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For the readers ready to wear the hat and get railed in the back seat until you forget your own name … Daddy Colt has a spot in his truck just for you.
I realized at that moment I didn’t want him to know about Layla, or at least, the asshole inside me doesn’t want her to know about him. I
She doesn’t need to know anything about Stôrmand Lane, nor about the fact he used to be a rodeo star. Doesn’t need to know about his stupid fucking tattoos that I’ve seen first-hand act as a pussy magnet everywhere he goes, and certainly doesn’t need to be anywhere near his charming gruffness.
“Go easy on me, ok?” Layla breathes. I don’t know what comes over me, but as I help swing her up into the saddle, the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I promise, I can be gentle.”
God, no one has ever protected me the way Colt did, and I think he somehow altered my brain chemistry.
“You’ll need this.” I take my hat off and drop it on her head. It’s a little big for her, and even though she looks gorgeous in anything, fuck me, the sight of her wearing my jet-black hat sends a rush of blood to my dick. She reaches up to touch the brim, readjusting it slightly on her head, and her green eyes sparkle. Which is why I don’t even bother trying to explain why I just did what I did, yet still hop back in the cab feeling like a fucking king.
Even if she’s not my girl, I can at least lay a claim on her so no asshole around town dares to look twice her way.
I don’t know what fucking caveman part of my brain lights up at that request, but it feels damn good. Like she trusts my judgment or some shit.
Wear the hat, ride the cowboy, and all that.
“Then tell me why every night is a battle, Layla. Tell me why I have to damn near lock my own door.” “Why would you—” His gritty noise cuts me off. “Because I’m in so much trouble when it comes to you. Tell me why the fuck I’m spending every night talking myself out of visiting the bedroom just down the hall of the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, just to see how she tastes.”
“Is that my lips, or somewhere else, cowboy?” Colt lets out a groan mixed with a growl, and my breathy words are hardly out of me before his hand dives into my hair. “Fuck it.”
His mouth crashes against mine.
“Fuck. Layla. I can’t stop this. I can’t fucking fight it,”
“Look at you, baby.” He lets out a low growl. “Jesus Christ. The things I want to do to you.”
When I open my eyes, all I see through my damp lashes is his own battle raging beneath the surface. That sight makes it worse. Makes it so much more fucking unbearable to know that he wants this as desperately as I do.
“You’re perfect and beautiful, but right now, I need you to do as I say, baby.”
My tortured cowboy.
I know the way Layla tastes and the tiny noises of pleasure she makes as I fuck her mouth with my tongue.
The filthiness of that image, of my release spilling out after fucking her bare, is what finally does me in.
and here I am, forty-two years old, acting like a horny teenager.
… I want her to have the moon and the stars and the sun itself, but I don’t want anyone else to be the one giving it to her because I am a selfish, old bastard.
When it comes to Layla, it turns out I’m possessive as all hell and barely keeping that side of me on a leash.
That girl would flee this mountain and never return if she knew the messed up way I can’t stand the thought of anyone else even looking at her … the ways I can’t sto...
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Life is cruel and unfair, and the worst part is that I care about Colton Wilder too much to hurt him by forcing something he refuses to act on.
“The thought of one of them sneaking back up here, after liking what they saw a little too much, is more than I can handle.”
“I’m not looking their way, cowboy. There’s only one man I’m interested in, and he’s one I can’t have. So,
what does that make me … a pathetic slut, or a masochist?”
He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, before letting out the sexiest groan, the sound reaching ...
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“I love it when you look at me, Daddy.”
“I don’t want to say.”
“God, I want to fuck you so bad. I want to be buried inside your cunt this entire winter.”
“Is this what you’re wearing all the time underneath your jeans out on the ranch? These slutty little knee-high socks?”
“Or maybe not, and I like knowing you’ll be asking yourself that question every time you watch me work.”
“Christ. Layla. You’re killing me.” “It’s ok … you’re not touching. All you’re doing is watching.”
“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know, baby. If you let me see your cunt, I’m going to want inside you. I’m going to want to eat you until you’re begging me to stop. But I know I won’t be able to stop. There’s no going back for me once that happens and I’m not going to be able to keep
myself from fucking you in every one of your sweet little holes.”
“God, you’re the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
I’m so fucked. That girl is going to be the death of me.
But that selfish, jealous, asshole part of me took everything she offered and didn’t make any effort to say no.
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
This is the power Layla Birch has over me.
I’m so fucking fucked.
Hearing her say my name in that breathy little voice, fuck. I’m going straight to hell. That moment is when the last tenuous thread of my resolve snaps. With one hand still fisted in her soft curls, I crash my mouth against hers.
She winds her arms tight around the back of my neck. Digging her nails into my nape … and she kisses me back without any restraint. Fuck. Yes.
“Baby, I want to taste you.” Kiss. “Fuck you.” Lick. “Consume you.” Bite.
A girl can only dream of being indulged so expertly by a cowboy sex god.
But I wasn’t exactly expecting to be doing anything but

