Chapter 16
Kinky Bucket List
Tripp
Quinn sits at the long kitchen island in nothing but a loose T-shirt dress that hangs off one shoulder, revealing the hot pink strap of her swimsuit.
My mouth goes dry as I stare—held captive for a moment by the idea of my hands on her smooth skin. Her blond hair spills out of a knot on top of her head, and the long curve of her neck is begging to be kissed.
I’ve always loved this version of her—stripped down, without the full face of makeup and her hair done.
It’s like I get to see a side of her the rest of the world isn’t privy to.
This is the Quinn I remember from nights under the stars out at the ranch.
The one who always felt like mine, even though she wasn’t.
She looks perfect. But then again, she’ll always be perfect to me.
How could she possibly think I’m not interested in her like that? She's a goddamn wet dream.
Her gaze finds mine, and those blue eyes brighten as they trail down my torso. Her cheeks pinken slightly, and I want to ask her what she’s thinking—maybe tease her, get a rise out of her like I used to—but I bite my tongue.
It feels like we’re on a slippery slope.
Or maybe it’s just me slipping and sliding down this ridge of desire and temptation while her footholds are steady. Maybe she isn’t thinking about how she asked me to check things off her kinky bucket list last night.
But I am.
The thought of sweet Quinn with a dirty bucket list has me both insanely curious and dangerously turned on.
“Want a beer?” I ask when I can’t stand her silent perusal anymore. The tension is nearly unbearable.
She finally glances away, her cheeks deepening another shade. “Sure.”
Alright, maybe she’s slipping a little too.
I slide her beer across the island and take a long pull from mine, trying not to think about how little that swimsuit probably covers.
“Thanks for inviting me to tag along with you guys today. I had fun,” she says.
“You’re a Dawson. You don’t need an invitation. You’re always welcome out there.”
She shifts on the stool, wincing slightly. “Maybe next time I’ll just go out with you for an hour or so.”
“Sore?” I ask.
I step behind her and slide my hands over her shoulders, squeezing gently. Touching her is second nature to me. I’ve always been a touchy-feely guy—it’s just who I am—and Quinn’s never been an exception. But there’s always been a line I didn’t cross.
Last night? She blurred the hell out of it.
Now, every brush of contact feels weighted in a way it shouldn’t. She lets out a quiet moan as my thumb digs into her shoulder blade, and I nearly bite my tongue as my jaw clenches. Shit.
I’ve made a grave mistake because now I don’t want to take my hands off her. Worse, she leans into my touch and exhales a breathy sigh that goes straight to my dick. I really should have rubbed one out real quick in the shower—these trunks aren’t exactly forgiving.
Touching Quinn is too damn easy—but I need to mind myself better around her.
Because I'm not allowed to want her like this.
She’s Wes’ little sister. Pops’ granddaughter. And I promised my dad I’d stop screwing around and start taking life seriously.
“So incredibly sore,” she murmurs, “but I don’t mind. The herd looks great. You and Wes always did make a good team.”
The oven timer dings, and I reluctantly take my hand from the bare skin of her shoulder.
“Wes has big plans,” I say, grabbing the pizza. “I’m just along for the ride.”
“Maybe when it comes down to the business side of things, but Pops told me you were the one who convinced him to move the cows into smaller pastures for calving a few years ago. Survival rates have been way higher since then.”
I smile, basking in her praise a bit as I cut the pizza into slices.
Her recognition of what I’m doing for the ranch makes me feel seen in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
I’ve gotten so used to being the guy no one takes seriously, but I’m serious about the things I care most about—and Dawson Ranch is one of them.
Something warm unfurls in my chest as I plate the pizza and slide a slice across the island to her. Then I grab my own and take the seat beside her.
Her knee brushes against mine. The contact is brief, but it slides over my skin like silk, warm and soft.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. It’s not awkward exactly—just thick with things unsaid. Finally, she faces me. Her eyes linger on my bare chest before swinging up to mine.
“Do you ever wonder where you’d be if you hadn’t quit the rodeo circuit when you did?”
“Sometimes,” I admit. “But I don’t regret it. I got time with my dad I never would’ve had otherwise. Cottonwood Creek—the ranch—it’s a hell of a lot quieter than the circuit, but it’s always been home.”
She gives me a soft smile. “Yeah, I get that. I came out here for Pops, but I think I came out here for me a little bit too. I needed something solid. Something real. Not so sterile and predictable.”
She lets out a short laugh, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. “God, listen to me. I sound ridiculous.”
“No, you don’t. Everyone needs to get away from things sometimes. I’m glad you came.”
“Me too.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth for a beat before shifting back to her empty plate. She takes a long sip of her beer, then sets the can down and leans back a little, her expression unreadable. “Is the hot tub ready?”
I blink, thrown by the sudden shift. “Yeah.” My voice is rougher than it should be. “It’s ready whenever you are.”
She pushes up from her chair and walks both of our plates to the sink.
I grab two fresh cans of beer and follow her out to the deck.
She hesitates, glancing over her shoulder with a sly smile on her lips, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Then, without a word, she hooks her thumbs under the hem of the oversized T-shirt dress she’s wearing and pulls it over her head in one smooth motion.
My breath gets sucked from my lungs at the sight of Quinn in her skimpy pink bikini, held together by flimsy strings. It would be so easy to give a little tug and watch the material fall.
I can’t tear my gaze away even though I know I’m staring—and probably drooling.
Her skin is smooth, and she has tan lines from being out on horseback all day today.
Her body is all long lines and slight curves.
Her nipples are pulled taut from the cool air, and I’m aching to put the tight buds into my mouth and suck them until she’s grinding on my cock.
“You coming?” she asks, not quite innocently, as she sinks into the water with a low moan.
My eyes flash to hers, noting the playful gleam there. How long had I been staring at her, ogling like some creep?
Too long, I’m sure.
I reluctantly pull myself from the fantasy I’d conjured up while she was climbing into the hot tub and give her what I hope is an easy smile.
I clear my throat, desperate to cool the heat pulsing beneath my skin. “Yeah. Just spaced out there for a second.”
Her body is a goddamn temptation, and I can’t keep my horny mind from picturing her riding my face. Especially after everything she said last night. Christ, I could make her feel so good.
I could be the first man to make Quinn Dawson come.
And that thought has me hard as stone and grateful that she won’t see anything through the bubbling hot tub once I climb in.
I’m about to enter dangerous waters. There’s nothing wrong with sitting in a hot tub with Quinn, but with all the dirty fantasies floating in my head right now... Wes would butcher me if he knew I was thinking of his little sister like this.
I’ll keep to my side of the hot tub, enjoy the view, and resist the temptation to touch her again—despite the fact it’s been bubbling under the surface ever since she got here, and all those fleeting touches I’ve allowed myself have done nothing but make me want more.
I hand her a beer and glide through the water to the opposite side. I stretch my arms along the rim of the hot tub, giving myself something to hold on to—because if I don’t, I might just reach across the damn thing and drag her into my lap.
Her lips press against the can as she takes a sip, and I force the thought of those lips wrapped around me out of my mind as she sinks farther into the water, eliciting a soft moan of pleasure as the jets hit her sore muscles.
She cracks open one eye and peers at me with a teasing smirk. “Is there a reason you’re sitting way over there?”
Because being near you in that scrap of fabric you call a swimsuit is asking for trouble.
“The view’s better over here.” I gesture toward the sun setting behind her against the backdrop of rolling hills decorated in prairie grass.
She tilts her head to the side and drifts smoothly toward me, close enough that I can feel the heat of her thigh pressed right against mine as she settles beside me. It pours gasoline onto the fire already burning through me.
Damn it.
I need to get her talking or I might lose every last bit of my self-control. I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.
“You gonna tell me what’s on that dirty little bucket list of yours?”
Idiot.
That is not gonna help me stop thinking about her naked, but I’ve been dying to know what’s on it ever since she mentioned it.
She shrugs, a sultry smile tugging at her lips. “Depends. You gonna help me check some things off it?”
Jesus, I’m trying to behave here.
“What if you have some real freaky shit on there?” I tease. “Stuff I might need to prepare for mentally—a costume to buy or props.”
That makes her laugh, and the sound goes straight to my dick.
“The only costume you’ll need is the cowboy hat.”
I arch a brow, trying not to look as smug as I feel. “That’s not a costume, honey. That’s a uniform.”
She leans in just a little, eyes glittering with mischief. “I do love a man in uniform.”
“Is that so?”
She hums appreciatively.
My eyes trail over her face—a little flushed from the hot water. My gaze drops to the flimsy pink straps of her bikini, tracing the line over the curve of her breast and lingering for a moment on the slight swell of her cleavage before I force myself to look away.
“You been having inappropriate thoughts about me when I wear it?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Just looks away, her smile flickering like she’s debating whether to admit it. Her cheeks bloom with color, and then—she nods.
Goddamn.
I paste on a teasing grin to mask the surge of heat low in my gut. “I’m scandalized, Quinnie.”
She splashes water at me, laughing softly, but I just shake it off like a dog, sending droplets flying. A few hit her, and she wrinkles her nose, but that playful sparkle is still in her eyes.
She glides through the water to the spot right in front of me, close enough that her knees touch mine beneath the surface. Her smile turns slow and wicked.
“You gonna tell me I shouldn’t be having such inappropriate thoughts about you?”
I give her a crooked smile, the kind that I know is walking a dangerous line. I’m asking for trouble. I know it. But with Quinn this close, her eyes cloaked in a sultry haze and fixed on mine—I don’t give a damn.
“I’ve been thinking highly inappropriate things about you,” I say, voice low, “multiple times a day, every single day since you got here.”
To hell with it. I’ve never said no to Quinn before. I don’t know why I would start now... over a kinky bucket list of all things.
I guess I’ll let myself slide down the slope after all.