The Ashtons: Walker, Ford & Mercedes: Betrayed Birthright / Mistaken for a Mistress / Condition of Marriage

“I can’t make any promises, Tamra. No happily-ever-afters. But I wouldn’t do what he did. I wouldn’t hurt you like that.”

“Thank you.” She realized they were whispering, speaking in hushed tones, talking about something far more intimate than sex.

And this time when she turned away to get their clothes, he didn’t stop her.

Walker drove into the night, traveling on a dirt road, thinking this had to be the most strangely erotic moment of his life. Tamra sat beside him with a shopping bag on her lap. He hadn’t asked her what was in it. For now he was trying to decide where to park. The reservation was dark, eerie, beautiful. The land went on forever, with trees swaying to the moonlight. In the distance a coyote howled.

“I don’t know how far to go,” he said.

She turned to look at him. She’d changed into a sundress that sported a row of tiny buttons down the front. On her feet, she wore cowboy boots. He’d never seen a more compelling woman. Her hair was the color of a raven’s wing, sleek and shiny and begging to be touched.

“With me?” she asked.

He blinked, wondered what she meant. Then it dawned on him. She was responding to his statement. The SUV hit a slight bump in the road, and he grinned. He knew how far to go with her. “I was talking about how far I should keep driving, where would be a good place to park.”

“Oh.”

She ducked her head and he suspected she was blushing. He reached over to slide his fingers through her hair, just for a second, just to feel the silkiness against his skin. “I’m going to do everything imaginable to you.”

“Oh,” she said again, only sexier this time.

Damn if he didn’t want to pull over right now, right in the middle of the road. “How about over there?” he gestured to a copse of cottonwoods.

Tamra glanced out the window. “The river is that way. There might be people camped by the water.”

“Then we’ll go in the other direction.” He cut across the terrain, closer to the hills, to a backdrop that took his breath away. He’d never made love in an area so vast, so romantic.

He parked beneath a jagged stretch of moonlight, where stars danced in the sky. “What’s in the bag, Tamra?”

She clutched it to her chest. “A blanket. Some extra clothes.”

“Extra clothes?” He touched her hair again, toying with a strand that looped across her cheek. “What for?”

“In case the ones we’re wearing get torn.”

Walker’s pulse jumped. Excited, intrigued, far too aroused, he moved closer. “Does that mean we can go crazy?”

She chewed her lip, a girlish habit he’d seen her do before. “You kept warning me that we were going to tear off each other clothes and I—” she paused, leaned toward him “—thought we better be prepared.”

He wasn’t sure if anything could prepare him for this moment—this middle-of-the-night, heaven-help-him lust. Anxious, he took her in his arms, his hands nearly quaking. She held on to him, too, gripping his shoulders.

And then they kissed, as deeply as they could, tongue to tongue, heart to beating heart.

A second later they went mad. He attacked her dress, sending every last button flying. She did the same thing to his shirt, ripping the denim with feminine force.

When she climbed onto his lap, he thought he might die. He breasts were exposed, only inches from his mouth. She was jammed between him and the steering wheel, but she didn’t seem to mind. So much for the blanket, he thought. She’d dropped it, along with their extra clothes, onto the floorboard.

He licked her nipples, switching sides, blowing on each one, making them peak. She pulled his head closer, encouraging him to suckle.

Desperate, he lifted her dress to her thighs, running his hands along the waistband of her panties. She moaned and rubbed against his fly.

He closed his eyes, opened them, smiled at her.

She was watching everything he did, trying to see in the dark. He turned on the dome light, illuminating the vehicle with a soft glow. He didn’t care if it drained the battery. He could stay here, just like this, for the rest of his life.

His body was rock hard, thick and solid and eager to penetrate hers. Only, they were still half-dressed, still torturing each other with foreplay.

She looked incredible, with her luscious curves and golden-brown skin. Her neck was long and slender, and her nipples were damp with saliva.

His saliva. His hunger. His insatiable need.

“I could eat you alive,” he said.

“Then do it.” She rocked forward in his lap, creating friction, giving him a slightly shy, slightly sirenlike smile. “And I’ll do it to you, too.”

Every ounce of blood rushed straight to his groin. He had no idea how she could be so subtle yet so obvious. Women, he thought, were fascinating creatures.

“This could be a dream.” He nuzzled her neck, tongued the shell of her ear and inhaled the fragrance on her skin, the lotion that drove him to distraction. “A wet dream,” he added, dragging her into the backseat.

Once again, he hiked up her dress, but this time, he removed her panties, clutching the piece of lace. He wondered if she’d chosen them for him or if she always wore such sexy little underthings.

When he kissed her there—right there—she bucked against his mouth. Wanting more, he pushed her legs open even farther, showing her how naughty he intended to get.

She practically melted against him, dissolving like spun sugar. Then she took off her dress and boots, tossing them aside, offering him every inch of her naked body.

A sacrifice, he thought. A gift.

Within minutes—heart pounding, soul-spinning minutes—Tamra kept her promise, shifting her body so she could pleasure him, too. So they could make love to each other at the same time.

She dislodged his shorts and took him in her mouth, making his stomach muscles quiver, making his blood swim.

Yet somewhere deep down, he knew this was more than an affair. This was their emotions, a blend of sex and sin, of passion and warmth, of unbridled affection.

A pleasure so deep, he feared he might drown.

He kept tasting her, licking her while she did erotic things to him. And when she climaxed, when she convulsed against his tongue, he fought the urge to come, too.

Knowing he couldn’t let her take him all the way, he stopped her before it happened. She sat up and gazed at him, still glassy-eyed from her climax.

Finally she smiled at him, and he realized why. His shorts were halfway down his legs, and he was still wearing his shirt, the fabric she’d torn to smithereens. He grinned and tackled her, pinning her to the seat.

She wrestled with his clothes, and they went crazy all over again. By the time he was completely naked, she dug her nails into his skin, clawing him like a dark-eyed cat, a feline in heat.

He thrust into her, full hilt. She wrapped her legs around him, and they gazed at each other, trapped in a candid moment, in being as close as possible.

She grabbed on to the plastic handhold above her head, bracing herself for a deep, driving rhythm, telling him, without words, what she wanted.

He didn’t disappoint. He took her, hard and fast, rough and dangerous.