Reckless(67)

I love these animals and their gentle strength. Her soulful eyes almost do me in.

Ethan is quiet the whole time we work, and my heart is heavy with thoughts of what will happen to his amazing ranch if the judge doesn’t side with him and his brother.

If I’m this concerned about it, Ethan must be sick with worry.

Peeking over at him, I take in his tight shoulders and serious expression. The tension in his jaw. The furrow of his brow.

He’s in his own world. Quiet and troubled.

I wish… I wish there was something I could do to ease his burdens. To help him make sense of his life. To help him make the most of his business, so he can repay Allison without gutting the ranch. He and Logan have discussed the possibility of selling off some of their land, selling Logan’s house, or auctioning two of their stallions, but each of those prospects will affect their ability to maintain the income they so badly need.

We’re almost done with the last horse when he strips off his wet t-shirt.

He doesn’t notice me staring, or that I shiver for a reason totally unconnected to the cold water that splashes me as I scrub down Tiny Dancer.

He’s in his head, washing the horse. Focused on his task.

With two big strides, he heads to the giant sink in the corner and begins to clean up. Rinsing out the sponges. Scrubbing his hands. Washing his face. Water and soap go everywhere. Down his abs and low-slung jeans that fit him snug around the thighs and ass, making my girlie parts tingle.

He’s hot and glistening with sweat, his face ruddy, his brow furrowed in concentration.

I should leave him alone. Let him work.

But he’s so incredibly beautiful. So utterly masculine. So intense with those taut muscles all strained with exertion.

On a whim, I reach for the hose, spike the pressure, sneak across the stall and call his name.

Then I shoot him with the water.

“What the—” He whirls around, his mouth open and shock in his eyes.

At first, anger radiates off him, which only makes me redouble my efforts, accidentally spraying him in the face. Whoops!

“That’s it,” he sputters, a laugh bursting out of him.

Thank God, he’s amused.

“You’re in trouble, little girl,” he yells, wiping his face with his one arm and chucking a huge sponge at me with the other. It lands with a wet plop across my thin white tank top and slides down.

I gasp. It’s fucking freezing. Goosebumps break out along my arms, my nipples pebble, and I shiver again.

But I don’t get a chance to retaliate because he snatches the hose out of my hands and shoves it down the front of my shirt.

“That’ll teach you,” he says in my ear, pressing my back to his chest.

“OH, MY GOD!” I squirm. Fight. Fling my arms. Screech with laughter while the frigid water shoots down my shirt, through my shorts, and along my legs, puddling at my feet.

The whole time, he holds me to his hard body while I flail.

Tiny Dancer glances back at us with a bored expression while I freak out and squeal.

“You are a very bad girl.” His voice rolls through me, singeing the parts of my skin that brush against him.

“You should definitely punish me.” I can barely get out the words because I’m laughing and out of breath and so turned on, I might burst.

I try to wiggle out of his hold, but his grip tightens as he lifts me up, and despite the blast of water tunneling down my clothes, when my ass grazes the huge erection in his jeans, I groan and thrust back.

Need fires through my veins, and just like that, we’re a tangle of eager hands.

I don’t have to tell him how I feel. He knows.

The hose drops to the ground and we stumble to the side of the stall, where he pins me to the smooth beige wall.

“Wanna fuck you so hard,” he groans against my ear, his voice gravelly.

“Do it.” Please, God, do it.

One hand dives under my shirt and bra, palming my sensitive skin, kneading and pinching, making me gasp in delight at his roughness. The other snakes under the leg of my shorts.

The rumble of his chest tells me he likes what he finds when he slicks a finger against my skin—me swollen and wet and so ready.

Back and forth he teases while he seals his mouth to my neck. He sucks and licks and bites me, all the while grinding his cock against my ass.

We’ve had amazing sex. Sweet sex. Sultry sex.

But this is different.

This feels out of control.

Desperate.

Impulsive and wild.

His breath is ragged and his fingers dig into my skin, and he’s telling me how he can’t wait to fuck my pussy. How I make him so hard. How I’m the only woman who’s ever made him this crazy.

“Hurry,” I gasp, needing to feel him.

He releases me, and I whip off my tank and shove down my shorts. The clink of his belt hitting the floor is the last thing I hear before he’s on me again.

My damp back makes a slick sound when he yanks me to his sweaty chest, but the feeling of his hot erection, full and thick against my thigh, makes me arch my spine.

“Hold on to this. Don’t let go,” he commands.

Bracing my hands on a bar just above my head, he explores my nipples and my waist and the wet valley between my thighs. All while I hold on to the warm metal.

But the sweltering heat of the barn makes it hard to breathe, and watching his movements along my body makes it harder still. Watching his hand move under my panties. Seeing his forearm flex and contract while he works me over, the pounding of my heart resonating from somewhere beneath the pad of his coarse fingers.