Page 92 of Stockman's Showdown

She had lost control, giving Ryder complete control, and he owned her!

Oh boy, did he own her, holding her open for him to play her with the fingers of a master fiddler at such a maddening pace she was whisked towards an edge that left her panting. A fine sheen of sweat coated her body that was rocking against his face as she started to tremble and whimper, with her nails digging into his skin.

That’s when he stood to his full gloriously masculine height. Undoing those buttons on his jeans, he lowered them, exposing the full extension of his desire.

Dear Lord, it was beautiful. He was strong everywhere. With such a hidden power that forced the heat to rush up her inner thighs, with his hand skidding up her spine, to then trace her neck and her collarbone with one fingertip, while his dark eyes roamed over her face. There was nothing cold about this man who had ice in his veins, he was all molten heat and hunger. All for her.

He lined up, with a hand on her hip he lifted her chin. ‘Look at me, Bree.’

She forced herself to focus on his dark eyes, as he slid inside her, filling her with a pleasure that she read so clearly on his own face as he withdrew to then thrust back into her.

He set the pace where the friction only made her want to cry out. Her body tightened around him, buried so deep, she had no choice but to surrender herself.

With his teeth running along her bare shoulder, his chest against hers, his pace became maddening as her body shattered. Breathy, choked cries that she was powerless to swallow back, rose from her throat as her world burst around her.

In her ear, he gave a harsh, sexy sound of satisfaction as she silently screamed against him. He then bundled her hair in his hands, the cool breeze a welcome reprieve against her hot skin.

Cursing under his breath, he plastered her back against the wall as another orgasm rolled through her, only this time hewent with her, the hearty groan that came from his chest was deep, flowing freely towards her as he coated her womb with his seed.

They held each other, their skin slick with sweat, to the sounds of a ticking clock she couldn’t see, and the hum of the air conditioner. He dropped his head in the juncture of her neck, and his arms snaked around her body, holding her close to his chest until their breathing returned to normal.

But there was nothing normal about what they’d done, or who she’d done it with. She was now in an internal wrestle with her awakening soul. A soul that she’d thought had been buried with her son—yet somehow, Ryder Riggs had just dragged it out of the pit of ashes, as if to claim it as his own.

Thirty-two

Ryder leaned against the fence as music blasted from inside the blacksmith shed. With her hair tucked under her black cap, Bree pulled a white-hot rod from the flames of the furnace. Swinging a thick hammer, she hit that rod, bending it, shaping it over the large anvil. The beat of metal on metal, hammer on anvil, was like an ancient drum, each metal clang in sync with the music.

She was beautiful to watch.

The shotgun-wielding, gin-making outlaw, was the queen of steel, and a sword-making magician of alchemy. She was the temptress of lust, strong enough to turn his cold, stony heart into a fire as hot as the forge she used to melt metal that she’d bend to her will. He could not stop watching the woman who had already placed her own brand on his heart.

In his peripheral view he spotted her grandfather coming down the garden path to lean his forearms over the gate’s rail beside Ryder. ‘The kid’s been in a good mood lately.’

Ryder wanted to claim it was all his doing. Being with Bree had certainly put him in a good mood. He’d never slept better than when lying beside her. Even if they weren’t letting anyone know what they were doing after dark, just being near her was a comfort.

Charlie pushed up the brim of his stockman’s hat. ‘What can I do you for, son?’

‘We need to talk. With Bree.’

‘Sounds ominous.’

With fingers to his mouth, Ryder let rip a whistle that ricocheted around the shed.

Bree spun around with a hammer in her hand. ‘What was that for? Most people use words likehello, cupcake?’

He still hated that pet name, but she was wearing him down. ‘I needed your attention.’ And she had his, just by breathing.

‘There are better ways to get a girl’s attention than by bursting my eardrums.’ She poked the hot iron into the water bucket. A hiss of steam curled in the air.

Leaving her latest creation to rest on the anvil, Bree tore off her thick gloves, they ran up to her elbows, made of the same thick leather as her full-bib apron. With the back of her hand, she wiped at the sweat glistening on her brow to brush back one of her curls.

Ryder wanted to tuck it behind her ear, then follow it with his lips down her slender neck to lick at the salty beads of sweat. But Bree was careful to never get too close to him when others were around.

She pulled down the heavy iron gate that closed off the blazing furnace, already hearing the flames fading in the forge for the day. ‘Is there something you need, Ryder?’

Heck yeah, he had a list, a big one. But that was only for after dark when her grandfather had gone to bed.

She narrowed her eyes at him with a look that warned him to behave.

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