Page 47 of Live Love Lasso

Fangs throbbing, I gnash at the air as I gasp for breath and thrust my hips against his. Oh gods, gods, another orgasm drags long, until my entire body’s fluttering and throbbing around him. His cock kicks inside me as he comes again, falling over top of me as the rhythm of his hips slows.

Groaning, I arch against him, offering my chest and neck. He latches onto my breast and bites, stretching bliss out long as my pussy trembles, clasping him hard and deep. He releases the bite and moves up my neck to where it meets my shoulder. Mouth open wide, he lurches forward and sinks his fangs into my skin. His aren’t as long as mine, but the effect of being bitten by him is instantaneous—ecstasy erupts once more, flowing through my system slow and hot like molten lava. Every inch of me is aware of where he’s touching me and that spot where we’re connected.

His bite is possessive, dominant, and the need to submit to him rides me hard. I stretch into him, wanting more of his skin touching mine. More, I want more. It’ll never be enough.

I will never tire of touching this man.

Gods, I want to flip him and bite him and do this all over.

Furyon releases the bite, kissing a trail up my jawline until he can capture my lips. His kiss is deep, rough, his tongue dipping into my mouth with practiced intensity. When we part, breathing rapidly, he flips us so I’m on top. Warm hands slide up my back and press me down on his chest.

“C’mere, Lemon.” The depth of his voice is like a soothing warm bath. Pressing my chin to his chest, I stare at him in wonder.

He smiles, but it seems tentative as he strokes down my spine. “I didn’t push you too hard with any of that, right? The words, I mean…”

I kiss his pec, never looking away. “The degradation was hot.”

He chuckles, but it falls off. “How’d it feel to call me mate?”

Heat flares through me again, and I press my hips against his. “Good,” I admit. “Better than good. It felt so right to call you that.”

His smile lights up the room, and I decide then and there that I have to have every one of his smiles. I don’t know how to make this work, but I know I don’t want him to feel unsure about what I am to him. Not if I can help it. Not if I can make it right. I don’t know how to figure our situation out, but I know he’ll help me. I’m not alone. Not anymore.

I sit up and scratch my nails gently over his chest. He groans and shudders, eyes rolling into his head. “Mmm, feels good, city girl.”

“Mate,” I correct. “Feels good, mate.”

His eyes flash with emotion, those sinful lips curling up again. “We doing this, Lemon? I know you didn’t wanna rush⁠—”

“Feels good, mate,” I say a little more forcefully, reaching down to put a finger beneath his chin. “Let me hear it, Furyon.”

He growls, soft and low, the sound both warning and intoxicating. “Say it again while I fuck you, mate.”

Laughing, I slide down his body. I need that fantastic fucking cock in my mouth again. So I take what I want. And he gives and gives and gives until we’re both a boneless mess.

“Just toss the corn that way.” Furyon grins at me as I reach into the bucket and throw a handful of corn for his chickens. Two of the pit hells stand beside me, snorfling my boots—the boots he let me borrow that are caked with mud and who-knows-what—as I stand in front of the chicken coop door.

“Who’d have thought I’d ever be in this situation?” I mutter as I grab a second handful of corn and throw it for the hens. They crowd around my feet, chasing the dogs out of the way. Roger, the rooster, sits awkwardly on my shoulder, his claws digging into my skin. Furyon says it means Roger likes me. I don’t know how one can tell, though, because every time I turn my head to look at him he pecks my cheek. Gently, but still. Are pecks a rooster love language? Is that a thing?

“What situation?” Furyon comes to my side and grips my throat, running his thumb over my swollen lips. “Wearin’ nothin’ but my work shirt and boots, feeding chickens while my dogs yowl at you? We got the horses next. Don’t forget about Zig and Zag.”

I laugh and nip at his thumb. “Yeah. If my family could see me now.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of tires echoes toward us from the road. We turn to look. Bluebell barrels toward us in her green pickup. Oz is next to her, arm out the window. I do believe they’re singing.

Alan Jackson. My gods, a fave of mine for sure.

Furyon snorts. “Are they listenin’ to human country music?”

“It’s my absolute fave,” I gush. “We’re gonna talk about that sometime. I’ll introduce you to all the best bands. Old school country from the human nineties is best, but there are a few newer bands I dig.”

He stares at me, eyes wrinkling in the corners, his smile soft. He reaches out, dragging his knuckles along my jawline. “I can’t wait to find out everything about you that I don’t know yet. You are fascinating to me, Miss Knox.”

I love that he uses the last name I gave him rather than my real one, like he’s happy to keep playing into that farce if it makes me feel good.

He winks. “I almost hope I get to arrest you ‘cause the idea of cuffing you and bending you over my truck is mighty appealing.”

I scoff right as Bluebell screeches to a halt, dirt and rocks flying. The chickens squawk and rush around in chaotic circles while the pit hells holler and shriek, crowding her door and jumping up to peer inside. The rooster, whose name is apparently Roger, squawks loudly and rushes the tire, pecking at it, the pit hells, and anything he can reach.