Marianne waited. She tried not to look too obviously like she was holding her breath.

She thought she could feel the heat of Trent's gaze levelled at her from beneath his hat, but his face was half hidden in shadow and it was hard to tell.

Oh, God. What was I thinking?

Why did she have to go and say the word "kiss" out loud like that? Obviously, she and Trent had kissed before…or rather, Trent had kissed her before. The sheriff had always been the one to initiate, to claim an opening without verbal permission, and Marianne thrilled at the way he took charge. Trent didn't waste any time when he knew what he wanted.

And Marianne didn't want to spend any more time waiting, either. No more holding back. No more worrying about how hot the temperature might be before jumping in. Maybe it was the chain of winning poker hands that had whetted her appetite for challenge; maybe it was the rare hard liquor surging through her veins; maybe it was the sight of Trent in nothing but his boxers and the way the amber light from the shrouded bulb above seemed to sculpt and contour every hard, male muscle of him. The ember of desire that smoldered low in her belly, unattended for so long, ignited at the sight. The cotton of her panties suddenly felt too chafing and restrictive. How long had she allowed herself to live pent-up like this? How could any part of her breathe?

"Come here and collect, then," Trent murmured.

Marianne shifted out of her chair and moved slowly around the table. He didn't open his arms to her, but his posture was already relaxed…almost inviting. The way he sat with his legs casually spread seemed to make his lap an offering to her. Marianne took him up on the invitation. She alighted on his right thigh, the one furthest from the table. When Trent didn't move a muscle, either to close himself off or go out of his way to accommodate her, she decided the only thing to do was charge. She removed his hat and set it on the table, then she smoothed her palms along his rough cheeks and drew him to her.

She claimed her prize. She let that indebted mouth of his pay her, and she intended for it to pay her in full. The bow of her upper lip grazed his lower, and she let her tongue flick between her teeth to taste the residual burn of whiskey. Trent's tongue gave an answering thrust, and she let him slip his way inside her mouth.

It was so easy to give over completely to the sensation of being kissed by Trent. Marianne sighed as she leaned into him. She pressed her hands into his shoulders, relishing his rock-hard strength, and felt him flex in response.

He leaned back in the chair suddenly, lifting off until they were both suspended on two legs. Marianne cried out in surprise and wrapped her arms around his neck to stabilize herself. She was certain they were going down, but Trent only reached back to lock the door to the room. As soon as he had succeeded, he let the chair fall forward again; he groaned when this rocked her against the bulge in his pants.

"Lift up," he growled into her ear. Marianne complied, and Trent braced her with one hand, taking his other away to yank his boxers down. The aggressive jut of his cock caught on his waistband before the fabric finally slid away to reveal him. All of him. He was long and thick and smooth; his shaft was several shades darker than his navel, and it terminated in a nest of neatly-trimmed black curls.

We're really doing this, she thought as Trent pulled her back down for another heady kiss. She straddled his lap. His naked erection pushed against the crotch of her panties, and she gasped into his mouth at its blunt rigidity. Every questing thrust of his hips brought it in contact with her clit, igniting little fireworks of pleasure behind her eyes and in her belly. When it wasn't enough, she rubbed herself down his full length. Even through the damp, clinging fabric of her underwear, she could feel how smooth Trent was—and how large. It was one thing to see his cock for the first time, but it was another matter to grind herself on it and realize how it might align with her, how it might fit inside her.

Trent groaned as she rode him. She continued the rotation of her hips, slow and sensual; her own moans were quieter, helpless little noises that escaped her despite her best efforts to stifle them. She didn't want to be discovered, but she didn't see how she could stop herself now. Finally letting go of her inhibitions and allowing herself to be in Trent's arms had brought her too close to paradise to retreat now.

She was done playing it safe.

Trent's hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. Was he trying to tame her movements atop him or urge her to pursue a faster rhythm? Either way, Marianne resisted his control. She dipped and rotated, changing directions the moment he appeared to adjust. Trent sighed and let his head fall back as she worked him.

But only for a moment. Soon enough he was back to work. His hands snaked around behind her back to unfasten her bra. Marianne arched a little and closed her eyes, letting the straps slip down her shoulders. Trent aided their descent, leaning in to press hungry kisses to her fever-hot skin. Her breasts sprang free, already taught from arousal before they hit the cool air of the room. Trent lowered his mouth to them with a low noise of appreciation. She smoothed her fingers over the rough bristles of his short hair, hissing with pleasure as his tongue circled the dark pink mound. When he drew it further into his mouth and nibbled the pebbled flesh, she almost came undone.

One of his hands shot out, and Marianne realized he was going for his wallet on the table. He ripped the condom package open with his teeth. She shifted in his lap to give him room as he rolled it over his cock one-handed. Everything Trent did was confident, effortless. Rather than be intimidated by his sexuality, Marianne felt it bolstering her own.

"Hop on."

His command sent a shiver of anticipation racing through her. Those two words spoken in that husky, harsh voice of his held every hope and frustration that had been building between them these past couple weeks.

Marianne shifted until she was balanced above him. The supple surface of his dome butted at her entrance; already she was making it slick with the evidence of her need. She held onto Trent's shoulders as she lowered herself down onto it cautiously. She felt herself stretching to accommodate him and shut her eyes tight against the deep pressure. It had been a long time, and her body was making her aware of that fact now.

Trent's hands on her waist aided her descent. Their combined energy was hushed and hurried. Marianne guessed neither of them wanted to postpone their union a minute more than they had to, but the steadiness of his hands told her he wouldn't let it be rushed. This was their moment, a conclusion they had been working towards ever since the day they met, whether they’d known it or not.

Trent slid in another inch, and Marianne gasped. His answering groan drove her wild; in an effort to provoke another unbearably sexy sound, she lowered herself fully onto him until she sat in his lap with every inch of him buried inside her.

"Oh, fuck." The rough curse reverberated in his chest and seemed to echo in her own as a result. Marianne shifted forward until the aroused tips of her nipples grazed his slick skin. Her clit jolted as it rubbed against him. She dropped her head near his ear and moaned in quiet relish at the feeling.

"Yeah?" She couldn't help but tease, even if she was finding it hard to catch her breath.

"I've been thinking about this for a long time," Trent replied. He wound a hand in her hair, and he tugged hard at the roots; she let her head drop back so he could get a full view of her face. "So have you," he added.

"Have not."

"Can't help thinking about it now, can you?" He bucked up into her. Marianne gasped and held on as best she could. Trent's cock was almost more than she could take, but she knew she needed this, maybe more than anything. And at the end of the day, Trent was right—she had been thinking about him, fantasizing about him, for so long that there was no use resisting him. He was too deep inside her now to convince herself that this was just a way of getting him out of her system.

"Mmm." Trent hummed appreciatively as they fell into a rhythm. Marianne slid forward and back in his lap, her ass butting up against his open palms as he guarded her position atop him. She was slowly but surely relaxing against him, and the pleasure that bloomed within her as a result was almost excruciatingly good. The less she worried about falling, or being caught, or any number of things that might go on, the more she could focus on just how fucking good it felt to be in Trent's lap. Every thrust of her hips forward renewed her awareness of him.

He just sat back and watched her work. There was nothing lazy or contented about the way his lust-heavy eyes followed her. Marianne wondered if he knew just how long it had been for her. It was as if he was letting her explore the space and re-familiarize herself with her own body. When she raised herself up a little to come back down, he groaned; the hands that safeguarded against her falling off him came to rest on her hips once more.

Suddenly it wasn't enough. She ached for something faster, something almost savage in its intensity. She sat up again and slid back down; she repeated the motion, burying Trent's slick shaft again and again, each time starting with the tip of his cock hovering just outside her before taking it all. Trent gripped her waist and took over. Soon she was bouncing, bounding against him, her wild plunges only barely controlled by the man who now took ownership of every inch of her. She let Trent dictate how fast he wanted it, and he didn't disappoint; his appetite, now that they had begun, was as voracious as hers.

"Oh!" The explosive cry came out of her when a particularly hard thrust took her by surprise.

She wanted to hold him inside her and enjoy the fullness of him—she wanted to keep hitting that spot—but Trent pulled her almost all the way off him and forced her to beg for it. Her hips tried to maneuver down again in vain, and a low, infuriating chuckle escaped him.

"God, Trent!" she exclaimed. She couldn't articulate what she wanted anymore, not with words. A keening noise of longing filtered past her lips, and she didn't care who might hear. She swirled her body again; his fingers clenched the tight flesh of her backside, and then he eased himself back into her.

Their bouncing resumed, more frantic this time. The chair beneath them scraped across the floor from their combined weights.

"Oh, God." A shudder coursed through her. Trent's hands slid up her back, skimming perspiration from her skin.

"Do it," he urged her. "Let go, Marianne."

For a moment, she wasn't sure she could. Even the mounting pressure, the bursts of bright pleasure that overwhelmed her with increasing frequency, might still not be enough to aid her in finding that long-withheld release. Old anxieties raced across the back of her mind, competing with her present. It had been too long. Her body wouldn't remember how. And maybe worst of all was the fear that giving into her desire now would lead her back into unhappiness, despair, disconnection. Had she ever known lovemaking without it?

But none of that fear could compete or compare with the feeling of being locked in Trent's tightening embrace.

"Come for me," he said. He gazed at her; their eyes locked, and she shuddered again. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded with the weight of his passion, gave her permission. There was no expectation, no aggressive anticipation, just inevitability. He had never been inside her before, but Trent knew the signals of her body. He held her gaze, thrust himself deeper, and heat ballooned in her belly.

When she came, it was as if a dam broke. A cascade of pleasure rolled through her, so powerful and unexpected that she cried out and tightened her quivering legs around him. Trent's hands braced her back with an answering pressure, holding her in place. Marianne's head fell back as she was rocked by pleasure, and rocked by the gorgeous man who had made it his business to give it to her.

Her orgasm had barely crested before Trent unexpectedly started to jog her in his lap. Marianne rode his quick thrusts, and before she knew it, her cries were mounting again. You can't be serious, she thought in wonder. Her lips parted, her eyes widened in shock as her orgasm was arrested mid-fall and she started the climb all over again. Trent's cock slid in and out of her in strokes that were maddeningly fast and too fleeting. God, why couldn't he just hold her still and let her feel the full length of him buried deep inside of her? She just knew that was the key. Building up to that breaking point all over again was beyond her endurance. She couldn't take any more of it!

"Trent!" She cried his name in rapturous demand, and Trent locked his arms around her waist. He slid into her with a finality she hadn't been expecting, and the tip of his cock struck that throbbing spot within her that ached for more. A second orgasm ripped through her, and she rocked in his lap as if she lived only for the pleasure he gave. Trent hissed a low oath, and his fingers dug into her ass as if he was the one who needed to hold onto something.

When Marianne once more had the awareness to take in what had happened, she realized she had come with Trent that second time. His grip on her relaxed, and she collapsed against him with a rough exhalation. She rested her breasts against his fever-hot chest, enjoying the feel of naked male solidly beneath them.

It took her a moment to distinguish the pounding of her heart from the pounding of a fist against the door.

"Last call!" the bartender hollered through the wood. The door knob jiggled, and Marianne leapt out of Trent's lap. She scrambled quickly to recover her clothes. "Hey!" The bartender rapped on the door more sharply this time. "Did y'all mean to lock this door? I'll give you about thirty seconds before I go for the key."

"Pants!" Marianne hissed. In their haste to get dressed, both she and Trent managed to grab the wrong jeans. Trent tossed hers over, catching his own out of the air when she flung them to him. Dressing quickly became an illicit game of hot potato; by the time they were mostly decent, Marianne was breathless and laughing, and Trent's broad smile had gained at least an inch.

"Was that less than thirty seconds?" she asked. She made efforts to rearrange her hair as one of Trent's arms encircled her waist.

"We'll find out," he muttered as he twitched the lock and opened the door. The bartender glanced up from where he stood fiddling with his keys on the threshold.

"Everything all right?" His tone was polite, but his eyes were suspicious, like they weren't the first poker-playing pair to have "accidentally" thrown the lock.

Marianne smiled pleasantly, and Trent tipped his hat. "Yup," he replied. "You have a good evening." They strolled together out the door. Neither of them looked back to see how far the bartender's disapproving gaze followed.

"This is not the sort of thing that's going to happen at the Honky Tonk," Marianne vowed. "No cards, no backrooms. Atmosphere be damned."

Trent grinned. "Don't install locks on the tasting rooms. You'll just be inviting trouble."

Marianne glanced up as he opened the passenger side door for her. "Something tells me I already have."