Chapter Three
Maci
Holy fucking dragon balls, what the hell is happening?
I went from sitting on the couch Friday nights, watching the same TV shows over and over, writing the same boring articles about little Jimmy’s rock collection and Mrs. Robinson’s prize-winning garden, to getting kidnapped and tied up by a big, bad, rough man who clearly knows his way around rope.
I tug at the knot, trying to loosen the tie, but it holds firm. Not tight enough to hurt me, but enough to let me know he’s in control.
Of course he’s in control. Duh… that’s why I like it.
I twist my wrist once more as I watch his massive frame move back and forth in the barn. I can’t see clearly, as the sun has started to dip and cast shadows, but I think he’s feeding horses or maybe pretending to. Clearly, this guy is crazy.
Why am I into it? Why do I hope he takes me to the very edge and doesn’t bring me back?
Kera is right, I do need help. That said, my skin is buzzing, and every time I glance his way, my panties soak a little more.
His broad shoulders, his slow movements, his maddening calm. It’s like he’s got the world on a leash and I’m his latest tether.
The rope creaks softly as I shift my weight. The post is rough behind my back, the air thick with dust and the scent of hay and leather. Somewhere in the distance, a horse snorts, and I swear I hear the cowboy murmur something low and soothing.
I should have known he’s good with animals and everything else wild… including me. God, please tell me I didn’t just think that.
There’s nothing good about the way he’s treating me. He’s tied me to a post, he practically kidnapped me, and he hasn’t said one nice thing yet. This isn’t romance. It’s recklessness, knotted tight and daring me to like it.
Spoiler alert… I love it.
I huff out a breath, frustrated with myself for whatever mental illness I have that’s enjoying all this, and call out, “You planning on leaving me out here all night, or is this just foreplay?”
There’s a pause, then the sound of boots on dirt. He steps out of the shadows, wiping his hands on a rag, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing in the world worth looking at.
“Depends,” he says, voice low, “you done thinkin’ yet?”
I lift my chin. “I’ve thought about a lot of things. Mostly how you’re going to regret this when I get loose.”
He chuckles, slow and darkly. “That’s the spirit.”
And just like that, he starts walking toward me. His gaze steady, his jeans dirty and worn, that Stetson low and tipped.
Maybe this is a dream. Maybe I’ll wake up the second he touches me.
God, please don’t let me wake up. Please let this man spread my legs and take my virginity right here and now. Let him wreck me in all the best ways.
I need it!
Did I just pray for hot sex? I’m not sure the pastor would say that’s the right use of prayers.
Duke stops a breath away, dark eyes locked on mine, and I swear the universe narrows to the space between us.
He doesn’t touch me, not yet. He simply watches me like he’s waiting for something. Who knows what it is… I’m most definitely delusional at this point.
I tilt my chin up, just a little, just enough. It’s not intentional, I don’t think, but that’s all it takes.
His hand comes up, rough fingers brushing my jaw, and then his mouth is on mine, slow at first, like he’s testing the weight of it. Then deeper, hotter, like he’s been holding back for too long and finally decided to stop… and I let him.
God, I let him!