12. Holden
Her tits are in my face, nipples wet and puckered, covered only by the damp fabric of her white T-shirt. I grip her hips, pulling her down over my denim-covered erection. I’m so hard that it hurts, straining against the thick fabric.
“Been thinking about me, Redford? You sure are hard and ready for it. I thought you hated me.” Her voice is breathy and sensual.
The room is so dark, only lit by the moonlight spilling through the window. I’m not exactly sure where we are. I grit my teeth, not knowing why the hell we’re even in this position. I’m way too fucking turned on to push her off of me now even if she has Dixon blood running through her veins and she’s fucked my brother a thousand times.
I just need her once, one time. Now.
“Shut that pretty mouth, then open it and wrap it around my dick,” I order.
She bites her lip, closing her eyes and tilting her head back. My eyes trail down her delicate neck before focusing on her flawless tits. I move my thumb over the top of one, hardening it with the stimulation.
“I fucking hate you too,” she exhales, panting and moaning. “Oh, yes, don’t stop.”
She’s just as turned on as I am. My dick is brushing up against the sensitive spot between her thighs.
“Oh, yeah? You hate me … but right now, you’re riding me like a damn cowgirl, angel.”
Her eyes snap down to meet mine. I’ve never called her anything but her cursed last name. She reaches down for the button of my jeans, biting her lip as she undoes it, eyes shining with excitement. We’re both silent now, the anticipation too great to break it with words.
We’ve both been picturing it for so long. What if it doesn’t meet our expectations?
I’m so close to busting that as soon as she touches my dick, I almost come. It’s been three and a half years since I’ve felt a woman’s hand or mouth on my dick.
Rosie Dixon is the one I begrudgingly pictured in the dark of my cell when I had to rub one out to prevent myself from going insane. I would imagine her blue-green eyes, copper-red hair, and the same lust-filled look she gave me that night in the barn. The big tits are new, but I’m not mad about that development.
She licks her lips before lowering herself down over me, gripping my erection tighter with her hand before she gently licks the sensitive, seeping tip.
I groan with thick pleasure, dropping my head back on the pillow as the hot semen spews out of me, completely uncontrollable.
“Fuck, angel. Fuck.”
I wake with a start,sweat dripping down my bare chest. The room is sweltering. Someone must’ve turned the heat up to eighty-five degrees. The only sound is my gasp for oxygen.
The wetness inside my boxers is sticking to the skin of my balls and upper thighs. I reach my hand down, discovering that the sticky mess is definitely the result of me having a vivid, dirty dream about Rosie Dixon—my little brother’s ex-girlfriend—and coming in my sleep.
Fuck.
I called her sloppy seconds like a complete dickhead yesterday morning.
I didn’t mean it like she clearly took it, judging by the look on her face.
I meant that I could never sleep with a woman one of my brothers had been inside. It’s a matter of principle. Fucking her would essentially be … incest, which is sick.
Not to mention, I have no idea how Duke feels about his ex. How could he not be sick over losing her and desperate to win her back?
And Dolly, who seems to think the sun rises and sets when Rosie walks into the room, would definitely not be okay with it. On her end, I get the Rosie obsession. She barely remembers our mother, and because of her illness, she couldn’t be a fully functioning teenage girl when it was her time. Rosie has never left her side.
I lie awake in the darkness, letting my body temperature return to a normal range as I listen to the noises of the ranch.
An owl hoots somewhere outside my window, followed by a coyote in the distance, signaling his pack.
Why the actual fuck did I just have a wet dream about Rosie Dixon?
The heat of the night starts getting to my head, making me remember what it was like to wake up in prison when the AC was broken and it felt like the Santa Fe desert in July. I throw the covers off, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
The hallway is dark as I walk to the kitchen from memory. I don’t know what time it is, but based on the silence, everyone appears to still be sleeping.
A lamp on the countertop in the large kitchen illuminates the space. A plate of jumbo lemon-poppyseed muffins is in the center of one of the islands.
I reach for a clean glass in one of the cabinets, filling it with water from the refrigerator. The sound of me gulping it down is loud in my ears.
“Oh … I didn’t know anyone was up.”
My muscles tense instantly. I lower the cup, turning to face the sultry voice. Rosie is standing in the kitchen, biting her lip, staring at my shirtless torso with wide eyes. Her demeanor is a far cry from the woman who so boldly stood up to me yesterday, refusing to let me fire her. This version of her looks vulnerable and … shy somehow.
I look down at her hands to see a half-eaten bowl of my strawberry ice cream in her hands.
“What are you doing here?” No matter how much Dolly needs her, I can’t risk softening toward her, not when my subconscious clearly has other desires.
“Are you going to ask me that every time you see me in this house?” She cocks her head to the side, arching an eyebrow. She slides her spoon into the bowl, lifting the pink dessert up to her full lips. She leisurely tastes the sweetness with her lips.
I set the glass down on the countertop. The memory of what just happened in my head and in my sheets is still too fresh for me to be alone with her. I’m afraid of what I might do. My dick starts to fill with blood again. The physical boundary of the double kitchen islands between us is necessary for me to not consider reenacting the dream. I’m not used to fighting my desires for women. They’ve always come easily for me … in more ways than one.
The image of her perky nipples the night of the wet T-shirt contest clouds my gaze. I clench my fists, flexing my arms as I brace myself against the island.
I should walk away before that melted strawberry ice cream gets in places it shouldn’t.
“No, Dixon, I’m not. Just wondering, since it’s the middle of the night, if you’re really this dedicated of an employee or if there’s something else keeping you around.”
I keep my gaze on the veins in the marble, refusing to look up at her.
“Um, yeah, no. My car wouldn’t start. Duke told me to sleep on the couch.”
I scoff. “Duke told you that, did he?” I shake my head, finally meeting her gaze. “Surprised he didn’t invite you to share his bed.”
Maybe he did, and she turned it down.
“We’re not together anymore. Why do you keep bringing it up? It’s getting weird.” She hops up onto the countertop, swinging her legs in the air. She slowly licks off another bite of my ice cream. A pale pink drop lingers on her lips, activating my salivary glands and sending more blood into my groin.
Get it together.
“When I left, you were two little lovebirds, and all he talked about was how he couldn’t wait to get in your pants. Guess it’s hard to imagine y’all in a different dynamic.”
“Maybe you’re overthinking it. How often do you think about it?”
I force myself to physically relax my stance. She’s suspicious of my interest in her. She thinks it has something to do with me wanting her physically.
She’s not wrong, but it starts and ends with her sultry, feminine allure and the temptation of those lips tasting like sweet strawberries.
Just because my body wants to fuck hers doesn’t mean I don’t hate her.
“You seem to think that just because the low-cut tops work on ninety percent of the male population, the sex-kitten act will have the same effect on me. This thing between us is about your last name and the fact that I don’t trust you—and I never will. I don’t trust you with my family, on my ranch. I don’t fucking want you here.” I lean forward, my body tense as I try to get it through her head exactly where I stand. “You can spread your legs for each and every one of my brothers if you want, but I’d rather rot in prison for another three and a half years than touch you. I’d stay celibate for life if you were the last woman on this fucking planet. So, keep prancing around my house like I’ll give in one day and take you to my bed, but you’re wasting time and embarrassing yourself.”
Her normally tough, impenetrable expression seems to have fallen. Her eyes are blinking rapidly, wild copper-red hair spilling around her shoulders. A fleeting sense of guilt shoots through me, but it vanishes as soon as it appears.
I need her to hate me too.
She slowly slides down from the countertop, walking toward me. I don’t risk moving because my erection hasn’t fully subsided yet. It’s currently hidden by the countertop. She ignores me, taking her bowl to rinse it out in the sink. She carefully loads it into the dishwasher before walking down the hallway toward the bedrooms without another word.
I wait about ten seconds, steadying my breath, but as soon as I turn around, I can’t see her anymore in the darkness. A door clicks shut, and I have no idea which sibling’s room she’s in now, which is somehow more tortuous than having a wet dream about her, alone in my bed.
“Where have you looked for her? I’m assuming you called her phone?”
“Yes, we called her. We searched the house and the horse barn,” Cash says. He’s always the calm one, and now is no exception.
“Do we have her location? I thought she shared it on her phone?”
“Rosie probably has it on Snapchat. I’ll ask her.” Duke pulls out his phone, tapping the screen and putting it up to his ear.
His little girlfriend has been up to no good tonight. I’m hoping her best friend isn’t in the same camp out in the cold, dark night.
“Let’s go look at the cabin. She couldn’t be far. What about the hilltop? Are any of the mules or four-wheelers missing?”
The four-wheelers and mules are ATVs, used for work and recreational travel across the expansive ranch.
“I’ll go check,” Sterling says. His big frame stalks off toward the barn we keep them in.
“Hey, baby. We were just wondering if you were able to find Dolly on her Snap Map. Does she have that on?” Duke walks a few steps away as he cradles the phone against his ear.
My little brother’s infatuation with the mayor’s daughter has been a thorn in my side for a year now. He’s painfully obsessed with her. Cash and I have tried taking him to the Strip in Vegas, local bars, parties, anywhere we can think of to distract him from Rosie Lou Dixon, using our old IDs to get him in.
He’s consumed with her.
I can’t deny that she’s fucking hot, but her bloodline should be enough of a reason to turn the complete opposite direction without a second thought.
“Oh shit. Okay. I’ll tell them. Thanks, baby.”
I shift my stance, getting restless the longer he takes. “What did she say?”
He turns back to us as he ends the call. He exhales as his gaze shifts from mine to Cash’s. “She said her location is pinging somewhere around the creek, the low crossing.”
I cock my gun, the sound of the bullet sliding inside the chamber echoing through the hay barn. “Let’s go.”
If someone has to get hurt tonight, so be it. I’ll do anything it takes to protect my little sister.