11 | Cleanin’ up 🔥🔥
COLTON
Clementine looks at me like I just told her to… well, strip for me, I guess.
“Do what now, Colton McGraw?”
I tip my chin at the soiled fabric. “Can’t go walkin’ ’round covered in birth juices, can we?”
Her eyes are wide, flitting between me and her blouse.
Wells clears his throat behind us. “I’ll just… mosey on outta here so y’all can… deal with that.” He turns on his heel and walks out, closing the barn door behind him. Good man.
I arch a brow at Clementine, steady and unhurried. “Go on, then,” I coax.
She goes to cross her arms but stops, remembering the stains on her chest. “Let me get this straight. You saunter in last minute, just here for the show, and then expect… another show?”
I nod once. “I’m just sayin’, Tiny. That came out the hind end of a heifer. I wouldn’t wanna be struttin’ around in that.”
She narrows her eyes, but I see her think it over. Her hands find the clean edges of her blouse, tugging it from her waistband. She starts to yank it over her head, but I stop her with a low murmur.
“Don’t. It’ll drag through your hair, baby girl. Unbutton it.” My mouth pulls into a grin I can’t quite hide as I add, “Slowly.”
Every damn emotion known to mankind flickers across her face, but then she gives me that chin tilt and reaches for the first button.
“Fine,” she says, eyes locked on mine, and I feel the shift in our power dynamic.
One by one, she undoes them, revealing more and more of the slice of heaven she keeps hidden beneath. She shrugs off the wet fabric and tosses it onto a fence post. “Now what?”
About fifty answers roar up in me, none of them appropriate. I swallow hard, taking her in—soft, golden skin, her nipples poking through the thin, lilac lace of her bra. She plants her fists on her hips, challenging me, that familiar stubbornness burning in her eyes.
“Now you get to choose,” I tell her, voice dropping low. “Decent thing to do would be grabbing you a jacket from that closet.” I nod toward it. “Fair thing to do would be stripping mine off, too.”
My cock twitches under my jeans when her gaze drops to my sweat-damp flannel clinging to me.
She stays silent, so I close the distance, heat sparking like lightning between us. “Tell me, Tiny. You want decent… or fair?”
“I want a shower,” she murmurs, stepping in close enough I can feel her body’s warmth. She flicks her eyes up to look at me, and there’s fire burning in them. “I want to slowly strip off all these dirty clothes and lather up real, real good.”
My restraint shatters. I grip her waist, haul her up, and claim her mouth.
The kiss is messy, feral—hungry. She wraps her legs around me, knocking my damn hat to the hay again while her fingers claw through my hair.
I groan, pinning her to the barn door, grinding my cock against the seam of her shorts.
Her head tips back, gasping for breath, chest rising high as she arches her back. I look down at the barely-there fabric covering those pretty nipples and damn near rip it to shreds right here.
“I’m gonna need that shower,” she pants.
I catch her wild eyes, keep my voice even though my heart’s pounding. “Your place, or mine?”
She hesitates, then whispers, “Yours.”
A goddamn angel choir belts in my head. I carry Clementine toward the supply closet, her legs tight around my waist, her hips rolling against me with every step. I snatch a canvas jacket off a hook, shake the dust off, and drape it over her shoulders.
We head out of the barn. Wells has taken over pitching hay where I left it. He glances up, smirks, and jerks his chin at the ATV. “Go on, then.”
“I owe you one,” I grunt, striding past. Clementine buries her face against my neck, trying to hide.
“You owe me more than one,” Wells calls after me. “I’m gonna have to walk all the way back.”
I swing onto the ATV, settling Clem behind me. “Queeny’s ’round the corner, take her,” I shout back as the engine roars to life. Then we take off, her arms banded tight around my waist. And for the first time in years, I feel like everything is as it should be.
----
We stumble into my hallway, still fused at the lips, and I kick the door shut. Clementine rips at my flannel before I’ve even got my boots off, sending buttons scattering far and wide.
“Hey now,” I mutter against her mouth. “That was a good shirt.”
She pulls back just enough to glare, and I wise up quick. “But I can sew,” I add fast, hitching her up and carrying her upstairs.
I head straight for the bathroom, stumbling inside. I set her down on cool tile, sink onto the edge of the tub, and pull her between my knees.
“You’re gonna have to tell me exactly what you want, baby,” I say steady, low. “I ain’t lettin’ you hold this against me later.”
Her hands slide up my shoulders, fingers curling at the back of my neck.
“It used to be good, right?” she asks in that breathy little voice.
My cock aches at the memory—her thighs trembling around my head, her lips sliding down my shaft, the way she’d cling to me when I drove her over the edge.
“Yeah, Clementine,” I rasp. “It used to be real damn good.”
She twists the shower handle behind me, a stream of water rushing to life. “I do really need to get cleaned up.”
I nod. “I can wait. Or watch. Or join. You tell me where you want me, Clem.”
Her fingers tug at my waistband. “Bold of you to assume you don’t need a shower too, you filthy cowboy.”
I groan. “Then I’m joinin’.” I ease her back by the hips. “Take off your clothes.”
She stills, chest rising fast, like she’s weighing the choice. Then she lifts her chin, fire sparking. “You first.”
The shower beats steady in the background as I kick off my boots, and strip down until I’m in nothing but boxers. Her gaze snaps back up to my face, like she’s trying real hard not to notice the thick outline straining at the fabric.
She swallows. “Go on.”
I grin and shove my boxers down. My cock springs free, hard and heavy. I catch the way her eyes linger, pupils blown wide, before snapping back to my face.
“You look different than I remember,” she breathes.
I lift a brow. “Different how?”
“I don’t know. Bigger.” Her cheeks flush, eyes widening. “Altogether, I mean. Taller, broader.”
My grin deepens. “I’m a man now.”
She scoffs. “You were twenty-four, Colton. That’s hardly a boy.”
I step in close, my length brushing her belly. “And still, things have changed. Your turn now, Tiny.”
She moves even slower than she did unbuttoning her blouse back in the barn, trembling on the button of her shorts. But she pushes them down, bare legs gleaming under the light. She takes off her bra and panties last, lilac lace hitting the tile beside us. My lungs stop working for a moment.
“Sweet Jesus, Clem,” I rasp. “You tryin’ to kill me?”
She smirks, slips into the shower, steam curling around her. Then she crooks a finger, calling me in.
I step under the spray, heat crashing over me from both the water and Clementine herself. For a heartbeat, I just stare, committing every curve, every drop sliding off her skin to memory.
Then she takes the soap, smears it slowly across her chest, and my control goes to hell.
“Here,” I murmur, taking it from her. My palms slide over her shoulders, down her arms, across her belly—gentle but firm. She leans into me, eyes fluttering shut, sighing like she feels it too, the unnatural pull between us. I lather her up, drinking in her soft moans as my thumbs brush her nipples.
By the time I rinse the suds from her hair, we’re both shaking with everything we’re holding back.
I shut off the water, grab a towel, and wrap her snug before she can argue. Then I scoop her up, stepping over the pile of clothes.
She squirms in my arms, protesting. “Colt—”
“Bedroom,” I cut her off, my voice rough with restraint. “You’re gonna wanna lie down for what comes next.”
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ARE WE FEELING THE HEAT? ???????