Page 32 of Oops, I Fell For The Ranch Hand Next Door

I force myself to inhale. To stay present rather than retreat into old patterns of shame. His hands continue their exploration, thumbs brushing my breasts. When I arch into the touch, he groans.

“This too.” He reaches around me to flick open my bra clasp. The straps slide down my arms. The fabric falls away, and then I’m bare from the waist up while he stands fully clothed. The imbalance should make me vulnerable. Instead it makes me bold.

“Your turn.” I reach for the hem of his shirt, fingers clumsy with want. He helps me strip it off, and then he’s standing shirtless before me, and I’m cataloging every detail: the scar curving around his ribs, the definition of muscle earned through labor, the trail of dark hair that disappears into his jeans.

I press my palm to his sternum, mapping the architecture of bone and muscle, the way his skin jumps under my touch. His hands come to my hips, gripping with pressure and heat.

“Jessie.” My name on his lips sounds like the origin of language. “I need you to understand what’s about to happen.”

“I understand.” My fingers trace the scar. “You’re going to make love to me. You’re going to show me what it looks like to choose each other. You’re going to prove I deserve this.”

His grip tightens to the point of ache. “You already do. You’ve always been enough.”

He backs me toward the bed. The mattress hits the back of my knees, and I sit. And then he’s kneeling between my thighs with his hands on the button of my jeans. “May I?”

“Yes.” The word comes out breathless. “God, yes.”

He strips off my jeans and underwear until I'm bare on his bed with the last of the dusk coming blue through the window and the lamp burning low on the nightstand. I’m exposed, offering him everything. When he spreads my thighs wider instead of letting me close them, I don’t fight.

“Look at you.” He traces his hand up the inside of my thigh. “I’ve been going out of my mind wanting this. Wanting you exactly like this.”

His mouth finds my inner thigh, kissing there, open-mouthed and worshipping my curves, working higher until his exhale ghosts over my pussy and I’m gripping the sheets to keep from begging.

“Please.” The word breaks free. “Eli, please.”

“I know what you need.” His tongue traces along my pussy, barely touching, building pressure until I’m writhing. “But I’m going to take my time, make you so desperate you can’t think of anything except how good this is.”

He feasts on me with slow, filthy devotion, lapping broad and wet strokes from my entrance up to my aching clit, then swirling the stiff tip of his tongue in tight, maddening patterns that make my hips chase his mouth. Two thick fingers sink deep inside me, stroking and curling while he sucks my swollen clit between his lips. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth fill the room as he devours every drop of my arousal. My thighs tremble around his head, pleasure spiraling higher and tighter until I shatter with a raw cry, my inner walls pulsing hard around his fingers.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t gentle the pressure. He keeps licking and sucking through every shuddering wave, drawing it out until I’m a trembling, limp mess. Only then does he kiss his way back up my body.

“That’s one,” he says against my ribs. “I want another before I’m inside you.”

My eyes fly open. “Eli—”

“You chose me.” He captures my mouth in a kiss that lets me taste myself on his tongue. “You chose this. Now let me show you what that means.”

His hands find my breasts, palms cupping their weight, thumbs circling peaks that are already tight with need. When his mouth replaces his hands, I arch off the bed with a gasp. He worships one side with lips and tongue and the edge of his teeth, then switches to the other. The dual sensation makes my vision blur.

“You’re so responsive,” he says against my skin. “Every touch, every sound you make—you’re wrecking me.”

His hand slides down my stomach to find my pussy. Two fingers push inside while his thumb circles my clit. The pressure builds faster this time. I’m already sensitive, already wrung out from the first orgasm. When he curls his fingers to hit that spot inside that makes stars burst behind my eyelids, I shatter.

“That’s two.” He gentles his touch, working me through the aftershocks. “One more, and then I’m going to be inside you.”

“I can’t.” My voice is wrecked. “I can’t come again.”

“Yes, you can.” He withdraws his fingers, and I whimper at the loss. “Trust me.”

He strips off his jeans and boxers, and then he’s naked. I catalog every detail of him, how his cock juts thick and hard from dark hair, how his thighs are corded with muscle. Seeing his cock makes my inhale catch with want.

He registers the reaction, kneeling between my thighs and framing my face with his palms. “We’ll go slow if you need to. I’ll make sure you’re ready. I’ve got you.”

“I know you do.” I reach down, wrapping my hand around him. His hips buck forward with a groan that makes me bold. “I trust you.”

“Ready?” He lies on top of me, positioning his cock at my entrance with the head pressing but not entering.

“Yes.” I lock my ankles behind his back, pulling him closer. “I’m ready. I need you inside me. I need this.”