by Anne Marsh
My dick’s onboard with the idea, but my dick’s turned traitor before. The fact that I’m tired of saying no to her counts for something, too. Her hand slides over me, learning me, fucking taming me and I’m good with it. I really am. Her pretty fingers wrapped around my flesh squeezes some part of me way too close to my heart for comfort. It’s the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen, the way she holds me, the sweet heat of her palms cupping me. Truth is, she’s already turned me inside out.
“You do whatever you want, darling.” I lean back on my elbows, giving her full access to my body. She steps closer into the vee of my spread thighs, her fingers working my belt buckle and zipper to get my jeans open farther. It takes her under twenty to get me out of the denim completely.
When she dances her fingers up my thighs, heat explodes through me. Christ, she’s really going to do this. Go the distance outside, where anyone can see. If she isn’t careful, I’ll come before I ever get inside her, because being the center of Rose Jordan’s attention makes me hard. Makes me ache.
“Let’s see if you mean those words, Angel,” she breathes and damned if I don’t feel each word like a heartbeat in my dick. “You want to be very still for me right now.”
She leans forward, and I fist my hands on my thighs because I’m not moving away from her, not now, not ever. Her mouth covers me, and the slick, wet sound of my dick popping through the ring she forms with her pretty lips can’t drown out my groan. Christ. She’s wicked perfection. She tongues me, sliding over the head, exploring the hard tip until I’m this close to coming on the spot.
She’s gonna kill me and I’ll die a happy man.
It’s exactly what I need, her taking me but giving back, too. She loves me with her mouth, her eyes watching me. Keeping still now is impossible. My hips move and jerk, and I drive my cock in and out of her soft mouth.
When her hands move, stroking my balls, I give it up her, releasing my fists and plunging my fingers deep into her hair. I’m not guiding, but I’m damned sure hanging on. I’ve got the whole world around us but all I can see now is this woman, the erotic heat of her mouth followed by the cooler sensation of the air hitting my dick when I pop free.
Out, then right back in. Real good. I lose myself in the slick, hot feelings. It’s just the two of us giving and taking and giving some more. The tension picks up inside me, the orgasm building deep in my balls. I fuck her mouth harder, faster. Christ, she’s open and trusting, and she’s gonna make me come.
“I need to pull out, Rose.” No way she misunderstands that warning. My dick’s jerking in her mouth, my hips ramming forward, but she increases the hot pull of her mouth, her tongue raking my length. I’m gonna blow in her mouth if she doesn’t quit.
And then she takes her mouth off me, and yeah… begging isn’t an impossibility. A wicked smile lights up her face as she wraps her palms around me. As if she’s not ready to lose the contact either.
“You taste real good, Angel. Maybe I’m not stopping.”
Oh yeah.
But she doesn’t move.
“You’re gonna make me beg for it, aren’t you?”
Guess I can learn new tricks after all.
“I’m considering it.” She rubs her thumb over the crown.
They’re only words—because she already owns me. I can say it. “Let me come inside you. Please.”
Her smile gets wider. “Whatever you want.”
The erotic power of her words slams into me. The fantasies. What I can do to her. With her. She’s got me stripped down, laid bare, and I’m all hers.
I lie back, because no way I slam into her on top of the damned table. As soon as I yank a condom on and she’s shucked her shorts and panties, I pull her over me and tuck the head of my dick into her. Push. She parts around me, tight and wet where she stretches to take me.
“Let me give this to you.” I growl the words. She parts more, sliding down my dick inch by delicious inch. “You can take this. Take me.”
She watches me through half-closed eyes as she does what I tell her to do, her position letting her control the angle of my penetration, her forehead screwed up with a sexy little look of concentration. Slowly, she moves down my dick. Then up. Back down again, taking me with her, and it’s so damned good.
Fucking perfect, really.
“So good,” I bite out, fingers stroking her hips as I drink in her little hum of agreement. I should give her more words, let her know just how she undoes me. How she makes me feel, makes me want her so bad, but all I can do is lie back and let her ride me.
My Rose.
I can’t even wait for her. There’s no more holding back. The orgasm hits me hard, has me thrusting up, my hands cinched on her hips, as I push myself deep and hard into her. I’m not sure if I’m holding on, but I’m damned sure I’m not steering this. The sun behind her lights her face up all golden. She bites her lip, nails digging into my shoulders and she reaches for her own orgasm. And then thank God, I feel the sweet, tight clench of her pussy on me as she finds her way to the edge.
“Angel.” She chants my name, eyes shut, lost in her pleasure, but I can’t stop watching her face any more than I can stop moving in and out of her. Funny how something so simple makes us so connected. Just the two of us, right here, right now, on the picnic table, where the whole damned world could line up to watch, but I don’t care. All that matters is the woman in my arms and making sure she finds what she needs.
“Oh, God, Angel.” My name is part-scream, part sigh.
She stiffens, the muscles in her thighs tensing, and I reach between us to help. Gently, I stroke her clit and then I tap it. Hard. She flies apart with a shriek, coming around me as my arms wrap around her, pulling her down to me as I bury myself one last time inside her.
Maybe the blowjob is a gift, but it comes with a price tag. My heart’s attached to it. Rose pushes me, challenges me. Nothing’s easy around her, and she dared me to come after her and convince her to follow my rules. We’re lovers now, and all the rules have gone out the window. This time, if Rose runs, she takes a part of me with her.
ANGEL
I’m no Jesus Christ, but it’s like my hopes have been buried in a fucking tomb, and now I’ve got to find a way to resurrect them. Rose didn’t come home after she blew me on the picnic table. In three days, I have an appointment at the lawyer’s office and we’re going to file the paperwork to force the sale. It will take time—nothing that happens in a courtroom is speedy—but it will happen. I’ve got the demolition team standing by, ready to go. All I have to do is give the word, and I’ll be that much closer to gaining the new well my ranch needs so badly. Instead, my head spins me in circles, trying to find another way out of the mess I’ve landed himself in. Three days to choose between Rose and the water. Her hopes and my future.
Even if I show up on Friday to sign the papers in the lawyer’s office to take title of the Jordan place, there’s no predicting what Rose does. She’s moved the RV to Auntie Dee’s house, but she hasn’t packed up that pink eyesore of hers and she hasn’t put Lonesome behind her. Not yet. I check at least twice a day and that her car is parked in Auntie Dee’s driveway. I arranged to have the electricity turned on, but her camping spot still isn’t ideal. It’s better, though, than her up and running further away from me.
She won’t make this easy for me.
Fair enough.
She hasn’t sought me out she took me on that picnic table. I’d like to have the damned thing bronzed, can’t stop myself from doing a driving-by while I give her the space she claims she needs to think things through.
I have it bad.
Which explains why I’m headed toward the corral where J.J. is working his horse in some complicated, fancy-ass pattern that’s probably worth a million points to the rodeo judges. J.J. is an expert on competing and winning. If anyone can straighten me out, it’s him.
I ride up the ring and swing down from my horse. The poor stallion’s probably got rider envy now, but I tie hi
m to the railing anyhow.
I let myself relax into the familiar rhythm of hooves hitting the sunbaked ground. Later today I’ll ride out and check the northern fence line. I haven’t been there in three weeks, so it’s time. I have cowboys to ride the line, but some things are better seen for myself.
J.J. raises a hand, the horse bucks, and I have no idea how he hangs on. “Be with you in a minute,” he hollers.
I tip my hat at him and settle back against the railing. I’ve got a nice view of the ranch from here. On the other side of the fencing, where our open range begins, one of my cowboys rides after an escaping calf, moving seamlessly with his horse as his lariat slips through the air and over the head of the recalcitrant calf. That man has ridden for Blackhawk Ranch for thirty years now. Where’s he gonna find work if the ranch goes under and becomes housing developments instead of range? The number of California beef outfits shrinks each year, which makes this battle about more than just water. I’ve got an entire way of life to preserve, so no fucking pressure.
“You talk to Rose about selling?” J.J. slouches up beside me on his horse.
“Yeah.” I make a mental note to send more hands out. The fence on our northern perimeter probably needs replacing, not a simple fix. “I did.”
“Didn’t go well?” J.J.’s always had a soft spot for Rose.
“Not particularly, no. Hell, J.J., how do you think it went? I want to take Auntie Dee’s house from her. It’s like I’m pissing all over her dreams. She thinks she can make it work.”
J.J.’s eyes follow the cowboy bringing back our AWOL calf. “She needs a dozen contractors, a money tree, and the second coming of Christ to fix that house. Yeah, I can see the problem there.”
“She’s pissed as hell, but we need those water rights. We’re gonna run out of water in the next few months. I can truck it in for a while, but eventually we’ll go broke—or we’ll have to give up on the cattle.” Maybe there’s a way out I haven’t seen, but it’s not coming to me at the moment. The long moment of silent that follows tells me J.J.’s got the same problems I do. He likes Rose and he doesn’t like seeing her get hurt any more than I do.
We have to have that water.
J.J. tightens his grip on the reins and his horse dances. “And she still won’t take the check?”
“She wanted to fix the place up. Live in it. She had a whole tube of architectural plans that she drew up. She was gonna run some kind of tattoo parlor out of it.”
“She’s wanted a shop of her own since that reality TV show.” J.J. slaps a hand on my back, hard enough to half-knock me out of the saddle. The fucker. “You watch her show?”
I might have the episodes loaded on my iPhone, but I’m not admitting to it, so I settle for a noncommittal shrug.
J.J. snorts. “You TiVo’d it or something, you bastard.”
I grin. “Bet you liked the bikini episode best.”
“Wouldn’t mind being a judge,” he admits. “Had no idea you could ink a girl so close to her goodies.”
“She’s good,” I say quietly and J.J. nods. “I think she’s the best.”
“She should have won.”
I glance over at my brother, and he looks like he means it. J.J.’s a competitor through and through. He doesn’t throw points or sugarcoat a performance. “You think?”
“They booked her for the cast because she’s pretty and she’s got great tits. Probably pegged her for a bit of a drama queen, too, because Rose doesn’t always remember to filter. I’ll bet they didn’t look at her portfolio until she showed up on set.”
Rose’s art is gorgeous, all bold black lines and vibrant colors. It’s like she can bring alive whatever shit she’s got in her head and paint it right on your skin. She did a tumbleweed design for a guy who’d lost an Army buddy, all stark branches and those thorns that bite into your skin and shred. Captured his pain perfectly and the guy almost broken down when he saw his ink. The feather she gave me is fucking perfect to, so I have to wonder what design she’d draw for us. I’d like her to remember me whenever she looks at herself in the mirror. I’d like to be marked on her skin for everyone to see
“You telling me life’s not fair?”
That’s no newsflash. I share a quick glance with J.J. Yeah. He’s on the same page as me.
“She was a threat to whoever they’d handpicked to be the winner.” J.J. shrugs. “So they let her get far, but not all the way. That’s how I see it. She made it to the final four, and then they eliminated her.”
If she’d made the final three, she’d have gotten money. Instead, she got nothing but me and a whole lot of trouble. She’s chasing a dream, but it’s eluding her. I untie my horse and head toward the open range.
J.J. follows. “There’s no way to give her that house?”
I still need those water rights. Water keeps the herd going and my cowboys riding. “I give her the house, I still need what it sits on. She’s not going to want her clients walking through a stockyard.”
J.J. studies me, although I have no idea what the fuck he sees. “Probably not.”
Still, those plans say something. Something important. They’re not just rooms on a piece of paper. My own ranch house is more house than home. It’s beautiful and rock solid, and it’s the place I park my ass at night, but I don’t have roots there. My roots are out here, on my family’s land.
And with Rose. Because I love her.
Hell of a thing.
Question is, would Auntie Dee’s house even be enough for Rose? If she needs the house so badly, why not just pick the place up and move it elsewhere? It’s an option if the old building is stable enough. There’s plenty of space out here on the ranch or in the heart of Lonesome. She could tattoo drunken cowboys and whoever else wanders through town. Like me. I could probably hire her to tattoo I love you on my sorry ass, along with flowers, hearts and shit. I swing up into my saddle and look at J.J.
“I need a ride.”
He nods and follows me when I tear out of the yard. It’s a good forty minutes of ball-breaking galloping before I finally slow the horse and swing down to walk the winded animal a bit. Naturally, J.J. sticks tight to me. He’s unshakable.
I look over at him. “I’m going to find a way to make her stay. I love her.”
J.J. nods as if that’s a foregone conclusion. Hell. Maybe my feelings are written right on my face for everyone to see. “You got a plan?”
Not a good one. Fuck being responsible.
“Yeah,” I lie. “I have a plan.”
ROSE
Angel and I will never work.
I stand on Auntie Dee’s front porch—on our front porch—and watch the sun come up. The yard and the house are shadows at first, comforting shapes that are familiar but indistinct. In the dark, I can’t see the million and one reasons why I can’t keep this place. Even if I had a dollar for each flaw, the money wouldn’t be enough. Some things are too broken to fix.
Some things you just have to tear down.
The sun starts to edge higher, the light grows, and I realize a couple of things. This is my last sunrise here on this porch. I think about taking out my phone, snapping pictures, but then I decide I’ll just go with my memories. I know those memories will blur. Maybe I’ll forget. The details won’t be as crisp and I won’t keep all of them. That’s okay. I’d rather filter them with my head and my heart anyhow.
Some things you just have to let go.
Angel is one of those things. I sink down onto the top step, sitting cross-legged. The wood planks are still cool and slightly damp from the dew underneath my butt and my bare legs. I never expected us to last forever, either. I’ll keep those memories, too. I’ll probably be that old woman in the nursing home who tells story after story to anyone who will listen, reliving her glorious past. She’s lost in her memories but happy, while you’re looking at her and wondering how someone who looks like her lived all these things and yet ended up in a nursing home, alone and talking to you. She’d tell you it’s o
kay. Some things you let go and some things you remember.
I’ll remember Angel, but I’m also letting him go.
But first there’s something I can do for him. I don’t like accepting help, but Angel refuses it altogether. He’s the steer that won’t go down that chute, no matter what you do—and he belongs out here, running wild and free on his land, bellowing and fighting with the other steer and bossing them around. He’s glorious and a pain in the ass and he makes my heart hurt. He’s going to be one of my good memories, though. The sun climbs a little higher, the yard grows a little clearer, and I let go of the crap.
Angel’s not perfect, but neither am I. Perfect would actually be fucking boring. So I sit there, enjoying our yard for the last time as the sun pops all the way over the horizon and the light spills everywhere. The birds are belting out hellos to each other, or maybe they’re hooking up, finding their mates or their baby daddies, and it’s all good.
Rory wanders out of our RV hours later with a cup of coffee in his hand. He offers it to me silently, and I take it. He sits down on the lower step, resting his head on my knee. Coffee, a good friend, and memories to last a lifetime. Things could be so much worse. I know what I have to do next.
“I’m going into town,” I tell him. He tilts his head back, waiting for me to finish. “I’m signing the papers. I’m selling Angel my half.”
He rests his cheek against my knee for a minute. “You sure, baby girl?”
“Very,” I tell him and it’s true. Angel needs the water. That would be enough for me right there, but Blackhawk also needs the water. There are good men working here, fighting to hang onto a way of life that’s slowly disappeared around them while they were riding the range and wrangling cattle. They’re a different kind of memory and I’m going to hold onto them, too.