Page 40 of The County Line (Whitewood Creek Farm #2)

The rich smell of bacon and coffee stirs me from sleep, and it takes just a few moments to piece together where I am.?

Colt’s RV.

I stretch out, my hand reaching for the other side of the bed, but the space next to me is cold. Colt’s already up.

Memories of last night crash over me, and my body is sore from the aftermath of it all.

Three more times.

The man hadn’t been kidding about five years without sex. He was insatiable, and my body bears the evidence of that. I shift, the ache between my thighs a sharp, sweet reminder of just how far we went with each other.

Emotional. Intoxicating. Intense. It wasn’t just sex—it was raw and overwhelming, the kind that shakes something loose inside you.

I’ve known Colt for nearly two decades, but last night I saw parts of him no one else has ever known.

The way his face broke with emotion, how his tears spilled as he let me in, letting me see him—all of him.

My chest tightens, tears filling in my eyes as I lay there, overwhelmed in a way that I can’t even explain.

And then, like a shadow creeping in, the memory of how yesterday started pushes through.

Maverick. His funeral. The gaping hole in my chest that he caused aches all over again. I rub at the spot instinctively, as if my palm could somehow soothe the grief, the regret and the anger that his death has left behind. But there’s no fixing this. No undoing the past.

He’s gone and I’m still here.

I’d tried so many times to reach out to him after moving back, but it was always me chasing him, wasn’t it?

Every call, every text. And when he went silent over the last two weeks, I assumed it was just him being…

him. Distant. Unreliable. I’d gotten used to our relationship being one-sided, my words falling into a void where I never thought he’d care to answer.

But I had no idea.

I didn’t realize just how far he’d fallen into our father’s shadow. And I’ll never forgive my dad for dragging Maverick down with him. For dragging us all down.

Tears burn hotter as I press my hands against my chest, trying to push the memories back in place where they need to stay for now.

They’re relentless, and they take me places I don’t want to go.

To every unanswered text. Every missed chance.

Every piece of him that slipped away until there was nothing left for me to hold onto.

I’ll remember him fondly, for the good parts, but even the broken parts made up who he was.

The door to the bedroom in the RV creaks open, and Roxy’s soft whimpers pull me out of my spiraling.

Her nails click against the floor as she noses her way inside, her big, warm body leaping onto the bed without hesitation to be close to me.

She curls up next to side, pressing her weight into me like a familiar pillow, her tail thumping rhythmically against my leg.

“Hey, girl,” I murmur, my voice cracking as I scratch behind her ears. She responds by licking my face, her warmth steady and comforting.

The tears fall freely now, a strange mixture of joy and sorrow swirling together. It’s as if the weight of everything—Maverick, Colt, the future, the past—is crashing down at once so I let the tears come.

There’s a deep, bone-aching sadness in me for Maverick, for the brother I’ve lost twice now—once when he started pulling away, and finally, yesterday, when I had to say goodbye for good. But there’s happiness, too, tentative and fragile, in what’s beginning between me and Colt.

I stroke Roxy’s fur, grounding myself in the stillness of the moment, in the quiet hum of life outside the RV on the Marshall’s farmstead.

I know that I’ll have to face the reality of a world without Maverick soon.

Of staying in this town, seeing people who knew him, building a life here knowing I’ll never run into him again, moving forward.

I’m not sure what this new world will look like.

All I know is that it will be different.

It already is.

“I’m sorry I took your place in Colt’s bed last night,” I murmur softly to Roxy.

She lets out a light huff as if she’s forgiven me already and I smile.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, my feet brushing the cool floor as I reach for Colt’s black t-shirt crumpled on the floor from last night.

I pull it over my head, and it covers me like a cozy tent, the hem landing just below my thighs.

At five foot eight, I’m not short, but Colt is big—broad, tall, and all muscle.

The shirt envelopes me in his scent, warm and woodsy with a hint of something that’s always been distinctly him .

It’s a smell that I’ve come to crave, and my body wants him this morning.

Padding out to the tiny RV kitchen, I find him at the stove, the space so cramped for his big frame it looks like even the frying pan barely fits. He’s plating up eggs and bacon, moving with that easy confidence he always has.

He catches my eye as I enter, his mouth twitching into a lopsided smile that sends warmth straight to my chest. “You hungry, baby?”

“Starving.”

He nods toward the door. “How about breakfast by the firepit? I started it up earlier. Warm front must’ve blown in after all those storms we’ve been having but there’s still a bite in the air.”

“That sounds perfect.”

I step outside and find the fire already crackling, its warmth chasing off the lingering chill from the morning.

A red-and-black fleece blanket is draped over my chair— my chair, because that’s what it feels like now.

The spot I’ve claimed during all these nights spent with Colt, reconnecting in ways I never imagined.

He joins me a moment later, balancing a plate of food in one hand and a steaming mug of coffee in the other. He sets the mug on the armrest of my chair before settling into his own and stretching out his long legs with just a glass of water.

“Thank you,” I tell him. I hope he knows I’m not just thanking him for the food but for everything he’s done for me.

He tilts his head. “How’d you sleep?”

“Amazing. What about you?”

He nods “Best I’ve slept since getting out.

I smile and then dig into the food; the first bite pulls an involuntary moan from me. The eggs are fluffy, the bacon crispy—simple, but perfect and exactly what I needed.

Colt chuckles, the sound low and full of promise. “You keep making noises like that, and I’ll have you bent over one of these chairs before we’re done.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I duck my head, focusing on my coffee to avoid his gaze.

It’s stupid, things have always been easy between us and I’m not shy about my body, but something’s changed between our relationship.

We went from friends who casually flirted to…

this. And I’m still trying to figure out what it is.

I feel his eyes on me, warm and teasing.

“How are you feeling? About... you know... everything?” I ask, steering the conversation to safer ground.

He takes a bite of bacon, his jaw tightening as he stares into the fire. “Fucked up over Maverick.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “Me too.” I pause, the crackle of the flames filling the silence.

Then, a memory bubbles up. “Do you remember that time we tried to sneak out of your bedroom after your dad fell asleep? We were headed to that party at Hickory Ridge, and Mav fell? That lump on his arm was huge—we thought it was definitely broken—but he still insisted on going to the party anyways.”

Colt snickers, shaking his head. “Crazy bastard. Nothing could stop him when he wanted something.”

We spend the rest of the morning like that—laughing, swapping stories, bringing Maverick back to life through our memories. We trade tales, filling in the gaps of our shared lives.

Colt tells me things I never knew about my brother, moments from their childhood that light up the corners of my grief.

And I tell him what it was like growing up with Maverick as my older brother—how he protected me, teased me, and always had my back.

At one point I end up laughing so hard I spit my coffee out into the fire and Colt just smiles.

It’s a genuine one that I haven’t seen on him in years.

It’s exactly how Mav would have wanted us to spend the morning after his funeral.

No tears, no heavy silence. Just laughter, teasing, and the easy camaraderie of two people bound by the same loss and a plethora of happy memories.

I wonder if Mav always knew Colt and I would reconnect someday and I wonder if he’s happy that our protector is still protecting me.

I think he would be.

As the fire dies down and our plates empty, Colt turns to me. His hazel eyes are warmer now but still serious.

“I know he wasn’t around near the end,” Colt says, his voice steady, “but Mav would’ve wanted me to look out for you, Molly. And I’m making you a promise right now: you’ll never have to worry about anyone hurting you again. Not as long as I’m here.”

His words hit me like a balm, softening some of the ache in my chest. For the first time in days, I feel a glimmer of hope. And for the first time since Maverick’s left, I feel like I’m not alone. Though I know I never really have been since Colt’s always been in my world.

I wet my lips. “I know. I trust you.”

I want to ask him what this is. What we are.

I’m still his parole officer, and I’m sure this is breaking every ethical rule in the book and putting my career at risk.

Even though the chief said it only mattered if I was married to a client, I doubt he felt the need to specify don’t sleep with them either because that should be an obvious condition.

But here I am, and here we are. There’s no stopping what’s been started or undoing last night.

No, that memory is burned in my mind for eternity.

Colt’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “What do you want to do for the rest of the day?”

I know what I want. I want Colt—inside me, around me, holding me. I want him to make me forget everything else, and I want to help him remember what it feels like to be cared for, to be loved and wanted again.

My eyes must give me away because before I can respond, he’s already standing. His hands find mine, and he gently pulls me to my feet, turning me with a firm but soft touch.

“Bend over for me, baby.”

My heart skips, and I comply, feeling his hands gather the hem of the black t-shirt I borrowed from him. He bunches it up around my hips, leaving me completely exposed to him.

His palm caresses the curve of my backside before sliding up to my breast, kneading it with a possessive touch that sends shivers through me. His fingers roll over one of my nipples, teasing and tugging until I arch into his touch.

“Touching you feels so good,” he growls, his voice deep and gravelly.

“I dream about you, Molly. Morning, afternoon, evening, and late at night. You consume my thoughts. All the ways I plan to take you—here in the RV, in my new house once it’s built, out on my property by the creek. Every fucking inch of it.”

A shiver races down my spine, his words as intoxicating as his touch.

No man has ever made me feel like this—confident, desirable, safe, utterly consumed.

Not even Jordan, and he’d been my world once.

Colt’s confidence, his dominance, it undoes me completely, and the evidence of my need pools between my thighs.

His fingers trace down the smooth skin of my back, pressing lightly at first and then harder, guiding me until I’m exactly where he wants me. Vulnerable, exposed, and aching for him.

“Good girl. Now spread your legs wider for me.”

I widen my stance as far as I can go as his feet nudge me further apart. His hands move between my thighs and through my slick entrance, still warm from the orgasms that he planted inside of me early this morning before I fell back asleep.

“Hold on to the arms of the chair tightly. I don’t plan on being soft today.”

My fingers grip the edge of the wood, doing my best to steady my shaking legs as he teases my slit with his hand then drops to his knees in the gravel. His warm tongue moves across my opening in a lick then towards my clit where he pulls it between his lips and sucks hard.

“Fuck, Colt.”

His other hand steadies my hips, holding me still before plunging two fingers deep into my pussy, pumping in and out.

“You’re so perfect. So beautiful. Think I love this view from my knees between your legs the best.”

With steady strokes, he pumps in and out of me, lips sucking on my clit in soft gentle pulses and fingers pumping, bringing me to the brink of release before he stops, stands up, yanks down his pants and then thrusts into me without warning, planting himself all the way to the root.

“Fuck…” my breath hitches as I steady myself, arching my back harder into him.

He pulls out completely, dragging his cock up over my ass then back to my clit, smearing the evidence of our joined arousal all over me.

He grabs a fistful of my ass then spanks it gently as I let out a gasp.

“I need more,” I beg.

He chuckles. “You’ll get it all, Molly. Don’t you see that? I’ll give you everything I have.”

And then he goes to work.

Our bare skin smacks against each other while he fucks me from behind, finding a vicious rhythm that’s nothing like last night.

It’s forceful, it’s vengeful, it’s exactly what we both need this morning after our easy and tender conversation.

His hands play with my clit in the front, one gripping me there and the other holding on to my breasts for leverage as he fucks me.

I can feel my climax building , zinging from my clit up my spine. My bare feet curl into the gravel underneath them, trying to steady myself so I don’t fall over.

“You’re taking me so well. Show me what I’ve been missing while locked up. Remind me of what we’ve always had between us. Give me that tight cunt. You’re the only person that can help me feel, Molly.”

Fuck.

His words tear right through my heart, cracking me open and searing me to the root. Only Colt can say the most heart wrenching things during sex that have me both turned on and gasping for air

“Take my orgasm from me the only way that you can,” he groans.

And then I explode, my body shakes, clenching, spasming all around his thick width. I hear him grunt, drag out one more sensual time before slamming back into the bottom and then feel the warmth of his seed spilling inside of me as his cock jerks and releases freely.

Fuck me, I think I might be in love with Colt.