“Oh fuck, Shane.” She shudders. We’re both slick with sweat as she rolls her hips and starts rocking with me. I glide in and out, feeling my balls tighten, ready for release.
“Oh God,” she screams, spreading her legs wider for me and I thrust harder, meeting her rhythm. My senses are on overload. Brooke’s blowing my mind with every touch and sound. We’re a perfect goddamn fit. She’s hit some kind of switch within me. I clasp her ass cheeks, spreading and closing them with every thrust, and she writhes like a wild animal. I can’t believe this is her first time.
“The first cum inside your womb will be mine.” I thrust deeper, and Brooke writhes and groans for me. “Is that what you want? I’m going to fill you, baby girl.”
“Yes.” She tightens her legs around my waist. I fuck her deeper and thrust harder. My balls slap against her ass. Her slick walls clamp around me as we ride harder and faster.
I’m kissing her, fucking her at the same time, trying to fill every fucking hole. I can’t get enough. “You’re mine, Brooke.”
She screams out, writhing and moaning, and I feel her starting to come apart. “Come for me, Brooke. I want to feel your pretty cherry cunt come all over my cock for the first time.” I reach between us and stroke her sopping wet clit. My little cherry girl bucks against my fingers.
My balls tighten with every thrust. Every fucking ounce of hesitancy is gone. I’m grunting and fucking her with everything I have.
Brooke trembles, screaming out my name. Her velvet walls clench around my cock tighter than ever.
“Milk me dry, baby girl. Come on my cock,” I roar, driving into her.
Brooke bucks, riding my dick as she dissolves in ecstasy, crying out my name. I see stars and blinding white light, and I launch like a rocket. Goddamn.
She wins me. I win her. She’s all mine. I thrust again, claiming her deep, spurting every last drop of my seed into her.
I collapse into Brooke’s shoulder. We’re both slicked with sweat. Holding her close, I bury my nose into her silken hair. Six months, six years, forever—I never want to let her go.
I know it’s selfish to want her the way I do. And yeah, if I want something, I usually just take it. Because I know it will never be anything permanent. Anything other than part time, or for a short time, isn’t for me. And it’s never been a problem, until now.
I’m not a man who loses control—and I just did.
Chapter Seven
I can’t stop thinking about the best fucking morning of my life. I’m a little sore, but, for whatever reason, getting my cherry popped wasn’t nearly as painful as people make it out to be.
It’s just after seven. Shane usually gets home around seven thirty, and I want everything to be perfect. It’s a small kitchen, but I’ve set the table with a pretty floral tablecloth. I even added a few votive candles and a set a jar of wildflowers right in the middle.
The hamburgers are almost done, and I made my mom’s famous potato salad. It’s ready in the fridge.
Singing along to Kenny Chesney blaring from my phone, I grab the two prettiest glasses I can find and place them on the table. Maybe we’ll have wine tonight. I hunt around the cabinets for something other than beer and hear the front door open.
My heart sings. My pulse jackhammers. The birds have flown the nest and they’re all clamoring around my insides, not knowing what to do next. How ’bout fuck?
“Hey,” Shane calls from the living room, and I rush out to join him. He plunks down on a chair and starts to pull off his dusty boots.
I lean down and give him a kiss on the cheek, wanting to jump on his lap, but he looks a little stressed. “Everything go okay today?”
Shane sends me a panty-dropping smile. “Yeah,” he says, tugging the second boot off. “Blade Parker helped me work a deal with a rancher he knows. It looks like I’m buying another fifty head of cattle.” He looks up and our eyes connect right as he breaks into a dashing smile. And it’s game over. “Come, here.” Shane rises, spreading his massive arms open wide. In a heartbeat, his big, callused cowboy hands are stroking my back in a tight, possessive hug.
I wrap my arms around his tight waist and bury my nose into his plaid shirt, smelling pine and Shane—and cows. “I need a quick shower,” he whispers, and then sniffs the air. “Are you cooking something?”
“Uh-huh.” I grin. “Just one of my many talents.”
“Don’t even get me started on your talent this morning.” He chuckles and kisses my forehead. “Be right back, baby girl.”
I keep myself busy while Shane showers. The pipes are so old in this house I can hear the water running. He must look like fucking heaven with hot water running down over his rippling marble muscles. Just the thought of him in there with all that steam makes me wet. I keep my thighs clenched as I putter around the kitchen.
I can’t find any wine, so I fill the delicate glasses with beer. I have to admit the table looks pretty fancy.
Shane rejoins me in the kitchen, taking up all the space, smelling clean and fresh like a spicy pine-tree ocean. My man.
He takes a seat, and I bring the potato salad and hamburgers to the table. All the fixings—buns, ketchup, mustard, lettuce, onions, and tomatoes—are already there.
Shane catches my eye. “You didn’t have to cook for me.” Something about the evenness of his tone puts me on edge.
“But I wanted to,” I say, gliding into the chair across from him.
“Thanks. I appreciate it. But I have concerns about this morning.” He doesn’t look up as he loads his burger with tomatoes.
I don’t want to hear his answer but ask anyway. “Concerns about me losing my virginity? Do you regret what we did?”
“Absolutely not.” He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I just don’t want to mislead you, Brooke.” He gestures to the table and points at the flowers. “Now you can tell everyone that you lost your virginity to your husband, just like you wanted.”
I scoop a spoonful of potatoes onto my plate. “But?”
“But I’m not sure playing house together is a good idea. Strike that—I’m positive it isn’t a good idea. There’s still a lot of time left on our deal, and fucking each other the whole time won’t lead to anything but disappointment.”
My heart sinks. Not this shit again. “How can you say that? How do you know if I’ll be disappointed?”
“Because I do. You’ll just have to trust that I know what’s best for you, and me, for that matter. I’ve got fifteen years on you. I know what I’m talking about.”
“You don’t know—”
“I was honest with you from the start. I’m not good with commitment, Brooke.” He gives me a heated stare, and damn, do his blue eyes get dark. “You don’t want me getting any closer to you than I already am, because I swear to God, I’m at my breaking point.”
“Good.” I snort, lifting my chin. “Then I’ll break you.” I pretend to ignore him, stabbing a slice of tomato with my fork.
“I can be a very possessive man. I’m not sure you’d like it. I’d never let you leave my sight, and you haven’t even lived.”
“Try me.” I top my hamburger with a bun. “Maybe I like possessive.”
He takes a sip of his beer. “This isn’t a joke, Brooke. This isn’t kid stuff, and I’m not a boy. If you keep tempting me like you did this morning, there won’t be any going back.” He sets his glass down with a clunk. “But trust me when I tell you that I’m happy I was your first.”
I’m not as fucking flabbergasted as I should be, because I know by now that Shane is stubborn as hell. And he knows how to put up a fight. I grit my teeth and hold his stare. There’s a vulnerability about him I haven’t noticed until today.
Is it possible? I try to decipher the emotions hiding behind his eyes. Is it possible that my caveman is worried about himself? Is Shane afraid of being hurt?
A rap on the front door startles me. I turn to the sound, momentarily frozen. We never get any company out here. It’s
the first time I’ve even heard anyone at the door. “Expecting company?”
“No.” Shane scoots out from his chair. “And it’s late for anyone to be showing up out of the blue.”
I follow behind him as whoever it is knocks again.
“Stay back.” Shane grabs a gun I’ve never seen before out of the console by the door and tucks it in the back of his pants. “Might be best if you keep out of sight until we know who the fuck it is.”
My heart drops to the floor. I never needed a gun to answer my door in Chicago. But then again, my city isn’t full of batshit-crazy people like West Palomino. I take off to the hallway and stay tucked around the corner where I can still see into the living room.
Shane opens the door, and before he can say a word, a pretty woman with brown hair storms in. “When were you going to tell me?” she fumes, propping her hands on her slim hips. She’s wearing jeans and a Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt. “Well?”
Shane isn’t at all concerned. He obviously knows her. “Lovely to see you, Jenny. Come in.” He lays the sarcasm on thick. “Oh, right, you’ve done that already.”
I sneak out from behind the corner.
“You’re married?” Jenny’s mouth hangs open. She crosses her arms and taps her foot, looking like she’s ready to blow her top. She scans the living room and locks eyes on me.
“Uh, hey, I’m Brooke.” I give an awkward smile and wave a few fingers.
“What in the goddamn fuck?” She gapes at me and then swings her gaze back to Shane. “Are we the last to know? You didn’t tell me or Ryder or Chase, and just went out and . . . got married?”
“There’s a little more to it, Jenny.”
“And I had to hear it from Pastor Michael? There I am picking up mac and cheese at Slow Mo and, shit, Shane. I’m at the checkout counter, and he tells me he wishes there were more people at the ceremony.” She starts pacing. “Of course, I don’t know what the blazes he’s talking about,” Jenny barks, “so like an idiot, I ask, ‘What ceremony?’ And the pastor says, ‘You know, the wedding.’ A fucking wedding? Really, Shane? You didn’t even think to call your own fucking sister?”
Jenny points to me. I straighten, a little freaked out I’m being drawn into this mess. “Is she your goddamn wife?” She catches herself. “Sorry, I don’t mean anything against you.”
“No problem,” I mutter, wishing I could fade into the woodwork. “I get it. It’s a lot to take in.”
Shane shrugs, seeming completely unperturbed. “Well, now you’ve got that little tirade out of your system, why don’t you take a load off? It’s not what you think, Jenny. You’re missing a big part of the puzzle.”
“Please come in,” I say. “Join us for dinner. We were just sitting down.”
Jenny eyes me cautiously. “Well, I guess. If that’s the only goddamn way I’m going to get any answers around here.” She grumpily follows us into the kitchen. I grab another place setting while she slides into the chair between Shane’s and mine.
“Jenny, this is Brooke. Brooke, the raving mad bull you just heard is my quiet little sister, Jenny.”
“Nice to meet you, Jenny,” I say as nonchalantly as possible. I can see Shane is tiny bit rattled, but he isn’t worried sick, not in the least. The only thing that’s different about him is his forehead. It’s creased.
I chuckle to myself, even though I shouldn’t. It’s kind of fun to see Mr. Control Everything off his game for a change. “Potato salad?” I ask brightly, side-eyeing Shane before passing Jenny the bowl. “It’s my mom’s recipe.”
Jenny hesitates before accepting my offering. She gives me a confused smile, as if she’s holding back from doing something else, like holler at her brother again.
Shane clears his throat. “Brooke is Chuck Carlisle’s granddaughter.”
“Oh.” Jenny’s face softens, and for the first time I notice how pretty she is. She’s one of those natural beauties, with clear peaches-and-cream skin and sparkling green eyes. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she says sincerely. “I didn’t know your grandfather well, but I know he was a great man, and a real treasure in Shane’s life.”
“Yes. So, Chuck was worried about what would happen to Brooke when he died.” Shane nods. “Worried about keeping the ranch in the family.”
I’m relieved he doesn’t mention my ex, Steve. “Bottom line—we wanted to give my grandfather peace of mind when he died. And we each get a hundred thousand dollars and a hundred acres if we can stay married for six months.”
Jenny’s eyes grow wide. She turns to Shane and then me, not saying anything, like she’s trying to wrap her around the concept.
“Trust me. No one was invited to our wedding.” I point to the living room. “We exchanged vows right there. No pomp and circumstance. Just the pastor, Gramps, and Ethel, the nurse. My mom wasn’t even there.”
“Holy shit.” Jenny lifts her empty glass. “Do you have anything alcoholic?”
“Sure.” I hurry to the fridge and bring back a beer.
“Thanks.” Jenny immediately fills her glass to the rim. “Wow. A hundred grand. That’s a lot of money, and all that land, Shane. This is going to change your life.”
“It is, and it will.” He nods. “But I didn’t do this for the money.”
“I know Mr. Carlisle meant a lot to you, but an arranged marriage? We back in the eighteen hundreds now?”
“Chuck had his reasons, and Brooke and I agreed. Either one of us could’ve walked away,” Shane says, reaching for the relish. “You didn’t know Chuck very well. He could be very persuasive—let’s put it that way. Anyway, now that you know, I’d prefer it if you kept this information to yourself.”
“Not even tell Chase or Ryder? I don’t know if I can keep this from them.” Jenny catches my eye, silently asking if I’m on board.
I nod. “Yeah, it’s best not to tell anyone. We don’t need everybody in town talking about us and starting rumors.”
“If anyone will tell Ryder and Chase, it will be me,” Shane says. “But I doubt it. And I’ll ask Pastor Michael to stop yapping. I don’t need him getting the whole congregation riled up.”
“And this has to be a secret because . . .”
“Because we’re going to get a divorce in four months and two days.”
I give Shane a double take. Well, that bugs me. Is he really counting down to the day?
Jenny kicks back in her chair and eyes Shane. “So, you’re living together? You’re here full time?”
Shane nods.
“As man and wife?” She quirks her brow and sips her beer.
Well, shit, if that question doesn’t make my cheeks get hot as I flash back to what we did on the couch this morning. I’m probably the color of the ketchup bottle. I hold my breath, waiting for Shane to answer. I’m not touching that question with a ten-foot pole.
Shane shifts his focus on me, as if he’s thinking about a million ways to answer the simple question. “Yes. I guess you could say that, in a way, we’re living as a married couple.”
Jenny shakes her head. “Well, you guys are awfully good at faking it. You look pretty content to me. As a matter of fact, if I didn’t know better, I would swear you two were in love.”
Chapter Eight
June
I’m smiling as I turn the wheel and guide my truck up the bumpy driveway. I’m going to need to fill all these potholes one of these days. But right now, it’s still Chuck’s house to me.
The only thing that’s different about it is the sexy-as-fuck, tight little cherry-hole waiting inside.
Every damn day, it’s a fucking struggle to keep my dick in my pants, and my lips off her mouth, or pussy for that matter. And after we fucked the first time, it’s been damn near impossible not to climb into bed with her, or bust into the shower and fuck her in there.
Every. Fucking. Second. I have to say no to my cock. No to her slick cunt. I can’t even be close to Brooke without getting a raging boner. It’s fucking pathetic. I’ve been jacking myself o
ff two, three, four times a day. She’s turned me into a goddamn sixteen-year-old. Course, back then I’d fuck anything that moved. Not anymore. You’d think I’d call one of my hook-ups and get a little fucking relief, but I don’t have interest in anyone other than Brooke. No other pussy even comes close to my Brooke’s tight glove. I’m fucked. Fucked because I’m not being fucked.
I put the truck in park and head into the house. I could’ve stopped somewhere for a sandwich or eaten lunch with the crew, but I knew Brooke wasn’t planning on doing anything except staying home and painting. And even if I have to keep it in my pants, she’s still irresistible.
I can’t get enough of just looking at her, or getting a whiff. I’d bet she’s dripping for me twenty-four-seven, because I can smell it. She pretty much told me that now she’s fucked for the first time, her pussy is dying for more of my cock. I fucking knew it would.
I warned Brooke I’d ruin her for anyone else.
And now, for her, it’s no holds barred. She’s flat-out trying to tempt me again. I still have to remind her to put on a robe before I lose control and fuck her against a wall. Those big nipples are always hard on top of her goddamn melons—no matter what she’s wearing, I can always see them.
She’s not at her easel, but I see her painting is shaping up. I still don’t know what that sketch in the lower right corner is, but it has more definition now. And I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me, but I’m proud of Brooke for painting it.
I continue straight through the living room and into the kitchen. I wash my hands and aimlessly stare out the window over the sink. So that’s where she is.
I chuckle to myself. What the hell is she doing out there in a bikini? Jesus H. Christ. Those fucking curves are going to be the death of me. I dry my hands and keep my eyes locked on the perfect vision of her glistening tits, stomach, and thighs. Fuck, that bathing suit is small. It barely covers her.
Long Hard Ride: Arranged Marriage, Brothers, Cowboy Romance (The Wild Wests Book 3) Page 5