Chapter 28
Coyote ugly
Layla
Well this is going to be an awkward dinner.
I can’t believe I just told him I loved him.
I do love him. I’ve never told a man I loved him first. I don’t know if I’ve even ever truly been in love because this feels different.
This is different. The words are still burning in my throat, raw and exposed, like I ripped them out and handed them to him on a platter.
My chest aches—tight, heavy, like I can’t get a full breath.
I stomp up the front steps of the main house, boots loud on the wood, and I can hear everyone yelling inside, raised voices, chairs scraping, the familiar chaos of the Marshall family.
I walk in and everyone looks at me for a second, eyes wide, mid-argument, then goes back to freaking out.
Glad they are comfortable enough around me now that they can be themselves.
I sit down, grab a roll, still hot, buttery, the crust flaking under my fingers and pour myself some sweet tea, the ice clinking loud against the glass.
“Alright everyone hush,” John snaps, voice cutting through like a whip.
Everyone quiets. The room settles into a tense hush, silverware pausing, breaths held.
“We need to take shifts,” he says.
“What’s going on?” I say, mouth full, crumbs on my lips.
“There are coyotes. The McCann’s called to warn us that they were making their way here and last night one of our cows was attacked.”
I gasp. “Oh my god. Okay. Anything I can do to help?”
“You and Cole go on watch after dinner. At least till midnight. Then Maggie and Luke will relieve you,” John says.
“Okay,” I say reluctantly, voice small, stomach twisting at the thought of hours alone with him in the dark.
“Dad, I don’t—” Cole starts.
“Is there a problem?” John asks, eyebrow raised.
Cole is silent. Jaw tight, eyes on his plate.
“Not at all,” I say, quick, before the silence stretches too long.
“Perfect. Eat and get out there.”
Cole finishes his dinner fast, fork scraping the plate, chair scraping back and looks at me before leaving the table.
“I’ll be in the truck when you’re done,” he says, voice low, rough, eyes flicking to mine for half a second before he’s gone.
“Grab that rifle,” John says to him.
Cole nods, short, sharp and heads out.
I finish my food, roll dry in my mouth, sweet tea too sweet, too cold sliding down my throat and head outside.
The night air hits cool against my skin.
Cole is already in the truck waiting for me, engine idling low, headlights cutting through the dark, exhaust curling faint in the cool air.
So I climb in, door heavy, leather seat cool under my thighs.
I’ve never done anything like this before and I’ve definitely never shot a gun before. The cab smells like him—leather, pine, faint sweat from the day, that cedar cologne that clings to everything he touches.
“You know how to use that thing?” I ask, glancing down into the back seat where the rifle lies, black metal gleaming dull under the dash light.
“No, it's for looks,” he says deadpan, toothpick rolling in his mouth.
I roll my eyes. Probably not the best time to be making jokes, but okay. The tension in the cab is thick, the engine rumbling low under us, headlights bouncing over the gravel as we pull out.
“I’ve never shot one before,” I say.
“Do you want to?” he asks, voice quieter now, curious.
I shrug my shoulders. “Eh, if you know how to use it I’m sure we will be safe.”
He nods, driving us down into pasture forty, the truck bouncing over ruts, headlights sweeping across tall grass and fence lines, the dark stretching wide around us.
“So what do we do? Just sit here and watch?” I ask.
“Yeah. That’s about it.”
“You gonna give me short answers all night?” I ask, glancing over at him from the passenger seat, his profile sharp in the dash glow, jaw tight, hands strong on the wheel.
He lets out an exhale—long, slow—and looks out the window, then back over to me.
“I’m sorry about earlier. Okay? I’m also sorry if you feel like I’ve been dicking you around.
That wasn’t my intention at all. I can promise you that,” he says—voice rough, low, eyes flicking to mine for a second before returning to the dark ahead.
“Alright,” I say, looking out the driver-side window—grass whipping past, stars sharp overhead.
“This is going to be a long night,” he says as he puts the truck in park.
“Yep,” I say, opening the car door and stepping outside onto the field. The grass is cool and damp under my boots.
He opens his door fast and jumps down. “Just what the hell are you doing? It’s dangerous being out here—it’s dark and there’s a huge possibility that there are coyotes and you think it’s best to get out and smell the fresh air. Get back in the truck, Layla.” He demands—voice sharp, protective.
“No. I’m fine. If I hear something I will let you know. If I need to sit down I’ll climb in the back of the truck,” I say, letting the truck bed down—metal clanging softly.
“Get in the truck.”
“No.” I step closer to him—close enough to smell him again, pine and sweat and him.
“Layla.”
“Cole.”
We stare at each other—it’s dark out here and yes I’m terrified but also I’m not because I know Cole will protect me and if I’m being honest just being five feet away from him makes me feel safer than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
The night wraps around us, crickets, wind rustling the grass and his breath visible in the cool air.
His eyes are dark, intense, locked on mine, and for a second I think he might close the distance.
My heart hammers, thighs clenching at the thought.
We stare, dark out here, yes I’m terrified, but also I’m not, because I know he’ll protect me.
I’m five feet away from him and I feel safer than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
His jaw is clenched, eyes locked on mine, breath visible in the cool air.
For a second I think he might close the distance.
My heart hammers, thighs clenching at the thought.
Then he moves, fast, deliberate. One hand grabs my waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh there, thumb stroking the curve of my hip like he can’t get enough, the other cups the back of my neck, and he kisses me.
Hard. Hungry. Lips crashing against mine, tongue sweeping in like he’s claiming every inch of my mouth.
I moan into him, loud, desperate, hands fisting his shirt, pulling him closer.
He tastes like beer and mint and him, the stubble on his jaw scraping my skin, sending sparks down my spine.
He breaks the kiss just enough to growl against my lips. “You drive me fucking insane.”
“Good,” I breathe, nipping his bottom lip. “Do something about it.”
He lifts me, effortless, big hands under my ass, fingers sinking into the plush softness, gripping like he’s memorizing every curve.
He carries me to the truck bed, sets me down with a gentle thud on the rough mat.
The metal’s cold against my back through the fabric, but I barely notice.
He doesn’t waste time, yanks my tank top up and over my head, tossing it aside.
My bra follows. Cool night air hits my full breasts, nipples tightening instantly, heavy and sensitive.
He groans, low, animalistic, palms sliding up my belly, cupping my tits, thumbs brushing the peaks.
“Fuck, look at these,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “So full. So heavy. Perfect..” He drops his head, sucks one nipple hard, teeth grazing, tongue flicking and I cry out, back arching off the metal
. He switches to the other, sucking deep, growling against my skin.
“You have no idea what you do to me. This body—soft, curvy, made for my hands. These hips? Christ. Drives me wild. Your belly it’s soft, perfect and I want to bury my face in it.
Your thighs, thick, strong, wrapping around me like you’ll never let go. ”
His hands are everywhere, rough, possessive, sliding down to my shorts, popping the button, shoving them down my thighs along with my panties.
I’m bare now, wet and aching, the cool air hitting my exposed skin.
He spreads my thighs wide, his jeans still on, rough denim scraping the insides of my legs.
“Look at this pretty pussy,” he murmurs, voice reverent but filthy. “So wet for me already. Dripping.”
He drags two fingers through my folds, slowly, teasing and then pushes them inside, curling deep. I moan loud, head falling back against the blanket.
“That’s it. Take it. Let me feel how much you want me. Fuck, every inch of you is perfect. Soft belly, thick thighs, full tits bouncing while I fuck you. You’re made for me, Layla. Every goddamn part.”
He pumps his fingers, rough and fast, thumb circling my clit in tight, relentless strokes. My hips buck, thighs trembling around his waist.
“Cole—please—”
“Please what?” he growls, adding a third finger, stretching me wide. “Tell me what you need.”
“You,” I gasp. “Inside me. Now.”
He doesn’t hesitate, stands, unzips his jeans, pulls his cock out, thick and hard, already leaking at the tip. He strokes once, slow, deliberate, eyes locked on mine.
“You want this?”
“Yes,” I breathe, spreading my legs wider. “Fuck me, Cole. Hard.”
He grabs my hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, bruising in the best way and slams into me in one rough thrust. I cry out—half pain, half pleasure—back arching off the blanket, nails raking down his arms through his t-shirt.
He doesn’t give me time to adjust—just starts fucking me hard, deep, relentless.
The truck rocks with every snap of his hips, metal creaking, blanket bunching under me.
“Fuck, look at you,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Taking me so good. These thighs wrapped around me, soft and strong. These hips, Jesus, the way they move when I fuck you. Perfect. So fucking perfect.”
His hands slide up, gripping my breasts, squeezing rough. “These tits bouncing for me. Made for my mouth. My hands. My cock. Your belly, I want to feel it against me every time I bury myself in you.”
I’m moaning nonstop, loud, shameless, head thrown back, stars spinning above us. He’s everywhere, filling me, stretching me, dominating every inch of my body. One hand slides between us, thumb finding my clit again, rubbing fast, hard circles that make my whole body seize.
“Cum for me,” he growls, hips snapping deeper. “Cum on my cock, Layla. Let me feel it. Let me feel you fall apart. Let me feel this perfect pussy clench around me while I fuck every inch of this body that’s been driving me crazy since the day you got here.”
I shatter, back arching off the truck bed, vision whiting out, a scream tearing from my throat as I clench around him, wave after wave crashing through me.
He follows right after, hips stuttering, burying deep with a broken groan, spilling inside me, hot and thick, his whole body shuddering above mine.
We stay locked together, panting, sweat-slick, hearts hammering against each other. His forehead drops to mine, breath ragged against my lips.
I can’t speak. Just nod, tears slipping down my temples, not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming intensity of it of him finally taking without holding back and finally saying something other than stay.