Page 32 of The Wrangler and the Tenderfoot

He stepped back, just long enough to kick off his boots, drag his jeans and briefs to his ankles, and then, unselfconscious, push them aside. His cock sprang free, already glistening at the tip. I reached for him, but he caught my wrists and held them, pinning me to the mattress.

“Wait,” he said, voice rough. “Let me.”

He dropped to one knee, hands running down my sides, and hooked his thumbs into my waistband. He peeled my jeans and panties down in one fluid move, then nudged my knees apart with his hands. I was exposed, open to the air, the draft of the cabin, and the heat of his breath making me shiver.

He knelt between my legs, lips brushing the inside of my thigh. He licked a line up my skin, teasing, and then ran the flat of his tongue over my clit, slow and unhurried. I gripped the frame of the cot, held on, trying not to buck into his mouth. He didn’t stop, just kept licking, firm and precise, until my hips rolled under him, and my breath came in harsh, stuttering gasps.

He slid two fingers into me, curling them up, and the sound I made was almost embarrassing. He pulled back, looked up at me, and said, “Good?”

“God, yes,” I said, breathless. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He licked and sucked until I came, hard, legs clamping around his shoulders, the world going white at the edges. He rode it out, holding me steady, then pulled back, lips shiny, eyes glazed with hunger.

He fumbled in the floor for his jeans, pulled a condom from the back pocket, and tore the wrapper with his teeth. He rolled it on, the latex flashing in the silver light, then lined up and pushed into me, slowly at first, then harder when he felt how ready I was.

The cot creaked, metal frame scraping against the wall, but neither of us cared. He set a rhythm, strong and deep, one hand tangled in my hair, the other gripping my hip so hard I’d probably bruise. I met him thrust for thrust, hands running up his chest, nails raking down his back.

He leaned down and pressed his forehead to mine. “You feel perfect,” he whispered, and I laughed, not because it was funny but because I’d never heard anything that honest in my life.

We kept at it until I came again, this time with a cry that echoed in the tiny space, and he groaned, cock twitching as he hit his edge. He fucked through it, rough and relentless, until he came with a shudder, collapsing on top of me, breath hot against my neck.

We lay there, tangled together, my skin slick with sweat and the scratch of the old wool blanket making every nerve buzz.

He rolled off, peeled the condom off, and tied it in a knot before tossing it beside his jeans. He lay on his back, one arm behind his head, the other curled around my waist. We didn’t talk. There was no need. The night pressed in, silent and thick, and for once I felt completely at home. Eventually, I drifted. My head on his chest, my body warm and satisfied.

Chapter 15: Reid

The line shack wasn’t built for sleeping. The cot was narrow, and the roof ticked in the heat, and the door didn’t hang quite straight. None of that had mattered much last night. It mattered a little now, at least to the crick in my lower back.

Jennie was on my chest. Her glasses were on the floor beside her boots. One hand tucked under her chin, hair loose, and I’d been lying there awake for a while just listening to the dark. Grass moving outside. A nighthawk making its rounds. Ghost shifting his weight at the post, the creak of the lead rope going taut and then slack again.

Ghost. I’d deal with that in a minute.

“I know what you are.”

I didn’t move, just kept my eyes on the ceiling. “Yeah.”

“I’ve known for a while.”

“How long’s a while?”

She shifted, propped her chin on her hand, and looked at me in the dark. “A week. Give or take. I have drone footage. You and three others, out in the rain by the gun stash. I watched the whole thing.”

A week. I ran the count back. A week of me watching her and thinking I was the one doing the watching. “You didn’t run,” I said.

“No.”

“Why not?”

She was quiet for a second. “Because you didn’t act like something I needed to run from.”

Outside, the nighthawk had quit. The grass had gone still. Ghost shifted again at the post, one hoof, then settled.

“What’s on the footage?” I asked.

“Your face. Clear enough. Buck’s too. The young one, the tall one.”

Eli. Three of us on camera. Calder. He’d want to know. Not yet, though.