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“Quinn?”
“Uh-huh?”
“You’re holding back, aren’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You aren’t hurting me.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Take me how you want.”
With a noise similar to a snarl, Quinn unleashed the beast inside him. He withdrew and slammed into her with enough force to send her grasping for purchase on the slippery sheets. Over and over. Without pause. “Fuck, that’s so good.”
Each pounding thrust had Quinn climbing the precipice to that elusive point of pleasure. The tight clasp of her untried passage, the buzz of the vibrator, the visual of Libby’s body stretched out before him as he’d always dreamed. He f**ked her hard enough the bed shook.
Libby’s orgasm hit. She screamed.
The high-pitched feminine wail was one of the sexiest sounds Quinn had ever heard.
When she bore down on his cock, and her body attempted to suck his pulsing sex deeper, Quinn lost his thin grip on control. He rammed in to the hilt as his balls lifted and he bathed her channel with his seed.
He squeezed his eyes shut as her body milked every hot spurt, each blast of heat burst from his c**k like a pipeline of liquid fire.
Eventually, the primitive roar in his head lessened. Even when he could think and breathe again, his heart kept a rapid thud-dunk-adunk as he eased out of her.
After kissing the back of her head and murmuring sweet nonsense, Quinn retreated to the bathroom, cleaned himself up, and brought back a warm washcloth to do the same for her.
She didn’t move much. She didn’t look at him. He didn’t know whether that was a bad or a good sign.
After he’d tossed the washcloth aside, he rolled her over. Finally, she opened her eyes.
“Hey. You all right?”
“Tired.” Her jaw cracked as she yawned. “Man. I’m not used to two days of raunchy sex.”
“Complaints?”
“Not a single one. I liked that. I didn’t think I would.”
“Good.”
Silence.
Libby sat up and reached for the covers. “I’ve gotta be up early tomorrow. You coming to bed?”
Quinn toyed with the lace on the pillowcase. “I didn’t know if I’d be sleepin’ in the horse trailer again.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because I was rough with you.”
“I asked you to be rough with me.”
“But—”
“No buts, silly man. Of course I want you here. No more regrets, no more holding back.” She touched his face. “I want to be everything you need, Quinn. Everything. In bed and out.”
“You are.”
“Good. Now come in here and warm me up.”
He slid between the sheets and spooned behind her. “I missed sleepin’ with you, Lib.”
“Is that all you missed?” she teased.
“No. But I don’t got time to tell you everything I missed. It’d take hours.” He let his lips follow the outside shell of her ear. “Days maybe.”
“You’re so sweet.”
After a bit, he whispered, “I love you like crazy, Libby McKay. I ain’t ever lettin’ you get away from me again.”
Chapter Nine
Late Thursday morning, Quinn was wrenching on an old tractor outside the barn when a Crook County sheriff’s car pulled up. He wiped his hands on a rag and squinted at the familiar driver.
His cousin, Cam McKay, had signed on as a deputy after his return from Iraq. The door opened and all six-foot-five inches of Cam unfolded from the vehicle.
“Mornin’,” Quinn said.
“Mornin’, Q,” Cam replied, slamming the door.
Cam’s limp was noticeable as he ambled over. Quinn focused his attention on Cam’s face rather than his disability. “Out makin’ the rounds today, Deputy McKay?”
“I wish. Is Libby around?”
“Nah. She’s at a conference in Cheyenne all week.”
“That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“This.” Cam held up an envelope. “Why I’m serving you with papers from Ginger Paulson, Attorney-at-Law.”
Quinn’s stomach pitched. “You’re shittin’ me.”
“Nope. Sorry.” Cam passed over the envelope. “This part of my job sucks worse than dodging bullets.”
“When did you get this?” Quinn asked as he ripped the flap open.
“First thing this morning. I grabbed it soon as it was dropped off. I figured you’d rather get it from me than from Sheriff Turnbull.” Pause. “Unless you plan on shooting the messenger?”
“Not hardly. Ain’t your fault and my gun is in my truck.” Quinn didn’t know squat about legal procedure, but he had a pretty good idea what kind of papers were inside the envelope. The rag fell to the ground as he scanned the document.
A Summons and Complaint, filed by Ginger A. Paulson, Attorney-at-Law, on behalf of Libby Adams McKay, Complaint. Dated…Tuesday morning.
Son of a bitch.
Quinn’s face grew hot, his eyes smarted. He felt like he’d been bucked off a bull—breathless, blindsided and stupid.
“Q? Buddy, you okay?”
He couldn’t look at his cousin. The pity in Cam’s eyes would do him in. “No. I’m about as far from fine as a man can get.” Spilling his guts. Nice. Maybe he oughta throw himself in the dirt and start bawling too.
“Look, I ain’t tryin’ to be a dick, or to stick my nose in, but Ben made it sound like you and Libby had gotten back together last weekend.”
“I thought we had.”
Silence.
Finally, Quinn glanced up and waved the paper. “This ain’t some kinda mistake?”
Cam shook his head.
“Fuck.”
“Have you talked to Libby since she’s been in Cheyenne?”
“Once. She’s always so damn busy at those conferences she don’t have time to call.” Come to think of it, when he’d called her Tuesday night, she had acted more distracted than usual.
Why?
Because you showed her your darker side. It scared her and she’s rethinking whether she wants to spend her life with you.
No. Libby had wanted to see it. Hell, she’d demanded to see it.
Then why with all your sharing of feelings and hours of lovemaking didn’t she tell you she loved you?
His heart nearly stopped.
Surely Libby had uttered those three little words at some point over the weekend.
