Chapter Twenty-Two
The ranch is quiet at this hour.
Not silent—ranches are never silent—but quieter than it ever is during the day. The wind rustles through the trees, horses shift in their stalls, and the metal gate of the round pen clinks softly against a post.
I reach for the door handle.
“I’ll show you,” I say.
Porter cuts the engine and climbs out on the other side.
The barn lights cast a hazy golden glow across the yard, leaving everything beyond the paddocks in shadow. When he walks around the front of the SUV toward me, my stomach does a little flip.
I start walking before he reaches me.
“This way.”
He falls into step beside me.
We cut around the side of the main barn, where the light fades quickly and the path narrows into packed dirt that winds between it and the academy’s freshly paved parking area.
The night has turned freezing cold, and the icy air helps sober me up. I pull my jacket even closer as we walk, even though the thin fabric doesn’t offer much protection.
Ahead of us, the massive shape of the indoor arena rises out of the darkness.
“That’s the new rodeo school arena,” I explain, pointing toward the long metal building. “They finished it last spring.”
Even in the dark, you can see the scale of it—big sliding doors, tall overhead lights mounted along the roofline, the smell of fresh wood and sand still lingering around the place.
Porter glances toward it, impressed. “It’s huge.”
“Yeah,” I say. “They’ll run winter training in there.”
We continue past it, the path curving along the back side, where another long row of buildings stretches beside the arena.
“And those are the stables for the school,” I add. “It’ll have its own livestock. Bucking horses, calves, steers, and bulls.”
The path bends again, and the lights from the main ranch fade completely behind us.
Ahead, a few porch lights glow dimly around another cluster of buildings.
“That’s the cookhouse and dining hall,” I tell him as we approach.
The big, rustic building sits low and wide, smoke stains marking the chimney above the roofline.
“Students eat there?” he asks.
I nod. “They will. It’s a great space. We used it for our family holiday gatherings last year since we’re starting to outgrow Grandma’s dining room.”
Beside it are two long bunkhouses with simple wooden porches.
“And that’s where the students will sleep.”
Past the bunkhouses, the path narrows again, winding through a tiny cluster of trees before opening into a clearing.
A row of tiny cabins sits along the edge of the forest.
Dim porch lights glow above each door, casting cozy pools of light onto the wooden steps.
“And these are the instructor cabins,” I explain.
Porter slows beside me as we approach the first one.
“They’re new,” I add. “They finished them this summer.”
The cabins are small but charming—rough cedar siding, a little porch with two wooden chairs, a lantern hanging beside the door.
I stop at the first one.
Porter climbs the two steps, glances down, and lifts the corner of the welcome mat.
Sure enough, a key sits underneath.
He picks it up and unlocks the door.
The hinges creak faintly as it swings open. He steps inside and flips on the lamp sitting on a table just inside. Then he looks back at me, holding the door wide.
Warm light spills across the dainty space.
It’s a studio-style cabin—simple and brand-new.
The interior is all knotty pine walls and rich wood tones, making the place feel cozy despite its size.
A little woodstove sits in the corner near the door with a neat stack of firewood beside it.
Across from that is a kitchenette tucked against the wall—just a mini fridge, a single farm sink, a microwave, and a coffee maker sitting on a narrow counter.
Between the kitchenette and the rest of the space is a four-foot island that separates the kitchen area from the living space.
A leather recliner sits beside a small side table.
Above it, a flat-screen television is mounted to the wall.
And beyond that is a queen-size bed with big, fluffy pillows and crisp white sheets.
A green-and-white quilt folded neatly across the bottom.
There’s a standing wardrobe in the corner and a narrow door that leads into a bathroom.
I step inside and push that door open. “Bathroom’s back here.”
Porter follows me.
It’s tiny but clean.
A stand-up shower, sink, and toilet.
Everything still smells new.
“Not bad,” he says.
“No,” I agree softly.
He steps back into the main room, and I follow.
I walk past him and pull the front door shut.
My decision is made.
He reaches for me, and his arm hooks my back and pulls me against his chest. Then he walks me backward.
His mouth finds mine, and he kisses me hungrily as his hands slide down to cup my ass and lift me onto the island.
I shrug out of my jacket, and he reaches between us and pops the button on my pants. He breaks the kiss as his thumbs hook into the waistband. I plant my hands and arch my back so he can slide them down my legs. He slips my feet free of my boots and kisses my ankle before standing back up.
His pale blue eyes rake over me, and warmth floods my already-overheated body, pooling in my belly.
I start trembling with need as I wrap my legs around his hips. He peppers kisses across my collarbone as he fumbles with the zipper at my back.
The bustier falls to the floor. And a sharp breath escapes his lips as he runs his knuckles over one of my bare breasts.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.”
I clutch his shoulders, the tips of my fingers digging into his muscles, and I groan as his hand slides between my breasts and up around my throat.
He runs his tongue over my tattoo and then kisses his way down my body.
The need that pulses through me is almost too much to take. I’ve never been touched like this. Never been this turned on.
I dated in college. Had my share of drunken sex. But they were just boys who had no clue what they were doing.
Porter’s not a boy. He’s all man.
And I’ve never wanted someone more than I want him at this moment.
Never.
His tongue explores my breasts. An exquisite tingle shoots straight to my core when he sucks a nipple between his teeth.
My hips buck off the island.
And I can feel him smile around the taut bud.
He bites down gently, and I hum my approval as his hand slides between my legs. He glides two fingers through my center, coating them in my wetness, and then brings them up to swirl around my other nipple before licking it clean.
“Mmm …”
“Porter.” I gasp his name as he stands.
He brings his eyes to mine as he lifts my feet onto the edge of the island. My legs fall open for him.
His hand returns, and he growls, “So wet for me,” before slipping a finger inside.
I rock against his palm.
“That’s it, baby. Ride my hand,” he commands before claiming my mouth.
Our tongues tangle as his fingers pump in and out of me at a leisurely pace.
I can feel the pleasure building at the base of my spine.
I’m so close, and he knows it.
He breaks the kiss and drops to his knees.
My hands go from his shoulders to his hair as his mouth wraps around my clit.
“Oh my God,” I breathe.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he whispers against me. Then his eyes come up to meet mine. “So sweet.”
My fingers tangle in his hair, and I arch back against the cool granite.
He gives my clit a few more quick licks, then sucks the bundle of nerves between his teeth.
That’s all it takes. My legs begin to shake as the orgasm washes over me. Porter brings his free hand to my stomach and holds me in place so I don’t fly off the island as he continues to lap at my core until the last tremble runs through me.
“Geezus,” I murmur as I loosen my grip on his hair, and he stands.
Then, before I have a chance to catch my breath, he’s lifting me and carrying me to the bed.
I fall back against the mattress, and he can’t even get his shirt over his head before I sit up in front of him and take hold of the top of his jeans.
“Harleigh,” he rasps as I slide his zipper down slowly.
He’s hard and ready as I reach in and release him from his boxer briefs.
I hold the base with one hand as I stroke him firmly with the other. Rubbing my thumb over his crown and through the drop of clear fluid. His cock twitches in my grip, and his breath catches as he watches me.
He holds my gaze as I bite down on my bottom lip, and I drink in the sight of him.
The broad width of his chest and shoulders, chiseled ab muscles, lean hips, powerful thighs, and the look of pure need on his face as his eyes bore into mine.
His hands thread into my hair, and he wraps the long strands around his fist as I lick his tip, lapping up the salty taste of him.
I moan, and the heat in his eyes intensifies. I lick him again, letting my tongue roll around the swollen head a few times before opening my mouth and sucking him deep.
I keep my fingers wrapped around him, and his grip in my hair holds my head in place as he thrusts his hips, sliding in as far as he can go.
I bring my other hand up to knead his balls as he moves in and out of my mouth.
“That’s it, baby,” he says as he hits the back of my throat, and the speed of his thrusts increases.
His free hand caresses my jaw.
“I’m going to come,” he warns.
His breath quickens.
Then he lets out a roar as he arches his back and his release spills onto my tongue.
I swallow every drop.
His spent cock falls from my mouth, and I look up to see his eyes trained on me. His expression is intense and raw, making my heart slam against my chest.
He releases my hair to cup the back of my neck, and he leans down to take my mouth.