The sun came from behind the clouds.
“Should we go see the ruins?” he asked.
We stood up and I cast a glance at the horses. Both were munching systematically at the weeds.
Draw took my hand and tugged me after him. The stone steps leading up to the portico were worn smooth in the center, as if a thousand years of people had scaled the steps just like we were. I ran my fingers over the stone columns, weathered by time.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“I thought you would like it,” he said, almost shy.
There was no door. I followed Draw inside. I told him I had expected rubble under the open side of the roof and Draw explained that his father cleared most of it, engaging the kids in the work for a time.
“And no one comes here?” My back was to Draw, and I felt the air flex around us.
“No one.” He came behind and put his hands on my hips. He felt warm in the coolness of the ruin. “We’ll only do as much as you like, Dottie.”
My breath hitched in my throat. We were alone. Draw wantedme.
I leaned my head back against his chest and he bent to nuzzle my neck. A shiver went through me. His hands gripped at the sides of my hips, and I took one and led it to my rib cage. He explored my stomach and waist over my shirt while his breath came hot against my ear.
I turned and backed him against a wall. His mouth was parted, his eyelids half-closed with desire. He bent his knees while pressing back into the wall to bring his hips level with mine and I tucked myself into him. Our mouths and hips locked. I could feel he was hard. His hands went to my backside, and I groaned. I slid my hands under his shirt, letting my fingertips snake across his skin. He was breathing heavily against my mouth and I felt satisfied I seemed to be having the same effect on him that he was on me.
I wanted this to go well, wanted to do—perform—well, but more than that, I felt utterly pulled apart by my want for him. While my head sought measure and caution to ensure I looked good in front of him, my body was nearly acting of its own accord.
His hands continued circling and cupping my bottom and I ground into his length. He moaned, clutching me harder against him. I ran my hands all the way up to his shoulders before dipping them down under the button of his pants, the sparse wiry hair on his lower stomach promising more.
“Is this okay?” he whispered.
“Yes. I want you so bad.”
“Dottie, I’ve wanted you since I met you. You have no idea the agony you’ve put me through. Every time I see you riding, I’ve wanted to reach over and grab this backside. Tear you off and into the woods. Imagined what you would do if I came to your tent in the night...”
Oh, I should have expected that.Talking wasn’t just foreplay for Draw. It was part of the experience.
“You have no idea how exquisite you feel,” he purred.
His mouth was back on mine again. I was panting, but he didn’t give me any leave to stop. Instead, I had to fight for my breath against his tongue. Draw was much taller than I was, but his frame was slender. I had taken that to mean he wasn’t strong, but he showed me wrong. He maneuvered me against the dusky white wall of the ruin and lifted me up with one arm as the other hand wrapped my legs around him—something I read about in books but didn’t think happened in real life.
He kissed me, pinning me in place for a time. I felt utterly helpless, pressed against the cold wall. When I could hardly stand anymore, I wiggled down, still pinned between Draw and the wall, and unbuttoned my tunic. I’d been wearing a half cami under my shirts to help with the jiggle while riding. It had a built-in bra that was little more than another layer of fabric. The straps were thin on my bare shoulders.
Draw drank me in. “I don’t know what this swath of Earth fabric is, but I don’t care.” He crouched and his mouth went slowly to the swell of one breast.
Too quickly he was gone and pulling off his own shirt. His shoulders were well muscled, his stomach flat, and there was a small run of black hair below his navel, disappearing into his pants.
My hands went immediately to his skin, and I felt a shock through my abdomen. My cotton underwear was wet by then and there was a thought I was afraid to act on, but desperately wanted to, my mind screaming it over and over again.
The truth was, even when I was with Henry, it was more like his penis was just suddenly there, even when I went down on him. There had been little time to think or respond in any other way than what he had expected and when it was over, he had his clothes on before I could finish cleaning myself up.
I wanted to explore a man without being rushed.
My hands crept down to the front of Draw’s pants, and he stilled against me, his face against my neck, his hands cupping my breasts over my shirt. He went rigid as I touched him. I felt him mutter against my neck, but I didn’t hear it.
His penis was about the length of my hand. It strained eagerly against the wool fabric as I traced its outline. I was still completely aroused, but almost clinical at the same time. I lifted its weight slightly through the fabric.
That was too much for Draw. He seemed compelled to rub and suck at my neck with a fervor. I felt delighted that he was responding so instinctively. He was so controlled most of the time. It made me feel as if I’d unlocked something in him.
“Your hands, mmm, please keep doing that. Your hands are so—gah,” he breathed.
