Wrangled by the Alien Rancher (Cowboy Colony Mail-Order Brides, #2)

by Ursa Dax

A husband? Actually making you happy? What the fuck kind of crazy-ass planet had I landed on?

From the moment she’d stepped out of that human craft, she’d been mine. And I was not about to let something as tiny and unimportant as the fact I’d once murdered a man get in the way.

Forget porn. Jesus Christ, I was certain that I could make myself a million credits just by selling photos of Fallon’s forearms. Maybe videos, too. Of him flexing. Or gripping stuff. Snap a pic of the man making a fist and panties across the cosmos would disappear. Poof.

“How do you feel?” he asked with an intensity that probably should have scared me. “Feverish? Light-headed? Weak from blood loss?” “Blood loss?” I blinked at him. “Are you serious?” “About my wife?” he replied without hesitation. “Always.”

Between this and the porn doodles, he’s a bonafide Van Gogh…

“I know you are not standing before me because I know my wife would not have ventured out into weather this bad on her own. My clever, pretty Darcy, whose safety matters more to me than my own life, would not have taken such a risk.”

“I’m not skittish,” she protested. “I’m just… I’m just… reserved!” “Yes. My reserved little cat.” “Fallon!” “Drink your tea, little cat.” “Oh my God.”

“But you are my wife. And I’d happily lick any part of you that was hurting.”

“For the first time since I was a child, I look into my future and I see something worthwhile. I see something good.” He brushed his knuckles softly against my cheek. “And it’s you.”

Awww. Sounds like you’re starting to care about your big, burly, orange simp. Charging in and trying to save him from his own venomous dicktacle without a care in the world for your own safety :’)

I was falling in love with this man. Despite the walls I’d thrown up, Fallon had scaled or pummelled or jumped over them all. He’d thrown big, orange lasso right around my human heart like I was some stupid rogue bull to be wrangled. And it had fucking worked.

“Can I,” he groaned against the top of my head, his fingers rubbing my ass needily, “touch your clitorosaurus?” Clit…orosaurus…

“Have you got another book about dinosaurs that I don’t know about?” I cried. “You’re making it sound like I’ve got a T-Rex up my skirt!”

“Alright. Say it with me now, Fallon. Clitoris.” “Clitorosaurus.” “Try again. Clit-or-us.” “Clito… Clitoroni.” “What? That’s even further away from the original!” “Sorry!” His eyes flashed white with a combination of dismay and determination. “Clitorious!”

“But I did read all about it! Several times over!” he asserted. “I know that it’s very sensitive, with many nerves. I studied the diagram extensively. I know where it is located.” “Well, you’re already ahead of the majority of human men,” I said with a laugh.

“Being sent here saved my life. Marrying you completed it.”

“My wife is kind. She is competent. She is loyal and protective. She cares immensely for her friends, for animals. She would put herself in danger to help them and she has done so. She is the bravest person I have ever known.”

“Every day,” I seethed, as if my very soul were seeping out from between my teeth, “I thank the sun for rising just so it can shine upon her. Simply to breathe the air beside her is something that I treasure and fight every moment to deserve. I do not care if you do not respect me. But you will respect my wife.”

“And I am her husband,” I growled. “Her partner. Her protector. And if I have to protect her from you, then so be it.”

“Needed,” he groaned. “I’ve needed your touch on me. Needed your mouth. Your cunt. I need to be inside you, Darcy. I need to be inside my wife.”