Page 44 of Wrangled Up

“Hell,” he ground out and bit her nipple.

She eased the rope down his spine and locked him to her, bucking against his hips, taking him as deep as possible. “More. I’m so close.”

“You can’t come until I tell you it’s time, cowgirl. Now ride me harder.” He snapped his hips with a groan. “Yeah, just like thaaaat.”

His cock provided a fullness she couldn’t get enough of. She wanted him deeper and on the verge, so filled with lust that he distended her. Just when she thought she’d surely die, he reached under her, ran a fingertip around her rim and drove a finger into her ass.

The breach sent her flying over the edge.

“Now, baby.”

She couldn’t have held back if she tried. Juices soaked him as each spasm stole more of her breath.

And her heart.

He thrust his finger in and out in time to her pulsations. He splayed her open on hiscock. Their eyes met briefly. In that look, a thousand silent words were exchanged.

Christian threw his head back and roared his release. Liquid heat filled her pussy, driving two more mind-stealing throbs from her.

Several moments passed. When he shifted over her, she realized she had the rope pulled so tightly over his back, it was likely cutting into him.

He raised his head and smiled at her. Eased his finger from her body, which clutched at the air, wanting him inside her again. Gently, he removed his cock and toppled into the grass, shoulder first.

She giggled and rolled with him, the rope still connecting them. But the sound was removed from the turmoil she knew in her heart. Somehow, Christian had grown on her. Too much. This wasn’t only a man who could give her toe-curling orgasms or acted as a friend when she longed for Tucker the most.

No, Christian possessed his own corner of that body part thumping under her breast. He searched her gaze, and God help her, she thought she saw the same emotion pooling in the depths of his pale green eyes.

She purposely tightened the rope on his back.

* * * * *

Tucker picked out Jake Mickelson the instant he walked into the bar. The man leaned against the counter, beefy arms crossed, casually talking to Jones.

Goddammit.Jones had mentioned Mickelson stopped here every time he passed through, but did it have to be during Tucker’s extended stay?

Tucker hated everything about Claire’s father. From the way he wore his 49ers cap low over eyes that looked too much like Claire’s, to the arrogant set of his shoulders. This was a man who knew who he was, or at least thought he did. He probably considered himself to be a good dad, on the road providing for his little girl all these years, when in actuality he had taken so much away from her.

Claire didn’t talk about her father except in passing, but Tucker was good at reading between the lines.

While he looked on, Jones said something to Jake that made the man look up. Directly at Tucker.

Every muscle all the way down his spine tightened. His heart rate slowed as they took each other’s measure.

The jukebox rolled over to a whiney tune by an artist whose voice had always gotten stuck in Tucker’s craw.

Jake pulled away from the bar and started for him. Tucker steeled himself, legs braced wide, crouching low enough to hit the bigger man’s midsection and tip him off balance if necessary. And it might be. Claire’s father looked like a bull ready to charge.

He wore cowboy boots with gleaming silver tips and a pair of jeans that rode low under his trucker’s paunch. The closer he got, the more Tucker found that the wide-spaced, almond eyes were the only feature this man shared with Claire.

But damn, seeing those eyes tore Tucker up.

“Langley.”

Jones hadn’t been given his real name. He snapped his hands into fists and gave a sharp nod. “Yeah.”

Jake stopped a few paces from him. His cheeks and jaw were darkened by a shadow of a beard and mustache. Tucker stared at him for a full minute before he realized that the facial hair reminded him of Christian.

He scuffed a hand over his own clean-shaven face.

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