Chapter 44 Whit
Whit
We steal down the moonlit driveway, Colt’s hand firmly wrapped around mine.
The music becomes faint; only the low humming of bass echoes into the night.
I’ve been to the ranch more times over the last few months than ever before—mostly because Blair is here as often as she can get away with and also because Jonas frequently needs a ride.
But I haven’t ventured beyond the big house and the swimming hole.
When I mentioned that to Colt, he suggested a tour. Naturally, I happily went along with it, assuming the tour would have one stop: his bedroom.
But to my surprise, he veers us toward a massive white barn. My gait slows, head racing with the desire to tell him I don’t actually want a tour, when he says, “I want to show you something Jonas has been working on.”
Everything else can wait.
Inside the barn, overhead lighting slowly flickers to life, casting cool light over the space with a dull hum. The door shuts behind us, cutting off the remaining party noise, and Colt gives me a quick smile over his shoulder.
“So he really wants to raise an animal in the spring, right? One of the stalls in here was a bit of a catchall for things.” His fingers interlace mine, and we walk lightly down the long row of horse stalls.
Most of them seem to be empty, but in a few, horses briefly lift their heads to watch us.
“It was a mess, and Austin told him he could use it if he cleaned everything up.”
With his free hand, Colt grabs the metal handle on a stall door and throws it open to reveal a nearly empty space. The gray concrete floor is clean, walls spotless, and a few saddles are resting on wooden saddle racks off to one side.
“I’m not joking when I say there was so much random shit in here a month ago, we took an entire pickup truck load to the dump after he was done.”
“Yeah, how much of the cleanup did you do?” I raise a dubious brow. “Because my son can’t even pick up a single dirty sock off the floor.”
“I lifted a few of the heavier things, and I helped him build these saddle racks—only because I assumed you wouldn’t want him using a table saw unsupervised.”
I stare at him wide-eyed. “Um, no. I definitely do not want him using a table saw unsupervised. Or really using one at all.”
“Well, guess you’d hate to know he knows how to use an axe, too.”
My open palm smacks against his firm chest, and I do my best to hide the way their relationship inflates my chest. “Colt! He could chop a leg off.”
“It would take multiple whacks with an axe to chop a leg off. If he’s dumb enough to keep going after the first cut, he probably deserves to lose a limb.” He chuckles, dragging our clasped hands behind my back as he steps in close. “Don’t worry, Mama. I wouldn’t ever let him get hurt.”
“Yeah? You think you’re fast enough to step in and stop the axe before it hits him?”
“I’d damn well try. And anyway, if he’s gonna be a farm kid, he’s going to be around things like axes. At least now he knows how to safely use one.” His lips press to the delicate skin behind my ear. “Don’t worry. Odessa has him doing plenty of arts and crafts for balance.”
My laugh comes out breathy and wavering. Something heavy and uncomfortable settles on my shoulders like an itchy wool cloak.
“He’s going to be the best big brother.” The words scratch their way up my throat and taste bitter on my tongue.
“That’s because you raised him to be the best kid.” The side of his head knocks against mine as a reminder that he’s got me. “Want to see my favorite of their art projects?”
“Absolutely.”
With that, he’s pulling me back through the barn and shoving a heavy wood door open.
A single light bulb hangs in the middle of a room filled with saddles and horse equipment, none of which I know anything about.
While my sister was spending her teenage years barrel racing and doing farm chores around Wells Ranch, I was playing video games and smoking pot in Alex’s basement.
“I don’t give a shit what the other guys think—we needed colorful name tags for each horse’s tack.
” He steps forward, tapping his index finger against a piece of lime green construction paper that reads Hank in bubble letters embellished with tiny flowers.
“Odessa’s spelling is…a work in progress, so Jonas wrote the names. ”
“I love how much he loves it here. Reminds me a lot of Blair when she was younger.” My eyes meander between strips of paper, and I smooth a hand over the soft leather of a saddle, then mindlessly pick up a thick, deep green rope draped over it.
“She came here once and we basically never saw her again. She became a Wells.”
Still looking around the room, smiling to myself at both the ridiculous name choices and Odessa’s attempts at drawing horses, I twist and loop and knot the rope in my hands.
“They kind of have a way of doing that here,” Colt says. “You come around one time, and suddenly you’re part of the family. If you aren’t careful, you’ll be next. Suddenly you’ll be wearing overalls and slinging horse crap like the rest of us.”
He playfully nudges me with his shoulder at the same moment I create two perfect loops with the singular rope. And I tug one circle tight around my wrist.
“I do look very cute in overalls.”
“Oh, I have no doubt about that.” He glances down at my hands, then his eyes cut back to mine. “Overalls with nothing underneath, so I have easy access to your perfect tits anytime I want.”
“And here I thought this was a family-friendly place.”
His fingertips graze the back of my hand, and he plucks the rope from my wrist.
“Oh, sorry, I—” I start to apologize for playing with something I probably shouldn’t have. It probably had some important function I’m unaware of and wasn’t supposed to be touched—I don’t know how cowboy things work.
“It’s fine. It’s just a lead rope.” He smirks, slipping his hand into one of the loops I made.
He repeats the action with the other. The dark green fibers brush through his arm hair, and I notice I’m not the only one with goosebumps on my skin.
With the rope hanging loosely, draped around his thick wrists, his eyes search mine.
When his wrists pull away from each other, the rope tightens and his eyes widen.
Then he steps in front of me, slipping his bound hands up and over my head to settle at the nape of my neck.
And he kisses me. My needy body melts into his.
The kisses we shared earlier only made me more ravenous after weeks without his taste.
His searing tongue delves into my mouth, stealing my gasp.
The strong, thick rope pulls against my neck, forcing me even closer and cradling my skull as he devours me.
His pelvis rocks into mine, and it’s not until the outline of his firm cock presses into me that I realize he’s just as hungry for me as I am for him.
“Tell me what to do,” he murmurs into my mouth between bruising kisses. “Tell me what you want from me.”
For tonight? Or…
“Forever.” I accidentally say the quiet part out loud.
“You already have that.” He puts a breath of space between us. “Tell me what you want right now.”
I drag my fingertips down his spine to knead the firm muscle of his ass. Since the moment I noticed he was wearing a green button-down to the wedding, I’ve been thinking about tearing it off. So I do.
The buttons pull apart easily, and I throw my head back with a giggle. “The fucking raccoon shirt. So much for getting to run my tongue over your bare chest.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” His hands and the rope tangle in my hair as he frantically lifts them over my head. “Let me fix that.”
Grabbing the rope between his teeth, he wiggles the rope to free his hands, and in seconds he’s tossing both shirts on top of a random saddle.
My eyes crawl over his body, curving with the ridges of his stomach and the hair trailing down to his belt buckle.
He’s mine. Colt Campbell is mine. For tonight and for forever.
The green rope hangs loose in his hand when he holds it out to me. The need in his voice is gravelly and deep. “Tie me up, honey. I’m yours.”
With a gulp, I take it and form the same two adjustable loops as before. Muscle memory from years of playing Cat’s Cradle as a little kid comes in handy for the first time in my adult life.
I instruct him to turn around, and he does without hesitation, both hands immediately moving behind his back.
I secure the makeshift handcuffs around his right wrist, then repeat on the left.
When he spins to face me, the pull of his arms tied behind him makes his chest and shoulders more prominent than usual.
His smile is easy and flirtatious, and he steals a glance down at his crotch.
The tight denim isn’t doing much to hide his want.
And neither is the underwear sticking to my damp skin.
My fingers fumble with his belt. Despite barely any time apart, this feels like our first time all over again. I wonder if he can hear my thunderous heartbeat.
When his jeans fall to the floor, belt buckle thudding on smooth cement, I reach between his legs to stroke a hand down his anxiously bobbing cock. Colt curls forward with a dark, feral groan.
“Goddamn, you really know how to torture me.”
“I barely touched you.” I laugh, and it makes him laugh.
“I know what touching leads to with you,” he whines as my other hand massages his taut balls. And despite his protest, his legs instinctively separate, giving me access to drag a firm fingertip over his taint.
A throaty “Fuck” carries through the room.
His cock pulsates and twitches in my hand, and my clit throbs with the needy desire to be touched, licked, and worshipped by my man. I circle my thumb over his wet head, getting my skin sticky with his arousal, and I bring it to his lips.
He hesitates, eyes wide and prey-like. He’s probably wishing he wasn’t bound so he could shove me and run away.
His lips roll together, and with a small wince of his left eyelid, he opens his mouth for me.
I run my thumb over his warm tongue and follow up with a kiss to taste the hint of saltiness on his breath.
He moans, entire body relaxing when my lips touch his.
“Get on your knees,” I demand.
As he slowly lowers himself without the help of his hands, I pinch the small scrap of fabric I’m wearing underneath my dress and slip it off, tucking it into the pocket of his jeans.
Then I slowly hike up the hem of my maxi dress.
I’ve always been a tall girl, and after years of backhanded compliments about my long legs, they’re a part of me I’ve had to work hard to learn to appreciate.
But Colt immediately leans in to kiss and lick my bare knees and thighs, appreciating every inch of them.
“You, Whit Hart, are my fucking queen.” He stares up at me, knees resting on his crumpled jeans. “Can I taste you?”
“I don’t want you to taste me, Colt.”
One would think I’d stabbed him in the heart and kicked his dog, the way he looks up at me. Every hope and dream shattering in his deep blue eyes.
“I want you to fucking devour me.” The backs of my knuckles drag across his cheek. “I want to ride your tongue until my cum is dripping from your chin.”
“Holy…f-fucking…shit,” he stammers, shuffling on his knees across the ground. His cheeks are flushed, and the sudden change in his expression is so fucking cute. “That’s…come over here. I’m starving, honey.”
My core trembles, and I comb my fingers through his thick hair, pulling him to the hot space between my thighs. When his tongue drags languidly up my slit, we both moan.
For a minute, I let him slowly explore with kisses and soft licks, reveling in his tenderness. But he circles around my clit, making my knees buckle, and I can’t help but tighten the grip I have on the back of his skull. I bury his face until he smells and tastes and hears and sees nothing but me.
He treats my pussy like it’s his last meal. Colt licks and sucks until I’m writhing, fingernails dug into his scalp. The muscles in my butt and thighs strain to keep me upright as the hum of an orgasm threatens to overtake me.
“Fuck, don’t stop.” I grind against his face, shaking and gasping as pleasure consumes me. “I love you.”
Holy shit. I did not just say that.
I did not just confess my love while he’s eating me out.
Praying he didn’t hear—after all, he’s probably in a state of sensory overload down there—I grit my teeth and try to focus my attention back on the tingling in my thighs and the warmth of his breath on my skin.
Through thick lashes, he shoots me a look as his eager tongue strokes become firmer, frenzied against my pussy.
He heard.
But there’s no time to overthink with his hums of pleasure and hot breath vibrating across my hypersensitive clit.
Entire body quivering, my stomach flexes as a rising tide of pleasure threatens to sweep me off my feet, and I lean into it.
Holding tight to his hair, I force his insistent pressure to hit the same spot over and over.
“I’m—holy fuck—I’m going to come.” I pitch forward so my head’s resting on a saddle. The smooth leather’s surprisingly cool against my flushed cheek. “Colt. Please.”
It’s too intense. I cry out and my hips buck against his mouth.
My front teeth dig into the worn leather.
And without Colt’s steady hands on my ass to hold me in place, it takes everything in me not to squirm away from the sheer intensity of it all.
The forceful climax tears through me, and when my frenetic humping of his face slows down, so does his tongue.
Ice cream licks lap up every drop of my cum until I’m releasing my hold on his hair and taking an unsteady step back.
My dress flutters down around my calves once again.
“Honey, I’m gonna need you to untie me,” he says calmly, slowly rising to his feet.
His cock juts out proudly, swollen and needy and absolutely fucking delicious looking. He stares intently into my eyes, resolute as he repeats it. “Untie me, Whit.”
I wet my lips, gaze still flitting between his face and his groin. “Why should I?”
“Because…” Kicking his jeans to the side, he steps in so his cock, slick with arousal, presses against my stomach. “Because unless I can touch you, I can’t show you how much I love you. And I really fucking love you.”