by Jackson, Ava
It wasn’t that I thought Cynthia was a total gold digger. Okay, it was more like I was trying not to think that about her. The fact that she was only a handful of years younger than my father was definitely a mark on her side, as was the fact that I hadn’t heard my father laugh so much in years as he had in the last few months.
I was trying. I was really fucking trying.
But when I’d overheard her telling my father that we just had to send the private jet for her daughter, I made a swift exit before I was tempted to share my opinion.
And now the daughter was finally here.
The passenger side door of the truck swung open almost a full minute after Griff had already jumped out.
Was she waiting for him to get her door? I shook my head. I’d already pictured a royal, stuck up bitch when I saw the pink sandals and the long, tanned legs slide out of the truck and dangle for a beat before they found purchase on the running board. As she climbed out of the cab, her yellow and pink sundress molded to the curve of her ass. And what an ass it was. Round and juicy, like a peach.
Fuck.
Blond hair was pulled into a low ponytail and a pair of those giant sunglasses covered half her face. I shouldn’t care what her face looked like, but goddamn if I could stop the curiosity stirring inside me. If it matched the tight, little body my eyes were devouring, this was going to be the longest fucking summer of my life.
She held up her hand as if shading her eyes and took in the ranch house. It’s a sight, that’s for sure. Not really a house so much as a mansion. My dad did well for himself before retiring young. I couldn’t help but wonder if she were surveying it in the same calculating way that I’d sworn I’d seen on her mother’s face.
The apple doesn’t usually fall all that far from the tree, now does it?
I couldn’t help but straighten when she pulled the sunglasses from her face and slid them on top of her head.
Fuck. Me. Running.
My groan was already out in the world before I had the sense to stifle it. Mac whistled low.
“Hot. Damn. I wouldn’t mind taking that filly for a ride.”
My glare in the ranch hand's direction silenced him. “You want to keep this job? Then you’ll keep your eyes on the fucking cattle and the horses. Keep ’em off the girl.”
“Sorry, Boss, but I hate to break it to you. That ain’t no girl. She’s all woman.”
Fucking cocksucker. Now my attention was back on her. Specifically, her tits. That dress should’ve been lying crumpled on a bedroom floor somewhere, not covering her body. Little white buttons strained across her ample chest, just waiting for me to unbutton them, expose what were sure to be gorgeous tits, and suck on her nipples.
What the fuck was I thinking? I shook off the disturbing thought. This chick would be my goddamn stepsister in a matter of days.
Which meant she was off limits for the one thing stuck-up pussy is good for—watching that perfect mix of arrogance and sass submit to me, hands bound behind her back, on her knees, and preferably with her fuckable mouth open and waiting for my cock.
The girl’s mouth fell open, synchronized with my thoughts, and my dick took on a life of its own.
Goddammit.
I reined it in when I realized her expression was a direct result of Griff tossing her bags into the house … rather unceremoniously.
Remembering that she was used to being treated like a princess—complete with private air transport—doused my rising libido. And it stayed doused even as she strutted toward the house.
Mac paused in his task, and the kid’s damn mouth hung open. The swing of those hips had him mesmerized. I’d like to say that she was putting something extra in her step to catch our attention, but I’d made a careful study of women and every damn thing about them over the years. I was willing to lay money on the fact that she had no clue that she was walking as if she were heading straight for her lover’s bed.
A vision flashed through my brain—me, waiting in my room, propped against my headboard, and her strutting that gorgeous ass toward me. I’d tell her to stop and turn, to bend and present herself to me, to let me see that submissive ass and cunt before I fucked them both. The image was so real I could picture her thighs slick with arousal and the scent coming off her. I’d eat that beautiful pussy first, savoring the tangy sweet flavor.
She slowed on the sidewalk within a few feet of me, giving me an awkwardly shy smile. I imagined what she would taste like when I fucked her with my tongue.
What the fuck was I doing?
I returned her smile with a curt nod, not meeting her eyes and grateful for the hat shading mine. I couldn’t be held responsible for whatever she’d see in my gaze right now.
Once the door shut behind her, I knew it was only a matter of time before my father would expect me to come in for introductions. Introductions that I wanted no part of, and yet I couldn’t avoid. The roughness of my surroundings might have dimmed the manners that had been instilled in me since childhood, but they hadn’t completely died out. I emptied the last of this load of rocks, made my way to the front door, and opened it on silent hinges.
“We’re happy to have you with us for the festivities and the rest of the summer,” I overheard my dad saying.
Yeah. Thrilled to have another woman taking up space in the house and mentally calculating the value of the property it sits on.
Dad glanced over the blonde’s shoulder. “Hey, perfect timing, Ford. Now I don’t have to track you down to meet Emma.” She turned to face me, a smile spreading across her face … which promptly died when my dad added, “Emma, this is Ford, my son. He runs the ranch.”
Did she really not know who I was outside?
Her look of shock would suggest that she’d had no fucking clue. Well, wasn’t that interesting?
She offered her hand and I shook it, savoring the feel of her soft, delicate palm against my rough one, and trying to get some kind of read on her—did she like it rough? Would she recoil in disgust if I told her I wanted to tie her up and fuck that perfect peach of an ass? I jerked my instincts to a halt; I had absolutely no business trying to get a read on her. She was completely off limits.
And I needed to get the fuck out of there before I convinced myself otherwise.
My dad said something about her catching up with her mom, but I was already trying to figure a way out of this awkward as hell situation. Cynthia laughed and whispered something cute about my dad, to which he responded by whipping her ass with the towel, like a teenager.
Jesus. These two.
Emma cleared her throat and looked just as uncomfortable as I felt. “So … you run this whole place, huh?”
Her question sounded forced, but it was a welcome distraction.
I nodded.
“How long have you been in charge?”
Does she really fucking care, or is this that polite small talk I left behind when we ditched Silicon Valley for Montana?
Given that it wasn’t a yes-or-no question, I responded with the bare minimum of information. “Since college.”
I waited for her to give up, considering I was barely participating, but she pushed on. “Is it weird to have your dad as a boss?”
She clearly didn’t understand that my dad was fully retired, and the only boss around this place was me. That fact had never bothered me before he’d taken a trip to California to pick up some wine and come back with a fiancée. Maybe if he’d been more involved with operations, he wouldn’t have left in the first place, and the ranch wouldn’t have been invaded by Cynthia and now Emma.
I stared at her for a beat before filling her in that I was the boss around here, and then added, “Probably a good thing, because someone has to look out for him.”
Her head jerked back at my words, and I could almost see her realize that I wasn't sold on this whole business between our parents. I didn’t need to stand here any longer, wasting my time, to get that point across.
“Excuse me. I've got work to do befo
re dinner,” I said, before turning on my heel and walking back out the front door.
* * *
My reprieve didn’t last long, however, because my phone buzzed with a text. I tossed down the river rocks I was still hauling to check it.
Dad: Your ass needs to be in the house for dinner.
Me: Yes, sir.
Dad: And be nice to Emma.
I didn’t reply to that last text. What was I supposed to say? That I’d be so nice to Emma she’d be introduced to the wonder of multiple orgasms? I’d have her spinning on the business end of my cock? Not happening.
So I went back into the house and sat through dinner. I chewed my steak—damned good beef—and listened to Emma and Cynthia chatter on about the wedding. Although, to be fair, most of the chatter came from Cynthia. But still, every time Emma opened her mouth to reply to one of her mother’s questions, I fantasized about stuffing my ball gag between her pouty pink lips. Which then had me thinking about her other pouty pink lips.
Fuck. I had to get the hell out of there before I sprouted a hard-on the size of a ponderosa pine.
So I shoved back my chair, made my excuses, and escaped to the peace and quiet of the horse barn. I breathed in the sweet scent of hay and the earthy aroma coming from the stalls. A nicker from my favorite mare was a welcome sound. The shit-talking coming from Mac to whomever was listening to him was decidedly not.
“Dude, you should have seen the ass on this girl. Fuck. Me. My dick might never be the same after she’s through with it. I’ll be ruined for all other pussy. It’s a fact. I’m telling ya.”
I rounded the corner and saw Mac leaning against a stall, with TJ, my most reliable and talented ranch hand, and Griff, both sitting on the bales of straw. TJ wasn’t usually one for talking too much shit about women. He tended to be the respect them and they will come sort. I wasn’t sure how much luck he’d had with that approach, but regardless, he was a good man. Griff rarely said anything. Just chewed his dip or a toothpick. Or both.
The first time Cynthia saw him let loose a stream of tobacco juice onto the front lawn, she’d almost fainted. And then offered to buy him an antique spittoon. My thoughts of Cynthia immediately brought back thoughts of her daughter, who one of my hands was talking about fucking.
Sometimes being the boss sucked. Now was not one of those times.
“One more word comes out of your mouth about that woman, and you’ll be riding fences for six months straight. The only action you’ll be getting will be your own fucking hand … you get me?”
My voice was cold and hard, a tone I didn’t pull out often with the guys. But this time, I wanted there to be no question that I meant what I said.
“But you saw her—”
“I’m not fucking kidding, Mac. She’s off limits. You don’t look at her. You don’t talk to her. You don’t talk about her. She’s not your business and never will be.”
Mac bristled, and I suspected it was because I was dressing him down in front of Griff and TJ. I probably could’ve been more diplomatic about it, but I wasn’t fucking around. She wasn’t for him. She wasn’t for me, either.
I waited, expecting Mac to say something else, but he didn’t. He pushed off the stall, grabbed his Gatorade from the floor, and stalked toward the exit.
That left Griff studying me and TJ gaping.
“You got a problem with that, TJ?”
He shook his head and lost the look of shock painted across his face. “No, sir.” He shoved off the straw bale. “I think I’ll be getting to the section of fence I was planning to ride today.”
And then it was just me and Griff—a man I trusted and respected, whose own respect I earned with my blood, sweat, and determination. He still didn’t think the rich man’s kid had what it took to run this ranch, and I was dead set on proving him wrong.
His chuckle was low, and his cigar-roughened voice rumbled through the barn. I expected him to make a comment about my new stepsister-to-be, but instead he said, “Your daddy gonna expect me up at that wedding? I don’t wear suits. Not even to my own goddamn funeral.”
“I’m sure he’d appreciate it, but if you’d rather not, that’s your choice.”
Griff nodded once. “I’ll think on it.” He shifted the toothpick to the other end of his mouth. “That girl asks a lot of questions. Don’t think she’d know a cow pony from a cow patty.”
“You’re probably right about that,” I replied, thinking about the conversation at dinner.
Griff pushed himself upright, his joints creaking with the effort.
“Guess we’ll see how long she lasts, then.”
He ambled out of the barn, and I was once again left alone with my thoughts of Emma. Maybe if she got out of here fast enough, I’d be able to keep that fucking ball gag in my toy bag where it belonged.
Chapter 3
Emma
Before Celeste had even picked up his dinner plate, Ford disappeared again. Russ's genial expression faltered for a moment, but Mom touched his arm and he smiled at her. I held back the urge to wonder where Ford was going. Either he was avoiding us—in which case, everyone should just let him sulk—or he was trying to give us our own space. Whatever it was, Ford chilling out a little could only be a good thing.
We went on chatting over coffee while Celeste cleared the dishes. An hour’s worth of small talk later, Russ yawned and set down his mug with a clunk. “I think it's time to check out the insides of my eyelids. You coming up, Cyn?”
Mom glanced at me as Russ pushed out his chair. “Do you need any help getting unpacked, sweetie?”
“No, thanks. I'll just pull out what I need for tonight and deal with the rest in the morning.” I leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. “Goodnight, Mom.”
Russ waited for Mom to get up, then started toward the stairs that led to their wing of the house. I put my plate and mug in the kitchen sink. They were the only dishes Celeste hadn't collected. I’d received the message clear as day: I was not welcome in what she considered her domain. Mom was too caught up in the excitement of wedding planning and being in love to notice the statement Celeste was silently making. But that was something for another day; I was too damn tired to deal with Celeste right now.
I went up to my room and rooted through my bags until I found my shampoo and long, fluffy bathrobe. Even though I was dead on my feet, I knew I couldn't get to sleep without a quick shower; I was rumpled and dirty from traveling all day.
I undressed and went across the hall, huffing with annoyance when I found the door shut. There was nothing I could do but wait. Either that, or get lost forever trying to find another bathroom in this huge, dark house.
Finally the door opened. A pretty girl in a see-through teddie stepped out. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks flushed … It was clear that she had just been well fucked. She squeaked when she saw me and darted down the hall to Ford's room like a scared mouse. I gaped after her until the situation finally clicked. Is everyone getting laid around here except me?
Behind me, Ford stepped into the bathroom doorway. I turned to look and immediately regretted it.
He wore nothing but a towel draped loosely around his waist. I tore my eyes away from the trail of dark hair leading down his abs and realized that he was staring at me. Not an angry glare, just … brazen. This was his home turf, and he was daring me to either challenge him or slink away with my tail between my legs. Was everyone out to challenge me tonight?
“You going to shower or what?” he finally asked.
I narrowed my eyes at him. Fuck you, buddy. It's not like I got a vote about staying here.
He showed no sign of moving to let me pass. I was forced to squeeze through the doorway around him, so close that his hand brushed my hip. My skin prickled where he touched me through the robe. With one last glance at my bare calves, he finally followed the girl back to his bedroom. I watched his tight ass as he walked away and told myself I was just doing it to spite him. I definitely haven't lost control of my own hormones. Nop
e. Not at all.
* * *
The days until the wedding crawled by. While Mom and Russ snuggled obliviously in their wing, I was trapped, with Ford just a few doors down. And he made it clear that he didn't like me invading his space. Whenever I turned around, he was right there—ogling me, scowling at me, blocking my way, swaggering around half-dressed. Everything he did simultaneously pissed me off and made me horny as hell. I felt like I was being taunted. I didn't know why he couldn't stand me; I didn't know why I couldn't shake my dirty thoughts about him.
Shutting myself in my room to avoid him didn't work. I catnapped, flipped through all the books on my e-reader, and even repainted my toenails. The boredom just made it harder to ignore my libido. And being lazy during the day meant being awake at night, when I'd be sure to glimpse the seemingly endless stream of booty calls coming and going from his bedroom.
By my third night at Wild Cliffs, I was already fucking done. I couldn't stand just lying in bed trying to sleep anymore. I needed some fresh air. I needed to get far enough away from Ford's room to stop wondering whether he slept naked. I threw on the clothes I had worn to dinner the previous day and crept downstairs.
As I opened the front door, a cool night breeze caressed my face. I breathed in deep: dust, grass, animals, wood smoke, and the strange spice that I'd learned was the smell of truly clean air. The stars twinkled in the deep black sky, brighter and more numerous than I'd ever seen in the city. My head's clearing already.
I didn’t go outside with any particular goal. I stood on the porch for a while, just enjoying the peacefulness of the night. Eventually my eyes drifted to the horse barn. Like every little girl in the world, I had been obsessed with “magical ponies” once. Now that I'd seen real herds of show horses running in their paddocks, spirited and graceful, I was falling in love all over again. Maybe I could visit them for a little while.
Filled with thoughts of petting soft noses and offering sugar lumps, I strolled down the brick walkway in front of the house. But when it turned off toward the horse barn, becoming a dirt path, I heard a strange noise. It sounded like it was coming from the tack room. Confused, I ventured closer and heard it again—that sharp snap, followed so quickly by a low moan that they were almost the same sound.