Chapter 9 #2
Lennox is staring out the window at the operation below, and something in her expression has shifted. Not happiness, but something close to relief.
“You can see everything from here,” she says in awe.
“That’s the point.” I climb out and start unloading bags. “My great-great-grandfather positioned it exactly here so he could watch the entire operation. Know what was happening, where the problems were, and see his legacy spread out before him.”
She gets out slowly, still looking at the view. The late afternoon sun casts everything in gold, making the whole operation look like something out of a Western painting. Beautiful. Brutal. Real.
“This is more like home,” she admits. Then seems to realize what she said. “Not that it matters.”
“It matters.” I carry the bags toward the front porch, the wood creaking under my boots. “You’re going to be spending a lot of time here, Lennox. Might as well like the view.”
The front door is a heavy timber door with original iron hardware.
I push it open, and the smell hits immediately: old wood, leather, history.
A stone fireplace dominates the living room, enhancing the exposed timber beams. Leather furniture that is quality but worn.
Hardwood floors that have been walked on for over a century and a half and hold the wear of the people who came before.
It’s nothing like my modern penthouse in Monterey Cove. This is Texas.
I set the bags down and turn to find Lennox still standing outside, staring at the ranch below like it’s the last piece of something familiar in a world that has gone entirely wrong.
“Come inside,” I say. “We have three hours before cocktails, and I want you again.”
That snaps her attention back to me. “Seriously?”
“Yes.” I walk back to the doorway, leaning against the frame.
“You’re my wife, Lennox. I can have you whenever I want.
And I want you now.” The memory of how tight she’d been, how she’d gasped, whimpered and come for me, sent blood rushing to my cock.
“Three hours is plenty of time to fuck you and let you clean up before dinner.”
“Sebastian—”
I move fast, reaching for her wrist and pulling her inside, kicking the door shut behind us. She stumbles against me, and I catch her, one hand in her hair, the other gripping her ass through her dress.
“You were perfect just now,” I murmur against her mouth. “Playing the happy bride, even though they know the truth.” I kiss her hard, biting her bottom lip. “You deserve a reward.”
“I don’t want a—” She stops talking as my hand goes between her legs, cupping her, feeling the heat.
“Your pussy’s already getting wet,” I whisper against her ear. “You know you want me.”
“But—”
I back her against the stone wall in the entryway, my hand still between her legs, applying pressure right where she is most sensitive. She gasps, her head falling back against the limestone.
“We can’t,” she manages. “Your family, someone could…” She moans before she can finish her protest.
“No one’s coming here. This is my house. My property.” The slit in the front of the dress gives me easy access to her—fucking hell—bare pussy. My little vixen didn’t put her panties back on. “Where are your panties, Lennox?”
“I didn’t want panty lines,” she says with an arch of her brow.
“No, we would hate for that to happen.” I chuckle as I slip my hand to her center, finding her soaking wet, hot and ready despite her feeble protests. She moans when my fingers find her clit, her hips bucking forward involuntarily.
“That’s it,” I growl. “Give me what I want.”
I work her with my fingers, rough and demanding, watching her face. Her hands come up to my chest, whether to push me away or pull me closer, I’m not sure; she doesn’t seem to know either.
Then, voices outside. Distant but approaching.
“Sebastian?” a man’s voice I don’t recognize calls out. “Are you there?”
Lennox’s eyes fly open, panic replacing the haze of arousal. She shoves at me, trying to push me away, but I hold her pinned for another few seconds, my fingers still moving, making her bite back a moan.
“Almost got caught,” I whisper. “How would you explain this? Your new husband finger-fucking you in the entryway?”
“Let me go,” she pleads before she bites the corner of her lip.
I pull my hand free and step back, bringing my fingers to my mouth, licking them clean while she watches in a haze of desire despite herself.
“Be right there!” I call out, adjusting myself.
Lennox scrambles to sort her dress out, her face flushed, her breathing ragged. I smooth her hair down where I’ve messed it, fix her clothes, make her presentable again.
I open the door and stare into the face of the sheriff. He is absolutely not who I want to see right now. “Sheriff, what can I do for you?”
“Heard you were back in town and thought I’d pay a visit. May I come in?” he asks as he moves closer to me, basically pushing his way in. He stops when he sees Lennox. He removes his hat. “Ma’am, I’m Sheriff Morrison.”
“Nice to meet you. Lennox Drake,” she says, politely holding out her hand for him to shake.
“My bride, Sheriff. Now can we get to why you’re out here? We just got home, and we’d like to unpack,” I say as I cross my arms.
“Just wanted to make sure there won’t be any trouble while you’re here. Thomas Marshall is still pretty worked up about that land, you don’t need to go provoking him.” Sheriff Morrison works the hat in his hands.
“Did Marshall send you out here to warn me?” I move closer to him and drop my voice low.
“I don’t think I need to remind you who put you in this job, and who tops up your pay, do I?
” I question, and the man’s face blanches and then goes red.
“Do I need to make changes to your position in this town?”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” he says. “I was just pointing out that we don’t need trouble. I’ll let you get back to your homecoming. It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Drake. Congratulations on your nuptials.” He puts his hat back on and walks out of the house, closing the door behind him.
“What was that about?” Lennox asks, frowning.
“Absolutely nothing. Right now, we have unfinished business.”
“Sebastian, we have to be at cocktails in three hours.”
“Then I’d better make this quick.”
“We can’t do this again,” she says, but her voice lacks any sort of conviction.
“Yes, we can.” I pull her to me, pinning her against me. “Because you’re mine. And I take what’s mine when I want.”
I kiss her hard, swallowing her protests, as I slip my hand into the V of her dress and cup her breast.
“Do you want me to stop?” I ask as I let my hand drift to the slit of her dress again. I might be a bastard, but I’m not going to take her against her will.
“No,” she breathes, lifting her hips, grinding them against my hand. “Don’t stop.”