Stripped Down

The rain sweeps in hard and fast. Instead of paying attention to the job, I’ve got my hand on the sun-heated metal of the truck, watching Rose. The first wave of wet hits, the drops pinging against the pickup and stinging my skin. Wiping an arm over my forehead, I grab my hat from the side mirror and jam it on. The shirt I toss inside to keep it dry. Rose is gonna need it when she’s done playing.

The rain’s bite doesn’t bother her one bit. Water slicks the flimsy material of her tank top and shorts against her skin, and that’s so much better looking than the damned tire that I give up on fixing the thing for the moment. She dances in the rain to a song only she can hear, her hair plastered against her face. Her clothes aren’t decent anymore. She’s soaked, every curve and shadow on display for me. A fierce urge to possess her, right now, right here, lights me up. Sex is a battle, and she’s won without firing a shot because I’m ready to crawl for her.

Fuck. I don’t do submission.

I work the tire iron with a vengeance, forcing the stubborn lug nuts free, then jacking the truck up with slow, even pumps. The flat tire slides off easily and I set it aside. Focus on breathing in and out. On not looking at Rose. There’s no ignoring the boner shoving against my zipper, though. My body’s voting for the get fucked by Rose plan.

After finally getting the new tire on and secured, I lower the truck and finish tightening the nuts. Rose is still dancing in a slow, sensual weave. I don’t dance, but once again I’m tempted to make an exception for her. Instead, I toss the jack back into the truck bed along with the flat tire. Not too much to salvage there, but hope springs fucking eternal.

I’ve had Rose in my house for three days. She’s done the busy bee thing, taking over a lot of the cooking and cleaning from the happy housekeeper, all the while revisiting Auntie Dee’s to straighten up the place, reviewing her estimates, calling around for better bids, and scrutinizing local websites for god knows what. Rose has always been game, always up for a challenge, and she’s determined to open a tattoo shop in Lonesome. Her stubbornness, the way she holds on and won’t let go, is something special.

She’s special.

The rain soaks into her tank top, painting the thin fabric against her breasts. She’s wearing a bra—barely. The delicate little lace cups are more perch than ledge, the rain outlining every flourish and curlicue in the fabric barely containing her. It’s one hell of a view.

She dances toward me, looking so damned happy and I have no idea why. It’s wet, it’s muddy, and she doesn’t have a future because I took it away from her. The only thing I can give her is myself, and she deserves better than a broken former-SEAL who wants to own her body and soul.

I’m not gonna be smart about this. I manage to avoid crawling, but that’s my hand reaching out to her in invitation. She doesn’t hesitate, just tucks her fingers into mine as if she’s more than willing to two-step or waltz with me. I tug her closer and catch her, depositing her on my thigh. Her fingers curl into my shoulders. She’s as off-balance as I am. I’m not helpless here. I’m in charge.

“What’s up?” She glows at me, her eyes twinkling from mere inches away. She’s not close enough, not yet.

“You wanted to help,” I point out because who am I kidding? I’m totally doing this. “You parked on my lap works for me.”

“This isn’t a bar, cowboy. I’m not handing out lap dances.” She laughs a little, but there’s a note of uncertainty in her voice. She wants to pull her weight, but she doesn’t know what I want from her and some things are off the table.

I’ll show her what I want.

And then I’m gonna make her want it, too.

I wrap a hand around the back of her neck and ease her face closer to mine.

“How is… this… helping?” She whispers the question. The breathless is cute, or maybe that’s all the dancing she’s done. The heat of her pussy all but burns my thigh, though, so I’m thinking it’s for me. Or Rose just really, really likes the rain, and I can work with that. Out here it’s just me and her, and my brothers aren’t gonna interrupt us.

“Trust me.” My mouth forms words against hers, and I just have to lick her. Her lips taste like strawberries, some kind of lip gloss or maybe that’s just how Rose is. Sweet and soft and slick. I rub my thumb over her mouth, wanting more. “I’ll show you.”

She leans in to my touch. Does she know what she’s doing? She drives me crazy, the way she likes to get closer. Putting both arms around her, I cup her neck and her cheek, carefully pulling her mouth down onto mine. She can leave. It won’t take much effort. Those fingers curling into my shoulders can push, and I’ll let go.