Page 28 of Wrangle Me, Cowboys

And I’d sure done that. Well, I still hadn’t technically had sex, but I was calling that a technicality. Waylon had all the way fucked me the night before. There was no other way to describe the way his tongue had plunged into me, opening me and claiming me. Picturing it had me squirming in the saddle, tightening my knees against the horse. Van Gogh must have taken that as an urge to go faster, because she began to canter smoothly along the trail.

The motion did not help my situation. As she rocked under me, I began to move with the rhythm. Okay, now I knew why women in the old days had to ride side-saddle. If I scooched forward just a little bit, the saddle horn rubbed right against my swollen, needy clit. Enjoying the sensation, I scooted forward a bit more, holding onto the saddle horn with one hand and rocking against it. I pictured Sawyer’s cock as he’d stroked it the night before. Instead of a saddle horn, I was grinding against Sawyer’s shaft.

I gripped the head of it, rocking faster, picturing his strong hands around my hips, helping me along.

Unfortunately, his strong hands were not there to steady me when Van Gogh veered as she slipped on the snow. My foot swung free of the stirrup, but Van Gogh quickly regained her stride. My foot flailed for the stirrup, but in my awkward position, too far forwards on the saddle, I couldn’t get it. Dropping the reigns, I threw my arms around her neck, clinging on for dear life. As I stretched my leg towards the stirrup, I suddenly slipped towards that side. I tried to throw my balance back to center, but it was too late. One second I was on her back, and the next I was on my back.

Fuck.

I’d just tried to masturbate while riding a horse. There was something seriously wrong with me.

Something called need-to-get-laid-itis.

Now I was a mile from the house, lying in a foot of snow, while Van Gogh was probably well on her way home. Or hell, she had probably done that on purpose and was now skipping about like the sassy wench she was, glad to be free.

At least the snow had cushioned my fall. I pushed myself up, only to see one of the side-by-sides puttering along the trail from the other direction. Well, this was just craptastic. One of the guys had yet again witnessed me looking like a complete idiot. But hey, it was their fault. If it was Sawyer, I might even tell him why I’d fallen.

As the cart drew closer, I stood and brushed snow off my butt with the thick gloves Holden had gotten me in town. When I turned back, the side-by-side was bumping along the trail, almost on me.

My heart sank. It wasn’t one of the guys. Mr. Grimes was coming to my rescue.

17

Amber

Suddenly, having one of my stepbrothers see my latest farm folly seemed like a wonderful option. Definitely preferable to creepy Mr. Grimes.

“That was some kind of acrobatics,” he said as the cart rocked to a halt.

“Yeah, I guess I’m not the best rider yet,” I said.

“You were awfully far forward in the saddle,” he said, studying my face with narrowed eyes.

“Was I?” I asked innocently, trying to keep the heat of my indignation from rising to my face.

Had the creep been watching me? Oh my God, did he know what I’d been doing? Had he seen me squirming around, rubbing against the saddle horn?

I wanted to die.

“I’ll tell you what,” Mr. Grimes said after a minute. “I’ll give you a ride home if you hop up in here and give me some of what you been giving those brothers of yours.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know what you city girls are like,” he said. “A different dick every night of the week. Now you come out here, probably got yourself a necklace with keys to each of your brother’s bedrooms. At least I’m not kin to you.”

My mouth dropped open as he unzipped his canvas coveralls.

“If that pussy’s not too good to share with your own brothers, it’s not too good to share with me,” he said. “What’s one more dick going to matter at this point?”

He pulled out his wrinkly old cock and gave it a good stroke. I tried not to gag as it flopped about, half erect.

“I know why you’re here,” Grimes said. “My wife says you got in trouble back in New York. Got knocked up, did you? Don’t worry, I’ve been snipped. You can ride this stallion bareback.”

Stallion? I might have laughed out loud if I wasn’t so horrified. I mean, I’d been flashed on the sidewalk in New York before, but it wasn’t like I stuck around to see those scrawny dicks struggling to get hard in twenty-degree weather.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I screeched, at last finding my voice. “You’re propositioning me in the same sentence as you’re talking about your wife?”

“Don’t pretend you got morals,” he said. “Not when you’re letting your brothers diddle you every night. Besides, the wife’s all worn out like an old sock. Now hop up in here and let me get my dick in that pussy while it’s still young and fresh.”