27. Monroe
27
MONROE
H is family is perfect. I mean, they’re not; they’re flawed, of course, but their mutual love, the way they talk to and clearly care for each other, makes my heart thump with a dull ache. Dolly loves Rosie like a sister. I’ve never had a sister, and I’ve always felt the loss like a gaping hole in my stomach. As close as Ember and I have gotten, we’re nowhere near that level.
Holden is obsessed with Rosie. He treats her like a princess on a pedestal. Even when she’s so pregnant and sick that she can’t do anything, his eyes shine when he talks about her. I’ve heard several jokes about how they couldn’t stand each other for years, but I don’t know the full story. All I see now is how in love they are.
Duke is hilarious. He says some borderline inappropriate things sometimes and is a shameless flirt, but I adore him and appreciate his honesty.
I’ve never met Sterling since he’s away in the Marines.
Cash is the mystery, I’ve realized. I got the brother who doesn’t speak his mind twenty-four seven and quietly broods instead … and dates professional cooks who aren’t very nice.
That must be what he wants. Someone who can cook, obviously. Someone domestic. Someone who can grow herbs and give birth in a tub.
It’s been four days since we got to the ranch. My skin has been glowing since I stopped wearing foundation. I can only assume the pure well water is also helping me to look like I’m well rested and stress-free.
Walking my daily ten thousand steps around the property with Dolly and Rosie has been a ritual since they invited me to join on day two. I’m already addicted. We round the last bend approaching the house as the sun begins to beat down on us, escaping the cloud that was mercifully blocking it the last hour.
The first day, I mostly listened to them talking, realizing they’d been best friends since childhood and were practically sisters. On the second day, they tried to include me as much as possible, but I was still reserved and gave short answers. Today, I feel like we’ve really grown close, even though I haven’t worked up the courage to ask about Kacie and Cash’s history.
The ranch dog, Oyster, putters along beside us. He’s a friendly half-grown yellow Labrador puppy.
“Oh God, I’m not gonna make it.” Rosie bends forward, the contents of her stomach emptying without warning.
“Oh!” I’m a step ahead of her. I feel the warm splash of vomit on my ankles.
Dolly supports her, cringing up at me. I freeze in place, feeling the back of my throat start to tense up with the urge to gag. I don’t do well with throw-up.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I—I’m mortified …” Rosie rushes to explain, hiccuping every few words.
“It’s okay! I’m totally fine. You should go try to lie down. I’ll just jump in the shower really quick,” I try to reassure her.
I can tell by the look of horror on her pale face that she feels bad and it wasn’t at all intentional.
“I just vomited all over my favorite singer. I’ll never recover.” Rosie starts to cry as another wave of nausea hits her, and she vomits again.
Dolly is attempting to guide her toward the house. “You’ll be fine! You’ve been a loyal supporter all these years. How could she hold it against you?”
I nod vigorously. “She’s right. You have nothing to feel sorry about. I feel like we’re finally bonding!”
Rosie laughs amid her tears, gripping Dolly’s hands for dear life and stumbling toward the main house. I can’t help but wonder if this is actually normal for pregnancy, but I know nothing about it.
“There’s an outdoor shower on the side of the bunkhouse if you want to rinse off your shoes!” Dolly calls back.
“Perfect! Feel better, Rosie!” I call out.
I start making my way toward the bunkhouse quickly, trying to ignore the unpleasant, wet feeling around my ankles. I barely notice Oyster following me.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. You can do this. Don’t be a baby.
I’m staring at the dirt and trying to talk myself out of regurgitating my breakfast as I round the exterior corner of the bunkhouse. I’m too distracted to notice the sound of running water as my body collides with the wet, warm skin of a solid wall of muscle.
I shriek, looking up in shock to see male pecs. My hands reach out to steady myself, but the only thing I can grab is him. My fingertips scrape against his lower arms, squeezing the bulging muscles obscenely.
“I’m sorry!” I scream.
His hands reach around to steady me, but my gut reaction is to fight back. I swat at him, resisting his efforts to. Oyster’s barking joins the chaos as she nips at our heels, causing me to lose my balance. I feel myself falling forward.
“Oyster, dammit! Stop it!” Cash’s voice is raised, which only seems to upset the pup more, as the barking and nipping continues.
We crash down together, me falling on top of him. Oyster whines but immediately scutters away, narrowly missing getting crushed by Cash’s big body.
I screech again, panicking and struggling to scramble off his wet, muscular frame. He feels like heaven underneath me. The urge to memorize every shape of his arms, thighs, and chest muscles overwhelms me and makes my head feel cloudy.
“Calm down,” he says, his deep voice reverberating through me.
His voice and the firm grip of his hands on my arms immediately bring a sense of calm over me. The rushing water of the shower, still spraying over us, makes me slowly relax and go still. I finally open my eyes, not even realizing I squeezed them shut as soon as I made contact with his body .
He’s staring at me, shirtless and lying on the ground. He’s soaking wet. My eyes widen for a brief moment until I register that he is wearing boxer briefs on his lower half and he’s not completely naked.
“I didn’t see you.”
“I gathered that.”
“Why are you showering outside?” I’m panting.
My sports bra and leggings are soaked, as well as my hoodie, tied around my waist due to the sweat that gathered on my skin during the uphill portion of our walk. My breasts are spilling out onto his chest.
“Didn’t want to track mud inside.” His voice sounds a little strained, like our proximity is too much for him. One of his hands is still braced on my waist.
An obvious bulge is beginning to harden beneath me, right around my lower stomach. My jaw slacks open when I realize what it is.
“Rosie threw up on my feet,” I rush to explain.
He nods, like he didn’t even think about why I was over here. Neither of us moves for a few long seconds.
The bunkhouse’s outdoor shower is cleverly designed so that the house blocks it from the main view of the big house, and a patch of oak trees mostly shields it from the cow pasture to the left. A privacy fence makes up the back side, so we’re sort of in what feels like our own private world. The only real danger is the long driveway leading to the main house, which has a clear view of us.
We stare at each other, both of our breathing finally evening out. His fingers slowly begin to trail up my side, sending little bursts of electricity over the surface of my heated skin.
“Then, let’s get you cleaned up,” he finally says.
I nod, not trusting my voice to sound even.
He effortlessly supports us both as he sits up, his hand still around my waist. He cups my elbows and helps me stand. The water is warm, spraying between us. He reaches up to grab the showerhead, removing it from its base. His skin is glistening and wet, the tattooed, tanned muscles looking like they’re straight out of a Nike ad.
He bends down and uses the sprayer to rinse off my calf muscles and shoes. Then, his fingers wrap around my ankle, the firm grip making my eyes roll back in my head. A small gasp escapes my lips. He pulls on my tennis shoe, removing it before peeling off the wet sock. He repeats the process on the other foot.
His gentle care and consideration make my heart turn to mush. I’m not used to this—the attention to detail and concern for my well-being. Most of the people in my life view me as an asset, a moneymaker they can exploit. Even Fidel sees me that way.
If any of the men I dated in the past had been in his position, all would’ve either started taking off my bra or told me to meet them inside when I was finished cleaning up.
The water isn’t the only thing making me wet. I squeeze my thighs together, hoping he doesn’t smell my arousal right smack dab in front of his face.
My eyes trail down over him—his bulky shoulders, one with the double R Redford Ranch brand and his full-sleeved tattoo—and down over his abs to his tight white boxer briefs. His worn Wranglers are tossed over the side of the fence nearby, along with his mud-splattered T-shirt, cowboy hat, and boots.
Cash slowly rises to a stand after cleaning my feet up and rinsing off my shoes. My eyes disobey my every command, focusing on the hard, outlined length tenting his wet boxers. They’re partly see-through now. My throat tightens, and my mouth waters as I take in the veins and bulging head of this dick.
“You can ignore that,” he grunts, placing the showerhead back into the holder.
I absolutely cannot ignore that.
My nipples pucker through the thin pink fabric of my sports bra. We’re outside on his ranch. Any of his brothers, Dolly, or ranch hands could come looking for us and see what we’re up to.
My gosh, his elderly father could too.
My eyes trail back up over his taut abs and chest until finally reaching his five-o’clock shadow and lips. When our eyes meet, I see the swirling desire in their depths, barely restrained behind his wall of impressive self-control.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers.
“Who said a little pain doesn’t make the pleasure that much better?” I know he didn’t mean physically hurt me, but I don’t need to be coddled.
His eyes darken. Callus fingers brush against my back, pulling me closer to him. “I’m your bodyguard. I can’t be your boyfriend.”
I bite my lip, eyes drifting down to his. Our height difference makes me still have to tilt my head back, even as I stare at his mouth.
“I’m not looking for a boyfriend.” I hate how breathless I sound, like a hopeless fool.
His hand trails up my back until it’s wrapped around the base of my neck. “This is a gross abuse of my position. My responsibility is to protect you, not fuck your perfect mouth.”
I gasp at his words, my body crushed up against his as he tugs me to him. The thick, hard length of his cock is pressed against my stomach. My leggings are soaked through with my arousal.
“Is that what you think about?” I’m desperate to know what his fantasies are.
If they’re about Kacie and not me, I’ll punch him in the face.
His big hand moves down until he’s cupping my ass, squeezing it hard. His lips touch my ear. “You can’t handle hearing my depraved thoughts about you.”
My eyes roll back in my head. My arms reach up and wrap around his neck, bringing our bodies fully flush together. My cold, peaked nipples press into his chest, only separated by the sports bra.
“Try me,” I whisper.
He nips my ear, hand still kneading my ass. “I lie awake with that wall separating us, and I think about you sneaking into my room. You’re wearing those silky pajamas you love to dance around in.” His deep voice sends sultry vibrations down my neck, all the way to my toes. “And I tear them to shreds before finally finding out just exactly what you taste like before I fuck you, hard and raw.”
I gasp, jerking back to meet his eyes. “I … ”
A wicked smirk spreads across his lips. “Told you that you couldn’t handle it.”
I lick my lips. It’s all the invitation he needs before leaning down to press his mouth to mine, finally devouring me without hesitation. I open up for him, loving the feel of his finger scraping up my bare back and his tongue slipping between my lips. His hands push up my sports bra, baring my breasts to the cool air. He stops kissing me to dip his head down and suck my nipple into his mouth. I gasp, tilting my head back and staring up at the sky.
That’s it. I’ve reached peak living. I want Cash to suck on my nipples for the rest of my life. This is more exhilarating than performing for any sold-out stadium.
And he hasn’t even fucked me yet.
He moves to my other nipple, pinching the first in his fingers and twisting. Pain, mixed with pleasure, shoots down to my sex. He lifts up his head, only long enough to peel the sports bra off of me, tossing it to the side before cupping my face in his hands. He kisses me slowly then, like he’s savoring the taste of me.
I’m topless and at his mercy. I don’t know how far we’ll go out here, but I’ll let him take me all the way he wants to. The thrill of possibly getting caught makes me that much more turned on.
He’s in full control. His hand dips down until he reaches my waistband. He slips under it, his forefinger brushing across the seam of my lips. A moan spills from my mouth. I grasp his shoulder, clawing at him as he uses just the right amount of pressure on my clit, going in smooth circles.
Calluses, calluses .
I buck against him, the feel of his rough fingers almost too good, pushing me toward release quickly.
“Stay still for me, baby,” he breathes into my ear.
His arm is bracing me, supporting nearly all my weight as my limbs weaken. I’m focused on this one point of contact, but the brush of his lips on my ear, his arm on my waist, and his dick pressing into my stomach is driving me wild.
Holy shit, I’m going to come.
With one finger circling my clit, he’s going to rock my entire world.
“Don’t stop,” I whimper.
“A herd of wild bulls couldn’t make me stop.”
My muscles tense. I open my mouth to bite his shoulder and attempt to muffle the cry that inevitably tears from my lips as an orgasm washes through me. My skin is on fire as wave after wave of pleasure courses over me, spreading through every inch of my being.
“Fuck, Princess, watching you come is my new fantasy.”
I peer up at him from half-lidded eyes, my mouth agape with the aftereffects of the best orgasm I’ve ever had. “I—no one’s ever made me do that.”
His eyes narrow as he pulls his hand back. “No one’s ever made you finish?”
I shake my head. “Not with just their hand, no.”
A satisfied grin splits across his handsome face. “Baby, I’m just getting started.”