“Don’t worry, I’m getting there. Just stay like that while I get the condom.” Because brilliant me left it in my jeans pocket.
“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”
Less than a minute later, my cock is covered and ready for action. I align the tip against Violet’s entrance and inch my way in so only the head is burrowed inside her. There are no words to describe how it feels to have her heat hug me, even if I’m not all the way in yet.
I take a deep breath, fighting to keep the sensation from overwhelming me.
“You know, it’s not nice to tease a woman who hasn’t had sex in a while,” Violet says in a sweetly mocking tone.
I chuckle again. “Good point. I wouldn’t want you to die from sex starvation. I’ve heard it’s not a pleasant way to go.”
But since I don’t plan for her to suffer a moment longer—because I’m just that giving—I plunge all the way inside her, burying myself to the hilt.
The groan is one hundred percent me.
The moan when I touch Violet’s clit and trace my fingers around it? That’s all her.
It’s loud enough to stir the crow in a nearby tree. It squawks and flies away.
I have no idea where it goes after that, and nor do I care. My brain is too fuzzy right now to drum up a coherent thought—and I haven’t even come yet.
I grab hold of Violet’s hips, and a new rhythm takes over my body. The only sounds now filling the air are the slapping of skin against naked skin and our ragged breaths.
A tingling starts low in my back, warning me I won’t last much longer.
Fortunately, I don’t have to hold back another second. Violet’s muscles clench hard on my cock, and she cries out my name.
My balls tighten, and the familiar sensation in my gut explodes with a mind-numbing heat. I can’t remember the last time I came this hard, this completely—like my soul has been wrung inside out and will never be the same again.
In a good way.
Correction—in a fan-fucking-tastic way.
Only I have no idea what to do with this…or if I should do anything about it at all.
But I do know one thing: my goal of finally getting Violet out of my system has failed.
Damn.
15
The warm breeze flutters the leaves of the cottonwood tree. I lean down and kiss Violet’s back once more. I’m not ready to leave her heat, but there’s a condom to deal with, so I don’t have a choice.
I remove myself and dispose of it. But as soon as I rejoin Violet, an unexpected awkwardness settles on my shoulders.
The problem? It’s been a while since I’ve been in a relationship. With my ex-girlfriend, I would return to bed once I’d dealt with the condom. With one-night stands, I’d bail as soon as the woman and I were finished—no postcoital cuddling allowed.
But this feels different. Uncharted.
Right. We aren’t in a real relationship. We’re just screwing around. But since I haven’t gotten rid of my craving for her yet, I only hope there will be another chance to get her out of my system soon.
Except…
Maybe Violet doesn’t want to do it again. Maybe now that she’s had her fill, she’s ready to weather the next drought.
The possibility that she doesn’t want to be with me anymore feels like a blow dart to the heart…and I can’t understand why.
Violet collects her bikini bottoms from the ground and steps into them.
I retrieve my swim trunks and pull them on. “Do you need to get back to Grandma Meg’s yet?”
“No, not yet. I tucked Deacon into bed before coming here.” She smiles softly at her son’s name.
“He’s a good kid. I bet Grandma Meg is happy he’s staying here while you’re gone.”
Violet walks to the water’s edge and tests the temperature with her toes. “I swear she was close to doing backward handsprings down the hallway when I discussed it with her. She hasn’t seen much of him since he was born.”
I join her by the water but don’t bother testing it. I’m the type of man who rips off the Band-Aid. “How come?”
“She doesn’t like LA.”
I laugh because I know exactly her opinion of that city.
Violet shrugs. “I guess she has a point when it comes to her reasons. But it makes it tougher for her to see her great-grandson.”
“So why didn’t you just bring him here to visit?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she glances over at the tire swing and sprints toward it.
Because the last one in is a rotten egg.
Clearly we haven’t matured all that much since she was eight years old.
And like back then, my longer legs easily devour the distance to the cottonwood tree.
As soon as I reach the tree, I grab hold of the old tire, pull it back to gain maximum trajectory, and jump on.
Swinging from a tire takes skill, strength, and timing…but most of all it takes an unshakeable fearlessness.
Years of practice doesn’t hurt either.
As the tire approaches optimal height, I release the rope.
Back in the days, my brothers and I would judge each other when it came to our jumps. Unlike with diving, where a barely there splash is preferred, here, the bigger the splash, the more points scored.
And on the scale of one to ten, this splashdown is a twenty. The advantage of being a one-hundred-and-eighty-pound man versus a kid.
That’s my first thought. My second is: Fuck, it’s cold!
I break free of the surface and wipe the water from my eyes.
Violet’s still on land, holding on to the tire, grinning. Even though the smile on her face might be less than angelic, the sun low in the horizon forms a halo around her head, claiming the opposite. “How’s the temperature?”
“It’s great,” I tell her.
If you’re a goddam polar bear.
The smirk on her face says she believes that as much as she believes Santa is running for president in the next election.
“Hurry up, Mister. Let me show you how the pros do it.” She gestures for me to move aside.
“Nice try, Vi. We both know I’m the pro. You’ll never steal my championship title.” I swim to the side, then tread water as I watch her.
Violet pulls the swing back, jumps onto it, then lets go, executing an impressive arc. The splash is also impressive, but she’s smaller than me, so it costs her in the end.
Her head pops out of the water, wet hair slicked back like a swimsuit model’s.
She grins at me. “What do you think? A definite ten, right?”
“Nine-point-three. You lost points on the splash.”
At her adorably sexy pout, my cock groans. I’m not sure if that’s because it was fantasizing about those lips wrapped around it—or because it figures the judge’s score puts my cock out of contention for more mind-numbing sex with Violet.
“But I know a way to make the judge change his mind,” I say. Naturally my cock, being the helpful cock that it is, whispers a few of its own suggestions.
She swims over and stops within arm’s distance of me. The outline of her naked breasts is barely visible in the murky water. “And what’s that?” she asks.
I reach for her arm and drag her closer.
“If you kiss him, he’ll give you bonus points for your dazzling end to the routine.”
She doesn’t resist as I continue pulling her to me. “Oh, he will, will he?” Her voice is sweet and sexy and down-right dirty.
I nod, the movement small.
“And what if I don’t accept those terms?”
Before I can reply, she skims her arm in a wide arc across the water.
And a mini-tsunami hits me square in the face.
I wipe the water from my eyes. Violet is already halfway to shore by the time I can see clearly again. Luckily, all my years of living near the river mean I can swim like a shark in pursuit of its next meal.
Once I reach shallower water, I stand and race af
ter her.
I lunge at her and wrap my arms around her waist from behind. She lets out a giggled shriek but doesn’t resist.
My hand drifts up from her waist and cups her breast, the nipple hard from the cold water. And I see it as my personal duty to warm the bud.
Right after I pinch it.
Violet gasps and arches back, her ass pressing against my now hard cock.
“I want to be inside you again,” I say against her ear, my voice gravelly and deep. “And I want you to ride me like the cowgirl I know you are.” I pinch her nipple again, this time a little harder.
She moans, her head falling back against my shoulder.
“Is that a yes?”
“Definitely a yes.” Her words come out on a whimper.
“Unless you want to walk through the woods practically naked—not that I would complain if you did—you might want to put your clothes back on.” I roll her nipple between my thumb and index finger—just because I can.
“Woods? Where are we going? Because I assume you’re not thinking of sneaking me into your house.”
“Definitely not at the risk of Camilla finding out I’m screwing around with a woman who isn’t my intended bride.”
Right—this isn’t like some cultures where they have arranged marriages. But at times, it sure as hell feels like this show is the same thing.
As for the sneaking part, I’m all for having her in my bed once she returns to town. I’m all for Austin not learning about any of this. And I’m all for the same when it comes to Grandma Meg and Tilly and everyone else in Copper Creek. None of them need to learn the truth.
“Then where are we going?” Violet asks.
“My workshop…or we can fuck in the back seat of your car.” Where she is parked isn’t visible from the road. And since most of the land is private property, few people have a reason to come out here.
“My car is out. Deacon’s car seat is in the back. Between that and his stuff, there’s no room. Not to mention it’s a rental. I’m sure the rental agency doesn’t want people screwing in it.”
I smirk. “Au contraire. I’m sure they’re jealous you get to screw in it and they don’t.”
We return to shore and quickly towel off and put our tops back on. Because we don’t want the clothing to get wet from our swimsuits, we carry our jeans and shorts.
Then we walk the way I came earlier until we arrive at the edge of the woods. Since my workshop is not easily seen from the house, there’s not much risk of being caught by Camilla or the crew. You can only see it from certain rooms, and they have no reason to be in them.
I unlock the door and flip the lights on as I enter, mentally thanking my grandfather for adding this building on the property.
Violet enters behind me. The door is barely closed before I have her pushed up against it, my lips exploring her neck.
My heart hammers in my chest and my cock does a victory dance at what’s coming soon.
I slip my fingers between her legs and run them along the still-damp fabric of her bikini bottoms and pussy. Violet groans against my lips. I smile, then peel the fabric down her legs.
And because I have to see her perfect tits again, I remove the rest of her clothes in record time.
That’s not to say Violet isn’t an active participant during all of this. She’s practically ripping the clothes off my body.
And because we’re that talented, our mouths barely separate. The only time they do is when we yank our tops over our heads.
I take a step back and eye her the way a man fresh from the desert would eye a tall glass of water.
Water drips from her still-wet hair and forms tantalizing paths down her skin. I watch a drop travel down her chest, aiming for the nipple I teased not so long ago. Lucky bastard.
The pad of my thumb brushes against it, ending its hopeful journey.
I lean in and the day-old scruff on my face scrapes against Violet’s cheek. She gasps, and damned if that doesn’t get my cock more excited.
“Touch yourself,” I murmur in her ear. “I want to watch you make yourself come.” My tone is the same one I use when working with the colts. Firm. Unbending.
Only this time it contains the heat that burns in my veins. The same heat that, according to Violet’s gaze, smolders in hers, too.
Violet lifts her hand to her breast and traces a path across one tit. The finger circles the nipple…once.
Twice.
Holy shit. I swallow back a groan.
Then she pinches the taut bud the same way I did earlier, rolling it between her fingers, tugging it. This time I barely hold back my groan.
Her smug, heated expression tells me she knows. She knows what her teasing is doing to me. Although it wouldn’t take much to figure that out, what with the excited stance my cock has assumed. It stands to attention, ready for Violet to ride it.
Her hand leaves her breasts and traces its way down her stomach, with the same languid speed of the water drop only a moment ago. It disappears into the landing strip of fine, dark hair, and I run the tip of my tongue along my lip, craving the taste of her.
As her fingers circle her clit, her head falls back against the wall with a moan. Her eyes are closed, her breath coming in short pants. Just the mere sight of her like this sends my cock into a new painful territory.
I wrap my hand around it and give it a firm stroke, doing what I can to ease my neediness while I wait for Violet to come.
And come she does—long and hard—if her cry is any indication.
Even though I’m not directly responsible for her orgasm, I can’t help the pride marching through me, which rivals Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.
Violet sags against the wall. I catch her in my arms before she can tumble to the ground. Just the feel of her—naked and alive—in my arms, is almost enough to cause me to coat her with my cum.
“You ready to ride me, cowgirl?”
Her mouth tugs into a sweet, lasso-me-up-and-fuck-me smile. My favorite kind of smile. “Anytime, cowboy.”
I walk to the wooden chair by the wall. It’s the only piece of furniture in the room. I hurriedly slip on a condom and sit on the chair. The smooth wood nips my bare ass with its cool touch.
But I don’t give two rattlesnakes about that—and neither does my cock.
I flash Violet a devilish grin and indicate for her to mount me.
With a smile to match my own, she straddles my legs and takes my cock in her hand. “How do you want this?” She strokes her thumb over the rubber-covered tip in the same way I imagine she just did with her clit.
And for the first time, the need to be ridden bare burns inside me. Not once in all the years I’ve had sex have I gone without a condom. Not once during that time have I ever wished to fuck without one.
But this time is different.
This time it feels like going without a condom is the equivalent of being branded. To belong to Violet and no one else.
And that’s a feeling I can’t afford to let in.
“Hard and rough,” is my answer.
The grin on her face widens, and she slowly lowers herself onto me until I’m fully seated inside her.
She groans as my width fills her, stretches her, worships her. Never before has it ever felt this powerful, this intense.
Gazing into her dark, mesmerizing eyes, I slip my fingers between her legs and smooth the wetness on her core.
“Oh God,” she calls out on another groan. Her voice and her erotic sounds make me harder.
With my hands on her hips, I encourage her to rock them. Her tight heat moving along my cock pushes me to dizzying new heights. I can’t get enough of her, of this. And for the first time since becoming a horse rancher, I see how right Camilla is. Because even if you’re a stallion whose job is to impregnate as many mares as possible during the breeding season, horses have the raw end of the deal.
While Violet maintains the pace, my thumb returns to her clit, applying the right amount of pressure. The r
oom is warm, even though the nearby trees shelter the hut from the summer sun. Sweat covers our bodies with a heavy sheen.
Just when I think I can’t last any longer, Violet’s muscles clench around me. I pull her head down to mine and swallow her moan. Then I take control of her hips, for those final rough movements, as the tingling in my lower back intensifies. My balls tighten—and the much-anticipated orgasm rockets through me.
I groan out loud, the sound deep and guttural. It’s a good thing they can’t hear me from the house. There’s no mistaking that the noise has nothing to do with woodwork.
Fighting to catch my breath, I drop my head to Violet’s shoulder.
The countdown for her return to Copper Creek? It’s now on.
16
It’s been three days since Violet returned to LA. I walk to the training paddock while giving Deacon a piggyback ride; Asgard strolls alongside me.
Grandma Meg had a medical appointment today and asked if I could look after her great-grandson for a couple of hours.
Yesterday it was a dentist appointment.
The day before that, it was her weekly Zumba lessons at the senior center.
And let’s not forget the lawn bowling tournament.
And snake charming lessons.
Yes, the last one finally triggered my bullshit alert. Which was when she decided to switch to the more realistic excuses.
Despite my initial reservations—because what the heck do I know about babysitting a twenty-five-month-old?—it’s been kind of fun.
But, shit, for a little kid, he sure has a lot of energy.
What in the hell has Grandma Meg been feeding him?
“Deacon, you wanna learn how to rope a cow?” I ask.
Sophie is in the center of the paddock, holding one end of the lunge line, while the colt trots in a large circle around her, kicking up dust. Jake and Noah are leaning against the upper railing of the fence, their focus on the horse. Although in Jake’s case, it’s more likely Sophie’s ass that has his attention.
At the sound of gravel crunching beneath my boots, they turn around. Deacon’s currently sporting the finest in toddler cowboy hats. A present from Sophie and Aubrey. He’s also wearing toddler-sized cowboy boots, Levi jeans, and a checkered shirt that resembles mine.
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