Ride the Cowboy

"You climbed into my bed." Closer now. Mouth near my ear. "Wearing that fucking shirt. Asked if I thought about you. Then spent an entire day making it impossible to think about anything except—" "You have no right to command me!" Each word punctuated with another hit. "No right to act like you own me when you won't even admit you want me! No right to—" He caught my wrists mid-swing. One second I was attacking him. The next my back slammed against the rough barn wall hard enough to knock air from my lungs. Wood scraped through my tank top. His body caged mine—close enough that I could smell whiskey and anger and desperation. "No right?" His voice dropped to that dangerous register. But this time it was shattered. Control is completely gone. "You think I don't want you? You think I ran to that bar for any fucking reason except trying to stop wanting you?" His laugh was bitter. Sharp. "I want to pin you against every surface in my house, princess. Want to show you exactly how you can belong to me. Want to stop pretending I'm not completely fucking gone for Richard Ward's daughter." And then he kissed me. Greedy and claiming. Branding me with his mouth in ways that screamed possession louder than any words. This wasn't the tentative bedroom kiss. This was weeks of denial exploding into something raw and desperate. His tongue swept in—demanding, taking. I kissed him back with equal fury. Teeth catching his bottom lip hard enough to hurt because I wanted him to feel this. Feel what he'd been doing to me. The groan that came from his throat hit me somewhere south of rational thought and landed right between my thighs. When he pulled back we were both breathing hard. His eyes were completely black. Pupils blown, swallowed hazel almost fully. Whatever control he'd maintained—gone. "Did your daddy send you to re-education?" His voice was rough. Almost cruel. "To learn humility? How to be a good girl?" "Are you really that eager for me to defile you with my cock?" The words were crude. Raw. Exactly the kind of thing that should've shocked me into sobriety. But they didn't. They made me want him more. Made me want to prove that I wasn't too young or too innocent or too whatever excuse he'd been using to keep distance. "Yes." Came out desperate. Needy. Completely honest. "God yes. I want you to take what we both know you want." my-passion.com

"Jesus Christ." He groaned against my neck. Hand pressing harder. "You're soaking through denim. I feel how tight and wet you are out there, Princess..” The crude observation should've embarrassed me. Should've made me push him away and demand some kind of respect. Or decorum. Or literally anything except this barn and his hands and the way my body was betraying every defense I'd built. Instead it made my core clench so hard I saw stars. "Are you really that eager for me to defile you with my cock?" The words were crude. Raw. Exactly the kind of thing that should've shocked me into sobriety. But they didn't. They made me want him more. Made me want to prove that I wasn't too young or too innocent or too whatever excuse he'd been using to keep distance. "Yes." Came out desperate. Needy. Completely honest. "God yes. I want you to take what we both know you want." "You have no idea what you do to me." His voice was wrecked. Barely recognizable. "No fucking idea." "Then show me." Challenged him even though my pulse was trying to escape through my throat. "Stop telling me and show me." That did it. Whatever thread of restraint he'd been clinging to—gone. His hands found my tank top. One sharp pull and fabric ripped. Buttons scattered across hay like tiny casualties of war. The sound echoed in the barn—destruction and want and something irreversible happening between us. Cool air hit my skin. Then his mouth replaced it—hot, demanding, everywhere at once. He kissed down my throat. Teeth scraping. Tongue soothing. Building a map of marks that would tell everyone exactly what happened here. my-passion.com

"We're both drunk. And your first time… Fuck, Adison… Your first time shouldn't be because I'm jealous and possessive and completely out of control." "What if that's exactly what I want?" "Adison," His voice cracked. "What are you—" "Showing you what I want." Third button. Fourth. "Since apparently words aren't working." The shirt fell open. Burgundy lace underneath—that bra I'd packed thinking I'd never have reason to wear it. Guess I'd been wrong about that. His eyes went dark. Pupils blown wide. Breath coming faster. I trailed my fingers down my stomach. Slid them under the hem of my skirt, and watched his control fracture in real-time. I let my nails scrape lightly over my skin, teasing, like I was just stretching—but we both knew better. My skirt was already bunched up around my thighs, and I caught the exact moment Jake’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. His veins popping like he was trying to strangle the damn thing instead of driving it. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, voice rough like gravel scraped raw. His jaw clenched, eyes darting to me for a split second before focusing back on the road. “You’re killing me…” “Good,” I purred, sliding my hand lower, between my legs. “Maybe you deserve it.” My thighs parted just enough to give him a glimpse, the barest flash of my lace panties, damp and clinging to me. He groaned, a sound so fucking primal it sent a shiver down my spine. I let my thighs fall open completely and my fingers dipped beneath the lace, brushing against my slick folds. I gasped softly, just loud enough for him to hear, and watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “Princess…” he hissed, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. my-passion.com