her in his rearview. That she’d imagined, or he’d forgotten, the chemistry that always sizzled between them.
He hadn’t forgotten. Worse, everything about him was better, more irresistible than she remembered. She hadn’t been here eight hours before she gave in. But she didn’t think any woman alive could blame her.
She wrapped her fingers around one of her wrists, still feeling his firm grip, so sure and strong it made her shiver. Some part of her had always known how it would be with him. That he was naturally dominant. And even all those years ago, Trudy had responded. Wasn’t that why she’d sought out the club in the first place, because no ordinary man would do? Because polite, politically correct and overly vanilla sex had never really done it for her? Had never turned her on the way that one momentary lapse of judgment in the bunkhouse had?
Trudy walked up to her bedroom in a daze, not even bothering to check on Caroline or her injured brother. She was still too needy, too swamped with memories and the possibilities of tomorrow.
She closed and locked her door, barely glancing at the room that was the perfect time capsule of her girlish teenage dreams. Posters of girl bands framed by lyrics she’d written on the wall, much to her father’s dismay. Stuffed animals on the butterfly quilt her grandmother had made before she was born. It was a child’s room, full of memories and hopes and dreams. But she’d grown up since this room had been hers. She’d changed in so many ways.
The only thing that hadn’t was how she felt about John Brown.
She stripped off her clothes and tugged the quilt off the bed, slipping beneath the cool sheets with a groan.
John .
The first time she’d seen him coming up the drive next to her father, she’d known. He was different. Dangerous. He emanated sex and power. Even at seventeen she’d recognized it. Responded to it. Flirted with it.
It was embarrassing to remember how shameless she’d been. How she made a point to brush against him when their paths crossed. How her hips took on an extra sway when she knew he was watching her. She practiced her wiles on all the men who did odd jobs on her father’s ranch, but none as much as this man. Most of the time he resisted her. Twice she’d pushed him far enough to get a response, and both times she’d been the one to back away.
The first time had happened a week before she left, only a few weeks after her nineteenth birthday. It had been hot and she’d impulsively decided to go skinny-dipping in the pond. It wasn’t the first time she’d done it, though usually she saved the forbidden treat for Sundays. After a few hours of listening to preaching about sin and the Devil, she loved the idea of getting away with something a good girl wouldn’t do. It wasn’t until she got to the edge of trees that surrounded the water that she realized someone had beaten her to it. Big John.
He was coming out of the water when he looked up and saw her watching him. He didn’t say a word, but his hand lowered to grip his hardening erection, drawing her gaze to his impressive body. He was big…everywhere. Hard everywhere.
He began to stroke himself, deliberately, sensually, and Trudy had an overwhelming desire to join him. To slip off her clothes, spread her legs and touch herself. To let him watch. She’d pressed her hand against her pounding heart and opened her lips on a gasp, and John had stiffened, taking one step and then another toward her.
She’d run.
Trudy lay in her bed, remembering, her fingers pressing against her clit.
Her toy. He wanted her to use her vibrator. How he knew she had one, or that she’d bring it on this trip, was beyond her. She didn’t care. He knew.
She opened the bedside drawer she’d placed it in and pulled it out, measuring its thickness with her fingers and wondering if she’d gotten it because it reminded her of him. How big and thick he’d been, fisted in his own huge hand.
How
He hadn’t forgotten. Worse, everything about him was better, more irresistible than she remembered. She hadn’t been here eight hours before she gave in. But she didn’t think any woman alive could blame her.
She wrapped her fingers around one of her wrists, still feeling his firm grip, so sure and strong it made her shiver. Some part of her had always known how it would be with him. That he was naturally dominant. And even all those years ago, Trudy had responded. Wasn’t that why she’d sought out the club in the first place, because no ordinary man would do? Because polite, politically correct and overly vanilla sex had never really done it for her? Had never turned her on the way that one momentary lapse of judgment in the bunkhouse had?
Trudy walked up to her bedroom in a daze, not even bothering to check on Caroline or her injured brother. She was still too needy, too swamped with memories and the possibilities of tomorrow.
She closed and locked her door, barely glancing at the room that was the perfect time capsule of her girlish teenage dreams. Posters of girl bands framed by lyrics she’d written on the wall, much to her father’s dismay. Stuffed animals on the butterfly quilt her grandmother had made before she was born. It was a child’s room, full of memories and hopes and dreams. But she’d grown up since this room had been hers. She’d changed in so many ways.
The only thing that hadn’t was how she felt about John Brown.
She stripped off her clothes and tugged the quilt off the bed, slipping beneath the cool sheets with a groan.
John .
The first time she’d seen him coming up the drive next to her father, she’d known. He was different. Dangerous. He emanated sex and power. Even at seventeen she’d recognized it. Responded to it. Flirted with it.
It was embarrassing to remember how shameless she’d been. How she made a point to brush against him when their paths crossed. How her hips took on an extra sway when she knew he was watching her. She practiced her wiles on all the men who did odd jobs on her father’s ranch, but none as much as this man. Most of the time he resisted her. Twice she’d pushed him far enough to get a response, and both times she’d been the one to back away.
The first time had happened a week before she left, only a few weeks after her nineteenth birthday. It had been hot and she’d impulsively decided to go skinny-dipping in the pond. It wasn’t the first time she’d done it, though usually she saved the forbidden treat for Sundays. After a few hours of listening to preaching about sin and the Devil, she loved the idea of getting away with something a good girl wouldn’t do. It wasn’t until she got to the edge of trees that surrounded the water that she realized someone had beaten her to it. Big John.
He was coming out of the water when he looked up and saw her watching him. He didn’t say a word, but his hand lowered to grip his hardening erection, drawing her gaze to his impressive body. He was big…everywhere. Hard everywhere.
He began to stroke himself, deliberately, sensually, and Trudy had an overwhelming desire to join him. To slip off her clothes, spread her legs and touch herself. To let him watch. She’d pressed her hand against her pounding heart and opened her lips on a gasp, and John had stiffened, taking one step and then another toward her.
She’d run.
Trudy lay in her bed, remembering, her fingers pressing against her clit.
Her toy. He wanted her to use her vibrator. How he knew she had one, or that she’d bring it on this trip, was beyond her. She didn’t care. He knew.
She opened the bedside drawer she’d placed it in and pulled it out, measuring its thickness with her fingers and wondering if she’d gotten it because it reminded her of him. How big and thick he’d been, fisted in his own huge hand.
How
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