Buckled (Trails of Sin 2)

Heat rises up my neck.

“While you’re in here fucking around,” Jake says behind me, “another calf fell into the creek.”

“Figures.” Jarret releases me to collect his hat from the ground a few feet away. “Is Randy working on the fence today?”

“Yeah. Should I pull him?”

“No.” Brushing off the Stetson, Jarret sets it on his head. “We need those posts fixed. I’ll help with the calf. Same spot as last time?”

“Yep.” Jake looks at Conor.

“Go ahead.” She rummages through a shelving unit of tools. “I’ll start cleaning the corrals.”

“Meet you there,” Jake says to his brother and leaves the barn.

Jarret turns to me and scrutinizes my face. “I expected a tantrum after the heifer incident.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’re really not mad.” He looks surprised.

“Not even a little.” I run my gaze down his shirtless chest. “I got a nice view out of it.”

“You’ll be punished for that.”

“For what?”

“Being a cock tease.” He walks to the exit, gesturing at me to follow. “You promised me an answer today.”

An answer to the second part of his deal.

You’ll spend the evenings with me, doing whatever I say, when I say it.

That’s not going to happen.

I hurry after him and catch up with his long strides outside. “My answer is—”

“Don’t say no.”

He must read it on my face or maybe he knows what he’s demanding is completely insane.

“Submit to a kiss.” He advances on me, forcing me to shuffle backward until my back hits the outside wall of the cowshed. “A kiss without resistance. If you’re not affected, I’ll drop it and tell you what you want to know.”

It’s tempting. My God, just to experience the feel of that beautiful mouth against mine. But I would lose. There’s no way I wouldn’t be affected.

“Don’t you have a calf to pull from a creek?” I push against his immovable chest.

He pinches his lips together, his eyes etched with frustration. Or maybe that’s determination. I don’t know him well enough to decrypt the nuances in his expression.

He pulls away and hikes toward the stable to saddle his horse. As I trail behind him, he gives me a crash course on horse riding.

I absorb his instruction, but my thoughts keep returning to the conversation we left unfinished. He’s going to kick me out tonight without giving me answers. I need to find a way to compromise.

Ten minutes later, he sits in the saddle and stretches a hand toward me, where I stand with my arms crossed.

He already explained where I’ll ride, how my legs will press against his, and the necessity of keeping my arms wrapped around him. It’s the best and worst place for me to be right now.

“Come on.” He gives me a come-hither gesture. “Ginny won’t bite.”

“Ginny’s not the one I’m worried about.”

The grin he unleashes has the power to melt panties within a ten-mile radius. “I know you’re as attracted to me as I am to you. Why are you fighting this?”

“You mean, why won’t I just fall on my back and let you rut between my legs?”

He leans forward on the horse and drapes an arm over the saddle horn, staring at me.

I’m reminded that he probably spends an hour at most with a woman before he has her on her back or tied on her knees or whatever he does with them. I suspect this is the most time he’s spent with someone he wants to fuck, without actually fucking her.

If he knew the real reason I was here, he wouldn’t want to fuck me or talk to me or have anything to do with me.

“I have a counteroffer.” I reach a hand toward him.

He clutches it and swings me up into the saddle behind him, as if I weigh nothing. Then he takes the reins and guides Ginny out of the stable.

Ruining his shirt was a terrible idea. No matter where I put my hands, I touch warm, tight, bare skin. His abs are obscene, all sculpted bricks, flexing grooves, and zero body fat. I realize I was wrong about him being hairless when my fingers brush against the dusting of hair that dips beneath his belt.

His back muscles twitch so close to my face I see freckles. Not many. Just a faint dot here and there across his defined shoulders. And his scent… I don’t know if it’s his shampoo or the soap he uses, but his skin emits a raw, outdoorsy, manly aroma that begs me to bury my nose in it.

“Your counteroffer?” He nudges Ginny into a faster pace across the field.

I clench my thighs around the outsides of his to remain upright. “Since I have a high tolerance for pain, I’m willing to let you restrain me and swat me with your crop. I’m saying I’ll try it, but if you push my boundaries—”

“I’ll push them.”

“Okay, when you push my boundaries and I tell you to stop, I need to know that you will. If you can’t do that, there’s no deal.”