by Pam Godwin
Contents
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Up Next
Other Books by Pam Godwin
Playlist
Acknowledgments
About Pam Godwin
The terrain of childhood shapes the soul, and the soul never forgets.
It doesn’t forget the fields of Julep Ranch under the watercolor sky.
The earthy scent of grass beneath Barnabe’s heavy hooves.
The chirp of insects in the parched summer breeze.
Or Conor Cassidy, the sexiest girl in Oklahoma, soft and snug against my back.
I clutch the edges of my landscape and wrap it around me, taking nourishing breaths.
Barnabe, my chestnut stallion, twitches powerful muscles between my legs as he lopes along the dusty trail.
Behind me, Conor presses her tight little body against mine and slips a warm hand beneath the front of my shirt.
Now I’m twitching, too, restless and hungry. That’s what she does to me. One touch and I feel like an ungelded horse, a beast with fire in his veins, bucking and panting at the whiff of a mare in heat.
I don’t have to glance back to see her expression. With her chin tilted skyward, red hair ablaze, and guitar strapped to her back, I know she’s curving those plump lips into a serene smile as she soaks up the fading warmth of twilight.
She loves this land as much as I do.
She loves me.
And this is our night.
I’ve memorized the contours of her body as thoroughly as the terrain of our ten-thousand-acre ranch. In a few hours, I’ll know her even better. Deeper.
I’ll know her in the most intimate way possible.
Awareness crackles beneath my skin like it always does when she’s near. But tonight, the static feels sharper, more frenzied, and lower. Christ, the knot of electricity between my legs makes my jeans achingly tight. My cock is raging, swollen, throbbing like an angry heartbeat.
To think, I jerked off twice before I headed out. Lot of good that did me. If I bust a nut before I get inside her, I’ll never forgive myself.
The cantering stampede of two horses approaches from behind. Jarret trots past, veering his black gelding along the trail while blowing a kiss at Conor.
My twin brother might look like me, but we’re not identical. His hair’s darker, his eyes a paler shade of brown. Some say his smile is bigger and more charming, and maybe that’s true. The local girls trip right out of their panties whenever he winks at them.
“I thought Emma would be with you tonight,” I say at his back.
He kicks up a shoulder, a noncommittal shrug, as Conor’s brother, Lorne, brings up the rear.
“Jarret’s thinking about liking Emma.” Lorne slows his horse beside mine, grinning.
“I already liked her. A lot.” Jarret holds up a hand in a peace sign. “With these two fingers.”
“What a heartbreaker.” Conor smothers her chuckle against the back of my shirt.
“You look beautiful, sis.” Lorne tips the Stetson on his head, his expression doting.
“Thank you, darlin’,” she drawls. “You’re stag tonight, too, huh?”
“Yep.” Lorne gives me a knowing look, adjusts the guitar case on his back, and rides ahead to join Jarret.
Lorne just graduated high school, and for the first time in our lives, he seems…older. I mean, he is older. A year older than Jarret and me. Two years older than Conor. But it feels like he matured overnight, maybe gained a few IQ points, grew some chest hair or something.
Nothing’s changed between us, though. He might be protective as hell of his sister, but he’s also my best friend and number one supporter of my relationship with her.
Our clan of four shares an extraordinary closeness, an inseparable bond that stems from childhood. We grew up on the ranch together. Our fathers own the cattle operation together. Our mothers died fourteen years ago…together. We’ve spent our entire lives playing, working, fighting, and laughing together.
Someday, the four of us will own Julep Ranch just like our parents before us.
Up ahead, Jarret’s voice drifts downwind as he tells Lorne about the girl he banged last night. His graphic descriptions make me hyper-aware that Conor and I are the only virgins.
I’m not jealous. It’s just… I used to think she and I would be the first to go all the way. We were the first to kiss, the first to make out without clothes on. But I hit the brakes on sex. She was always too young.
Insects whir through the grass, humming eager sounds as the sinking sun paints the sky with dark, hungry promises.
It’s Conor’s sixteenth birthday.
The day I’ve waited for my whole life.
Lorne and Jarret know my plans tonight, and they’re here to run interference. All it takes is one ranch hand to stumble upon us and report to Dalton Cassidy that I’m in the south pasture, deflowering his only daughter.
But Conor’s dad isn’t the biggest threat. It’s mine. John Holsten loves her like a daughter, but he’s never condoned our relationship. In fact, he forbids it.
Jarret’s allowed to spend time with whomever he wants, so I don’t understand Dad’s restriction on Conor and me. She’s my past, my present, and my future. I’m everything when I’m with her and nothing without her.
Yet she’s not permitted in my room. I’m not allowed to hold her hand or, God forbid, kiss her. Lorne and Jarret have mastered the art of covering for us while we sneak around the eight-thousand-square-foot home our families share. Most nights, we ride out to the south pasture after our fathers have retired for the evening.
Like tonight.
Lorne and Jarret disappear behind the ridge, and Barnabe ambles slowly after, rocking Conor against me in a cocoon of heat and friction.
I trail fingertips across her thigh, delighting in the clench of her legs around my hips and the rise of goosebumps along her skin. Creamy, silken Irish skin that burns so easily in the sun.
I know every freckle on her body, and I’ve ventured to count them over the years. But the dark one at the edge of her right nipple always distracts me from the task.
Goddamn, I love her tits. The dusky pink nipples. The way they harden against my tongue. I love all her pretty parts—the vibrant green of her eyes, the pout of her lips, the shape of her toned legs, and these shorts…
I run my hand over the frayed denim, intimately familiar with this particular pair of cutoffs. The worn hole near the zipper has been stretched over time by my prodding finger, and if she bends just right, I can see the crease between her perfect ass and thighs.
“You’re quiet.” I slide a hand under the back of her knee, tickling the soft skin there.
Mosquitoes buzz in the hush, biting my bare arms.
She swats at one on my neck and leans up to brush her lips against the sting. “I’m nervous.”
“If I was a good guy, I’d tell you we can wait.”
Not happening.
I’ve waited years, fantasizing, wanting. I wanted her when her kisses made me stutter. I wanted her when my dick started hardening in my hand. I wanted her when her boobs grew, and dark hair appeared under my arms. I really wanted her when I discovered porn and watched all the licking, sucking, pounding, filthy ways I could want her.
Over the p
ast couple of years, I spent my nights kissing and humping the space in my bed that should’ve been filled with Conor Cassidy. But I couldn’t have her the way I wanted.
Until now.
Some might think sixteen is still too young for what I have in mind.
Fuck them.
I’ll be seventeen next month. We’re the same age for only two weeks, and tonight feels like a long-awaited rite of passage. A momentous coming-together. The beginning of our future.
I don’t know where this sentimental shit comes from. I was raised by a hard-ass man’s man, who has neither the time nor the inclination for romantic ideals.
I’m cut from the same cloth, fashioned from the rugged land on which he raised me. But all my soft parts belong to Conor.
“No more waiting, Jake.” She shifts her hand on my abs, dipping bold fingers beneath my belt buckle.
“Damn right.” My breath runs away from me, chopping my voice.
I might be wildly worked-up and hard as a rock, but this desperation, this need, is bigger than just getting off inside my girl.
She’s the nexus of my world. A world that goes beyond sex and wedding bells and riding off into the sunset. I’ll ride east, if that’s where she’s going. I’ll drive a sedan, if that’s what she wants. I’ll wear fucking loafers, if it makes her smile.
Hell, I’m so in love with her I don’t even need feet. I’ll just float on the high I get whenever she’s near.
“It’s going to be great.” My cock thinks so. I’ve never been this painfully aroused. Pretty sure I can hit a home run with the wood in my pants.
“Oh, it’ll be great for you.” She shoves her hand deeper into my jeans and grips the ramrod length of me. “But this thing is gonna hurt.”
“Conor…” With a choked groan, I pry her fingers off my dick. “I’ll go slow.”
“I know.” She rests her cheek on my spine and sighs. “I love you, Jake Holsten. Even if you don’t go slow. Even if it’s not that great.”
“Damn, baby.” I press a fist against my chest, laughing. “Not the vote of confidence I was looking for.”
“You don’t need that with me.” She lifts the Stetson from my head, strokes a hand through my hair, and returns the hat. “It’s just us.”
“And it’s meant to be.” I grasp her thigh and squeeze. “That’s all we need.”
When we reach the ridge, I tether Barnabe to a tree alongside the other horses. The trail continues down a steep slope and ends in a ravine surrounded by cliffs. That’s where I’ll take her when there’s no light in the sky but the stars. We have about an hour till complete darkness.
While Lorne starts a fire, I recline against a log at the edge of the clearing with a direct line of sight on my girl. She stands near the fire pit and tunes her acoustic guitar, watching me watch her with a smile glittering in her eyes.
Long auburn hair falls to her waist in natural waves—the perfect length to tangle around my fist. She’s a petite little thing, but those shorts make her legs look miles long. The rugged square toe boots are an added tease. Not to mention the way the flannel shirt hangs open and unbuttoned below her tits, revealing her satiny, toned midsection. The view makes me so damn hot I feel delirious.
I think she’s trying to kill me.
Jarret pulls out his harmonica, and a few minutes later, he and Conor slip into a southern rock jam session. It’s a bluesy warm-up melody with a little Skynyrd influence, maybe some Outlaws, but mostly just good ol’ homegrown rockin’.
As the humming notes of guitar and harmonica swirl around me, I can feel exactly where the song comes from—our family roots, the soil of our beloved ranch, and the heart of our unbreakable friendship.
Lorne stokes the fire into hypnotic, crackling flames and sprawls out beside me with his guitar. Conor started playing guitar when she was the annoying kid-sister who wanted to do everything her brother did. She still idolizes him, but her musical talent surpassed him years ago.
“If you get her pregnant…” Lorne strums the strings, voice quiet and dark eyes fixed on Conor. “I’ll kick your nuts so hard your grandkids will sing soprano.”
“She’s on the pill.” I lean forward and capture his gaze. “I would never fuck with her plans.”
After high school, she wants to study veterinary medicine an hour away at Oklahoma State University. She dreams of becoming the resident vet on our cattle ranch, and she’s smart enough, tenacious enough, to make it happen.
He nods, his expression pensive. “My dad is promoting me to foreman.”
“’bout damn time.” I give him a hearty thump on the back.
Lorne knows the stocker cattle operation better than any of us, and the employees respect the hell out of him. He’ll run the entire ranch someday, and no one will stand in his way.
“Yeah, well, you’re the one with the brains.” He eyes me from within the shadow of his hat. “We’re all counting on you to improve the profit margins.”
Only reason I have perfect grades in school is because I study hard. I’m a numbers guy. Accounting and finance. I’ll be ready to take over the books full-time when I graduate.
Jarret, on the other hand…
My brother leans his back against Conor’s as they play their instruments, laughing and swaying their hips. He says he’s going to be an international man of seduction when he grows up. Truth is, he’ll never give up the core part of cattle ranching. He was born to be a cowboy, riding and herding and working with his hands. I suppose there’s a lick of that in all of us.
Conor changes the harmony and finds my eyes through the haze of campfire smoke. With a flirty smile, she strums the notes that make my blood thrum and my legs move. I don’t play an instrument, but I can carry a tune, and I love to sing this song to her.
I rise to my feet and prowl toward her, mouthing the lyrics of Run by Matt Nathanson and Sugarland. She steps away from Jarret, and I slide up behind her, letting a twangy drawl thread through my voice while singing softly at her ear.
She hums happily, plucking the strings and grinding her ass against me. I drop my hands to her hips and drag my nose along her neck.
Good God, she smells pretty, like wildflowers and sweet cream frosting. I ache to sink my teeth into her. So I do, right in the soft part beneath her ear.
With a moan, she warbles the female part of the vocals. Such an angelic voice. And oh-so seductive.
I sing my lines next. Then we belt the chorus in unison, grinning and rolling our hips together.
She sets her guitar aside while Lorne continues the harmony on his. With Jarret’s harmonica in the background, Conor and I slide into a slow, easy grind. I love the way the curve of her backside fits so perfectly against my groin. But I want her eyes, her lips. I want that ass in my hands.
Spinning her around, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, I kiss her with lyrics, and she kisses me with smiles. Then the kissing takes over, the song forgotten.
The synergy of our combined breaths heats my blood, and the round globes of her backside fill my hands. But I can’t bring our bodies close enough. I want to crawl inside her and never leave.
Nightfall softens the ridge with shadows, chasing firelight across her features. She stares up at me, sighing with contentment. Relaxed and ready. It’s time.
With a grip on her hand, I lead her toward the horses. She reaches for her guitar, and I tug her past it.
“You won’t need that.” I lift her to straddle Barnabe, facing backward. Then I swing up onto the low-pommel roping saddle and hook her legs around my hips. “Won’t be needing these, either.” I slip off her boots and socks, toss them, and urge Barnabe toward the sloping trail.
Lorne and Jarret continue to play, eyes down and deceptively alert. There’s only one way in and out of the ravine, and they’ll stay here as long as necessary to make sure no one sneaks up on us.
Barnabe follows the steep trail through the trees, winding around the juts of rocky bluffs. He knows the way to my favorite spot, which fr
ees my hands for more important things.
Swaddled in privacy, I remove her shirt and tuck it under the saddle skirt. Her chest heaves, bulging her breasts over the cups of the bra. She frames my face with her hands.
Her gaze pins me, and I can’t take mine off her. Communicating without words, locked in shared anticipation, we’re a single thundering heart of elation and jitters.
“This is happening.” I can hardly breathe.
Long thick lashes flicker over striking moonlit eyes. “Yeah.”
Our mouths collide in a kiss of urgent necessity. I’m starved for her, for her familiar taste, the feel of her fat lips, and the comforting essence of her breath. She smells like home—my heart, my girl, my favorite scent in the whole world.
She’s so painfully beautiful and kindhearted every guy in school wants to be with her. Yet she saved herself for me. She’s here, right now, with every intention of giving me one of the most significant things she can give. Because she’s mine.
It’s humbling.
And goddamn exciting.
My pulse howls through my veins, and my hands tremble as I fumble with the clasp of her bra. And continue to fumble. Dammit, is the hook stuck?
“Jake, I love you.” She nips at my lips, breathing heavily. “No matter how useless you are at removing a bra.”
I’m flooded with nerves, shaking and laughing at myself. “Cut me some slack here.”
“Never.” She reaches behind her and frees the clasp with a snap of her fingers.
When the bra falls between us, my hands catch the soft weight of her breasts. The tautness of her nipples meets my thumbs, and my mouth waters.
“I’m so hungry for you.” I band my arms around her and pull her tighter on my lap, feasting on her lips.
“God, the way you kiss…” She rubs her tongue against mine, panting. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’ve been practicing on someone else.”
“You know better.” I grin against her mouth. “But I love your jealousy almost as much as your compliments. Keep going.”
“You know how hot you are.” She teases a finger along my freshly shaved jaw. “Hotter than the Oklahoma sun. Sexy in all the right places.”
“Yeah?” I grip her hips and rock against her, letting her clit feel how hard she makes me.