Page 42 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

A LUCKY FLIP TOWARDS THE FUTURE

~SHILOH~

T here’s a pulse in the early morning, a pressure in my blood that’s got nothing to do with caffeine or adrenaline or the icy mountain air sneaking in under the window.

Red’s body is so small under mine, but she’s fearless; she drags my hips tighter, wraps her legs around my waist like she’d break me if she could, and in that moment I actually want her to try.

She’s so fucking warm. All the way down to the bone, like someone poured sunlight inside her and let it simmer for hours.

Every inch of skin pressed to mine is damp and shivery, but when I slide inside her, it’s like nothing I’ve ever known—tight, yeah, but not just physically.

It’s an emotional vice. She’s not a passive omega, not some bought and paid-for pretty thing; she’s meeting every thrust, every slow grind, with this fierce kind of joy that makes my whole body hum.

No one’s ever wanted me like this.

Not even Sophia, and we tried to fake that shit with no connection.

The room is still half-dark, slatted with sunrise stripes, but my eyes adjust to her— just her.

The color in her cheeks, the bite of her nails digging crescents into my shoulder blades, the hungry way her lips chase mine every time I threaten to pull away.

I want to go slow, but she’s not letting me.

I thrust harder, trying to draw a reaction, and she rewards me with the sweetest little moan, the sound low and almost embarrassed before it escapes her control.

God, she’s so tight I could lose my fucking mind.

She arches under me with every slow roll of my hips, meeting each stroke with a hunger that’s all heat and challenge.

I swear, she’s burning me alive from the inside out.

Her hands clutch at my back, nails biting, and it’s not a delicate cat scratch—it’s a warning, a demand: more, harder, prove it.

She doesn’t flinch when I bare my teeth or when my fingers grip her thigh a little too tight.

She wants all of it, wants all of me, even the parts I never show anyone.

The sunlight is crawling along the ceiling now, painting her skin gold and her hair fire, and for a second I have to shut my eyes just to keep from losing it completely.

I’ve never felt anything like this—never needed to hold back so much, never needed to give in so bad.

My senses are overwhelmed: the way her scent spikes every time I move, the way her body throbs around me, the way her lips part in these helpless, hopeful little gasps that are so fucking beautiful I almost forget to breathe.

She’s looking right at me, bold and unafraid, and I realize she wants to see me lose control.

She wants the whole truth, the whole mess of who I am—a man, an Alpha, a wounded beast with nothing left to prove except how much I can worship her.

She deserves a real memory, something good to cling to, not the nightmares that have probably stalked her through every restless night.

I slow down, just to savor the moment, but she bucks against me with this little whine that goes straight to my head.

My heart’s hammering so loud I think she can hear it.

I rake a hand through her hair, tangle my fingers in those wild curls, and she lets out a sound that’s the opposite of fear—a dare, a challenge, a plea for more.

I grip the sheets with my free hand, fighting not to rut like a fucking animal, and every time I think I’ve found the limit of what I can stand, she tightens around me and shatters it all over again.

I want to remember this forever: the way her hands explore my scars like they’re secrets she wants to learn, the way her legs clamp me in place when I threaten to pull away, the way her mouth finds mine and refuses to let go even when breathing is an afterthought.

I want to sear every second of it into my memory, because I know—hell, I know—I’ll never feel this exact thing again.

She squeezes around me, and I can’t help it—a growl rips up my throat, more animal than human. Her answering smile is pure mischief, but there’s pride in it too. Like she’s proud she can do this to me, that she can pull noises out of me that no one else ever has.

It’s a struggle to stay gentle, to not rut into her until I can’t think straight, but I want her first real morning to be nothing but good. Not rushed, not rough, not a transaction or an obligation. Just her, and me, and the truth in the way we both refuse to look away.

She squeezes around me, and I can’t help it—a growl rips up my throat, more animal than human. Her answering smile is pure mischief, but there’s pride in it too. Like she’s proud she can do this to me, that she can pull noises out of me that no one else ever has.

I bury my face in her neck, mouthing at her pulse point, and she arches into it.

Her hands tangle in my hair, fisting so tight I swear she’s trying to rip the scalp off.

I let her. I want the bruises, the marks.

I want to see them in the mirror later and remember how alive she made me feel, how close I came to losing every last ounce of self-control.

My rhythm falters, just a second, when she whispers my name—Shiloh, not soldier, not cowboy, but just my name. She says it like a secret, like it’s the only thing tethering her to the planet.

She tugs me down, tongue hot and insistent, and I let her eat my mouth, let her taste the sounds I can’t stop making.

I want to say something, anything, but words are a casualty.

The only things left are feeling and sound and this primal drive to fill her, knot her, own her for the hour or the day or whatever time the universe gives us before it tries to rip her away.

And she wants it, too. I can see it in the way she opens up, the way her legs lock around my waist and her heels dig into my ass. She’s never done this before, but fuck, she learns quick—she meets every grind, every thrust, with a hunger that matches mine.

It’s different from every other time in my life, and I’ve fucked my way through a fair chunk of Nevada’s betas and even a couple omegas, but this is raw.

It’s real. She’s not holding back, not angling for favor or position or money, just giving and taking and wanting, and for once I don’t feel like a monster for needing so much in return.

I feel the shift at the base of my cock, the hot pulse as my knot starts to swell. She stiffens under me, eyes going wide, but instead of pulling away she braces, waiting for it. Wanting it.

“Tell me if it hurts,” I say, voice shredded.

She shakes her head, not trusting herself to talk, and just bites her lip until it goes white.

I slow my pace, grinding the head of my cock against the sweet spot inside her, trying to keep the pressure manageable, but I’m losing the battle fast. The closer I get to coming, the more the animal side takes over, desperate to tie her down, claim her, mark her as mine even if it’s just for these few minutes before the world gets complicated again.

Her hands cup my jaw, bringing my face level with hers, and she looks at me like she can see right through every lie and story I’ve ever told. There’s sweat beading on her lip, and when she licks it off with a shaky tongue, I nearly blow right there.

“Please,” she whispers.

Just that. Nothing else. Like I’d ever need more.

The knot’s halfway there, swelling with every pulse, and it’s exquisite torture—hot and electric, a pain that feels like pleasure if you just tilt your head the right way.

I want to give it to her, the whole experience, the full mess of what it means to mate an alpha.

But I also want her to know she’s not a receptacle, not some living sex toy to be knotted and discarded.

I want her to know she’s the reason I feel so damn alive, the only thing I’ve ever truly wanted.

She wraps her arms around my neck, hauling me down until we’re chest to chest, heart to heart.

“Don’t stop,” she hisses. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

I don’t.

I drive into her, harder now, the slap of skin loud enough to wake the dead, and she moans for me—music, a symphony, better than the first shot of whiskey after a deployment.

Her walls clench around me, milking, and I know she’s close.

I hold out, just long enough, until her nails dig bloody trenches down my back and her mouth opens in a silent scream.

She cums. Fucking hell, she cums marvelously , and the whole world narrows to that perfect moment when she clenches and shakes and nearly sobs against my throat.

I let go, losing the war and loving the surrender.

I don’t remember pulling out, but I must, because the next thing I know I’m gripping my cock at the base, knot bulging in my hand, and I’m coming all over her —thick white ropes splattering her belly, her thighs, painting her in a way that’s primitive and stupidly satisfying.

The pressure is almost unbearable, like a fire hydrant with nowhere to go, but I grip down hard, stroking myself until the agonizing ache dims ever so slightly so I can feel a hint of pleasure again.

Red blinks up at me, dazed and smiling, and then— without warning —her hand slides down to wrap around my knot.

I don’t know what I expect when her hand wraps around my knot, but I sure as hell don’t expect her to use both palms and squeeze with the kind of pressure that’s half mercy, half domination.

The shock of it hits me like a fucking flashbang—my whole body seizes, my vision whites out at the edges, and for a horrifying second I think I might actually pass out right on top of her.

My hips jerk, helpless, and an obscene groan rips out of my chest, deeper and more desperate than anything I’ve ever made in front of another person.