Lorne gives me a knowing look, adjusts the guitar case on his back, and rides ahead to join Jarret. Lorne tips the Stetson on his head, his expression doting. Conor smothers her chuckle against the back of my shirt. 'Jarret’s thinking about liking Emma.' Lorne slows his horse beside mine, grinning. He kicks up a shoulder, a noncommittal shrug, as Conor’s brother, Lorne, brings up the rear. I thought Emma would be with you tonight, I say at his back. The local girls trip right out of their panties whenever he winks at them. Some say his smile is bigger and more charming, and maybe that’s true. His hair’s darker, his eyes a paler shade of brown. My twin brother might look like me, but we’re not identical. Jarret trots past, veering his black gelding along the trail while blowing a kiss at Conor. The cantering stampede of two horses approaches from behind. If I bust a nut before I get inside her, I’ll never forgive myself.

To think, I jerked off twice before I headed out. My cock is raging, swollen, throbbing like an angry heartbeat. Christ, the knot of electricity between my legs makes my jeans achingly tight.

But tonight, the static feels sharper, more frenzied, and lower. I’ll know her in the most intimate way possible.Īwareness crackles beneath my skin like it always does when she’s near. In a few hours, I’ll know her even better. I’ve memorized the contours of her body as thoroughly as the terrain of our ten-thousand-acre ranch.

With her chin tilted skyward, red hair ablaze, and guitar strapped to her back, I know she’s curving those plump lips into a serene smile as she soaks up the fading warmth of twilight. I don’t have to glance back to see her expression. One touch and I feel like an ungelded horse, a beast with fire in his veins, bucking and panting at the whiff of a mare in heat. Now I’m twitching, too, restless and hungry. I clutch the edges of my landscape and wrap it around me, taking nourishing breaths.īarnabe, my chestnut stallion, twitches powerful muscles between my legs as he lopes along the dusty trail.īehind me, Conor presses her tight little body against mine and slips a warm hand beneath the front of my shirt. Or Conor Cassidy, the sexiest girl in Oklahoma, soft and snug against my back. The chirp of insects in the parched summer breeze. The earthy scent of grass beneath Barnabe’s heavy hooves. It doesn’t forget the fields of Julep Ranch under the watercolor sky. The terrain of childhood shapes the soul, and the soul never forgets.

Knotted by Pam Godwin