Hitching the Cowboy (Circle B Ranch 1)

“So every dare you pass on equals showing your ass?” I ask.

“That was part of the original rules, but as we got older, we decided money was a better punishment. So if you don’t do a dare, it costs fifty dollars for every year we’ve been friends. We’ve been best friends since I was five years old, so we’re up to eight hundred bucks now,” Diesel explains. “And your boy is cheap as fuck when it comes to dishing out cash, so he always does the dare instead of paying up. Neither of us has ever passed.”

I snicker at the way they give each other shit. But then I look at Riley, who looks fucking irresistible. “Okay!”

“Okay, what?” he asks, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“Let’s do the dare!” I jump up. “C’mon!”

Riley whips his head back and forth between Diesel and me. “For real?”

I hold out my hand, arching a brow. “Unless you’d rather pay up or moon us all?”

“Dude, you better marry this one before I do!” Diesel shouts, standing next to me.

Riley pulls me in to his arms and kisses me hard. “Lead the way.”

We make our way down the Strip and find a 24-hour wedding chapel. The guy at the counter, Marcus, explains the package options, and we opt to buy wedding bands there. We don’t go overboard or do anything fancy, so our ceremony is a quick five minutes with standard vows.

“I do,” I say, smiling like a fool.

“I do,” Riley repeats, grinning at me just as wide.

When we exchange rings, I’m shocked we’re doing this. Then Marcus announces we’re married, and Riley kisses his bride. Me. He wraps his hand around my neck and pushes our mouths together for a white-hot kiss. By the time we break apart, I’m seeing stars.

My sister and her friends cheer loudly as we walk down the short aisle hand in hand. Diesel’s smiling like an idiot.

After we sign the marriage certificate, Riley scoops me up and kisses me.

As soon as our Uber arrives, Riley sets me down and opens the door for me. After we’re inside, Riley shouts out the window. “Diesel, find somewhere else to sleep tonight!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been invited to the bachelorette suite!” he calls out with his arm around Chelsea. I nearly die of laughter because I can totally see the two of them hooking up.

The booze from the past several hours continues to rush in my veins as Riley leads me into his hotel room. We don’t even bother with small talk. The moment the door slams shut, Riley pushes me against it and claims my mouth.

“Fuck, Zoey. I’ve wanted to do this all goddamn night long,” Riley hisses against my ear as his hands make their way down my body and cup my ass. He grinds himself into me, and I feel how hard he is when he pulls me up. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me to the bed.

“Tell me all the things you’ve wanted to do to me…” I prompt as he towers over me.

He growls. Fucking growls against my neck. I love the way his beard scratches my chin, and I wonder how it’d feel against my thighs.

“I want to taste every inch of you.” His mouth moves down my throat. “Feel you tighten around my cock.” His palm finds my breast, and he squeezes. “Hear you scream my name.” His other hand slides up my leg. “Fuck you so hard you’ll be feeling me all the way back to Phoenix.”

“Yes. God yes. I want all of that.” My head falls back.

“You realize you married me tonight?” He shakes his head with a sly grin. “You’re officially Zoey Bishop.”

“That has a nice ring to it,” I say. “I quite like it.”

“Good.” He pulls off my dress. “Because I’m about to mark you as mine. My wife.”

Hearing him say it aloud sends a shiver down my body. I know I’ve drunk my weight in alcohol tonight, but I can’t find it in me to regret anything. At least not yet.

“Take off your clothes, hubby. I’m about to burst if you don’t fuck me,” I beg, pulling at his shirt because I need to see all of him.

Riley undoes a few buttons and then reaches behind his neck and swiftly removes it. My eyes widen at the glorious sight of him. Holy mother of God.

They make them real good down in Texas. Riley has abs like the models on the covers of romance novels. He’s tan with hard chiseled muscle. He’s definitely worked hard for what he has; every inch of him is solid. I’m drooling by the time he unbuckles his belt and starts removing his jeans because the muscular V has my entire body covered in goose bumps.

In only his boxers, he leans down again with his hands on either side of my head. “You look like you’re about to eat me for dessert,” he taunts, the corner of his lips tilting up. I was gawking and won’t even deny it.