Page 25 of My Cowboy Trouble (The Cowboy Romantic Comedies #1)

"More than okay." I push back against him, feeling his hardness against my ass. "Perfect."

He makes a sound that's part groan, part growl, and then his hands are everywhere—sliding over my thighs, cupping my breasts, finding the wetness between my legs that tells him exactly how much I want this.

"So ready for me," he murmurs, his fingers working me with devastating skill. "Been thinking about this, haven't you? About what it would be like with me?"

"Yes." The word comes out as a gasp as he hits exactly the right spot. "God, yes."

"What did you think about?"

"Your hands." I'm barely coherent as he continues his assault on my senses. "How they'd feel. How controlled you'd be. How you'd make me wait."

"I'm done making you wait." He positions himself at my entrance, the head of his cock nudging against my wetness. "And I'm done waiting."

He slides into me slowly, inch by inch, giving me time to adjust to his size. He's bigger than I expected, stretching me deliciously, and when he's fully seated inside, we both groan.

"Fuck, you feel good," he breathes, his hands gripping my hips. "Better than I imagined."

"Move," I demand, pushing back against him. "Please, Trent, I need you to move."

He starts slow, controlled even in this, but I can feel the tension in his body, the way he's holding himself back. It's still so very Trent, this measured approach to losing control.

"Let go," I tell him, reaching back to grab his wrist. "I'm not going to break."

That gets him completely. His control shatters, and suddenly he's driving into me with a desperation that matches my own.

The workbench creaks under our movement, tools rattling, but neither of us cares.

All that matters is this—the slide of skin against skin, the sound of our breathing, the way he fills me with each thrust.

"Yeah," he pants, one hand tangled in my hair, the other still gripping my hip. "Dreamed about having you like this."

"Tell me," I gasp, meeting him thrust for thrust. "Tell me what you dreamed."

"About making you mine. About hearing you scream my name. About fucking you until you forget every other man exists." His rhythm falters as he speaks, and I can tell he's close. "About making you stay."

"I'm here now." I turn my head so I can see his face, see the raw need there. "I'm yours now."

"Mine," he agrees, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Fuck, Kenzie, I'm?—"

"Come for me," I demand, tightening around him. "I want to feel you come inside me."

He breaks with a shout, his body going rigid as he empties himself inside me. The feel of him pulsing, the sound of my name on his lips, sends me over the edge too. I come with a cry that echoes off the tack room walls, my body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash over me.

We stay like that for a long moment, both breathing hard, his body covering mine protectively. I can feel his heart hammering against my back, can feel the slight tremor in his hands as they smooth over my skin.

"That was..." he starts, then trails off.

"Incredible," I finish for him.

"I was going to say life-changing, but incredible works too." He presses a kiss to my shoulder before slowly withdrawing from me. "Are you okay?"

"Better than okay." I turn in his arms, studying his face. The careful mask is back in place, but I can see cracks in it now. Vulnerabilities he's trying to hide. "Are you okay? "

"I will be." He helps me straighten my clothes, his movements softer now. "Once I figure out how to function again."

"I think you’ll be fine."

"Oh year?" He's already retreating, I can see it in his eyes. The walls going back up, the distance reasserting itself. "This complicates things."

"Everything's already complicated, Trent. This just makes it complicated in a different way."

He steps back, running a hand through his hair, and I watch him transform back into the controlled ranch manager. It's like watching him put on armor, piece by piece, until the man who just made love to me like his life depended on it is hidden behind layers of responsibility and restraint.

"We should get back to work," he says, his voice carefully neutral. "The cattle need to be moved to the south pasture."

"Trent—"

"And someone needs to check the fence line where Gavin and Asher were working yesterday. Make sure it's holding."

"Trent, hey." I grab his arm as he reaches for the door. "Don't pretend this didn't happen."

"I'm not pretending anything." But he won't look at me, won't meet my eyes. "I'm being practical. We have work to do."

"Fuck work." The curse gets his attention, his head snapping toward me in surprise. "You just fucked me against a workbench in your tack room, told me you wanted to make me yours, and now you're talking about cattle? Really?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say something real. Something honest. Something that isn't about ranch work or responsibilities or any of the other bullshit you hide behind when things get too real."

He's quiet for a long moment. It’s so easy to see the part of him that wants to retreat, battling against the part that was just intimate with me.

"I want you to stay," he says finally, the words seeming to cost him. "Not just for the thirty days. Not just until you get tired of playing cowgirl. I want you to stay forever."

My heart stops. Actually stops beating for a full second before kicking back to life with painful intensity.

"Trent—"

"But I know you won't. I know this is temporary, no matter what we just did. You have a life in New York. A real life with real responsibilities and real future prospects. Not just some failing ranch in the middle of nowhere."

"This ranch isn't failing?— "

"It is. We all know it is. We're holding on by our fingernails, pretending everything's fine, but the numbers don't lie.

We've got maybe two years before we have to sell.

" He finally looks at me, and the pain in his eyes makes my chest ache.

"So you'll go back to your real life, and we'll sell to some corporation that'll tear down everything my father built, and that'll be that. "

"It doesn't have to be that way."

"Doesn't it?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "What's the alternative? You give up your successful business to play house with three cowboys? You trade designer clothes for work boots and Broadway shows for cattle auctions? Come on, Kenzie. We both know how this ends."

I want to argue with him, want to tell him he's wrong, that there are other possibilities he's not seeing.

But the words stick in my throat because part of me knows he's right.

Part of me is already planning my return to New York, already thinking about the clients I need to call back and the apartment I need to return to.

"So what was this, then?" I gesture between us, at the tack room where we just redefined our relationship. "Just sex, huh? Just scratching an itch?"

"This was me being selfish." He straightens his shirt, smoothing down his hair, erasing any evidence of what just happened. "This was me taking something I wanted even though I knew I didn't deserve it. "

I shake my head. "And now?"

"Now we go back to work. We pretend this didn't happen. We get through the next few weeks without making things more complicated than they already are."

"I don't want to pretend?—"

"It's what's best. For everyone." He opens the door, flooding the dim tack room with bright morning sunlight. "I'll be in the south pasture if you need anything."

And then he's gone, leaving me standing alone in a room that smells like leather and sex and broken promises. My legs are still shaky from what we just did, my body still humming with satisfaction, and he wants to pretend it never happened.

I sink onto the workbench where we just had sex, pressing my palms to my eyes. This is what I get for falling for the strong, silent type. This is what I get for thinking I could crack through Trent Mercer's walls and find the man underneath.

Except I did crack through them, didn't I? For a few minutes there, I did. Vulnerable and desperate and honest about what he wanted. And what he wanted was me. Not just for sex, not just for now but forever.

The problem is, I think I might want the same thing. And that terrifies me more than anything has in my entire life.

Eighteen days. Eighteen days to figure out if I'm brave enough to stay, if I'm strong enough to fight for something I never planned to want. Eighteen days to decide if a failing ranch in Montana is worth giving up everything I've built in New York.

Eighteen days to figure out if love is enough to overcome the practicalities of two completely different lives.

I look around the tack room, at the saddles still scattered on the floor, at the workbench where everything changed, and make a decision.

I'm not giving up. Not on Trent, not on this ranch, not on whatever this thing is between us. He can retreat behind his walls all he wants, but I know what I felt when he was inside me, what I heard when he told me he wanted me to stay.

Trent Mercer thinks this story ends with me leaving and the ranch dying. But he's forgotten one very important thing about me.

I don't lose.

And I sure as hell don't give up without a fight.