Knotted (Trails of Sin #1)

1

The terrain of childhood shapes the soul, and the soul never forgets.

It doesn’t forget the fields of Julep Ranch under the watercolor sky.

The earthy scent of grass beneath Barnabe’s heavy hooves.

The chirp of insects in the parched summer breeze.

Or Conor Cassidy, the sexiest girl in Oklahoma, soft and snug against my back.

I clutch the edges of my landscape and wrap it around me, taking nourishing breaths.

Barnabe, my chestnut stallion, twitches powerful muscles between my legs as he lopes along the dusty trail.

Behind me, Conor presses her tight little body against mine and slips a warm hand beneath the front of my shirt.

Now I’m twitching, too, restless and hungry. That’s what she does to me. One touch and I feel like an ungelded horse, a beast with fire in his veins, bucking and panting at the whiff of a mare in heat.

I don’t have to glance back to see her expression. With her chin tilted skyward, red hair ablaze, and guitar strapped to her back, I know she’s curving those plump lips into a serene smile as she soaks up the fading warmth of twilight.

She loves this land as much as I do.

She loves me.

And this is our night.

I’ve memorized the contours of her body as thoroughly as the terrain of our ten-thousand-acre ranch. In a few hours, I’ll know her even better. Deeper.

I’ll know her in the most intimate way possible.

Awareness crackles beneath my skin like it always does when she’s near. But tonight, the static feels sharper, more frenzied, and lower. Christ, the knot of electricity between my legs makes my jeans achingly tight. My cock is raging, swollen, throbbing like an angry heartbeat.

To think, I jerked off twice before I headed out. Lot of good that did me. If I bust a nut before I get inside her, I’ll never forgive myself.

The cantering stampede of two horses approaches from behind. Jarret trots past, veering his black gelding along the trail while blowing a kiss at Conor.

My twin brother might look like me, but we’re not identical. His hair’s darker, his eyes a paler shade of brown. Some say his smile is bigger and more charming, and maybe that’s true. The local girls trip right out of their panties whenever he winks at them.

“I thought Emma would be with you tonight,” I say at his back.

He kicks up a shoulder, a noncommittal shrug, as Conor’s brother, Lorne, brings up the rear.

“Jarret’s thinking about liking Emma.” Lorne slows his horse beside mine, grinning.

“I already liked her. A lot.” Jarret holds up a hand in a peace sign. “With these two fingers.”

“What a heartbreaker.” Conor smothers her chuckle against the back of my shirt.

“You look beautiful, sis.” Lorne tips the Stetson on his head, his expression doting.

“Thank you, darlin’,” she drawls. “You’re stag tonight, too, huh?”

“Yep.” Lorne gives me a knowing look, adjusts the guitar case on his back, and rides ahead to join Jarret.

Lorne just graduated high school, and for the first time in our lives, he seems…older. I mean, he is older. A year older than Jarret and me. Two years older than Conor. But it feels like he matured overnight, maybe gained a few IQ points, grew some chest hair or something.

Nothing’s changed between us, though. He might be protective as hell of his sister, but he’s also my best friend and number one supporter of my relationship with her.

Our clan of four shares an extraordinary closeness, an inseparable bond that stems from childhood.

We grew up on the ranch together. Our fathers own the cattle operation together.

Our mothers died fourteen years ago…together.

We’ve spent our entire lives playing, working, fighting, and laughing together .

Someday, the four of us will own Julep Ranch just like our parents before us.

Up ahead, Jarret’s voice drifts downwind as he tells Lorne about the girl he banged last night. His graphic descriptions make me hyper-aware that Conor and I are the only virgins.

I’m not jealous. It’s just… I used to think she and I would be the first to go all the way. We were the first to kiss, the first to make out without clothes on. But I hit the brakes on sex. She was always too young.

Insects whir through the grass, humming eager sounds as the sinking sun paints the sky with dark, hungry promises.

It’s Conor’s sixteenth birthday.

The day I’ve waited for my whole life.

Lorne and Jarret know my plans tonight, and they’re here to run interference. All it takes is one ranch hand to stumble upon us and report to Dalton Cassidy that I’m in the south pasture, deflowering his only daughter.

But Conor’s dad isn’t the biggest threat. It’s mine. John Holsten loves her like a daughter, but he’s never condoned our relationship. In fact, he forbids it.

Jarret’s allowed to spend time with whomever he wants, so I don’t understand Dad’s restriction on Conor and me. She’s my past, my present, and my future. I’m everything when I’m with her and nothing without her.

Yet she’s not permitted in my room. I’m not allowed to hold her hand or, God forbid, kiss her.

Lorne and Jarret have mastered the art of covering for us while we sneak around the eight-thousand-square-foot home our families share.

Most nights, we ride out to the south pasture after our fathers have retired for the evening.

Like tonight.

Lorne and Jarret disappear behind the ridge, and Barnabe ambles slowly after, rocking Conor against me in a cocoon of heat and friction.

I trail fingertips across her thigh, delighting in the clench of her legs around my hips and the rise of goosebumps along her skin. Creamy, silken Irish skin that burns so easily in the sun.

I know every freckle on her body, and I’ve ventured to count them over the years. But the dark one at the edge of her right nipple always distracts me from the task.

Goddamn, I love her tits. The dusky pink nipples. The way they harden against my tongue. I love all her pretty parts—the vibrant green of her eyes, the pout of her lips, the shape of her toned legs, and these shorts…

I run my hand over the frayed denim, intimately familiar with this particular pair of cutoffs. The worn hole near the zipper has been stretched over time by my prodding finger, and if she bends just right, I can see the crease between her perfect ass and thighs.

“You’re quiet.” I slide a hand under the back of her knee, tickling the soft skin there.

Mosquitoes buzz in the hush, biting my bare arms.

She swats at one on my neck and leans up to brush her lips against the sting. “I’m nervous.”

“If I was a good guy, I’d tell you we can wait.”

Not happening.

I’ve waited years, fantasizing, wanting.

I wanted her when her kisses made me stutter.

I wanted her when my dick started hardening in my hand.

I wanted her when her boobs grew, and dark hair appeared under my arms. I really wanted her when I discovered porn and watched all the licking, sucking, pounding, filthy ways I could want her.

Over the past couple of years, I spent my nights kissing and humping the space in my bed that should’ve been filled with Conor Cassidy. But I couldn’t have her the way I wanted.

Until now.

Some might think sixteen is still too young for what I have in mind.

Fuck them.

I’ll be seventeen next month. We’re the same age for only two weeks, and tonight feels like a long-awaited rite of passage. A momentous coming-together. The beginning of our future.

I don’t know where this sentimental shit comes from. I was raised by a hard-ass man’s man, who has neither the time nor the inclination for romantic ideals.

I’m cut from the same cloth, fashioned from the rugged land on which he raised me. But all my soft parts belong to Conor.

“No more waiting, Jake.” She shifts her hand on my abs, dipping bold fingers beneath my belt buckle.

“Damn right.” My breath runs away from me, chopping my voice.

I might be wildly worked-up and hard as a rock, but this desperation, this need , is bigger than just getting off inside my girl.

She’s the nexus of my world. A world that goes beyond sex and wedding bells and riding off into the sunset. I’ll ride east, if that’s where she’s going. I’ll drive a sedan, if that’s what she wants. I’ll wear fucking loafers, if it makes her smile.

Hell, I’m so in love with her I don’t even need feet. I’ll just float on the high I get whenever she’s near.

“It’s going to be great.” My cock thinks so. I’ve never been this painfully aroused. Pretty sure I can hit a home run with the wood in my pants.

“Oh, it’ll be great for you.” She shoves her hand deeper into my jeans and grips the ramrod length of me. “But this thing is gonna hurt.”

“Conor…” With a choked groan, I pry her fingers off my dick. “I’ll go slow.”

“I know.” She rests her cheek on my spine and sighs. “I love you, Jake Holsten. Even if you don’t go slow. Even if it’s not that great.”

“Damn, baby.” I press a fist against my chest, laughing. “Not the vote of confidence I was looking for.”

“You don’t need that with me.” She lifts the Stetson from my head, strokes a hand through my hair, and returns the hat. “It’s just us.”

“And it’s meant to be.” I grasp her thigh and squeeze. “That’s all we need.”

When we reach the ridge, I tether Barnabe to a tree alongside the other horses. The trail continues down a steep slope and ends in a ravine surrounded by cliffs. That’s where I’ll take her when there’s no light in the sky but the stars. We have about an hour till complete darkness.

While Lorne starts a fire, I recline against a log at the edge of the clearing with a direct line of sight on my girl. She stands near the fire pit and tunes her acoustic guitar, watching me watch her with a smile glittering in her eyes.