Page 4 of Dirty Sweet Cowboy

Judy tries to mimic my movements, but her stance is all wrong, her arm at an awkward angle. Without thinking, I move behind her.

"Like this," I murmur, placing my hands on her hips to adjust her position. My body is a wall at her back, dwarfing her. She's so small, the top of her head barely reaching my shoulder.

Under my palms, her hips are soft, warm even through the denim shorts. I can feel her tense, then relax into my touch. My thumbs move in small circles, adjusting her stance but also just feeling her, unable to stop myself.

"You need to ground yourself," I say, voice dropping lower. I kick her feet gently wider with my boot. "Stable base."

Her breath catches. A small gasp that goes straight to my dick.

I'm close enough now that her ass is millimeters from the front of my jeans. One small movement from either of us and she'd feel exactly what she's doing to me. The knowledge keeps me still, frozen in place, hands still on her hips, breathing in the scent of her hair.

"Like this?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper. She shifts her weight, and for a split second, her perfect ass brushes against the ridge in my jeans.

I nearly groan out loud, jaw clenching so hard I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. I force myself to step back before I do something I can't take back. Like spin her around and lift her against the stable wall, wrapping those slim legs around my waist and driving into her until she screams my name.

"That's it," I manage, voice strained. "Good girl."

The words slip out again, unbidden. A praise I can't seem to keep inside when I'm around her. Her eyes widen slightly, cheeks flushing a deep crimson. She likes it. The knowledge is a punch to the gut.

I take another step back, putting blessed distance between us before I lose what little control I have left. My cock is throbbing now, demanding attention I can't give it.

"Practice on Stormy," I say, moving to the other side of the stall to adjust the water trough, giving myself something—anything—to focus on besides the curve of her ass in those tiny shorts. "I'll be right back."

I need air. Need to get away from her scent, her warmth, the sound of her breathing. One more second and I'd have her bent over the hay bale, shorts around her ankles, my hand clamped over her mouth while I drive into her from behind.

The thought is so vivid, so fucking real, that I have to grip the edge of the water trough to steady myself. This is bad. Worse than I thought. She's been here less than a week, and I'm already coming undone.

"Am I doing it right?" she calls, glancing over her shoulder at me, all innocent eyes and eager-to-please smile.

I look at her—really look—and something twists in my chest. It's not just lust, though there's plenty of that. It's something more. Something possessive and protective and terrifying.

"You're doing fine, angel," I say, the endearment slipping out naturally now. "Just fine."

She smiles, pleased with the praise, and turns back to the mare. I watch her work, the sunlight filtering through the barn slats painting stripes across her body. Mine, something primitive in me insists. Mine to protect. Mine to teach.

Mine to ruin.

And God help me, I'm going to ruin her. It's just a matter of time.

four

. . .

Judy

I've never been on a horse before. The massive chestnut mare in front of me me snorts and shifts, making my heart flutter with a mix of fear and excitement. But it's not the horse that has my pulse racing—it's Wayne standing beside us, his large hand resting possessively on my thigh as he gives me instructions in that deep, rumbling voice that vibrates straight through me. I'm wearing the shortest shorts I could find in my limited wardrobe, and his calloused palm feels like fire against my bare skin. "You'll ride with me today," he says, and something about the way he says it—like he's claiming me—makes heat pool between my legs.

"I don't want to fall," I admit, trying to focus on the potential danger rather than on how close he's standing, how his scent—leather and sweat and something purely male—wraps around me like a physical touch.

His lips quirk up at the corner. Not quite a smile, but close. "I won't let you fall, angel."

There it is again. Angel. My heart skips.

"Ready?" he asks, and before I can answer, his hands circle my waist. His fingers nearly touch around my middle, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing at all, setting me gently on the saddle.

I gasp, grabbing the horn for stability, but also from the shock of his strength. The casual display of power sends a thrill down my spine, settling low in my belly. What else could those hands do? How easily could he move me wherever he wanted?

The thought makes my cheeks burn.