Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
As I get closer to where he’s working with a bunch of ranch hands, I notice other details. Such as how his back twitches and flutters when he raises and lowers his arm, and how his shoulders are all tensed with muscles standing in stark relief. How his brand that I traced with my fingers and my mouth last night looks so pale against the backdrop of his honeyed skin.
How every inch of him drips strength and power.
But how every night when I touch him, his skin shivers and his chest shakes. His breathing falters and his moans echo deep in my belly. I love his moans. All thick and low, rough like the caress of his scraped hands, and I’ve become quite an expert at eliciting them from him. For a girl who was a virgin until last week, I’ve taken to sex quite well and quite fast. Well, I always was a straight-A student, so maybe it makes sense that I’ll learn all the tricks about how to make my husband weak in the knees fast.
I also know how to make him angry. Because I know he’s going to be as soon as he sees me. And I’m right because the moment he hears the rumble of the ATV coming up the path, he turns around. Even though his hat is perched low on his head, I know when his eyes lock on me because he straightens up and I see his stubbled jaw clench. It’s not as wildly stubbled or bordering on a beard like it was when we first arrived at the ranch a week ago, but it’s still thick enough that it scrapes my thighs when he eats my pussy and gives me burns around the column of my neck when he kisses me there.
In fact, the marks he left on me just this morning—more like, at the crack of dawn—before he went off to work on the fence tingle at the thought. I should stop thinking about these things or I’ll start blushing. Maybe I already am, and there’s company all around. Besides, he’s not really happy about my arrival, so I should probably think about that.
The ATV stops and I hop off. I paste a cheery smile on my face and wave Hi. Not only to him but to all the other men too. After only a week, I think I know most of them by their faces, if not by their names. I’m not going to lie, I do think they were criminals who were in the Rawhide Redemption program or whatever that thing is that I still don’t understand. But I try not to judge them for a variety of reasons, including the fact that they’ve not once been disrespectful to me. Even now, as I’m coming up the path, they tip their hats or jerk up their chins before getting back to work, all polite-like.
My husband, though, walks toward me with a frown. Or rather he prowls with long, confident steps. Masculine and dominating. Everything about him is that way, isn’t it.
Even the simple act of him taking his work gloves off and tucking them into the back of his washed-out jeans, where his black T-shirt is tucked as well, seems full of authority. Not to mention those hard slabs of his chest and the ridges of his eight-packs. That dusting of dark hair that I still haven’t gotten over even after a week. How it thickens around his belly button and keeps getting thicker as it moves lower. Everything about him is just so sexy and erotic and…
“Eyes up here,” he commands as he comes to a stop a few feet away from me.
I snap my gaze up and, as always, lie when I get caught: “I wasn’t staring.”
He takes my blushing cheeks in and rumbles, “Somethin’ down there calls you a liar.”
I blush harder and accuse without much steam, “You were staring too.”
“I was,” he admits unabashedly, his eyes flashing and dropping to my chest.
My nipples bead under the dress. “I—”
“Just don’t like how other men are too.”
I glance at the other men before saying, “No one is.”
And they truly aren’t; they’re all back to working. I feel him move closer and I look back at him. He does it in a way that hides me away from them. He’s always doing things like that, tucking me against his body, standing so close to me that I disappear in the breadth of his chest, the width of his shoulders.
Two days ago, there was another bonfire—something I’m coming to realize these people have frequently; a way for all the weary cowboys to relax and mingle at the end of a long day—and I was standing in a group with Haven, Axton, and Peyton, and he was standing on his own in a lonely corner, away from the crowd because he hates them. I was about to go to him because I didn’t want him to be alone when he suddenly appeared beside me just because he didn’t like the way Axton was staring at me. Something he told me later when we were in the barn, up in his makeshift bedroom, about to go to sleep.