Page 108 of Ride the Sky

Now that I’ve had her lips on mine, I’m taking every damn chance I can to kiss her.

I need to remind this stubborn woman I’m hers. She comes to me when she needs something. When she’s in trouble. I’ll lose my mind if it’s anyone else.

“You come to me.” My words are harsh, demanding. “I take care of my wife. No one else.”

“Yes,” she agrees, those gorgeous hazel eyes dazed.

Guiding my hands between her legs, I find her wetness, her heat. She’s already soaked for me. My cock jerks in my jeans.

Kissing her, I back her against the wall to give her some leverage. Then my jeans are off and Fallon’s tilting her hips toward me. The need to be inside Fallon is crippling. I can’t stand it any longer.

Fallon breathes heavily. “What time do you have to be at the ranch?” she asks as she lowers herself onto my aching dick.

I thrust hard, and Fallon cries out.

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” I grit out, pumping away as Fallon chantsyesover and over again.

Only one thing in life does.

Fallon.

“Christ,” I swear, hustling into the Bullshit Box. “Can we get some air conditioner in here? I’m sweatin’ my balls off.”

Ford swivels in his chair. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

I scowl, steeling myself for the brotherly harassment. Between work and living at Fallon’s cottage, it’s been weeks since I’ve been able to catch up with my brothers.

“Been busy,” I drawl, snatching up one of Dakota’s chocolate croissants from a picked-over pastry box.

Charlie smears a hand down his dark beard. A smile tugs at his lips. “You and Fallon been livin’ on an island.”

I grin. He’s right. “Best damn island around.”

Ever since Fallon’s hot tub confession, everything is different now. We’ve spent the last week cooped up in her cottage having sex. When I’m working, Fallon’s at PT. When we’re home together, we’re either fucking or training. Best damn week of my life.

“You look too happy,” Davis observes, crossing his arms to assess me.

Charlie snorts. “And that’s a problem?”

I drop into my desk chair. Davis thins his lips. “Have you and Fallon—”

“Oh Jesus, man.” I bury my face in my hands. “Dad already gave me the birds and the bees talk when I was eight. I know about women, D.”

My big brother’s voice is a boom. “But do you know about Fallon?”

Yeah, I know about Fallon. I know the way she screams when I eat her out like my last fucking meal. How she takes her coffee—black as her heart. How her name looks on the sole of my boot—fucking perfect. And the way she secretly likes to cuddle after sex even though she’d rather die than admit it. I know she’s my fucking wife and I plan to keep it that way.

But I keep my face placid and my mouth shut. A cowboy doesn’t kiss and tell. Especially not when he’s got a woman at home who’ll rip his head off. Or a big brother who’ll bust his balls to hell and back.

“Of course, they have,” Ford says to Davis. “They’ve been playin’ house for the last month. What do you think they’ve been doin’? Playin’ checkers?”

“Christ,” I snap, punching on my computer. “Y’all leave it alone.”

Charlie and Ford snicker.

I scrape a hand through my hair, decide to change the subject. “Someone’s leaving flowers for Fallon.” There’s been two more flower deliveries this week. Both with cards.

Ford hoots. “Bet she loves that.”

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