Rode Hard, Put Up Wet: Cowboy Romance (Rebels & Outlaws 2)

Morgan Lowe knows exactly how much of a mistake she's making. Some small voice in the back of her head is telling her how it's all going to be fine. How this is building up a relationship with him.

Not a business relationship, of course. That part of her is lying its ass off. This isn't going to turn into anything. If it does, then whatever it turns into isn't going to be what she came here for.

She'd been wanting a sense of camaraderie. A sense that she was friendly, that she wasn't just a blood-sucking harpy who was out to steal his land. After all, that was what men thought of her, right? Just some kind of bitch.

Instead, she's building up a very different sense. His hands run across her skin, sensitive from the cold. Like little spots of warmth, wherever he touches. This is a mistake, and it's a mistake she's decided to make anyways.

Her lips press against his neck and then her teeth bite down. Philip lets out a little gasp and lowers his weight a little, turning and pressing her back into the wall. She lets go of his neck and takes a deep breath.

She can see the way that his eyes drop to watch her breasts heaving as she breathes. He pulls the thin cotton fabric away from them and looks. She resists the urge to cover them up. She's already resisted it long enough as it is.

She'd never been happy with her body in the past. Why should that be any different now? But something about the way that he looks at her, hungry, needing something that neither of them are entirely prepared to explain to the other—

It makes her feel like a woman, in a way she's never felt before. In a way that makes it feel less like she's at a disadvantage to every man she's ever met.

His head dips and his hot mouth engulfs a dusky nipple. The heat, surrounding her most sensitive parts, makes her head feel fuzzy. She only knows what she feels, and she knows that her hips are pressed against something very hard.

Her hands decide to go on their own little exploratory mission to find out exactly what it is that he's hiding down there. Morgan has a good idea of what she'll find when her fingers undo the button fly.

She wraps those fingers around his hardness, through the paper-thin fabric of his boxers, and it reacts to the touch, jumping and twitching in her hand. She gives it an experimental tug and even through the boxers she can tell that the experiment is a complete success.

When she starts to pull the boxers down, sinking to her knees, it reacts again, twitching almost in a gleeful response to its new-found freedom. The shaft is almost too thick to wrap her hand around.

She might be making another mistake thinking that she could take it all in her mouth, never mind inside her. But she's not going to stop herself now. Not going to be stopped by anything.

She presses her lips against the head, a gentle kiss that almost certainly isn't exactly what he's looking for. The sigh that he lets out tells her that she's on the right track, though. Her mouth opens wide, and she takes him inside.

His hardness fills her mouth, and she's forced to use her tongue as much as she can, because she's not taking it near as deep as some of the women in those videos she's seen.

The way his fingers snake into her hair, pulling just enough to let her know that he probably can't stop himself from doing it, though, says that she's not doing so badly.

She starts to move, and his hands tighten, trying to softly and subtly guide her mouth up and down his shaft. He must be enjoying it. Everything about the way he's acting suggests he does. But even still, she's amazed.

Morgan looks up at him. The look of complete rapture on his face, an inescapable bliss, is surprising. She must be doing something right after all.

His hips rock in to meet her mouth, his cock pressing itself dangerously toward the back of her mouth. The soft moan that escapes his lips stops her from telling him that she can't, though.

Instead, she continues. She ignores whatever reflexes her throat tries to throw at her. She can't overcome them, not with sheer force of will, but she can try to pretend that she doesn't notice it.

Finally he pulls her off. His breaths are coming hard and ragged. "Fuck that was good."

Something inside her, something she can't explain and will deny in the morning, feels a little bit sad that he didn't cum. Her pussy tingles at the thought of him shooting it down her throat, of taking her and making her give him whatever he wants.

"Did you like that?" She shouldn't ask. She can see on his face that he does. His eyes flutter shut at the memory.

"Fuck yes." He reaches down, one of his big, meaty hands wrapping around her arm and lifting her up a little. "Get up."

She gets up, and as soon as she's got her balance, she's being turned around, bent over the counter top. Her trousers slip down easily over her skin, wetness forcing him to peel them off of her.

"I'm going to fuck you," he growls. Morgan presses back against him. Deep in the pit of her stomach, she wants this. Needs it. It's been—God, it's been forever since she had anyone do this to her.

Never like this. Never a raw, primal lust. Never this bad of an idea. Never with a man ten years her elder. As he lines himself up with her slick entrance and pushes inside, she feels herself already starting to clamp down on him, her body tensing up a little and then relaxing.

Her eyes go wide. He pulls back out a ways and then pushes in again. Somehow, though it seems impossible, he goes in deeper this time.

He rocks his hips back once again, and with the third thrust he pulls himself in, using her hips like a handle, until he slams all the way home. His balls slap against her in a way she never realized would feel as hot as it does.

"Fuck me," she says. She's not sure why she says it, not sure if any of this is a good idea. The idea that she shouldn't be doing it only makes her want to keep going more. The need overtaking her senses keeps her on the edge of orgasm, always threatening to go over the edge once more.

He does what she asks. He pulls out and then slams himself home once more, his body moving in perfect time, filling her up to the breaking point. She's close. She feels as if she's been close the entire time, every thrust threatening to send her over the edge.

But something holds her back. Something that she can't name, something she can't explain. Something that she wants very badly to go away. When his hand comes down hard on her round ass, unleashing a resounding clapping sound, and then he thrusts in again, it's like the veil has been lifted.

Her entire body goes tight, her fingers scrabbling on the counter top. for grip that she can't find. Her body is moving on its own, now, her pussy squeezing to drain out every last drop of his essence.

And when he explodes inside her, the mistakes are complete, and she falls deeper and deeper into the orgasm, down to depths that she didn't know could exist, but now that she's got them, she's not giving them up for anything.

Chapter One

Philip Callahan swallows down his morning coffee, looking out

at the morning sunrise. He shouldn't have indulged by letting himself sleep in. It's too hard already to get the work done that the day has in store for him.

The second he gets slack is the second that the rest of the world eats him up. It's threatened to twice now already, only days apart, and the damn ranch is the only thing he's got left at this point.

He tries not to look over his shoulder at the thought of his wife. He doesn't succeed. He can't see the little hill that she always loved to sit on through the house, and he can't see the little tree that he planted beside her.

But that doesn't mean that he doesn't know what he's looking at. Too many hours in the day, and too much time to feel sorry for himself.

Time that he could have spent fixing the fence, time that he could have been writing his damn congressman to stop sending their guys around trying to buy up the ranch.

He takes a deep breath. The boys will be there soon, and he'd better be at work when they get to the ranch, or they might think he's getting old.

The big stallion's broken a hole in the fence again. He's an ornery son of a bitch, and he likes to smash things. But he's got good racing blood in him, if anyone could get him reined in.

It was a project that he'd thought about, when the yearling had first shown some talent for running. The breeding was all there, but that doesn't always mean anything. It's a risk you take, raising horses.

The risk had paid off. The big, ornery, black-haired stallion was every bit the racing champ that you would want him to be. He could outrun damn near anything. Then again, so could any of them.

But once Sara had died, it didn't seem that important any more. It was hard to want to hurt for the work when everything already hurt so bad to start with.

So even though he should have done the breaking already, should have sold the stallion off to a proper owner, now he was letting a champion horse in its prime years lie around and waste away and turn into nothing.

Philip pulled the frown off his face. He didn't have time to be angry. There was work to do, and the boys would notice right away. He heard the sound of their truck pulling up as he shifted a stack of fence-ties onto his shoulder.