This was pathetic. Three fractured ribs and I could barely function. How the hell was I supposed to run a ranch like this?
The water started to run cold before I was ready, but I didn’t have the energy to adjust it. I just stood there, letting the temperature drop until I couldn’t take it anymore. When I finally turned off the tap and stepped out, my legs were trembling.
Drying off was another exercise in humiliation. I managed to get most of the water off before giving up and wrapping the towel around my waist. The bedroom felt like it was a mile away.
The thought of getting dressed was frankly, horrifying. So, instead I decided to just crawl under the covers once I got to the bed, leaving my damp towel on the floor beside me. I was going to be alone for the majority of the day anyway, so why bother with clothes?
As soon as I was comfortable, or as comfortable as I could get, I picked up my phone and started scrolling. There were a couple emails from vendors, a bill from the vet, and other miscellaneous items that I could take care of without having to be on my laptop, which was still out in the kitchen. By the time I was done clearing through the messages, an entire fifteen minutes had elapsed.
I glanced out the window, already feeling the boredom creep in. My whole life had been one thing after another. The family business was a full-time job and running the ranch was too. My father didn’t allow anyone in the family to be on social media to avoid any slip-ups, so I didn’t even have senseless videos to scroll through to occupy myself. There wasn’t a single book in the tiny house because I’d never had time to read before.
What the hell was I supposed to do?
I looked around the room. There was no television, only one abstract painting that was purposefully boring, and a single plant in the windowsill. My gaze wandered over the bedding and the Egyptian cotton sheets before landing on the outline of my dick under the sheets. Ithadbeen a while since I’d had this much privacy or free time.
“Porn it is,” I grumbled, grabbing my phone and wondering how the hell I was going to jerk off with broken ribs. But I pushed that thought away. Where there was a will, there was a way.
I pulled up a private browser and navigated to one of my usual sites, scrolling through the thumbnails with a detached sort of interest. Nothing was really grabbing my attention. The usual fare of overly produced scenes with bad acting and worse dialogue just wasn’t doing it for me today.
Maybe it was the pain medication making me fuzzy. Or maybe it was something else entirely.
My thumb kept scrolling, past the featured videos, past the trending searches, until I found myself typing something into the search bar that I hadn’t planned on. Something that made my pulse quicken in a way that had nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with the realization of what I was about to admit to myself.
Cowboys.
The results loaded, and I felt my mouth go dry. Men in hats and boots, tanned skin and strong hands. Some of them even had that same lean, muscular build that Nick had. That same confident way of moving, like they owned every inch of ground they walked on.
I clicked on one almost at random, my heart hammering against my damaged ribs. The video started, and I watched as two men—one dark-haired, one with sandy blond hair that reminded me so much of Nick—circled each other in what looked like a barn. There was tension there, the kind that crackled in the air before something inevitable happened.
When they finally came together, it was rough and desperate and real in a way those overproduced scenes never were. Hands gripping, mouths crashing together, the blond man getting pressed up against a wooden beam while the dark-haired one…
I palmed myself through the sheets, my breath coming faster despite the protest from my ribs. This was dangerous territory. This was crossing a line I couldn’t uncross. I wanted to fuck Nick, that I knew. However, up until this moment, I’d avoidedfantasizing about him so I could maintain some distance and control.
But I couldn’t stop watching.
The blond man in the video had his head thrown back, his hat tumbling to the ground as the other man worked him over. And all I could see was Nick. Nick with that defiant look in his green eyes. Nick with his hands on my chest, holding me down in the hospital bed. Nick sleeping beside me, his hand warm in mine.
My grip tightened, and I bit back a groan as pleasure mixed with pain. I should’ve stopped. Should’ve closed the video and found something else, someone else to think about. But my traitorous brain kept overlaying Nick’s face onto the man on screen.
What would Nick look like if I kissed him? Would he fight me at first, or would he melt into it? Would his hands be rough against my skin, callused from ranch work? Would he taste like coffee and Montana mornings? How would his cock feel in my mouth?
I was breathing hard now, each shallow gasp sending sparks of pain through my chest that somehow made everything more intense. The video had progressed, the two men tangled together in the hay, and I couldn’t stop imagining it was Nick beneath me. Nick’s legs wrapped around my waist. Nick’s voice in my ear, rough and wanting, begging me to fuck him.
The thought pushed me over the edge faster than I’d expected. I came with a strangled sound that I tried to muffle against my shoulder, pleasure crashing through me in waves that made my ribs scream in protest. But it was worth it.God, it was worth it.
I lay there gasping, my phone still clutched in one hand, the video still playing. Reality came crashing back in slowly. What the hell had I just done?
I’d gotten off thinking about Nick. My husband. The man who’d made it very clear he wanted nothing to do with me that way. Thestraightman who was only in this marriage because I’d forced his hand.
A sort of despondency crept over me. Imagining Nick wanting to fuck me was just unnecessary self-torture. Marrying him was one thing, but people didn’t justchangetheir sexuality. As much as I pretended to be confident he would come around, I was starting to think I was fighting a losing battle on that front. I closed the browser with shaking hands and let the phone drop onto the bed beside me. My chest and belly were covered in cum, my dick still half-hard against my hip. I’d have to clean up, get dressed, pretend this never happened.
But even as I thought it, I knew I was lying to myself. This had happened. I’d crossed that line. And worse, I wanted to cross it again. I wanted therealthing.
I heard footsteps on the porch, the sound of boots on wood. Nick. He was coming back.
Panic shot through me. I was lying here half-naked, covered in evidence of what I’d just done, with my phone right there showing my search history. I scrambled to grab the towel from the floor, to cover myself, but the movement sent such a sharp lance of pain through my ribs that I gasped audibly.
The door opened.
