Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Olivia
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” I whisper.
Wylie went strangely still inside me after I said I was his girl. I just blurted it out.
He pulls back and examines my face in the dark. “What do you mean, scare me?”
“When I said I’m your girl. It’s just an expression. I know how cowboys are. I’m not going to expect anything from you.”
He quiets me with a soft, languid kiss. “Hush now. You are my girl.”
I don’t know if it’s my voice or my body humming.
“And you’re my cowboy.”
“Damn right.”
My legs grip around his middle, while my hands pull at his neck, desperate for more contact. More kissing. More everything.
Wylie thrusts into me deeply, my inner muscles stretching around his girth. It’s almost overwhelming.
The strangeness of this new sensation quickly subsides into a slow, massaging rhythm, and soon, I forget any discomfort.
But almost as quickly as I adapt to our joining, Wylie suddenly pulls away from me, rolling to his side. The separation is abrupt and
nearly makes me panic that I did something wrong.
“Wylie. Are you okay?”
“I’m good, baby. Shit! I’m…coming…”
A fresh wave of pleasure ripples through me when I hear the strange noises coming from his throat as he erupts.
He comes in pulses all over his lower abdomen, his chest heaving as he lies flat on his back.
Once again, I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I weave my fingers through his hair, stroking his head, and wait for him to finish.
“Was that good? Did I do it right?”
My cowboy doesn’t seem to have any words left. Only sleepy laughter.
He sounds different, and so do I.
Shocked, sated, and defiled, I fall asleep in his arms with a smile on my face.
I sleep until well after the sun is up, feeling happily hollowed out.
I smile and hug the pillow, biting it bashfully when I recall everything we did last night.
Wylie gave me my first orgasm, something I didn’t even know was possible.
The way Wylie touched me was astonishing but also shameless, gentle, and perfect. I don’t ever remember feeling this way about anybody or anything.
I’ve never felt attached to anyone this way.
I certainly didn’t know a man could make me feel this good.
Everything is different now.
I feel satisfied, relaxed, whole, and…wow, so hungry.
Rolling over, I reach for Wylie. To my dismay, he’s not in the bed with me. That’s when I notice the glimmer of light seeping through the window.
I’m late. Wylie’s already gone out to do morning chores.
I overslept!
“Oh no!” I shriek, flying out of the bed.
I’ve failed on day two of my first paying job. There’s no way they’re going to pay me for this.
On the nightstand is a cold cup of coffee and a notification on my phone. I pick it up and read it, holding my breath.
“Olivia,
I know you’ll wake up in a panic that you overslept but think nothing of it.
I had a lot on my mind, so I got up early and made breakfast for the crew. There’s plenty left over for you. I wrapped up a plate for you, and it’s in the fridge.
Text me when you get up and let me know how you’re doing.
Don’t leave the house. If you do, take protection.”
Here, he includes the combination to the gun safe in the hallway.
I’m pleased that he trusts me with that information.
I’m even more pleased at what he writes next.
“You were amazing last night. You might be having second thoughts about what we did. But I do not regret one second, except that I wish we would have met sooner.
Wylie
P.S. If I wore you out too much, you can sleep through lunch too.”
The little brag at the end makes me laugh out loud.
I pull on a bathrobe and my discarded leggings, then text Wylie back.
“Thanks for the cold coffee. And for the hot sausage.”
My cowboy texts back laugh and heart emojis, which is not a very cowboy thing to do, in my opinion. But I love it.
Tightening the robe around me, I hustle into the kitchen and scarf down the plate of biscuits and gravy that I warm up in the microwave.
Then, I rifle through the fridge and freezer, deciding what to make for lunch for the boys.
I settle on loaded chicken quesadillas in case they want to grab them and go.
I begin by breaking down the chicken I find in the fridge and setting that aside in a dish with seasoning to marinate. Finished with that, I head to the mud room to try on a pair of boots. I’m bored silly in this uber-clean house and need something else to do. Besides, I’m itching to be around animals again. I follow Wylie’s suggestion to arm myself before I head out to the barn. I pick out a 12-gauge pump action shotgun, just like the one Granddad taught me to shoot. I don’t expect to use it, but I also don’t like the idea of being so isolated from the rest of the workers as they tend to the cattle.
In the stables, I spend a couple of hours brushing down the horses and tidying up the tack room.
The older mare, Nigella, could use a bit of TLC on her mane. She’s a gentle old thing, and she nudges me when I offer her sugar.
While in the barn, I get an eerie feeling that I’m being watched, but when I glance around, no one is there. Just the horses and me.
I finish brushing and braiding Nigella’s mane, and I pat her strong flank. “I wonder if the boss will be mad about your pretty new hairstyle,” I say.
The Prophet sure will have something to say about you acting like the whore of Babylon.
If I wasn’t terrified out of my wits at the random thought popping into my head, I’d laugh.
I run my hand down Nigella’s long face, comforting myself, reminding me that I don’t belong to them anymore.
And I’m not a bad person for leaving.
The whore of Babylon wears Carhartts and shitkickers?
Fine. I’d rather be a whore than a servant to men who make me feel small.
That eerie feeling stays with me, and I find myself darting out of the stable and hustling back to the house to finish making lunch.