Swift and Saddled (Rebel Blue Ranch, #2)

by Lyla Sage

I bet he had rough hands. Working hands. For a split second, I imagined what they would feel like if he dragged them across my body.

I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were from here, but I wanted to.

Not fucking dimples. Those should be illegal.

Every time I looked up, his eyes were on me.

“Is this okay?” he asked against my mouth. “More,” I breathed.

Honestly, I enjoyed solitude, but there’s a difference between that and being lonely.

He smiled, and I had a prime view of those dimples.

But depression wasn’t a logical disease.

I was best in small doses.

I’d take her dirty looks over anyone else’s affectionate ones any day.

She bit her bottom lip, and I was hit with the memory of her biting mine.

Wes looked so happy. But I guess depression wasn’t really about what you looked like or how you appeared but more about what you felt like.

“Do that again,” he whispered.

When you’re treated a certain way for so long, you start to believe that’s how you should be treated.

“Sweetheart,” he called. That was me.

“This is perfect.” So are you, I thought.

I needed to be weak—just for a minute.

At this point, I was pretty sure I’d been waiting for her my whole life, so an hour was easy.

Fucking hell. Why was I having so many feelings? This annoying internal monologue while looking at myself in the bathroom mirror had to stop.