by Lex Martin
He’s hot and glistening with sweat, his face ruddy, his brow furrowed in concentration.
I should leave him alone. Let him work.
But he’s so incredibly beautiful. So utterly masculine. So intense with those taut muscles all strained with exertion.
On a whim, I reach for the hose, spike the pressure, sneak across the stall and call his name.
Then I shoot him with the water.
“What the—” He whirls around, his mouth open and shock in his eyes.
At first, anger radiates off him, which only makes me redouble my efforts, accidentally spraying him in the face. Whoops!
“That’s it,” he sputters, a laugh bursting out of him.
Thank God, he’s amused.
“You’re in trouble, little girl,” he yells, wiping his face with his one arm and chucking a huge sponge at me with the other. It lands with a wet plop across my thin white tank top and slides down.
I gasp. It’s fucking freezing. Goosebumps break out along my arms, my nipples pebble, and I shiver again.
But I don’t get a chance to retaliate because he snatches the hose out of my hands and shoves it down the front of my shirt.
“That’ll teach you,” he says in my ear, pressing my back to his chest.
“OH, MY GOD!” I squirm. Fight. Fling my arms. Screech with laughter while the frigid water shoots down my shirt, through my shorts, and along my legs, puddling at my feet.
The whole time, he holds me to his hard body while I flail.
Tiny Dancer glances back at us with a bored expression while I freak out and squeal.
“You are a very bad girl.” His voice rolls through me, singeing the parts of my skin that brush against him.
“You should definitely punish me.” I can barely get out the words because I’m laughing and out of breath and so turned on, I might burst.
I try to wiggle out of his hold, but his grip tightens as he lifts me up, and despite the blast of water tunneling down my clothes, when my ass grazes the huge erection in his jeans, I groan and thrust back.
Need fires through my veins, and just like that, we’re a tangle of eager hands.
I don’t have to tell him how I feel. He knows.
The hose drops to the ground and we stumble to the side of the stall, where he pins me to the smooth beige wall.
“Wanna fuck you so hard,” he groans against my ear, his voice gravelly.
“Do it.” Please, God, do it.
One hand dives under my shirt and bra, palming my sensitive skin, kneading and pinching, making me gasp in delight at his roughness. The other snakes under the leg of my shorts.
The rumble of his chest tells me he likes what he finds when he slicks a finger against my skin—me swollen and wet and so ready.
Back and forth he teases while he seals his mouth to my neck. He sucks and licks and bites me, all the while grinding his cock against my ass.
We’ve had amazing sex. Sweet sex. Sultry sex.
But this is different.
This feels out of control.
Desperate.
Impulsive and wild.
His breath is ragged and his fingers dig into my skin, and he’s telling me how he can’t wait to fuck my pussy. How I make him so hard. How I’m the only woman who’s ever made him this crazy.
“Hurry,” I gasp, needing to feel him.
He releases me, and I whip off my tank and shove down my shorts. The clink of his belt hitting the floor is the last thing I hear before he’s on me again.
My damp back makes a slick sound when he yanks me to his sweaty chest, but the feeling of his hot erection, full and thick against my thigh, makes me arch my spine.
“Hold on to this. Don’t let go,” he commands.
Bracing my hands on a bar just above my head, he explores my nipples and my waist and the wet valley between my thighs. All while I hold on to the warm metal.
But the sweltering heat of the barn makes it hard to breathe, and watching his movements along my body makes it harder still. Watching his hand move under my panties. Seeing his forearm flex and contract while he works me over, the pounding of my heart resonating from somewhere beneath the pad of his coarse fingers.
He knocks my legs farther apart so he can breach my opening. I’m already so close to the edge, his touch has me crying out.
“Remember, don’t let go.” His voice is tight.
I’m nodding even though I’m confused why he’s stepping away, but when he dips to his knees in front of me and grabs my ass, pulling my thighs to his face, all I can do is moan and writhe.
From this angle, I can see every movement of his tongue as it parts my lips and licks up my center. The erotic movement of my hips as I ride his face. The searing pleasure in his eyes as he watches me come apart.
My body is still twitching with delirium when he positions himself behind me, slides himself against my folds—once, twice, three times—and drives into me with one epic thrust.
Fuck me standing. It feels too good, too intense, and my knees quake.
“Hold. On.”
And then he’s hoisting my thighs over his, and I tilt forward, barely clinging to the bar. Except I don’t want him to stop. Don’t want him to put me down. My knuckles are turning white, but I won’t let go.
I feel like we’re doing some crazy acrobatic move I read in Cosmo once, maybe the Wheelbarrow or the Superwoman? But my torso is more upright, and at this angle, my thighs are snug against his hips as he tunnels in and out of me, and that tension, all that delicious pressure that has me strung tight, makes my core clench and strain against his huge intrusion.
But before I can analyze how I’m feeling so good, so euphoric even though my arms are this close to slipping off the bar, I’m coming again and screaming, shuddering around him.
“Oh, fuck, baby.” He grunts as his cock swells and jerks inside me.
Gasping and panting, we barely keep from tumbling to the ground. Just as my hands slip, he hugs my torso tight, leaning me against the wall. Gently, he puts my legs down, and with a wicked smile, I realize he’s still twitching inside of me, so I nuzzle back and let him finish.
“Tiny Dancer got an eyeful,” I joke, loving how he’s nestled against me, arm slung around my chest, his face tucked into my neck.
When he doesn’t respond, I reach back and thread my fingers through his hair, but I’m met with silence.
With a groan, he slides out of me, and I wince at the bite of pain between my legs, but hell, I’d take being sore any day if it means sex that hot.
I watch as he takes care of the rubber I didn’t even realize he’d slid on earlier. I’m on the pill, and he knows that, but he’s been meticulous about using condoms.
We’re quietly putting on our soggy clothes, and I’m wondering why he hasn’t said anything, when he reaches for me and clears his throat. “Are you okay, baby? Was I too rough?”
Smiling, I reach up to stroke his face. “I love every kind of sex you have to give me. Feral happens to be my favorite.”
A chuckle vibrates his chest. “I love having you here. You and my kids are the best part of my day.”
My stomach quivers, every part of me lighting up from what he just said as he leans down to kiss me.
It’s sweet and soft and a complete one-eighty from what we just did, but it makes me want to take an emotional snapshot of this moment. Of us and his gentle touches in the half-lit barn. Of the tender look in his eyes that tells me more than any words he’s uttered. Of the full-bodied wave of affection welling up in me for this man.
For once in my life, I’m not afraid of the future or my place in this world. Because Ethan brings me hope that maybe my past happened for a reason. That it brought me to this place with him. And I wouldn’t change that for anything.
Ethan
Exhaustion weighs my bones, and I sink deeper into the couch. Next to me, Cody snuggles on Tori’s lap, and I smile to myself as I watch him gingerly stroke the tendrils that cascade ove
r her shoulder. He’s obsessed with her hair. Like father, like son.
I reach over and grab a long lock from her other shoulder and twist it in my fingers. So soft.
She smiles at me from under those thick lashes, and even though I got up at four this morning and baked all day outside in ninety-five-degree Texas heat, that one glance gives me a kick of adrenaline.
I can’t stop thinking about what we did in the barn last weekend. How she let me take her hard and desperate, like a goddamn animal rutting away to release. I’ve never been that rough with a woman before, and as soon as we were done, I felt a pang of shame for not being more delicate with her. Even more shocking, though, was the playful look in her eyes when she told me how much she enjoyed it. How she likes it “feral” and wild. If the scratches on my back from last night are any indication, she’s not lying.
That I have any energy at all to do more than fall face first into bed each night is a miracle, but Tori seems to give me superpowers.
“Daddy, can I have one more?” Mila is kneeling in front of the coffee table, reaching for the last slice of pizza.
“Sure thing.”
I probably shouldn’t be ordering pizza for dinner—I should be counting every penny and praying the judge doesn’t dismantle my ranch this week—but with how hard Tori’s been working alongside me this week, I couldn’t let her cook one more meal, and I barely had the energy to drag myself in from the barn.
She’s been a lifesaver. An angel. But the girl is running herself ragged, looking after the kids, helping me with the office, cooking for us. You’d think she’d be cranky as fuck—I am—but she does it all with the sweetest smile. Makes me want to lavish her with love and affection.
“Daddy?”
“Hmm?”
“Is Tori your girlfriend?”
Alarmed, I look at my daughter, whose attention is darting between me and Tori, and I realize we’re sitting side by side on the couch, with Tori in a corner and me right next to her even though there’s a good three feet on my right side. And some time in the last few minutes, I put my arm around her shoulders.
Sitting up and resting my elbows on my knees, I rub the scruff on my chin, wishing I had planned for how I was gonna explain this new development in our lives. Because I know whatever happens between me and Tori affects Mila and Cody too.
A quick glance to Tori tells me she’s worried about how this will go down, and she gently shakes her head at me, which I know is because we’ve already agreed to keep things quiet for a few months. To see where things go. To ease the kids through the divorce. But I don’t need more time to know what I want. I had years with my ex-wife and couldn’t get a good reading about where we were headed sometimes, but with Tori, it’s clear as day. I want this to last. I want something permanent, and I’m ready to invest my heart and soul into making our relationship work.
As for the divorce, I’ve been honest with Mila from the beginning, and I don’t want to backtrack now. I’m not sure where she’s learned about girlfriends and dating, but my guess is Logan talks too much about his social life.
“Honey, how would you feel if I said I liked Tori and wanted her to be my girlfriend?” No need to tell her she already is. Anything I can do to ease her shock is worth stretching the truth a bit.
The huge smile on her Mila’s face is an instant relief. “I’d say YAY!” She jumps around like I just told her Santa was about to shoot his happy ass down our chimney.
I chuckle and pull my daughter onto my lap where I give her a big hug. “Listen. Tori and I are really good friends, okay? That’s where this starts, being boyfriend and girlfriend. This summer, she’s become my best friend. I like having her around. She makes me smile, and I think she makes you and your brother happy too, right?”
My daughter is nodding emphatically, the excitement and joy in her face so sweet to see after I’d worried she might have a difficult time with this transition. But nope. She’s as happy as a clam. All of this makes sense. Since Tori came to the ranch, Mila’s nightmares have almost disappeared.
A sniffle next to me makes me turn my head in time to catch Tori wiping a tear. Man, she kills me. “Come here.” I pull my two girls close, with my son giggling in the middle of our group hug. Squeezing them tight, I press a kiss to the top of Mila’s head.
But my son steals the show because he wiggles and squirms in Tori’s lap, a gleeful smile spreading on his face as he points to his crotch. “I go pee pee, Daa-deee! Yay! Pee pee!”
We choke back laughter and high-five my boy like he hit a grand slam. Tori’s been talking to him about letting her know when he has to go, so she can get him to the john in time. At the very least, she wants him to gain an awareness of it to set the groundwork for potty training. Just one more thing I’ve been too busy to think about.
It’s a small victory at the end of a very long day. I’ll take it.
Tori
A freaking ambush. That’s what I’d call this.
Sighing, I glance around the Lone Star Station. The diner is pretty empty, but then again, it’s mid-morning on a week day.
My sister bats her eyelashes at me, a huge, self-pleased grin plastered on her face. Traitor.
“Mija,” my mother says, reaching for the cream, “your father and I were concerned.”
Here we go.
They don’t call me all summer and now they’re concerned.
I shoot my sister a dirty look across the table, but she avoids my glare and rubs her ginormous stomach.
My parents sit on either side of me at a small four-top table, right next to the table I sat at with Ethan and Logan that one time. God, that seems ages ago.
“And why is that, Mom?”
She gives me that look, that you know what you did look.
I give her one in return. Seriously, I have no clue.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I wait her out. She likes the buildup. The drama. My Mexican mother is where I get all my crazy, so I know how this goes.
“We called you, Tori. Your sister says we haven’t called, but we have.” I start to shake my head, but she cuts me off. “¿Por qué me dices que no?”
Why do you tell me I haven’t?
I pull out my phone and wave it around. “Maybe because I have this thing called a phone, and it never rings with calls from you. Either of you.”
Not sure why being around them makes me whine like a teenager, but two minutes at this table with them has me crawling out of my skin with anxiety. At Ethan’s, I’m all cool, calm, and collected, but seated next to my parents and sister, I’m the fucking basket case everyone thinks I am.
I’m twenty-three. I shouldn’t care that my parents don’t call me. I sooo get that. But I care. More than I want to admit.
“You guys didn’t really drive from Corpus to argue about this, did you?” I shift in my seat, wondering why today of all days they’re here.
“No,” my dad interjects. “We wanted to make sure Katherine’s nursery was all set up.”
A part of me is disappointed they’re not here for me, but I nod. I get it. They adore my sister. Hell, I adore my sister. She’s why I considered working for Ethan in the first place. It makes sense my parents would want to check on Kat since she’s so pregnant.
My mom digs into her purse. I sit back, knowing it could take a while before she ever finds what she’s looking for in there. Toothpicks, antacids, a sewing kit, an extra shoe lace, mints. All shit she lines up on the table in her search at the bottom of the faux leather bag.
Then she waves her tiny red flip phone. “Mira. Aquí.” Look. Here. With the speed of a turtle, she opens it, turns it on, and waits for the device to light up. Finally, she holds it to my face. Like, right to my face so I have to lean back to actually read the screen.
I see my name and my number.
I blink a few times.
Huh.
“Um. Mom. That’s my old number.”
She makes a face. It’s the See, I’m right. As usual face.
“What? I told you I changed it last spring.” She lifts an eyebrow that warns me I’m going to hell if I lie to my santa madre. “I left you guys a message. Swear to God.”
“Don’t swear.” She crosses herself, likely making a mental note to say a rosary for her heathen daughter this Sunday at church.
My sister snickers across the table, and we all turn to her.
“Aww, you guys! I’m just so happy we’re together. We should do this more often. I love having you in one place.” Tears well in her eyes. Oh, Jesus. No.
I sigh, feeling too wrung out to get emotional right now. Ethan’s court date is the day after tomorrow, and I’m on pins and needles for him. I can’t get all worked up in my family’s version of a telenovela.
Needing to switch gears, I blurt out an apology. “You’re right, Mom. I’m sorry I said you didn’t call. You obviously did.”
All three heads swivel around, their eyes wide as they stare at me like I’m a monkey in a zoo exhibit, scratching its ass, about to throw a turd.
I shrug, wanting this weird moment over so we can get back to talking about how my cousins are spoiled or my aunts are gossips or whatever. Anything but this. “You’re right. I could’ve called you guys too. I probably should have.” I’m a brat. I know this. But I’m the baby of the family, and sometimes I need love too, damn it. “So yeah. Sorry.”
After a long minute, my mom blinks a satisfied smile, and my dad leans over to hug me. “You look good, chiquita.”
Smiling at my childhood nickname, Little One, I hug him back. “You too, Pops.” I pat his round stomach. “Enjoying Mom’s cooking, I see.”
He chuckles. “How’s the farm? Your sister tells me you’re working for a nice family.”
My eyes catch Kat’s and I tilt my head, wondering at my father’s meaning of the word ‘family.’ Does he think I’m working for a married couple or does he know it’s a single dad? I figured my sister would’ve told him all the details.