossed her arms beneath her exposed bra. She was down to just her underwear, same as Trent; unlike Trent’s, hers was black and svelte and contrasted with her china doll skin in a way that was nothing less than damn sinful. "I've had four drinks, you've had six. All whiskey."

  "I meant how much do I owe you?"

  Marianne's eyebrow arched. "Owe me? I'd say a life debt, considering how soundly I've whooped you."

  Trent winced. There was too much truth to her words for his liking. He just hoped this evening wasn't a sign of things to come—he had another challenge he intended to win later, after all. "If you can think of anything you might settle for in the meantime, I'm all ears."

  "All right, Sheriff." Marianne kicked her bare legs up onto the table and crossed them, one over the other. "How about I forgive your debts for a kiss?"

  9

  Marianne

  Marianne waited. She tried not to look too obviously like she was holding her breath.

  She thought she could feel the heat of Trent's gaze levelled at her from beneath his hat, but his face was half hidden in shadow and it was hard to tell.

  Oh, God. What was I thinking?

  Why did she have to go and say the word "kiss" out loud like that? Obviously, she and Trent had kissed before…or rather, Trent had kissed her before. The sheriff had always been the one to initiate, to claim an opening without verbal permission, and Marianne thrilled at the way he took charge. Trent didn't waste any time when he knew what he wanted.

  And Marianne didn't want to spend any more time waiting, either. No more holding back. No more worrying about how hot the temperature might be before jumping in. Maybe it was the chain of winning poker hands that had whetted her appetite for challenge; maybe it was the rare hard liquor surging through her veins; maybe it was the sight of Trent in nothing but his boxers and the way the amber light from the shrouded bulb above seemed to sculpt and contour every hard, male muscle of him. The ember of desire that smoldered low in her belly, unattended for so long, ignited at the sight. The cotton of her panties suddenly felt too chafing and restrictive. How long had she allowed herself to live pent-up like this? How could any part of her breathe?

  "Come here and collect, then," Trent murmured.

  Marianne shifted out of her chair and moved slowly around the table. He didn't open his arms to her, but his posture was already relaxed…almost inviting. The way he sat with his legs casually spread seemed to make his lap an offering to her. Marianne took him up on the invitation. She alighted on his right thigh, the one furthest from the table. When Trent didn't move a muscle, either to close himself off or go out of his way to accommodate her, she decided the only thing to do was charge. She removed his hat and set it on the table, then she smoothed her palms along his rough cheeks and drew him to her.

  She claimed her prize. She let that indebted mouth of his pay her, and she intended for it to pay her in full. The bow of her upper lip grazed his lower, and she let her tongue flick between her teeth to taste the residual burn of whiskey. Trent's tongue gave an answering thrust, and she let him slip his way inside her mouth.

  It was so easy to give over completely to the sensation of being kissed by Trent. Marianne sighed as she leaned into him. She pressed her hands into his shoulders, relishing his rock-hard strength, and felt him flex in response.

  He leaned back in the chair suddenly, lifting off until they were both suspended on two legs. Marianne cried out in surprise and wrapped her arms around his neck to stabilize herself. She was certain they were going down, but Trent only reached back to lock the door to the room. As soon as he had succeeded, he let the chair fall forward again; he groaned when this rocked her against the bulge in his pants.

  "Lift up," he growled into her ear. Marianne complied, and Trent braced her with one hand, taking his other away to yank his boxers down. The aggressive jut of his cock caught on his waistband before the fabric finally slid away to reveal him. All of him. He was long and thick and smooth; his shaft was several shades darker than his navel, and it terminated in a nest of neatly-trimmed black curls.

  We're really doing this, she thought as Trent pulled her back down for another heady kiss. She straddled his lap. His naked erection pushed against the crotch of her panties, and she gasped into his mouth at its blunt rigidity. Every questing thrust of his hips brought it in contact with her clit, igniting little fireworks of pleasure behind her eyes and in her belly. When it wasn't enough, she rubbed herself down his full length. Even through the damp, clinging fabric of her underwear, she could feel how smooth Trent was—and how large. It was one thing to see his cock for the first time, but it was another matter to grind herself on it and realize how it might align with her, how it might fit inside her.

  Trent groaned as she rode him. She continued the rotation of her hips, slow and sensual; her own moans were quieter, helpless little noises that escaped her despite her best efforts to stifle them. She didn't want to be discovered, but she didn't see how she could stop herself now. Finally letting go of her inhibitions and allowing herself to be in Trent's arms had brought her too close to paradise to retreat now.

  She was done playing it safe.

  Trent's hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. Was he trying to tame her movements atop him or urge her to pursue a faster rhythm? Either way, Marianne resisted his control. She dipped and rotated, changing directions the moment he appeared to adjust. Trent sighed and let his head fall back as she worked him.

  But only for a moment. Soon enough he was back to work. His hands snaked around behind her back to unfasten her bra. Marianne arched a little and closed her eyes, letting the straps slip down her shoulders. Trent aided their descent, leaning in to press hungry kisses to her fever-hot skin. Her breasts sprang free, already taught from arousal before they hit the cool air of the room. Trent lowered his mouth to them with a low noise of appreciation. She smoothed her fingers over the rough bristles of his short hair, hissing with pleasure as his tongue circled the dark pink mound. When he drew it further into his mouth and nibbled the pebbled flesh, she almost came undone.

  One of his hands shot out, and Marianne realized he was going for his wallet on the table. He ripped the condom package open with his teeth. She shifted in his lap to give him room as he rolled it over his cock one-handed. Everything Trent did was confident, effortless. Rather than be intimidated by his sexuality, Marianne felt it bolstering her own.

  "Hop on."

  His command sent a shiver of anticipation racing through her. Those two words spoken in that husky, harsh voice of his held every hope and frustration that had been building between them these past couple weeks.

  Marianne shifted until she was balanced above him. The supple surface of his dome butted at her entrance; already she was making it slick with the evidence of her need. She held onto Trent's shoulders as she lowered herself down onto it cautiously. She felt herself stretching to accommodate him and shut her eyes tight against the deep pressure. It had been a long time, and her body was making her aware of that fact now.

  Trent's hands on her waist aided her descent. Their combined energy was hushed and hurried. Marianne guessed neither of them wanted to postpone their union a minute more than they had to, but the steadiness of his hands told her he wouldn't let it be rushed. This was their moment, a conclusion they had been working towards ever since the day they met, whether they’d known it or not.

  Trent slid in another inch, and Marianne gasped. His answering groan drove her wild; in an effort to provoke another unbearably sexy sound, she lowered herself fully onto him until she sat in his lap with every inch of him buried inside her.

  "Oh, fuck." The rough curse reverberated in his chest and seemed to echo in her own as a result. Marianne shifted forward until the aroused tips of her nipples grazed his slick skin. Her clit jolted as it rubbed against him. She dropped h
er head near his ear and moaned in quiet relish at the feeling.

  "Yeah?" She couldn't help but tease, even if she was finding it hard to catch her breath.

  "I've been thinking about this for a long time," Trent replied. He wound a hand in her hair, and he tugged hard at the roots; she let her head drop back so he could get a full view of her face. "So have you," he added.

  "Have not."

  "Can't help thinking about it now, can you?" He bucked up into her. Marianne gasped and held on as best she could. Trent's cock was almost more than she could take, but she knew she needed this, maybe more than anything. And at the end of the day, Trent was right—she had been thinking about him, fantasizing about him, for so long that there was no use resisting him. He was too deep inside her now to convince herself that this was just a way of getting him out of her system.

  "Mmm." Trent hummed appreciatively as they fell into a rhythm. Marianne slid forward and back in his lap, her ass butting up against his open palms as he guarded her position atop him. She was slowly but surely relaxing against him, and the pleasure that bloomed within her as a result was almost excruciatingly good. The less she worried about falling, or being caught, or any number of things that might go on, the more she could focus on just how fucking good it felt to be in Trent's lap. Every thrust of her hips forward renewed her awareness of him.

  He just sat back and watched her work. There was nothing lazy or contented about the way his lust-heavy eyes followed her. Marianne wondered if he knew just how long it had been for her. It was as if he was letting her explore the space and re-familiarize herself with her own body. When she raised herself up a little to come back down, he groaned; the hands that safeguarded against her falling off him came to rest on her hips once more.

  Suddenly it wasn't enough. She ached for something faster, something almost savage in its intensity. She sat up again and slid back down; she repeated the motion, burying Trent's slick shaft again and again, each time starting with the tip of his cock hovering just outside her before taking it all. Trent gripped her waist and took over. Soon she was bouncing, bounding against him, her wild plunges only barely controlled by the man who now took ownership of every inch of her. She let Trent dictate how fast he wanted it, and he didn't disappoint; his appetite, now that they had begun, was as voracious as hers.