Buckled (Trails of Sin, #2)

by Pam Godwin

She doesn’t have a clue who I am or how we’re connected, and I hope to God I never have to be the person to tell her.

He pushes against the knife, causing blood to well beneath the steel. He’s insane. Certifiable.

She despises me and wants me, and dammit, I’m fucked.

I hover my face inches from hers, relishing the heave of her chest. “If I lift your dress, I bet I’ll find the wettest cunt in Oklahoma.”

“You should run.” I rise and prowl toward her. “You don’t scare me.” She squares her shoulders and stands her ground.

I lunge for her, catch her around her thighs, and haul her over my shoulder.

I don’t negotiate. I’ll take what I want and give her what she needs, not what she thinks she needs. Then I’ll send her stubborn ass back to Chicago.

She’s a hot mess of untamed beauty.

“You think I’d sleep with you to get a story?” She bucks against the restraints. “I’m not a whore!” “No, darlin’.” I lean into her, so close I taste the possibilities on her breath. “You’ll sleep with me because you won’t be able to stop yourself.”

“The riding crop has many uses. Sherlock Holmes carried one as a weapon. On the ranch, we use them to discipline horses. But when you’re with me…” I pause within striking distance. “This crop will be the liberation of your vagina.”

“Geez. Now you’re just making me feel like a crazy person.” “You’re a vegetarian. ‘Nough said.”

“I like this… Talking with you.” “If you trusted me, you’d like that, too.” I nod at the support beam I tied her to.

Maybe I won’t lay a hand on you. Or maybe we’ll explore every fantasy you’ve ever conjured. But that’s for me to decide. I lead, and you follow.”

His tongue slides along the seam of my lips, demanding entry, and I grant it. My heart flutters. His breathing quickens, and we fall into a kiss that ruins me for all others.

If a safe word ends a relationship, it isn’t a safe word at all.

“She won’t be weaned until winter.” He shuffles his boots. “We can work something out after that.” I gasp. “You won’t sell her?” He shakes his head, frowning. “No way!” I leap up and tackle him in a hug. “Thank you!” “Just this one.” He frames my face with his hands and gives me a stern look. “You can’t save them all.” “I know.” “Stay away from the other calves.” “Okay.” “Don’t even look at them.” I nod my agreement. “You’re a mess.” He swipes a thumb across my cheek. “A beautiful mess.” “Thank you.”

I’m not in a monogamous relationship with this woman. She’s on an errand to expose my family, and I’m certain she’s harboring her own secrets. I respect her, but I don’t trust her.

As much as I want to pick up where I left off with Maybe, I barely have the energy to carry her to bed. Which I do, every night, when she falls asleep during dinner.

“I’m going to remove your jeans. Don’t get any ideas.” She tackles my belt and zipper. “We’re just sleeping.”

“I won’t be another notch in your bedpost.” “I’ve never slept beside anyone.” I lift the covers in invitation. “Please.” “Never?” Her eyebrows jump. “Not once.” “I’m the first?” “The only one.”

I have plans for her during the two-hour drive to the prison. If she’s still around after that, I’ll put some miles on the riding crop tomorrow night.

I won’t get anywhere until I earn her trust. The best way I know how to do that is with my hands and mouth, pain and pleasure, surrender and dominance.

If she learns to trust me with a crop in my fist, she’ll open up. I’m certain of it.

The fact that she chose to wear my boots with the dress only fuels the desire sliding through my veins.

“Move to the middle.” I point at the center of the bench seat. “Why am I wearing a dress while you’re in jeans and a t-shirt?” I shift toward her and give her the truth. “I want access to your pussy.”

“We don’t trust each other. You think I’m hiding something. I know you’re hiding shit. We both have walls up, and I’m going to change that.” “By shoving your hand up my dress?” “Yes.”

“I won’t do it, Maybe.” I clench a hand on the steering wheel. “I want more than your secrets. I want those, too, but I’m not going to take them. I want you to give them to me when you’re ready. I want to earn your trust.” “Sex doesn’t earn trust. It destroys it.” A sinking feeling hits my stomach. “Who hurt you?”

His words have the power to slay me. The kiss that follows is a filthy, unhinged, catastrophic confirmation that I will never be able to walk away from him. Not if I want to remain whole.

“I want to touch you.” I shudder against the diabolical stroke of the fingers inside me. “Not yet.” His voice is gravel and smoke. “Take off your shirt.” “Stop talking.” He kicks my boots apart, forcing me into a wide stance. I bite his lip. “Don’t be a dick.” “If you don’t shut up, I’ll gag you with my dick.” He lowers his knees to the ground between my feet and clasps my hips. “If you’re going to threaten me, make it—” He buries his face in my pussy, stealing my voice and deleting my thoughts.

He’s a torrent of brutal force and sensual precision, fluctuating between violent bites and gentle kisses, rough hands and expert caresses. His passion is explosive, his touches methodical. Nothing about him is tame.

I need the truth about my past. I need Jarret in my future. Which do I need more?

Each searing lash of leather magnifies the soreness of its predecessor. But beneath the flames of discomfort lies a tingling, all-consuming realization. I love this.

The sky opens to a deluge of rain, and I come. Fucking hell, I come violently, wildly, screaming and writhing, throbbing and panting. My vision blackens. My legs give out, and my insides shatter into a million fiery sparks.

When I reach his jeans, I yank and wrangle and grunt until his huge, swollen cock lurches free. Sweet mother, he’s gloriously hung. The silhouette alone is intimidating as hell.

His cock bounces and strains against my pussy, nudging forcibly, intending entry. How is he still hard?

But something else churns the air. Anticipation. Hunger. Inevitability.

“You belong to me.” He prowls closer. “I’ll piss a circle around you if I have to. I’ll move mountains and rearrange my entire existence. I’m not giving you up.”

It’s cruelty in its most primitive form, love in its deepest, most passionate state. It’s animalistic mating, unbound and stripped bare, a connection that defies civility.

I know what we’re doing isn’t healthy. I know it’s only a matter of time before everything unravels. I also know that I’ve fallen deeply, madly, insanely in love with him.

He’s ruined me. There will be no more attempts at forever. Not for me. He might not be the first man I loved, but he’s the only one who left a mark. If I walk away from this, I walk away from love indefinitely. That’s my penance.

Nothing else exists when you’re all up in my space.

“I’ll change your mind.” He grips the door, preventing me from closing it. “Not this time. Let go.” “I’ll heal the damage I’ve done. I’ll carry you through this.”

“Take your space, your time, whatever you need. But I won’t let you take forever. That belongs to me. Your forever is mine.”

Two fucking months and Maybe hasn’t called. No messages. No updates. Nothing. I’m confined in a persistent fog of rage and helplessness. My patience flew the coop the moment she drove away.

“The lady,” he spits past grinding teeth, “belongs to me. And if you look at her chest one more time, I’ll tear you limb from limb, starting with your dick.”

With love, even the darkest season of guilt and betrayal can be defeated.

The good news is I finally figured myself out. The bad news? I’m a miserable fucking wreck.

“What?” I swallow. Blink. Swallow again. “You live here? For how long?” “Six months.” He squints at me, challenging me to go off on him. “I drive home a couple of times a week to catch up on work. Otherwise, I’m here.”

“Living without you is a form of death. A death I refuse to accept.” He lowers his arms. Then he drops to his knees, head bowed, buckled at my feet.

“I see you. I see your misery, heartbreak, longing. It’s lived in your eyes since you left, trapped in turmoil. But I see love, too. It’s still there, Maybe, and I swear to God, if you would just accept it, if you would give me a chance, I’ll set you free. Let me take part in your pain, walk with you, sit with you, watch over you, something, anything… Just…let me join you in the hurt.” His throat bobs. “Come home.”