Redneck Romeo

Page 39

He sprang out of the water. He barely ran a towel over his body before he chased after her.
She’d nearly reached the bed when he tugged her towel free, leaving her naked. She whirled around and Dalton’s mouth was on hers, with one hand fisted in her hair, the other clamped on her left butt cheek.
Rory’s arms wreathed his neck and she kissed him with equal ferocity.
Dalton towed her to the living area and lowered her to the big couch.
“Aren’t we making carpet angels in front of the fireplace?”
“I’m not feelin’ angelic right now, Aurora.”
Her gaze briefly dropped to his cock. In one long sinuous movement, she stretched her right arm along the plush sofa until it was artistically arranged above her head. “Bring in the devil.”
When she put her feet up on the couch, Dalton said, “No. Keep your right foot on the floor. Like that. Press your left knee into the back of the couch so I can see every inch of your pussy.” As soon as she complied his mouth dried up. “Jesus. You’re a fucking goddess.” Then he dropped to his knees and buried in face in her cunt.
Rory arched up and her hands automatically landed on his head.
Dalton lifted his mouth and looked at her. “No hands on me. Next time I have to tell you I will break out the ropes.”
With her arms above her head, her body was a beautiful curve from her pelvis to the tips of her fingers.
He traced her slit down to her opening and slipped two digits inside. Then he tongued her clit relentlessly until her sex spasmed against his mouth and her juices coated his face.
While she came down from that fast orgasm, he kissed the inside of her thighs. Her bikini line. The curve of her knee.
Rory propped herself up on her elbow. “Crawl up here and fuck me.”
Dalton scooted back, setting his left foot on the floor. Balanced on his right knee, he leaned forward and braced his left hand by Rory’s head. Watching her eyes, he rolled his hips, gliding his cock along her pussy. Her wet, hot, wide-open pussy.
“You’re good at that.”
“What? This?” His shaft slid down her slick slit. He paused above the base of her pubic bone to drag the rim of his cockhead over her clit. Again and again and again.
Rory moaned. “Yes, that. Don’t tease. Fuck me.”
“Let’s see how flexible you are, yogi.” Dalton’s fingers formed a circle around her left ankle and he pushed her leg up and up until her knee was parallel with her shoulder. “Very flexible.” He angled his hips and pushed his cock into her to the hilt.
“Omigod. That feels…” She didn’t finish her sentence when he started to move.
Dalton fucked her without pause. The position of her leg opened her completely, creating more skin contact when he bottomed out inside her. Every time. The slap of his body into hers, the harsh breathing, the creak of the couch surrounded him, adding to his urgency.
“Push into me right…there. Yes.”
He kept his hand on Rory’s leg as he pounded into her. She was so wet he had to pause before he thrust back in. “Arch your lower back. Yes. God that’s so good.”
Rory thought so too because she started to come. She threw her head back, her hair sliding off the couch; her hands balled into tight fists, her mouth went slack.
Beneath his palm, her thigh went stiff. He could feel her clenching her ass cheeks in time to the blood throbbing in her clit. The rhythmic pulls of her pussy muscles were like a silken vice around his cock, holding him in place.
He held on barely by the skin of his teeth as he rode out the storm with her.
When her limbs relaxed, he pumped into her so forcefully her body slid up the couch. His balls swung into her ass and he was done for.
He emptied himself into her, his mind blank.
But his heart? His heart was full.
Chapter Eighteen
The next night Rory showed up at the tournament ten minutes before it started.
After spending the day lounging around, goofing off, having sex on every piece of furniture in the hotel room, she thought she’d seen all of Dalton’s faces.
Apparently not.
Dalton’s poker face scared her a little.
She didn’t always have a clear line of sight to him. People walked in front of her blocking her view. But she’d seen enough to notice that he defined impassive. No reaction if he won a big pile of chips. No reaction if he lost. The man was impossible to read, which was how he won the table and advanced to the next round.
During the break Rory hung back with the crowd of spectators and eliminated players, waiting to see if Dalton sought her out. He didn’t.
He was a completely different person in this round than the previous round. He was friendly. Laughing. Trash talking. Very distracting. Acting as if winning was a surprise. He suckered them all in and handily walked away with that round too.
Rory paced, nerves getting the better of her during the next two rounds. If she was climbing out of her skin, how did Dalton remain so calm?
Because he’s a master at masking his emotions.
No, that wasn’t it. Was it?
One of the changes she’d noticed in him was Dalton’s long stretches of silence. Any other man she’d call it brooding, but with him…she had no idea what was going through his head in those moments. Whenever she asked him, he smiled and deflected, just like he used to. Which made her think he hadn’t changed as much as he’d insisted.
The announcement for the upcoming burlesque dinner show echoed through the casino and Rory refocused.
Dalton sat at the final table in the winner-take-all cash game with a payout of forty grand. If he won, he’d make more money in one night than she made in a year.
She’d wondered which Dalton would play in the final game. Impassive Dalton? Jovial Dalton? Nope. Neither. The Dalton seated fourth in on the left side of the dealer seemed antsy. Other players noticed and began to watch him for a specific nervous tic that could be construed as a tell.
Maybe they should’ve been paying more attention to their cards because it wasn’t long before the table was down to three players.
Seeing how easily he slipped between three different personality types brought back her concerns. Did he treat her like a player to be managed in a card game? Could he gauge her mood and adjust his personality and responses accordingly? And if he was doing that, how much had he really changed?
Man, she had a crapload of doubt. And when they weren’t rolling around in the sheets together, it made her wonder if they could overcome their tangled past.
Doesn’t matter, remember? Hot sex, good times, when it’s done it’s done and there won’t be any crying about what might’ve been.
Shouts and clapping brought her out of her reverie. A bunch of people were standing around the table but she couldn’t see anything.
Who’d won?
Then everyone stepped away. Dalton’s beaming grin was a sight to behold. No mistaking that for anything but a victorious smile.
Their eyes met. Rory recognized that look. Triumph and lust. A conquering hero hell bent on taking his prize.
So winning made him horny? Interesting.
If she was a betting woman, she’d drop a C-note that Dalton would drag her back to their room as soon as possible. He’d have her bent over the arm of the couch or pinned to the mattress within minutes of walking through the door.
But Rory didn’t want that. Tonight she wanted to tease the beast. Sexually torment him to the point that he’d fuck her with that dangerously raw edge he tended to keep hidden.
Before she delved any deeper into that fantasy, the big, broad cowboy was in her face, lifting her, spinning her in a circle. “I won, I won, I won.”
She laughed. “I see that. Remind me never to play strip poker with you. What happens now?”
“Gotta go to the cage, get my cash and give the tax man his due. Sign some papers.” He stepped back and his hungry gaze took in her outfit. Cleavage-baring black bustier with a sheer pink blouse over the top. The stretchy black miniskirt clung to her ass and was about three inches shorter then she preferred. She hadn’t worn hosiery, even though it was fucking freezing. She’d slipped on heeled black boots that reached her knees.
Dalton made that growling noise. “How long you been walkin’ around wearing that outfit?”
“Some. Why?”
“Because you are smokin’ hot. Jesus, woman. You’re making me lose my train of thought.”
“Maybe this will get it back on track.” She placed an openmouthed kiss on his neck above his shirt collar. “Get your winnings so you can buy me dinner. I’m starved.”
“I’ll feed you. Then I’ll fuck you.”
Obviously Dalton didn’t care that anyone within earshot could hear him.
Rory brushed the front of her body against his. “You’re hard.”
“Fuckin’ right I’m hard. Winning always gets me hard. Add in the fact you’re here with me? Lookin’ like sex on legs? This hard-on ain’t goin’ away until I fuck you at least twice.”
Pushing him to the edge wouldn’t be a problem. The man was already there.
“Mr. McKay?” a staff member inquired behind him.
“Yeah. I know. Gotta get the paperwork done.”
“I’m supposed to ask if you’d like to dine here. I can have a private table reserved for you.”
Dalton looked at her. “How’s that sound?”
“Good.”
He kissed her cheek. “Hang out by the slot machines. I’ll be back in ten.”
Rory wandered on the main floor. She had more fun watching people shoving nickels in the slots than doing so herself. She didn’t stop for long in one place; too much restless energy. She did pause to look at a display of Old West memorabilia.
She sensed his return. Feeling his hot gaze tracking her backside, from her heeled boots up her legs. Lingering on the curve of her ass. Her hips. Her fall of hair that brushed the bottom of her shoulder blades.
Then Dalton’s hands landed on her hips. He swept aside her hair and placed a very possessive kiss on the side of her neck.