Angel and the Badman: The Story of Cort and Blanche
Light and Shadow
His eyes blinked open when daylight was all but gone. Couldn’t say what it was that woke him, but he was instantly aware of the soft susurration of her breath, the heat of her body beside him. Rising up on one arm, Cort turned on his bedside lamp and looked at a sleeping angel.
The lamplight was soft, painting Blanche in light and shadow. She lay on her side, one knee drawn up, her naked ass as pert and sweet as a baby’s. Her hair had been damp from the shower when they’d gone to sleep but in the two hours since then, it had dried and now it flowed over her shoulders in ripples of gold and caramel and platinum. Cort leaned in and lifted a heavy strand, smelled it, touched it to his lips. He felt like he could get drunk on the scent of her hair.
He rolled to his side and pressed closer to her, his hand hovering over her body. Heat. With his fingertips just skimming the surface of her skin, he touched. Soft here, taut there. Warm and smooth all over. Perfect. His palm found her breast and he cupped, weighing, admiring. Not big or small, a perfect handful, firm and beautifully shaped. Sweet little nipples all puckered and pebbled like wild raspberries. He’d spent the afternoon tasting them...tasting all of her, every inch. She was delicious.
He closed his eyes and thought of the hours just passed. Unbelievable, how good they were together. Pure sweetness. She’d heated him, driven him to take her over and over. He couldn’t get enough. A voice inside his head told him he might never get enough of Blanche Donovan and a fleeting expression of disquiet passed over his face. Despite what she’d given him that day, he wasn’t sure she felt the same obsessive desire.
He shook off the darkness to think instead of her astride him, rocking her body while he thrust lazily under her. He'd held back, lost in sensations so intense, he didn’t want to let go. Her face was solemn as she gazed down at him, her eyes hot with passion yet soft with another emotion he couldn’t read. She had watched him, had not taken her eyes from his until he rolled her under him and drove into her hard. He buried his face in her neck and called her Angel, pumped his seed into her willing, writhing body. And afterwards, when he was too depleted to do anything but rest on her and breathe, she had soothed him with her hands, tracing the groove of his spine, kneading his shoulders, touching him all over with a tenderness that felt like love.
The air conditioning kicked on and she stirred, shivers rippling along her skin. He nuzzled the goosebumps that rose on her arms as cool air from the vent flowed over their naked bodies.
"Mmm. Cover me." Her hand scrabbled down, reaching blindly for the sheet.
Cort pulled it up and reluctantly tucked it around her, disappointed. He liked looking at her naked. His lips teased at her ear, licked at the lobe to keep her from going back to sleep. "Hungry, darlin’?"
She rolled over and pushed her face into his neck. "Starved," she mumbled. "Gonna feed me?"
Feed her? He knew what he’d like to feed her. What he’d like to watch her take into her mouth.
He didn’t suggest it, though. She’d given him enough for their first time together.
"We can order room service," Cort whispered into her hair. When she didn’t seem interested he said, "Or we can go out."
"Mmmm...." She licked his neck, just below the scruff of beard. "Room service sounds good." Her lips grazed his collarbone, the devil danced in her eyes. "In a little while..."
He lay back as she kissed down his chest, felt her tongue on his nipple, then her teeth. He hissed, sucked a ragged breath when her fingers teased the hair below his waist. His cock came alive again as hot blood pounded into the shaft. It rose, questing for her touch.
Her hair trailing and tickling over his twitching flesh, she slid down his body. He tensed, waiting. His breath left him in a grunt as she kissed the head of his cock and slid her mouth over him. Spellbound, he tucked an arm behind his head and watched, and the sight of her pink lips stretched around his erection drove him wild. It was all he could do to lie still and let her pleasure him.
"Angel..." he murmured, and gathered a thick skein of her hair in his fist to hold her to him. Her eyes flashed up and captured his, dancing, teasing. She knew what she was doing to him, how she fired him. Her tongue tickled and sensation exploded, hot and intense. His head dropped to the pillow, his eyes squeezed closed in ecstasy.
"Goddamn," he panted. "Oh, sweet Christ, yeah...that’s it, darlin’."
His hips caught her rhythm and he moved with her as she took him deeper into the heat. Every nerve in his body leapt and sizzled, he knew he couldn’t hold back. She had to stop...Jesus, he didn’t want her to stop.
"Angel...darlin’, wait..." he warned, but she kept him tight in her mouth and her hand strayed lower. She cupped, squeezed, and he closed his eyes and moaned out loud. Behind his eyelids jagged spears of light flashed, and in his head there was a sound like the rushing of wind. Cort’s body tensed, hovering on the edge of bliss. Mindless, he drove upward with his hips, burying himself in her mouth. He felt her throat work as she swallowed his seed, then her tongue on his still twitching cock, lapping like a kitten. He lay shuddering, panting, drained of all he had to give.
Her face nuzzled his thigh, she kissed the golden furred skin. Cort swallowed hard, said hoarsely, "Come up here to me." She crawled up his body and hovered over him, her hair falling to curtain her face. His hands rough, he grabbed her, pulled her down and drove his tongue into her mouth. He could taste himself but he didn’t care. His kiss was many things: possessive, adoring, demanding, grateful.
He’d been waiting for a woman like her, waiting a long time.
* * *
He needed meat to assuage the hunger grinding in his belly. Cort ordered from the steakhouse downstairs...salads, inch thick Porterhouses done medium rare. A bottle of California burgundy to go with the beef, a pot of coffee to drink with the chocolate mousse for dessert.
They ate sitting across from each other at his glass-topped dining table, both of them barefooted. Cort watched her feet through the glass, her pink painted toes curling, digging into the carpet. Her long legs were bare and she kept her knees pressed demurely together like a Catholic schoolgirl. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth; he lowered his eyes to hide his amusement.
They barely spoke, there seemed no need for aimless conversation between them. There was a lot to be said between them, but that would come...plenty of time for talk. The feeling of intimacy was unfamiliar but comfortable; Cort found he liked just being with her. Hard to believe he had first laid eyes on Blanche Donovan only the day before.
Relaxed in faded old jeans and a washed out tee, he cut into perfectly done steak and as he chewed, watched her start on her dinner. Blanche...Angel. She wore one of his old blue button down shirts and her panties. When they’d dressed in the bedroom, he’d tossed her the soft cotton shirt and protested when she drew her bikinis on...not that there was much to them anyway. Blanche told him smartly that she was not going to sit at the dinner table bare-assed, and his eyebrows rose in amusement. Considering what they’d done together he didn’t see why modesty should come into play now, but he kept his own counsel.
He noticed she was only pushing her food around on her plate. "How’s your supper?"
"It was fine. There’s too much of it, though. How’s yours?"
He glanced down at his plate and grinned. There wasn’t anything left but a neatly trimmed bone and a few bits of lettuce. "I’d say I liked it."
She followed his gaze and with a hint of innuendo in her voice she said, "Either that or you were really hungry."
His eyes were full of the devil. "I was damn hungry, darlin’. Good lovin’ does that to a man. First he wants a little sleep, and then he wants some good eatin’."
"Uh huh. Well, you followed the program then," she grinned.
She gave up on her meal and got up to get the coffee. His eyes followed her, devouring her like he had the steak. She came to the table with the pot, began to pour fragrant steaming coffee into his cup. He couldn’t stop his hand from sliding up her naked leg and cupping her ass. Gently, he caressed the curve of flesh where her thigh met her bottom.
"Don’t, I might spill..." she protested when his fingers strayed.
"Then put the damn thing down," he growled. As soon as she set the carafe on the table, he slid his chair back to pull her into his lap. Cort sensed a split second of resistance and anger flared...why she didn’t feel the same need to be close to him? But then she sank willingly onto his thighs and slid an arm around his neck. His temper stilled, he leaned back and gazed silently, watchfully, into her eyes.
Blanche traced his nose with the tip of a finger. "Who are you, Cortland Davis?" she whispered.
His eyebrow arched. "You know my name?"
Her lips twitched into a smile. "Well, if you’re admitting to it, I do now."
He wondered how she’d learned it, assumed she’d traced him on the internet as he had her. She wouldn’t have found much. He had ways to keep information off the Web. Maybe someday he’d tell her his story, but for now he’d keep it to himself. He stretched his neck, stole a kiss.
"What else do you know about me?"
She shrugged. "Not enough to have gone to bed with you. Not enough to have trusted you the way I did." She cocked her head, stared into his eyes. "The way I do," she amended. "But I learned some things today."
That pleased him. "You can trust me, Angel. I won’t hurt you," he promised.
A shadow darkened her eyes and a hint of determination tightened her full mouth. "No, Cort," she agreed. "You won’t.
There was nothing in her words to offend, but Cort caught the steely resolve in her tone and understood the warning. She would take care to protect herself. That calm self-assurance made him want to prove he could bend her to his will. With a firm hand cupping her skull, he tugged her face down for an almost brutal kiss. She came willingly and kissed him with equal passion, but too soon she pulled away and got up from his lap.
He hid his displeasure and drawled lazily, "Now what’s your hurry, Angel? I kinda like you..." he patted his thighs, "...right here. C’mon back, darlin’."
She shook her head, sent her hair rippling over her shoulders. "It’s getting late. I’ve got to go." She touched his cheek and he captured her hand and pressed a kiss into the palm.
"Sweetheart, you don’t have to go anywhere," he growled, and his voice held the promise of delights to come.
Blanche smiled. "Oh, but I do. I’m in a game tonight at the Bellagio." She cocked her head and looked down at him. "You know that’s what I do for a living, right? Your spy told you?"
Cort’s eyes twinkled and his grin was wry. "What my spy said was, you made him right out of the gate."
"I made you too. Last night, out on the highway. You scared me."
He grimaced, looked away in shame. "I know. Didn’t mean to, darlin’. I just thought we might have that night in the desert after all. When you took off like a bat out of hell, I let you go." He kissed her knuckles. "I apologize, I reckon it was a damn fool thing to do."
"It was," she agreed, "but on the other hand, that’s when I knew..."
"Knew what?" he whispered, his hands circling her waist, bringing her close again. He pressed his face into her belly, kissed.
Blanche brushed back his tumbled hair with gentle fingers. "That we’d end up like this today." She pulled away and walked toward the bedroom. "I have to get dressed."
After a moment, Cort followed and leaned in the doorway. "I’m comin’ with you tonight."
She unbuttoned the shirt and his eyes hungrily followed her fingers. "I’d rather you didn’t," she said. "I don’t like distractions when I play."
Cort grinned as she shrugged out of his shirt and, catching up her bra, leaned forward to adjust her breasts in the cups. It had never occurred to him that watching a woman get dressed was almost as good as watching her undress.
"Jesus..." he muttered, and ran a hand over his chin. "And you say I’d be a distraction?"
She looked up at his wry tone and laughed. "Yes. As much as I am to you right now."
"I doubt it." He sat down on the bed, leaned back on his elbows and kept his eyes on her as she stepped into her skirt, then her camisole and jacket. He didn’t like the idea of her leaving him, but he already knew pushing her did no good. "All right then, Angel. I’ll stay out of your way tonight. But I want you to come back here when you’re through. Sleep in my bed. Spend tomorrow with me."
Blanche didn’t answer. She went to the mirror above his bureau, took the brush from her purse and ran it through her hair. Leaning close, she ran her tongue over her teeth. "I wish I had a toothbrush," she murmured.
He gritted his teeth, aware that she had purposely ignored his suggestion. Was she expecting him to beg? He scowled. She’d wait a long fuckin’ time before he did.
Pissed, he got up, stalked to the bathroom and got a new toothbrush and his toothpaste from the drawer and slapped them on the polished marble vanity. "I reckon you’ll finish up around three," he said. "I’ll wait for you in downstairs in the bar."
She squeezed toothpaste on the brush, hesitated. "Don’t bother, Cort," she said finally. "I think I’ll go home when I’ve finished tonight."
‘Don’t bother?’ He wanted to curse. He wanted to grab her by the arm and swing her around to face him, shake her until her hair fell over her eyes again. But he forced himself to lean casually in the doorway and ask simply, "Why?"
Their eyes met in the mirror, his sparking with barely checked temper, hers cool and watchful.
"Well, I have several reasons why." She shrugged, deliberately careless. "I’m going to need fresh clothes, for one. And I have to take care of my dog. He’s been shut up in the house all this time." It was a lie; she paid a dog walker to take care of Sport when she was out. She turned to face him and said it plainly. "But most of all, I’m going home because I like it there."
Cort’s lips tightened in a thin line of displeasure. "I see. I’ll leave you alone to finish up," he said curtly. He backed out and pulled the door closed behind him.
Blanche turned back to the mirror, a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes. "Not so fast, Midnight Rider," she said under her breath. "If we’re going to do this, it’s going to be on my terms."