12. Wyatt
WYATT
I wake up to find Naomi half-buried under my arm, her wild hair tangled against my chest. The room smells like her and I’ll never get enough of her vanilla fragrance mixed with the raw, sweet scent that means she fell asleep after we fucked last night.
I let myself breathe her in for a minute, hand drifting over her bare shoulder, watching the way her cheek rises and falls against my ribs with every slow, even breath.
In sleep, she looks nothing like the tough, razor-witted woman who can hold her own in a roomful of perverts and high-rollers.
She looks young, fragile, lips parted just enough to show the line of her teeth, her hand curled into a loose fist at my side.
Her face is marked with the faintest lines, traces of worry she’ll never admit to anyone but me.
I press my lips to the crown of her head and let my eyes close, pretending—for one minute—that nothing ugly can get to us here.
Of course, that’s a lie. I didn’t sleep more than twenty minutes last night, thinking about that little shit, Stellan, and what he might try next.
My mind kept running the same tape over and over again.
I can hear Casey’s panicked voice on the phone, Naomi’s face as she told me about the threats, the way her hands shook when she finally let herself fall apart.
I told myself I’d wait until daylight to deal with it, that I’d give her this one night of peace, but my heart never got the message.
I can feel my pulse in my jaw, in my wrists.
My muscles ache from holding her so goddamn tight.
I know I should let her sleep, but the urge to touch her, to make sure she’s real and whole and still mine, is too much.
I shift onto my side before sliding my hand up her arm to the back of her neck.
The skin there is soft, warm, and impossibly alive.
I trace the line of her spine with my fingers, then lower my mouth to her shoulder and kiss it, feather-light at first, just enough pressure to gently wake her.
She stirs. A little moan escapes her lips, quiet and questioning. I push the hair away from her ear and whisper, “It’s just me, fever.” My voice is gravel but gentle.
She mumbles something unintelligible, a half-laugh in her sleep, and scoots closer, her thigh hitching over my hips.
Her skin is on fire, smooth and slick from the heat of our bodies under the heavy quilt.
I plant another kiss, this time along the side of her throat, and let my hand wander lower, over the curve of her waist, down to the top of her ass.
I squeeze, just enough to remind her who she belongs to.
“Mm,” she says, not quite awake, but her hips roll into mine. She drags a sleepy hand up my stomach, then opens her eyes just a sliver, but it’s enough. She’s awake now, pupils wide and dark in the half-light. “What time is it?” she asks, voice thick.
“Too early for this,” I say, but I’m already hard, cock pressed up against the line of her thigh.
She catches it with a smirk, the corners of her mouth turning up in a way that makes my heart squeeze. “But we’re doing it anyway,” she says, and I can hear the dare in her voice.
I don’t waste any more time. I roll her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand.
She goes willingly, arching into me, eyes bright and hungry.
My mouth finds hers, rougher this time, tongue sweeping in and claiming every inch.
I kiss her until she’s breathless, until her hips buck up and her thighs open, dragging me between them.
She’s wet already and the smell of her sweet pussy makes my head swim.
I let go of her wrists and move my hand down, tracing the inside of her thigh, teasing her open with a slow, relentless pressure.
She shudders when I touch her clit, biting my lip to keep from moaning.
“Wyatt—” she starts, but I cut her off, sliding two fingers inside her in one smooth motion.
She gasps, clutching my biceps, nails digging into the muscle.
I keep my rhythm steady, slow, watching her face for every reaction.
When she starts to tremble, I lean down and bite her nipple, not hard enough to mark her, but enough to make her yelp.
Her body bows up under mine, and I feel her getting close, her legs shaking, her breath coming in little frantic bursts.
I want her to come for me. I need it like I need air.
I curl my fingers just right while circling her clit, and she goes off.
Her eyes fly open as her mouth rounds into a perfect O and her silky walls clamps down around my fingers.
She’s so fucking gorgeous like this, wild and open with nothing held back.
I ride it out with her, kissing her face, her neck, her chest, until she collapses, boneless and spent.
Before she can come down, I line up my cock and push in, slow at first, savoring the stretch.
She wraps her legs around me, dragging me deeper, her nails raking down my back.
“Harder,” she whispers, so I give it to her, fucking her deep and fast, every thrust an oath I never learned how to say out loud.
It doesn’t take long. I’m too wound up, too fucking desperate for her.
When I come, it’s a rush of heat, a full-body shock that leaves me shaking.
I spill inside her and collapse onto the bed next to her curvy body, both of us panting like we’ve just run from a burning building.
“I love the way you wake me up.” She sighs sleepily.
For a few minutes, neither of us moves. I rest my face in the hollow of her neck, listening to her heart slow back down. She traces lazy circles on my back, her breath evening out.
Before she falls back asleep, I tell her. “I’m taking care of Stellan today. He’s never coming near you or your family again.”
She tenses, just a little, and tilts her head up to look at me. “Don’t do anything to get in trouble,” she whispers.
“Don’t worry.” I kiss her forehead, her temple, the soft skin just above her eyebrow. “I’ll take care of everything. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Ever.”
“I know.” Her unwavering trust warms my heart. There’s an engagement ring hidden in my dresser drawer. I’ve been waiting for the right time to give it to her. Hopefully, I’ll find it once I get Stellan Mintz straightened out.
I don’t want to move. I want to stay here, inside this bubble, with her body crushed against mine. But the sky outside is already turning gray, and I know what I have to do. I peel myself away, planting one last kiss on her mouth before sliding out of bed.
She watches me dress, eyes hooded and satisfied.
I pull on a pair of jeans, no underwear, then a dark, fitted t-shirt that stretches across my chest. My hands are still shaking, adrenaline firing through my veins, but I try to play it cool.
“I’m meeting Cowboy at the ranch. He’s going with me to have a little chat with Stellan then I have a meeting with Roman to finalize the new security measures at the club. ”
She props herself up on one elbow, the sheet slipping down to reveal her perfect tits. “Be careful,” she says, and I can tell she means it. “He’s not worth getting hurt over.”
I walk back over, kneel down so we’re face to face. “You are,” I say, dead serious. “You’re worth everything and I’m going to make sure nothing ever hurts you.”
She reaches up and tugs me in for a kiss, slow and sweet this time. “Come back to me,” she murmurs.
“Always.” I stand, make for the door, then turn back. “Get a little more sleep before you go have breakfast with your mom and Casey.”
She grins, a little more herself. “You got it, boss.”
I blow her a kiss, then step out into the cold, new morning, every nerve on high alert. I have a job to do. And this time, I’m not fucking around.
I spend the entire drive out to the Silver Spoon Falls Ranch with one hand tight on the wheel, the other clenched tightly in my lap.
The road curves up and I see the ranch spread out below, white fences slicing the land into geometric perfection, the paddocks all pristine and the horses standing in crisp little clusters.
I notice Cowboy Rickman's bike even before I catch sight of him. It's a polished black monster, parked with surgical precision next to the big red barn.
The man himself is slouched against it, arms crossed over his chest like he owns the world.
And the billionaire nearly does. Cowboy’s got at least forty pounds on me, every ounce of it earned tossing hay bales and breaking in colts.
The Silver Spoon MC vest stretches over his broad back, and the patches catch the sun like battle medals.
I pull up beside him, turn off the engine, and hop out. Cowboy doesn't flinch.
"You're late," he remarks, his voice as rough as a broken exhaust. "I had to sip on diner coffee waiting for your city slicker self."
I glance at the cup in his hand. "Did it do you in?"
"Almost. You owe me big time," he mutters and tosses out the rest of the coffee.
"I'll settle the score," I promise.
He lets out a low, gravelly grunt and tilts his head to the side, cracking his neck with a sound reminiscent of ice fracturing on a frozen lake. "So, are you gonna fill me in, or are we just winging it?" he asks, a hint of impatience in his voice.
I give him the bare bones version of the story. “Stellan Mintz is making a nuisance of himself. He's been stalking my girl’s little sister.”
“I heard the town water had another victim.” He smirks. “Welcome to the club.”
“I’ve never been happier.” I tell him honestly. “But I need to take care of Stellan so I can tie Naomi to me for life.”
Cowboy shakes his head slowly, a frown creasing his brow. “Looks like the little dipshit needs a lesson,” he remarks, his voice dripping with disdain.
“My thoughts exactly,” I concur.
“We’ll find him in the barn.” Cowboy points over to the massive red structure. “The little fucker’s been doing the shit work since he caused some problems. Why don’t we deal with your problem so I can get back to my warm willing woman.”
We walk in silence toward the barn, boots crunching gravel, the air filled with that sharp, sweet tang of hay and horse sweat.
As we walk by, the horses in their stalls begin to stir, their ears flicking and nostrils widening. Animals have an instinct for sensing impending trouble before humans do.
Inside, it’s cool and dim, dust floating in sunbeams like microscopic ghosts. There’s a radio playing country from somewhere in the rafters, but mostly you hear the steady thud of hooves and the occasional horse snort.
Cowboy leads the way, his steps loud and deliberate, announcing our presence .
We stop outside the last stall and the scraping shovel sound pauses. “We need to have a little talk.” Cowboy tells Stellan.
Stellan steps out, pitchfork in hand, face set in a mixture of defiance and hangover.
He’s wiry, maybe one-eighty and a few inches shorter than me.
Dirty and disheveled, he stands there in a dirty shirt and sagging jeans.
He gives us both the once-over, then spits a glob of something brown onto the straw.
He jams the pitchfork in one last time, then turns. “Didn’t know it was bring-your-dad-to-work day,” he shoots back. He tries to smirk, but the twitch in his lip betrays the nerves.
I ignore the dig at my age. “You know who I am?” I ask.
He shrugs. “No shit, Sherlock.” The urge to pound the little fucker into the ground courses through me.
It’s hard but I manage to ignore the bait. “You’re going to stay the fuck away from the Bardot women.”
He snorts, glancing at Cowboy like maybe he’ll get backup. “This is between me and Casey.”
Cowboy’s voice drops to a dangerous level. “No, son. It’s between you and every man in this county who doesn’t want to see a little girl hurt.”
Stellan bristles. “She’s not a little girl.”
I step in closer, cutting off his retreat. “You’re done. You don’t text, you don’t call, you don’t look at her from across a goddamn parking lot. You understand?”
He hesitates, eyes darting, calculating. “Or what?”
Cowboy leans in, big as a barn door. “Or you’ll be sucking hospital slop through a straw for the rest of your life.” He grins that grin again, all teeth and no humor.
Stellan’s knuckles go white on the pitchfork. For a second, I think he’ll swing, but he just swallows and backs up a pace. “I ain’t doing nothing illegal.”
“You want to play with the law, go ahead,” I say. “I’ll fuck you up before you sweat it out in a cell.”
Horses are stamping now, some picking up the anxiety, a couple of the mares tossing their heads. Stellan sees it too, and his bravado cracks.
“Whatever, man” he says, voice flat. “The bitch ain’t worth it anyway.”
I swing hard landing a solid punch square in the middle of his smug goddamn face sending his ass sprawling on the hay covered floor. “Call Casey a bitch again and they won’t find your goddamn body.” I stare him down, making sure he understands. Cowboy just stands there, arms folded, backing me up.
Stellan spits out a few words before crawling to his feet. “Whatever.”
Cowboy jerks his head toward the stall. “Get back to work and keep your nose clean or you’ll be jobless, homeless and praying for Sheriff Armstrong to rescue your stubborn ass.”
Stellan glares at us as we walk away. “Thanks for your help,” I say, but I can’t shake the prickle on my neck.
“Any time.” Cowboy doesn’t mince words. Back outside, the day looks different. Lighter, somehow, but also fragile, like the peace we bought was made of spun glass.
“Think he got the message?” I ask my friend.
He glances back at the barn, shrugging. “For now.”
As I walk back to my truck, I promise myself, for the hundredth time, that I won’t let my guard down, not for a second.