Chapter Nine
Pinch Me
Jordan
I shrug my jacket off my shoulders and sling it over my arm, still working on my beer as we round Rod’s sister’s house. We hop on a dirt path and, in the distance, I can see the lights on, dim but on, in a small barn with a fenced ring out front.
‘Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.’ I squint like an idiot, but I know ranching and farming well enough to recognize where he’s taking me.
Which, by the way, is absolutely earth-shattering?
We were flirting. Now we’re running away from a party together?
I feel like a high-schooler again, in the best way – the get-away-with-anything way.
My pulse is a million miles a minute. My brain is screaming all kinds of flashing red sirens, alarms going off, freaking out because of holy Rod Wilson.
I steal sneaky glances at his strong forearms, folded-up sleeves, and the way his dark stubble highlights the cut of his jaw.
It gets harder and harder to manage my stolen moments of pining when he starts to return them, and I catch him mid-look.
‘And what if it is?’ The shadow of a smile on his face becomes more obvious as we near the barn, the stables, washed in the light from the dull glow of the bulbs.
‘I would say “nice try” and laugh at you, but you’re a real thoughtful bastard, actually, so I can’t do that.’
‘Perfect. Got myself a good review.’ He holds the door to the barn open for me, that wonderful forearm keeping it from swinging back. ‘Take a look.’
A happy little gasp immediately escapes my mouth when I step in.
The smell of straw and horse stench, as gross as it all is, is home, and I catch that scent immediately.
Stables, for sure. My boots clop against the cobbled floor.
Nice stables. Lamps hang from the gabled rafters, throwing a slight glow over the space.
Horses whinny from behind stall doors. I get the briefest look at one of them, an absolutely majestic roan stallion with a tinge of white on his forehead.
I do an about-face to Rod, who leans against the doorway with a satisfied smile, arms crossed over his Carhartt vest all contently, dark eyes amused beneath long lashes.
‘Five stars,’ I remark as I walk back over to him. ‘A glowing testimonial on Yelp.’
‘Really? Just like that?’
‘Just like that.’ I throw my jacket over a wooden counter off to the side and hike myself up so I’m sitting on the counter itself, my boots just dangling above the ground.
Rod eyes me warily, and then with something that’s decidedly not just wariness. ‘Do you …’
‘Out with it,’ I say, even though my hand is actively clenching my beer bottle in anticipation so hard I think it might shatter to pieces. The air between us feels like it’s trapping electricity.
‘What if …’
‘Holy smokes, Wilson,’ the exasperation finally rolls right off my tongue like the smooth taste of the beer I set down beside me, leaning forward and hopping off the counter. ‘If you’re going to make a move, go on ahead and do it, already—’
His lips crash onto mine at the conclusion of my sentence.
His thumbs are warm against my jaw, and my arms instinctively find a place for themselves across his broad shoulders.
The taste of beer and s’mores is multiplied, washing over my senses.
I am actively kissing Rod Wilson. I am actively. Kissing. Rod Wilson.
Actually. On technicality. Rod Wilson just kissed me.
We pull away, breath quickening on both our parts. My chest heaves against his. I think we’re both a little taken aback. But I know I’m not upset about this development and, judging from the unfiltered longing in Rod’s eyes as he scans my face, I don’t think he is, either.
‘Again?’ I propose ever-so-intelligently in a single breath.
‘Again,’ agrees Rod.
The less I question, the better it feels.
After college years spent settling for mama’s boys and frat guys, tall, dark and handsome hits a little too well.
Rod is just the right amount of slow and gentle, the right amount of desperate to get closer.
One of his hands makes its way down to my hip and pulls me so I’m flush against him.
I grip him to me in turn, my palms pressing into the quilted fabric of his barn vest.
Our kisses become more and more frenzied, picking up pace.
This is better than the dream. It’s so much better than the dream when his lips reach that spot behind my ear, and a muffled moan leaves me, one that I try to stifle into his shoulder.
The hand that had sat on my waist moves to my butt, and I clutch Rod even tighter, fingers tangling themselves in that soft, dark hair of his, as his lips find mine again in a hungry, wild kiss.
We’re in a fucking barn, and I’m losing my mind.
I need every piece of clothing between us anywhere but.
It’s not helping me exercise restraint that he’s still actively got a hand on my ass, and I can feel the evidence of his satisfaction against my thigh.
‘Holy shit,’ he says through heavy breaths. ‘What are we doin’?’
‘Finding a room,’ I suggest, batting a stray hair from my face. ‘We are definitely finding a room.’
It takes about five minutes after bonfire clean-up for us to practically bolt to what I assume is Rod’s house. His daughter is with his sister, the place is lights out, dead silent, and the second we’re through the door, it’s open season.
My jacket is the first to go, and his vest is next.
We stumble down the hallway, greedily stealing kisses, literally unable to keep our hands off one another.
The stairs are a test of wills. I lead the way, taking them backwards, grinning cheekily down at Rod, who’s not far behind.
At the top, our bodies collide, my back to the nearest wall, a photo frame somewhere to my left clacking in protest, but I don’t hesitate to grab a fistful of Rod’s Henley and tug him right to me.
His fingers play at the nape of my neck before following the curves of my body down to the hem of my tank top.
Our shirts are discarded somewhere along the route to his bedroom.
He’s everything I dreamed of – literally – and more.
Those defined muscles flex beneath my hands as if at my command, making my legs go a little weaker with every touch.
I’m working at the button of his jeans by the time he shoves the door to the bedroom open, and it smacks the wall behind it.
I hear something fall. Neither of us gives a shit.
I wiggle right out of my own jeans and toss them somewhere, potentially onto a nearby lamp, before returning my attention to the admittedly beautiful man whose gaze drinks me in with, dare I say, admiration.
Unbelievable. Six-pack. Messy hair. He is beautiful.
‘C’mere,’ he says in that low rumble that does me right in.
He guides me towards him by my waist, and his lips cover mine, hard and deep, as we fall backward onto the bed.
His jeans and boxers are discarded on the floor within the next minute.
He unhooks my bra and tosses it right in the pile with the rest of the clothes, his touch a little needy, a little reverent. ‘You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,’ he murmurs.
He seems to know all of the good things, because he explores every inch of my body with as much of that reverence. It’s not overstating it to say that every touch has me melting. Never, ever have I been touched like this, like it’s the only thing that matters in this moment.
Eventually, his fingers find their way between my legs, and he wastes zero time getting to that sensitive spot that has my nails digging into his back.
‘That good?’ Between kisses, his voice is just as irresistible. The silver pendant around his neck is a cool kiss to my chest. If this is a dream (again), don’t pinch me. I want every second of it.
‘Mm-hmm.’
I feel him slide the fabric of my panties to the side, and his unfiltered touch has me pleading to him. ‘Oh my … Rod.’
‘You’re soaked,’ he murmurs against my jaw.
No shit, Sherlock.
Once I regain composure, I press my lips to his, let my hand travel all the way down to his rock-hard erection, and just like that, he’s at my mercy with a groan into my neck.
His grip finding mine, he takes my hand, brings it up to him with a brush of his lips across my knuckles. ‘Are you okay? Am I—’
I nod, my eyes squeezing shut involuntarily when I feel him right up against the heat between my legs, and my hips steer their way towards him. ‘Yes. Yes, just … please.’
He knows exactly what he’s doing, grinding against me once, twice, until my heels dig into him in an attempt to drag him closer still. Moan after moan escapes my throat when he teases me, to no avail.
‘Wait,’ he groans, and reaches across me to the dresser drawer, grabbing a condom, ripping it open, and rolling it on.
Back to me, his next word – my name, punctuated with need – is wrapped in a sweet kiss.
He brushes a hair from my forehead with one hand, his other in mine, braced at the side of my head, and I clutch him close.
I can practically feel myself throb against him, feel him getting closer to me, the heaving of his breathing as he squeezes my hand, my rings digging into his skin.
When he drives his way inside, I clench around him almost immediately, my body tensing. He covers my whimper with his lips, and then another slow pump that crashes over me when he hits that perfect spot just right. ‘Damn, Jordan.’
‘Keep going,’ I breathe, my fingers tangled in his hair. ‘Keep going, Rod, I swear …’
‘Yeah.’ The word is barely audible, but the next thrust is earth-shattering.
And the next. And the next. Until he’s picking up the pace, the headboard of this bed fighting the wall, and all at once, the pressure building up in my entire body feels like it reaches a fever pitch, then release, a cry that I’m sure fucking bounces off the walls.
He comes not long after me with a groan of relief muffled by my neck, and as our bodies go limp, our breaths synchronized, he presses a kiss into my hair, gently pulling out before rolling over to his back so my head falls to his chest. It feels like I’ve just gotten the slightest hit, and I crave more.
Shit, I need more.