Buckled (Trails of Sin 2)

But I should want to. I should be running hard and far away.

What am I doing?

The lowing of cattle alerts me of their proximity, but I can’t see them in the darkness. Shadows billow over the fields in every direction, creating a backdrop for the nocturnal opera of croaking and twittering creatures.

“Why are we here?” I turn toward the dark towering mountain at my side.

Nightfall shrouds his eyes, but I feel them pressing and probing so intensely the ground threatens to slope away from my feet.

“I want you comfortable.” His hand drifts to my hair and pulls, angling my head back. “But not too comfortable.”

I shiver.

“It’s dark enough to give you a sense of modesty.” He twists me toward the wooden fence and guides my hands to the railing. “The absence of light will also serve as a blindfold, forcing you to concentrate on sound and sensation. There are no doors out here, nothing to hide behind. Nowhere to run. It’s just you and me and—”

“The cows.”

“—the sound of my voice.” He squeezes my hands against the wooden rail. “Don’t move.”

His footsteps amble toward Ginny. Leather creaks, followed by the rustle and scratch of whatever he removes from the saddle bag.

I remain where he put me because I’m addicted to this, to the way he makes my pulse shake and my mind dance. It’s scary and thrilling and everything in between.

I’m not the kind of woman who takes orders, but whatever this is soothes the deepest parts of me, the parts that long for romantic adventure without the burden of decision.

Of course, it was my choice to come here, and it’s my choice to keep going. But he’s constructed an illusion around me, one that has the ability to trick my brain into believing I’m confined by his will and not responsible for my actions. It’s the illusion that enraptures me. He enraptures me.

He returns to my position at the fence and sets a few things on the ground. My heartbeat tumbles into a pounding flurry, suspicious and eager, turbulent and exhilarated.

“Arms up.” He clutches the hem of the dress at my knees and gathers the material, slowly sliding it to my thighs.

My muscles quiver, and my stomach coils. I knew my clothes would come off, but knowing isn’t the same as standing in the presence of a potent, sexually-charged man who’s intent on stripping me bare in every way.

I ache to do this. For me, not for him. But I can’t contain my nerves. “If I tell you to stop—”

“I’ll stop and take you back to the house.”

“And you’ll make me leave the ranch.”

“That was the deal.”

Disappointment hitches my chest, but I agreed to this deal on day one. I gambled my need for answers on the outcome of a kinky game.

Getting answers, however, isn’t the only thing at stake now. If I tell him to stop, I’ll lose access to him and this captivating thing between us.

Can I call it a relationship? Is there even a name for the feelings I harbor for him? I like him, but I don’t trust him. I want him, but I’m terrified of him. He frustrates me, arouses me, captivates me, and fills me with equal parts dread and joy, vulnerability and fire, doubt and sin. There isn’t another person on the planet who affects me like this.

“Would it be hard for you to make me leave?” I despise the insecure crack in my voice.

“It would destroy me.” He lifts the dress to my ribs, exposing my lower body to the evening heat. “I won’t let it go that far.”

Relief surges, girding me with courage. I raise my arms.

He yanks the dress over my head, leaving me braless and clad in only panties. My back is to him. It’s pitch black outside, but I feel more naked than I ever have as his hands roam over me. I can’t stop trembling like a damn virgin.

“Christ, you’re beautiful.” His exhale stirs my hair and trickles a chill down my spine.

“You can’t see me.”

“I feel you.” His hands follow the lines of my collarbones and around the outer swells of my breasts. “You’re exquisitely shaped. Every curve.” He caresses the dip of my waist. “Every bend and toned line.” He palms my backside and hooks his thumbs under the waistband of my panties. “Every soft, sexy inch of you begs to be eaten.”

He slides that last scrap of fabric down my legs, crouching to work it past the boots. Then he steps back and groans.

I glance over my shoulder. Is he holding my panties to his nose?

“Oh my God.” My pulse lurches. My cheeks flush, and a rush of heat spirals between my legs.

He stuffs the satin into his pocket and grabs something from the ground. Then he slings himself over the fence and approaches me from the other side.