Buck Me Cowboy

Red began rising in my eyes.

“What do you mean? Because they pressured them, Tyler! There are three Morgan brothers and they’re pure evil with lots of money. We can’t fight them! Pa was the only one that stood up to their arrogant asses and what’d that get him? A trashed barn and a destroyed car. All because he didn’t want to accept their ‘generous amount,’” I spat furiously.

Tyler was silent for a moment, blue eyes dark.

“Assholes,” he finally ground out, and I could feel the anger leaving my body. It was nice to have a teammate on my side, someone who cared about the Double H.

“Exactly,” I sighed again. “It’s not fair in a million ways, but what can we do? We’re tiny homesteads up against an industrial giant, so it’s not like we have any power.”

Tyler nodded slowly again, eyes not meeting mine.

“Fucking sucks,” was his succinct reply, and I let it go after that. After all, what could he do for me? As much as I adored the man, he was a traveling ranch hand, someone with little in the bank, and absolutely no sway with the big guys in the business. So his emotional support was what mattered most.

Besides, I haven’t even told him the worst part, about how those Morgan brothers were disgusting and crude. Sure, they’d vandalized our property, but even worse was their vulgar and vile behavior towards me. Jacob, the oldest came by after Pa died and grabbed his crotch while telling me I needed a new daddy now.

Mitch, the youngest, was even worse. He whipped out his dong and peed on our porch, leaving a stinking pool of fluorescent yellow urine right on our doorstep. It took every ounce of pride for me not to cry right then, because it’d only excite them more.

So I hate those boys. There was nothing or no one that could ever change my mind about it. And it’d do no good to tell Tyler because what would he do? Run over there and wring their necks? Burn down their crop and get himself charged with vandalism? There were no good answers, and it was better to leave out this part of the sad story for now.

The oven chime jolts me from my thoughts and I make my way to take out the brownies I’ve made to go along with our beef roast and mashed potatoes. Tyler loves my cooking, so I try to make him all types of meals; it’s the least I can do in exchange for all he’s done around the farm and house.

“Wow baby,” he grunts from the side door and I turn to face him, draped in my red-checkered apron.

“I was just going to call you in. I hope you’re hungry,” I smile at his sweaty body and he closes his eyes in exaggerated exhaustion.

“I’m starving,” he groans before stumbling towards me.

“Oh, my tired man,” I coo while taking his face into my hands, sprinkling kisses all over his damp cheeks.

“What’d you make? It smells amazing,” he compliments my cooking, as he does every night, before glancing over my shoulder for a peek.

Turning so my ass is pressed against the stiff waistband of his denim, I point to each pot as he hovers near my ear. His hands are on my belly, pulling me into him, and my body heats from the friction.

“You’re lucky I’m so hungry, or I’d take you down right here in this kitchen,” he warns with a growl before pulling me close.

I giggle.

“I’m sure we’ll get to that,” is my sweet coo. “But for now eat.”

And with a thump, Tyler drops into a chair at the table, eyeing the food ravenously. He takes a humongous bite so that half the plate is gone in an instant. I giggle again.

“Glad you like it,” comes my purr.

“Honey,” he grunts after another bite. “I fuckin’ love it, your food is honey to the gut.”

I laugh again, throwing my head back. But it’s time to get serious.

“So is everything okay?” I ask Tyler, settling across from him at the dining table. My roast has come out perfectly, so he’s more focused on the plate in front of him than me. “Is the crop fine? The harvest fine? We ready to sell?”

“It’s all good, baby,” he answers without looking up, fork still moving in a blur.

And we finish our dinner in silence before I make each of us a big brownie sundae, complete with chocolate sauce and my homemade vanilla ice cream.

“You’re going to have me waddling on that field soon,” he jokes when I set his dessert bowl in front of him.

“I can take it back,” I tease, reaching for the bowl, but Tyler tightly grasps my wrist in his grip before dipping my fingers into his ice cream.

“What are you doing?” I giggle at the sensation of the mix of hot chocolate sauce and cold ice cream on my fingertips. The blues of his eyes darken as lust takes over. Moving my hand to his mouth, his tongue slowly swirls around my petite fingers. Taking my fingers in his mouth, he slowly sucks the sweetness off, keeping his eyes on me as I try to straddle him, but he stops suddenly.