“Get used to it. I’m protective of my things,” he grumbles, closing the distance between us. “Scooch over.”
“What? Why?” The words barely leave my lips before strong arms lift me with no effort and settle me farther to the left. Forcing himself into my space, Stetson takes the vacant seat beside me on the swing and makes himself comfortable.
“Please. Go ahead,” I joke. “It is your home, after all.” I shake my head in disbelief, leaving me no time to react when he grabs the cup of coffee in my hands and brings it to his lips.
My mouth drops open in shock. “Hey! That’s?—”
“Yours. I know. You said that. It tastes like you.”
Wha—
“It tastes like coffee.” I attempt to snatch it back, but it’s no use. Stetson’s calloused hands cover the ceramic entirely. “And besides, it barely fits in your hands. You should really consider another cup.”
“And you should consider less creamer.” He winces before throwing back the remaining liquid.
“Thought you said it tastes like me? Not that you’d remember, anyway.”
A devious smirk crests his face before he shifts in my direction, blue eyes fracturing every ounce of composure I have left. Thankfully, I have a blanket covering my bare legs because if not, he’d for sure see my thighs clenching for dear life just at the near proximity of him.
Sending an electrical current through my body, Stetson brings his face to the side of my neck, and I freeze, everything happening in slow motion. I frantically search the ranch for prying eyes, but don’t dare move away. It’s when he drags his nose from the back of my ear, coasting it down the most sensitive part of my neck, that I nearly combust.
My most sensitive spot, and he knows it.
Shivers wrack through me, my eyes falling closed on instinct. “I remember exactly what you taste like. Your lips. Your skin. Your pussy. You’re impossible to forget, my love. It’s a shame I have to.” Before I can react, he jerks away and stands. It takes me a second to realize the now-empty cup sits in my lap.
“Thanks for the coffee,” Stetson proclaims, stretching his arms over his head. He knows what he’s doing, and I loathe him for it. Not really, but I want to. I also want to crawl into his sleep shorts and stay there forever.
But that would just be torture.
He’s halfway to the front door before I finally regain some self-control and yell, “Tomorrow, I’m drinking straight creamer. You’ll stand no chance of stealing it from me then, Stetson Cole.”
A hearty chuckle is all I hear as he leaves me to it. An empty cup with a singular chip on the edge, and an empty porch, aside from his very snuggly pup.
The perfect escape for my overflowing thoughts.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
stetson
Thinkanyone would notice if Austin suddenly went missing?
Feeding him to the hogs doesn’t sound too shabby right about now. Unfortunately for me, I can’t do anything but hang back and watch his sad attempt at defiling Cove.
But I can’t help but think—maybe she likes his roaming hands? The grimace she attempts to hide when his hand slides from her lower back to her full ass cheeks tells me something dangerously different. Something that makes me believe something is really fucking off.
I’m going crazy inside.
She has on this tight, stretchy yoga thing. Set? Outfit? Hell if I actually know what it’s called. What I do know is that it’s hot pink, scrunched at the butt, and has a zipper at the center of the chest.
A.k.a. really fucking sexy.
All of my family and friends who are crashing for the week are congregated behind the main house, where I have a target range set up for practice. One of the things my pops and I loved to do was spend time out here drawing inour bows. Hunting and fishing are a way of life in the South, something that provided my family and me an excuse to both be outdoors and spend time together. Mom and Abigail would bring their lawn chairs out here and sip root beer floats while Dad and I competed for best shot.
And I’ve never broken my winning streak.
By the looks of it, city boy here hasn’t shot a compound bow a day in his life. Makes me even more satisfied to know I made sure he got the heaviest bow in my collection, nearly close to one hundred pounds. Pretty cars and Daddy’s money can only get you so far, I suppose.
The five-lane range is safeguarded by concrete walls and arrow-proof netting, providing safety from load and fire. Each lane has a three-foot by three-foot target made from top-of-the-line polyethylene foam and straw, and is placed on top of a foul-proof pedestal to set up an accuracy challenge.
