Page 121 of Colt

“You sure?”

“I bought condoms. That sure enough for you?”

My cock surges. “You bought them⁠—”

“In the hopes I’d get to use them with you?” Those pretty lips curve into a smile. “Yeah, Colt, that’s why I bought a whole box of Trojans.”

I hit the gas. “A box.”

“Yes.”

“For me.”

“Yes.”

New goal unlocked: Use the whole box before Lainey leaves.

A small eternity passes before we finally pull into her driveway. My hands shake as I put the truck in park and turn off the ignition and fly out of my seat.

You’re fucked.

I am nothing if not steady. But here I am, shaking like a goddamn leaf while I open Lainey’s door and unbuckle her seat belt and run my hands over her body as I help her down.

Then we’re inside her house, a warm gust of Lainey-scented air greeting us. I kick the door shut and I’m on her. I grab her waist and push her up against the wall, yanking off my hat so I can bury my face in her neck.

Your favorite hat, and you don’t even care that it’s on the floor. You got it bad, boy.

“Colt,” she pants, her hands finding the buttons of my shirt. “Thank God. All night. I’ve wanted this…all night.”

I kiss her throat, nipping at her skin with my teeth. I reach down and glide my hand up her thigh, reveling in her softness.

“You got no idea how bad I want you,” I murmur against her neck. “You been puttin’ some kinda murder on me for days, honey. Weeks.”

Rotating my wrist, I cup her cunt in my palm. My brain flatlines.

She’s wearing some teeny-tiny thong that does nothing to hide her heat.

She’s also wet. Soaked right through the material. My mouth waters.

I let out a pained chuckle. “Why the fuck do you even wear this?”

“To piss you off, obviously.”

She’s pissing me off all right. So much so that I can’t take it. Giving her neck one final, vicious bite, I bend down and throw her over my shoulder.

“Imma make you pay for that.” I start climbing the stairs.

She gives my ass a hard slap, laughing. “I hope you do. Now can you please put me down? I’m heavy⁠—”

“Hush.”

I know the way to the bedroom because, well, I know everything about anything that has to do with the ranch. Flicking on the lights, I bite back a grin.

Miss Perfect here made the bed.

I bet she always makes the bed, complete with the small mountain of decorative pillows Mom insisted the room needed “to feel homey.”

I wanna throw those things on the floor. Make a mess of the sheets. Rumple the covers.