Booted (Trails of Sin 3)

I walk forward until the surface rises to my chest. Then I dip seven times, once in each direction—east, north, west, south, above, below, and here in the center—while being mindful of the spirits in all directions.

Each plunge beneath the water purifies, renews, and nourishes. I release my guilt and failures, my resentments and griefs, while concentrating on my blessings.

Tiana’s very short life left a huge impact on me. She gave me the experience of sisterhood and showed me the purity in unconditional love.

She instilled in me the desire to be a mother someday. The kind of mother she deserved.

By the time I finish, I feel lighter, brighter, and at peace.

I’m not a committed believer in the old ways, but I’m not a non-believer, either. I’m open to what feels right deep in my center.

Tonight, this felt right.

I turn and wade my way back to the shore. Halfway there, I pause, stirring the knee-deep water.

Lorne hasn’t moved from where I left him. He stands twenty feet away, hands at his sides and posture stiff. The Stetson angles down, concealing his expression, but I don’t need to see his face to sense his tension.

He’s looking at me. At the glow of my bare skin in the moonlight.

When he put his mouth between my legs last night, he didn’t remove my shirt or panties. He’s never seen me naked.

He takes his time staring. I assume he’s been staring this whole time.

I hold still and wait. The passing seconds bring a trickle of tremors. The lingering of his gaze hardens my nipples. My pulse quickens. My skin heats. My entire body anticipates.

Slowly, he removes his hat. His hands reach behind him to pull his shirt over his head, back to front, in that strange way that men strip. Then those confident fingers unbuckle the belt.

His boots go off next. Followed by his jeans and briefs.

The sight of his hard, long cock sends me backward, seeking the cover of the water. It’s not fear. Though part of me will always fear the strength of his hands around my heart.

What I feel is inevitability, and it’s coming for me in the form of a proud, naked, very hungry cowboy.

He prowls into the water, eating up the distance with powerful strides, sinews twitching with intent, and eyes hunting.

I’ve never had sex for pleasure. I’ve never chosen a man simply because I want him. I revel in the freedom of this choice, though it isn’t a choice at all. It’s an imperative. I need him beside me. With me. Around me. In me.

Submerged to his waist, he dives, spearing his body like an arrow and sluicing beneath the surface.

He’s coming.

My heart pounds as I kick against the muddy floor of the pond, splashing and spinning at a depth that reaches my chest. Lorne’s under there somewhere, but the water’s too dark.

I tremble in a ring of ripples. Where is he?

A current of movement swirls around my legs, and he comes up for air with his face inches from mine.

Sweet mercy, he’s arresting. Wet black hair sticks to his forehead and spikes in chaotic perfection on his head. Beads of water cling to thick lashes, and a faint row of freckles dots across his nose.

No single feature defines his beauty, but his eyes come close. It’s not the color. Though the vibrant hue of green deserves its own enchanting name. Amid those irises glows a raw intensity, an unapologetic bluntness, that rivals the inflexible angles of his square jaw.

He looks at me like I’m the only star in his sky, and that’s a pretty high expectation to bestow on someone. He hasn’t been with a woman in years. How does he know there isn’t a brighter, better one out there?

I’ll offer him all that I am and everything I hope to be, but after… What if the starlight dims and he decides I’m not what he’s searching for?

In the end, it would hurt both of us.

“You have options.” I float backwards and let the water wash over my shoulders.

He stays with me. “I only see one.”

“Cora likes you. She has the prettiest gray eyes, and her smile—”

“I don’t want Cora.” He swims forward with determined strokes.

I kick away, splashing water while drowning in hope. “There are a lot of single women in Sandbank. Docile, well-behaved women.”

“I don’t want that shit.” He captures my ankle, then my thigh, and drags me against him. “I know who I want.” His lips lower to the corner of mine. “But I need to matter to her the way she matters to me.”

“You want her without barriers.” I grip his shoulders and wrap my legs around his waist. “You need her without shields.” With a press of hips, I grind against his swollen length. “You already have me without demanding.”

He leans back and hears me with his eyes. In that suspended moment between stillness and movement, our souls lace together. The air and water churn, hugging us in sultry warmth as our skin fuses in a glide of heated wet satin.