Page 27 of Ride Me Cowboy (Coyote Creek Ranch #1)

Chapter Sixteen

Cole

W ELL, FUCK ME IF walking away from Beth wasn’t just about the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Kissing her goodnight, watching her disappear into the house, then going back to Rowdy, to return him to the stables, damn near killed me.

You have no idea how much I wanted to take her to bed with me.

To bring her into my room, and make good on the promise I’d given her, to finish what we started.

Waiting’s the right thing to do, though, because no matter how great that all felt in the moment, she’s got a shit ton of emotional baggage to wade through, and there’s no way I’m going to let something happen that she wakes up and regrets.

But, hell. Sleeping after that’s damn near impossible, so I lie in my bed, rolling from one side to the other, with the memory of her sweet, frantic cries flooding my brain.

Eventually, I give up on even trying to sleep, take a shower then head back out to the stables, saddling up Beavis—my horse, not named by me.

I swear, Rowdy winks at me as I pass him by.

I don’t even mean to follow the same path I’d been riding with Beth, but I find myself under that tree, just staring into the distance, replaying the whole night.

Not just making out with her, touching her, feeling her come against my hand, then my mouth, but everything.

What she said to me. How she looked as she told me about her asshole of an ex.

The rage that floods me is like a beast: a living, breathing demon inside my chest, and for the first time in my life, I recognize that I’m capable of violence.

If the guy wasn’t already dead, I hate to think what I’d do to him.

Men who hurt women—or children—or anyone, for that matter, are scum of the earth. The thought of Christopher laying his hands on Beth, making her life miserable, making her afraid, so that even now, after his death, she’s haunted by what he did to her, twists every part of me with anger.

It stays with me, as we drive the cows a few hours later, across the property, to higher land where the fields are greener. I’m sure Beau notices something’s going on, because I catch him looking at me a few times, like he’s trying to work out how to ask me where my head’s at.

I don’t stick around afterwards to hear it.

I’m beat, but that’s not why I head back to the house. I can’t get Beth out of my mind. I want to check on her. Make sure she’s okay after last night.

No regrets, right?

Please, let her not have regrets.

I throw open the door and glance around. It’s still early, but she’s not in the kitchen, though a coffee pot’s been freshly brewed. I stride to the office, glance inside. No Beth.

Okay. Still in bed.

My cock jumps at that. The thought of her lying there, all luscious, tanned legs and breasts I’ve now felt in my hands, makes me hard, so I adjust myself in my jeans, in the privacy of the kitchen, wincing at how much it almost hurts.

Better take care of that before I see Beth again. There’s no way our first time is going to be anything but long, and slow, and having been celibate for over a year, I’m like a fuse, about to blow.

I fill two mugs with coffee, hesitating for maybe two seconds flat before striding down the hallway, toward Beth’s room.

She wants to keep this on the down low—which is fine by me. Last thing I need is Beau wise-cracking about us. Not because I give a shit about my brother, but because I know Beth would hate it, and after everything she’s been through, I just want her to be able to relax into this.

I knock on her door, wait ‘til I hear a muffled, “Yeah?” and push it inwards.

She’s still in bed, blond hair all mussy, oversized t-shirt flopped down over one shoulder, revealing her perfect skin to my way-too-hungry gaze.

“Hi,” she says, sucking her full lower lip between her teeth, eyes wide, cheeks flushing pink. “What time is it?”

She reaches for her phone before I can answer, picking it up then dropping it back down again.

“Coffee?”

She nods, watching as I stroll toward her, placing one of the mugs down on her bedside table. The room smells like Beth—all sweet and floral. It’s enough to set my pulse thundering through my body.

“How’d you sleep?” I ask, wondering if she’s been tormented all night, like me.

“Well, I slept like a rock, but I had the strangest dream,” she murmurs, taking a sip of her coffee then replacing the mug. “You were there.”

My brows flex upwards. “Oh, yeah?”

She adjusts her shirt, pulling it back into place, but it does nothing to disguise the pert peaks of her nipples, straining against the soft cotton of the tee.

“And just what was I doing?”

“It’s not what you were doing,” she replies. “But what I was doing to you.”

A bit of seed spills from me. I stare down at her, feeling heat spread across my cheekbones. Is she suggesting what I think she’s suggesting?

As if to confirm the direction of my thoughts, she wriggles to the edge of the bed, eyes lifting to me as she moves her hand toward my jeans.

I am way too fully-charged for this. I take a step back, loving what she’s suggesting, but needing to sort myself out before I let her touch me.

But the second I move away, her eyes cloud with uncertainty. Self-doubt. I could kick myself for being so insensitive. “I’ve got a bit of a situation here,” I explain, gesturing to the front of my pants. “If you so much as touch me…”

“Oh.” She blinks then, lips quirking downwards. “Isn’t that kind of the point?”

My laugh is hoarse. Cracked. Jesus.

“Come on, Cole. Let me.”

Let me.

Like it’s a privilege. Like she can’t wait to get down and suck my cock.

“Fuck, Beth,” I groan, dragging a hand through my hair. “This isn’t what I came in here for.”

“So what?” She’s out of bed now, her hands latching into my jeans and undoing the button first, then the zipper. Her eyes flick to mine, as she kneels down on the carpeted floor. Her fingers tremble a little, but she pushes at my boxers, freeing my rock-hard dick at her eye height.

“Wow,” she says, which is pretty much the perfect reaction for a girl to give when she sees you for the first time. Her touch is tentative, like she’s building up to doing this.

“Beth, you really don’t have to?—,”

“Shhh,” she says. “I’m just appreciating the moment.” She smiles up at me then, reassuring me, and I realize: I was wrong. She’s not building up to this; she’s relishing it.

A second later, her mouth wraps around my tip and I shudder at how fucking wet and warm she is, at how she swishes her tongue across me, tasting me, then moving her mouth deeper over my shaft, as deep as she can.

I hit the back of her throat and tilt my head back, staring at the ceiling as breath hisses from my body.

I don’t see her reach for my hand, but she’s suddenly guiding me to her breast, placing my palm over her shirt, so I groan, guttural and raw, and squeeze her there before pushing higher and getting my hand in the neckline of her shirt so I can touch her flesh, not just the cotton of her shirt.

When I squeeze her nipple, hard, she moans around me, and wriggles her pelvis, like she’s just fucking desperate to come.

And I’m going to see to that, too, just as soon as I can think straight.

Just as soon as I can move. But the truth is, the sight of this woman down on her knees, taking me so deep, savoring the feeling of me filling her mouth like I am, hell. It’s more perfect that I can describe.

I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of the sight of this.

The feel of it. My other hand moves to her hair, tangling in its length, as she moves backwards and forwards over my hard cock until I feel that heat building in my balls, spreading through my whole body, that tells me I’m about three seconds away from shooting my load in her mouth.

“Beth, you need to stop,” I warn, but she doesn’t.

She doesn’t. She just takes me deeper, flicking her tongue across my tip before speeding up, so I don’t have a hope in hell of stopping what’s coming.

I hit the back of her throat and come, hard, my whole body wracked with the pleasure she’s just given me, every part of me exploding because of her.

All because of her. And even though I know nothing in this life is permanent, that playing for keeps is the last thing I desire, in that perfect, euphoric moment, I want to reach out and grab her with two hands and never fucking let her go again.

For the smallest, most liminal moment, I exist in a world of idealism, with Beth, and me, and a whole golden future.

But reality is there, reminding me swiftly what it feels like to have the rug pulled out from under you: reminding me that people die without warning, that my sole purpose in life is to take care of my family.

She glances up at me, and smiles, slow and shy, like a good girl who’s just learned she’s actually really bad. Really dirty. And she likes it.

Come to think of it, I like it, too.

“Jesus, honey,” I mutter, reaching down and grabbing her under her arms, pulling her to standing so I can look in her eyes and make sure I don’t see any of those haunted shadows I hate so much lurking there. Clear ice blue stares back at me.

She presses a hand to my chest, where my heart’s racing faster than a spooked stallion.

“I can confirm that’s even better than what I dreamed.”

“For you and me both.” I press a finger beneath her chin, keeping her face tilted to mine. “I only came in here to make sure you were okay.”

Her smile is teasing. “More than okay.”