by Gigi Thorne
They made it to his self-imposed starting gate by mere hours. After a raucous graduation party at Millie’s, they’d driven here – to the bunkhouse – and had a private celebration.
For a brief second, the memory brought a smile. He’d planned. They had a cooler full of cherry soda, cherry pie, cherry ice cream, and even a bottle of cherry wine. That he made an occasion out of the ceremonial popping of her cherry made her love him all the more.
But when he looked at the floor, another memory crowded too close.
That summer after she graduated, when they fucked their way through every day, just one thing cast a shadow over her happiness. Wyn was a few years older than her and a college student no less. It was apparent that she was the only virgin in their naughty equation. Imagining him with skanky coeds had driven her nuts.
Why was this coming up now?
Because her imagination also worked up far too many scenarios involving this place as Wyn’s personal fuck studio. How many women had he brought here?
Worry ate at her composure. She cleared her throat and went back to the chili. Reaching into the bag, she took a handful of corn chips and crushed them between her palms. They sprinkled onto the steaming chili. Wiping her hands on her jean shorts, she focused on the task at hand and avoided his gaze.
After a minute, he dropped his spoon and shoved back in his chair.
She looked at him as her tongue cleaned the spoon in her mouth of the yummy chili.
“This is weird, right?”
She raised her brows, gave a tiny shrug, and nodded. Her sensible side was screaming at her to clear the air. Talk about what happened. And do it quickly before one of them, and she suspected it would be her, was naked and vulnerable.
Why did she know it would be her? Because she knew Wyn maybe better than he knew himself. There was no way he’d make love to her until the past was dealt with.
Could he fuck her and walk away? Of course, but that wasn’t Wyn. There was something bigger than both of them at stake, and before they got to that point, he was going to demand she surrender.
“It was always going to be weird,” she quietly murmured.
He was still angry and hurt although she wasn’t sure why. That why was at the core of the mystery that was her and Wyn.
“Do you wanna talk?” she asked.
She jumped when he answered with a sharp bark. “No. Finish your chili.”
He drained his wine glass and poured another. Her pussy tingled. She squirmed in her chair.
It took a few minutes, but the anger in the air eventually defused and melted away. They ate, sipped, and carefully chatted about stupid shit. He told her about the Halloween events the Trip T had in store for the autumn guests. She explained in breathless detail how she settled on her motor home after a two-month search.
It was all very civilized and achingly pleasant – but the swirling sexual subtext wouldn’t be denied. Relentless and building in intensity, she watched and waited like an animal that knew they were being sized up as prey.
They cleared the dishes and drank some more. She wandered around the bunkhouse and lost her shit in the bathroom when she saw the tub and unusual shower setup.
Because he was a guy, the part of the tour where he went on and on about hardware, PVC pipes, and bathroom fixtures was a bit much, but she just drank some more and giggled in all the appropriate places.
It was all well and good, and then the dam broke.
He tore off his shirt and tossed it aside. She wasted less than a second before crowding him against the island. With her hands on the counter at each side of his hips, she leaned in close but stopped short of kissing him.
“I’m mad at you,” she growled. “For the record, I do not cock troll. Ever.”
His answering smile started at the corners of his mouth and slowly spread, but he didn’t move, and their lips, although less than two inches apart, never touched.
“You devil.” She snickered.
He shrugged. “You know the rules. Good girls wait.”
Laughing, she pushed back and snarled, “What? There are rules? Since when?”
She was completely unprepared when he grabbed her around the waist, twirled them around, and lifted her ass onto the counter. With rough hands, he yanked her thighs apart and fit his hips between them. Her surprise went supersonic when he tore at the knot on her shirt and then quickly spread it open.
He checked out her bra with undisguised satisfaction. Wyn liked her lingerie – at least, he had back then.
Pressing the refilled wine glass into her hand, he crowded close and smirked.
“Rule review. There’s only one that counts. I decide, Sami. Got it?”
Oh my. This dominant streak was a surprise too. The tingling turned to a dull throb.
“O-okay,” she mumbled as a shudder ripped through her.
He ran a finger from the base of her throat down the center of her chest and tugged on her bra. The finger moved to her belly and stroked her skin until her belt and shorts stopped him.
“Drink,” he demanded with a tap on the wine glass she was shocked to realize was still in her hand.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
His leer turned her insides to mush.
“Drunk? No. Slightly buzzed and less likely to object? Yes.”
Well, hot damn! That sounded like fun. She guzzled the rest of the wine and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth as a loud, “Ahh,” filled the air.
He laughed. “Good girls wait. Very good girls wait eagerly.”
She pouted because she really didn’t like being taunted, but then again, this was the price he was setting, and whatever she had to pay for the sake of bringing them back together was fine by her.
“A gentleman would take my glass.”
His top lip curled in a sexy snarl, and he leaned in closer. Close enough that her boobs brushed his chest.
“What’s the first rule of being a cowboy gentleman?”
She swallowed with tremendous difficulty. Her voice broke when she replied. “Ladies come first.”
He took the glass out of her hand. Then he grabbed her ass and dragged her to the end of the long, wide counter.
“Lie back.”
“Uh, what?” Her confusion was real. What did he want her to do?
“Lie back and spread ’em, girl. Now.”
Sami looked at the polished concrete slab under her butt and then at his face. Feeling off-kilter and shamefully turned on, she wiggled back a bit and slowly reclined until she was resting on her elbows. She had to bite her lip to keep from whimpering when he grabbed her by the boots and put both feet on the counter.
Her cowboy gentleman was acting like a cowboy gynecologist. Only she had all her clothes on – what clothes she wore.
He reached for his wine and casually leaned against the stove. When she looked down her body, he was situated in the center V of her spread thighs. It was a provocative pose.
He saluted her with his glass. “That’s one hell of a view. The virginal white bra and panties are a nice touch. So are the boots.”
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I’m deciding,” he replied.
He didn’t want to talk – not yet. And he was showing a controlling side she’d barely glimpsed as an innocent nineteen-year-old. The moment demanded honesty.
“Just don’t make me regret this, Wyn.”
The surrender her words implied made his eyes flare. She’d never been more sure of her decision to come home and take a chance.
Draining his glass, he set it aside and eyed her up. “Don’t worry, baby. I know how to make your regret a pleasure.”
Oh. My. God.
He stepped between her legs and bent. She heard him inhale and nearly came.
Chuckling as he moved to her side, he leered at her and growled, “Smells about right.”
She heard the words, but all her mind was able to process was his gorgeous body. The years had changed the yo
unger man into a devastating hottie. His broad, manly chest and naturally muscled torso made her wet her lips. No Hollywood facsimile could ever replace this. Here was a real man – no disrespect intended – but the truth was, Wyn worked hard. Physically hard and the effects were deliciously apparent.
“Lie flat, baby. Hands under your head.”
She did as he demanded. He stood over her and grinned.
Like a twelve-year-old boy touching his first pair of breasts, he cupped his hands over her bra and frowned.
“Well, this doesn’t work,” he chortled.
Her sharp gasp demonstrated Sami’s shock when he unsnapped a leather sheath on his belt and pulled out a pocketknife. He grabbed the center of her bra and lifted. Next thing she knew, her three hundred dollar La Perla pushup bra was history.
“That’s better.” He pushed the two halves of the ravaged bra and her shirt out of the way to expose her to his gaze.
She quivered from the growl in his voice. He wasted no time before devouring both boobs. When he swerved into aggressive territory, she groaned his name. He knew that she liked him to be a little rough at times, but this was new.
Reaching under her head, he fisted her hair and pulled. She was trapped. With his free hand, he gave one nipple a vicious pinch. She arched into his touch and cried out. His husky growling sigh made her senses go haywire.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
“Oh, Wyn,” she whimpered. “It’s just, I can’t,” she moaned. Her response to the manhandling scared her a little. It made her realize she was so desperate for him that she’d allow anything.
He got serious in a hurry. “Why are you here?” he demanded. “Why?”
They weren’t going to talk about what happened, but that wasn’t stopping him from exacting an emotional price.
“Why are you trembling? You know I’d never …” he snarled but didn’t finish the sentence.
“I’m afraid,” she admitted in what to her ears sounded like a very small voice. “Not of you,” she hurried to explain. “Of this. I know you won’t hurt me – physically. But there’s more at stake than well, you know.”
He exploded. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sami. You don’t get to la-de-dah away for ten goddamn years, then show up one day and expect me to act like what you did was no big deal.”
She shot up, swung her legs over the edge of the counter, and jumped to her feet. “What I did?” she screeched. “What I did? You mean take a shot when a chance of a lifetime knocks? Why was that wrong, Wyn? It’s not like I left here with a head full of silly dreams and ended up doing porn! And fuck you very much, pal.”
The yelling started, and it got heated. Did it help that her boobs were on display? Probably not.
Ripping off her shirt, she yanked the expensive bra, gathered both pieces and threw them at his head. She put the shirt on and knotted it so tight she nearly cut off her oxygen.
The shouting match came to an abrupt end when he snapped, “I was a dumbass and thought you were my girl. Was gonna propose and everything.”
A pin dropping would be too loud in the emotionally charged silence that followed his comment.
“Er, what?”
He looked shaken, and she knew he hadn’t meant to tell her. She wasn’t surprised when he erected a macho shield. “Get out.”
“Oh, fuck no,” she barked. “That’s not how this is gonna go. You say you don’t want to talk, yet clearly, you have something to say. Wyn, for god’s sake. We have to stop doing this. I didn’t leave you, and I’m not sure why you think that, but yeah, I stayed away. I own that part. But you didn’t care. And you made that plain as day whenever we talked. You even left me to walk my first red carpet alone.”
“Nice try, but you weren’t alone. I have eyes, Sami, and there were plenty of pictures.”
“Stop! Stop! Whatever you think, Wyn, I never cheated on you.”
“Never?”
He had to be kidding. But he wasn’t.
“Not for a long, long time. Years. And when I finally did try to feel something for somebody else, it was one act short of a tragedy.”
The confession acted like a match held too close to kindling.
Next thing she knew, they were in a frantic clutch on a big comfy futon. They kissed like maniacs. He left bite marks on her boobs and chomped down so hard on her neck that she cried out.
She responded with wildness – a wildness that only Wyn had ever inspired. Her nails raked his back. She initiated an aggressive tongue duel and nearly knocked him out by accident when they both fumbled to get her boots off, and he got whacked in the head.
Her hands got smacked away when she went for his belt. Disappointed, she considered begging, but he was several steps ahead of her and was working toward a different goal.
“Shimmy out of those shorts, baby.”
He reared back and helped her wiggle out of the scrap of material. Her panties lasted less than ten seconds once the shorts were off.
His hands were everywhere. A wave of arousal pushed her along. When his fingers went between her legs and stroked her pussy lips, she melted down.
She watched him through half-closed eyes. Her chest quivered as she panted with need. He parted her outer lips and chuckled.
“Somebody needs to come.”
He played in the wetness leaking from her body, using it to massage her swollen clit. She shuddered and drew her knees back. He responded by sliding a finger into her aching pussy. She moaned. He added a second finger. That would have been enough to get her off, but Wyn had mastered her orgasms a long time ago and knew just what to do.
It was his tongue that sent her flying. He might prefer his chili in an old stoneware bowl, but when it came to licking pussy, her man was an artist. A gourmand with a magic touch.
The fingering sent her to the edge where he held her in a state of moaning desperation. When she felt his mouth move in to finish the task, her heart nearly burst from the feverish excitement he elicited.
Wyn did things to her pussy that made her cry out. He suckled her clit and tongue lashed the sensitive opening to her body where she so desperately needed his big, fat cock.
His name was on her lips as she came. Her body jerked uncontrollably. Ecstasy robbed her brain of conscious thought. It was awesome and demanding. Her whole being exploded.
She was floating when the harsh sound of metal thudding on the floor got her attention. His hands lifted her ass, and he growled, “Look at me, girl.”
She tried to focus, but the bliss was messing with her abilities. Her vision cleared fast when she felt the glorious plump head of Wyn Thomas’s manly cock demanding entrance to her pussy.
Reaching for him, she growled his name and dug her nails into his flesh. He pulled her ass up at the moment he plunged into her flooded channel. When he bottomed out balls deep, they both groaned. His mouth claimed hers. The kiss was rough and possessive, but she didn’t mind.
The fucking was equal parts majestic and primal. Wyn was an animal driven by basic desires. She was a goddess anointing his cock with her arousal.
Her pussy clenched. She loved feeling him deep inside. When he set a demanding rhythm, and his balls slapped her ass on each ferocious stroke, she quivered with reawakened need. He took her wrists, raised them above her head and shifted his weight between her legs. She knew this maneuver. He was going to bring it home.
It didn’t matter that his rough grasp on her wrists cut off the blood supply. All she cared about was his fantastic cock claiming her in the most deliciously elemental way.
“Knees higher, baby. Give me more room to fuck you good.”
She complied and added a small request. “Harder, Wyn.”
Her demand cut him loose, and all pretense of being a gentleman, cowboy or otherwise, took a hike. The pounding was fierce. Her pussy ached with need. When he demanded she come, Sami surrendered to his cock and was seized by a climax so strong she had no other choice but to scream out in ecstasy.
He fol
lowed her with a thundering orgasm that went on and on and took her breath away. His weight as he collapsed on top of her was the perfect comfort ending to a coupling that changed everything.
4
He slid the latest figures from their accountant to his father’s place at the conference table.
“Make sure you leave some of that to me in the will,” Wyn chortled.
His dad glanced at the sheet of numbers and laughed. “Looks like I won’t have to sleep in the den after all. You do know that yer mom just married me for my money.”
It was an old family joke that brought smiles to both of their faces.
“How much of this does Uncle Sam get? Will there be enough for a new pair of shoes?”
Another joke met with equal snickering.
He smirked. “New shoes and laces, Dad! Maybe we should rename the ranch, Triple T Jackpot.”
“Sure as shit better than Triple T Bankrupt.”
“Who knew that guests would bring more dollars than cattle?”
Vern Thomas’s keen gaze and nod were a compliment of the highest order. “You did, my boy. And thank god, too. Keeping the ranch in the family and profitable is a heavy burden. Don’t you forget it when it’s all yours.”
“For fuck’s sake, Dad, will you stop with the dying talk? You’re barely half-past fifty.”
“True” – Dad snickered – “but threats of death are all a man has when his sons haven’t settled down, and there aren’t grandkids on the horizon.”
“Do you say this shit to Burke?”
Dad laughed. “Are you nuts? Mom and I pray that he doesn’t come back from one of his trips to Vegas with a hooker on his arm and a marriage license tattooed on his dick.”
The description was so spot-on and funny that they fist-bumped and chuckled.
“Speaking of which, how’s Sami?”
The pen he was reaching for flew onto the floor when his fingers jerked. “Yeah, uh, she’s fine. I guess.”
“You guess?”
He ignored the leading question, grabbed the pen off the floor, and avoided his father’s shrewd gaze.