Wildcat by Cheyenne McCray Page B

steps, he was at her side. She caught her breath as he lifted the shirt she was wearing and captured her breasts in his hands. “Pert, beautiful nipples. And more than a mouthful.”
    He ducked his head and suckled one of her hard nubs. Catie gasped as he flicked his tongue over her nipple, then gently pulled at it with his teeth, before moving to the other breast. Her pussy flooded with moisture and she squirmed at the feel of him licking and sucking her nipples.
    In the background she could hear the sizzle of the steaks on the grill and the hiss of water on the stovetop as the potatoes boiled over. But Jarrod didn’t seem to care. His thumb found her clit and he thrust his fingers into her core.
    Catie slid her hands into his hair and held on, lost in the feelings he stirred within her. A moan escaped her lips as he sucked and gently bit at each nipple while his thumb teased her clit, his fingers still deep inside her pussy.
    The orgasm flamed through her body, and she cried out from the searing pleasure of her release. Her hips jerked against Jarrod’s hand as he continued to move his fingers in and out.
    “Stop.” She put her hands on his shoulders, her body throbbing. “No more.”
    Jarrod eased his fingers from her core and raised his head. His eyes fixed on her and he licked his fingers. Every slow stroke of his tongue was like he was licking her pussy, tasting her. Even though he was no longer touching her, it felt like he was, and she couldn’t stop trembling from her climax.
    “Damn you taste good.” He brushed his mouth over hers, his mustache tickling her lips, the warmth of his breath adding heat to her blood. “I’d better see to dinner before something burns,” he murmured, then turned back to the stove.
    Too late, the thought went through Catie’s fuzzy mind. She was burning all over.
     
    After they’d eaten a bowl of chocolate fudge ice cream for dessert, Jarrod took Catie on a tour of his ranch style home. He enjoyed showing it to her, and how she seemed to appreciate the custom-built house. He’d had it built only a year prior, and it was his sanctuary away from the demands of his job and the political aspects of being the county sheriff.
    They ended up in his den, where he worked at home from time to time. He flicked on the track lighting which illuminated glossy oak furnishings and floor-to-ceiling shelves lining two walls. Books on Arizona, Native American, U.S., and world history lined the shelves, along with professional journals and handbooks, biographies and anything else that had caught his interest. Navajo artwork that he’d collected over the years covered the walls as well as dotting the shelves, along with pictures of his family. The room smelled of books, lemon oil polish, and of the case of cherry pipe tobacco that he kept to remind him of his dad.
    From off the oak credenza, Catie picked up a carved wooden caricature of an old cowboy with a drooping mustache and a ten-gallon hat that looked like it had a hole shot through the top of the crown. “This is great. Who’s the artist?”
    “I am.” Jarrod smiled when her gaze cut to his, her eyes wide. “Wood carving is a hobby of mine. I have a little workshop in the back of the house.”
    Wrinkling her nose, she placed the cowboy back on the shelf. “That’s disgusting.”
    He raised a brow. “You don’t like it?”
    “Love it.” Catie poked his chest with one finger. “What’s disgusting is that you’re not only a good fuck, know how to cook, have great taste in decorating and are well read, but you’re artistic too.”
    His mouth curved into a grin. “Don’t forget kind to animals and small children.”
    “So I see.” She walked away from him to the shelves and ran her fingers along one of the framed photographs. “Whose kids?”
    “Between two of my three sisters, I have six nieces and nephews. That’s Brian, the youngest of the bunch. They’re good kids.” Jarrod eased behind Catie, gripped her