Page 138 of Westin

“For what?”

“Rolling with the punches,” he says. “Now, run along, or I might just fuck you before work.”

I cock my head. His eyes narrow. Carefully, I tug the tie of my dressing gown open, and he gives me that look, the hungry one.

“I’m already late for chores,” he says, voice low.

He looks so handsome, all desperate to have me. I push my dressing gown and the strap of my slip down then turn to climb the steps.

I glance over my bare shoulder. He’s watching me from the landing, chest heaving.

“Goddamn it, Diane,” he says as he comes after me.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

WESTIN

We move through our rituals. She keeps to the rules in our contract as best she can. I tie her up and eat her out until she cries from coming so hard. Then, I rub her back, tell her she’s a good girl, and put lemon candy on her tongue until she melts into me.

She blossoms.

Her face fills out first, and then her body follows. At some point, she went from being underweight to soft with gentle curves. Her breasts are full and teardrop shaped. They fit so well in my hands. Her hips and thighs fill out until they shake when I fuck her on her hands and knees.

I eat those curves up. Her skin is soft like flowers, her mouth sweet, her pussy like heaven.

I thought I was in love before, but it had nothing on what I feel now.

We race through winter, both too distracted and drunk on each other to do more than work and fuck. Then, suddenly, I go out to do chores, and the air smells like spring. The soggy snow pulls back to reveal dark earth. I have to leave my muddy boots in the hallway before going upstairs.

Sovereign and I planned for an early calving season, following the trend of last year. We bring in the expectant cows and keep an eye on them. More often than not, I wake to a knock on the door and end up digging a breech calf out. It’s unpleasant, but that’s business on a cattle ranch.

The cows don’t birth easy this year. They struggle, and the calving season is full of bloody nights. I tell Sovereign it's on account of the mothers born during the drought being small.

He says he thinks that’s true. Maddie washes the windows of the barn with Florida Water and says she’ll pray about it.

The losses hit hard. It’s thankless work. The ranch hands and wranglers assist where they can. Whoever is awake helps, but usually, it’s Sovereign, Jensen, and I who end up with the midwifery.

Sovereign wakes me at three one night, and we head to the barn. There’s a dappled shorthorn cow in the back stall. I check the brand and flip her tag. This is her first year having a calf. I run my hand down her nose, shushing her as her sides heave.

“She’s gone on too long,” Sovereign says, stripping off his shirt. “She needs help.”

I unlatch the gate and enter the warm, dark stall. He runs his hand down her spine, and I hold her head while he checks her progress. I hear his heavy sigh as he straightens.

“Fucking breech,” he says.

“I’ll get the shit,” I say, leaving the stall.

We work quickly and silently. The cow is quiet, which I don’t like. A loud cow is a fighting cow. Silent means all the strength has leached out of her. We work hard, and it’s thirty minutes later when we get the calf out and cleaned up. I mix a bucket of sweet molasses with hot water and urge her to drink it, but she just watches me with glassy eyes.

Sovereign stands in front of her, his hands on his hips. His head drops, and I hear him swear under his breath. I’ve never seen him like this before.

“She’s alright,” I say.

He shakes his head once. “Keira and I are going to start trying for a baby when I get unsnipped. This shit gets me now, feels real.”

The pieces fall into place.

“Keira will be fine,” I say. “She’s strong.”

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