Two days later and the obsession has only deepened, however, instead of reversing itself. I never should have kissed her. Spoken to her. Smelled her. She’s gotten into my bloodstream now, and apart from bleeding myself dry, I don’t think I’ll get her out.
Take the offer.
Fuck the brat.
Scratch the itch before it drives you mad.
As I fog up the window with my pants of lust, my hand in a rigorous stroke of my shaft, I am no longer sure there is a choice. Ineedbetween those legs. I won’t be able to move on with my life until she’s been underneath me, scratching and screaming.
Until I know what she feels like on the inside.
My vision has doubled and blurred, due to my approaching climax, but it clears momentarily, and I see Billie, back in the saddle, riding her mare out of the paddock and into the surrounding meadow.
I also see the ranch hand who mounts a stallion, checking the surrounding area and over his shoulders, before following her.
Nope.
Absolutely fucking not.
When I jumped on my horse and raced down the mountain after Billie—and the stalking ranch hand—part of me already knew what I was going to find. What I would see when I reached them. Butwitnessingthis man creeping up on her from behind, while she lies unsuspectingly among the wildflowers?
The scene turns my blood icy. And dangerous.
Billie lies on her back humming while the motherfucker dismounts without a sound, the fly of his jeans jutting out. Heappears to have been driven mad by her appeal, just like me, his eyes unnaturally wide and unblinking as he prowls toward her in the high grass.
Is it possible that Billieknowsthe ranch hand is coming?
Have I stumbled upon a rendezvous?
My intuition says no. That she’s wildly unfamiliar with men. But the possibility makes my throat feel singed, as though I’ve swallowed a handful of fireplace embers.
Before he can come within ten feet of Billie, however, she jackknifes and turns around, her expression turning fearful.
Not a rendezvous.
I didn’t think so.
“What are you doing here?” Billie calls warily, and I watch as she slips that switchblade from her boot, keeping it out of sight. “Did you follow me?”
“No shit I followed you,” snaps the ranch hand, sweat pouring down the sides of his face. “You’ve got a few things coming,” he pushes through chattering teeth. “Get your jeans off, keep your mouth shut and I’ll be fast.”
She scuttles backward. “What?Why would I…”
“We all saw you go up the mountain yesterday. Came back all flushed. That mouth swollen from sucking something.” He shakes his head. “You were off limits before, but if you’re going to give it up to the landlord behind daddy’s back, you can give it up for me, too.”
“No!”
He lunges for her.
Billie takes a swipe with her switchblade and grazes his leg, but he snags her wrist to prevent her from doing any more damage—and fuck this, I’ve seen more than enough. I step out from behind the tree, ordering my rage to quit storming long enough to keep my hand steady, and I put a bullet in the dead center of the ranch hand’s forehead.
Instantly blank, he falls sideways in the grass.
Billie cries out, her trembling hands instinctively lifting to swipe the blood spatter off her face, all while looking around for the source of the fired bullet. When she sees me standing in the meadow beside my horse, she freezes. Blinks twice. She stumbles to her feet on shaky legs and I burn to go assist her. But I force myself to remain stationary.
Breathing in and out like a human being when the sight of her scared is unexpectedly turning me into an animal. A feral and possessive one.
I want to saw into the ranch hand with a serrated knife so he can never be identified.
