No, this was a different breed—primal, insistent, the kind that coiled low in my belly and radiated outward like a fever I couldn't suppress.
Every bounce in the saddle, every shift of Goldie's powerful strides beneath me, sent friction straight to my core, the thin black tights doing absolutely nothing to shield my throbbing pussy from the relentless pressure. Slick had been building since the diner, since Oakley's mouth had claimed mine in that booth with the unapologetic hunger of a man who didn't give a damn about the audience.
And now? Now it was a goddamn flood, soaking through the fabric, making me hyperaware of every inch of my body as the horse carried me back to the barn.
I could smell it—my own arousal, that lavender-vanilla scent sharpening with the dark, musky edge of need, the cocoa undertones turning molten and desperate. And if I could smell it, Oakley sure as hell could. His candied blood orange aroma had darkened too, the citrus bite deepening into something syrupy and possessive, trailing behind me like a promise he was barely holding back. The tension between us hung thick in the October air, charged like the atmosphere before a storm, every glance over my shoulder at him—his Stetson low, hazel eyes locked on me with that predatory gleam—only ratcheting it higher.
We didn't speak much on the return trail. Words weren't necessary. Not when our scents were screaming everything we needed to say.
Sweetwater Falls blurred past us in a haze of golden grasslands and distant mountains, but my mind wasn't on the scenery.
It was on him.
On the way his thighs gripped Beau's sides, powerful and controlled, the same way I imagined they'd grip me. On the memory of his teeth tugging my lip in the barn earlier, that slow, deliberate pull that had ignited something feral in me. Lunch had been a tease—the closeness in the booth, his arm around me, the way he'd fed me cheesecake like it was foreplay. Dessert? That had been the breaking point, his whispers in my ear promising energy I'd need for later. I'd wanted to ride his cock right there on the trail, consequences be damned.
But then again, I'm Hazel Martinez. I don't fold under pressure. I hunt.
And right now, the hunt was leading straight back to that barn, where the air smelled like hay and horse sweat and unspoken intent.
We dismounted in the paddock, the horses blowing out contented breaths as Oakley moved to help me down from Goldie. His hands—strong, callused from ranch work and tactical drills—gripped my waist, lifting me with an ease that sent another pulse of heat through me. But I didn't let my feet touch the ground.No. Independent? Badass? Hardheaded? All true. But vulnerable? That's not my default.Except now, with him, after the fever, after warming up to this pack that's been chipping away at my walls... I let myself give in.Just a little.My legs wrapped around his waist before he could set me down, straddling him mid-air, my thighs clamping tight against his hips like I was claiming territory.
He didn't hesitate.
One hand slid under my ass, holding me up effortlessly, the muscle in his arm flexing beneath his shirt as he supported my weight. The other tangled in my icy blue ponytail, fingers weaving through the strands with a possessive grip that made my scalp tingle. He pressed my head down, angling my mouth to his, and smothered my lips in a kiss that was all heat and need.
No gentle prelude this time. This was the rocket lifting off, the tension from the ride exploding in a clash of tongues and teeth. I moaned into his mouth—relief, pure and raw, vibrating through me as his lips devoured mine.
God, it felt like release after hours of buildup, my body finally getting what it had been craving since that exhilarating gallop to the next town.
His scent enveloped me, that candied blood orange spiking with Alpha dominance, sweet and sharp, mingling with my lavender-vanilla arousal until the paddock air turned thick and heady. I could feel his cock hardening against me through his jeans, pressing insistently against my soaked tights, and it only made me grind closer, my hips rolling on instinct.
He probably smelled every drop of my slick through the thin fabric—hell, I could feel it trickling down my thighs, the wetness making the tights cling obscenely. Neither of us was playing coy. No school-kid games, no delaying the inevitable. Oakley was younger than me, sure—thirty to my thirty-two—but this wasn't a boy fumbling in the dark. This was a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and that confidence? It turned me on more than anything. No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just action. And in this life hellhole where Alphas often treated Omegas like fragile prizes or disposable toys, a man who acted on his desire without apology was a goddamn aphrodisiac.
He carried me into the barn like that—me wrapped around him, our mouths fused in a needy, breathless kiss that didn't break even as he maneuvered us through the door. Hay crunched under his boots, the scent of dry grass and leather mixing with our combined aromas, creating a cocoon of sensory overload. The horses nickered softly in their stalls, but the world narrowed to us: his hand in my hair, tugging just enough to send sparks down my spine; my nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt; the low growl rumbling in his chest that vibrated against my breasts.
He found a wooden table—some workbench cluttered with tools, ropes, and ranch miscellany—and didn't even pause. His free arm swept across it in one brutal motion, scattering everything to the hay-strewn floor with a clatter of metal and wood. Screwdrivers rolled, a coil of rope thudded softly, but we didn't care. We were too busy kissing, too lost in the desperation of it all. His tongue plunged deeper, claiming my mouth like he owned it, and I met him thrust for thrust, my moans muffled against his lips. My hands fumbled at his belt, but he beat me to it—unbuckling his jeans one-handed while still holding me up, the metallic click sending a quiver straight to my pussy. God,I was so wet, my slick pulsing with every heartbeat, the ache between my legs turning torturous.
He set me down on the table's edge, the wood cool against my ass through the tights, but the chill did nothing to temper the fire. Our kiss broke just long enough for him to moan into my mouth, his voice rough and edged with need.
"You like it fast, Chief?" The question was validation, a check-in even in the heat of it, and that lit me up brighter than any command ever could. In a world where Alphas often took without asking, his respect for my pace? It made me want him more.
I groaned back, kissing him passionately, my tongue tangling with his in a fierce dance before I broke away just enough to gasp, "Fuck yes, so be fast about it, Deputy."
My voice was breathy, demanding—independent Hazel Martinez, not waiting for a man to lead but setting the terms. He smirked against my lips, that hazel gaze darkening to near-black with lust.
"As you wish, Chief," he murmured, his free hand already yanking his jeans down, freeing his cock. It sprang out, thick and veiny, the length making my mouth water and my pussy clench in anticipation.
Fuck, Deputy Oakley Torres was packing—long, girthy, the shaft ridged with veins that promised friction in all the right places. I hadn't ridden a dick like this in so damn long; the sight alone reminded me of the dildo tucked away in my nightstand back at the apartment, the one I'd relied on during those lonely, suppressant-fueled nights.
But this? This was real.
Warm. Pulsing.
And attached to a man whose eyes were devouring me like I was the only thing in his universe.
He didn't waste time. His hands gripped my tights at the waistband, tugging them down with a rough efficiency that made me lift my hips to help. The fabric peeled away, cool air hitting my slick-soaked skin, and I scooted further back on the table, lifting my legs so my feet rested on the wooden surface, knees bent and spread wide. Exposed. Vulnerable. But with Oakley? It didn't feel like weakness. It felt like power—my choice, my invitation.
He stepped between my thighs, his cock in hand, stroking himself slowly as he took a moment to just... appreciate. His eyes locked on my pussy, glistening and dripping with slick, the folds swollen and begging. "Fuck," he breathed, biting his bottom lip like he was savoring the view.
