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Authors: Patricia Green
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preserver. She could feel his prick pulsing and knew he was coming.
And then realization hit her. She'd made it with Will Mazie. And they hadn't used a condom. And she hadn't been on birth control for a year.
"Oh God!"
He relaxed behind her, oblivious to her rising panic. "Mmm. Yeah."
She pulled forward, and he slid out of her, still hard and wet. "Get away from me!"
He released her hips immediately. "What's wrong?"
"I can't. We can't. I have to go!" Queenie turned on the couch, grabbing her torn thong off the floor. Her pussy was soaked, and she had a moment of pleasure at the lingering smell of sex in the room and on her body. But she had to get away. This hadn't happened. She hadn't been so stupid. Panic made her movements jerky as she straightened and grabbed her purse, running a trembling hand through her mussed hair quickly.
"Where are you going? Damn it, Queenie!" His fingers wrapped around her wrist and he halted her as she made to leave. "Talk to me, woman!"
"No!" Shaking off his hand, she ran through the house to the front door. "I'm sorry," she mumbled as she yanked the door open. "I'm sorry."
* * *
By the time Will buttoned up his pants and made it to the front door, she was peeling out of the driveway in a shower of gravel. Maybe she needed some time to think things through.
When she didn't call or come by the next day, he tried to reach her on her cellphone. There was one ring and then her voicemail. After three of these unsuccessful attempts over the course of the next two days, he left her a voicemail.
"Queenie, we need to talk. You need to tell me what got into you, honey. What made you bolt away like that? I don't like the way things sit. Call me."
She didn't reply. He tried again the next day and the next, but she didn't pick up and he didn't leave her another message.
It looked like he'd have to do something more active to find out what was going on with the temperamental woman, but construction was finishing up in the southwest corner of his ranch, where the pipe was being laid for getting river water to his bass pond.
He gave the project a final inspection, finally signing off on the work. Water was flowing smoothly into the dug-out basin. By the following week, he could start a bass seeding program that would yield him some mighty good dinners in a reasonably short period of time.
As he stood by the pond site, watching the water pour in, he thought about the animal killings on his ranch and wondered at the fact that they'd stopped suddenly. Maybe the culprit had lost interest, as the sheriff seemed to assume, or maybe not. Will still wanted to find the person or persons who did the damage, but it had been given lower priority over getting his ranch projects moving along and trying to reach Queenie.
While he was thinking of it, he tried to reach her again, but got her voicemail. He resolved to go over to Journey's End the next day and confront her. If she didn't want to see him anymore—which seemed likely—Will wanted to know. It was only right and fair for her to tell him directly and put a reason to it. Over the phone was a cowardly way, but he'd have accepted that much better than no information at all.
It hurt his pride that she was rejecting him, but there was also an emotional ache related to it that was unwelcome. If they couldn't work things out, then he wanted it over, finally and without doubt. Ending things would not have been his choice. He would have liked to continue on building a relationship, enjoying each other's company and spirited banter. Maybe they could have found something durable together.
That she was being so difficult made him want to spank her silly. But, of course, he couldn't make her want him. It would be unreasonable to try to force her into that mold; the kind of behavior Leo Journey had warned him about. Queenie should not be broken.
Maybe he could deal with whatever her issue was, though, and they could start over again. He had to try.
* *
And then realization hit her. She'd made it with Will Mazie. And they hadn't used a condom. And she hadn't been on birth control for a year.
"Oh God!"
He relaxed behind her, oblivious to her rising panic. "Mmm. Yeah."
She pulled forward, and he slid out of her, still hard and wet. "Get away from me!"
He released her hips immediately. "What's wrong?"
"I can't. We can't. I have to go!" Queenie turned on the couch, grabbing her torn thong off the floor. Her pussy was soaked, and she had a moment of pleasure at the lingering smell of sex in the room and on her body. But she had to get away. This hadn't happened. She hadn't been so stupid. Panic made her movements jerky as she straightened and grabbed her purse, running a trembling hand through her mussed hair quickly.
"Where are you going? Damn it, Queenie!" His fingers wrapped around her wrist and he halted her as she made to leave. "Talk to me, woman!"
"No!" Shaking off his hand, she ran through the house to the front door. "I'm sorry," she mumbled as she yanked the door open. "I'm sorry."
* * *
By the time Will buttoned up his pants and made it to the front door, she was peeling out of the driveway in a shower of gravel. Maybe she needed some time to think things through.
When she didn't call or come by the next day, he tried to reach her on her cellphone. There was one ring and then her voicemail. After three of these unsuccessful attempts over the course of the next two days, he left her a voicemail.
"Queenie, we need to talk. You need to tell me what got into you, honey. What made you bolt away like that? I don't like the way things sit. Call me."
She didn't reply. He tried again the next day and the next, but she didn't pick up and he didn't leave her another message.
It looked like he'd have to do something more active to find out what was going on with the temperamental woman, but construction was finishing up in the southwest corner of his ranch, where the pipe was being laid for getting river water to his bass pond.
He gave the project a final inspection, finally signing off on the work. Water was flowing smoothly into the dug-out basin. By the following week, he could start a bass seeding program that would yield him some mighty good dinners in a reasonably short period of time.
As he stood by the pond site, watching the water pour in, he thought about the animal killings on his ranch and wondered at the fact that they'd stopped suddenly. Maybe the culprit had lost interest, as the sheriff seemed to assume, or maybe not. Will still wanted to find the person or persons who did the damage, but it had been given lower priority over getting his ranch projects moving along and trying to reach Queenie.
While he was thinking of it, he tried to reach her again, but got her voicemail. He resolved to go over to Journey's End the next day and confront her. If she didn't want to see him anymore—which seemed likely—Will wanted to know. It was only right and fair for her to tell him directly and put a reason to it. Over the phone was a cowardly way, but he'd have accepted that much better than no information at all.
It hurt his pride that she was rejecting him, but there was also an emotional ache related to it that was unwelcome. If they couldn't work things out, then he wanted it over, finally and without doubt. Ending things would not have been his choice. He would have liked to continue on building a relationship, enjoying each other's company and spirited banter. Maybe they could have found something durable together.
That she was being so difficult made him want to spank her silly. But, of course, he couldn't make her want him. It would be unreasonable to try to force her into that mold; the kind of behavior Leo Journey had warned him about. Queenie should not be broken.
Maybe he could deal with whatever her issue was, though, and they could start over again. He had to try.
* *
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