Chapter 30 BEAU - Quality Ranch-Grown Muscle
BEAU
Quality ranch-grown muscle
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
"Can't keep my hands to myself, no matter how hard I'm trying to" - Selena Gomez
***
Three days.
It had been seventy-two agonizing, blue-balled hours since the kiss in the hallway that had rewired my entire nervous system. And I was suffering.
I hadn’t gone to her room that night. I’d wanted to—Jesus, I’d stood outside her door at two in the morning, hand hovering over the knob, dick aching so bad it felt like a bruise.
But Pops had been prowling downstairs like a warden with insomnia, and every floorboard in this house squealed like a snitch.
I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk disrespecting the man who’d taken me in or putting Winnie in a position where it felt cheap.
So I’d walked away.
And I’d been walking around with a semi-permanent erection ever since.
Life pretended to go back to normal. I took the board call on Friday, smiled through my teeth, sold my “personal growth sabbatical,” and lied about being focused and alone. Then hung up and told my father, as politely as possible, to back the fuck off.
But nothing felt normal now. Not with the way things had shifted between us.
The air between Winnie and me was heavy. Charged. Every time she walked into a room, my blood ran south. Every time she bent over to check a hoof or reached into the fridge, my brain short-circuited and all my higher functions were replaced by one word: mine.
And she knew it. She was weaponizing it.
It started small. A lingering touch on my forearm. A look across the dinner table that promised sin and a slow death. Her knee pressing just a little too high against my thigh on the couch. But today?
Today she chose violence.
We were in the barn, the afternoon heat suffocating under the tin roof, turning the air thick with dust and dry hay.
I'd stripped my shirt off an hour ago. Sweat ran down my spine, my jeans stuck to my hips, and every muscle I had was screaming in that good, earned way as I hauled bales down from the loft.
I dropped one with a heavy thud, grabbing my water bottle and tipping my head back, chugging like a man dying in the desert.
That’s when I felt it.
Hands slid around my waist from behind—small, firm, warm as sin. I froze, bottle pausing mid-tilt.
Then those hands moved lower. Over my hips. Down to my ass.
She grabbed a full, greedy handful of my ass and squeezed like she’d paid for it.
I choked, water going down the wrong pipe. I coughed, sputtering, nearly dropping the bottle as I spun around. "Winnie—what the hell—"
“Just appreciating the view,” she said, voice low and smug.
She didn’t let go. Her fingers dug into my glutes, thumb sliding along the seam of my jeans in a way that made my cock jerk in interest. She stepped in, pressing her whole body against my bare chest, tank top damp from sweat and work.
“You’ve been holding out on me, cowboy. That’s quality ranch-grown ass right there. ”
Her tits were right there against me—soft, heavy, brushing my skin with every breath she took. I could feel the shape of her nipples through the thin cotton, friction sparking straight to my dick. My shorts hadn’t been this tight since middle school.
“You… you can’t just…” I gestured weakly with the water bottle like that proved a point. My voice came out rough, already wrecked. “I’m trying to work. I’m trying to focus.”
“You are working,” she said, sliding around to my front, dragging her hand across my stomach as she went. “Very hard, actually.”
Her palm skimmed my abs, lingering a little too long at the trail of hair disappearing under my waistband. Then she fisted my belt loop and tugged me closer until my back hit the barn post.
I looked down at her. Big mistake.
Her eyes were dark and blown, pupils swallowing the brown. She looked at me like I was dinner and she was starving.
“Winnie,” I groaned. My hands went to her hips with every intention of pushing her away, but instead I dragged her closer like a fucking idiot. “You’re playing with fire. You have no idea how hard I’ve been for the last three days. I am in actual physical pain.”
“Show me,” she whispered.
Something in me just… snapped.
The water bottle hit the ground and rolled away, forgotten. My hands dropped from her hips to her ass, grabbing two perfect handfuls and squeezing. She made a shocked, breathy sound, and I hauled her against me hard, spreading my feet so she slotted right where I wanted her.
My cock, already thick and heavy, ground directly against the curve of her pelvis. There was no hiding it. I was fucking huge and obvious and beyond caring.
“Fuck,” I hissed, head tipping forward as the friction hit just right. “You feel what you’re doing to me?”
She let out a whimper—quiet but so desperate it shot straight through me. Her fingers curled in the waistband of my jeans, pulling me impossibly closer, like she was trying to fuse us together.
“Is that explicit enough for you?” I growled, dropping my mouth to her neck. I scraped my teeth along the tendon there, nipping hard enough to make her gasp. “Because I’m about two seconds away from pulling my dick out and showing you exactly what three days of not touching you looks like.”
“Beau…” She arched against me, one of her thighs sliding between mine. She rocked up, grinding against my thigh in these tiny, helpless movements that made my vision blur. “Do it. Touch me.”
I kissed her like I’d been dying for it. Because I had.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was hungry, messy, all teeth and tongue and frustration. I devoured her, tasting heat and mint and something that was just Winnie—sharp and sweet and addictive.
My hand slid up under the back of her tank top, fingers finally meeting bare skin. Her back was hot and slick with sweat, muscles shifting under my touch. I found the clasp of her bra and my entire brain honed in on one goal: get this off.
I scraped my free hand up her ribs to her chest, cupping her through the thin cotton. Her breast fit perfectly in my palm, soft and full, nipple already a hard little peak pressing into my hand. I groaned into her mouth and squeezed, not gentle, and she moaned so loud I felt it in my spine.
"You like that?" I murmured against her lips, rolling my thumb over her nipple through the fabric. Her knees buckled a little, her hands flying to my shoulders to steady herself.
"Yes," she gasped. "God, yes."
I slid my hand down the front of her body, over the taut plane of her stomach, stopping at the button of her shorts. I pressed the heel of my palm down, right over her pussy through the denim.
Even through her shorts and her underwear, I could feel the heat there. My dick throbbed in sympathy.
“You’re soaking wet, aren’t you?” I whispered, rubbing slow circles with my thumb right where I knew her clit would be. “You got yourself this worked up grabbing my ass, Win?”
She made a strangled noise that might’ve been my name, might’ve been a prayer. Her hips rocked into my hand, chasing the pressure.
“Please,” she whimpered, head falling back against the post. “Beau, please—”
“WINNIE!”
Cassie’s voice shrieked from the driveway like a goddamn fire alarm, followed by the slam of a truck door. “Get your ass out here! We’ve got plans!”
We tore apart like we’d been hit with a cattle prod.
I staggered back, chest heaving, lungs burning. My cock was straining so hard against my zipper I was genuinely worried about structural damage. Painful didn’t even begin to cover it.
Winnie clung to the post, breathing like she’d just run barrels. Her lips were swollen and pink, hair a wild mess around her shoulders. Her tank top was wrinkled, one bra strap half-off her shoulder, and my handprint was red on the curve of her ass.
I was one second away from dragging her back in.
“Timing,” I managed, voice wrecked. “Your friend has the absolute worst fucking timing in history.”
Winnie laughed, breathless and shaky, trying to smooth her shirt down like that would hide anything. “Rain check, cowboy. And next time? We lock the damn door.”
She stepped up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to my mouth.
It was sweet where everything before had been filthy, and it somehow made it worse.
Then she did the most evil thing she’d done all day—she let her hand drag over the front of my jeans, fingers passing right over my cock in a feather-light brush.
My knees almost buckled. My balls actually hurt.
“Suffering looks good on you,” she murmured, eyes dancing.
“Evil,” I groaned, dropping my head back against the post as she walked away. “You are pure, torturous evil.”
I stayed in the barn, just breathing, for a solid five minutes. Adjusting myself was pointless—there was no angle that made my dick not obvious, and nothing short of a cold shower and a lobotomy was going to calm me down.
When I finally stepped out into the sunlight, Cassie was leaning against her truck, sunglasses on, smirk firmly in place.
“Finally,” she said. “I thought you two had fallen into a hay bale and died in there.”
Winnie was by the passenger side, hair still a little wild, lips suspiciously rosy. She shot me a look that was part apology, part promise.
“Bag packed?” Cassie asked, snagging Winnie’s arm. “We are doing this right. Junk food, karaoke, terrible rom-coms. And don’t think I didn’t hear those noises.”
Winnie flushed scarlet. “We weren’t—how did you—”
Cassie tilted her sunglasses down and pointed straight at my crotch.
I looked down. Yeah. There was no hiding it. My cock was still making its presence very, very known.
“Exhibit A,” Cassie said dryly. “Boy looks like he lost a fight with a horny bull.”
I wanted the ground to swallow me. Or for Winnie to send Cassie to Mars. Either worked.
“I’ll, uh… see you tomorrow,” I managed, voice still rough as sandpaper. I shoved my hands in my pockets like that would do anything about the ridiculous tent situation.
“Bye, Beau.” Winnie’s gaze dropped for one brief, scorching second to my dick, then back to my face. She bit her lip, trying not to smile, and failed spectacularly.
As they pulled away, windows down, I heard Cassie’s delighted cackle float back on the dust.
“Oh my God, girl. He looked like he wanted to eat you alive. Spill. Everything.”
I stood there, half-naked and wholly wrecked, watching the truck disappear down the road.
It was going to be a long, lonely, handsy night.