The Sound of Your Name
(Cameron Ranch Series)
© 2014 Felice Fox
Not wanting to move another inch, Brody’s eyes flicked to the digital countdown on the panel behind her. The floor lights had been triggered by her opening the door and, while he should have been taking this moment to explain, he found himself at a loss for speech, racing to burn the vision of her into his memory before the lights went out. He took in her red sundress, ruffles playing over full breasts, cowgirl boots that ain’t never seen mud, and the scent of her (now he was breathing deeply again, he smelled cherries along with the vanilla). The whole scene changed the cramped, dusty utility closet, which had been his rock bottom a minute ago, into a warm little haven he didn’t want to leave. He could barely make out the lines of curvy hips hinting at a luscious booty, narrow waist and full breasts. She wasn’t his usual type, yet he couldn’t stop looking, wanting to know where all those curves went.
Time stood still as they stared at each other, eye to eye and still not a word passed between them.
A heartfelt apology seemed caught in his throat. He tried to clear it and speak, but as soon as his lips parted her eyes fell to his mouth and traced a slow path down the snaps of his shirt, his protective vest hanging open, stopping at his exposed cock. His dick betrayed him with an involuntary twitch.
The woman’s eyes climbed back to his as she crossed a hand over of her chest, and hooked a finger in the strap of her dress.
He caught something in her look, a pain similar to his own, but it was gone in a flash and, Lord help him, he was going to see titties. Any sensible thought flew from him. His cock went about rock solid as his eyes flicked to the panel on the wall. Oh, no, no, no! …2…1…
Brody groaned in the dark and she responded with a soft laugh. A gentle hand landed on his elbow and worked its way down the fabric of his shirt to his fingers. Suddenly, his hand was lifted to warm, smooth skin. Her shoulder. She placed her hand over his and held it there a moment. Brody shuddered. She laced the strap of her dress under his fingers and guided his hand over the crest of her arm.
Unbelievable. Brody took over, gliding across her collarbone to the other side, knowing her naked breasts were now just below his hands. He closed his eyes, savoring the flush of heat over his body, his nipples puckering against the fabric of his cowboy shirt.
It was the most alive he’d felt in weeks.
Finally, he had done something right. Brody floated toward her, moving slower than he ever thought a man could move, as if stalking a butterfly. He crowded her, the heat of her body an instant balm, another layer of unexpected lust, as he skirted his fingertips along the sides of her breasts without touching them. She whimpered when he splayed his hands, exploring the breadth of her middle, tickling her belly button and tracing the luscious hollows of her waist with his fingers as his thumbs brushed her belly. She shivered under his hands, and a rush of warmth radiated from his heart like he’d served a meal to a person in need or adopted a puppy or something.
Brody was smiling in the dark and she had no idea. His heart beat a steady upward rhythm as his thumbs swept a slow path, climbing ever closer to the bulbous curve where her breasts arced up and away from her belly. He paused, savoring the moment, the smell of her, the gentle, needy sway of her lovely body towards his.
The stadium, bulls, money and all of his troubles fell away, his focus spiraling down to this small dark space, this single moment in time and the simple, un-sullied pleasure of touching another person. Such philosophical thoughts were usually beyond him, but the slow deliberation of her flesh was opening another part of his brain, a place usually shut down, hardened.
She took a deep breath and her breasts brushed over his knuckles. This time, they both sighed. He allowed his knuckles to drift north, his fingers finally trailing up and over her nipples. A small moan escaped her and for a moment he thought he could sense her restraint, allowing him to explore rather than leaning in to his hands.
He was under a spell.