Buckled (Trails of Sin 2)

I don’t chase my release, but it creeps in, gathering and pressing against the inside of my skin in sparkling waves. I won’t be able to hold it back much longer. He’s right there with me, staring into my eyes, jaw tight, hands dropping to the ground and wringing the grass to death.

“I can’t get enough.” He wedges into me, breathing so hard it garbles his voice.

“We have tomorrow night.” I arch against him. “And all the tomorrows after.”

“Hearing you say that…” His eyes hood, and his hand rests against the side of my face. “You sealed your fate.”

“What’s my fate?” I burn with desire. Tremble with hope.

“This.” He strokes in and out, slowing his pace. “Us. For an eternity.”

I let myself believe that, just for the moment as he slides his hand to my throat and squeezes with ungodly pressure.

I choke, breathe, and everything inside me submits. His gaze dances over mine, never looking away as fear fuels arousal, worry gives way to pleasure, and resistance morphs into acceptance.

Pinned beneath this dangerous man, with his fist against my windpipe and his eyes blazing with frightening ferocity, I let go and give him my trust.

His lips part as he searches my face and registers my surrender. His breaths come faster, harder, competing with the rhythm of his hips.

“Together.” He restrains my gaze as tightly as he holds my throat.

Bowing over me, he widens his muscled legs between the spread of mine and bears down. Then he rides us into the abyss.

I’ve always wanted to come on a man’s cock, and as I fall apart around him, with him, I realize it’s not his cock that’s blowing my world into shards of ecstasy. It’s the collar of his hand on my throat. It’s his eyes, peering into the deepest reaches of my being. It’s his bellow as he empties himself into my body. It’s his total domination over my pleasure and his surrender to his own.

It’s him.

Masturbation has always gotten the job done, but a Jarret-induced orgasm rocks the foundation of my existence.

We collapse together in a field of wet grass, heaving breaths, liquid limbs, and humming satisfaction.

Rolling to his back, he pulls me onto his chest and kisses me languidly. His tongue swirls around mine, his hands caressing with a tenderness that burns the backs of my eyes.

“Your body’s talking to me.” He wanders gentle fingertips down my spine.

“What’s it saying?” I nuzzle the pocket of warmth at the base of his throat.

“You’re content. Relieved. And anxious.” He grips my hand, where it twists in the wet ends of my hair, and guides my palm to his chest. “Whatever you’re worried about, let it go. I’ll deal with anything that threatens us. You’re not alone, Maybe.”

I ache to believe him.

Tangled together under the moonlight, embraced by the velvet night, skin on skin, legs intertwined, and breathing as one, I let myself fall quiet and kiss him.

I let myself believe him. Just for a little while.

A little while stretches into a long while. Before I know it, summer cools into autumn, and three months gallop by.

Conor went back to school in August. She makes the long commute to campus every day, puts in a hellacious number of hours in the lab, and returns to the ranch every night to tuck in with her text books.

Jake is broody while she’s gone, but the moment her motorcycle rolls onto the property, he’s out the door to smother her in affection.

The morning her classes resumed, he followed her outside to the bike, knelt on the driveway, and held up a ring. He didn’t just propose with any ring. The diamond belonged to his and Jarret’s mother. Julep’s ring. The one she was wearing when she died.

As Conor burst into tears and nodded her consent, I watched from the porch, with my throat constricting and panic in my gut. Standing beside me, Jarret reached for my hand and wove our fingers together.

He wants what they have, but he hasn’t mentioned marriage since that night in the field.

In Conor’s absence, I’ve thrown myself into picking up her chores on the ranch. I’ve learned so much about repairing fences, herding cattle from one pasture to the next, maintaining seasonal grasses, and cleaning corrals.

Jake pays me a regular salary. I was reluctant at first, but he manages the bookkeeping and argued it saves them on taxes if I’m on the payroll.

It feels good to be independent again, earning a living and doing a job I enjoy. My skin glows brighter. My hair loves braids, and my feet prefer sturdy boots over impractical heels. I find working outdoors makes me smile more and breathe easier. I feel healthier, livelier, happier.

Of course, a certain cowboy with an insatiable sex drive has a lot to do with that.

Standing in the shower in his bathroom, I let the water wash away the dirt from my body and the noise from my head. It’s become my nightly ritual, my time away from the ever-present shadow at my side, to reevaluate and refocus.