Page 39 of For Fillies and Monsters

I shake my head, trying to dispel the thoughts that plague me night and day. My need for her had been manageable when I only had her from a distance. But now? Now that I have a small box full of her underwear under my bed, and a clear view into her bedroom from my perch on top of the barn roof?

Fucking hopeless.

Sighing, feeling both annoyed and worried for her safety, I drop my fencing tools near the rails of the fence and stomp toward her. She’s now cooing at the skittish beast, but the mare is far from interested. With her ears pinned pack and her nostrils quivering, she looks more like a dragon about to spit fire than a mare about to come around to the annoying, albeit consistently friendly actions of the strange lady talking to her.

“Why don’t you give it a rest?” The words come out more annoyed than I mean them to. I really need to work on delivery—at this rate, she has reason to think I hate her when that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Ihatethat I can’t have her yet. That, and I really need to get laid—it has been years, andthe constant hard-on has made me a little bitter. I huff at myself.

A little?

She turns toward me, a scowl pulling her plump features down adorably. “Why don’t you mind your own business? I’m the boss, remember?”

Always with that smart fucking mouth. It is going to be the death of her and she just doesn’t know it yet. Instead of bending her over, pulling her pants down, and bruising her ass with the most delicious handprints the way I want to, I defer to reasoning with her.

Which, in the grand scheme of things, is harder than it sounds.

“Look at her.” I point to the mare’s chest as it heaves and quivers, attempting to prove my point. Her haunches are bunched, trails of sweat trickling between her front legs, only further providing evidence. Stetson cuts a glare at me, her annoyance doing nothing but turn me on more.Which only pisses me off more.

It’s a fucking vicious cycle. One I need to figure out how to break, and soon.

“I know,” she reluctantly bites out. “I just really want to make some progress with her.”

I shrug, and I can see her fighting the urge to stomp her foot or punch me. “I get it, I really do. And you have. She’s not biting you anymore. And killing her isn’t progress. Just saying.”

Stetson blows a raspberry with her lips, the sound causing the mare to flick her ears nervously. I can see the fight deflating from her body, and I ache to reach out and support her, hold her up, and tell her how amazing she is doing. But I don’t—that would be way too forward for the‘dirty cowboy’,as she put it, that she has only known for two weeks.

She opens her mouth to say something, then snaps it shut.Gripping the bill of her blue baseball hat, she closes her eyes and mumbles something I can’t quite make out.

“If you haven’t gotten enough of a sweat in for the day, you can always work me over.” I don’t know why the words spill from my mouth—most likely because I’m a sick man who likes to see her squirm, but as soon as they are in the air between us, her back tenses. She doesn’t look up at me, but her mumbling stops.

I want her to know me—all of me—the way I know her. I want her to love the ‘dirty cowboy’ and the obsessed one. I want her to need me as her partner and as her lover. I want her to know the passionate, thoughtful, attentive guy, the same as the serious, hardworking, unrelenting one. But I don’t know how to get her there. I’m terrified I’ve waited too long and yet not long enough.

My mind is a fucking mess when it comes to Stetson. But my heart isn’t—it beats only for her—and that is how I keep going.

“I wish you wouldn’t say shit like that,” she finally states, her voice thin. She still doesn’t look up at me, and I try to ignore the blade slicing through my chest.

“Why?” Poking the bear is becoming my new favorite hobby.

“It’s unprofessional.”

I roll my eyes and groan. “So is all the shit you talk about with Dale.”

“Yeah, but it’s Dale. She’s my friend.” Her head snaps up at the words, her eyes wide.

I try not to look as hurt as I feel; I really do. But I don’t think I’m successful. She takes a single step toward me and then stops. I can see her brain whirling, overthinking as she always does.

“I thought maybe we could be friends.” I plan on being so much more, but that will have to fucking do for now.

Soon, buddy. You will get the girl soon.

She chews on her lip, clearly trying to figure out what comes next. “I thought you didn’t want us to be friends.” She mumbles the words, but I hear the uncertainty in them just the same. I want to beat my head against the wall, fall at her feet, beg her to forgive my misconceiving attitude. I wantnothing buther, and for a moment, the air between us crackles with the tension of unspoken words.

“I... I just...”How the fuck do I tell her this?

She meets my gaze, uncertainty flickering in her gray-green eyes like a flame caught in a breeze. Slowly, a small, shy smile tugs at the corner of her lips, and it’s more intoxicating than any drug I’ve ever taken. She must sense my uncertainty and like the power it gives her—the control.

I will make her smile at me more often.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath. “Friends it is.”

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