Page 37 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

SOPHIA

T he orgasm rips through me before I’m even fully awake, my hips grinding against the mattress as waves of pleasure crash over me. My fingers clutch the sheets, back arching while I ride out something so intense my vision goes white at the edges.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck,” I gasp into my pillow, thighs clenching around nothing while my body spasms. The dream is still there, fragments of it… Walker’s mouth between my legs, Cash’s hands on my breasts, Ridge whispering filthy things in my ear while they take me apart piece by piece.

When the aftershocks finally stop, I flop onto my back, chest heaving. My tank top clings to my skin with perspiration, and my underwear is absolutely ruined. Again .

“What the hell is wrong with me?” I whisper to the ceiling, one hand pressed to my racing heart.

This is the third morning in a row I’ve woken up while coming my brains out. My body has apparently decided that sleep is the perfect time to torture me with X-rated dreams about three cowboys who smell good enough to eat.

Sunlight streams through the window, painting golden stripes across my rumpled bed. For a moment, I just lie here in the afterglow, body humming with satisfaction. Chicago never gave me morning orgasms. Chicago gave me alarm clocks and anxiety.

But that’s dangerous thinking. This isn’t my life. This is temporary. Three months of playing ranch girl before I sell this place and go back to reality.

I’ve managed five whole days of keeping my distance from them since the rodeo. Days of polite conversation at meals before fleeing to safety. Of pretending my hormones aren’t staging a rebellion against my common sense.

Shit. I haven’t updated my blog in days. My followers are probably thinking I’ve been murdered by cowboys. Or worse, that I’m too busy getting railed to write.

Still, it hasn’t been a total loss. I actually finished Infernal Temptation , the book club pick I borrowed from June. Dark magic, sexy demons, and a heroine who isn’t afraid to bite back… That was the kind of distraction I needed .

I grab my laptop from the nightstand, settling against my mountain of pillows. Time to check in on messages, let the internet know I’m alive, and then overwrite just enough to keep them guessing.

C onfessions of a City Omega

Houston, We Have a Problem

Dearest Diary,

Is it normal to wake up mid-orgasm three mornings in a row? Because your girl is starting to worry she’s broken. Or blessed. Honestly can’t decide which.

I’ve been SO GOOD lately. Keeping my distance from three certain cowboys, being professional, focusing on work. Gold star for me, right?

Wrong.

Apparently, my subconscious didn’t get the memo about boundaries, because I’ve been having dreams that would make that demon romance book from the book club look like a children’s story. We’re talking full HD, surround sound, scratch-and-sniff-level vivid dreams.

And the worst part? I wake up already… you know. DURING. Like my body couldn’t even wait for me to be conscious before betraying me.

Is this what happens when you stay away from your scent matches? Some kind of biological uprising? “Oh, you won’t let us near those Alphas? Fine, we’ll just imagine them in explicit detail until you cave. ”

Can’t blame my heat, as that’s still over weeks away, according to my app with its aggressive flower emojis. (Why flowers? Why not warning sirens? Skull and crossbones? Something that accurately represents the chaos about to hit?)

In other news, ranch life continues to be suspiciously delightful.

Example: Yesterday I witnessed one of the cowboys practicing pickup lines. On his horse. Full conversation, complete with pauses for the horse’s responses.

Him: “Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you.”

Horse: sneezes directly on him.

Him: “Yeah, okay, that was pretty bad.”

I hid behind a barn wall, giggling. The thing is… it was adorable. When did I start finding terrible pickup lines endearing? This place is doing something to my brain.

Today’s Omega Advice Corner: Based on the approximately forty-seven messages asking about maintaining boundaries…

Here’s the truth: Boundaries are like diet plans. Great in theory, total disaster when someone waves chocolate cake in your face. Or in this case, when three cowboys walk around looking like snacks.

The key is being honest with yourself. Are you avoiding them because you genuinely need space? Or because you’re scared of how much you want them? Both are valid, but knowing which one helps you make better choices.

Stay strong out there, dearest Omegas. Or don’t. I’m not your mom.

City Omega out. (Still not a ranch girl. Still pretending I might be.)

I close my laptop just as my phone rings. Meredith’s face fills the screen, already looking suspicious. So I quickly answer.

“Finally! I was starting to think the cowboys had murdered you and buried you under a cactus.”

“We don’t have those kinds of cacti in Montana,” I inform her, heading to the bathroom. “And they wouldn’t murder me. They need me alive to sign papers.”

“Uh-huh. So everything’s totally normal? You’re being good?”

I prop the phone against the mirror, grabbing my toothbrush. “Define good .”

“Really?”

“I’m trying! But my body has developed its own agenda that involves very detailed dreams and morning… situations.”

Her eyes light up. “Are we talking about what I think we’re talking about?”

“I plead the Fifth.”

“Oh my God, you’re having wet dreams about cowboys! This is better than Netflix!”

“Can we focus on the actual reason you called?” I beg. “Please?”

“Fine, spoilsport. I can help you move your stuff this weekend, as my brother has a van from work we can use.”

“Yeah, no,” I say quickly, pausing my brushing. “I’m worried about anyone seeing me leave the ranch. Someone might use it against me with the will stuff. I really need this inheritance money, Mer.”

“And the cowboys?” Her voice gentles. “You planning to just leave them behind after the three months?”

The question sits heavily between us. I quickly fill my mouth with water to rinse it out. “I don’t know,” I admit finally, cleaning my toothbrush. “I’m trying not to think about it.”

“Very healthy. Denial always works great.”

“Says the woman who pretended she wasn’t in love with her boss for two years.”

“We don’t talk about that.” But she’s smiling. “Seriously, though, maybe see how things play out? You’ve got time.”

“Yeah. And honestly, I don’t have much stuff. Can you store my boxes in your garage?”

“Of course! What are friends for if not enabling questionable life choices and storing your crap? ”

“You are amazing, and you know I love you.”

“And don’t forget, you owe me big,” she states.

I laugh. “Always. Anyway, I’d better get ready.”

After we say our farewell and hang up, I shower quickly and dress in work clothes—jeans that actually fit properly, thanks to Walker’s shopping trip, and a T-shirt covered in some cat fur. I feed my three orange rascals, let them out for the day, and head out toward the sanctuary.

Rounding the corner of the main barn at a good clip, I slam directly into what feels like a warm, muscle-covered wall.

“Oof!” The impact sends me stumbling backward.

Strong hands catch my waist, steadying me. “Whoa there, gorgeous. Where’s the fire?”

Walker. Because of course it’s Walker, looking unfairly good in a gray Henley that clings to every ridge of muscle. His hair is slightly mussed, and is that a hint of stubble? My fingers itch to touch it.

“No fire,” I manage. “Just heading to work.”

His hands are still on my waist. I should probably mention that. Or step back. Instead, I’m focusing on how his thumbs are making little circles against my sides through the thin fabric of my shirt.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, voice dropping to that point where my knees weaken. “Been hiding from us?”

“Nope. Working. Very different things.”

“Uh-huh.” His gaze tracks over my face slowly, lingering on my mouth. “You know you’ve got a…” He reaches up, thumb brushing the corner of my lips. “Toothpaste.”

I did not have toothpaste there, the sneaky bastard. I wipe frantically at the corner of my mouth, nevertheless.

“Thanks,” I breathe, very aware we’re still standing too close.

“You’ve been working hard. You should take it easy sometimes. All work and no play makes Sophia a dull girl.”

“I’m playing,” I protest. “With cats. Very safe, noncomplicated cats.”

His grin is slow and devastating. “We’re not that complicated.”

“You’re the definition of chaos. You’re like… a calculus problem wrapped in a crossword puzzle dressed up as a cowboy.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” His hands finally drop from my waist, and I pretend I’m not disappointed. “Have dinner with us tonight? Main house, six o’clock. Just food and conversation, Scout’s honor.”

“Were you actually a Scout?”

“Nope. But the invitation stands.”

I should say no. Should maintain this distance that’s been keeping me marginally sane. But his eyes are so warm, and he smells so good, and my dream from this morning is still fresh in my mind …

“Okay,” I hear myself say. “But just dinner.”

His smile could power the entire state. “Yep,” he agrees, but the heat in his stare suggests he’s thinking about dessert.