Page 17 of Kentucky Nights (Dead Man’s Ranch #1)

Kentucky clamors one last time, and the lightbulb in the lamp to the right of me bursts, plunging me into darkness. The need for him is still there, a need that I can’t seem to fix by myself.

If I watch him this one time, I’ll be free. It will have to be enough to give in to this tiny fantasy of him before the real world creeps in again.

Just. This. Once.

Convincing myself is easy, but believing is another issue for another day.

I find the perfect angle of Kentucky. I get to see everything .

From the strong muscles in his thighs bulging, to his long cock with girth that would cause me to lose my breath, to his handsome face pinched with lust, to the tensed tendons in his neck as white streams paint his chest—I get to see every sin.

It’s the name that falls from his lips as he continues to orgasm. I can’t hear him, but I can see the word forming as he spills his passion, over and over again.

Druscilla.

Druscilla.

Druscilla.

My name is on repeat with every pulse that flexes his cock. A jet of white lands on the side of his mouth, and saliva floods my tongue, wishing I could be the one to lick his mess clean.

I inhale a sharp gasp, covering my mouth with the hand that still carries the scent of my orgasm. Then witness him take his finger, wipe his come clean, and suck it into his mouth.

Oh, god. I moan internally, knowing if he and I ever fell into bed together, it would be explosive.

He lies there on his back, completely spent. If we were together, we could fall asleep, only to wake up to make a mess of each other again.

“Dreaming of things you shouldn’t,” I scold myself, yet don’t remove myself from this telescope.

Kentucky sits up, wiping his chest with his shirt, then tucks himself into his jeans. He leaves the button undone and the zipper down, revealing his happy trail that leads into a groomed brown bush.

Snagging his hat, he places it on top of his head, staring right into the lens as if he can see me on the other side. There’s no way he can see that far, right? That amount of distance with the naked eye is impossible.

He hand walks forward until he is on his knees, gripping the edge of the floorboards. His knuckles turn white, and the pouring rain slams against him in abusive sheets, soaking him.

Dipping his chin, he hides his eyes, but it’s the crooked smile tilting the left side of his lips. He shows a flash of fang that has me staggering backwards and falling onto the couch.

He knew somehow. He knew I was watching him.

Embarrassment is a fever taking over my body.

I bury my face in my hands, wondering when the exact moment was that he knew I was spying on him.

This is so unlike me. I have never acted this way before in my life.

Kentucky brings out a side of me that I didn’t know existed. And I’m not sure how I feel about that.

“Damn it, Dru.” I groan in frustration.

All I can do is hope he doesn’t bring this up to talk about.

I fan my face again, another brutal heat wave causing my body to betray me.

I have no idea what is going on, but this isn’t summer heat.

This isn’t because it’s warm in the house and I need air conditioning.

My blood feels hot. There’s a constant sheen of sweat cloaking me from head to toe.

My arousal is still high. A pulse stays in the sensitive bundle of my clit, causing more lust to pool in my panties.

I’m not hungry or thirsty. The only thing I find myself wanting to sate my needs is Kentucky.

“He’s a vampire,” I tell myself through clenched teeth. I’m sick of this. I’m tired of feeling like I have no control when it comes to how I want to feel about him.

My mind says one thing, yet my body and heart say another.

“You can’t want him. Remember what Louis did to you, Dru. Remember, they are hunters. Kentucky doesn’t care about you. You’re just a means to an end.” Hearing the words helps ease the fire boiling in my blood, the feverish need lets its strangled hold on me go, and I’m able to breathe.

I stand, waiting to see if the dizziness will cause the room to spin again.

My surroundings stay in place, and I let out a breath, relieved I have control of myself.

In the last few days, with the chaos of being kidnapped by a vampire and then lusting after one, a demonic possession of my body seems to be the only answer that could make these events have any sense.

Stretching over the faded recliner nestled in the corner, I flip the switch on the wall, and the light comes on, blinding me for a nanosecond.

I rub my eyes, blinking away the spots floating around in my vision when I catch sight of the picture that fell off the mantle.

It’s lying face down on the emerald, green rug.

“Huh,” I say with curiosity, glancing around the room to see if I missed other photos hanging on the wall when I looked the first time.

There aren’t any.

Whoever is in this picture frame must be very important, and I am too nosy not to know who it is. I’m careful when I pick it up, not wanting to jostle the glass in case it is broken.

I flip the photo over, the polished golden frame shines so bright, I can see my reflection. There is a crack from the upper left corner that travels across to the bottom right, cutting directly in front of the image.

For reasons I can’t explain or understand, my heart fractures when I’m faced with another woman.

She’s beautiful too, the kind of beauty that only existed in another time.

I can’t tell from how faded the image is, but her hair is blonde or maybe a light red, and her eyebrows are thin, but considering the era, that doesn’t surprise me.

Thin brows were the trend for the longest time.

Her eyes are bright, shining with a happiness that matches her delicate smile. She seems kind and gentle. Just by looking at her, I can tell she must have been soft spoken.

A tear drips from my cheek and onto the glass.

I wipe it away before it has a chance to get into the crack.

I have no idea why I’m crying or why knowing Kentucky loved someone before meeting me bothers me so much.

I shouldn’t care that he had a life. He lives for so much longer than a human being.

I would be surprised if he didn’t love multiple women throughout the years.

I don’t blame him for that.

“Why do I care? This doesn’t make sense!

This is maddening!” I growl in frustration.

“I shouldn’t care,” I say to the woman in the photo.

“I don’t understand why I feel the way I do about him.

A part of me hates that you got to his heart, that you got to him first, but I also know that wouldn’t be fair of me.

” I set her down on the mantle again, trying to remember the exact position she was in.

My legs hit the couch when I take a step back to see how she looks above the fireplace. The living room light reflects off something small to the left of the woman in the frame.

Nosey me, I step forward to see a silver necklace. The chain is thin and light between my fingers as I hold it up in the air.

It’s a locket.

I press the small piece of metal, keeping the locket closed, then flick it open.

All the air is sucked from my lungs. More tears flow down my cheeks the longer I stare at what the locket holds inside. Kentucky is on the left, and a picture of them together is on the right.

They are so in love. She’s looking up at him with adoration, and he’s laughing. I didn’t know he could laugh. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile. The scene captured looks like a candid moment more than a planned photoshoot.

He had an entire life before I met him.

I have no answers as to why my heart is broken. Kentucky has nothing to do with me. He’s allowed to love who he wants to love. He’s allowed to have other experiences.

Then why am I so hurt?

If I don’t get answers soon as to why I feel like this, I’m going to lose any and all ability to have any rational thoughts. The longer I’m here, the more confused I become. He’s starting to infiltrate my being, the part that makes my soul free, and I don’t know how to untangle myself from him.

Sniffling, I hang the necklace on the corner of the frame, wondering how this woman loved a vampire.

Maybe it was because the vampire in question is Kentucky. Maybe that’s the difference.

Lifting my shoulders, I wipe my cheeks on the Dead Man’s Ranch shirt, getting the faintest hint of Kentucky’s scent. Another ache adds to the fractures splintering across my heart.

I become exhausted the longer I stare at her photo and being wrapped in his clothes. Needing space, I dash down the hall to get away from her, from him, from it all, and into the room I’m staying in.

I jump onto the soft bed, burying my face in the pillow.

And I sob.

I’m breaking into too many ways to be fixed.

I miss him.

But I’m not allowed to because Kentucky Jones’ heart belongs to someone else.