Page 39 of Rope Me In

My desire to know what she looks like in my ropes, making the sounds she’s making, sweat dripping between the valley of her breasts while she comes, has increased tenfold. When I try to stop them, they only seem to get worse, even when I remind myself that Presley should be off-limits. I tell myself that she’s my coworker, now technically my employee, and she lives on my property. I even tried to remember that she isn’t the type I normally take to bed, that there are a lot of women I could playwith who are not her—ones who would literally jump between the sheets if I asked. But none of that matters.

Presley tugs at her shirt again then trains her eyes back to the dirt pile. “Just stop staring,” she says under her breath, wiping more salty water from her eyes.

Ignoring her request, I flick my gaze down her body. But this time, I study her for other reasons. She’s very sweaty, and now, I get concerned.

“You’re looking flushed. Do you need to stop for a lemonade break?”

“I’m fine,” she snaps before turning back to the dirt pile to shovel again.

“I’m being serious. If you need a break—”

“I said I’m fine.”

I hold my hands up in surrender, and she continues to shovel, mumbling something under her breath. Deciding to leave her be for the moment, I pull out my cell from my back pocket to see we’re getting close to twelve. I’ve got a missed text from Jake but none from Gavin. By this point in the day, he’s usually messaged me a few times, but after last night, I can’t be surprised that he hasn’t.

JAKE: You alive after all that whiskey last night?

I chuckle to myself before typing out a text.

KADE: Been working since before 6.

JAKE: I would say that shocks me, but it doesn’t. How’s Presley doing?

KADE: Why do you ask?

I glance at Presley, who’s working away, but the more I watch her, the more I notice she’s slowing down. Her movements aren’t as powerful as they were when we first started.Bzzz. Bzzz.Bzzz. I look down at my phone.

JAKE: You don’t remember?

KADE: Remember what?

JAKE: After you went on about Gavin, you wouldn’t shut up about her.

I wrack my brain, trying to remember last night. Jake and I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from Night Hawk and sat in the back of his pickup to shoot the shit, something we did more of before Dad died. Yes, I wasn’t of legal drinking age, but most people around here believe that if you can go to war and die at eighteen, you can make the choice to drink. If you had asked Emmett Montgomery, he’d say you can drink as soon as you can do a full day’s work. But that’s an idea of his I’d rather not unpack.

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

JAKE: To quote you: “I wonder if she has tattoos under that shirt.”

KADE: I did not say that.

JAKE: You did. You turned down every woman who asked for your number after we went back into the bar. In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you do that before.

I understand why I turned women down—I was not in the mood after the fight with Gavin. But has Presley really gotten under my skin so much that I spoke about her to Jake? It’s one thing to think my own thoughts about her, to be attracted to her, but it’s another to speak those thoughts out loud to my friend, especially when drunk.

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

JAKE: Did you die from embarrassment?

I huff to myself before typing out a text.

KADE: Me? Embarrassed?

JAKE: I feel like if anyone can embarrass you,it’s your “Lemon.”

Your Lemon. What the fuck? Maybe I should’ve taken one of those girls’ numbers, because I have no business calling her my anything. I hardly even know her.

I start to type out a nice “fuck you” text to Jake when my eyes catch movement. I glance up just in time to see Presley almost drop to the ground. I shove my phone in my pocket, and in a couple of strides, I’m behind her. I place my hands on her waist, and she jumps, attempting to move away from me. But when she does, she sways on her feet.