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For the first time in more than three years, someone telling me what to do actually results in my doing it. I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m about to get something I want. Maybe because I’m telling myself he’s clearly a glutton for punishment, because he is going to have the biggest case of blue balls when I strut out of here after I get mine. Or maybe, maybe, it’s because for the first time ever, I’m being told to do something that is actually in my own best interest.

I take a deep breath and get situated again on the bed. Closing my eyes and readying my lips, I’m expecting him to pick up where we left off before I stopped him. Only this time Cowboy has other plans.

Instead of landing on my mouth, his lips trail their way down the side of my neck to my shoulder and across my collarbone. The soft scruff on his jawline tickles my skin, magnifying the tingling feeling his lips leave as they trace my chest.

I sink deeper and deeper into his mattress. It’s probably all mental, but if it were possible to literally melt, I’d be doing exactly that right now. In fact, I’m such a puddle that my body is nearly limp when he tug at my arms, bringing me into an upright position while he sits on top of me, straddling me.

I keep my eyes closed as ordered, as he peels my sports bra over my skin and pulls it over my head before gently letting my body slide back onto the pillow behind me.

Holding himself up with the arm he has resting beside my head, he uses his other hand to cup my breast, gently massaging it with his palm while his mouth moves to the other, tantalizing me with each meticulous flick of his tongue across my nipple.

My fists curl around handfuls of his sheets as the mind-bending pleasure begins to mount, sending my body into new and uncontrolled spasms, unable to contain all it’s experiencing.

I’m so focused on what his tongue is doing, I barely notice when his hand moves down from my chest, softly caressing the skin on my stomach before sliding under the rim of my panties. I’m pretty sure I’m about to completely lose it when his fingers slide down the front of me. His thumb instinctively seeks out the most sensitive part of my entire body, moving in small circles, gradually increasing in pressure and speed and then letting up again.

I’ve almost come like ten times already, but somehow Cowboy has more control over my body than I do. It’s the exact moment I realize this that his finger enters inside me, and I want to scream. I do scream. I’ve been screaming. It’s like a freaking prayer circle up in here the number of times I’ve shouted “oh my God” in the last three minutes.

He moves in a second finger, and I feel myself tighten around him. Only this time he doesn’t take it away. He just keeps giving me more. More. And more. Until I’m gasping for air and my body shudders and shakes under him from the release.

CHAPTER FOUR

RIKER

I close my eyes to the sun. I’m not ready for daylight. I’m not ready to go back to my life. For some reason, even the uninterrupted sounds of the isolated early morning beach aren’t enough to quiet my mind right now.

Well, if nothing else, Sid’ll be pleased her condom run didn’t go to waste. I thought she’d been nuts when she showed up here two days ago with an armload of condoms and toothbrushes, making her grand speech about how I was still alive and how it was about damn time I acted like it. I wasn’t really sure how that translated into safe sex and oral hygiene, but she assured me it did. And maybe it does.

Three condoms and five orgasms for her later, and I’m feeling more alive than I have in a long time. I’m sure it would shock her to know I got more out of the two I gave her than the three we shared. It’s been so fucking long since I’ve put anyone else’s needs above my own, doing something that was completely about someone else for a change was becoming a foreign concept. It gets tiring being a selfish son of a bitch all the damn time, but what else am I supposed to be when I live in a hole, isolated from the rest of the world with no other living, breathing being around? Except on the rare occasion that Sid still comes by. And it’s my own damn fault she doesn’t show up more often than she does. I wouldn’t want to be around me either.

But Quinn did. And even though she’s gone for now, I have a feeling she’ll be back. Of course, I’m giving Quinn something I’m not about to give Sid. She’s getting something out of being here with me. Sid gets shit. Because I love her. And she loves me. And that’s what you do when you’re a selfish son of a bitch. You give those you love the worst of what you have. And Sid’s the only one left, so she gets the worstof it all.

QUINN

Still feeling the waves of embarrassment after having woken up in Cowboy’s bed after specifically making a point of promising a “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” kind of experience, I’m doing my best to sneak back into Kirsten’s house.

The sun’s already coming up and I’m still dressed in my running gear. I can easily make an argument for having just returned from an early morning run if I get caught, but I’ve never been all that good a liar. It would take Kirsten all of three seconds to deduce I was out all night with some scumbag who would only get me into trouble. And then I’d grin like an idiot remembering the night I’ve had, and it would be all she’d need to seal the deal on her conclusions.

Thankfully, I make it back into my downstairs living quarters without a hitch, and Harley and I climb into my bed to spend what’s left of the night sleeping there. I know the less gross thing would be to shower first. But I’m exhausted. And strangely, not nearly as disgusted with myself as I ought to be.

It’s nearly eleven by the time I come crawling out of my cave and greet the rest of the family. It’s Sunday, so Nate is actually home for a change.

“There’s trouble,” he says. “I heard you tried to steal a horse yesterday.”

Only his eyes are visible over the Sunday paper, but I can tell he’s laughing at me.

“Seriously, Kirsten? I head for the fridge and pour myself the biggest glass of OJ I think I’ve ever had. I’m parched. Three guesses why. “You’re so freaking dramatic about everything.”

“Oh, I’m the dramatic one now? You’re the one who pouted all night because of our little talk in the car. You even missed dinner.” My sister frowns. “I made chicken pot pie. From scratch.”

I’m sure this means something significant to her. I hate chicken pot pie, so it means squat to me.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ditch you. I just went for a run...and by the time I got back, I was exhausted and went straight to bed.” It’s totally true. Minus one major detail. Cowboy. “Which reminds me, do you know there’s a house like twice the size of this place less than a mile down the beach?”

Kirsten’s mouth twists into a grimace that reminds me of the face she used to make when we were kids and dared each other to eat lemons. “It’s not twice the size. It’s just laid out differently so it looks bigger.” She places a bowl of oatmeal in front of Sophie, who’s quietly coloring in her coloring book at the breakfast bar.

Nate clears his throat. “Well, the layout isn’t the only reason. The Shepherdson place has like a thousand square feet on this house.”

I don’t know why I care. I shouldn’t care. “Shepherdson? Is that who owns it?”

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