Texas Trio Pt. 02 - Becky's Debt Ch. 23-24

Before the rest of the family could panic, Becky announced, "We'll stay in sight of the porch."

She took Brody's arm, and they went for a stroll around Catherine's roses, along the paddock fence, across to Cookie's prized lemon tree, and back up the slope, as slowly as possible. Along the way, Becky told Brody her plan.

But first she offered a preface. "Brody—"

"Mmm?"

"I want to ask you something but I don't want to seem . . . fast or . . . too forward."

He patted the hand on his arm. "I would never think that of you."

She smiled sideways at him, unintentionally reinforcing his belief she was shy when it came to certain aspects of their relationship.

"Well, I'd like to spend time without someone staring at us, so we can hold hands and not worry about whether we're sitting an inch too close to one another. It makes me nervous."

Brody chuckled, belying his increased heart rate. He told himself not to be stupid. Whatever had happened in the bunkhouse was before. He was courting her properly now, and it was highly unlikely that Becky was suggesting anything other than exactly what she'd stated.

"I think your brothers are more concerned about your heart than your nerves." Heart wasn't the body part he'd been thinking, of course.

"Well, I had an idea . . . ."

—:—:—:—:—Chapter 24b —:—:—:—:—

This was insane, Brody thought, ducking his head to avoid a branch. If Kendall and Wilson didn't kill him, keeping his hands off Becky would probably do the job.

He didn't duck far enough and the next branch knocked his hat off. Reining Bear to a stop, Brody dismounted to retrieve it. He whacked the dust off on his leg and stilled, listening. After three or four minutes of hearing nothing but birds and bugs, he decided to walk for a ways. Being extra‑cautious couldn't hurt, and he was at least a couple of hours early for his rendezvous with Becky, since today had been another boring, dusty fence‑riding day. He cursed Kendall again, but the words lacked their previous heat, even in his head.

Bear lifted his head, ears twitching, and Brody stopped to listen again.

Becky's plan wasn't bad. It was simple, but it made sense: if Brody wasn't around, nobody watched her. She didn't need a nanny, the household was noisy and busy, and nobody would miss her if she slipped out for half an hour. So Brody had gone north instead of south when he ran out of fences today. He'd kept to the trees along the river, crossed the creek and turned south, keeping out of sight of the house and outbuildings. He had a biscuit and an apple left from lunch. He figured he'd clean up in the swimming hole, dry off, eat, and snooze while he waited.

—:—:—:—:—

Becky studied the woods around her carefully before bending her head to the tiny buttons of her bodice. It was an especially hot day, and she didn't want to run into someone else who'd decided to come down for a dip before dinner.

She shrugged the dress from her shoulders and stepped backwards, freeing her feet. Draping it over the nearest bush, she untied her underskirt and stepped out of that, also. Shoes, stockings, and her corset cover followed, though she wasn't corseted today. It wasn't as though anyone but Cat and Nanny would notice a little extra width in Becky's waist. God knew, she didn't have a bosom that would jiggle about drawing attention.

When she waded into the water, Becky wore only her chemise and a split petticoat.

She sighed as she pushed away from the bank, floating toward the middle of the creek. The water was so cool here, where the creek broadened into a series of slow‑moving pools. At this time of day, most of the water was in the shade, though the sun was still a few hours above the horizon.

Becky twirled in the pool, the water like cool silk on her heated limbs. Leaning her head back, she floated quietly beneath the flickering leaves and sky. She hoped it was this peaceful—and deserted—when she came to meet Brody here after supper. She smiled, imagining wrapping her arms around his waist as he kissed her deeply.

"Mmm." She closed her eyes, sighing, her hands fanning the water to keep herself afloat.

—:—:—:—:—

She was a complete surprise to Brody.

The creek was slow here, but running water always made some noise, and Becky wasn't making any.

He'd been winding through the woods to the creek and, when he stepped out of the brush onto the bank only twenty feet upstream from where he'd been aiming, he paused, smiling smugly. A flicker of white caught his eye and when he looked down, there she was, a magical water‑sprite awaiting him.

A pale accent on the water's dark surface, she floated lightly, strands of long hair floating in bronze rays around her face, a scrap of sheer white fabric clinging to her breasts and doing nothing to conceal their tiny, dark tips.

When he could breathe again, Brody shifted painfully in the saddle, his stiffening cock crushed against the pommel. He kneed Bear and walked him along the bank, waiting for Becky to notice she had company. It didn't take long.

—:—:—:—:—

One second, she was alone, floating, peaceful, dreaming of Brody, and the next second, he was there.

Becky gasped, righting herself and twisting partway toward him, her eyes wide, serenity fleeing with her solitude.

Brody's hat was off and he was leaning on the pommel, smiling down at her.

"Brody!" she exclaimed on a rush of air.

"Miss Connor." He nodded, smiling wryly. "Did I mistake the time of our appointment?"

She made a face, paddling sideways until she could touch bottom. "Of course not! You're not supposed to be here now!"

She got her feet on solid ground and crossed her arms, putting one hand on each shoulder to cover her wet chemise so she could face him squarely. "Why are you—oh, never mind!"

She glared.

He gazed calmly.

"Brody!" she chastised. "Turn around so I can get out."

"Are you cold?"

"No, of course not."

He dismounted and turned away, leading Bear.

Becky took a deep, relieved breath.

Then he looped the reins around a branch, turned back toward the creek, and stood on one foot so he could pull the boot from his other.

Becky's eyes widened. "Brody! No!"

He dropped the boot and lifted his left foot.

"Brody!" she hissed again, alarmed. He could not possibly think to swim with her! She wanted to be alone with him, but she didn't want to be mostly naked at the time! Well, not to start with, anyway.

Becky swam for the opposite bank, where her clothes were waiting, keeping one eye on Brody until he pulled his shirt off. She got a glimpse of bare skin and jerked her head around. She wasn't even acting casual about it now, just swimming as fast as she could. She ignored the splash—she was a lot closer to the shore than he was! At least she'd have her dress to hold in front of her--

Her toes had just touched ground when Brody surfaced a yard to her right, the same distance from land as Becky.

She gasped and froze.

Brody shook his head, swinging his hair away from his face, grinning widely.

Now that she was stuck in the water with him, Becky was no longer alarmed. He was smiling like the boys did when they got caught feeding Topper at the table or stealing cookies from the pantry. She rolled her eyes. "What exactly do you think you're doing, Brody Easton?"

He stepped forward, and she stepped back. "Well, I think I'm walking, though I'm in the creek, so I'd rather be swimming."

He took another step, and so did she, narrowing her eyes in warning. "Brody."

He dipped his chin, the only notice she had before he lunged.

"Eee--!" Becky's shriek turned to laughter as Brody caught her about the waist, swinging her up and into deeper water. She was already paddling with her feet, sweeping with her hands, when she realized he was standing, his arm around her waist supporting her. Her laughter faded. She stopped paddling to wedge her hands against his chest, holding herself as far away from him as possible. He was right there, though, looking at her so intently . . . the pulses in her neck began to race.

His wet hair was otter‑dark, and in this light, the pale eyes stood out like crystal against his glowing bronze skin. A drop of water clung to the end of his nose, which was a little crooked from having been broken. Her eyes dropped to his lips, which were the color of . . . well, something delicious . . . she was having trouble thinking and couldn't put a name to the flavor. The dark hair on his chest tickled her palms, and she bent her fingers experimentally to feel her fingertips moving over it.

With no way to hold herself in place, her body tried to rise to the surface, pressing itself against Brody instead.

Feeling her tremble and intuiting the cause, Brody shifted his grip, putting both hands on the sides of her waist to hold her hips away from him.

Becky spread her hands apart. They hadn't taken their eyes off each other and hadn't moved, though his chest was rising and falling in time with her own rapid respirations. Becky closed her mouth and tipped her head down, breathing through her nose as she hid the lower third of her face in the water. She wondered how much he could see of her body. Wondering the reverse, she angled her eyes sharply upward, before she could reflexively check to see. That way his chest and ribcage were visible, but nothing else.

"Becky." His voice was rough as he inched her body closer, his eyes searing.

She didn't do anything. As Brody gathered her in, Becky's hands slid naturally up and over his shoulders. As he lifted her toward his mouth, her lips naturally came out of the water. When he kissed her, she stiffened momentarily. She wasn't nervous, exactly, but he was naked, and she didn't know how to hold herself properly, instead of rubbing against him in an unseemly way.

Then he kissed her, and Becky forgot to worry.

His lips were cool, but where her breasts touched his chest, she burned. Wet skin gave their kisses an added dimension of sensuality—Brody showing her another thing she'd never experienced before. He turned his head slowly, brushing his lips sideways across her own. She caught on and did the same. Their tongues tangled gently in the middle.

Unconsciously, Becky mimicked the side‑to‑side motion with her body, rubbing her breasts against him. The feeling was startlingly erotic. She gasped against his mouth and did it again, his chest hair flitting like a million tiny fingers across her nipples, despite the fine lawn of her chemise between them. Brody helped, opening her chemise by simply hooking one big finger between the top two buttons and sweeping down, popping the rest. He turned his body away from hers and dragged her sideways across his chest again, her nipples uncovered now.

She made a small, helpless noise, and Brody pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her middle and holding her so close that the water between them flowed out in little ripples. One hand dipped to cup her bottom as he'd done in the bunkhouse, but this was nothing like the bunkhouse.

In the bunkhouse, gravity had held her down even as she'd clung to Brody like a limpet to the shore. Gravity was the friend of a modest woman, holding her skirts in place, her hands at her sides, and pinning her feet to the floor.

Water, on the other hand, was capricious, faithful only to the moods and tides which drew it.

When Brody cupped her bottom this time, buoyancy lifted her legs to hug his hips. When he pulled her close, the water tugged at the split center seam of her petticoat, and it wasn't Brody's thigh against her soft pink folds, but Brody himself. With her legs splayed and her hips angled, the current pushed her closer, and the puffy lips at the junction of her thighs landed directly on his erection.

He was so hard it was like straddling a branch, Becky thought dimly, if the branch was made of wood and hot velvet and made your pussy feel like you were melting over it.

Water was a friend to the wanton, Becky decided.

No longer caring whether she seemed forward, Becky rocked her hips, feeling for the first time the sensual friction of Brody's skin sliding against the intimate places of her body.

He shuddered, straining not to move. It took everything Brody had not to lift her and set her back down on his cock. A few inches up, a few inches down—that's all it would take—one small motion and he could bury himself in Becky's body and stay there forever. Brody's hand tightened on her shapely cheek. His fingers brushed bare skin and he shifted slightly, pushing her petticoat further aside to get his hands on her. He was damn close to being out of control and he knew it.

If she wasn't wriggling around that way, trying to climb him . . . .

Brody pulled her more tightly to him, trying both to hold her still and hold himself in check, which was difficult . . . he concentrated on her mouth, catching her lower lip between his teeth and tugging gently, then sucking on the spot he'd bitten. He did it again and again.

Becky tipped her chin up, trying to get more of his mouth, and Brody went for her neck instead, kissing and nipping a hot line from her earlobe to her collarbone. He lifted her higher, holding his breath as her pussy moved against his cock, but he got her where he wanted and sucked the tip of one perfect, upturned mound directly into his mouth.

Becky tore her hand away from the back of his head just in time to clap it over her mouth.

He supported her weight on one ropy forearm, squeezing her breast as he suckled. Becky arched suddenly, leaning back as she writhed, and he almost lost her. He moved his hand to her spine, but when she straightened, her weight shifted again, and she slipped down, her opening landing directly on the broad, silken head of his cock.

They both froze on a sharp intake of air, Brody's jaw taut and Becky's eyes wide. He lifted her carefully up and out, letting her settle back where she'd been, on the bottom ridge of the hard rod pinned between them, which was torture enough.

Becky felt a fast flash of relief, which immediately dissolved in disgust when she recognized her own cowardice. This wasn't what she wanted. She wasn't a girl, splashing around in a puddle, she was a woman, and she wanted to dive right in. She wanted Brody, wanted to feel him against her, inside her.

Becky wrapped her arms around his neck, using her strong thigh muscles to lever herself back onto the head of his cock, arching her back to try and seat herself.

Brody's fingers dug into her flesh as he studied her face, breathing hard.

She wiggled her hips, her brow furrowed. He was too big: it wasn't going in, and she didn't know what to do.

Brody lifted her an inch, kissing her and stroking her back. "Wait. Just wait. One minute."

He licked her nipple, since her breasts were right there, then made his way back to her lips and devoured her while he tried to calm his racing heart, racing mind, and throbbing cock. "Becky?"

"Mmm," she murmured against his temple.

"We can't. You know we can't." His voice was low, raspy.

Her lashes fluttered, baring sparkling topaz eyes, which lit somberly on his. "Brody, please. Please don't say no to me."

He groaned, burying his face in the silken hollow between her small breasts. "Jesus, Becky."

Didn't she know what she was doing to him?

Several long, shuddering breaths later, he lifted his mouth to hers and turned, carrying her out of the creek.

Becky tamped down a sudden rush of alarm as the receding water bared her body to the air. The fine white cotton of her petticoat was completely sheer when wet, and her chemise was hanging open. She was as good as naked.

She buried her face in his neck to cover her blush, but he knew what she was doing and chuckled, deep in his chest. She opened one eye to peek when he sat down, her legs still wrapped around his waist. They were on the same tree they usually occupied on their courting walks, when most of the time, they were forced to sit at least a foot apart, and she'd never been able to feel his body against hers.

Brody pried her face from his neck. Cupping it between his hands, he kissed her several times, which had the dual benefit of warming her up and banishing most of her embarrassment. By the time he was done kissing her, she was surging against him, her palms spread across his broad upper back, where the water had turned his skin to slippery velvet.

He pushed the straps of her chemise off her shoulders and draped the wet garment over the log beside him. Supporting her with an arm around her waist, he traced the outer curves of her breasts, his eyes intense as they followed the path of his finger. He traced the melon‑colored circles around each tip until they hardened into tiny buds, which he lifted to his lips and licked like ice cream.

Becky leaned back, a hum of pleasure vibrating in her throat.

Brody captured her eyes as he untied her petticoat strings, turning the petticoat into two loose legs connected by nothing at all. Once untied, he folded the tops aside like petals, exposing Becky, the fragrant center of the rose in his lap. She was slim and, except for the small breasts, boyish from the waist up, but her hips swelled into womanliness, and the thighs parted over his were rounded and sleek from riding. Her small triangular thatch of hair was light brown.

When he examined her hotly, Becky covered her face. He brushed her hands away to kiss her again, letting his own hands explore. She quivered when he began to stroke her thigh, the backs of his fingers sweeping upward and slowing as they approached the soft folds between her legs.

Becky stiffened and Brody broke the kiss, shifting her to one side. She nestled against his shoulder, feeling less exposed somehow when they weren't face to face, which was ridiculous, as naked as she was.

Cradling her, Brody parted her pussy lips with one slow, insidious stroke. She gasped and shuddered.

He let his finger dip lower, sliding across the opening to collect her juices and smooth them upward through her crease. He did it several times, adding fingers but not penetrating. When she was slick with moisture, he held her open, stroking her clit with the wide, flat pad of his thumb. It was an awkward position for him, but he knew she'd be more relaxed without him watching her. God knew, he didn't need his eyes; he was so attuned to Becky's desire that a mere shrug of her shoulder could tell him where to direct his next kiss, his next caress.

As her body responded to the sensual stimulation, Becky lost her inhibitions. Her belly and breasts rose and fell more quickly, and very soon she was facing him again, her fingers digging into the thick pads of muscle atop his shoulders, her hips rocking as her thighs gripped his waist, announcing her impending climax.

Brody's nostrils flared as he watched her lids drift down over amber eyes that were glazed with passion. Her lips parted, her brow wrinkled, and her whole body stiffened, her flesh throbbing against his fingers.

Brody gentled his touch while Becky regained her composure, then slid one long finger directly into her puss.

She whimpered as her body clamped down.

When he worked another finger inside her alongside the first, she bit her lip stifling an indelicate squeal.

He soothed her with another kiss, and she soon relaxed around his fingers.

After another minute of opening her passage, he repositioned her higher on his knees, guiding himself with a hand he could use to control her penetration. He gritted his teeth at the first touch of wetness, and moved the crown in a small circle around her entrance, lubricating himself. "Sweetheart?'

She gave a tiny nod, but she'd seen the instrument of his invasion, and her eyes were panicky.

Brody lowered his knees to ease the pressure and bent to nuzzle her neck, moving his fingers back to her slick velvet folds. Some pain was inevitable for her, but some he could avoid with care.