Page 22 of Old-Fashioned Rancher

When I curled two fingers inside her, Birdie arched off the bed, grinding against my face. A switch flicked in my brain, primal, feral. Crooking my fingers knuckle-deep and pressing upward, I sucked on her clit hard.

Birdie swore. Her thighs locked tight. She scrabbled at my shoulders, fingernails leaving stinging red welts as she shattered.

When she came down, I smoothed my hands over every inch of her, caressing her hips, her stomach, her breasts. I might not be able to summon the stamina I had when I was a 20-something young buck, but my appetite for her still burned like a raging wildfire—insatiable, unstoppable.

Little aftershocks twitched through Birdie’s body. I gave her pussy a few more teasing licks to soothe her before I wiped her slick from my chin and crawled up beside her.

“I had no idea you could be that resourceful,” she said, panting.

“You should see what I can do after I’ve had my morning coffee.”

Birdie laughed softly and burrowed into my chest.

“I might have to wave the white flag of surrender.”

I didn’t remember drifting off to sleep, with Birdie curled up in my arms, and her head tucked under my chin. I’d forgotten what it was like to share a bed with someone, how comforting it was to feel their body heat and listen to the rhythm of their breathing.

When I opened my eyes again, a stream of golden sunlight filtered through a crack in the curtains. I glanced at my clock. 8:45am.

Fuck. I’d slept through my alarm.

Easing out of bed, trying not to wake Birdie, I grabbed my jeans and tugged them on. I scooped up a shirt from a nearby chair and pulled them on, too. Four hours behind my regular routine felt strange, like I was racing to catch up.

I turned the door knob as quietly as I could, but Birdie stirred anyway.

“If anyone should be sneaking out, it’s supposed to be me. This is your bed.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” I replied.

When she rolled over, the sheets fell away to expose her bare hip and thigh. My self-control almost caved in.

“I’ll get us some coffee and something to eat,” I added. “Stay there.”

Birdie snuggled into my pillow until her tousled blonde hair was the only thing visible from the cloud of rumpled sheets. Tearing myself away from her, I stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door.

As soon as I reached the kitchen, I found Avery seated at the table with a cup of coffee and a bagel, pouring over a textbook while taking notes. She was still in her pajamas with her hair up in a messy ponytail. She blinked up at me in surprise.

“Dad?”

I hesitated, cursing myself for not being more aware of my surroundings. Avery’s gaze darted over me, taking in my unbuttoned shirt, my unbuckled jeans, and my bare feet.

“Did you oversleep?” she asked, incredulous.

I shrugged and tried to play it off, making my way to the coffee pot.

“I guess all that festival activity made me more tired than I realized.”

“You’ve never overslept in my entire life,” Avery countered. “Not once. Even when you’re sick with the flu, you’re still awake at four-thirty every morning. Like clockwork.”

She paused and I hoped she would drop the subject, moving on to something else. But I should have known better. She was my daughter after all, inheriting my hard-headed genes.

“How’s Birdie?”

I froze, coffee pot in one hand, mug in the other. The memory of where I’d left Birdie a minute ago rose to mind—naked, content, with her perfume on my sheets. The lingering salty taste of her arousal was still on my tongue.

I knew I would have to talk to Avery at some point. My relationship would have an impact on her since she would be getting a new stepmother. Birdie and I were still so new though, and everything was happening so fast.

“I noticed you two were all over each other at the festival last night,” Avery went on. “It was cute. Lots of people were talking about what a handsome couple you made.” She paused and I could have sworn I heard her smile when she added, “I also noticed her car is still parked in the driveway this morning.”

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