Rough and Ready (More Than A Cowboy #2) - Vanessa Vale Page 0,22
And the way she came for me from just my thumb, fuck, she was incredibly responsive. It had been the second day in a row I’d had a hard-on while jumping rope.
A woman’s mind was something I never tried to figure out, but Harper’s? Hell, she was complex. And she had some serious problems. Problems I wished I could solve for her, so I never had to see her cry again.
That had gutted me, and I’d had no idea how to make her feel better. One minute she was on her knees ready to suck my dick, the next she was coming in my arms then had tears streaming down her face.
I’d never had a woman sob in my lap before. For a few seconds, I’d been stunned. Confused, even. But she hadn’t been crying because I’d hurt her or touched her in a way she didn’t like. No, she’d cried because I gave her a safe place to do it. I’d pushed her just far enough to let go of the shit that she’d had pent up, to give her the release she’d really wanted. It seemed she just needed to cry, so I’d let her. She’d felt good in my arms, so soft and warm. I’d breathed in her scent. Strawberries. Fucking strawberries made me lose my mind.
She’d screwed with more than just my usual warm up routine because when I moved on to spar in the ring, the first round hadn’t gone well. I had zero focus, and my opponent took advantage of that. My left knee was reaped and swelling because I’d let him take me to the mat. After a verbal beat down by Gray, I got my head in the game and put the sound of Harper coming out of my mind until I got to my shower, stroked my dick and came hard from the memory of her breathy moan, the way the scent of her pussy had lingered on my thumb.
I gave her two days to avoid me. Gave her the room to process her emotions because she went through a fuck ton of them in just a few minutes. I wasn’t sure if she was embarrassed or mad. Sad or horny or all of the above.
If she hated my guts, that was fine. At least she wasn’t fucking Larry the Loser in a stairwell.
But two days had passed, and I hadn’t seen her. Nothing. I had to know she was okay. After knocking on her door and getting no response, I went to see Emory. She’d given me a funny look when I’d asked her for Harper’s cell number but said nothing as she put it in my phone.
Back in my chair, I tried not to think of how right she’d felt in my lap. Maybe it was a stupid idea, but I wanted to talk with her. And more. I shouldn’t. She was too good for me, too damn perfect, even with whatever shit she was dealing with. I couldn’t give her anything. I had some money—I saved most of my portion of my winnings and was starting to get endorsements. Even if I did bring in the heavy purses and made bucket loads of cash, I’d still never fit into her country club lifestyle, the stuffy faculty meet-and-greets. I’d never be smart enough for her. I wasn’t enough for her.
But that didn’t stop my thumbs from moving awkwardly over the tiny keyboard on my phone. I’d never sent a text to a woman before. I’d never had to. More importantly, I’d never wanted to. I sighed, knowing it was a dumb move, but hit send anyway.
Me: I want you on my lap again.
I did. That was the fucking truth. I wasn’t going to say romantic shit to her about flowers and rainbows, especially in a text. That wasn’t me. But I also wasn’t going to tell her what I wanted to do to her. With her. Watching her come had stirred up all kinds of killer fantasies, and they all involved her in my bed.
After two hours of watching crappy TV and icing my knee, I gave up on getting a response and went to bed. Had I fucked things up by pushing her the other day? Had I scared her away with my damn text? I might have sounded like a fucking middle schooler, but those were the thoughts that kept me tossing and turning all night. Again.