Last Second Chance

Chapter Twenty-Four

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this nervous. Or if he ever had. Taking a deep breath, he glanced behind him to make sure no one was around. He’d taken the long route around the barn, walked decidedly slowly—especially for a man who couldn’t wait to get where he was going.

But now he stood at her door. Picturing her smile, her eyes burning into his as she kneeled before him, wondering what she’d be wearing for their date—or whatever the hell it was—tonight.

Knocking gently, he contemplated kicking his own ass for getting so worked up. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t like him. And yet, he’d freeze fucking time if it meant he could keep her. Could keep seeing her. Could somehow keep being the version of himself she apparently wanted to spend time with.

The door opened, pulling him from his thoughts and effectively evaporating the air in his lungs.

“Jesus.”

“I’m sorry. Were you praying? Did I interrupt?” She tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth, barely managing to hide a smile from him as she stepped aside to let him in. The jeans she wore must have been made specifically for her body. The thin sweater was a gentle shade of pink. Or maybe peach. He wasn’t sure. But it matched the blush that crept high up on her cheekbones perfectly.

“You look…” He shook his head. “Beautiful is an insult compared to what you are.” He’d never had a woman take his breath away before. Until now. “If this were real life, I would’ve brought flowers. No florists currently in rehab I guess.”

“There’s lavender and hyacinth by the barn,” she informed him. “Just sayin’.”

Van grinned. He loved her smart mouth, loved the way she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, to be honest about the way she saw him. The real him. Somehow she saw through the bullshit. It seemed to be all anyone else could see. And she cut right through it completely.

“I’ll make a note of that for future reference.”

She smiled. “So we have two options.”

“Only two?” He could think of a lot more.

She rolled her eyes as they stepped into the small area where an overstuffed white couch with about half a dozen more throw pillows than were necessary sat across from a television.

“I can make pasta or we can order pizza.”

“I eat so much pizza on the road. I’ve kind of enjoyed the break.”

“Pasta it is.” She turned toward a kitchenette that wasn’t much larger than his. “Make yourself at home. Remote’s on the coffee table.”

“If I could stand being that far from you right now, I would happily sit my ass over there and pretend to watch television. But since I can’t, give me an easy job like throwing lettuce in a bowl or spreading butter on garlic bread. Something.”

Her answering smile was brighter than any of the lights in her cozy living space. And it damn near knocked him on his ass.

“Okay,” she answered softly, giving him a demure smile as she led him into the kitchen. “Here. Chop these.”

He ached to touch her, but he settled for the tomatoes she was handing him instead.

A few minutes into his task, he felt her move in close behind him. “You don’t have to be so careful. They can take it.”

His knees took the brunt of her words. “Oh yeah? They like it rough then?”

Her musical laughter floated into the air. “Yeah, they do.”

Taking a deep breath, he finished chopping—slightly rougher than before. “Okay, now what?”

“Half in here.” She gestured to a pot on the stove. “And the other half in here,” she said, handing him a bowl of lettuce.

“You make your own sauce?”

“I do. Canned stuff just doesn’t have that same sweet, savory flavor. I prefer the real thing.”

His fingers fisted closed at his sides. They’d had to or his hands would’ve grabbed that sweater she wore to see if it was as soft as it looked and he would’ve pulled her to him and told her how badly he needed a taste of something sweet and savory. Something that didn’t have a damn thing to do with food.

“Ah,” was all he could get out. He watched as she skillfully sautéed onions and garlic in some oil on one burner while boiling pasta on another. She moved as if she could’ve cooked the entire meal blindfolded. He knew it was probably going to be amazing.

Which was why it was such a damn shame they weren’t going to eat it.

“Close your eyes,” she said, turning on him suddenly.

“What?”

She pointed a wooden spoon at him. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

Her mouth quirked up. “It’s secret ingredient time. So close ’em.”

He stared at her for a full minute before he realized she was completely serious. “Okay.” He closed his eyes.

But he couldn’t resist. And he couldn’t stand not being able to see her. Her shirt lifted above her waist as she reached into a cabinet, revealing a mouthwatering strip of skin he wanted to lick more than he wanted his next breath. His hands gave up being good and pulled her to him.

“You peeked! Who does that?” Her mouth opened in surprise as he yanked her to him.

“I won’t tell a soul,” he whispered before lowering his mouth to hers.

The wooden spoon dropped to the counter as he licked her soft lips. She opened for him and he dipped his tongue inside. All the talk about sweet and savory and tasting had pushed him to his breaking point already.

“Did you see them?” Her breathy voice pulled at his dick, giving him the last shove over the no-going-back line.

“See what, baby?” His fingers acted of their own accord, dragging her shirt slowly over her head.

“I’m going to burn the sauce,” she mumbled against his mouth, making no effort to stop his pursuit.

“Here.” He reached around and turned the burner off. “And I promise not to tell anyone you put sugar and crushed red pepper in your spaghetti sauce.”

“Ugh. I so don’t trust you!”

He gripped her tightly under the ass and sat her on the counter. “Yes you do. You let me tie you up. If that’s not trust, I don’t know what is.”

Her entire body seemed to flush at his words.

“I know you can’t stop thinking about it,” he whispered into her ear.

Before she either confirmed or denied it, a loud splashing sound followed by a hiss alerted them that the pasta was boiling over.

Stella let out a small sound of alarm and hopped quickly off the counter. Clad in jeans and a bra, she did some magical maneuver to drain it over the sink before combining it with the sauce.

When she turned back to face him, he raised a questioning brow. “So dinner’s ready?”

Her breasts rose and fell, capturing his full attention. “It is. You hungry, Van?”

“Fucking starving.” Clutching her to him once more, he ran his tongue from the valley of her breasts up her throat.

Her legs buckled beneath her and she wrapped her arms around him for support. “I was really excited to cook for you.”

Her words stopped his assault on the sensitive spot beneath her earlobe. No one had ever cooked for him. Other than Val. And she’d done it for their survival, not because she’d especially wanted to.

“Oh yeah? Well, in that case, feed me, cowgirl.”

A pleased smirk brightened her beautiful face. Van lifted her back onto the counter beside the stove.

Stella removed a fork from the drawer below her and proceeded to twirl spaghetti straight out of the pot.

He opened his mouth and let her feed him a giant bite. It was damn good. Not as good as what he planned to put in his mouth as soon as she’d satisfied her desire to feed him, but damn good nonetheless.

He moaned his appreciation at both the food and the beautiful expression on her face. Her legs came up around his waist and pulled him closer.

“My turn.” He didn’t use a fork. He just pulled a few strands of spaghetti out of the pot with his fingers and dangled them in front of her mouth.

She opened for him. He tossed the noodles into his own mouth instead.

“That was just mean.” She narrowed her eyes before pulling pasta out of the pot just as he had done.

Van wasn’t the type of man who was usually surprised. But when she flung the sauce-covered noodles onto his shirt, he jumped back. “Oh, now you’ve done it.”

She lifted her eyebrows suggestively. “I distinctly remember telling you not to wear a shirt.”

Granting her wish, he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head. “Better?”

“Much.”

Using her legs, she drew him back to her. He gasped as her warm, wet tongue teased his chest.

“You’re approaching dangerous territory, cowgirl. Consider this a final warning.”

“I’m not scared,” she whispered, grabbing a handful of spaghetti and lobbing it at him.

He watched the noodles slide down his chest. “Oh, that’s it. No mercy.” He slung a glob of noodles right back at her, taking extra care to smear them against the swells of her breasts. The sauce swirled a pattern above the delicate edge of lacy material on her bra.

Her giggling stopped when he began licking the sauce from her chest.

“Time to clean up.” Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her past the bed—the same one he’d tied her to only a few days ago—and into the bathroom.

Her squeals of surprise bounced off the bathroom walls around them. Van chuckled as he set her on her feet on the floor before reaching over and turning the faucet in the tub on.

“What are you doing?”

“Bathing you. You’re all dirty.”

She looked him up and down with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You’re dirty too. Get in with me?”

Van glanced at the filling tub. “I was hoping to watch.”

Stella pursed her lips. “Wouldn’t you prefer to watch from up close?”

Before he could answer, she unfastened her bra and let it drop to the floor. She peeled her jeans off slowly, inch by inch as he admired her enticing movements. When her panties followed her pants to the floor, he didn’t have words to articulate his gratitude for the perfection that was her body.

Van’s eyes clung to her naked form as she lowered herself into the tub. When it had filled nearly to overflowing, he shut the water off.

Grabbing the bottle of vanilla body wash that sat on the side, he squeezed some into his hands. Once they were nice and foamy, he turned to her. “May I?”

The warm water had clearly relaxed her. Her eyes had taken on a dreamy haze. “Well, I don’t usually let someone bathe me on the first date, but since we’ve broken all my other rules, no reason to stop now.”

“Rules?” Van lathered her neck, shoulders, and back, massaging her thoroughly as he went.

“You know,” she answered slowly. “No kissing on the first date. No sex for at least a month—and only when you know it’s monogamous.”

“And how long do you usually wait before you let a man tie you to the bed and spank you with a horse training implement?”

Her mouth curved in a way that made him want to kiss the sins right into it. “Oh, you know. A few weeks at least.”

“I see.” Van’s hands made their way down her arms. He kneaded the tensest areas until she moaned.

“I know my mom must’ve done this when I was little, but I honestly can’t remember anyone ever giving me a bath.”

Her wistful tone sounded partly sad and partly grateful. His chest tightened. This was part of what he found so gratifying about taking care of her. It seemed that no one ever had before.

“Happy to be of service, ma’am.”

After he’d washed every visible inch of her skin, he washed and rinsed her hair. The little sighs and moans of pleasure she let out were rough on the constant erection he seemed to hold around her. But it was worth it. She looked so…content. Happy, even, when she met his open stare. Barely resisting the urge to tear off his clothes and get in with her, he pulled the plug and began to drain the water.

“Stand up, cowgirl.”

She dutifully did as she was told and he reveled in her gloriously wet body before him. Relathering his hands, he slid them between her thighs and up the seam of her ass.

“Easy,” she commanded, giving his wrist a little smack.

“You love it.”

“I love everything you do to me.”

Her confession caught them both off guard, and for a minute, neither of them spoke.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Time to rinse.”

Grabbing a blue washcloth, he ran it under the faucet before using it to rinse the soap from between her legs. Her eyes threatened to roll back in her head and he was vaguely worried her knees were going to give out when he ran the cloth through her center.

“My turn,” Stella whispered. Before he had time to wrap a towel around her, she stepped out of the tub and lowered herself onto his lap, facing him. He watched as she snatched the washcloth and began cleaning the dried sauce from his bare chest with it. Once she’d removed the remnants of the spaghetti standoff, she tossed the rag aside and looked up at him. “All finished.”

“Hardly,” he practically growled at her.

Lifting her as he stood, he carried her to the living room. Her bed called out an invitation to him as they passed, but he knew he’d be tempted to tie her to it again. And if he tied her up, he’d fuck her. Furiously. Until one or both of them lost consciousness.

Something inside him had shifted when she’d opened the door to him looking so sweet and soft in that damn sweater. She’d cooked for him. Hand fed him.

It was time for making love to her. Time for slow and sensual. Time for giving her everything he had to give. She already had parts of him he’d never given anyone else. Might as well finish it off, carve out his heart and soul and hand them over.

“I’m still all wet,” Stella said as he lowered her onto the couch.

“That’s the idea, cowgirl.”

“You’re crazy.”

“So I’ve heard.”

His mouth met hers and he didn’t know which of them held the other tighter. Their kisses quickly turned desperate, but he forced himself to pull back. “If you want to stop, or if you’re just not sure you’re ready to see this all the way through, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“I told you,” she panted as her fingers worked deftly to undo the button on his jeans. “The only thing I’ll ever ask for is more.”

“Then more it is.” Van retrieved the condom from his back pocket. She was naked and wet and so ready for him that he was throbbing in anticipation. She slid his zipper down, and he couldn’t roll the latex over himself fast enough. Her eyes reflected the same ravenous urgency he felt.

But as her legs fell open to allow him between them, Van froze above her.

This would change everything. Him. Her. Them. They’d be a them. A messy mural of the future appeared in his mind. He felt like a snake slithering into the garden of Eden.

Would he still go on tour? Leave her here with all these cowboys and doctors waiting to swoop in and steal her the minute he was gone? Or would she go on tour with them? Damien, his bass player, had gotten married last year. His wife, Angie, pretty much went everywhere with the band. But could his sweet Stella handle that kind of life? Would she even want to try?

“Van?” Her voice pulled him back into the moment. “You okay?”

He clenched his jaw, determined not to let his head mindfuck him out of the actual fucking he’d been waiting over a month for.

“Yeah, baby. All good. Hands up.”

She followed orders and raised her hands above her head. Van gripped her wrists, careful to avoid the still red skin the rope had chafed. Despite the twinge of guilt for hurting her, seeing it made him even harder than he’d thought possible.

“Good girl.” He kissed her softly since she’d complied so readily. “I’ll go slow until you come, cowgirl. But after that, I’m fucking you fast and hard. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Stella answered with a twitch of her lips.

Using his free hand, Van gently kneaded her right breast before working his way down. When he reached her slick folds, he nearly cried out with joyous relief. She was already wet. Soaking wet, actually, and not from bathwater. His cowgirl was ready for him.

Lowering his mouth to hers, he parted her with his fingers and inched his cock inside of her.

“Oh,” she breathed out as he proceeded to sink in deeper. He had to bite back a sound of his own. Her walls clenched so tightly around him he could hardly breathe. His dick felt each pulsing throb as he parted her walls.

“You okay, baby?”

“Yeah,” she rasped, nodding. “No turning back. No safe word, right?”

Van jerked his head back. “That was said in the heat of the moment, cowgirl. If you need me to stop, if it hurts too much, you tell me, okay?”

“It hurts so good, Van,” she whispered. “You feel so fucking good inside me.”

Her pussy gripped him tightly as she spoke, demanding that he thrust into her harder than he’d planned.

“Yes. Oh God, Van. Please. Make me feel. Make it hurt.”

He grabbed the back of her couch into his hand, twisting a handful of the fabric. It was the “make it hurt” that sent him over the edge. He’d been trying to be gentle. But if she wanted to walk fucked up for the next few days, well, he was okay with that.

Releasing her wrists, he sat up and used his hands to yank her legs roughly to him. He pulled and pushed her body on and off of his dick. He didn’t ease in and out like he had at first. He plunged into the depths of her scorching heat and tore out repeatedly.

Her breathing was so rapid he was almost concerned. But she’d said the words. And he was powerless when it came to giving her what she asked for.

Reaching between their damp bodies, he circled her clit with his thumb. She cried out in what he hoped was ecstasy.

“Feel good, baby?”

“Better than good,” she breathed out. “More, please.”

A guttural sound rumbled out of his chest. “Yes, ma’am.” Grabbing her delicate body entirely too hard, he flipped her onto her stomach. “Get on your knees. Ass up, cowgirl.”

She complied quickly, and he dug his fingers into her hips.

“Fucking hell, you have tiny ass back dimples made for my thumbs.” He pressed into the sexy as hell indentations and slid his cock back into her opening. She rocked against him.

“Awesome. Please proceed with the fucking, Van.”

He let out a dark chuckle. “Easy, cowgirl. I still know where the riding crop is.”

She peeked over her shoulder, tossing him a sinful stare. “You think you do. Maybe I hid them all.”

Van gripped her wrists together behind her back and pulled her upright so that her ear was level with his mouth. “If that’s true, and I have to search, you’re going to be in big trouble.”

“I’m not scared,” she whispered.

“You will be.”

Securing her wrists in one hand and reaching around with the other, he slid his fingers over her clit. She writhed against him and he hummed his approval in her ear.

“If it takes me more than a minute to find them, I will make you bring each one of them to me in your mouth. On your knees. And once you’ve crawled to me and delivered them, I will make you beg for every single touch. Then I will fuck you until you can’t walk.”

“Sounds good to me,” she told him, successfully halting all of his brain activity. “That’s exactly what I was hoping for when I hid them. To make you mad. So you’d punish me again.” She paused to let out a moan as he teased her opening with the tip of his dick. “Every time I see the red marks on my wrist or ankles or thighs from last time, I have to touch myself to relieve the pressure. But it never feels as good as when you do it.”

“Fuck, Stella.”

“Yes, please do.”

Grinning like a damned maniac, he slammed his dick back into her throbbing entrance. “Be careful what you wish for, cowgirl.”

Van thrust inside of her in several long strokes, pressing deeper each time until she was calling his name.

“I love when you call out my name. Love how good it sounds in your mouth when you come.”

A series of whimpers and breathy pleas was her response. He flipped her over and jerked her legs apart once more. Sliding back in, he gave her clenching walls everything he had, slamming in harder and pulling out slower until she gave over to her desires and began to come for him. He wished he could record those raucous sounds he pumped from her mouth. Her nails pierced his skin as she tore at the flesh on his arms.

“Give it up, baby. Come for me.” Releasing one of her legs, he ran a hand roughly down her throat, through the valley between her breasts, and over her stomach. Pressing a finger on her clit, he pounded into her as her walls convulsed around him until his release took over.

After they’d collapsed in a satisfied heap of desperate breaths and sweat-slick skin, Van disposed of the condom and returned to wrap her in his arms.

No matter how many times she allowed him to enter her, to bring her to the highest peaks of pain and ecstasy, it would still amaze him that he got to hold her afterward. He was a colossal fuck-up who destroyed all that he touched, but somehow he’d been bestowed the magnificent privilege of holding such a flawless and fragile creature. Well, maybe she wasn’t all that fragile. He’d given her some pretty rough treatment and she’d hung in there—and ridden out the violent waves right along with him.

She wasn’t angry or afraid. Or asking a million questions about what was next. She didn’t make any demands of him, didn’t want to take pictures for evidence. She just wanted him to hold her. Which was good because it was about all he could manage at that particular moment.

His heart was beating the shit out of his chest, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the workout of the sex or something else.

Something else was a strong possibility. The woman in his arms sighed and pulled him from his euphoric high.

“You okay?” He placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

She nodded against him. She was still struggling for breath when she answered. “More than. So much more than okay.”