FIRST TIME CRUSH (Worth The Wait #3)

Chapter 1

Emily

I reach over as he pulls the truck off the main street into the parking lot, and run my hand down the exquisite hardness of his chest.

A chest I've known and watched grow from the little boy who became part of my Aunt Leah and Uncle Allister’s family when he was just three years old to the man he definitely is now.

We've been in this truck for two and a half hours, running down from our combined family's ranch compound in middle Montana to the college town on the border of Wyoming where my cousins, Roman's brother and sister, go to school.

Roman was adopted, so he’s not blood related to any of us, but still, we’re family in our hearts in every way that’s important.

My pussy has been throbbing the whole drive.

I have dreamed of climbing him like a tree for so long, I can’t remember who I was before this constant, unrelenting ache started inside of me.

He’s patient if not infuriating and as sweet as he is with me, there’s a seething bad boy just under the surface ready to pop out and go fist to cuffs probably more than he should.

There’s also a sad cowboy origin story behind that jaw dropping chest. And those dark chocolate eyes. But someday, I hope he finally realizes it doesn’t matter where you start in life. It’s where you end up.

“I think you love this truck more than you love me,” I tease as he finds a spot in the shade and puts it in park.

“You let me sit out in the sun. What if my paint starts to crack?” I nibble the end of my thumb while tugging the collar of my shirt to the side exposing my chest and the indent of my cleavage.

“You want me to blow up my truck to show my devotion?” His thick masculine voice makes frustrating things happen down below my belly button.

I bare my teeth in a playful growl. “I want to say yes, but I know you’d do it then I’d feel twenty-Sundays of bad about being a brat. And, then we wouldn’t have a truck and you’re one of two people I trust to haul Ruby around to my competitions.”

Ruby Tuesday is my mare and we are sitting first in the regional 1D standings. Minnie Mae is my trainer and the only other person I’ll allow to haul Ruby. And, Roman actually feels the same way about his champion quarter horse, Cavalier.

We’ve just parked outside the building where Roman’s adopted brother and sister have an off-campus condo. My twin cousins, Casey and Carrie, are already at college because they’re bona fide geniuses, but the four of us have been sharing secrets and making mischief as far back as our memories go.

We are each other’s ride or die.

‘Hunnerd percent.

“I’m not blowing up my truck.” He extends his arm and grabs me by the back of my hair and pulls my head forward, planning a warm but powerful kiss on my forehead.

“I just want to know what it feels like to have that monster you've got down there inside me.” I pout, and Roman lets out a low growl as I give him my flutteriest lashes. “Pretty please? I dream about it even. Every night. I want all that bad boy baby batter fillin’ me up good n’ proper.”

I flutter my lashes and he swallows, and that movement of his Adam's apple in his throat does things to me down low.

“Soon, baby.” He releases my hair as the truck’s diesel engine settles into a low idling rumble.

I’ve dreamed of being pregnant with my sort-of-cousin’s baby so long it’s shameful. I think I wanted to be the mother of his babies before I even knew how babies were made.

But along with that, I also have this thing… I want my dad’s approval of the man I’ll marry. It’s important to me to know that we have his blessing.

It’s all wrapped up with hormones and horniness, but deep down if I ever saw disappointment in my father’s eyes, it would kill me.

Roman knows it, and he’s been living with my dual personalities, one of which would jump him in an instant, while the other would die inside knowing she disappointed her daddy.

Well, her first daddy I should say.

“Saint Roman,” I tease on a dramatic exhale. “Your balls must be the color of blueberries.”

His hand darts out, fingers clamping at my windpipe, and suddenly, breathing is impossible. There’s a second of fear but gosh, how I love it when he gets bossy and rough.

I struggle to choke out something about them being a lot bigger than blueberries, but his ragged palm on my throat makes it impossible.

I smile as I'm gasping, because his other hand pops his black Stetson off and sets it on my head before he starts to work open the silver buckle of my belt, then the button on my Wranglers. I may not get my pussy full of his dick today, but I'm gonna get something, and that's good enough for me.

For now, at least.

“You will not break me, baby. But you will get me to bend like a willow in a storm.” Roman’s rough hands twist me around as he lurches, and we both end up in one of my favorite places in the world.

The back seat of his truck.

“You know, they call eighteen-year-old girls nubile. It means ready to be knocked up.” I giggle. “And I’ve tried every trick in the book to make you give me that foot-long meat stick. I should be offended. If I didn’t know you loved me, I’d think you didn’t love me.”

Another pout. My brat meter is in the red and he tolerates me like he tolerates a buckskin yearling acting up but even Saint Roman has limits.

I start to reach for my Buc-ee’s extra-large cherry lemonade in the cup holder but my hand freezes mid-air when I hear that special Roman Marshall ‘I’ve had about enough of your mouth’ snarl.

Before I get out a yelp, my jeans are down my hips and see a flash of that dimple that makes half the girls in Montana drop their panties.

“It ain’t about not wantin’.” He curses and his forearms flex as he gets my boots and pants off before I can say quit, and I’m ten kinds of soaking wet in the flash of a cowboy’s dimple.

He shifts his hips, working his buckle loose, then he does battle with the button and zipper on his Levi’s, frustration seething through his teeth, because the pressure from his colossal erection on the fabric is making it nearly impossible to set it free.

“I want you as bad as a spring river wants to run, lil Kicker.” My stomach does all those little girl things when he uses that name.

He may be the one in the family with the bad boy reputation, but I got myself kicked out of school for fighting more than a fist-full of times before I figured out in second grade, I had Roman and he kicked the shit out of anyone a thousand times better and faster than I could.

Plus, I secretly loved how protective he was of me. Even then. But, he started calling me that name way back and it stuck.

A low, menacing groan vibrates from his chest when his erection finally pops out, and my jaw unhinges like it does every time I get my eyes on his man-monster he keeps corralled behind that silver buckle.

It’s the eighth wonder of the world in my eyes. It’s not just the size, but that’s a sure sight as well. But, it’s just…beautiful in its own masculine way.

It reminds me of Roman, thick and hard and standing tall but also, imperfect and those imperfections only make it more compelling.

It curves slightly to the left, and there’s a vein that runs jagged along the side.

The scar from his circumcision is star-shaped just under the swollen head and I love to kiss it and make a wish.

He’s watching as I swipe the back of my hand over my lips, spreading a drop of drool across my left cheek.

He’s always watching. It’s one of the many things that balances out my frustration that he won’t pop my cherry like every boy in high school wished they could.

He was protective of me from the moment we walked into kindergarten but I also learned not to tell him every time some boy said something about my ass or my tits or looked at me sideways because the entire state of Montana would be covered in blood and my poor Roman would be spending more than just a few days in county lockup.

Which… he’s done more than a few times already.

Roman Marshall is the most jealous man in the Northern Hemisphere.

Well, that’s not including my father and Roman’s father when it comes to our respective mothers. He came by his green streak honestly, even if Allister, my father’s best friend and my uncle, is not his biological father.

The family tree gets a little complicated and when we get married, it’s gonna be ten kinds of kinky knots but, as long as my Daddy gives us his blessing as soon as we reveal officially to our parents what they might already suspect, all will be right in my world and my heart.

I’m Daddy’s girl for sure. But, lucky for me, now I have two of them in vastly different roles in my life of course.

“Come on, now.” He weaves his fingers together and settles them on top of his head, nodding. “Get to rubbing, baby. You got me harder than anvil steel. Finish what you started like a good girl.”

We do this a lot. He sits back, and I climb on his lap, and we hump and grind, rubbing on each other for relief.

“All my friends, and their friends, and even our parents fucked before they got married,” I whine as he shoots me a look as I pop up from my place next to him and bracket his thighs with mine.

Friction from the hair on his legs scratches against my inner thighs as I settled on top of the enormous cowboy that is already family, which only sort of makes what we have together hotter.

We ain’t blood, but we sure as fire ain’t supposed to be play fucking in the back of his Ford.

“Jesus fuck.” He inhales, taking a handful of my hip and pressing my open folds down onto his hardness. “I swear your pussy smells sweeter every fucking time. You all nice and sloppy like I like you?”

I nod and throw my head back as he lets me go, reaching down for the shirttails of his blue and black plaid pearl-snap Roper shirt with hands as big as baseball mitts.

He tugs, all the snaps popping like tiny gunshots, exposing the wide planes of his chest, and I nearly come from the glory of the sight.

“Daddy,” I moan, knowing that name will get this bull bucking.