Page 63 of Chasing the Wild
That girl is going to be the death of me.
Every time I turn around or close my eyes, she’s there.
And I can’t stand myself for all the tiny details and moments that make me want her. How she looks at me with big doe eyes and nibbles her lip when she doesn’t think I’m looking. Every curve of hers is hugged by those goddamn jeans I want to peel slowly off her body, and the way the cropped part of her top rides up when she has to reach for something. How she hums to herself while brushing the horses and murmurs to them with that raspy little purr in her voice.
The one that goes straight to my dick.
What’s worse, is I know the exact shade of forest green her eyes turn when her hot little cunt grinds in my lap, and rolling climax drags her under.
All around us, the world has turned white. The snow is piling thicker day by day as we’ve danced around each other for the past week. Avoiding the girl under my roof has been the only way to keep my sanity in all of this. It might be the least mature thing I’ve ever done in my life, but acting like ships in the night has been a hell of a lot easier than trying to have a conversation. SoI’ve stayed wrapped in silence, coming and going when I know she won’t be there.
What the fuck am I supposed to say to Layla after what happened between us?
There were so many lines crossed that night, and I should have been the one to put a stop to it the moment she wandered in, wearing next to nothing. But that selfish, jealous, asshole part of me took everything she offered and didn’t make any effort to say no.
Jesus, I’m nearly twice her age. All it took was one flutter of those eyelashes, and I was convinced to lose my morals within seconds. Ready to damn near risk it all just for a taste.
Not that I think I had any to begin with where the beautiful girl living under my roof is concerned.
We both pass through the house in a strange routine, one where each of us is painfully aware of where the other is and what they’re doing. Like the faint footfall I can hear from my room as she pads down the hallway for a glass of water late at night. Or the dinner she leaves out wrapped up for me on the bench when I’ve stayed out after dark doing shit I really don’t need to be doing. Even though we’re sleeping just down the hall from one another, and working the same few acres of this ranch, neither of us dares to encroach on the other’s space.
Or maybe Layla is just so sick of my bullshit, that she’s come to her senses, and this is how it will be until she leaves this mountain.
The moment she takes her sweet scent and soft presence and leaves me for good.
What it comes down to is that I want her. There’s nothing complicated about that, only the longing and twisted loathing of myself for desiring her. I fucking hate the circumstances we’ve been tangled in, and if I was a worse person, I’d have said fuck it, and given into this thing between us back on day one.
Even though I shouldn’t want Layla, there’s no way I can turn off the flood of desire that courses through my veins all day long. Just thinking about her is misery and agony and pleasure all mixed up, churning, whirring around in my brain.
I’m a piece of shit father is what I am.
Unfortunately, for my sanity, today is a job that requires both of us. I even put a call out on the radio to some of the guys who might have been able to come give me a hand checking the cattle, but none could get here in the current conditions. I don’t blame them considering the forecast for later today is for a whiteout.
No one needs to be risking their neck, not when I’ve got someone right here who is more than fucking capable of riding out with me.
It’s just that I’ve been putting off the inevitable of having to spend time together.
Right now, I’m radioing the final person who might have a chance of getting up here, but deep in my chest, I already know he won’t be able to.
"Oh good, this isn't you calling me from jail then?" Storm’s familiar chuckle comes over the radio.
“Don’t start with me, Stôrmand.” My fist grips the handset. “Not in the mood.”
“Well, after watching you threaten Pierson off with your shotgun the other night, I thought this might at least be a thank you call, seeing as I made sure those two fucked off down the mountain.”
I suck in a deep breath. “Yeah, thanks. Didn’t need to be getting my ass locked up for taking matters into my own hands.”
“Are you finally gonna file a report with Hayes? File that trespass order we’ve talked about a hundred times? You’ve got more than enough cause.”
“You know exactly why I can't.”
“Colt, you gave them an offer of equity, even though you shouldn’t have even given them two minutes of your time, and those two shit-for-brains assholes spat in your face. You don’t owe them anything, and you sure as hell don’t need to atone for the sins of that asshole. He’s long dead and buried, and you can’t keep carrying guilt because of what he did. You’re just as much of a survivor as the others.”
“Didn’t know you were giving out free therapy sessions on the side there, Storm.”
I hear him laugh through the crackling of the line. “So if you’re not in cuffs with the sheriff, and you’re not wanting to talk about why you should be getting those pricks put away, to what do I owe the pleasure of this neighborly chit-chat?”
Pinching my brow, I ignore his taunting. “Don’t suppose you could make it up here before this next front rolls in.”
