Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
For one blissful moment, as the early mornin' sun tried to murder me through the window, I forgot what a complete and total disaster I was.
But before I could even deal with my raging morning wood—which, for the record, had nothin' to do with needin' to piss—it all came roarin' back like a freight train to the face.
Ah, fuck.
Turned out my shame really did know no bounds.
After my mystery viper ground her pussy against my face for what felt like forever but probably wasn't nearly long enough, she came in my mouth on a scream that probably woke half the town.
And I—Jesus Christ, still embarrassed about this—came right along with her.
All over my own damn stomach. Without her so much as breathin' on my dick.
So that was my first sexual encounter outside of Sassy.
Embarrassing as hell? Absolutely.
But also… fuck me sideways, it was like a goddamn religious experience. Like I'd been livin' in black and white my whole life and someone just cranked the color saturation to eleven.
I was flyin' higher than a kite for all of ninety seconds while she rode out her orgasm on my face. Then she climbed off me like I was a piece of gym equipment she was done usin', got dressed like she was suitin' up for war, and finger-combed her sex hair back into place.
Then she walked out.
No name. No number. No thanks for the orgasm, boy scout.
Just gone.
And I'd laid there like an idiot, her taste still coatin' my tongue and my own mess coolin' on my stomach, tryin' to process what in the actual fuck had just happened to my life.
Prior to this little rendezvous, I was a man who'd only ever kissed one woman, only ever touched one woman, only ever been inside one woman.
And there I was, tastin' a stranger on my lips like evidence of a crime I wasn't sure I regretted committing.
Must've been too much for my whiskey-and-pussy-drunk brain to handle, because I passed out harder than a teenager after his first kegger.
Which brought us to now. Me, squintin' at the ceiling with a hangover that felt like divine punishment, and—oh, for fuck's sake—dried cum flaking off my abs like the world's most disgusting confetti.
Hell, we'd almost fucked without a condom. So fucking stupid, but saved by my big cock, I guess?
Yeah. I was a walkin' advertisement for poor life choices.
But here was the thing that was really messin' with my head: I couldn't stop thinking about her. Not just the sex—though, my God, the sex—but the way she'd looked at me. Like she could see right through all my bullshit to somethin' I didn't even know was there.
With Sassy, everything had always been… comfortable. Familiar. We knew each other's bodies like we knew our own, could read each other's needs without words. It was good—hell, it was great. But it was also predictable in a way that I'd never questioned until last night.
Last night had been chaos. Raw and desperate and completely out of my control. She'd made me feel things I didn't even know I was capable of feelin', and then she'd walked away like it meant nothin' at all.
Like I was nothing.
That stung worse than my wounded pride. Worse than waking up alone. Worse than realizin' I was probably gonna have to burn these sheets because I was never gettin' her scent out of them.
Dark and smoky and nothin' like the vanilla body spray that used to cling to my pillows.
Fuck.
My dick stirred despite my hangover, despite my confusion, despite every rational thought telling me I should feel guilty as hell about all of this.
But I didn't feel guilty. Not really.
I felt… awake. For the first time in months, maybe years, I felt like I was actually livin' instead of just goin' through the motions.
And that scared the shit out of me more than anythin' else.
Three hours, two Gatorades, and one shower later, I was brushin' out my horse, Speed, on Wild Acre Ranch. I made a beeline for the barn as soon as I pulled up, hopin' not to catch a glimpse of Sassy.
I knew she was stayin' with Rhett up at the main house for the time being, until she found somethin' more permanent.
Wasn't my place to tell either of them that she should make her temporary accommodations her more permanent ones, too.
They'd figure it out on their own; I didn't need to meddle. Didn't want to neither.
The wound was too fresh, despite the fact that I had moved on.
My head was a jumble.
The more time that passed between the hot-as-hell encounter I had with my mystery girl last night, the more I questioned my rash decision to bring her back to my place.
There was a lot at stake here—my friendships with Rhett and Sassy, my job.
My heart.
If history told me anythin', it was that I was a relationship guy.
Not once had I ever thought of playin' the field or hookin' up with strangers. For a decade plus, I'd been content to be a boyfriend. A fiancé. I was happy.
Until I wasn't. Until my eyes were pried wide and my chest flayed open.
So I was brushin' my horse.
Then, I was gonna see about that dog.
The crunch of boots over hay had me wincing. Coulda been any number of ranch hands or cowboys sneakin' up on me, but for some reason, I knew I wouldn't be that lucky.
"Hey, Bro."
Rhett's deep voice all but startled my damn horse. "Whoa," I said low with an easy pat to Speed's rump. "You're okay, bud."
Rhett chuckled. "Sorry. Wasn't tryin' to get you kicked, I swear."
I looked over my shoulder and deadpanned, "Sure ya weren't."
Rhett hovered awkwardly behind me while I finished, then followed me to my truck as I stowed all my supplies.
I'd given Speed the full treatment this morning—pulled shoes, fresh fronts, cleaned-up hinds, hoof oil and the whole damn routine—to steady my mind.
Since it was Sunday, I didn't have any clients to see, so I used this time to care for my own horse.
Mom, Luke, and my Dad's horses, too, though Dad's mare, Maribel, hadn't been out in ages.
"Need somethin'?" I asked as I met Rhett's eyes.
"Got a new ranch hand starting today."
Fuckin' finally. Ever since Rhett's dad had made the brilliant decision to try to prove he was still twenty-five and fell off his horse in the process, breakin' his leg, the ranch was drowning.
"Yeah? Where'd you find him?"
"Posted on Facebook and he reached out."
Facebook. Jesus. That how we were hirin' cowboys these days? "Have you met?"
"Nah, only texted."
I blinked. "Not even talked on the phone?"
"Nope."
Each one-word answer felt like another nail in the coffin of his common sense. My jaw tightened as visions of every true crime documentary I'd ever watched flashed through my mind.
"Did you run a background check?"
"Nope."
"Do you even know the dude's name?"
Rhett's expression shifted slightly, like he finally caught wind of my mounting panic. He straightened his shoulders, that stubborn set to his mouth I'd known since childhood makin' its appearance.
"Of course. It's Calvin. He should be here any minute, actually. Thought you could help me show him around. Let's head up to the house."
The matter-of-fact way he delivered that last bit—like we were discussin' dinner plans instead of potentially welcoming a serial killer to his family business—had me questioning everything I thought I knew about my best friend's judgment.
"Cool cool. Sounds totally legit and safe. Not at all like we're 'bout to get murdered by some big, burly cattle-proddin' psycho."
Rhett and I made our way up to the front of the main house just as a truck pulled up the long gravel drive.
The first thing I noticed when Calvin climbed out of the black F-350?
Doc Martens.
My eyes continued up.
Tight black jeans sculpted to strong, thick thighs.
Flannel tied around the waist.
Perky tits under a white tank.
And the drop-dead gorgeous face of my mystery girl.
My viper.
Welp… Definitely not a big, burly cattle-prodding psycho.