Page 99 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

I close my hand around her side, my thumb digging into the muscle beneath my palm, and she hisses as the back of her head bumps the fence post. She loves every second of it, and I keep my hand right where it is.

Her belt gives with a groan, and I shove the denim down over her hips without easing the pressure between us. She drags her nails across my cheek, and I catch her hand before she gets any farther, pinning it over her head again while the other stays trapped behind her back.

Her legs lock tighter around my waist, holding me against her as her boots knock against the weathered boards with every ragged movement. She’s halfway out of her jeans, and I can’t remember when that happened.

Every scrape across her skin, every bruise that’ll bloom, every split in her lip burns through me until it feels like I’m carrying them with her.

She gives me every ounce of fight she’s got, and I meet her with my own because holding her here still doesn’t satisfy the part of me that wants to leave my mark all over her.

She tears one hand free with a burst of strength, hooks her thumb beneath my jaw, and jerks my face back toward hers. Mud streaks her cheek, her eyes burn into mine, and her mouth curls into the same defiant grin that’s been driving me crazy since she showed up.

“You want to talk about reckless?” she rasps, her words scraped raw from running, or maybe from wanting me this much. “You haven’t got a clue.”

Before I can answer, she catches my wrist and guides my hand between her legs, hot and already desperate beneath the cotton.

She shoves her underwear aside, hooks my fingers where she wants them, and shows me exactly where, exactly how, exactly now.

I don’t hesitate. Wanting her has burned away every sensible thought I’ve got, and I drive two fingers inside her before she can get another word out.

My thumb finds her clit, pressing hard enough to make her break apart against me as her hips slam into my hand. She bites back a whimper, grinding against my palm with enough force to leave both of us shaking.

Whatever control I thought I had disappeared a long time ago. My jeans bunch around my knees while she rides my hand on trembling legs, strands of copper hair stuck across her damp face.

She lets go of my hair only long enough to sink her teeth into the muscle of my shoulder, biting hard enough to pull a grunt out of me and send sparks through my head.

I welcome the bruise because I want every mark she leaves behind, every reminder written across my skin in blood and heat that this happened exactly like this, with her wild enough to give herself to me without holding back.

“Well.”

The single word hits me like a boot across the back of my neck.

Willy.

I’d know his voice anywhere.

Every muscle in my body locks while her legs stay wrapped around my waist, my hand stays exactly where it is, and we’re left frozen together in a position neither of us can pretend away.

“Don’t mind me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Arizona

Red’s pulse hammers against me as his whole body locks up behind me, his shoulders bunching while his hand stays wedged between my legs. I can’t see his face from this angle, but I’d bet every dollar in my truck that his ears are burning as red as his beard.

I don’t even bother pretending to be embarrassed. Willy can stand there and stare all he wants because I’ve got Red’s cock hard against my thigh, my own pulse pounding in my clit, my fingers hooked through his belt loop, and modesty isn’t even crossing my mind.

Red meets my eyes over my shoulder, and beneath all that fury and humiliation sits a plea that’s almost sweet. The sight of it cracks me up, and my laugh slips free before I can stop it, making his fingers twitch against me before they tighten again.

Willy’s boots crunch across the dirt until he stops a few feet away, grinning like he’s enjoying every damn second of this. “Didn’t mean to interrupt, but if the two of you could stop dry humpin’ the fence post, I was going to ask if you wanted tea?”

His words say one thing, but his feet tell a different story because he keeps walking toward us instead of giving us any space.

When he reaches us, Willy slides a finger beneath my chin and lifts my face until I’m looking at him.

His smile turns softer before he kisses me, and my head spins with Red still pressed against my back, his hand still buried where it is, his body tight enough that I can feel every ounce of restraint he’s hanging onto.

Am I really about to fuck them both?