Kristen Ashley - Play It Safe

Then he drove deep, his fingers laced through mine tightened, his other hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head slightly to the side and his face disappeared in my neck where he groaned against my skin.

I liked that. The sound, the feel, it was beautiful.

Okay, no.

That was better.

He stayed buried inside me and I held him close to me until his breath came to almost even and his mouth started nuzzling my neck, his fingers never unlacing from mine.

And there it was.

A week and a day ago I was a girl who owned a bag of stuff and not much of it was good.

And now, I was lying in a huge, masculine bed, on soft, dark sheets, wrapped around the most beautiful man I’d ever seen and I was a girl who had everything.

And at that thought, it came right out of my mouth.

“How can one day you have next to nothing and then a week and a day later you have everything?”

Gray’s head came up, my eyes went to his and it was there, that tender look as he lifted the hand he held, twisted it and brushed his lips against my knuckles.

That was so sweet, seeing him do it, feeling his lips, my heart skipped a beat.

Then he let my hand go, his came back to my face, his thumb moving out and gliding along my lip as he answered, “Don’t know, dollface, but feels good doesn’t it?”

Oh my.

He felt the same.

“Yeah,” I whispered against the pad of his thumb.

“Yeah,” he whispered back.

Then his thumb swept away and he replaced it with his lips.

I thought I had everything a moment before but just like Gray, wrapped around him, still connected to him, his mouth on mine, he gave me more.

Two hours later…

Gray was wearing nothing but jeans. He was lying on his back in his bed, four pillows cushioning his head, shoulders against the headboard. He had a plate on his stomach that had a jumble of crackers, slices of cheese, a cut up apple and a handful of store bought cookies. On his nightstand were two freshly opened bottles of beer.

Lunch.

I was wearing my panties and his dress shirt, four buttons done up. I was lying on my side at his side, one of my legs thrown over one of his, my head in my hand, my elbow in the bed.

I had lazed in Gray’s huge, awesome bed while he did the taxing work of walking downstairs, cutting some slices of cheese and apple, dumping out some crackers and cookies and grabbing a couple of cold ones then walking it back up.

So he was right in what he told Grandma Miriam. He could feed himself and his girl.

After we had sex, we cuddled, we whispered then we fooled around some more. But Gray didn’t take it all the way.

“Coupla days, honey, don’t wanna hurt you again,” he murmured against my neck, his hands sliding soothingly along the skin of my back.

I didn’t want to wait a couple of days. Sex was fantastic. Or maybe just sex with Gray was fantastic.

Then again, I’d bled a little (which was semi-embarrassing and only stopped being that when Gray didn’t make a big deal of it) and it had to be said, I ached and I did it in a way that didn’t invite further attention to that area.

So we’d wait a couple of days.

I could wait a couple of days for Gray.

For Gray, I’d wait an eternity.

I reached to his belly, put a slice of cheese on a cracker and shoved the whole thing in my mouth.

Then I saw the plate tremble on his stomach, my head tipped back and my eyes (enjoying their journey) drifted up to him to see he was smiling but his eyes and the rest of his body were laughing.

“What?” I asked through a full mouth.

“Jesus, dollface, there’s more downstairs. You don’t have to stuff your face.”

I chewed, swallowed and told him, “I don’t want to get crumbs in your bed.

“I don’t care,” he told me.

“No one wants to sleep in crumbs,” I informed him.

“I’ll brush them out,” he informed me.

I scrunched my face. “Euw. No. In this room, they’ll never be swept up, you’ll be walking all over them, they’ll get in your socks and then you’ll get ants in the summer.”

He was still smiling but his head tilted to the side and he asked, “First, euw?”

“Yeah, euw.”

“No one says euw.”

“I just said it.”

He kept smiling at me when he replied, “I stand corrected. But I will point out that only a woman with a beautiful face and more hair, all of it gorgeous, than is fair to the rest of the female population on top of a fantastic body, who says my name breathy when she gets hot or she’s in the mood to be sweet, which is often, and sounds even hotter when she comes then gets an unbelievably sexy look in her eyes when she comes down can say euw.”

I stared at him actually feeling my heart swell.

Then I pulled myself together and noted, “That’s a lot of conditions.”

His eyes held mine and his reply was quiet. “I know.”

Oh my.

To hide the blush I felt creeping up at his compliment, I dipped my chin and reached out to grab a slice of apple.

“Second,” he started and my eyes went back to him. “The crumbs won’t get lost forever. Macy comes every other week to clean the house and do the laundry.”

I tipped my head deeper into my hand. “Macy?”

“My Uncle Olly’s third wife.”

There were only five words there but a lot to go over.

“Uncle Olly?” I prompted.

“Yeah, Uncle Olly. Oliver. Dad was the oldest. Oliver after him. Frank after him and then Charles. They’re all named after famous cowboys.”

Cool.

“Really?” I asked.

“Yeah, Dad’s name is Abel after Abel Pierce. Olly after Oliver Loving. Frank after Frank Eaton and Charlie after Charles Goodnight. Their last names are my Dad and uncles’ middle ones.”

That was still cool even though I had no idea who all those people were.

“I don’t know any of those people,” I confessed.

“Not a lot of people do. Gotta be a cowboy to know cowboys and my Granddad was a definite cowboy.”

That was cool too.

“Are you?”

“Got a bit in me but it isn’t the same, not like he tells it, not like he said his Daddy told it. Those days are long gone.”

Alas, they were.

“So Olly’s been married three times?” I asked.

“Olly, three. Frank’s just got rid of his second and is workin’ on his third. Charlie’s still in his second but, the way things are going, I don’t see that lasting very long.”

“Wow,” I whispered, Gray grinned and I noted, “They’ve been through a lot of women.”

“Hard men to live with.”

“Sounds like it.”

“Lucky Macy’s got more piss and vinegar in her than most. Olly owns and runs the bar. Macy owns and runs Olly. Gran and her don’t get along but Macy don’t care. She still comes every two weeks, cleans the house, does the laundry, does the ironing, puts flowers all around because Macy likes flowers and that’s her way and then she leaves.”

Well, that explained the flowers.

“She and your Gran don’t get along?” I asked.

Gray shook his head. “Macy wants peace in the family. Gran can hold a grudge. Dad being firstborn son meant he inherited the land. Me being his only son meant I inherited it. When Dad died, her boys wanted their slice and didn’t mind letting that be known. They didn’t shut up about it, Gran lost her mind. They’d been marrying, divorcing, carousing and brawling for years, none of this she liked and all of it, dollface, they still do. So when Dad died and they made their play, got slapped back and wouldn’t let it go, she was done. She hasn’t seen any of them in years except when she can’t avoid them if she’s in town and then she ignores them.”

This concerned me.

“Are they still wanting their slice?”

He shook his head again. “They gave up. None of ‘em are bad seeds, they just got a lotta stupid in ‘em. Woke up, paid attention, saw they had a nephew who lost his Dad, a Mom who lost her son at the same time she lost her legs, they lost their brother and they got their heads outta their asses. All of ‘em, in their way, none of those ways good but still, they did it, extended an olive branch. It was too late. Gran was done.”

I felt my face get soft when I whispered, “That’s kind of sad.”

“Yeah,” he replied quietly. “It is. But Codys have owned this land for six generations, Ivey, and it’s always been that way. Tradition. Firstborn son to firstborn son. Over the years, the others lived on the land and worked it. My uncles never did. They turned eighteen, took off and wreaked havoc elsewhere. Gran wasn’t a big fan of that either. But for six generations, it’s been the same. Started as ranchers and horse breeders, Granddad sold off the livestock and put in the orchard,” he grinned again, “looks better, smells better and a lot less hassle. But we’ve always had the horses. The town of Mustang is called Mustang because my great, great grandfather refused to have the town named Cody after him but he captured, broke and bred mustangs so they named it that instead.”

I blinked in shock at learning this information. Then I stared.

Gray kept talking.

“So, seein’ as the Codys were the first to settle in these parts and the town grew up around them and their ranch, tradition is kind of important.”

“The town of Mustang is named Mustang because your family captured, tamed and bred mustangs?” I asked on a breath.

“Yep.”

“The town of Mustang is named Mustang because your family captured, tamed and bred Mustangs?” I repeated like he didn’t answer.