Page 37 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

"Okay…though I’m glad we’re not doing this in the tub."

"Why not?" I laugh in intrigue because I actually have no clue why we moved from the bath to the bed. I mean, sure, I know losing your virginity is supposed to hurt and stuff, and it gets kinda bloody like a horror film, but wouldn’t being in warm water be less…traumatic? They do say that if you take a bath on your period, the bleeding stops. Would that effect still apply? Clearly, my brain is simply trying to figure this out like a puzzle, though the only disadvantage would be the obvious — it’s pretty small for both of us.

"Because I'm not explaining to Corwin how you drowned during sex," he says bluntly. "And with your circulation issues and my complete lack of self-control around you, it's a real possibility."

I laugh despite myself.

"Way to kill the mood, soldier."

I can start to see the tension leave him, which is a good thing because deep down I think he’s just as nervous as I am.

"Trust me, the mood's not dead." His cock stands proud and thick, and I have a moment of genuine concern about the logistics.

Well…fuck.

"That's... that's not going to fit," I blurt out.

He grins, actually grins , and it's wicked enough to make me squirm.

"It'll fit. Trust me, little cherry. I'll make sure you're ready."

I nod, but I can’t help but lean up and reach out to feel his length, taking in the thickness and the veiny surface that pulses beneath my grip, twitching ever so slightly.

"Red," he says, voice strained.

I look up to find his jaw clenched, hands fisted at his sides.

"What?"

"You keep touching me like that, and this is going to be over before it starts."

"Like this?" I run my hand lower, along his shaft, to the base, and I dare lean more forward, enough to slightly lick the tip like a taunting brush that makes him actually growl. The sound should be scary.

It's pure alpha dominance, the kind of thing that usually makes omegas submit instantly.

But I'm apparently broken because all it does is make me want to taunt harder, to see how far I can go before he snaps.

"You're playing with fire," he warns.

"Good thing I like the heat,” I counter.

"I want this," I whisper, my voice barely a hairsbreadth above a moan. Shiloh's answering grunt, somewhere between a growl and a groan, is all the invitation I need. I guide him closer, my fingers slick with his precum and the droplets of water along his shaft. He's hot and hard and so very real, the weight of him in my palm sending shivers down my spine. I dare to further test him, wanting to try what I’ve watched all the girls normally do like it’s child’s play, but never done it for a man’s pleasure.

Slowly, so slowly, I bring him to my lips, savoring the anticipation. I watch his face as I let my tongue slide over the head of his cock, swirling it around his sensitive tip. His eyes roll back, and a shudder passes through his massive frame.

Emboldened, I open my mouth wider, taking him inch by delicious inch. He tastes salty and musky, alien yet addicting. I run my tongue along his shaft, tracing the ridges with the lightest of touches. Shiloh's hands grip the edge of the counter, as if he's restraining himself from pushing further.

But I'm the one in control here, and right now, I want to savor every second.

I bob my head, taking more of him into my mouth, my throat constricting around his girth.

He's so big, stretching me in the best way.

I moan around him, and I can feel the vibration deep in my core, spurring us both on further.

I look up at him through hooded lids, enjoying the sight of him, of this moment we're sharing, and I can tell he’s far too close to the edge which makes me pull my mouth off him as I whisper, "Tell me you want me, Shiloh," I purr. "Tell me you're going to make me yours."

His control breaks as he leans forward to claim my lips, easing me back on my back while somehow spinning my hands up and behind close to where the stack of pillows and headboard is.

How did this position happen? I moan into his mouth, his hands forcing my wrists to remain crossed and still, which makes me wetter at the mere idea of being his captive.

It’s such a mindfuck when I think about it.

Went from being a prisoner in a glittering cage with a man who thought of us as nothing but products, but here I am getting turned on by an Alpha, making it impossible to squirm out of his grasp.

We’re panting again, and he growls against my lips.

“Behave, Rowenna,” he warns, using my real name, and it sends goosebumps through me. For a moment, I embrace being the one in the driver’s seat. The power play of it, which is hot as fuck, enough to make me horny with need all over again.

Does that mean I have a kink for that?

In being in control?

"So bossy," I tease, but relax in the sheets as he lets me go. “C’mon, solider. Fuck me already.”

He’s grinning again, but this time he’s stroking himself before stroking between my folds, and I’m anxious already, feeling the tingling rush of anticipation as this is it.

This is where I’ll no longer be a virgin.

No longer labeled “pure”. I’ll be like any other Omega.

Touched and used, but with my permission. My choice.

I finally have a choice in what I want to happen in my life.

I gasp at the sensation, the thick head pressing against my entrance with a pressure that's both foreign and exactly what I've been craving. My body tenses instinctively, years of protection and preservation screaming at me to close up, to guard, to keep myself safe.

"Breathe, cherry," Shiloh murmurs, his free hand coming up to stroke my cheek. "Just breathe for me."

I force air into my lungs, trying to relax muscles that have never known this kind of intrusion. The stretch is intense, not quite pain but definitely not comfortable yet. He's barely inside, just the tip, and already I feel impossibly full.

"That's it," he encourages, holding perfectly still despite the tremor I can feel running through his arms. "Take your time. We've got all night."

All night. The promise in those words makes something flutter low in my belly, mixing with the strange new sensations. I focus on his face, on the way his jaw is clenched with the effort of control, on how his eyes never leave mine.

"More," I whisper, surprising myself with how much I mean it.

He inches forward, so slow it's almost torture. Every millimeter brings new sensation, my body stretching to accommodate him in ways it never has before. There's a burn to it, an ache that walks the line between discomfort and something else entirely.

"Fuck, Red," he grits out, and I can see what this is costing him. "You're so tight. So perfect."

Perfect. No one's ever called me perfect while I wasn't performing, wasn't putting on a show. But here, naked and vulnerable and taking him into my body for the first time, he thinks I'm perfect.

The thought makes me brave. I roll my hips experimentally, taking another inch, and we both groan at the sensation. The sound he makes—raw and desperate and barely controlled—sends heat spiraling through me.

"You're going to kill me," he mutters, but there's wonder in it.

"Good way to go, though, right?" I manage to tease, even as my body adjusts to this new fullness.

He laughs, the sound strained but genuine. "The best way."

Halfway now, maybe more. The initial shock is fading, replaced by something else. Not quite pleasure yet, but the promise of it. My body is learning him, adapting, opening in ways that feel both terrifying and right.

"Look at you," Shiloh says, voice rough with awe. "Taking me so well. So brave, my cherry girl."

My cherry girl. The possessive makes me clench around him, drawing a hiss from between his teeth.

"Sorry, I?—"

"Don't apologize." His hand slides down to my hip, thumb stroking soothing circles. "Never apologize for how good you feel."

He pushes forward again, steady and relentless, until suddenly there's resistance. The membrane that's somehow survived three years of hell, kept intact by stubbornness and promises and sheer fucking will.

"This is it," he says unnecessarily, because we both know what comes next.

I nod, not trusting my voice. This is the moment I've been saving, the choice that's finally mine to make. And I'm making it with him—this scarred soldier who can't tell nail polish colors apart but holds me like I'm precious.

"On three?" he suggests, and I love him a little for giving me even this tiny bit of control.

"On three," I agree.

"One." He pulls back slightly, adjusting his angle.

"Two." I take a deep breath, relaxing as much as I can.

"Three."

He pushes through in one smooth thrust, and the world goes white at the edges. The pain is sharp, bright, undeniable—but also brief. It flares and then fades, leaving behind an ache that's almost sweet. Because this pain is mine. This choice is mine. This moment, after everything, is finally mine.

"Breathe, baby," Shiloh's saying, and I realize I've been holding my breath. "That's it. You did so good. So fucking perfect."

Tears prick my eyes, but they're not from pain. They're from the overwhelming realization that I did it. I kept my promise to Mom. I waited, I chose, and I gave this piece of myself to someone who sees me as more than entertainment or commodity.

"You okay?" His voice is strained, and I can feel him trembling with the effort of staying still.

"Yeah," I whisper, and find that I mean it. "Yeah, I'm okay."

More than okay. I'm free. Free to want, to choose, to feel. The fullness is overwhelming, Shiloh buried deep inside me, but it's a good kind of overwhelming. Like my body finally makes sense, like this missing piece has clicked into place.

"I'm not a virgin anymore," I whisper, half in wonder, half in disbelief.

He cups my face with both hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. "No, you're not. You're mine now."