Chapter 8
eight
. . .
Wayne
The sunset paints the sky in shades of orange and pink, casting long shadows across the pasture.
It should be beautiful. Probably is. But I can't tear my eyes away from Judy long enough to notice.
She's standing next to me at the fence line, golden light catching in her chestnut hair, making her glow like something otherworldly.
Something I shouldn't touch. But my hand is already resting on the small of her back, claiming her in a way I have no right to.
Been touching her more since that kiss two nights ago.
Can't seem to stop myself. A hand at her waist when I pass behind her in the kitchen.
Fingers brushing hers when I hand her a coffee mug.
My palm against her lower back, like now, guiding her around the ranch like she's already mine. And fuck, I want her to be.
"The horses look happy," she says, nodding toward where Thunder and Stormy graze peacefully in the evening light.
"They are." My thumb moves in small circles against her spine. I can feel her heat through the thin cotton of her sundress. "Simple needs. Food, water, space to run. Easy to keep horses happy."
Unlike women. Unlike nineteen-year-old runaways with haunted eyes and bodies made for sin.
Since that kiss, everything's shifted between us.
The tension that was already thick enough to cut with a knife has become something else.
Something inevitable. She watches me constantly now, those hazel eyes tracking my movements around the house, the barn, the yard.
And I watch her right back. Neither of us mentioning what happened, both of us waiting for the other to break first.
"You ever miss the rodeo circuit?" she asks, looking up at me. The fading sunlight catches her eyes, turning them almost golden. "You must've traveled a lot."
I shrug. "Sometimes. Mostly I'm glad to be settled. Have my own place." My fingers spread wider against her back, nearly spanning from one side to the other. She's so damn small. "You thinking about running again?"
The question slips out before I can stop it. Been on my mind since she showed up. When she'll leave. If she'll leave. How I'll stop her if she tries.
She looks startled. "No. I…I like it here."
Relief washes through me, stronger than it should be. "Good."
We stand in silence for a moment, watching the sun sink lower. The temperature's dropping, but I don't suggest going back to the house. Don't want this moment to end. Her leaning slightly into my touch. My hand possessively splayed across her back. The world narrowed down to just the two of us.
"Wayne?" she says, voice soft.
"Hmm?"
"Why did you kiss me?"
The directness of the question catches me off guard. I look down at her, finding those wide eyes studying me intently. No point lying. No point pretending anymore.
"Because I've wanted to since the second I saw you," I say, voice rough with honesty. "Because you were sitting there in my guest bed, looking scared and beautiful, and I couldn't stop myself."
Her lips part slightly. She doesn't look away.
"Why did you stop?" she asks, bolder now.
Jesus. This girl. She'll be the death of me.
"Because if I hadn't," I say slowly, deliberately, "I wouldn't have stopped at all."
Color floods her cheeks, but still she holds my gaze. The courage in that small act pulls something loose in my chest.
Fuck it. Cards on the table.
"Can't get you out of my head, angel." I turn to face her fully, my hand sliding from her back to her hip, anchoring her in place. "Been hard for you since you stepped foot here."
Her eyes widen, pupils dilating in the fading light. She doesn't pull away. Doesn't look disgusted or frightened. Instead, there's trust in her expression. Need. Maybe even relief.
"Every morning I wake up thinking about you," I continue, the confession pouring out now that I've started. "Every night I go to sleep with your face in my mind. It's driving me fucking crazy, having you so close and not being able to touch you the way I want to."
"How..." Her voice is barely above a whisper. She swallows, tries again. "How do you want to touch me?"
Christ. The innocence in the question makes my cock twitch behind my zipper.
"Every way there is," I admit, my other hand coming up to cup her cheek.
My thumb traces her lower lip, still plump from where I'd sucked on it during our kiss.
"Want to put my hands and mouth on every inch of you.
Want to make you come so many times you forget your own name.
Want to be inside you, filling you up, making you mine. "
She trembles beneath my touch, but not with fear. Her lips part under the pressure of my thumb, and the wet heat of her mouth brushes against my skin. My cock hardens instantly, pressing painfully against denim.
"I've never..." she starts, then stops, embarrassed.
"I know," I say gently, though the knowledge makes my balls tighten. She's untouched. Pure. And I'm going to ruin her for anyone else. "We don't have to rush anything."
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I want to rush everything. Want to carry her back to the house right now, spread her out on my bed, and spend hours taking her apart with my fingers and tongue before I finally slide my cock inside her tight heat.
But I'll wait. Take it slow. Show her how good it can be between us.
"I think about you too," she confesses, eyes dropping shyly to my chest before rising again to meet mine. "All the time. It's…confusing."
"What's confusing about it?" I ask, thumb still tracing the outline of her lips, mesmerized by their softness.
"I shouldn't want this," she says. "Want you. You're…and I'm..."
"I'm too old for you," I finish for her. "You're too young for me. I'm offering you shelter and protection, and I shouldn't be thinking about bending you over every surface in my house."
She gasps slightly at the crude honesty, but there's heat in her eyes. Desire.
"Yes," she agrees. "All of that."
"And yet here we are." I step closer, eliminating the last bit of space between us. Her body is a line of heat against mine, soft curves fitting perfectly against my harder angles. "Both of us wanting something we probably shouldn't."
The sun has nearly disappeared now, casting us in twilight shadows. Her face is tilted up to mine, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and trusting. Wanting. Waiting.
"So what do we do?" she asks.
"Whatever feels right," I say, bending to brush my lips across her forehead. Not the kiss she's expecting, but a promise of more to come. "No rush, angel. We have time."
The sky darkens around us as the last sliver of sun disappears behind the mountains. Stars begin to appear, one by one, in the deepening blue. My hand remains on her hip, possessive, claiming. The other still cups her cheek, thumb tracing patterns on her skin.
"We should head back," I say reluctantly. "Getting cold."
She nods but makes no move to step away. Neither do I. We stand there, locked together in the growing darkness, both aware that we've crossed a line. That there's no going back now.
And I don't want to go back. I want to move forward. Want to claim this girl completely. Want to make her mine in every way possible.
Soon. Not tonight, but soon.