Next he busied himself spreading the blankets from the corner—Reggie’s, but I was pretty sure the dog would share—across the truck bed. I was glad, not only because I’d rather get naked unobserved but because I was momentarily distracted—and distressed—by the scars on his body that hadn’t been there before.
By the time he’d made our bed, I’d managed to not only drag my gaze from the criss-cross slashes of pink and white, some worse than others, the one on his thigh really bad—but toss my shirt, jeans, shoes, socks, and panties in a pile of their own.
I joined him on the makeshift bed, thrilled to observe that he remained “unbroken.” Even more thrilled that the truck shielded us from view on three sides. He yanked the tailgate up—make that four sides. We’d hear any cars approaching on the dirt path from a long way off, and Reggie would make sure nothing and no one else approached in any other direction.
Privacy was nice, but right now I didn’t much care. I might have balked at doing him on the fifty-yard line at Lambeau Field during halftime. Maybe.
I set my hand on his chest, following the trail of my fingertips with my lips, tasting his skin, testing those larger, tighter, better muscles. His stomach rippled. I licked his ribs then traced the gooseflesh with my thumb.
“Becca, I can’t—”
“Can,” I insisted, and used my teeth on his tip.
The next instant I was on my back, his wide shoulders blocking out the sprinkle of sun through the tree limbs. Our legs tangled together; the hair on his tickled. Thank goodness there wasn’t any hair on mine. I certainly hadn’t planned on having sex today—or any day, week, month, year.
Hell.
“Protection.”
He kissed me quick, then set his forehead on mine again and just breathed. The ebb and flow of his chest brushed his skin along mine, making my nipples tighten and ache.
I cupped his cheek. “We don’t have to.”
“Oh, we have to. Just give me a sec.”
“Does your leg hurt?”
“I’ll manage.”
He rolled free, hunted down his jeans, rustled around, and came back with a condom. Should I be thrilled that he had one or—
The snap of latex brought my gaze back where it belonged. I was definitely thrilled that he had one, a bit sad that he didn’t have two.
He winced, just a little, as he crawled to the blankets, but he covered it well, no doubt because he’d been covering it for a while. Nevertheless, I worried.
“I could go on top.”
His gaze flicked to mine. “That obvious?”
“I just—”
He lay back and held out his arms. “First time for everything, right?”
“It isn’t—” I began, then snapped my mouth shut.
He wasn’t talking about me in general but us in particular, and in that, he was right.
We’d been kids—eager and fumbling—in the dark, in the cab of his truck, the woods, his closet, then that haymow. We had not had the time, the experience, or the inclination for experimentation. It had been missionary all the way.
He cupped my hips. I took him in slow. Had he always been this big? Or had my lady parts shrunk from lack of use?
The sensation of stretching, filling, oh, so full was glorious. His tip struck something deep inside that sent a thrum of need all the way to my toes and I arched, thrusting my hips against his, and then …
Then I rode.
This was a lot better than riding a horse. I rubbed my inside against his outside. I never wanted to stop. The breeze stirred my hair, cooled my skin; the sun flickered across my face; the leaves above sang and danced.
I stifled inappropriate laughter at the mental images, which played through my brain like a pornographic version of Fantasia.
“You’re so beautiful.” He watched me through half-open eyes. The sun dappled his skin, highlighting every ripple and curve. The shadows played across cheeks and chin, giving me glimpses of the boy I’d loved in the face of this man.
“Touch me,” I said.
Never stop.
The last two words drifted through my mind but I managed to keep them there. I wanted nothing to slow this, end this, ruin this.
His large hands brushed upward and I shivered, the movement pushing us together in such a new and interesting way, I gasped. He pulled away.
“I scratched you.”
“Do it again.” I pulled him back. “Higher this time.”
His eyebrows lifted, so did his lips, then those gloriously rough palms scraped my breasts. I liked that so much, I pressed my own hands to his and helped.
I watched his throat work and leaned down to lick his Adam’s apple, my nipples peaked, pressing into his chest. “Becca, I have to—”
I sat up and rode some more.
Time passed. It seemed both forever and just a day.
He moaned. A prayer, my name.
“Soon,” I promised.
He curled upward, took my breast in his mouth, worried my nipple with his teeth.
“All right,” I agreed, then tightened around him and whispered …
Chapter 16
“Now,” Becca said, and Owen exploded, there was no other word for it. He knew explosions.