Chapter 20
A Little Dirty
Quinn
I’m sweaty, sore, and covered in all manner of disgusting things. I hadn’t even bothered changing into scrubs before tacking up Cash and rushing out to the pasture. Luckily I hadn’t still been in town visiting Pops when Tripp called.
I might have spent the years since I graduated working in the city as a small animal vet, but I did large animal rotations in school, not to mention spending every summer out here watching Dr. Dillard and Pops whenever anything went wrong.
Thankfully, rolling the dam worked. Once the uterus was untwisted, she calved with no secondary complications.
“You did good, sis,” Wes says from the corner of the stable where he’s hanging up Luci’s saddle while Tripp adds hay to the feeders.
I close my eyes and lean against the stable wall, exhaustion settling over me. “Just doing my job.”
“Sawyer’s got dinner ready for us at our house,” he says. His gaze drifts over my filthy clothes. “After you shower.”
I snort, glancing at the streaks of mud and God knows what else plastered on his jeans. “You’re no better.”
He shrugs, grinning. “My girl likes me dirty.”
“Oh, gross. Wes!”
“Nothin’ wrong with a girl who isn’t afraid to get a little dirty.” Tripp winks. "Isn't that right, Quinnie?"
“I know you're not stupid enough to be making dirty jokes about my sister right in front of me,” Wes growls. "I'll fucking throttle you."
I shoot Tripp a warning look, but my lips twitch when his dimples flash with that playful smile.
“Behave,” I mouth.
He shakes his head back and forth. “Oh, I never behave, Quinnie. You should know that by now,” he says, voice low.
“I’ll see you two back at the house in a bit. Hurry up. I’m starving, and Sawyer won’t let me eat until everyone’s there.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll hurry.” I push off the wall and head to the house, Tripp hot on my heels as Wes climbs into his old pickup.
Tripp’s fingers wrap around my wrist just as I reach the doorway, pulling me to a stop. He glances down the drive, making sure Wes’ truck is out of sight before stepping in close.
“You really were amazing today,” he murmurs, curling a finger through my belt loop and tugging me into him.
I exhale a soft laugh. “It was nothing. Just doing my job.”
He shakes his head slowly. “It was sexy as hell watching you work, seeing you so confident and capable.”
“Oh, yeah?”
He nods, eyes darkening as he backs me into the doorframe. One hand braces above my head while the other lingers at my hip, caging me in place as we stand nose to nose. “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
My gaze collides with his, and he smirks at me, like he knows having him this close has my heart rioting in my chest and my stomach so full of butterflies I might burst.
His other hand slips into my hair, anchoring me gently as he leans in. “I’ve been dyin’ to kiss you all damn day, but your brother was always there.”
“What’s stopping you now, Casanova?”
His lips hover over mine, stoking the anticipation until it’s crackling beneath my skin. Then he finally kisses me—slow and languid—like we have all the time in the world. It’s tender and unhurried and makes my thoughts scatter.
The sweat, the dirt, Wes and Sawyer waiting for us—it all falls away. None of it matters when he's kissing me like this.
I melt into him, arching for more. My fingers slide under his shirt and tease the waistband of his jeans. His warm breath ghosts over my lips in a shaky exhale.
He deepens the kiss, his mouth slanting over mine with more urgency. Despite the damp chill in the air, I’m on fire with his body flush against mine.
His hands grip my ass, and he lifts me effortlessly as I wrap my legs around his hips. My back scrapes against the doorframe as he grinds against me, pleasure shooting through me.
He swallows the low moan that tears from my throat when I feel the hard, hot press of him against my center.
“Oh God, Tripp.”
He smiles against my mouth. “I told myself I was just gonna kiss you.” He rolls his hips once more, my breath catching in my throat. “But you want me to make you come again, don’t you?”
“Mm-hmm.”
His fingers dig into my ass as he rocks into me again with his denim-clad length pressing right where I’m hot and wet and aching.
“The problem is, Quinnie,” he murmurs, voice all gravel and sin, “we don’t have time.” He sets me on my feet. “Because your brother and Sawyer are waiting for us back at the house.”
I whimper, my heart still thundering in my chest.
“And we both still need to shower.”
The lust-filled haze lifts slightly. How long have we spent kissing on the porch?
I drop my head back to the doorframe, catching my breath. My legs are shaky, and I’m pretty sure the only thing keeping me upright are his firm hands still on my hips.
“Shit,” I rasp.
He chuckles again, low and dark. “I wouldn’t have guessed I’d be the responsible one in this pairing.”
“I can’t help it. You turn me back into a hormone-driven teenager.”
It’s insane that one kiss from Tripp Matthews can make every single thought in my head disappear. Poof. Like magic.
“I made you come once, and now you’ve got a one-track mind.”
I groan. “Don’t let it go to your head, Casanova.”
A rich grumble rattles in his throat. “Later,” he says, “I’m gonna make you come so hard that you see stars.”
And with that promise, he bounds off the porch and gets in his truck, lips curved in a devilish grin.
At supper, Sawyer informs everyone Pops will come home from the nursing home next week. I try to concentrate on making a mental list of everything I can do to make Pops' homecoming a smooth transition, but it’s hard to focus when Tripp is sitting so close.
His arm brushes mine while Sawyer and Wes talk about all the progress being made on the ranch. I shift in my seat, trying not to think about how hot and hard Tripp felt pressed up against me while we made out on the porch.
Luckily, supper isn’t a long, drawn-out affair. We’ve all been running around like crazy trying to get things done, and tomorrow will be just as busy. After helping clear the plates, Tripp and I say our goodbyes and slowly walk toward the driveway.
“You have a copy of that naughty little bucket list of yours for me yet?” he asks, voice low and teasing.
I fight a smile. “No.”
“Why not?”
I shrug. I do have a list, but it still feels weird spilling all my dirty desires to anyone. Even Tripp.
“Are you gonna need some tequila to loosen that tongue so you can tell me all the depraved things you dream about doing with me?”
I glance back at the house instinctively, heart thudding, like Wes somehow heard that.
“Probably,” I murmur.
I’ve never spoken so openly with anyone about sex. I’m not used to it. And while I feel safe with Tripp and trust him wholeheartedly, part of me is still unsure of how to voice my desires.
“Come over.” He moves toward me, but his eyes flick to the house and he steps back again, like he doesn’t trust himself not to touch me if he gets any closer. “I want to make you come again.”
“Okay,” I say a little breathlessly.
He hops in his truck with a cocky smile, and I climb into my car, following him down the long gravel driveway. My fingers tighten on the steering wheel as I replay what he just said.
I want to make you come again.
By the time we pull up to his house, my whole body is on edge, humming in anticipation.
When we get inside, he wastes no time pulling out a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. He fills them both before handing me one and clinking it with his.
“To kinky bucket lists,” he says, knocking it back in one smooth motion.
I toss mine back and swallow as it burns its way down my throat.
He steps closer, his hands already gripping my hips as he backs me against the kitchen island—like he can’t keep himself from touching me a single second longer.
“Tell me what you want to try, Quinnie.”
He leans in, tequila still lingering on his breath, arms bracketing me in.
“Everything,” I whisper, a gentle buzz warming my skin.
He gives me a crooked grin. “I'm a little rusty. Everything might overwhelm me. Maybe we should start slow.”
I want to feel dirty and raw and out of control with need. I want to stop thinking and just let myself want. But I’m not sure how to tell him all that.
So I swallow hard and nod.
“Tell me one thing you want tonight.”
“Your mouth,” I say without a second thought.
He cocks his head to the side. “Where do you want my mouth?”
I remember exactly how his mouth had felt on mine back at the ranch—how he’d teased my nipple with his tongue and teeth last night in the hot tub. And I can imagine how good that five o’clock shadow will feel scraping against my thighs as he kisses his way to where I’m aching.
I smile. “Everywhere.”
He doesn’t waste any time. His lips crash into mine, and I open as he licks into my mouth. My fingers thread through his hair, and I swallow his low moan.
He’s everywhere. Just like I asked.
One hand grips my ass while the other roams up my shirt, callouses scraping across my bare breast.
“Jesus, Quinn,” he pants against my mouth. “You’re not wearing a bra?”
I breathe out a laugh. “I don’t need one. My boobs are tiny.”
He shakes his head. “They’re perfect.” He cups one in his palm, swiping his thumb across my nipple.
I shiver against him. “Oh God.”
He kisses me again—slower this time, deeper. It's enough to make my knees weak and pleasure slowly unfurl in my core. He pulls back just enough to speak against my lips.
“What else, honey?” he murmurs. “Tell me what you want.”
My pulse stutters as his gaze collides with mine. I know exactly what I want. I’ve been thinking about it, craving it. But the words are stuck in my throat.
He kisses the corner of my jaw, soft and patient. "You can tell me.”
I close my eyes and force the words past my lips. “I don’t want it sweet and innocent,” I whisper. “I want it messy. Dirty.”
He stills—just for a beat—then lets out a low, guttural groan against my neck.
“Fuck, Quinn. You have no idea what hearing you say that does to me.”