Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
“One day, Knox, you won’t walk away from me,” I whisper as he throws his tools in a pile then pulls his phone out, I’m sure to call Trace. It’s me who turns away then, Trigger following me as I scoop up a few more flowers for Momma. This will have to do because if I stay any longer, the tears will fall, and cowgirls don’t cry. Not over falling off a horse, and definitely not over a stubborn cowboy.
Three
Knox
I stormed my way back until I hit the barn. Trace never did answer my call. I’m hoofing it until I can drop the tools off in the storage shed before needing to be back at the house to get ready for the potluck dinner tonight. I’m already trying to come up with a ploy to get out of it. Though we all know, if you aren’t dying, you’re expected to be there, even when you’re in your thirties. This is just the way of the ranch life. I’m cussing Trace’s dumb ass from top to bottom. “What’s got your bee in a bonnet?” The smug smirk and the way he’s walking tells me he’s up to no fucking good.
“You know how to answer a damn phone?” I bark out, hands on my hips, anger flaring.
“Yep, but figured you were a might busy with Blake.” I shake my head, not needing his bullshit today. The nickname for Blakely rolls of my lips entirely too much as it is, but that doesn’t stop me from groaning in when I’m alone and thinking about her
“No, what I needed to be busy with is the fence line, but your dumb ass decided to do what you always do—run from work. Now, give me the damn keys to the side-by-side. You can be the one to tell Mom why I won’t be at the potluck.” His face blanks. We might all be grown, but that doesn’t mean we don’t know better.
“Shit.” He takes his ball cap off, slapping it on his thigh. Trace knows he’s in for an earful now.
“Didn’t work out quite as you planned, huh?” My hand is out and ready for the keys.
“Nope, but I’ll do you a solid. I’ll go tell Mom what’s going on, then your butt will be at the potluck while I work on the fence.” Trace looks as proud as a damn peacock. Now, there’s no way I’ll get away with not seeing Blakely.
“Your funeral.” I walk away knowing I’ll need to do a lot more once I get inside. My cock still hasn’t gone down from the small amount of interaction I had with Blakely. And that’s just the kicker. If my body reacts this way even without feeling her gorgeous body against mine, if I ever do get her beneath me, we’ll both be in for a world of carnal pleasure.
It doesn’t take me long to make it to my quarters. Once Trace and I hit our early twenties, Dad put his foot down and moved us boys out. He didn’t want to see our comings and goings, plus, he and Mom have settled down some on the ranch, allowing them to sleep in sometimes. Though, Dad doesn’t always listen to his own advice.
My place is a two-bedroom, one-bathroom home of fifteen hundred square feet, with a small kitchen completing it. Both of our places are within viewing distance of the main house but still private enough that we’re not all on top of each other like we once were growing up. I kick off my boots on the porch, knowing full well as soon as I get inside, I’ll be stripping down and heading straight for the shower. The only thing that’s going to curb this need I have for Blakely is me fisting my cock while imagining her in the shower with me, hair down, skin glistening from the water, body dripping wet, tits moving, her own hand sneaking between the folds of her pussy as she takes my cock in her mouth. Oh yeah, it’s going to happen even if it is only a fucking fantasy.
Four
Blakely
“Will you be at the rodeo next weekend?” Mrs. McCray asks as I help Momma pass out plates for desserts.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m hoping Trigger and I can make it to the top five. He’s been extra stubborn lately.” I didn’t change out of my dress, knowing if I put jeans on, Momma would give me her side eye. Instead, I’m wearing the same thing I had on in front of Knox. The way his jaw clenched when I walked in this evening was enough to tell me it’s doing a damn good job too.
“That’s great, dear. Knox will be there too. Damn stubborn boy of mine won’t quit riding bulls, but at least he’s not traveling on the circuit like he used to, taking him from town to town across the nation. I didn’t know if I’d get a phone call one day, telling me he was injured or, God forbid, dead.” Mrs. McCray knows how to lay the guilt trip on thick when it comes to her boys.