24. Mollie
CHAPTER 24
Mollie
brEAKFAST IN BED
I wake up sore and smelling like Cash.
The scent of his body wash rises off my skin. Burying my face in the pillow, I smell his detergent too.
For such a filthy-minded guy who has a very dirty job, Cash keeps a very clean house. Because he’s not delicious enough with his hats and his thoughtfulness and his big, athletic, obscenely gorgeous body, he also lives like a real human. One who has real interests and whose house feels like a real home. I’ve been to Palmer’s place a few times, and while it’s in a nice building in a nice part of uptown Dallas, it’s sterile—from the expensive but bland furniture no one ever uses to the empty shelves in the living room.
Cash’s place is cozy. Comfortable. Lived in.
I love it.
The window across the room is open. It’s early, the light barely gray. The rain has stopped, and now a cool, crisp breeze blows into the room. My heart leaps at the thought that autumn has finally arrived.
Somehow, Cash and I are still spooning.
Somehow, I’m still turned on, despite the pair of epic orgasms he gave me last night .
Ordinarily, I’d feel a flare of panic. I make it a point to never overstay my welcome at a guy’s place. Mornings can be awkward, and no one is a fan of the walk of shame. Usually, I prefer to get laid and get gone.
But Cash made it crystal clear he wanted me to stay. And, yeah, the fact that he got in a fistfight over me makes me feel…
Wanted. Adored. Safe , as messed up as that sounds.
And really, what did I have to lose by spending the night at Cash’s cabin? If things get awkward, the pain will be temporary. I’m not staying in Hartsville longer than I have to. Definitely not long-term.
But listening to Cash’s deep, even breathing behind me—feeling his warm, hard body wrapped around me—kinda makes me wish I were.
Oh my God, do I want to stay on the ranch?
Even if I did, could I? What about Mom? And Bellamy Brooks? Wheeler can’t do the heavy lifting forever. My whole life is in Dallas.
Except I suddenly, unexpectedly have a life here too. And as much as I love the city…
I think I’m totally falling in love with the country too.
Then again, that could very well have something to do with the incredible sex I had with the incredibly attractive man beside me. But is Cash just part and parcel of why I’m enjoying life on the ranch so much? There are always people around. People who care, who give a shit about the right things: family, being outdoors, looking after each other and the land.
I like my life in Dallas. But even though it’s a huge city and there are technically always people around there too, I don’t feel the same sense of connection to those people that I do to Patsy, or Wyatt, or even Ella. In Dallas, everyone’s always in such a rush.
Here, we gather around a table three times a day. We eat real food. We use our bodies instead of sitting in front of a screen all day. The heat is brutal, but seeing the sun rise over the Hill Country makes all the sweat worth it. Feeling that connection with nature is life-giving.
I get what Jen was talking about when she said her life is more vibrant in a small town. There’s just a real sense of community here, of family, that I feel like I’ve been missing in Dallas.
I miss Mom. I miss shopping. I miss sleeping in my own bed.
But I wonder if I’d miss this more? Sleeping in this man’s bed, a man who knows what he wants? A man who puts the people he loves above everything else? Windows open, homemade breakfast imminent?
Speaking of breakfast, although Patsy will have stocked the fridge with oodles of leftovers from the week, I like the idea of making breakfast in bed for Cash. We were up late last night. And, yeah, I feel like making him an omelet is the least I can do after he defended my honor like some old-timey Clint Eastwood character in a Western.
Maybe— maybe —if I make Cash breakfast, I’ll be able to convince him to stay in bed with me all morning. I definitely want to have sex again. And I definitely think Cash could use a day off.
He turns his head on the pillow so that he’s facing me. I hold my breath, hoping I didn’t wake him, but he continues to breathe deeply, evenly, his face expressionless with sleep.
I can’t believe I’m up before him. And yet I totally can. The man is beyond exhausted. Honestly, when was the last time he slept in?
Seeing him this close in the morning light, I notice all the freckles he has. They dot his nose and cheeks, and a few darker ones are spread out over his neck.
I resist the urge to reach out and trace the little maps they make with my finger .
My pulse panics. I can’t remember the last time I wanted to linger in a man’s bed. Much less the last time I wanted to linger over a man. But here I am, my fingers itching to express the achy tenderness inside my chest.
Is that such a bad thing?
The question has me thinking about Dad. He turned away from this kind of vulnerability.
That had to be one of his biggest regrets.
There’s a whisper in the back of my head. A catch, like pieces of a puzzle coming together.
I imagine it’s a regret Dad wouldn’t want me to have. And the person who’s opened me up the most over the past few weeks, who’s encouraged me to turn toward vulnerability, has been none other than Cash Rivers.
No way Dad intentionally brought us together, knowing we’d end up being good for each other.
No fucking way, right?
Shoving the ridiculous idea aside, I slip out of bed and head to the bathroom. I turn on the light and nearly gasp when I see the bruises on my wrists.
Cash tied me up last night. With his belt . It hurt, and it was awesome.
I brush my teeth using the toothbrush I brought with me from the New House. I forgot to take out my contacts last night, and my eyes burn a little. Idiot move, but really, how could I not have fallen asleep with Cash wrapped around me, the rain making music on the tin roof?
I creep back out to the bedroom and dig a clean white T-shirt out of the dresser by the door.
It smells like Cash. I pull it over my head and then spend a minute or two hunting for my underwear. I remember Cash putting it in the back pocket of his jeans, but I can’t find them in the semi-darkness. Luckily, his shirt covers my butt, so I tiptoe out of the room, closing the door carefully behind me.
Because Cash is a real human being, of course he has real food in his fridge. Kinda surprising, considering he has Patsy to cook for him all week. I find eggs, cheese, and a jar of salsa, along with half-and-half and butter. I get the coffeepot going first, and then I find a pan and get to work on some spicy omelets.
I watch the sky brighten the window above the sink, filling the cabin with soft amber light. The coffeepot gurgles, making the room smell delicious. I open the front door and keep it open when I find a screened door in front of it, allowing that lovely breeze in.
Melting far too much butter in a battered cast iron pan, I wonder if I’ve ever been happier or if I’m just basking in some kind of post-sex glow. I’m tired, and there’s a twinge between my legs anytime I move. A reminder of how…thorough Cash was.
I blush when I think about him touching me there after we had sex. What he did was obscene. A little weird.
And so fucking hot, I’m squeezing my thighs together thinking about it. I’ve never been with someone who…marked me like that, I guess. Are all cowboys so wildly possessive? Or is it just Cash?
Is it Cash, but only when he’s with me?
My stomach flips along with the omelet I turn over in the pan. This man is turning me inside out. He’s turning me into someone I never thought I was. Or maybe I’ve always been this woman; she’s just been buried underneath old resentments and untrue stories she’s made up to bury her own hurt.
The chatter and chirp of birds drift through the screen door. I’m sliding the first omelet onto a plate when a voice sounds behind me.
“Nice shirt.”
Glancing over my shoulder, my heart stutters, then stops altogether.
Cash is standing at the threshold, holding on to one of the wooden beams that span the length of the kitchen’s low ceiling. He’s wearing a pair of brown Carhartt sweats and nothing else. His scruff is especially thick, and his hair is tucked behind his ears.
With his arms extended above his head like this, the sides of his torso bulge outward, making him look huge .
Also, how did I not appreciate how lush his chest hair was last night? And that thick, unapologetically furry happy trail—it’s like a dark arrow that leads my eyes exactly where they shouldn’t be.
I can see the outline of his cock through his sweats. He’s not hard, but he’s thick enough that I can see it as he drops his arms and saunters across the kitchen.
His eyes are piercingly blue in the early morning light.
“He-hey,” I sputter. “Thanks. Thank you?”
His lips twitch as he wraps his arms around my waist and melts his front to my back. I nearly pass out from pleasure when he presses a scruffy kiss to my nape.
“Whatcha makin’?” His accent is thicker in the morning. And his voice—the deep, sleepy rumble of it—makes my nipples hard.
“Eggs. What else?”
His mouth moves up my neck, heat blooming to life between my legs. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.” My breath catches when he nips at my jaw. “I also wanted to bring it to you in bed.”
His hand is on the outside of my leg now, moving up. “I wanted to do something else in bed first.”
“How are you not starving?”
“I am. For you.” He rocks his hips, and that’s when I feel his growing erection press into my backside. That was quick. “Turn off the burner.”
“But the omelet?—”
“Can be reheated.” He hisses when he discovers I’m not wearing underwear, his hand on my hip. “Fuck, honey.”
“You stole them, remember? My panties? ”
He chuckles, a dark, masculine sound. “You ain’t ever gettin’ those back.”
His fingers dive south. I drop the spatula when he finds me, parting me with his first and second fingers. Then he slips one of those fingers inside, moving easily through my slickness.
He grunts. “Wet already. You gotta let me take care of this.”
I turn off the burner. Let out a little moan when his other hand slips inside my shirt and he kneads my breast, flicking my nipple with his thumb. Arousal slices through my center. He circles his finger over my clit.
My legs begin to shake.
“You sore?” he asks against my neck.
I nod. “A little. But not enough to?—”
Before I know what’s happening, he’s spinning me around and lifting me onto the countertop beside the stove. The motion scatters the pair of plates and silverware I set out, sending them across the counter, but Cash doesn’t seem to mind.
Instead, he lifts his shirt over my head and tosses it aside. His gaze darkens as it trails over my naked body, stopping to linger on my tits. He reaches out and takes one in his hand.
He frowns when he glances at my wrists. “Aw, honey, I’m so sorry.” He takes them in his hands. “This hurt? I feel fucking awful?—”
“I’m fine. I liked it.”
His eyes flicker. “Course you did.”
“Seriously, Cash, I’m okay.”
In reply, he brings one wrist to his lips and kisses the bruises there. Does the same with the other wrist.
When he’s done, he steps forward, settling himself between my legs. Then he tilts his head and leans in.
His kiss is soft but hot. It’s the kind of kiss you can’t help but fall into. One that makes your head spin and your heart sing, a poignant reminder of the sweetness of being alive and being here. Right now. In this kitchen, with this man.
I glide my hands up his chest before wrapping my arms around his neck and bracketing his hips with my knees, pulling him closer. He tastes like toothpaste and smells like him, that clean, crisp soap. Hint of detergent, probably from the sheets.
Need thumps inside my skin, a growing beat that gathers between my legs. Cash reaches down to gently stroke my clit with his thumb. Desire streaks through my core, and I roll my hips into his touch.
I need him. Now. I don’t know if this is the first and last time I’ll get to have morning sex with Cash, and I’m not about to waste any time.
I glide my hands down his sides, marveling at the thick bulges and slopes of his body.
He growls into my mouth when I hook my fingers into the waistband of his sweats. I pull them down, his cock jutting against my hand. I wrap my fingers around him, firming my grip how he likes before giving him a tug.
He’s enormous and hot, heavy with need. I use my thumb to swirl his pre-cum over his tip. He growls again. His thumb works faster over my clit, his tongue licking into my mouth.
A blinding, beautiful pressure fills me, the need for release making me short of breath. I dig my other hand into the hair at Cash’s nape and hold on, squeezing my eyes shut as I’m overcome by searing sensation.
I come. Cash’s name is on my lips as I whimper, powerless against the onslaught. Then he’s taking himself in his hand and he’s putting himself inside me, the pressure enormous as his thick head pushes forward.
I’m still coming when he glides inside me on a smooth, deep thrust. All the sensation—the pressure, the pain, the release, the tenderness—it’s overwhelming. I grab at Cash, my legs shaking, and he responds by hooking an arm around my waist and pulling me to him, holding me up while he rocks into me. He holds me close , close enough that I’m able to bury my head in his neck.
His warmth, his strength, is the comfort I didn’t know I needed.
“I got you, honey,” he murmurs against my cheek. “You’re gonna be okay.”
Cash kisses my nose, my chin. My lips and my forehead.
Emotion clogs my windpipe. I have never felt…less used or more cared for in my entire life.
My orgasm lingers, stoked to continuous life by Cash’s thrusts. He keeps an even, steady pace. The soreness between my legs dissipates, pleasure rising in its wake.
Cash and I are having sex on the kitchen counter, too needy to make it to the bed. But somehow, the sex is slow and gentle. Deep. The way morning sex should be.
Then again, I haven’t had a ton of morning sex, so I’m far from an expert. But this is nice.
Really, really nice.
Cash jerks his hips, and then I feel a hot rush inside me. The smell of sex blooms between us as he sinks his teeth into my shoulder, biting back a howl.
It hurts, and I know it’ll leave a mark. But that just turns me on more. I love how unafraid Cash is to just go for it. His passion is so unlike Palmer’s impersonal ministrations. Cash has this earthiness about him—maybe it comes from being out in nature and working with animals 24/7, I don’t know—but he’s at home with his body and with mine too.
Sex may be natural, but there’s plenty about it that can be gross. Not for Cash, though. He relishes all of it. The mess, the intensity. The aftermath.
None of it scares him. Maybe I shouldn’t let it scare me, either.
At last, when Cash is able to speak, he kisses my mouth and says, “Mornin’, honey. ”
I throw back my head and laugh, silliness mingling with the bigger, deeper feelings inside my chest. “Good morning, cowboy. Can I finish making you breakfast in bed now?”
He pulls back to look at me. “You really like takin’ care of people, don’t you?”
“Learned from the best.” I touch a finger to his chest. “So let me take care of you. I know you probably have a million things to do this morning on the ranch, but I propose you don’t do any of them and stay in bed with me instead.”
The edges of his eyes crinkle as he searches my face. “I do have a million things to do.”
“Make me all of them.”
He laughs, a deep rumble in his chest. “You’re bad.”
“You’re tempted.”
“Hell yeah, I’m tempted.” Reaching up, he swipes his thumb over my lips. “This is just…new territory for me. Ain’t easy to let go.”
There’s a catch in my chest at his earnestness. “The ranch did just fine the other day when you quit early to take care of me. How many times do I have to catch you before you learn I’ll never ever let you fall on your face?” I hold up my littlest finger. “You said you got me. Pinkie promise I got you.”
He looks down at my pinkie and blinks. For a second, I worry I’ve crossed some kind of line. I’m being too cheesy. Too vulnerable.
I’m asking for too much.
But then Cash hooks his broad pinkie through mine. “All right.”
Two simple words, but they feel momentous. For someone as tirelessly responsible and careful as Cash, it’s a big step to play hooky. Even bigger step to play hooky with me.
The thought makes my chest swell.
“What do I say when people ask where we are?” He puts his hands on my hips and pulls out of me carefully. “I know you’re worried about what they’ll think. ”
I watch him put his sweats back on before he reaches for my shirt and pulls it over my head. “I am worried. But I guess I’m slightly less worried knowing we’re in this together now? Maybe we just say we’re spending time together and leave it at that. Could always play it like we’re working on ranch stuff. Logistics. Big-picture planning.”
He eyes me. “I actually would like to talk about that.”
My stomach clenches. I want to talk about it too. But truth is, I don’t know what my plans for Lucky Ranch are anymore. When I got here, all I wanted was to get my money and get the hell out of Hartsville. I planned to sell the ranch as soon as I was able to.
Now, though, that idea doesn’t sit right. At all. Which leaves me…where, exactly? If I wanted to keep the ranch, my life would have to change completely. I suppose I could live in Dallas and let Cash run operations here. But that also doesn’t sit right.
Maybe because I want to run things too. Not in Cash’s place, but beside him. We do make a shockingly great team.
But that team could easily be torn apart by the sex we just had. What if things get awkward? What if it inevitably doesn’t work out, and Cash quits on me?
What if he breaks my heart?
“We got time,” Cash says softly. “All day, as a matter of fact.”
Swallowing, I manage a scoff. “You’re really good at that.”
“Good at what?”
“Reading my mind.” I put my hands on his shoulders.
He helps me get down from the counter, hands still on my hips. “I pay attention.”
Stickiness runs down the inside of my leg. My eyes catch on my bruised wrists. The bite on my shoulder smarts.
This man is wrecking me. Claiming me so that every time I move—every breath I take—I think of him.
I’m hit by the urge to cry. Not because I’m sad, but because I’m just so overwhelmed by Cash’s ardent attention. The things he makes me feel are big and loud, and it’s terrifying to think I’ve stepped over some kind of boundary, walked off some kind of cliff, without even realizing it.
And I know it’s too late to go back, because the last thing I want to do is the sane thing—the safe thing—and leave.
I turn back to the stove and light the burner. I don’t have to ask Cash if he wants cheese in his omelet or hot sauce on the side. He doesn’t have to ask me if I want cream and sugar in my coffee.
We know each other now.
I like knowing Cash this way.
I manage a smile. “I love it.”