It’s Beau Redding’s mouth on my body. The rough scrape of his stubble on my neck. His thick fingers curling inside me. The sound of his groan vibrating against my skin when he tasted me.
I groan and flop on my back, staring at the ceiling like it has answers.
“You’re a grown woman, Ina. You got caught up. It was the heat. The surprise. His mouth.” I pause. “Okay, mostly his mouth. But it will not happen again.”
I give myself a full internal TED talk in the shower, standing under the spray much longer than necessary. The hot water runs over my skin, and all it does is remind me of his hands. His big, calloused, sure hands on my ribs. My breasts. Between mythighs. The way his rough palm felt against my bare stomach…the drag of his skin on mine, slow and hot. The way his thumb circled my nipple like he already knew exactly how I liked it.
I try to shave my legs. Close my eyes for one second. And there he is. His gold eyes looking up at me while his fingers worked me open. His full lips wrapped around my nipple, jaw hollowing as he sucked. The hard wall of his chest under my fists when my knees gave out.
I nick my ankle, curse, turn the water to cold.
It doesn’t help. Not even a little. My body is still humming from him. My nipples are still sensitive. There’s a faint burn on my neck from his stubble, and every time the water hits it, I shiver.
I dress like I’m a hundred percent in control: my favorite jeans, a white cotton tee, hair up in a ponytail. Nothing to see here. Just a rational, independent, fully composed woman who definitely did not come on a stranger’s hand on her own front porch last night.
Our ranch manager, Miguel, is already outside when I come down.
“Morning, Boss,” he says, tipping his hat.
“Hi, Miguel.”
We run through the schedule. He gives me an update on a pregnant heifer. I schedule the IT tech for the coming week. I even text my mom back a thumbs-up emoji to the bikini selfie she sent from Bonaire.
See? Total control. Everything’s fine.
Then my phone rings. It’s Mr. Redding. And my stomach does a full backflip.
“Ina, sweetheart,” he says when I finally answer. “Got time to come by the ranch?”
My throat tightens. “Today?” I croak. “I’m a little busy, Mr. R.”
“Won’t take long. Just a quick walkthrough. I want you to see what we’re working with. We got a few bulls I think you’ll really like.”
I hesitate. But he doesn’t give me much time to think of another excuse. “Come on, we’re right up the road. Twenty minutes, in and out.”
In and out. Sure. Like last night was just a handshake.
I swallow. “Alright. Sure. I can swing by.”
I hang up. Stand in my kitchen for a solid thirty seconds. Then I go upstairs and change my shirt. The white tee is fine, but the blue one is better. It doesn’t cling as much. Won’t show sweat. Won’t show how hard my nipples get every time I think about a certain cowboy’s hands on my…
The drive over is ten minutes of white-knuckle grip and aggressive self-coaching.
You’re going to look at bulls. Talk bloodlines. Be professional. You are not going to think about his hands, or his mouth, or the way he sucked your nipple so hard you felt it in your clit, or the way his thick fingers stretched you open like he was getting you ready for something bigger…
My thighs clench against the seat.
Stop it, Ina.
I’m also thinking about what Beau didn’t do. He didn’t ask for my number. Didn’t text. Didn’t call. Just showed up, took me apart on my porch, tasted me off his fingers, and disappeared into the dark like some kind of cowboy ghost with a magic mouth and hands the size of dinner plates.
What kind of man does that?
The kind who’s sure, a voice whispers in the back of my head.
I tell that voice to shut the hell up.
When I pull through the gates of the Redding Ranch, the land stretches wide and golden under the sun. It’s a beautifuloperation. With well-kept fencing, strong barns. The kind of ranch that’s been in a family for generations and wears it well.
