Buckled

by Pam Godwin

  Pulling her leg across my lap, I yank at the soaked satin that’s tormented me since we left Sandbank. Removing it requires coordination and patience in this position, neither of which I have at the moment. So I slide my fingers past the obstacle and slip one inside her.

  She moans against my tongue, and I groan with her. The warm, tight channel around my touch clenches so hard I stop breathing.

  “Oh, God.” She rakes her hands through my hair, knocking off the hat. “Please, Jarret.”

  I add a second finger, and she gasps. I thrust deeper, and she chases my kiss with fire, biting and sucking with greedy pulls of her lips.

  “This is what you needed.” I rub my tongue against hers, controlling the rhythm and pressure as I stroke the hot depths of her pussy. “You needed my fingers in your cunt, destroying it, owning it, you dirty, filthy girl.”

  “No, I’m… I can’t.” She rears back her head and drags in a breath.

  “If I hear can’t one more time—”

  She attacks my mouth, licking and feasting and grinding against my hand.

  Finally. Fucking finally, I have her. Wild and molten, wet and volatile, her fight is beautiful, but her surrender is goddamn exquisite. I consume it with everything inside me, feeding on it and fueling a desire that has never felt this out of control.

  Heat gathers at the base of my spine. Blood surges along my shaft. My balls tighten. My tongue plunders, and I sense the rise of orgasm from the friction of grinding against the leg across my lap.

  I’m humping her like a damn dog.

  I need to pull back, just enough to drive us home. But I’m not stopping. I have no intention of snuffing out this inferno now that it’s roaring.

  Holding onto her leg, I break the kiss, remove my fingers from her wet heat, and slowly draw them into my mouth as she watches, panting and dazed.

  She tastes like sweet innocence and wild beauty. Blond curls tangle around her flush cheeks and heaving chest, her body loose and primed, trembling for release.

  We have time.

  I return the hat to my head, straighten behind the wheel, and pull back onto the road.

  “That’s it?” Anger and hurt spark in her eyes.

  “Not even close.” I grip tight to her leg, preventing her from pulling away. Then I return my hand to her pussy.

  The last hour of the drive is pure torture. With my fingers curling inside her, I bring her to the edge repeatedly. She pleads and writhes. My body throbs and protests the eternal wait.

  We both need relief, but I’m determined to make it home, where I can take my time, tease her kinkiest desires to the forefront, and introduce her to the dark edges of pleasure.

  When the night ends, there will be no distinctions between her cravings and my needs. She said we want different things, but she’s wrong.

  We want this, us, with matching intensity, and tonight, I’ll prove it to her.

  Clearing my head of filthy, thrusting, flogging thoughts, I’m left with an earth-shattering revelation.

  I don’t care about her secrets. I don’t even care about the sex. Not in the way I care about her.

  She isn’t some gold-digging, narcissistic, faceless woman seducing her way into my bed. She’s everything I’ve been waiting for and nothing like I expected.

  I made a deal with her that I have no intention of honoring.

  Because I can’t fathom going back to a life without her. The notion is so bleak and horrifying it fills me with desperate rage.

  I will never let her go.

  By the time Jarret parks the truck at Julep Ranch, I’m in a panting, shaking frenzy of yes and no, stop and go, can’t and will and holy fuck.

  He didn’t just spend four hours touching me. He spent four hours telling me with just his hands that he loves the texture of my skin, prefers the spot where my inner thigh meets my groin, and intends to control when, where, and how I come.

  He can sense my approaching orgasm even when I stifle the signs. He has enough restraint to pull back, no matter how hard that tent in his jeans strains his zipper. The man has the power to reduce my body to ravenous starvation and rebuild me into whatever he desires—all while operating a vehicle at high speeds.

  It’s terrifying.

  I’ve never felt so desperate, vulnerable, reckless, and alive.

  I need to get a grip on this unraveling, out-of-control free fall. At the same time, I yearn for it. I crave everything he’s promising to the point of self-ruination.

  How can I pass this up? A journey in sexual discovery. A door that opens to a world of real-life fantasy. An aggressive, attentive, trustworthy man who knows what he’s doing. He offers all this with a determination that shakes the ground beneath my feet.

  It’s just… The timing. I had a life, a good life, and it vanished before I realized what was happening. I can’t move on until I understand why.

  Jarret Holsten holds the key to that. I so badly want to explain my circumstances and tell him everything, but if I do, I’ll never find the answers I’m looking for. I’ll never know the full story.

  Because he’s involved, in a precarious, illegal way. All evidence leads to his doorstep, and my meeting with his father confirmed it.

  People are missing. I don’t know if they made themselves disappear to escape their crimes, if they were threatened and forced to flee the country, or if something much worse befell them.

  I can’t fathom Jarret or Jake participating in that something worse, but their father would. Are they loyal to John Holsten? Enough to protect his crimes?

  I’ve asked Jarret to explain his relationship with his father, as well as the disappearances of his father’s business partners, but he refuses. If I tell him what I know or why I’m here, he won’t just refuse to give me answers. He’ll kick me out of his life faster than he roped me into it.

  “You’re thinking too much.” He turns off the engine and releases our seat belts.

  The deafening clicks of the metal latches should instill a sense of freedom. Freedom from the confines of the truck, the overwhelming press of his masculinity, and the probing examination of his eyes.

  Except an entire evening with him awaits.

  Shadows lengthen across the field, chasing the sun to sleep beneath the horizon. But sleep isn’t on Jarret’s mind. Not with that smoldering look on his face.

  I clutch the mess of curls around my chest, restlessly twisting the strands into knots. “I don’t feel well.”

  It’s not a lie. I’m sick to my stomach with fear, but not for the reasons I should be. I should be worrying about the secrets he’s hiding and things he’s done. Would he make me vanish like the others? What if he considers me such a threat he snaps my neck and dumps my body?

  He won’t.

  I trust him to protect me from himself and anyone else involved in his corruption. I trust him to not hurt me in an irreparable way, and that’s what scares me.

  Instead of running for my life, I’m compelled to stay, to seize the attraction between us with both hands and hold it close. I want to foster it and mold it into something deeper, stronger, and longer-lasting than a make-out session in a pickup truck.

  I want this man at a level that disregards logic, self-preservation, and mental health.

  “You need to eat.” He opens the door and unfolds his powerful body from the truck. “And Maybe…” He grips my hand and helps me out. “Silence that noise in your head.”

  “I get the feeling everything you do is a ploy to distract me.” I follow him into the house, my fingers held prisoner in the unbending shackle of his.

  Without comment, he leads me into the kitchen and points to a chair at the table.

  I sit as he ambles toward the fridge. The tight fit of denim across his ass, the thick muscles flexing along either side of his spine, the thin shirt that cleaves to his massive torso and reveals every chiseled dip and indention beneath—all of it holds me in a trance.

  There’s something so intrinsic and captivating abo
ut the way he moves. I can actually see his strength flowing beneath all that golden skin. Even the taut cords in his neck add to his appeal as he ducks his head into the fridge and removes a plate of hamburger patties. If he would only lift his shirt so I can properly ogle his tapered waist and sculpted abs.

  To think, I slept against all that mouthwatering virility last night. God help me, I want more. More closeness. More kissing. More nights.

  There I am again. Distracted.

  I’m no closer to finding answers than I was nine days ago. He’s definitely distracting me, probably on purpose, and I’m letting him. Because he’s holding this shiny, rare gift in front of me, this opportunity to experience the grittier side of pleasure at the hands of someone who’s mastered the art of delivering it.

  It’s risky. I’m already losing myself in this gorgeous, overbearing, mysterious man. Yet I feel the justification of it down to the kernel of my soul. If I don’t explore this, the chance will slip away and I’ll never know if it was a risk worth taking.

  When dinner is ready, Jake and Conor join us. As the three of them inhale burgers and oven-baked French fries, I eat the spinach salad Jarret prepared for me with beets and walnuts.

  Between hurried bites, they manage a conversation about today’s visit at the prison and their concerns for Lorne’s mental wellbeing.

  I suspect Lorne is the glue that holds them shoulder to shoulder, moving forward as one. He’s not physically here, but he’s always in their thoughts. The depth in which they miss him blackens their voices, etches their faces, and stiffens the air. But they endure this ache together and seem stronger as a result.

  As an outsider, I’m content to listen without speaking. That said, I feel a twinge of envy for the bond they share. They know one another so well they don’t need words. Instead, they rely on the familiarity of body language and eye contact to transmit the colors of their thoughts.

  I find myself collecting the nuances of their expressions and mannerisms to piece together what they’re not saying. In the gloom of Lorne’s absence, one would expect sadness to radiate off them. It’s there, but they also project feelings of hope, anticipation, and unbreakable unity. The energy between them is galvanizing.

  After dinner, I clear the table and decline Conor’s offer to help me. She and Jake already put in a long day in the fields, and I want to earn my keep, not leech off their generosity.

  They head to their room, and I stand at the sink, finishing up the dishes, lost in thought.

  A few minutes later, I sense him. Footsteps creaking the floorboards, heat at my back, breath against my neck, he closes in and traps me between the sink and the force of his presence.

  “Place your hands on the counter.” The rumbling authority in his voice shivers through me, spurring me to obey.

  When I do, a satisfied sound reverberates through him. He dips his head and puts his mouth against my neck, his lips gliding along my prickling skin, heating, teasing, tasting. My knees tremble, and he grips my waist, guiding my backside to his groin and letting me feel the swell of his hunger.

  I drop my head back with a sigh as his tongue travels along my throat. Every lick is a brand of intent, every groan an assertion of his need. My mind gives way to instinct and gluttony, fanning flames that have less to do with sex and more to do with my longing for a connection with him.

  The hands on my waist shift, caressing my hipbones through the dress. They inch higher, over my stomach, my ribs, and pause to cup my braless breasts.

  I fill his palms just barely. The rest of me feels so small and fragile in the hulking embrace of his body against my back. He’s easily twice my size, a head taller, and packed with bulging hardness…everywhere.

  He continues to nibble on my neck, kissing and biting as his fingers pluck my nipples into tight buds. Every point of contact—his mouth, hands, chest, erection—ignites deep, throbbing waves of heat between my legs.

  I’ve never been this quick to arouse. With previous lovers, I had a pre-heat setting that required coaxing and touching before sensation stirred below my waist. Even then, I never felt this hot and sexual.

  Jarret only needs to look at me and my entire body catches fire.

  His mouth traces my neck with so much passion and reverence I wouldn’t remain upright without the support of his arms. Cupping a breast in one hand, he lowers the other between my thighs, unerringly locating my clit with the roll of a finger.

  I can’t catch my breath or form words, but I don’t care. Swaddled in a haze of skin and sultry energy, I don’t want him to let go or slow down.

  His assertive mouth moves along my bare shoulder, his teeth grazing and nipping. “If I take you to the bedroom, I’m going to fuck you.”

  I tense. I don’t mean to, but my brain is a damn cockblock, sounding alarms and firing off protests. I try to relax, but he senses my reluctance and pulls back.

  Disappointment tightens my face, which is stupid. I shouldn’t be flirting with this man or even with the idea of him, no matter how much I justify it.

  I’m keeping a secret from him, and it’s going to destroy us.

  “Maybe.” He turns me to face him and lifts my chin with a finger. “I’m going to play with you tonight, and I need you to trust me.”

  “That’s the problem, isn’t it? We don’t trust each other.”

  “You trust me with this.” He leans in and brushes his mouth against mine. “And this.” He lowers a hand to my thigh and slides it upward, beneath the dress, and strokes the crotch of my panties.

  My heart hums, and I sink my teeth into my lip, drawing his eyes to it. The space between us is so alive with electricity I struggle to breathe through the static. It charges with clawing potential, uncertainty, excitement, and guilt.

  My guilt.

  “I’m keeping something from you.” My chest heaves with an erratic breath. “Something personal.”

  “I know.” He removes his hat and sets it on the counter.

  My throat closes.

  “Are you ready to tell me what it is?” His gaze slips to my mouth.

  “No.”

  “Then we’ll focus on the things you are ready for.” He twines our fingers together and guides me out of the kitchen, out of the house, and into the darkness.

  With his palm pressed against mine, my attention hones in on the scar he shares with his family.

  “All four of you have the same cut on your hand.” I noticed Lorne’s during the visit today. “Will you tell me about it?”

  “It’s an oath we made as kids.” Glancing at me sidelong, he doesn’t slow his gait. “Something personal.”

  The message in his tone is clear. He won’t share that story until I share mine.

  “Where are we going?” I navigate the tall grass in borrowed boots, stumbling to keep up with his strides.

  “We’re going for a ride.” His deep, melodic voice resounds with double-meaning.

  My lower body quickens with desire, at odds with the panic crashing through my veins. He said he would play with me, and I can guess what that entails.

  I can also end it if he crosses the line.

  The question is where do I draw that line? I’m not sure, which is why I’m following him, driven by curiosity and foolishness.

  He leads me into the stable and saddles up his horse.

  Twenty minutes later, I sit behind him, arms hooked tight around his rock-hard stomach as he steers Ginny deep into the night.

  Fireflies blink across the pasture, the only light in the starless, moonless landscape. It’s so dark and muggy I feel as though I’ve slipped through the seam of an unknown world, with a rugged, broad-shouldered, unpredictable outlaw as my only companion.

  Blood pumps from the trepidation in my heart as safety descends farther behind me. I look back, the silhouette of the stable slowly shrinking toward oblivion.

  I face forward, where blackness and uncertainty reign, beyond the deep breaths and masculine scent of the man carrying me toward a nebu
lous future, with only one thing on my mind.

  Him.

  In the most intimate way possible.

  A lightning storm amasses in my stomach as Jarret lowers me to the ground and ties Ginny to a fence post. I don’t know what he expects from me or how far I’ll go, but it’s too late to turn back. Not that I want to.

  But I should want to. I should be running hard and far away.

  What am I doing?

  The lowing of cattle alerts me of their proximity, but I can’t see them in the darkness. Shadows billow over the fields in every direction, creating a backdrop for the nocturnal opera of croaking and twittering creatures.

  “Why are we here?” I turn toward the dark towering mountain at my side.

  Nightfall shrouds his eyes, but I feel them pressing and probing so intensely the ground threatens to slope away from my feet.

  “I want you comfortable.” His hand drifts to my hair and pulls, angling my head back. “But not too comfortable.”

  I shiver.

  “It’s dark enough to give you a sense of modesty.” He twists me toward the wooden fence and guides my hands to the railing. “The absence of light will also serve as a blindfold, forcing you to concentrate on sound and sensation. There are no doors out here, nothing to hide behind. Nowhere to run. It’s just you and me and—”

  “The cows.”

  “—the sound of my voice.” He squeezes my hands against the wooden rail. “Don’t move.”

  His footsteps amble toward Ginny. Leather creaks, followed by the rustle and scratch of whatever he removes from the saddle bag.

  I remain where he put me because I’m addicted to this, to the way he makes my pulse shake and my mind dance. It’s scary and thrilling and everything in between.

  I’m not the kind of woman who takes orders, but whatever this is soothes the deepest parts of me, the parts that long for romantic adventure without the burden of decision.

  Of course, it was my choice to come here, and it’s my choice to keep going. But he’s constructed an illusion around me, one that has the ability to trick my brain into believing I’m confined by his will and not responsible for my actions. It’s the illusion that enraptures me. He enraptures me.