"Eyes on me, Red," he commands, voice tight with restraint. "I want to see you fall apart for me."
I meet his gaze. It's soft and raw andso much. And it has something inside me snapping.
"Wes," I plead. "It'ssomuch."
I don't know if I mean the way he's buried so deep inside me or the way I'mfalling. So fast. So hard. So helpless to stop it.
“I know, honey,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to my jaw. He hooks my leg higher over his hip and thrusts even deeper. “But it’s so damn good.”
"So good," I echo, my breaths coming out in quick gasps as I teeter on the ledge.
I let it all wash over me as the pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter before I finally detonate. I cry out, stars flaring bright as my body clenches around him. His fingers grip my hips harder as his rhythm turns wilder and in mere moments, he's pulsing inside of me, dragging out the aftershocks of my orgasm with his own.
He collapses next to me, and for a long moment, we just lie there, basking in an afterglow that feels softer and more vulnerable than it ever has before.
His hand finds mine, and we lay underneath the starlit sky, fingers intertwined.Wes’ lips press against the top of my head, and the tenderness of it slices me open, filleting me like a fish so that I’m sure my guts are spilling out and he can see how my heart is pounding in my chest for him like he’s mine. It’s not a dirty promise spoken in a full bar as we dance while a band plays, but this feels like a different kind of promise, one that speaks to wanting to keep this moment, wanting to keepme.
I find his mouth in the dark and press my own promise to his lips. One that I hope he can decipher. One that says I’d keep him if I could. I want him to stay.
Not just for Pops and the ranch.
I want him to stay for me.
My chest aches in realization that in a few short weeks he very well could be gone, and I’ll be on my own again.
What-ifs
Wes
Last night, Sawyer and I lost ourselves in each other under a diamond-lit sky, and as we rode back, I let my mind wander to all the what-ifs.
What if I said fuck everyone else and gave up the idea of always doing what was expected of me like the dutiful eldest child?
What if I stayed?
It's a totally irrational desire and simultaneously feels completely sane. These past weeks in Cottonwood Creek have been the happiest I’ve had since I was a boy, but when I woke up this morning and listened to the voice message my mom left, telling me how much Dad has missed me at work while I’ve been gone, my resolve wavered. And now, I’m just as full of self-doubt as always.
Pops, Tripp, and I ride three of Sawyer’s borrowed horses to one of the pastures. A few cows are showing signs of conjunctivitis, and we need to get them medicated, so it doesn’t spread to the rest of the cattle.
Once we catch up to the herd, we pick out the cows that need treatment and efficiently get them roped and tied down while Pops administers the medication and dresses the eye. After six weeks of working side by side, Tripp and I move like a well-oiled machine.
We spend the brisk morning in the saddle. My hands are cold, but my blood is heated from getting to utilize the rope. It feels like another limb now, familiar and vital. The lariat is stiff in my hands as I swing the loop above my head and rope the next infected cow around the neck, while Tripp expertly catches its heel.
We work quickly, and by the time we finish the last cow, Pops is bent over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Sweat beads on his forehead and he grimaces as he hunches over next to Dolly.
I quickly dismount and bring him the bottle of water I have stashed in my saddlebag.
“Do you need to sit down, Pops?” I ask, offering him the water, which he takes from my hand.
“No, I don’t need to sit.” His mustache twitches in irritation. “I just need a minute to catch my breath.”
“You should have let me or Tripp do the medicating,” I say, my tone scolding.
We both told him we could handle it, but he insisted he was better at patching the eyes than either of us were, so we’d let it go. Now, I’m nervous that letting it go is about to result in him having a second heart attack.
I glance back at Tripp, who is watching us in apprehension.
This is why I’m here, I remind myself. Pops shouldn’t be doing this anymore, and he’s much too stubborn to get it through his thick skull on his own.
