Chapter 5 Sloane
Chapter five
Sloane
The water trough won't stop leaking.
I’ve been fighting the valve for ten minutes, my shirt sticking to my spine despite the morning chill.
No matter how much muscle I put into it, the persistent drip-drip-drip continues in a rhythmic reminder that some things just won’t be forced into submission.
My hands are already blistered from yesterday's fence work, and the clamp sits abandoned in the dirt beside me because I'm too stubborn to admit I need help.
"You're stripping the threads."
Cash's voice comes from behind me, low and amused, and I don't turn around. I just grip the wrench tighter and try to force the valve closed through sheer will.
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're fighting the metal instead of feeling for the catch." His boots crunch on gravel as he approaches. "Let me show you."
"I said I'm fine."
He stands so close I can almost feel his heartbeat through the air, his unique scent of soap and sun-warmed skin filling my lungs. As his hand covers mine on the tool, heat goes straight into my pussy, shattering my focus and grounding me right where he wants me.
"Stubborn," he murmurs.
"Competent."
"It’s not an either-or." He draws me an inch closer, his hand steady on my hip. "But you're choosing the hardest path possible, and for what? To prove you can suffer?"
The double meaning isn't lost on me. I let go of the wrench, step back, and wipe my palms on my jeans. "Fine. Show me."
He moves into the space I vacated, and I watch him work. His forearms flex as he loosens the valve completely before repositioning it. I appreciate the controlled strength in his wrists as he tightens it with just enough pressure. He makes it look easy, and something builds behind my ribs.
"You were forcing it past the threads," he says without looking at me. "Needs to catch first, then tighten. Like this." He holds out his hand.
Taking it, I let him pull me close until I'm standing between him and the trough, his body solid against my back, his arms bracketing mine. His palms cover my hands, and he guides them to the valve.
"Feel that?" His words are warm against my ear. "You want to turn it until you feel resistance, then back off a quarter turn before tightening. Gives the threads room to catch."
We work the valve together, his hands over mine, his body a wall of warmth behind me. My pulse hammers in my throat, and I'm aware of everywhere our bodies connect: the press of his thighs against the backs of mine, the way his ribs expand and contract against my shoulders.
"There," he says into my ear. "Now it'll hold."
The valve sits tight, no dripping. I test it once, solid, and the small victory feels bigger than it should.
I should step away. Should put distance between us before I do something reckless like turn around and kiss him in broad daylight with ranch hands working fifty yards away.
Instead, I lean back into him. Just slightly. Just enough that he knows it's deliberate.
His arms tighten around me. "Sloane."
"I'm yours." The words come out with more conviction than I expected. "You said it in the truck. And you were right."
The air between us goes still. Then he turns me around, hands on my hips, and backs me against the fence post I set earlier. His gaze is intense and hungry, and there's something in his expression that's both claiming and careful.
"Say it again."
"I'm yours, Cash."
He captures my mouth in a kiss so absolute it leaves my lungs aching, his hold on my waist a lock to keep me there.
It’s a desperate, grounding contact, and I surrender to it completely, kissing him back with all the fear and frantic need I’ve been hoarding in the dark.
The dam finally breaks, and I let the weight of seventeen years of wanting him flood the space between us.
He breaks the contact, and we’re left shaking and short of breath.
"Come with me," he says.
"Where?"
"Somewhere we won't be interrupted." His voice drops lower. "I want to taste you again. Want to make you come so hard you forget your own name."
Heat coils low and heavy in my pussy, and the way my thighs clench against his weight draws a slow, dangerous grin to his face. He watches the realization dawn on me, his eyes sparking with the satisfaction of a man who knows he’s won.
"Yeah," he says. "That's what I thought."
He takes my hand and leads me toward the barn. The sun is high and bright and I should protest, should remind him that it's the middle of the day and people are working and this is reckless. But my body is already moving, following him like it knows something my brain hasn't caught up to yet.
The air inside the barn is thick with the sweet, heavy scent of hay and old saddles. He doesn't pause to shed his gear; his focus is entirely upward as he guides me toward the loft, his hand steady on the rungs of the ladder.
The space is empty except for bales stacked along the walls and shafts of dusty light coming through gaps in the boards. It's quiet up here. Private. The sounds from below are muffled and distant.
When Cash finally faces me, the sheer weight of his hunger pins me in place. My chest tightens as I realize he’s finally done waiting for me to catch up.
"No one comes up here during the day," he says. "We're alone."
"Cash, we can't—"
"Tell me you don't want this." He steps closer, backing me toward a stack of hay bales.
He spreads out a plaid blanket that sits folded nearby.
"Tell me you don't think about my mouth on you every time you close your eyes.
Tell me you didn't come apart the other night and spend the next few days wishing I'd stayed over. "
I can't. Because he's right.
"That's what I thought." He crowds me until my legs hit the hay. "Sit."
The command in his voice makes my pussy dampen. I sit. He kneels in front of me, hands on my knees, and the position puts him at eye level with my sternum.
"I'm going to undress you now," he says. "And you'll let me. Because you want this as badly as I do."
My pulse drums thick in my throat. "Yes."
He grips the hem of my shirt and drags it upward over my head.
Air rushes across my bare torso, and my nipples draw into tight points beneath the lace of my bra.
His gaze locks there first, pupils flaring wide, and his Adam's apple slides hard on a swallow while his hands reach behind me for the clasp.
"You're so beautiful it hurts," he mutters.
My bra falls away, straps slipping down my arms, and he tosses it aside onto a nearby hay bale.
For several heartbeats, he simply stares.
His eyes trace the heavy swell of my breasts, the soft roll of my stomach, the generous flare of my hips.
Seventeen years have added curves and softness I once tried to hide.
Now under his look, power surges through me instead of shame.
"Perfect," he breathes.
He leans in and closes his mouth over one nipple.
Wet heat envelops the peak, and his tongue swirls in broad, insistent circles while his hand cradles my other breast, thumb brushing back and forth across the tip in perfect time.
Pleasure arrows straight down my center to my pussy.
My fingers twist into his hair and tug him closer.
He switches breasts. His teeth catch the sensitive bud lightly, then his tongue soothes the faint sting with slow laps until my thighs press together on instinct. His free hand moves lower, popping the button of my jeans, dragging the zipper down with a rasp.
"Lift your hips."
I arch immediately. He strips my jeans and underwear away, then bends to pull off my boots, leaving me naked. Hay pricks my back and shoulders through the blanket, but the sting only sharpens the ache building in my pussy.
He rocks back on his heels, planting his palms on my thighs and spreading them wide. He settles between my legs, shoulders wedging me open, forearms braced along my hips so his hands can reach up to play with my breasts again. His mouth hovers just above my pussy, hot breath pulsing against me.
"I've been thinking about this since I took you into town," he says. "How you taste. The sounds you make when you come apart. The way your thighs clamp around my head when I push you past the edge."
"Cash." His name cracks out of me.
"Tell me you want this." Hunger roughens his voice, but something raw waits underneath, like my answer anchors him more than his own need.
"I want this." Theres no hesitation in my words, no second-guessing bills or futures or what happens tomorrow. "I want you because choosing you feels like the only honest thing left in my life."
His eyes flash dark. Relief and possession collide in his expression. "Say it again."
"I choose you, Cash. Right here. In this loft. With everything I am."
"Good girl." The praise rolls over me low and thick. His mouth comes down to own my pussy.
There’s no slow build this time. His tongue dives straight in, lapping broad and greedy from my entrance to my clit in long, claiming strokes that make my hips buck.
He groans against me, and the vibration sinks deep, hands kneading my breasts harder now, fingers rolling and pinching my nipples in sharp tugs that match the rhythm of his mouth below.
The dual points of fire race toward the same building pleasure center.
Hay shifts beneath my shoulder blades with every arch.
Dust motes dance in the slanted sunlight pouring through the high window, warming my skin while his stubble scrapes the tender insides of my thighs.
Leather and the faint aroma of horses cling to the air, mixing with the sharp scent of arousal and clean sweat.
"That's it," he growls against my clit. "Let me hear how much you want this."