Saddled and Spurred (Blacktop Cowboys 2)

He arched his back and slammed into her fully. And stopped, softly groaning as his climax overtook him.

Nothing she did, squeezing her interior muscles, canting her pelvis to more fully connect with his, brought her release.

Bran slumped against her, his body still quivering with aftershocks.

Must be nice.

In her fantasies, she’d built up sex with Bran Turner to a multiorgasmic fulfillment of all her long-held sexual desires. Once again, she was disappointed. More than she’d ever been.

The reality never lived up to the hype.

Breathing hard, Bran rolled off Harper and stared at the ceiling above his bed. That hadn’t taken long. At all. So much for wowing her with his staying power. Or sexpertise. Once he’d gotten his dick inside her warm, snug pu**y, he’d lasted about two minutes before he’d shot his load.

He could claim that it’d just felt too damn good, or it’d been too damn long for him, or he was afraid he’d scare her with his sexual demands, or he’d intended the first time to be over fast so he could take more time with round two. Those were all valid reasons for being so quick on the trigger.

You gonna lie to her too? Or just to yourself?

The truth was, he was out of practice. And he wasn’t sure if she’d even come.

Some red-hot lover you are, stud. Making sure you got yours first.

Harper pushed up, keeping the sheet covering her br**sts as her feet hit the floor on the opposite side of the bed.

Bran placed his hand in the center of her bare back and she jumped. “Goin’ someplace?”

“I—I should get dressed.”

“What’s your hurry?”

“We’re done, right?”

That cinched it. She definitely hadn’t come. Wasn’t happy about it either.

Not that Bran blamed her.

“Besides, now that we’ve got that out of our systems—”

“Harper,” he said sharply. “Look at me.”

She peered over her shoulder at him. “What?”

“Did I say we were done?”

“No. But it’s obvious—what are you . . . eep!”

He’d grabbed her around the waist and pinned her to the mattress, straddling her hips, holding her arms above her head. “What’s obvious to me is that you didn’t come. And I owe you an apology for the wham-bam way this ended up. It wasn’t what I wanted or intended. But damn, woman, you’re so sexy and hot and I’ve wanted you for so long that I sorta lost my head.”

The skepticism stayed in her eyes.

“Okay. I see you don’t believe me. I can prove it and make it up to you.”

She relaxed slightly.

“But first we need to set a couple of things straight. We should’ve talked about these things before we hit the mattress today. As much as I hate the word, I am your boss. I write your paychecks.”

“Well, technically you aren’t writing the paycheck. Your accountant is.”

“Do you really see it that black and white, Harper?”

Silence descended between them. Her gaze skittered away briefly before her eyes met his again. “No. I know how much you ranchers hate rules, but if we are going to start this . . . we need to set a simple . . . guideline and both agree to abide by it.”

“Such as?”

“Keeping this strictly a working relationship during working hours.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. Then what we do together when I’m off the clock shouldn’t matter, should it?”

“No messing around at all while we work together?”

“None.”

He whistled. “That’s a hard stance.”

“But a simple solution.”

“True.” Bran smooched her nose. “You are such a smart woman. So you’re all right with us starting this? Because once we start, Harper, you’re mine until you leave town.”

“Same goes, Bran.”

He liked the possessive note in her voice. “Then it’s settled. Now if I have the accountant cut you a performance-based bonus check, you won’t have to worry that it was because you gave me a spectacularly good blow job.”

Harper’s face flushed and she let loose an awkward laugh.

Holy hell. She blushed and tittered like a schoolgirl at the mere mention of the words blow job? Bran leaned closer. “How much sexual experience do you have?”

“Umm. More than my limited amount of ranch experience, but not much.” She debated for a split second and blurted, “I’ve only been with two guys before you and neither were long-term.”

With deliberate care, he moved to the edge of the bed and scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Bran? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t . . . You don’t . . .” Hell, he couldn’t form coherent sentences. He’d suspected her innocence, but hearing her admit it? An unfamiliar instinct surfaced—one he couldn’t voice because he didn’t understand it.

“My lack of sexual experience bothers you?” she prompted.

How was he supposed to answer that?

“So, you’re saying you’d want me more if I’d been with a million guys instead of just two?”

Bran whirled around. “No. Jesus, that’s not what—”

“Then what? You thought I’d be as indiscriminate with men as my mother was?”

“Wrong answer, sweetheart. I would never compare you to your mother. Never.”