Mama Connagher Day 3

I had this started last night but forgot to post before I went to bed.  I was trying to finish the first major sex scene but didn’t quite make it yet.

About 4600 words.  I’m not entirely sure because my computer shut down on me while we were out last night so I can’t remember exactly how many words Scrivener said I had.  I learned something else about Jeb last night and had to go back and drop a few hints elsewhere to set it up.  Plus sex scenes can really be tough to write.  Hopefully I can finish it up today, but I’m braced for a smaller word count as a result.  But yay, Virginia and Jeb are finally doing the deed!!

Continuing the flashback excerpt from yesterday:

God, for a man who’d only spoken to her a handful of times, he knew exactly what to say to get what he wanted.  What they both wanted, evidently, because she moved further into the room, shifting so she could get a better blow across his back with her right hand.  The first sharp crack made her flinch as hard as he did at the impact.  Tears filled her eyes and her throat ached like he’d wrapped his fist around her neck instead of his cock.  She almost dropped the crop, her fingers numb and cold.

“Don’t you dare stop,” he growled out.  “Give me another good one.  Just one more, Princess.  That’s all I’ll need.”

His head dropped back, his body arching, his hips surging forward.  His hand pumped harder, his face dark and taut.  She swallowed hard and brought the crop down again on his broad shoulder.  He let out a gut-wrenching sound, like she’d jammed her hand down his throat and grabbed a fist-full of his belly to drag back out.  Spasms shook his lean frame as he spent himself, pulse after pulse that left her trembling and aching as if she’d taken a nasty fall off her horse.  And the red marks on his back.  She wanted to sob at what she’d done even though he’d found pleasure in it.

His bracing arm bent, using his entire forearm and not just his hand, as if his strength had given out.  He dropped his head against his arm and drew a shaking breath.  “Come here, darlin’.”

He didn’t turn around or reach for her, which made her glad.  She didn’t want to see his face right now, nor him, hers.  It was too much.  Too intimate and personal.  Instead, she buried her face against the velvet heat of his back.

“Don’t cry.  Please don’t regret what you gave me.”

She didn’t realize she was crying, but he must have felt the wetness of her tears against his back.  She lifted her face and impatiently wiped her eyes, but the sight of the welts she’d given him made a fresh wave of tears flood her eyes and she couldn’t stifle the pitiful little cry.

“Ah, Princess.” He sighed and lifted away from the wall, pressing back against her.  “Let me wash up so I can hold you.”

Awkward and shy like she’d never felt in her entire life, she stepped back and watched as he washed and dried his hands.  At least he’d tucked himself back into his pants, though his jeans still hung loose and open about his hips, only staying up thanks to an old cracked leather belt.  He’d undone the buckle and loosened it a few notches, but it held enough to keep his pants up.  She couldn’t help but run her eyes over the lean lines of his body, even though she didn’t have to look in the mirror to know she was fire-engine red.  He had the body of a man who’d worked hard his entire life.  Not an ounce of fat or softness on that wiry frame, and so damned tall she’d get a crick in her neck every time she had to glare at him.  He had a surprising amount of scars, too.  Had he been in knife fights or something?  God, what kind of man was he, really?  She didn’t have any idea.

He caught her looking in the mirror and let out a low laugh.  “You’re thinking I look like I’ve been in a war or two?  You’d be right, as long as you’re assuming the thing I battled was a rodeo.”

“You got all those scars in rodeos?”

Nodding, he turned around to face her, leaning back on the sink as if he was trying to make himself less tall and possibly threatening in the enclosed space.  “Sure did.  Mostly bull riding, but I busted my left arm and three ribs last time I rode a bronc.”  He touched the torn up skin on the inside of his left forearm.  “Bone poked through.  It was a mess.  Took months to heal and it still pains me some.”

“That’s why…”  Her tongue quit working but he caught her meaning and smiled slightly.

“That’s why I had to end up bracing my whole arm against the wall, rather than my palm.  The pressure on the bone started to hurt too much for me to concentrate on the other hurt.  The good hurt.”  He kept his gaze steady on her face. “The hurt you gave me.”

A thousand questions jammed together in her brain, but she could only voice one.  “Why?”

He shrugged and dropped his gaze to his palms, studying his hands like he’d never seen them before.  They were broad and large, rough and torn and calloused from a lifetime of wrangling critters, fixing fence, shoveling manure, and whatever else the job required.  “I don’t rightly know.  I just know that I’ve only rarely ever been able to come like that.  You might not believe me given all the ladies chasing cowboys at the rodeos, but that wasn’t ever for me.  I couldn’t enjoy it, not like a normal man.  I always need some kind of pain, and to find a woman who can understand that need and help me with it…”  He sighed again and fisted his hands, pushing up to his full height.  Though he didn’t dare look back into her face.  “I can’t thank you enough but you ain’t for me, Princess.”

She didn’t understand the panic that roared through her.  Instead of crying like a virgin, now she wanted to wail like a banshee at the thought of him walking away, even though she still didn’t know him.  Don’t I, though?  Don’t I know him better than most women, if I was able to do for him what others couldn’t?  “What?  Why?”

“I’m a rodeo bum,” he said it hard, baldly, his teeth grinding on each word like he was chewing on rocks.  “You’re a Princess, the rich boss’s daughter who rides a horse worth more than everything I own in this world a hundred times over.  A thousand.”

“So?”

He laughed harshly and ran a hand through his sweaty hair.  It was odd to see him without his hat.  A permanent dent was worn into his dark hair from where the hat sat on his head.  He’d cropped his hair short with just a little fullness on the crown on his head, barely enough to even need a comb.  “So?  You said Colonel Healy would put a bullet in me for laying a hand on you.  What the hell is he going to do if he ever finds out what else we did?”

“That was different.”  Deliberately, she said it primly, which drew a snort from him.  “That was when I didn’t want you.  If I do want you, then Daddy couldn’t care less.”

Tyrell stilled, his sudden intensity searing her brain to ash.  “And do you want me?  Now?  Knowing what kind of man I am?”

Boldly, she ran her gaze over him from head to toe, taking in the narrowness of his hips and waist, the sagging jeans just barely keeping his modesty.  “Hmmm,” she hummed out as if deep in thought.  “Maybe.”

He growled and took a single step toward her before catching himself.  “Maybe?”

“Maybe,” she repeated.  “I’ll have to have another kiss or two to be sure.  Maybe more.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to sample me again,” he drawled, his voice low and deep.  It did crazy things to her insides, melting them into a puddle. “Run me through my paces.  See if I have the staying power for a woman like you.  I promise you that I have the endurance and the heart to last until I my breath stills forever and they put me in the ground.”

She took his invitation, stepping close enough to feel the heat rising of his body like a furnace.  He smelled like leather, butter soft and fine.  Funny how his boots were dried and caked in muck, his belt cracked, but she’d never seen a better cared for saddle and bridle than when he rode by.  She’d taken to asking him to polish her tack because no one else could get the same shine.  Not even her.  “A woman like me?”

“Most of the time, you’re going to take what you want and pity the fool who don’t get out of your way fast enough.  Other times, though, you want someone to reach out and risk everything he has just to feel the softness of your skin and smell the sweetness of your hair.  Even though it’ll rile you up and you’ll lay into him like an angry polecat.  Luckily that’s exactly what I want.”

Holding her breath, she laid her head on his chest.  His arms came around her, cocooning her in his strength and warmth.  With a shudder, she let out a sigh and relaxed into his embrace, letting him hold her as he’d promised.  He didn’t press the advantage, sensing her need for comfort and reassurance.  That he’d no more hate her for hurting him than she could hate him for needing it.

 

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