Ride Me Dirty: A Cowboy Romance

by Parker Grey

  This will be the tricky part. The stairs are right by the kitchen, where I can hear Cecilia bustling around, and half these steps squeak if you don’t step in exactly the right place. It’s been a long time since I sneaked out of — or into — my parents’ house.

  Then, just as I put one foot on the bottom step, footsteps walk through the kitchen toward me. I should run, but instead I freeze.

  “Annie,” Cecilia’s voice calls. “When did you say the—”

  Her face appears around the wall, and she stops talking. I don’t move, like a deer in the headlights.

  True, Cecilia’s not my mom, but I more or less grew up with her. I’m used to doing what she says, when she says it — in that respect at least, she may as well be my mom.

  She looks at me, then narrows her eyes. I stare like an idiot.

  “Emmeline,” she says, on hand on her hip.

  I swallow.

  “Hey,” I say, acutely aware that I’m obviously sneaking, holding my boots in my hand like someone who doesn’t want to be heard.

  Cecilia gives me a long, thorough consideration, starting at the crown of my head and working her way down to my toes. She doesn’t even have to tell me that I’m acting suspicious as hell — her body language broadcasts it, loud and clear.

  “You’re up early,” she finally says.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” I say, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks.

  She looks at the boots in my hands.

  “And I realized that after the rain yesterday, I’d gotten mud on my work boots but didn’t realize it, so, I took them downstairs and outside and got the dried mud off before… taking them back upstairs,” I finish, lamely.

  Cecilia’s not fooled. It’s written all over her face, and she raises her eyebrows.

  “You’re taking your muddy boots back upstairs to my clean floor?” she asks.

  I look down at my boots. They’re barely dirty, at least by work boot standards.

  “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” I fumble.

  “I didn’t hear you come down,” Cecilia goes on.

  “I was really quiet?” I say, hearing the question in my own voice. “It was early and I didn’t want to wake anyone, so I was really careful…”

  She’s still not buying it, but I finally shut my mouth before I can incriminate myself any further.

  If anything, she’ll think you were out in town, drinking or something with a boy there, I tell myself. No one’s going to suspect Colton. That would be crazy.

  We stand there for a long moment. I’m busted. I know I’m busted, but I refuse to admit it.

  Finally, Cecilia nods at the boots in my hand and jerks a thumb back toward the outside door.

  “No mud on my floors,” she says, and turns back to the kitchen.

  Thank you, Cecilia, I think, my body going slack with relief as I put my boots on the mat by the door.

  Chapter Twenty

  Colton

  The moment Emmy takes off from my front door that morning, I have a bad feeling. This was too risky, and I knew it.

  I knew it, and I plowed ahead like an idiot anyway, because of some girl I couldn't help myself around. The girl I can't stop thinking about. The girl I give into every single time.

  She disappears around a building, and I wonder whether I should start looking for a new job now. I probably should, but that would just raise more, different questions — what happened at the Saddle & Spur that made me want to leave so soon?

  Better to wait and see, maybe. There's a chance we still won't get found out, at least not this time.

  But I don't know if I can keep this up. I don't know if I can keep Emmy secret, because every time I see her, I can barely help myself.

  And not just with sex. I want to hold her hand in public, put my arm around her. Kiss her goodbye.

  I can keep myself from fucking her in public. That's not the problem.

  It's the other things. The normal, everyday couple things, that I want.

  I don't see Emmy until lunch, but when we make eye contact, she just shakes her head silently, so I stay away. I stay away all afternoon from a sense of self-preservation, even though I don't want to.

  Still, the frustration grows. If something happened, I just want to know. I can deal with anything but uncertainty.

  It's a light week on the ranch, and we've got another bonfire coming up, so when my chores are all done, I head out to the woodpile to chop some wood. I know I could get some ranch hand to do it — that's what they're for — but I've got some frustrations I really need to work out.

  I'm halfway through the pile when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn, and Emmy's standing there, watching me, her hands in her pockets.

  She's staring. I've got my shirt off, since it's eighty-five degrees out, and I can't say I mind her looking at me.

  "Come to get an eyeful, darlin'?" I tease her, since there's no one else in earshot.

  She blushes, shoving her hands further into her pockets, but she smiles, too.

  "Do you mind?" she asks, sounding almost shy.

  "Not at all," I say, tossing aside the axe, my stomach in knots. "But I've got the feeling that's not what you're here for."

  Emmy swallows and looks away.

  "Cecilia caught me sneaking in this morning," she says, her voice dropping. "I made up a story about waking up early, and she didn't press me, but..."

  She sighs, looking down.

  "She definitely didn't believe me," she finishes.

  I cross my arms over my chest, the sweat there cooling in the dry late afternoon air.

  "I didn't tell her where I was, or... who I was with, or anything like that," Emmy goes on quickly. "She's got no reason to think I was with you but she knows I was somewhere."

  This is my fault. I should have set an alarm for three a.m. or something, just in case we did fall asleep.

  "And if she finds out, she'll tell my parents," Emmy says, shaking her head. "It's her job, and she's basically my second mom. She wouldn't like this any better than they would."

  "Of course," I say, my voice a little hollow. I like Cecilia too, but I know who she's loyal to first and foremost — Annie and Tom.

  "Colton, I think we should... stop for a little while," Emmy whispers.

  My heart plummets into my stomach, and I feel like a black pit's just opened up underneath my feet.

  I just nod, because deep down, I know she's right.

  "Not for long," she goes on quickly. "Just a few days, probably, until people are less suspicious. And then, we need to be careful."

  I know she's doing this for my benefit, but that doesn't make it hurt less. I don't want to sneak around with Emmy, I want to throw caution to the wind and tell everyone she's mine. But that's not in the cards, not now. Not like this.

  "Of course," I say. "I don't want you getting into trouble either."

  She nods. I nod. We nod at each other, and I can feel the weight of what's unsaid — and what's undone — heavy in the air.

  "I'll be around soon, Colton," she whispers, her big, innocent eyes meeting mine.

  Then she looks around, steps forward, and puts one hand on my chest.

  "Promise," she whispers, and kisses me quickly.

  Then she walks away. As good as it looks, it's a sight I'm getting tired of seeing.

  I pick up the axe and chop the shit out of some wood.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Emmeline

  The morning we almost get caught is a Tuesday. I tell myself that I need to give it a week before I see Colton again in private — time to convince Cecilia that while maybe I wasn't telling her the truth, the real story wasn't that bad.

  Still, I can feel her eyes on me. I don't think she's told my parents — they're not exactly shy about it when they're angry with me — but I can tell that she's keeping an eye out.

  I can't blame her. She's loyal to them, and she shares most of their traditional, old-fashioned attitudes about... well, everything, but especially what youn
g women ought to be doing.

  Wednesday, the next day, I just avoid Colton. I see him across the breakfast table and excuse myself. I see him across the horse paddock and walk in the other direction. He does the same, and it hurts, but I know it's for the best.

  Thursday, he's out on a ride for most of the day, and I'm at the front desk. A big group of people has come in, and they keep me busy with questions about the ranch, about horse rides, with requests for more lotion or soap or towels.

  But then, during a quiet moment, Colton walks through. There's no one else there, and even though his face is stony, he glances over at me for just a moment and I swear I feel his gaze cut me to the core, like a hot knife through butter.

  It's full of lust, of course, that raw hunger I've gotten used to in his eyes. But there's something else, too — I think it might be longing.

  Then he walks through the far door, gone, and I have to take a deep breath because my whole body's just turned to molten steel.

  Friday there's another bonfire. We only do these every few weeks because they're a lot of work, but it's time again. All staff is highly encouraged to attend, since we're supposed to be representing the friendly west, according to my parents.

  So I go. I make pleasant small talk with the guests, mostly people my parents' age or older, a few families with kids. Colton's there too, but we avoid each other. I try not to even make eye contact, a little afraid of what I'll do.

  The bonfire dies down. The guests trickle out slowly. Colton's talking to two older men, a gay couple I think, and it looks like they're having a very pleasant conversation.

  Finally, when there's no one else I should be talking to, I figure I should head to bed. The more time I spend asleep the less time I have to spend watching Colton from a distance, having to resist his magnetic pull.

  He doesn't even look over as I leave.

  Good, I think, but deep down it hurts. I jam my hands into my pockets, and the fingers of my right hand find something.

  It's a buckle. I turn it over in the bare starlight, wondering why it's in my pocket, and then I finally remember: out on a ride the other day, some lady managed to break part of her reins, and I ended up with this buckle.

  I sigh.

  Better take this to the tack shed before I forget.

  I head over, push the door open, don't bother to turn on the lights, and find the plastic drawers that hold the odds and ends. I drop the buckle in, and it clatters against the other odds and ends.

  Just as I shut the drawer, the door opens. The dark outline of a person pulls the string on the light, and the shed is illuminated by a single bare bulb.

  It's Colton, worn leather reins in his big, strong hand.

  I freeze, holding my breath, and we just stare at each other for a long moment, him by the door, me in front of the work bench. He's still got one hand on the lightbulb's pull chain.

  My entire body feels like a vortex of raw, throbbing need, just looking at him, standing there, the sexiest man I've ever seen. It's all I can do to stay still instead of running toward him and wrapping my legs around him, beginning him to take me here, now.

  Then the light goes out. The shed plunges into total darkness, but I hear the wooden bar go over the door, locking it from the inside.

  My stomach leaps into my throat, but before I can even say anything Colton is there, in front of me, and he pushes me back against the wooden work bench, claiming my mouth.

  He kisses me so hard I bend backward over the rough wooden surface as he presses himself against me, tossing the reins onto the table next to me. Colton is hard in seconds, and I can feel his delicious length through his jeans.

  I moan into his mouth, unable to stop myself, and he takes my jaw in one hand and pulls away.

  "You gotta be quiet, darlin'," he whispers, his face barely visible in the dark, though my eyes are starting to adjust.

  "I don't know if I can be," I whisper back, running my hands down his chest.

  He kisses me again, slow and hard, one hand up my shirt and under my bra.

  "We can't fuck unless you're quiet," he whispers. "And since I need to be inside your sweet little cunt, you've gotta promise not to make a sound."

  I swear, the dirtier he talks to me the more it turns me on. I'm practically a waterfall right now, my pussy dripping in anticipation, and I nod.

  "I can be quiet," I say.

  "No moaning," he whispers, unbuckling my belt, his lips against my ear. "No shouting my name when you come, and no begging me to fuck you harder."

  I blush hard in the dark, because those are all things I've been known to do.

  "Not even quietly?" I ask, on the verge of begging right now.

  He unbuttons and unzips my jeans, pushing them down around my thighs, one hand between my legs, feeling my wetness. He pushes a finger inside and I gasp, then bite down hard on my lip, forcing myself to be quiet.

  Colton grins.

  "Atta girl," he murmurs as he pushes more fingers inside me and starts stroking my inner walls, the heel of his hand hard on my clit.

  I make a strangled noise, doing my best not to moan but fuck it feels good. I've been desperate for this for days now, needing Colton so desperately it's been hard to focus on anything else.

  The moment I make the noise, though, he pulls his hand away and grabs my hair, holding my head close to his.

  "What did I say," he growls.

  It sends shivers down my back, just like always.

  "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'll be quiet."

  Colton spins me around roughly, so now the bare points of my hips are against the wooden work table and I'm facing a wall hung with reins, leather straps, and anything else that needs to be fixed.

  "Maybe I should make sure you behave," he says into my ear, the thick length of his clothed cock between my buttocks. He's rubbing it against me so hard I can just barely feel denim against my puckered bud, and the sensation is so tempting I feel lightheaded.

  I'm breathing too hard to respond, but Colton pushes me down onto the table until my cheek is against the wood, and I'm almost delirious with anticipation. He's so much stronger, so much bigger than me that it's intoxicating.

  Right now, he could do anything he wanted. I know that if I said the word he'd stop, but I don't want him to.

  It's dirty as hell but I like this.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Colton

  Emmy's bent over the work bench, in the dark, half-naked, soft and pliable and sexy as hell and so tempting I can't help myself any longer.

  I know this is stupid and dangerous, but I don't care. I need her, right now, and I want her at my mercy as I claim her, completely mine in a way that defies reason or logic.

  She's panting against the rough wooden table, even though her eyes are smiling as she looks back at me, her pussy so wet it's dripping down her thighs, because this sweet, innocent girl likes it this way.

  I grab the busted reins I brought in. I pin her hips against the table with my own, grab one wrist, and hook the leather around it. Then I loop another part of the reins around the far leg of the table, knot it, and tighten.

  I can't quite see what I'm doing, but Emmy gasps and pulls her wrist against the restraint, and it holds.

  Jesus, it's hot, her tied to a table, completely at my mercy. I bend over and kiss her hard, my tongue in her mouth as she turns her head, struggling against her bond.

  We know it's mostly for show. As much as I want her, and as hard as it is to stop myself around her, I'd never hurt Emmy or do something she didn't want. If she says the word, it's over.

  She doesn't, though. Instead she arches her back and pushes her perfect ass back against me. I grab her other wrist, find a leather strap on the wall, and tie that one to the table as well.

  Now she's tied down, bent over a table, drooling pussy right in front of me.

  Helpless. Hot as hell.

  Perfect.

  In a flash, I'm on my knees, licking and sucking her clit while I slide
three fingers into her and crook them hard, finding that sensitive spot inside her. I hear Emmy gasp and jerk against her bonds, her muscles tightening around me already.

  It's fucking beautiful, and I lap her honey hard and fast, wanting to drink her in. I never want to stop tasting her, and even though I mean to tease her, make her so desperate for me she can't see straight, I can't stop myself from making her come.

  She does. Hard, her pussy clenching around my fingers, but I don't stop. I pull my fingers out, listening to her sigh, and move them to her tight, puckered asshole, still licking and sucking on her clit.

  Emmy's holding her breath, but when I put a finger in her ass, to the first knuckle, she exhales and her body relaxes, the leather whispering softly against the workbench. I slide the rest of one finger in, my tongue still circling her clit.

  I slide another finger inside her, still slick with her juices. She gasps and sighs, then arches her back, trying to push back against me like she wants more.

  My cock strains against my jeans as I slide a third finger inside Emmy's virgin ass, nearly trembling with desire. I know she's never done this before, and that's why I still haven't claimed this part of her — I don't want to hurt her. I want it to feel good, the best thing she's ever felt.

  But here, now, cock aching from days of denial, I don't know if I can hold off much longer.

  I push my tongue into her pussy, then back to her clit. She's pulsing, muscles fluttering, getting ready to come again. I fuck her ass gently with my fingers as I lick her hard.

  Then I hear her whisper, "Fuck me, Colton."

  Emmy comes again. Every muscle in her body tightens and I can hear the leather reins snap as she pulls on them, her ass and pussy clenching all at once as I keep gently fucking her and sucking on her clit until her legs are shaky.

  I know I told her to stay quiet, but I like it when she says fuck me so much that I'll let it slide.