Page 62 of Kicking Up Dust

Coming quickly isn’t Colt’s problem, and he isn’t bad at sex in the slightest. He’s incredible at it. Selfless and passionate with a filthy mouth, large in all the right places and perfectly pierced.

The problem was that we were almost too compatible, I think. If sex would be like this for the rest of our lives, we might just end up setting a new record for the number of children a couple can have and wind up with a reality TV show or something.

“Close,” I whimper, pushing his head away so I can reposition myself onto my hands and knees. He’s not gentle when he pushes back inside of me, but I don’t want him to be. My front half lowers onto the pillow I’d been using to prop up my back a moment ago, hiding my face against it. His piercings roll over my G-spot over and over again and I don’t know why we ever even tried to have sex in a different position because this one is clearly the best one.

“Don’t hide your sounds from me,” he demands, wrapping his hand around my hair and tugging hard enough I know he means business. The zip of pain in my scalp sends me over the edge, my eyes rolling back as I come apart around him.

He grunts, letting go of my hair to grab my hips tighter, speeding up until he stills with his pelvis pressed hard against my butt, unloading inside me again.

“Jesus, fuck,” he mumbles, hands slipping around to the bottom swell of my stomach as he presses kisses along my spine, making me shiver. “You’re so fucking sexy. I’m so addicted to you.”

“Ditto,” I pant out in response as my mind runs with a thousand new things I want to research about my latest findings.

The high of last night’s truly incredible sex lasts approximately ten hours, until Colt’s phone wakes me up the next morning, which is odd because Colt left for work a few hours ago.

I don’t mean to be nosy. I mean to simply mute the phone or turn it off so I can roll back over and go back to sleep, but the text message on the screen catches my eye.

Melissa

See you at noon.

Who in the absolute hell is Melissa?

And why is she texting my boyfriend’s phone at five in the morning, making plans to see him on his lunch break?

The lunch break he told me he was working through today.

Hot rage fills me, replacing the exhaustion. I’m used to not being wanted, to being slotted into families I don’t belong in, but Colton Whittaker has another thing coming if he thinks he’s going to push me out of this one. I belong with him, and whoever this Melissa woman is definitely does not.

I pull on a pair of sweatpants and unlock Colt’s phone. I’m not going to go through Melissa’s messages with him. All it would do is make me angrier if my suspicions are true. Instead, I call Maddox.

“Uh, hello?” he answers, likely confused that Colt’s name is popping up on his phone despite them being near one another.

“Where’s my child’s father?”

“The arena. The outdoor one. It’s over by the⁠—”

“I know where it is,” I snap, sliding my feet into my Crocs.

“Alright. Is, uh, everything okay?”

I snort. “We’ll see.”

The arena is a bit of a walk from the cabin, but every step just makes me angrier and angrier.

Another woman. Who he’s meeting with. At noon. When he told me he wasn’t going to be coming home for lunch today because he had a “busy day” and would be “working straight through.”

He’d said that a few other times recently, too. Had he been lying every time? Meeting up with Melissa?

“Colton Dean Whittaker!” I yell the second I see the group of ranch hands by the outdoor arena. His head snaps around at the sound of my voice, as does everyone else’s. I’m not close enough to see the faces of the other men, but the way they scatter as I get closer tells me they’re very aware that pregnant women and anger isn’t a combination they want to be around for.

“What’s wrong?” Colt asks, brows furrowed and hands filthy. “Did you walk here? Let’s… C’mon,” he tries to lead me toward the indoor arena, toward air conditioning, but I cross my arms and glare at him.

“You left your phone at home.”

“Yeah, I noticed. I was going to come get it in a few hours so I didn’t wake you up when I came inside.”

“How considerate,” I sneer. “You’re working through lunch, right?”