Sinful Things: Cowboys and Angels

"Please don't," Amy whispered, as his fingers started toying with the zip at her neck. "Please," she whispered again, her voice quivering as she pushed him back gently. She looked up into his eyes, feeling almost confused by the lack of annoyance or anger there -- instead they were like still blue ponds, calm and understanding. "Not here."

"Have dinner with me. Tomorrow night. Seven p.m." he said, stepping back and letting the zip drop back.

"And who exactly is "me"?" Amy asked, finally recovering her voice and senses.

"Dylan Steele, at your service," he said with a confident grin, tipping his hat. He took her hand and began leading her out of the changing rooms. "Let's get a drink and I'll tell you all about the shop."

Chapter 2

The day had dragged on forever, whilst getting ready seemed to pass in a blur. She still was not sure about her outfit, but a car had picked her up promptly at seven, leaving her with no choice but to go along with her safe choice of a little black dress. As the car had driven pulled up at the fancy restaurant on the bay, she had become even less confident about it, but she had been ushered past Christmas trees and festive displays to a quiet table at the back, before she had any chance to run. Amy bit her pale crimson bottom lip, trying to see if there was a way to escape, but as her eyes caught his, she somehow knew that he was not going to let her run.

She looked like a deer in headlights. Skittish, ready to run. Beautiful with a hint of wildness, all wrapped up in a deliciously conservative package. She was wearing a black dress; lacy, tight bodice, boat neckline that emphasised her long neck, flowing skirt a little too short to reach the knee of her long, black stockinged legs that were accentuated by black stiletto heels. His smile widened and his eyes locked onto hers, holding her in place.

"You look absolutely stunning," he said, tipping his hat before standing up and pulling out her chair. He caught the slightest hint of fruits from the glossy dark brown waves cascading over her shoulders, as she gracefully sat upon the chair he slid under her. "I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty of ordering a bottle of champagne?" He reached for the bottle, his eyes dismissing the waiter as Amy picked up her white napkin and laid it on her lap. He grinned, watching her nervous brown eyes as they lit up with amusement and he took off his Stetson, laying it on a spare chair between them. He handed her a single red rose, allowing his fingers to brush against hers, feeling the electricity between them.

"Had to make sure you recognised me," Dylan said, smiling at her, pouring out the champagne and handing her a glass, letting his fingers linger against hers again. "Plus, a cowboy always needs his hat."

"Well, I'm sorry that I didn't wear my wings so that you could recognise me," said Amy, with a shy smile.

"You don't need wings to look like an angel," he said, smoothly. "I think you look heavenly as you are."

"Thank you," Amy said, blushing slightly as she tried to hold his gaze. Her eyes flickered over his finely tailored charcoal suit, white dress shirt and silver tie, noting how the colours made his blue eyes look darker and more mysterious, while the impeccably fitting suit accentuated his finely toned figure and broad shoulders. "You look very handsome."

"Good. I wasn't sure I'd be as impressive in clothes," he said, his blue eyes glinting wickedly at her.

Amy smiled back, not wanting to say that she was finding him more attractive now; she had always had a thing about suits and ties, especially on a man that did not have to wear one every day. She took a sip of the golden, bubbly liquid -- clearly it was something expensive and of high quality given it was far sweeter than any sparkling wine she'd had before -- and then being partially swayed by Dylan's recommendations, Amy agreed to split a starter of tempura crab with him; followed by salmon almandine with garlic buttered new potatoes and sautéed asparagus, while Dylan opted for the blackened swordfish with chilli hollandaise, sautéed spinach and fried shrimp.

The conversation flowed as easily as the champagne and although Amy was far from comfortable, she did at least begin to relax a little -- Dylan made it easy to forget the rest of the world. Admittedly, he also made her skin feel as if it were on fire, especially when his eyes took on a lustful glint that seemed to devour every inch of her body.

Although feeling quite full, Dylan convinced her to at least split a dessert with him. Amy rolled her eyes at his insistence that she take the best pieces but she had to admit, that the chocolate cake was rich but light and the caramel was delicious. He was watching her so carefully as she ate her half of the dessert that her cheeks reddened as the thought of licking or having the caramel sauce licked off various body parts, crossed her mind. Given the smirk on his lips, she rather imagined he knew what she was thinking.

Amy's first thought was to ignore it -- ignore the smirk -- and his smug assumptions, but instead she went with her second thought. She dipped her finger into the sauce and carefully coated the tip in the thick, rich sauce. Then, she locked her eyes to his and brought the finger to her lips, letting her tongue circle the tip before sucking it into her mouth and slowly pulling it out again, long after it had been cleaned. She grinned, feeling mildly triumphant in that fact that momentarily at least, Dylan Steele looked a little hot under the collar. She decided to do it again, but before the finger could reach her lips, he grabbed her hand. She looked at him and allowed him to pull her hand over to his side of the table. She kept watching, her eyes glancing between his eyes and their hands, but she did not say or do anything.

Dylan kept his eyes on hers, still expecting her to withdraw her hand, but she was holding firm. He brought her sticky, caramel covered finger to his lips and slowly licked it clean, before sucking it into his mouth. He felt impressed by the face that the only betrayal in her sudden show of confidence was her teeth upon her bottom lip, and her slightly lowered gaze, which only made her all the more appealing to him. She was perfect -- intelligent, witty, sarcastic, good-humoured -- and when she talked about music and writing, her passion and enthusiasm made her shine even more beautifully, and he only wished that he might make her light even brighter. He nipped playfully at her fingertip and slowly removed his lips, kissing her hand before letting it go.

"Coffee?"

"I could attempt a mocha, please," Amy replied. A small shadow crossed her expression. "If that's okay?"

"If it's what you want, it's okay," said Dylan. He signalled the waiter and order a mocha and a black coffee. "Believe me, you definitely don't need to waste your energy on what anyone might think in here, because unless they think I'm sitting with the most beautiful girl in the world, they're wrong."

Amy gave a small laugh, her cheeks colouring slightly as she uneasily accepted the compliment. "Thank you," she murmured.

"I mean it. I don't think I've ever been lucky enough to spend the night in the company of a woman with such a beautiful heart, mind and body."

"Don't be silly," Amy protested. "I'm really not."

"You'll be hard pressed to make me believe otherwise."

***

He wrapped his coat around her shoulders and ferried her quickly into the car, with Bert closing the door quickly behind them. The privacy glass was already up and romantic country music was playing softly in the background. There was champagne chilling in a bucket and two glasses, but Amy declined having another drink -- she was still feeling a little giddy from dinner and did not like to go past the buzz she was already feeling. She did not want anything to ruin what was turning out to be an amazing evening.

The curious, playful looks at one another turned into kissing. Amy had slowly ended up with her head against the window, and now he was practically laying on top of her as he kissed her, his hands moving up along her legs. He was desperately curious to see whether she actually had any underwear underneath her little black dress, but he forced himself to only allow his hands to go as far as the lace tops of her stockings. Her shy yet sexy, passionate demeanour was intoxicating and he had a feeling it would not be too hard to fuck her right then and there, especially from the little pleading moans she made each time his hands trailed along the side of her chest, desperately wanting him to play her perfectly sized breasts. But he continued to deny them both what they wanted, instead enjoying the way they were teasing and tempting one another. He internally sighed and pulled away, bringing her up so that she was seated once more, unable to stop staring at her full lips and flushed cheeks, stunned by how wanton she could be in one moment and so demure the next.

"We will be arriving shortly, sir," Bert's voice came through the speakers, as Amy hastily smoothed her skirt and smiled mischievously at him.

***

"Thank you so much for dinner. I had a wonderful time," said Amy, her brown eyes shining brightly behind her thick red-rimmed glasses, shivering slightly in the cold despite her thick coat. "Would you like to come in for a drink?"

"Believe me, I want to, but no. I don't want to rush this," he said, looking at her seriously.

"Okay," Amy said, a hint of disappointment in her eyes and worry causing her smile to dim.

Dylan brushed a tendril of dark brown hair behind her ears and gently caressed her lightly powdered cheek. Then he lifted her chin so that she had to look into his eyes and see how much he wanted her. He grazed his thumb against her lips and as they parted slightly and he leant in and let his hungry mouth have just a taste of her.

Their lips pressed innocently together, slowly building in intensity. Amy put her arms around his neck, and he placed his hands firmly against hips, pulling her ever so slightly closer, allowing one hand to boldly move round to rest against her rounded ass. His tongue explored her mouth again, licking at her, teasing her, tasting the remnants of sugar and caffeine, before making her tongue chase his back into his mouth. Continuing to kiss her over and over until he felt her beginning to weaken in his arms. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, enjoying the sight of hers closed rapturously before gently pulling away, his teeth lightly grazing her bottom lip.

"Oh, wow," Amy murmured under her rapid breath, her arms dropping on top of his.

He held her until she was sure she could stand. It took a few moments -- long, lingering moments filled with long, tempting looks that were ripe with erotic fantasies -- and then he let his grip loosen, his hands gently resting against her hip as he kissed her cheek with a final, goodnight kiss.

"Good night, Amy."

"Good night, Dylan," she replied, her eyes glassy and bright, still sounding slightly breathless.

"Have dinner with me on Monday." As per usual, his request was more of a command than a question.

Amy smiled and shook her head in mild disbelief, bemused but unable to refuse. "Yes."

"Good," he said, waiting until she had unlocked her door and walked inside, before taking his leave.

"Good night," she said again, lingering behind the door as she started to close it, watching him walk back to the car as he tipped his hat one last time.

Chapter 3

Amy wished she could stop looking at her phone, but she seemed to be completely incapable of such a simple task. Normally, she could enter the office, put her phone in her bag and leave it there until her lunch break, but ever since her date with Dylan, she was constantly checking for new messages. Especially as she had not heard from him in three days -- not since he had cancelled what, she supposed, technically, was to be their third date. Of course, he had no control over what he was needed for when he was on call, but of course Amy's first thought was to imagine that she had done something wrong, some ridiculous faux pas at a restaurant that she had no right to be in, or any number of potential slights or him realising that he could do a million times better. Then she would remember the way he had kissed her in the changing rooms and at her front door, and wondered if someone could really put all that into a single kiss and it not mean a damn thing. She looked at the screen again and threw it angrily into a drawer.

"I can take it for you," Malissa offered, looking over at her sympathetically.

"Please," said Amy, retrieving the phone, telling herself she was checking it was not broken and not for a message from Dylan.

"So, who is he?"

"I, er, don't want really want to talk about it, just yet." Amy mumbled, twisting her hair up into a slight knot and clipping it up. "Just keep it out of my reach until the end of the day, please?"

"Sure thing, hun," Malissa said, smiling knowingly.

***

"Miss Carmichael."

"Bert?" Amy said, stopping in her tracks, confused.

"Mr Steele requests your company for the weekend. There is a bag with a choice of clothing and anything else you might need -- everything else will be provided for you at the cabin." Bert said smoothly, anticipating her questions and protests. "If you would just step this way." The tall, blonde mountain of a man deftly herded her towards the back of a large town car and Amy got in, too dazed to say anything to her bewildered colleagues. "If you don't mind me saying, I would suggest you change into something warm. Don't worry, I won't be able to see anything once the glass is up. Simply press the button in the arm rest if you require anything at all. Otherwise, I will leave you be until we have reached our destination." There was a brief pause before he added "Oh, and just leave your work clothes and shoes on the seat -- they'll be laundered and returned to you after the trip."

"Er, okay. Thank you?" Amy said, looking at the back of Bert's head in bewilderment as the privacy glass went up. "This is insane," she murmured to herself, pulling the soft, brown leather weekend bag to her feet and onto her lap. Inside were three pairs of jeans -- blue, black and charcoal -- three t-shirts, three jumpers, three cami-vest tops, three sweaters and three flannel shirts, all of which were in her size and probably cost more than her rent for the next six months.

She looked suspiciously at the dark glass even though she knew no one could see her, and with a little hesitation, she exchanged her ivory chiffon blouse and black skirt for charcoal jeans, a red cami and a long, burnt orange turtle-neck jumper that hung a little below her ass. She pulled on the thick, faux-fur lined boots and fingered the thick, insulated coat on the seat, wondering where on earth she was going and desperately hoping that it did not involve skiing.

***

Eventually, the car pulled into the driveway of a large house made of wood and glass. Dylan was waiting in the doorway and he ushered her in as the first small flurry of snow began to fall. He ushered her inside and closed the door, as the car made its way back to town. He took her coat and placed his hand on the small of her back as he ushered her towards the roaring fire. She gave him a stern look and went to stand by the window, her eyes widening at the sight of nothing but snow-covered fields, forest and mountains as far as she could see.

"Is something wrong?" Dylan asked, confused.

"You've not called or texted or anything for three days. And then you kidnap me and provide me with clothes that are creepily in my size and cost more than I can spend on myself in a year."

"Jessie told me your size. And I'm sorry, I thought it would be a nice surprise to make up for breaking our date."

Amy made a non-committal noise of irritation. She had to admit it was a pretty good excuse, and one that was annoyingly hard to stay mad with. "Well, you should have called," she said, pouting.

He moved beside her and took her chin in his hand. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again." He kissed her quickly before she could say anything more, deep and soft.

"Okay then," Amy said, feeling a little too flushed and aroused to stay mad at him. They stood at the window for a moment, simply watching the snow begin to fall a little harder. He shifted slightly and their reflections locked eyes.

"No one," said Dylan, catching the concern and suspicion inside her brown eyes.

"Excuse me?" said Amy, confused.

"I assume you were going to ask how many other women I've brought up here?" said Dylan, patiently. "And the answer is none. No one else. Only you."

"Oh." Her eyes dropped away from his and looked out at the snow, seeing nothing stirring upon the ground or in the sky, struck once more by the lonely beauty of land that had not been razed by human hands. "Wow. The view here really is beautiful."

"Yes, it is," Dylan replied, pushing her hair to one side.

Amy blushed, his lips leaving hot kisses along the back of her neck. "I hope you're better with actions than you are with words," Amy said, rolling her eyes but still feeling flattered by the cheesy line.

"Challenge accepted, Miss Carmichael," Dylan said, immediately picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder as she shrieked and struggled in surprise. He carried her into the bedroom and threw her onto the bed, immediately kneeling over her and pinning her wrists in one hand. His other hand lightly skimmed along her arms and over her breast, sending shivers through her body, delighting in the catches of her breath. "Would it be easier for you, if I take these off?" he asked, bringing his free hand up to her face, his fingers lingering against her glasses.

"Maybe," Amy said. She knew it did not make much sense, but she could somehow believe she was beautiful when she could not see herself and it gave her a little more confidence.

He carefully took the spectacles off her head and pulled her up by her wrists as he placed them on his bedside table, before letting her drop back down as he leaned over her.

"Do you mind letting me have my hands for a moment?" she asked, bemused by the feeling of being a puppet in his hands.

"Yes, I do mind," Dylan said, smirking, rubbing the hand not around her wrists, over her breasts and leaning in to kiss her passionately.

"Please?" she asked again, rolling her eyes and smiling.

"I'll put you over my knee and spank you if you keep that up," he murmured, pulling her back up before releasing her.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as she stood.

"I guess we'll have to see, won't we?" he replied, walking over to a cabinet as she got up and stood by a mirror, needing a moment to think and not wanting him to undress her this time. She pulled the jumper up over her head and took off the new jeans and her comfortable white cotton panties, feeling his cock against her back as she straightened up. He took a tendril of hair in one hand, and pulled her body more tightly into his as he began to kiss her neck.

"Why don't you believe you're beautiful?" he murmured between kisses, making her sigh and moan softly.

"Because I'm not," she replied, matter-of-factly. "Besides, does it really matter what I think about myself?"

"Yes," he replied, equally matter-of-factly. He started kissing over every inch, his fingertips lightly tracing over the myriad scars there, wondering what pains had lead to them, unconcerned that her skin was not perfect, though he could tell she was worried about it. He let his hands lightly trace along the sides of her torso, allowing his large, rough fingers to gently tease the sides of her swelling mounds, despite his desire to completely maul them at once.