Chapter 16
Liam
The morning started the way the best mornings did—with Stephy beside me, her hair still messy from sleep, wearing one of my shirts that hit her mid-thigh and nothing else.
She stood in the kitchen doorway, backlit by the early sun streaming through the windows, looking like some kind of ranch angel sent to test my self-control.
"You planning on working the ranch dressed like that?" I asked, watching her stretch, the hem of my shirt riding up to reveal the curve of her hip.
"Why? Is it distracting?" She sauntered over—and it was definitely a saunter—to grab a piece of bacon from my plate, grinning when I mock-glared at her. "Besides, I have shorts in the cabin. Probably."
"Probably?"
"Maybe. Possibly." She stole another piece of bacon, then licked her fingers in a way that was definitely intentional. "Or I could just work like this. Give the cattle something to talk about."
"The cattle have enough to gossip about."
"Do they? What are they saying about us?" She hopped up on the counter, legs swinging, looking far too comfortable in my space, in my clothes, in my life.
"That you're a terrible influence on their formerly responsible rancher."
"Formerly responsible?" She gasped in fake offense. "I'll have you know I'm very good for you. I make you laugh. I help with chores. I provide excellent stress relief—"
"Stephy."
"What? It's true. You were way too tense before. Now you're all loose and relaxed." She grinned wickedly. "You're welcome, by the way."
"You're going to make us late for chores.” I stepped between her knees, palms sliding up her thighs—
And froze.
Jesus.
There were no panties under my shirt. Nothing but warm, bare skin meeting my thumbs. A low, involuntary growl slipped out of me before I could stop it. “Stephy.”
“What?” she asked innocently, batting her lashes like she didn’t know exactly what she was doing to me.
I dragged my thumbs a little higher, just enough to feel her breath hitch. Her legs parted instinctively.
“You trying to kill me before breakfast, sweetheart?”
“Maybe,” she whispered, a challenge, a dare.
I leaned in, my body crowding hers, and let my fingers trail up the inside of her thigh until they found heat—soft, wet, already ready for me.
She gasped, hands flying to my shoulders for balance. Her breath hit my jaw in short, broken bursts. “Lee…”
“Shh,” I murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth as my fingers slid over her again, slow and intentional. “Keep quiet for me.” The ranch hands were surely out at this hour, and I wasn’t about to let anyone hear my girl like this.
She nodded shakily, but the next sound that escaped her wasn’t anywhere close to quiet—it was loud, desperate, needy. I swallowed it with a kiss as my fingers found her clit, and moved in slow, devastating circles that made her hips jump against my hand.
Her thighs trembled. Her forehead dropped to my shoulder, fingers fisted in my shirt like I was the only thing keeping her here.
And when she moaned my name—wrecked and breathless—I nearly lost every ounce of discipline I had left, and fucked her on the counter. But there was too much to do around the ranch, so it’d have to wait.
But I’d give her this. I’d happily give her this.
She shattered against my hand, clinging to me, breath stuttering against my neck until she finally sagged against the counter, boneless and blinking up at me like she wasn’t sure the world still existed.
I kissed her forehead gently—soft, grounding, reverent.
“If you’re good and do your chores,” I whispered against her skin. “I’ll give you the rest tonight.”
She shivered, eyes dark and blown wide, and whispered, “Promise?”
I cupped her jaw, kissed her slow and sweet and full of heat. “Yeah, sweetheart,” I said, voice rough. “I promise.”
"Chores," I said firmly, pulling back before I went back on my word, and we ended up back in bed.
"Fine." She hopped down, patting my chest. "But I'm filing a complaint with management about the strict schedule around here."
I couldn’t help but smile. “I am management."
"Then I'll file my complaint tonight.” Her gaze slid over my body slow enough that I could practically feel it. “In detail,” she added, “Might take a while."
Lord, have mercy.
She disappeared to find actual clothes, returning in denim cutoffs that should've been illegal and a tank top that had seen better days but clung to her in ways that made thinking difficult. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she'd stolen my work hat, which sat crooked on her head.
"Ready to work, boss?" she asked, doing a little spin that made those shorts ride up.
“I knew it. You are trying to kill me."
"If I wanted to kill you, I'd wear the white shorts. You know, the ones from—"
"We're not talking about the white shorts while I need to function."
She laughed, bright and free, and headed out into the morning. The sun was just starting to warm things up, that golden hour when Texas was all soft edges and honey-colored light. The air smelled like grass and possibility, with just a hint of the rain that had passed through last night.
"What's first?" Stephy asked, grabbing work gloves from the barn. They were too big for her—mine, actually—but she'd claimed them weeks ago.
"Feed and water. Then we need to check the fence line in the south pasture. Storm might've knocked some posts loose."
"Aye, aye, Ranger." She gave me a mock salute that turned into her adjusting the hat so she could actually see. "Lead the way."
We fell into the rhythm of ranch work, moving around each other like we'd been doing this for years instead of weeks.
She knew to duck when I swung hay bales down from the loft, muscles straining with the weight, sweat already starting despite the early hour.
I knew to steady the water trough when she turned the hose on full blast, water spraying everywhere, when she got distracted by one of the barn cats.
"Your rooster is judging me," she announced about an hour in, eyeing Caesar, where he strutted along the fence like he owned the place. "He's got opinions about my hay-spreading technique."
"Caesar has opinions about everything."
"Well, Caesar can kiss my—" She bent over to grab another hay flake, and my brain completely short-circuited.
Those shorts. That position. The way the morning sun hit her skin, turning it gold, highlighting the curve of her back, the length of her legs. Christ almighty.
She must have felt me staring because she looked over her shoulder, still bent over, and grinned. "See something you like?"
"Just...checking your form."
"My form?" She straightened slowly, deliberately, making a show of it, hands sliding up her thighs as she stood. "How's my form, Lee?"
I shifted on my feet, hoping she couldn’t see how hard I was. “Needs work."
“Oh yeah?” She spun on her heel. “Maybe you should show me.
" She moved closer to grab the pitchfork I was holding.
Heat rushed through my veins when her hand covered mine on the handle.
She was close enough that I could smell her—citrusy shampoo, sunscreen, and that particular scent that was just Stephy. "Hands-on instruction, you know?”
A shaky breath slid past my lips. “You're gonna be the death of me."
“But what a way to go.” She echoed her own words from days ago, flashed me a grin that should be illegal in seven states, and then danced away, that perfect ass of hers swaying.
The morning continued like that—her being playful and relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen since I couldn’t remember when.
And me?
I walked around with a hard-on like a teenager discovering boobs for the first time.
She’d bump my hip when passing, pretending it was accidental.
Or let her fingers trail across my lower back every time she walked behind me, like she knew exactly what that did to me.
Or tug on my belt loop to get my attention instead of using words like a normal human being—her fingers hooking into my jeans, tugging me back into her space.
And her chest would brush against my arm like she didn’t know I was one breath away from losing every ounce of self-control I possessed.
And worst of all?
Every time she touched me—every damn time—my body reacted like I was fifteen again, hopelessly gone for the girl next door who didn’t even know she had me on my knees.
By noon, I’d had to adjust my jeans so many times I was one more accidental brush away from swearing Devon Ford’s patented Oath of Sainted Cowboy Celibacy—because the way Stephy was moving through this barn?
She was going to make me break my promise and take her right here.
"You're in a mood today," I observed, watching her practically skip toward the barn with empty water buckets swinging from her hands.
"A good mood," she corrected, spinning around to walk backward, those shorts riding low on her hips, that strip of skin between shorts and tank top calling to me like a siren. "A very, very good mood."
"Any particular reason?"
"Maybe I just like working the ranch. Maybe I like the company." She bit her lip in that way that meant trouble. "Maybe I really, really liked what happened in the kitchen this morning.”
That was it. I was done.
I followed after her—stalking, not walking—heat pounding in my blood, every rational thought gone.
She didn’t notice me right away, too focused on her chore, sunlight catching on the curve of her shoulder, the outline of her nipple visible through the thin cotton of her top.
Christ.
“Steph.” My voice came out low. Rough. Dangerous.
She turned, smiling—until she saw my face. Her smile faltered, breath catching.
“Lee?” she whispered. “What—”
I didn’t let her finish and backed her into the wall.
Her hands flew to my shoulders, gripping tight, her chest rising sharply as I leaned in close—my mouth at her ear, my breath raising goosebumps on her skin.
“You’ve been fucking with me all morning,” I growled. “Walking around in those shorts… touching me every chance you get…”
Her breath came fast, shaky. “Lee—”