31-VINCENT
She’s perfect.
Reagan worried over nothing. She slipped into my life like a dream. I sat at Grandma’s counter, watching the two make cookies. I would be pleased with either recipe, although Reagan’s was slightly better. I wasn’t going to tell Grandma that, though.
I didn’t worry that she wouldn’t fit. There was something about her that made everyone like her.
Even Mark seemed to like her a little. I think it had to do with our conversation about the ranch.
I shot him my offer, and he announced he wasn’t selling.
He did mention wanting to hand it over to me soon, but was concerned about how often I was gone.
If Reagan kept me here, it would work out.
On the other hand, Reagan’s perfect. She’s a perfect, delicate…
wildflower. I worry my rough life might damage her.
The cold, long winters. My cold, dark depressions that come and go with them.
What if I still need those months away from the ranch?
I couldn’t do that to her. If I did, I would have to make some sacrifices myself.
Jori’s words gnawed at me. She won’t last. She doesn’t know what you’re like when you shut down. She doesn’t know the things I know.
I know I hit a rough patch when Dad died. I was robbed of his memories, knowledge, advice, adult friendship, and watching him grow to old age.
Jori knew me in my twenties. A time when I hadn’t figured out where I belonged in the world or on the ranch. Deep in my gut, I knew this life was paved out for me. It was Jori who didn’t fit. Maybe she had an idea that she didn’t and would attempt to change my destiny.
I didn’t see that in Reagan. My eyes lifted from tracing the grout in the tile countertops as she approached me. I didn’t have to force a smile when I looked at her, cookie in her hand or not.
“Here.” She smiled.
I leaned forward, accepting her offering. “Thank you.”
Grandma spoke up, continuing their conversation about bread. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. If a loaf falls flat, add a little blackberry jam and call it rustic. Even after sixty years in the kitchen, sometimes the yeast decides to sleep in.”
“I believe you. I just really want to master sandwich bread.”
I wipe my mouth with my thumb before cutting in. “I’ll eat anything you bake, ruined or not.”
She shot me a look, and I’m not sure if it’s daggers or flirty. Either way, I like it.
I give her a smirk and offer an invitation. “I’ve got to run up to the ranch store if you want to join. They close at seven, so sooner would be better than later.”
“Yeah.” Reagan scoops another dozen onto a baking sheet.
“I got this handled. You two head out.”
The metal scooper causes the bowl to hum as it slides down, and Reagan wipes her hands off on a towel next to her. “Are you sure?”
“I certainly can handle it. But if Vincent needs something for the ranch, that takes priority, and I can’t have him waiting on you.” Grandma flashes a smile at Reagan, letting her know she means business.
“Alright. When we get back, I can help clean up.” She weaves the apron over her head and neatly folds it before setting it on the counter.
“See you, Gran.” I reach over and swipe up two warm cookies before leading Reagan out.
?
“Is this a whip?” She waves the rope attached to the stick in the middle of the aisle before giving it a few flicks.
I can’t help but laugh, “It’s a carrot stick. It helps communicate with the horse.”
“Is this what we came for?”
“No, I just need rasps, nails, and some pine tar before I run out.”
“Oh,” She sets it back where she found it. “Look, a lasso, you could lasso me.” Reagan bats her eyes like she is filling out a cowboy fantasy she had tucked away years ago.
I give a chuckle. “Lassos tend to be stiff. A lead rope would be the correct softness for your skin.” I wrap my arms in front of her, and a few strands of hair brush against my nose as I sneak a kiss onto her neck.
God, she smells like cookies and fresh country air, and before I think too much about it, I step away.
I needed to get her out of here and somewhere secluded. For my convenience, all my items are in the same aisle, and I grab what I need. “That’s it, let’s check out.”
I try to keep my cool and act like I’m not rushing to get her out of the store and undressed. I escorted Reagan to the counter, and in the moment, I forgot that Jori’s friend, Sammie, worked here. Did she know Jori came and saw me? It didn’t matter. Frankly, I didn’t care either.
“Hey,” I casually say, placing my items on the counter.
“Did you find everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I look to find Reagan standing behind me like another customer, cradling a soda. “Give me that.” I playfully plucked it from her hands.
“I can get it.” She protested.
“It's fine, Reagan. My treat.”
“Your total is eighty-four seventeen.” Sammie drapes the bag over the counter, and I swipe my card before handing Reagan her beverage.
“Thanks.” I shot Sammie a forced smile, and she doesn’t respond, just looks back at her phone.
?
“Thanks for going with me. Running errands was much more enjoyable with a plus one.” I peel the door open, letting the dim night light spill out of the stable.
“No problem.” She whispers, and I can tell she is uncertain about something. The stable, the dark, the horses, something.
“I’m going to put these back in the tack room.”
She gives a nod and looks into each stall as we pass.
I can’t help but take a detour to an upcoming stall.
She’s there, waiting for me. “Yelina, hey girl.” An Andalusian mare.
I stroke gently between her eyes and turn to see Reagan a few feet behind me.
“I shouldn’t confess that I have a favorite. But I do. This is Yelina.”
“Oh,” Reagan doesn’t move. Her arms are stiff at her sides, and she barely makes eye contact.
“Reagan, are you okay?” Then it hit me. “Are you uncomfortable around horses?”
She crosses an arm over her, acting like a barrier. “A little.”
“Well, she’s friendly if you want to say hi.”
Reagan’s lip twitches before she shuffles forward with a natural instinct to reach out. She lines up with me as her hand pats Yelina’s nose.
“She just got back from a trail vacation. I’ll have to give her a good scrub down tomorrow.”
Yelina leans into Reagan’s hand, causing her to retreat. “Sorry. I just—I’ve never really been around horses, and some stories from my childhood traumatized me.”
“That’s okay.” I give Yelina a few more strokes before parting ways. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” I lead her to the tack room, and the door opens with a familiar creak. “I also wouldn’t put you in harm’s way.”
The comforting leather smell envelopes us. Reagan’s shoulders drop, and she follows along the wall full of bridles, halters, girths and cinches.
I set the bag on the counter, not rushing to put it away, and watch her as she reaches out to feel the leather straps. There was something about the way this soft, pretty wildflower stood out against the dark, rustic wall. Something that drew me to her and my intentions were clear.
My touch turned her attention to me. I wasted no time finding her lips and pulling her into me. Reagan returned the motion, just as hungry. I pushed her jacket down her shoulders and set it on the shelf. God knew the floors were dirty.
Her fingers weaved through the curls at the nape of my neck, and in the process of pulling her in, I hoisted her up. She wrapped her legs around me with ease, like it was the plan all along.
As her shirt rides up, I find my fingers greedy, wanting more. I press her back against the leather and rope dangling along the wall and strip my jacket off, then my shirt while I’m at it.
Reagan’s hands gripped my neck, shoulders, and arms, and I couldn’t get inside her fast enough. Still wrapped around my waist, she meets me halfway and removes her top.
I crave her skin against mine and the feeling of slowly sinking into her on the first stroke. I lower her ass to a saddle stand. My saddle stand, equipped with my very own custom saddle.
I struggle with my belt while Reagan finds her footing to follow my lead. As I free myself, a lunge line catches my eye, sparking an idea that twitches my cock even harder.
Before she starts to fiddle with her shoes, I turn her backside to me.
Her bare chest hits the leather under her, and I peel her jeans just below her ass.
I arch over her back, lining my lips up with her ear.
“Nothing will sound sweeter than my name on your lips over my worn-in saddle. If things get too rough, I suggest you bite down because your hands will be tied.”
She responds with just a breath and pushes her bare ass into me, begging. I slide my palms from her shoulders, collecting Reagan’s hands behind her. The line jumps off the hook, and I begin a quick bank robber’s knot, securing her hands behind her.
I fist my cock and guide myself into her warm slit. She welcomes me with a moan, and I wind the secure part of the lunge line around my right hand, while resting the other on her hip.
It was going to take a long time for me to forget the image of her whenever I looked at my saddle. Her ass rippled with each slam. The growing red marks on her wrist. Fuck, even the way her hair ricocheted off her shoulders did something to me.
I reached up and entangled my fingers with her hair.
A moan slipped through her lips as her head arched back.
I rammed into her over and over again. Harder than I meant to—not because I wanted to fuck her like I hated her as requested before—but because this was real and I wanted to push my luck and feel everything that was offered.
“Vinent.” She breathes through slams. “Don’t stop.”
I lean over to reach her ear and whisper, “Didn’t plan on it, wildflower.”
I maintain speed and angle with each thrust and watch her intertwine her fingers over her ass.
Reagan is white knuckling it like she’s ready to come on my cock.
I want to give it to her a little bit harder and a little bit faster, but I resist. If there was one thing I learned about The Forewarning, it is that women prefer a continuous motion when they find their rhythm. They get very upset if it changes.
Her breathing picks up, and the wetness covering me multiplies. “Oh, fuck.” She lets out a whine loud enough that I worry it might spook some of the horses. “Yes. Fuck yes.” She whispers low enough that she thinks I can’t hear. But I do, and I take that as my cue to drive into her deeper, faster.
The sound of her pleasure throws me over the edge, and I give in. I push into her a few last times and unclench my fist, giving her scalp relief. My gaze drops to my cock still separating those warm, glistening lips, and I want it burned into my fucking eyelids.
I stay there and reach for the side of the knot that sets her free instantly.
The leather lunge line whips the air as I toss it back on its hook.
Her hands flatten on my saddle, nails slightly digging in.
Other than that, Reagan sinks into my saddle, and I have no choice but to pull out.
Watching my cum ooze out of her is almost as good as spreading across her.
There’s no rag clean or good enough that I want to offer her.
So all I’m left with is pulling her jeans up.
After that, I hiked up mine. She still provides no movement except deep breaths, and for a moment I wonder if she is okay.
Was I too rough? “Reagan?” I step towards the front, squat down, and find her latched onto my saddle with her teeth. “I wasn’t serious about that.”
She looks up at me, pleased and exhausted. The leather squeaks under the pressure of her jaw and audibly rips away when she opens wide.
Left on my saddle is the perfect indentation of her bite right on the jockey. And I can’t just let it fade. I act fast and start rifling through drawers to find the heated pen. I was going to brand this memory into my saddle.
“Is everything okay?” She asks.
“Yeah. I’m looking for something.” I open the next drawer and find it. I jam the plug into the closest outlet I can find, and as it heats up, I help put Reagan back together.
“I have to sear this bite mark onto my saddle. It’s too damn cute not to.” I explained myself to her.
“Are you serious? Your saddle is pretty. Don’t ruin it.”
“Reagan—I got your number tattooed on my arm, and the memory of you in the woods marred my brain forever. I think this should be the least of your worries.”
She just stands there, cheeks flushed and her lips still swollen.
“I’m going to be here for a few minutes. You can wait or head to the house. It shouldn’t take long.”
“Yeah, I’ll go clean up. Then see if your grandma needs help.” Entering my space, she gives me a deep kiss, her hand finds my bare chest, and I want to pull her in for another round. But she’s right, and people will come looking if we are gone too long. “If you need anything, call for me.”