Bobby Does Dallas (Hill Country Heart) Page 2

  Lying back on her beige quilted duvet, she bent her knees and spread her legs open wide. Just the air from the ceiling fan made her engorged clit vibrate. Hungry to be touched, she let her own palms slide up her thighs, over her abdomen and up to cup her aching breasts. Even the touch of her own hands felt good. Tossing her head from side to side, she played with her own tits. Finding that she needed more than a tender caress, Cecile clasped her nipples between her fingers and the base of her thumb and worked the tender nubbins against the hard part of her hand. It felt so good! As she massaged and pinched her nipples, she worked her hips up and down, clenching and unclenching the muscles of her vagina – pretending that a man was pumping into her empty, throbbing sex.

  Needing even more, Cecile fingered her own pussy. Sliding the tips of her fingers up and down the lips of her vulva, she inserted one finger into the channel that pulsed with longing and moved it in and out. Finding that to be highly unsatisfying, she moved on up, rubbing her clitoris in a circular motion. Oh, that's better. As she pulled at her nipple and manipulated her clit, Cecile pictured herself as the heroine in one of Annalise's novels – a desirable woman that could attract and please a man. In her mind's eye, she saw him above her. His expression was heated and he had eyes only for her. Lifting her head, she sought his lips – fantasizing about greedy kisses and the mating of fevered tongues. Her hero would want her – her – Cecile. His cock would be hard and hungry – for her. He would find delight – in her. Arching her back she met his thrusts, and parried them with the rhythmic seeking of her hips. Frantically, she ground her clit beneath her own caress until she achieved release – a sad, lonely release. Tears leaked from her eyes and ran down the side of her face to dampen the pillow. Was this the way it was going to be? Would she never know the passionate touch of a lover? How sad – how very sad.

  The buzz of her cell phone drew Cecile out of her orgasm induced stupor. As orgasms go, it hadn't been that good – but it was the best she had felt in many a day. Sometimes Cecile thought that Annalise and the other erotic authors that she dealt with on a day-to-day basis made a lot of that 'fireworks, the earth moved and volcanic eruption' stuff up. Maybe Carl was right, maybe she was frigid. Her body craved a climax, but the ones that she gave herself were weak and short-lived, nothing like what other women boasted of feeling.

  Dragging herself off the bed, she retrieved the phone from her desk. For a moment, she hoped that it might be Carl calling to check in on her, but it wasn’t – it was the gynecologist calling to remind her that it was time for her pap smear and mammogram. Yuck! She hated doctor visits! Noting it on the calendar, she was grateful that it was over a week away. For a minute she stared at the phone, wishing she had someone that she could call and invite out for a meal. Because Carl was such an asshole, they didn’t have many friends and he discouraged her from having girlfriends that she could meet for drinks and go shopping with. She didn’t know why. Sometimes she thought that he was afraid that she would talk to them – confide in someone how truly bad their marriage was. So Cecile wasn't close to anyone other than Annalise, and she lived almost four hours away. Carl didn’t have anything to worry about – there was no way that she was going to air her dirty laundry in front of her Dallas work acquaintances. They had no idea that she – an erotic romance editor – lay untouched every night in a lonely bed, forced to masturbate for even the smallest of amount of sexual relief.

  Climbing back into bed, she opened her emails. There was a message from Annalise, apologizing again for not having the five chapters that she had promised Cecile. She confessed that she was experiencing major wrter's block. Typing in a quick response, Cecile joked with her, doing her best to inspire ‘Lise out of her funk.

  After talking to her friend coming back from the conference, Cecile realized that she wasn't the only one who was depressed. ‘Lise Evans was still desperately in love with a man she had met in college. They had a whirlwind romance but had been torn apart after Annalise's suffered through a tragic rape. It had happened over spring break during ‘Lise‘s freshman year. Afterwards, she had endured several reconstructive surgeries. Annalise and Ethan had never seen one another again – the only other thing that Cecile had managed to get out of Annalise was that she had never told Ethan about the rape.

  One thing Cecile did know; Annalise was still deeply in love with Ethan. Every hero in every book that she had written was patterned after him. And every dedication in every book had his first name in tribute – 'to my own hero, Ethan. I will never forget you.' At Annalise's insistence, the artwork on the front of every one of her novels was Ethan’s likeness. If he was as good looking as the man on the cover of the books, he was a sight to behold. No wonder ‘Lise was still in love with him.

  If she and Carl got divorced it would be a long time before she put herself into the dating fray. She was tired of getting hurt – but Lord – she craved sex. Exiting out of her email account, she logged onto a discreet adult site. Yeah, they had what she was looking for: pages and pages of them – dildos. Smiling to herself, she clicked through the wide variety of battery powered – vibrating – thrusting – pink, purple – plastic pleasure toys. Finding one that promised untold pleasure, she clicked the instant buy button and felt like she had accomplished something.

  Feeling like she was finally taking charge of her life, she decided to set the ball rolling with Carl. It was now or never, she told herself. Dialing his cell phone number, she held her breath and waited. "Hello?"

  Carl had a deep, sexy voice – that had been one of the things that had first attracted her to him. That and his hair – he had beautiful blonde, thick hair. It was a pity that he didn't find anything about her attractive. Taking a deep breath, she jumped in. She knew that he had caller ID, so he knew exactly who was on the phone, yet… he said nothing personal, waiting for her to make the first move. "Carl, it's Cecile. How are things going?"

  She heard him exhale loudly. Lord, was she such a bother? "Not too bad. I'll be able to come home tomorrow, I guess."

  He guessed? Where else would he go? Not for the first time, Cecile wondered if he were having an affair. Would it matter? After all, he sure wasn't sleeping with her. "Good. I'm glad you're well." It would have been nice if he had called to check in on her. For the past three days he had been in San Antonio on business. Nothing had really changed, but at least they had dinner together the night before he left. When she had returned to Dallas from the writer's conference – after her talk with Annalise – Cecile had chickened out about telling Carl she wanted a divorce. Maybe she owed her marriage one last try. So… here she was, about to try and execute her plan – Cecile was going to attempt to seduce her husband. "Carl, I would like for us to meet at this beautiful Bed and Breakfast. It's not far from where you are."

  Wearily, he asked. "A Bed and Breakfast? Cecile, you know I don't like that kind of thing."

  Quickly, she came up with her pitch. "It's near the Lost Maples State Park. There are eleven miles of hiking trails there. The trails go through some of the most gorgeous scenery in the hill country."

  There was a pause. "That sounds like fun. Could you find some shopping to do?"

  Actually, she had hoped they could spend the time together. But, maybe she could work on that side of things after they got there. "Sure. I can do that."

  "All right," he agreed. "Give me directions. I'll meet you there tomorrow."

  *****

  Bobby walked toward the Darrell K. Royal Stadium. It was time for football practice. And there was nothing that Bobby Stewart loved more than football – except women. Jeffrey Johnson and Ladon Mahoney stepped in beside him. "Hey, cowboy. How's it hangin?" Ladon slapped Bobby on the back.

  Bobby had come straight from the rodeo arena and he was still dressed in full cowboy regalia. Johnson laughed, taking in the scene. "Hey Stewart, did you know that there are four cute little coeds on your tail? I think they like the way you look in those chaps." Bobby swung around and winked at the little ladies, ma
king them giggle as he tipped his hat at them.

  "You know, it's just not fair," Ladon grumbled. "You've got it all Bobby. Not only are you a football star, you're also a champion bull rider and freakishly good-looking. The only thing that I've got going for me is that my people are healthy and live a long time. I've got longevity in my genes."

  Bobby laughed and cupped his crotch. "I've got longevity in my jeans, too."

  "Heard you rode that killer bull. What’s his name? Porn Star?"&nblia. liked to jack with Stewart. He was a down-to-earth, good guy – despite seeming to have it all.

  "Rock Star," Bobby said with satisfaction. "I stayed on that devil for the full, long eight seconds."

  Ladon slung his backpack over his massive shoulders. "Only a bull rider would think eight seconds is a long time. I pity your women, man. They have to learn how to get it in gear and get off fast."

  Bobby tipped his Stetson at a beautiful blonde that was walking toward him, and a curvy redhead that crossed their paths and spoke to him sweetly. "Hi, Bobby."

  "I always leave my women completely satisfied." Bobby stated matter-of-factly as he opened the double doors to the hall that led to the locker rooms and the player’s lounge.

  "That's what I hear." Reece Witherspoon flung a towel at the large hamper. "Word is that Stewart is hung like one of those bulls he rides. Hence, his nickname – Bull Stewart."

  "This is a locker room, 'Spoon. We've all seen each other's plumbing." Bobby passed off the good-natured ribbing with his usual smooth return. Looking up, he noticed that one of his coaches was standing at the door motioning him over. "Uh-oh, I'm being sent to the office."

  "If it's what I think it is, I believe you'll find its worth your trip," Reece sighed, wishing it was him.

  "What's up Coach?" Bobby didn't think he had done anything wrong, but he had halfway been expecting them to complain about his bull-riding. Some athletic programs frowned on their players doing anything off the field that could be construed as risk-taking behavior – and mounting one ton of pissed off bull was definitely a risk.

  "I've got some good news for you." The coach grinned at him. Bobby inwardly let out a breath of relief – this was, apparently, related to something else entirely.

  "Good news? Do you have a special play that you want me to try?" He loved to be on the receiving end of Colt McCoy's throwing arm. Colt could thread a needle with a football – he was just that accurate.

  "The deadline for declaring for the NFL draft is January. Are you planning on pitching your hat in the ring or are you content bouncing around on top of those widow-makers with horns?"

  Bobby looked sheepish. He hadn't tried to hide his extracurricular activities, but none of the coaching staff had ever mentioned it to him before.

  The middle-aged, ex-pro player knew extraordinary talent when he saw it. It was his business. Trotsky leaned back in his office chair and waited for Bobby to put his mind to rest. He had taken special interest in this young man because Stewart had that certain something that separated the good players from the great ones – give Bobby one shot with the ball and he could make it happen – and make it look easy. Stewart was a joy to coach.

  "Yes sir. I've already got the paperwork done."

  "Good… because Dallas is looking at you. You could be a first round draft pick."

  Bobby swallowed hard. Had he heard right? Playing for Dallas was his ultimate dream-come-true. "Sir – are you serious?"

  "They'll be at the first game. And don't worry about it. We've got a little time to get you ready. Just play like you normally do and try not to get yourself killed by one of those bucking hamburgers-on-the-hoofs before then." Trotsky stood and put his hand on Bobby's shoulder in a fatherly gesture. "I'm proud of you, boy. I've enjoyed coaching you more than you'll ever know. You're a good kid."

  Bobby walked back to the locker room in a daze. The Dallas Cowboys were interested in him – Bobby Stewart! Hot damn! He slapped his Stetson against his leg and laughed out loud. He thought about calling his brothers, but decided to wait until he had something more definite to tell them. Dallas! He couldn't believe it. Hell, this was great news! Dallas wouldn't know what hit it when Bobby Stewart arrived. He was going to take ‘Big 'D' by storm.

  Later that afternoon, Bobby was heading home. Class had let out early and all he had to do was run some errands and he was free for two days. The only thing he had to return to Austin for was football practice, which was a pleasure. Grabbing the list from the glove compartment, he checked to see what Alex had mapped out for him. Crap! This would take forever. He had to pick up Ethan's liquor order from the beverage store, pick up some samples from one of Alex's environmental conservation clients, fetch Mojo from the vet's office and buy the paint that had been special ordered for the B&B. Glancing out the window, he noticed a storm was brewing. Hopefully, he could get all this done and get home before the bottom fell out.

  Turning on the radio to his favorite station, Bobby rolled down the window and started singing Jake Owen's ‘Eight Second Ride’ to the top of his lungs. He was on top of the world. He couldn't believe that he might actually get the chance to play for Dallas. For a moment, he considered that he might tell his brothers the good news while he was home, but he didn't want to jinx the possible outcome. It was tempting, though…anything to nudge Ethan out of the funk that he d been in. Since his marriage to that human piranha, Francine, Ethan had been on a steady spiral into depression. He and Alex had told him that divorcing the vicious bitch had been the smartest thing that he had ever done.

  Pulling into the paint store, he checked his phone for messages. Damn! There were eight messages from assorted girls, and three of them would make a sailor blush. Bobby wondered what was wrong with him – he was fast losing his taste for pushy women. Most men would give their right nut to be in his shoes, but more and more Bobby Stewart was finding that he hungered for a woman who would let him be the aggressor. He wanted a woman that made him feel like a man, not just a piece of meat.

  *****

  Cecile put on a bit of lip gloss, rearranged her new, sexy negligee over her breasts and went to face the music. Cracking open the bathroom door, she could see Carl standing in front of the window. A nature lover, he had been taken by the beautiful grounds of the Bed and Breakfast. He had already mentioned that he wanted to check out the rose bed and the picturesque creek that ran behind the main guest house.

  He looked good standing there wearing only a pair of light blue pajama pants. Carl wasn’t muscled-up like some men, but he had a nice body. On the drive down to Lost Maples she had tried to remember how it felt when she had first fell in love with Carl – or when she thought they were in love. There was so much distance between them now, that it was hard to recall the excitement of his kiss or the warmth of his touch. Starting to step toward him, she stopped in her tracks when his cell phone rang. Cutting his eyes toward her, he let his gaze rake over her. Without a smile or nod of acknowledgement, he picked up the phone and walked over to the kitchen area leaving her standing there in her skimpy little outfit with a hesitant, expectant look on her face.

  From his conversation, she gathered that he was talking to his boss. Carl was a very successful pharmaceutical salesman (a glorified pill peddler was what her mother had called him). She went and took his place by the window, waiting for his phone call to end. If she wasn’t so nervous about what was about to happen with Carl, she would already have been on the phone with Annalise. She had huge news for her friend, but she couldn’t decide exactly how to tell her. She might have to be sneaky.

  When she had driven up to check in, the first thing she had noticed was the Welcome Sign. It had read: Proprietors – Mr. And Mrs. Ethan Stewart. Cecile was shocked. She knew that name. Ethan Stewart. Could he be Annalise’s Ethan? If it was and he was married, she would never breathe a word to ‘Lise. But something told her to have a little faith. When she had entered the lobby, there was no doubt in her mind. The man was incredibly good looking – both of
them. One was a golden god, and the other was the model for 15 erotic novels that she had edited for Annalise. To satisfy her curiosity, she had asked to speak to his wife – told him that she wanted to compliment her on the landscaping goe devastatingly good looking Ethan had gotten a serious look on his face and simply told her there was no Mrs. Ethan Stewart. That was the best news that Cecile had heard in a long time. Maybe Annalise’s dreams were finally going to come true; that is, if she could think of a way to convince her friend to visit one very picturesque Bed and Breakfast in the Texas Hill Country.

  She jumped when Carl snapped his phone closed. Waiting by the window, she held her breath, wondering if he would take the initiative and come to her. It must be obvious by the way she was dressed what she had on her mind. Counting to ten, she stood there like a dunce.

  Nothing.

  Very well – she’d be the brave one (or the foolish one) – the distinction would be made clear in a moment. Turning, she met Carl’s eyes. They were a beautiful shade of gray; she had always thought they were the color of a dove’s wing. He wasn’t smiling, there was a sad set to his mouth – she couldn’t read his expression. “Carl, I appreciate you agreeing to meet me here.”

  Walking slowly toward him, she smoothed her palms down her thighs, nervously.

  “I have to go on to Houston tomorrow; it was easier than driving back to Dallas.”

  His words stabbed her. What would it be like to have a husband that rushed home to her because he couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms? ‘Get a grip!’ she cautioned herself. She was on a mission. “I’m glad that we could have this time.” Walking right up to him, she stood there hoping he would touch her. His muscles tensed up, but he kept his hands to himself. Going for broke, she fell to her knees and tugged on his pajama bottoms. There was no resistance, maybe he was too shocked to stop her. He wore a pair of dark green boxer briefs, and if she wasn’t mistaken there was movement under them. Taking that small sign as encouragement, she tugged down his underwear to reveal his penis.