Page 34 of Cowboy's Healing Heart

It's hungry, desperate, all the tension of the past weeks pouring out in a rush of lips, tongues, and teeth.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. His hands roam over my body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I moan into his mouth, arching against him.

"Shane…," I gasp as he trails kisses down my neck.

"Do you want to stop?" he asks, his voice rough with desire.

I shake my head, tugging his shirt over his head. "God, no."

Our clothes hit the barn floor in a flurry of movement. Shane lifts me onto the workbench, his hands gripping my thighs as he steps between them. I run my fingers down his chest, marveling at the hard planes of muscle.

He enters me in one smooth thrust, and I cry out, my head falling back. Shane sets a punishing pace, each stroke driving me higher. I cling to him, and the feeling as the pleasure builds.

"Fuck, Krystal," he groans, his arm tightening around my waist, sliding me up and down his cock, ensuring I feel him everywhere. "You feel so good."

I can't form words, lost in the sensation of him moving inside me. The tension coils tighter and tighter until, finally, it snaps. I come with a shout, waves of pleasure washing over me.

Shane follows moments later, his body shuddering against mine.

We stay like that for a long moment, our ragged breathing the only sound in the barn. Reality starts to creep back in, and I stiffen, suddenly aware of our position.

Shane must sense the change because he pulls back, his eyes searching my face. "You okay?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. He helps me up from the makeshift bed of hay. We dress in awkward silence. The afterglow fades quickly, replaced by a gnawing uncertainty.

I can't keep doing this.

Shane clears his throat. "Krystal, I?—"

"We should get back to work," I interrupt, unable to meet his eyes. "Those mixers won't fix themselves."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, okay."

As we head back out into the sunlight, I can't shake the feeling that something's shifted between us. And I'm not sure if I'm ready to face what that means.

The rest of the afternoon, there's this awkward energy between us. We talk, but it feels forced, and I know it's my fault.

Shane and I work side by side, our bodies moving in a dance of efficiency born from weeks of practice. But there's a new tension thrumming beneath the surface, electric and dangerous.

I catch myself watching him more than I should, my eyes tracing the lines of his arms as he works. The memory of those arms around me, his skin hot against mine, sends a flush creeping up my neck.

"Hand me that wrench, would you?" Shane's voice breaks through my thoughts.

I blink, realizing I've been staring. "Sure," I mutter, grabbing the tool and passing it over. Our fingers brush, and I jerk back like I've been burned.

Shane's eyes narrow. "You have no reason not to trust me."

"Just work, Kennedy."

"Fine."

We fall back into silence, the clanging of metal on metal filling the air. I throw myself into the work, desperate for any distraction from the mess of emotions swirling in my chest.

My phone buzzes in my pocket again, and my stomach twists into knots. I know it's Jordan without even looking. His threats have become as relentless as the summer heat beating down on the ranch.

I glance over at Shane, his jaw clenched as he works on the tractor engine. The muscles in his arms ripple with each movement, and I can't help but admire the way his shirt clings to his sweat-dampened skin.

Shane looks up, catching my eye. There's a flicker of concern in his gaze like he can sense the turmoil inside me. He opens his mouth as if to speak but then seems to think better of it.

---