Page 6 of Oops, I Fell For The Ranch Hand Next Door

“Eli.”

My name in her mouth sends heat straight to my cock.

I look back. She’s standing in the doorway now, backlit by the lamp I’d left on in the bedroom. The light turns her into a silhouette of soft curves and bare legs and hair drying in waves around her face. She’s framed by the threshold between my bedroom and the rest of my life. For a second, she just stands there, deciding. If she steps forward, everything changes.

“We should stop,” I hear myself say.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stands there at the threshold. I give her a few seconds to choose.

She steps forward.

The distance closes. I’m moving before I’ve decided to, crossing to her. And then my hands are cupping her face, and her skin is soft and damp and exactly as warm as I imagined. Her lips part. Her eyes are wide, locked on mine, and I give her three seconds to change her mind.

She rises on her toes.

I kiss her.

The first touch of her mouth is a revelation. She tastes like rain and the honey Louanne must’ve drizzled on the biscuits at dinner. When I tip her chin to deepen the kiss, her lips part with a sigh that wakes up my cock. My hands trace her curves, landing on the soft give of her waist, and I pull her against me. She gasps when she feels my hard cock against her, and the sound cracks the last of my restraint.

I back her against the doorframe. The wood is solid behind her, and I use it to pin her in place while I kiss her deeper, hungrier, swallowing the small noises she’s making. Her hands come up to grip my shoulders, nails digging in. I groan against her lips. This was supposed to be slow. Careful. I was supposed to give her time.

But her hips roll against mine, and control becomes a memory.

I slide one hand down to her thigh and hitch her leg up around my hip. The shirt rides up with the movement, and suddenly there’s nothing between us except my jeans. I grind against her, and she cries out, head falling back against the doorframe, exposing the long line of her throat. I drag my mouth down the column of her neck, tasting rain and skin and the pulse that’s racing beneath. She’s soft everywhere, belly pressing against my abs, thighs gripping my hip, breasts crushed against my chest. I want to devour every inch.

“Eli.” My name is a plea on her lips.

I bite down gently where her neck meets her shoulder. She shudders, her whole body arching into mine. I want to strip that shirt off her. Want to see every inch of the body she tried to hide in the meadow. Want to lay her out in my bed and worship her curves until she forgets every reason she’s been giving herself for why she doesn’t deserve this.

But her hands are shaking against my shoulders. Her breathing goes ragged, uneven, teetering on the edge of panic instead of pleasure.

I force myself to stop. Pull back. Rest my forehead against hers while we both try to slow our breathing.

“Get some sleep,” I manage. My voice is wrecked. “We start early tomorrow.”

She nods, but she doesn’t move. Just stands there pressed between me and the doorframe, her leg still hooked around my hip, her mouth swollen from my kiss.

I step back, lowering her leg carefully. Her body sways slightly before she catches her balance. I shove my hands into my pockets to stop myself from reaching out for her again.

“Eli—”

“Sleep, Jessie.” I turn away before I can change my mind, before I can pull her back and finish what we started. “I’ll be nearby if you need anything.”

I don’t look back. Can’t look back. I cross to the couch and drop onto it, my whole body strung tight with wanting, and listen to her walk softly into the spare bedroom. The door clicks shut, and I’m alone with the fire and the rain and the ache in my chest that has nothing to do with wanting and everything to do with the certainty that just locked itself into place.

The fire crackles. Rain drums on the roof. I stare at the ceiling and count the ways this woman has already gotten under my skin.

Tomorrow she’ll probably try to leave. Try to convince herself this was a mistake, that she doesn’t belong here, that she should get back in her Honda and keep running.

But I’ve already decided: She’s not going anywhere unless it’s with me.

I gaze into the fire and let the rain lull me toward calm, and it comes to me: Showing up just started to matter.

Chapter three

Jessie

The ceiling beams are cedar.