Big Man’s Wife (Big Men Big Hearts 1)

Hitting the shoe a few more times, I move to the stalls and put it on Swanson, one of our horses. I'm trying to keep myself occupied, but this fucking girl is all I can think about. She's gorgeous. In my mind I keep replaying the way she licked her lips. How the tip of her tongue swept across her bottom lip, wetting it perfectly. And now all I want is to feel her wrap those lips around my cock. Her hair looks soft, and my fingers itch to grab a fist full and tug it hard.

Fuck, Ryder! Enough!

I can't do this to myself. I just can't. These feelings, the desires, the urges, they have no place in my life anymore. Especially when she's just rich and evil in the suit of a goddess. Jenna doesn't deserve one single thought or breath from me.

I thought I was over her, but clearly the knife I felt in my chest the second I laid eyes on her is telling me I'm not.

She left. She left and forgot about me. She forgot about the small town that created her and the people who loved her.

I've spent my entire life in this place. My hands are scarred, rugged, and have all the signs of a man who works for what he has. I can look around and see everything I've helped build or built myself. Nothing's been handed to me. School, a social life, all of that took a backseat to this place.

Because my father taught me about what matters most in life. He taught me about working hard, he taught me about stepping into his shoes, he taught me that life is something you build, not something that's gifted as a present.

Not all of us were handed a blank check and given the opportunity to do whatever the hell we want. Some of us still know the meaning of family, hard work and loyalty.

Now she thinks she can just show up one day and steal it from me? Does she really think she can put a price on my family's name? On their hard work? On my hard work? No. Not happening. Not everything in life can be bought just because you have the money to take it.

She doesn't get to abandon me, have the entire world placed at her feet, bought and paid for by some millionaire asshole, and think we're going to see eye to eye.

Those eyes. . .

Her glistening blues glow in my head. Big, bright, and blue as the ocean. They draw me in, they always have. My mind wanders to thoughts of her looking up at me while she sucks my cock.

I could easily take her, fuck her until she can't walk, and her heels are nothing more than an ornament on her naked body.

Damn it, I'm doing it again.

I need to do something else to keep my mind busy.

Grabbing a wheel barrel, I start filling it with hay. Noticing the bales are all lopsided and about to topple over, I put my energy into fixing them.

Sweat is pouring over my temples as I heave giant bales on top of each other. I'm doing anything I can to not think about fucking this girl. Every task I can find, I throw myself in feet first.

Cleaning the pig pens, feeding the chickens, cleaning the stalls for the horses. But nothing is working. I can't stop myself. The images keep coming, vivid and alive.

Her head looking back at me over her shoulder as she moans loudly and begs me to fuck her harder. Her legs splayed wide open with her palms pressing against the wall, knuckles almost white.

My fingers running up and over her thighs, cupping her mound as I slam deep inside her heat. I'll flick her clit, I'll work that uptight button until the girl I remember finally comes back.

It doesn't work that way. People change with time, and too much time has passed to pull the city out of that girl.

Hanging my head, I stroke my favorite horse, Juniper. He lets out a bray in my face, nudging me toward the saddle. He might be right. I need to get away for a bit to clear my head.

“You want to go for a run, Juniper? Is that what you want?”

He neighs again, stomping his front foot and pushing his nose against my chest.

Running my hand up the bridge of his nose, I agree. “All right, let’s get out of here for a bit.”

Saddling him up, I climb on top, giving him a squeeze with my legs. He knows exactly what I need right now. He always has. My dad got him when I was ten, he was two then, fifteen now.

He walks out of the barn, clopping down the trail that runs beside the apple trees. Giving him another squeeze, he takes off running. The wind blows through my hair and moves over my face. Tightening my grip on the reins, I lift up slightly as he gallops down the trail.