Page 3 of Dirty Sweet Cowboy

You're safe here, angel. His voice again, rumbling through my memory. I circle my finger against myself, finding the spot that makes my breath catch. So soft. So slick. My back arches slightly off the bed.

What would he think if he could see me now? Would he be disgusted? Or would those green eyes darken with approval?

I work my finger faster, adding a second one, spreading the wetness up to the bundle of nerves that sends shocks of pleasure through my entire body. My other hand slides under my shirt, finding my breast, pinching my nipple between finger and thumb.

Good girl, I imagine him saying, his voice deep and gravelly. Such a good girl for me.

The words, even just in my imagination, make me whimper. I bite my lip to stay quiet, terrified he'll hear me through the walls, but I can't stop now. My hips rock against my hand, seeking more pressure, more friction. Something is building inside me, a tension coiling tighter and tighter.

"Wayne," I whisper, so softly I barely hear it myself. My fingers move faster, circling, pressing. My thighs begin to tremble.

And then it happens—a wave of pleasure so intense I have to bury my face in the pillow to muffle my cry. My body pulses around my fingers, again and again, each wave slightly less intense than the last, until I'm left boneless and panting, my hand still between my legs.

I've never felt anything like that before. Never.

As my breathing slows, reality creeps back in. I just got myself off thinking about a man who's giving me shelter. A man more than twice my age. A man who probably only sees me as a charity case.

But the warmth spreading through my limbs makes it hard to feel ashamed. Instead, I feel…powerful. Like I've discovered a secret.

three

. . .

Wayne

It's been three days since Judy showed up at my ranch, and I'm already losing my fucking mind. Every morning, I wake up hard as stone, aching to cross the hall and climb into her bed. Every night, I jerk off in the shower, imagining her on her knees, looking up at me with those wide hazel eyes while I feed her my cock. It's pathetic. I'm a grown-ass man acting like a horny teenager. But Christ, the way she moves around my house—shy smiles and those goddamn curves—I'm about ready to snap.

The barn is my sanctuary today. Simple work. Organizing tack, mucking stalls, checking feed—mindless tasks to keep my hands busy and my thoughts away from her. The horses snort and shift as I move between the stalls, the familiar sounds and smells grounding me. This is my world. Has been for years. I know exactly who I am here.

Until she walks in.

"Wayne?"

Her voice is soft, hesitant. I turn and there she is, silhouetted in the barn doorway, sunlight streaming in behind her, turning that chestnut hair into a halo. She's wearing cutoff jean shorts that show miles of tanned leg and one of my old flannel shirts, knotted at her tiny waist. My shirt. On her body. Jesus Christ.

My cock stiffens immediately, pressing painfully against my zipper. I set down the saddle I've been oiling and wipe my hands on a rag, buying time while I get myself under control.

"Need something?" My voice comes out gruffer than I intend.

She steps into the barn, eyes adjusting to the dimmer light. "I thought maybe…I could help? You said I should earn my keep, and I've finished cleaning the kitchen."

She's right. I did say that. Partly because I'm not running a charity, and partly because I needed a reason to justify letting her stay that didn't involve how badly I want to bend her over every surface of my house.

"You ever worked with horses before?" I ask, knowing the answer.

She shakes her head, those big eyes earnest. "No, but I want to learn."

Of course she does. Eager to please. The thought sends heat straight to my groin.

"Alright," I say, motioning her over to where I'm working. "Might as well start with the basics."

She approaches, and the smell of her hits me—something floral, mixed with the clean scent of my laundry soap from the shirt she's wearing. My shirt. Fuck.

I hand her a curry comb. "We'll start with grooming. Nothing too complicated."

She takes it, fingers brushing mine. The touch is electric, sending a jolt up my arm. Her cheeks flush pink, and I wonder if she felt it too.

I lead her to Stormy's stall, my most docile mare. "Gentle circles," I explain, demonstrating on the horse's flank. "Like this."