Page 128 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
The truck lurches a little as my grip on the wheel slips, gravel pinging the undercarriage when I jerk us straight. “Wow, seven, I’m damn impressed.” Heat rushes into my chest.
Walker’s head whips toward Ridge, eyes wide. “In one session?”
“Every. Single. One. Earned,” Ridge states smugly,settling back with the air of a man who knows he’s stirred the pot good and proper.
Sophia groans, covering her face with her hands. “Why would you even?—”
“Because,” Ridge says, leaning forward again so his voice is right in her ear, “I like reminding you what we can do for you. What we will do. Every time your heat gets to be too much, we’ll be there. All of us.”
Her hands slip down to her lap, and I catch the faint, guilty smile she’s trying, and failing, to hide, and my stomach tightens. Not with jealousy. With the bone-deep need to make damn sure I’m part of the next seven.
“You know,” she says suddenly, eyes flicking to Ridge. “In that demon romance book, he had to give her seven orgasms over time. Not all at once.”
Ridge’s grin turns slow and smug, like he’s been waiting for this opening all along. “I know. That’s why I had to do one better than that demon.”
I can’t help it; I bark out a laugh. “Ah, I’m caught up now. Y’all are talking about Sophia’s blog post about the demon book. I think we might need to all read this one together. You know, for… ideas.”
“Okay, challenge accepted,” Walker declares.
“Hell no,” Sophia says quickly. “This is not a competition. My body is not a scorecard.”
Her cheeks go pink, but her smile only widens, and the heaviness from earlier feels lighter.
“Everything’s a competition with us,” I add. “Lastmonth they competed to see who could muck out stalls faster.”
“Walker cheated,” Ridge protests.
“Boys,” Sophia interrupts, but she’s fighting a smile. “Can we please not turn my orgasms into a rodeo event?”
“Too late,” I mutter, pulling up to the main house and parking the truck. “Ridge already set the bar. Seven is the number to beat now.”
“Cash!” But she’s laughing as she climbs out of the truck. “Well, I guess I have some packing to do.”
“We’ll get your room ready,” I call out. We watch her stroll toward the guesthouse, and yeah, she’s definitely adding extra sway to those hips. Knows exactly what she’s doing to us.
“Fuck,” Walker breathes, adjusting himself not so subtly.
“Seven times,” I mutter, still processing.
“The benefits of being thorough,” Ridge answers smugly.
“We need to fix her room,” Walker says suddenly, snapping us out of our trance. “Now. Before she gets back.”
We head into the house like the place is on fire. I take the stairs three at a time.
We skid to a stop in the guest doorway, nearly crashing into each other. The room is beautiful but basic—king-size bed with navy sheets, empty dresser, bare walls, hardwoodfloors with one simple rug.
“This won’t work,” Walker states, running his hand through his hair. “It looks like a hotel room.”
“A nice hotel,” Ridge defends.
“But still a hotel. She needs a nest. To feel like home. Comfortable. Safe.”
“Soft things,” Ridge adds. “Lots of pillows, blankets. Textures she can burrow into.”
“Snacks,” I contribute. “Easy access to food and water is crucial.”
We stand there for a moment in silence. I can practically see the gears turning in their heads.
