Ride Me Dirty: A Cowboy Romance Page 2

  I look up.

  It's Colton. My face flushes, and I feel even dumber for getting myself into this mess.

  Brock stands, letting me go, his jaw working.

  "You need to fuck off and mind your own business, buddy," he says, facing Colton.

  He's a good six inches shorter and a little soft-looking in his t-shirt and shorts. It's obvious that he's no physical match for the older man, and we all know it.

  Colton doesn't say anything for a long moment, just considers Brock, looking him up and down.

  "I don't think so," he says at last. "Why don't you get out of here and leave her alone before I have to do something about it?"

  The firelight is throwing his forearm muscles into sharp relief, and I can't stop staring at them like an idiot, imagining them around me as I unbutton his shirt, his mouth on my neck...

  Brock snorts. He looks around, like there might be backup somewhere, but the bonfire is nearly deserted.

  "Fuck you, she started it," he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets and throwing me a glare. Then he walks away sulkily.

  Colton just watches him go, silent fury on his face, and I shove my hands in my pockets too.

  "Sorry," I say quietly.

  "For what?" he asks.

  "For..." I blink, looking into the fire and then at him. "Getting myself into that."

  He laughs softly.

  "Darlin', you didn't do a single thing wrong," he says.

  "We're not supposed to drink," I point out, cocking my head to one side.

  "I promise not to tell," he says, a smile lighting his eyes. "As long as you don't tell your parents I was ten seconds from beating a guest's ass."

  I raise both my eyebrows, surprised.

  He was?

  "Deal," I say, swaying a little on my feet. "And thanks."

  "Come on," he says, nodding his head. "I'll walk you back to the main house."

  "I'll be fine," I say, looking out over the horse paddocks and fields, the lights of the lodge not very far away. "I think I can get there without accepting any more drinks."

  "Let me walk you, Emmy," Colton says, his voice nearing a growl. There's something commanding about it, something steel-clad and controlling.

  Something that turns my core into pure liquid fire without warning, and I bite my lip, hoping he doesn't notice that my heartbeat just doubled.

  Walk me home, I think. Put me to bed and get in with me, your strong body over mine...

  I shake my head slightly, because it's obviously the whiskey doing my thinking for me. Obviously.

  "Okay," I say.

  Chapter Four

  Colton

  Emmy takes my arm as we walk away from the fire. She only had a couple of swigs from that flask, but if she doesn't drink much, a couple swigs is probably more than enough to get her pretty tipsy.

  "Why did you come back?" she asks me, her voice soft in the dark.

  "Your parents offered me a job that pays well," I answer truthfully.

  "Oh," she says, sounding a little disappointed as we walk past a fence.

  "What brought you back?" I ask, her hand tightening a little on my forearm, even that one spot of delicious pressure powerful.

  Emmy snorts.

  "I couldn't find a graphic design job after I graduated and I couldn't stay in Chicago without one," she answers, her voice a little bitter. "So, I decided to spend the summer working my parents' dude ranch while I send out applications."

  "And here I thought you might miss the wide-open prairie," I say.

  I didn't know she'd gone to college in Chicago. I didn't know she was doing graphic design now. I didn't know anything about her until today, and now I can barely keep my cock still around her.

  "A little," she admits, swaying into me as she walks. "Oops, sorry."

  "It's fine," I assure her.

  She points at the big farmhouse.

  "My bedroom's in there," she says.

  "Your parents didn't make you sleep with the scoundrels and the riffraff?" I tease.

  She looks up at me, her eyes shining in the dark.

  "Are you the riffraff?" she asks, her voice surprisingly serious.

  "I'm a scoundrel," I answer.

  Then I immediately wish I hadn't said anything, because we're at the steps to the back porch and she's looking up at me, her hand still on my arm.

  "Are you?" she asks.

  I shake my head and force myself not to think about pushing her against the wall of her parents' house, my tongue in her mouth as she wraps her legs around me, my aching cock against her sweet heat...

  "No ma'am," I say, straight-faced. "I'm a straight-shooter, just here to keep the scoundrels in check."

  She puts one hand on the doorknob, then cocks her head, looking at me. I'm praying that her parents can't hear us, because if they knew their charming, innocent daughter was talking to me like this, I'd be out of a job faster than you can say get out.

  "I don't believe you," Emmy says, a little unsteady on her feet. "I bet you're as bad as they come, Colton True."

  She has no idea how right she is.

  "Aren't you going to see me inside?" she asks, suddenly all innocence and light again.

  I think of her, naked, under me, legs wide and chest heaving.

  "I saw you home, isn't that enough?" I say. I'm trying to sound light and teasing, but it comes out a rough, lust-filled growl.

  She gives me a long look, biting her lip.

  "So you won't say goodnight and tuck me into bed?" she asks, blinking innocently.

  Emmy Winchester is going to be the death of me.

  I nod once, brusquely, desperate to get out of there before I lose control right here on her back porch.

  "Goodnight, Emmy," I say, turning away from her, and heading back to my own lodgings in the dormitory building. I don't look back. If I do, I might not be able to resist her temptation any longer.

  Even so, I have to jerk off twice before I can finally get to sleep, thinking of sweet Emmy.

  On her knees, in front of me, those perfect plump lips around my aching cock.

  On her belly, on her bed, hands tied behind her and legs spread wide, wet and ready for me.

  It's going to be a long, long summer.

  I get up with the sun, like usual, but I don't see Emmy at breakfast. I doubt she's hung over after a few gulps of whiskey, but it's understandable if she doesn't want to see me.

  I shouldn't see her, either.

  It's a hot day. A scorcher, my grandmother would have called it, and I'm working hard on the ranch. Being in charge sounds glamorous until you realize that it just means I do everything that no one else does — helping load hay into the barn, feed the horses, calm down the persnickety old ladies who demand that they want to ride the horse named Garnet, because it's her birthstone.

  By lunchtime, I'm soaked in sweat, dirty as hell, and I still can't stop thinking about Emmy. The other ranch hands are all still excited for the job and the summer, buzzing around me like flies, so I take my lunch and get out of there, because I've got a spot that they don't know about, at least not yet.

  Half a mile out, in a little grove of trees, there's a swimming hole, where the water's cool and clear. And most importantly, I'll be alone.

  I sit on a rock and eat my lunch quickly. Then I double-check that no one else is around, and I strip.

  The water's cool but not cold, and it feels good on a hot day as I rinse the sweat and dirt off myself, rubbing the water over my body and through my hair.

  But before I know it, I'm thinking of Emmy again. Of her here, with me, naked in the water.

  Taking her hard on a rock, her fingernails clawing at my shoulders as she shouts my name. Making her mine, claiming her mouth, her sweet pussy, even her—

  I hear a twig snap, and my eyes jerk open, searching for the source of the sound. I've already got one fist around my hard cock without even realizing it, and I let go slowly, hoping that the noise is just an animal.

&nb
sp; Then I hear a fainter noise, just a swish, and among the trees my eyes find a hint of bright blue flannel, chestnut hair cascading over it. One eye, peeking from around a rock.

  It's Emmy. I can tell even from here, and I look away quickly, like I didn't notice her there.

  She wants to watch?

  She wants to see how fucking hard she makes me?

  Let her feast her eyes.

  Chapter Five

  Emmeline

  I wake up mortified.

  I had a few sips of whiskey — hardly anything — and I caused a scene with a guest, then practically threw myself at Colton True, the man I've been lusting over for ten years now.

  The older, uninterested man I've been lusting over.

  God, what's wrong with me?

  I skip breakfast. I'm not really hungry, and besides, I'm afraid of seeing him there. I don't think he'd tell anyone else that I thought leaning against the doorframe and whispering put me to bed was sexy, but that doesn't mean I can face him right now.

  For the morning, I sit at the reception desk. There are only a few check-ins, a few people who have questions about towels or horseback riding times or how to get extra coffee, but otherwise it's quiet. I spend the time working on a website redesign, something my parents asked me to do for them.

  God knows that the website desperately needs a re-design. Even though making graphics for dude ranches isn't what I'd hoped to do with my life, it's pretty fun.

  By noon, I'm brave enough — and hungry enough — to at least eat lunch with everyone. Besides, now that I'm awake and lucid, I should apologize to Colton. Getting hit on while you're at work isn't pleasant for anyone, I'm sure.

  But by the time I get to the long outdoor table where they're serving lunch for all the ranch workers, he's not there. I look around for a few minutes, taking my chicken salad sandwich, and finally sit at a table with a few other people who scoot over and make room for me.

  We chat about horses, TV, and TV shows about horses for a bit. Foster and Amanda argue over some reality cooking competition show that I don't watch while I polish off my sandwich, constantly glancing around, hoping to see Colton.

  Finally, I push my plate away, drink some water, and start biting my thumbnails.

  "All right, what are you so jumpy about?" Foster asks. "You're hoppin' like a frog on a bed of nails."

  I laugh, despite myself. I don't know Foster well, but he's a nice enough guy who leads a lot of horseback riding expeditions around the ranch.

  "Sorry," I say, taking my thumb from my mouth. "I was just looking for Colton, I was supposed to tell him something."

  Amanda, another riding instructor, jerks her thumb over her shoulder.

  "He went off toward the creek," she says. "Though he'll probably be back any minute, the man is pretty punctual."

  I glance in the direction she pointed: toward a grove of trees, right on the edge of a sparse forest that leads up into the foothills. There's a swimming hole back there, and I wonder if that's where he's gone.

  "Thanks," I say, standing, and picking up my plate.

  Foster pops a potato chip into his mouth and chews.

  "That important?" he asks.

  I smile tightly, even though my heart is racing.

  "I want to tell him before I forget," I say, and walk away.

  I can't believe you're chasing after Colton True, I think. He's just going to laugh, tell you he knows you were drunk, and that you should forget it.

  But still. Even if I meant every single word I said — hell, I still mean it — I want him to know I feel bad about putting him on the spot like that.

  After all, he's just at work, and I'm the one being wildly inappropriate.

  The grove on the edge of the forest is far enough from the picnic tables where they're serving lunch that I can't really see the crowd any more, which means they can't see me. It's quiet and peaceful here, away from everyone, and I can hear the creek babbling quietly as I step inside the trees.

  About a hundred feet in, I can see movement.

  That must be him, I think, and move closer.

  Then Colton comes into view, and I stop.

  He's naked. Or, at least, I think he's naked. He's definitely naked from the waist up, and if I look closely it sure looks like he's naked underwater, too.

  And he looks exactly the same as I remember him looking a decade ago when he took his shirt off to chop wood, all rippling muscles, broad shoulders, and washboard abs. I can't stop staring, even though I feel like some kind of weird pervert for doing it.

  I step forward. A twig snaps below my foot, and Colton turns.

  I duck behind a rock, my clothing making a swish, and I peek at him, holding my breath.

  He doesn't see me, I think, so I stay there, just watching him.

  Colton scoops water over his hair. He rubs his arms off, droplets splashing everywhere. I curl my hand into a fist and bite my lip, imagining licking those water droplets off his perfect, bulging muscles, running my hands down his chest and stomach, his mouth on mine hungrily.

  Both of us naked, in the water, as he backs me up roughly against a rock and takes my tight virgin pussy, right here, in this pool.

  My face is hot. I think I'm sweating, because these fantasies have gotten a lot more specific since the last time I saw Colton. He turns around in the pool, still rubbing his hands through his hair.

  I should leave, I think. Now's not exactly the time to tell him I'm sorry for making things awkward last night.

  Then Colton turns back toward me. He leans against the rock behind him, his hips coming out of the water.

  Along with his enormous, thick, hard cock, his hand wrapped around the base.

  And then he looks at the rock I'm hiding behind and starts stroking himself.

  Chapter Six

  Colton

  This is fucking dangerous. I'm naked where anyone could find me, jerking off, and I know that the ranch owners' daughter is watching me, poorly hidden behind a rock.

  It's got all the makings of disaster, and yet? I can't stop myself. I know she's watching me and the feeling is like a drug, urging my own hand harder and faster. Making my hips buck as I slide my fist down my long, thick shaft.

  Groaning quietly as I imagine Emmy's lips on me, her big eyes looking up as she moves her hot, wet mouth down my cock until she can't take any more. My hand in her hair, pushing her head down even further as her hands scrabble at my hips and then finally letting her up.

  Me, flipping her over and pushing my tongue into her sweet pussy and finding out how wet that made her.

  I let out a sigh, just a little too loudly, my cock twitching in my hand.

  Or Emmy here, on the rocks, on her back below me. Soft and submitting, eyes clouded with lust as she offers herself to me completely and totally, every part of her.

  Emmy. My Emmy.

  My balls tighten against my body and I growl quietly, the scene in my head so intense that I'm about to come already as I think about the things I want to do to Emmy, like bury myself in her tight little pussy as she moans my name.

  I open my eyes, look right at her, and come with a hard jolt, burst after burst of semen shooting across the water, then flowing down the creek as I imagine being inside her, her pussy gripping me tight while she comes hard around me, gasping my name.

  "Fuck, Emmy," I whisper when I finally stop coming, leaning back against the rock, my cock still in my hand as it goes soft.

  She hasn't moved from her hiding spot.

  I think she liked what she saw, and I almost wish she'd run.

  Every moment that she stays makes it harder to resist her.

  After our little voyeurism session, I turn away from Emmy and dry myself off, then put my clothes back on. Just as I'm buttoning my shirt, there's a soft rustle, some snapping twigs, and when I turn back, Emmy is gone.

  Good. I was a little afraid that she'd come over to me, and that this time, I wouldn't be able to stop myself.

  For the rest
of the day, Emmy won't look me in the eye. There's a big sunset horseback ride, and since the ranch is full this weekend, all the hands are there to help the riders onto their horses, get them settled, and make sure everything goes smoothly.

  To put it mildly, the people who come to a dude ranch for an "authentic western experience" are not, generally speaking, very adept at any of the "western" things they say they want to do. Horseback riding in particular.

  It's hard, tiring work. Sometimes it's backbreaking, but not today. Though, when we watch our guests ride into the sunset, I think everyone heaves a sigh of relief. Summers are particularly taxing, especially weeks like this one, when the guests are a special combination of demanding and clueless.

  As I brush dirt off my hands, I see another of the workers hand Emmy a busted bridle, point to the tack shed, and then nod in thanks. Everyone's dispersing as she walks toward it, a lean-to attached to the horse barn.

  I look around. No one's watching me.

  I follow her, like a moth to the flame. Like she's a magnet and I'm iron, like I can't help myself. All I've been thinking about since this afternoon was feeling her eyes on me, how much I wanted her there. In front of me.

  Emmy's not going to get away with asking me to put her to bed one minute and spying on me the next, even if I knew she was there. I need to straighten this girl out.

  She goes into the tack shed. I wait a few minutes, long enough for her to walk to the other end of the room and hang the bridle on a nail where Logan can repair it sometime this week.

  Then I stride toward the shed myself, walk inside, and close the door behind me.

  Chapter Seven

  Emmeline

  The tack shed is dark inside and smells like leather; a warm, comforting smell that always reminds me of home. I hang the busted bridle on a nail at one end, where Logan will be sure to see it so he can fix it.

  Then I put my hands on the wooden work bench, bend my neck forward, and take a deep breath, finally alone for a few minutes.