Down to You (The Bad Boys #1)(42)
Author: M. Leighton

In the end, we find seven late season lambs. They’re a result of Rambo, one of our rams, escaping his pen again and finding his way to the ewes. Normally, Dad tries to keep all the mating in certain months so that the ewes have the lambs in spring. But occasionally, something like this happens and leaves him scrambling to account for surprise lambs.

I make note of each lamb we’ve spotted. According to my father, he was expecting to find seven to nine. What this tells me is either we’ll find a couple more tomorrow when we come out or we’ll find a couple dead somewhere.

Even after all these years, my heart squeezes at the thought. There’s nothing worse than losing lambs.

On the way back toward the front field, we see two other dogs and Pedro, the llama. Of course Cash makes a comment about each. I can’t help but laugh at his witty observations.

My lighthearted attitude toward the day concerns me, though. Despite the danger of it, I can feel myself being pulled in by Cash, to Cash. It’s like looking out on the horizon and seeing a whole new realm of feeling lying just ahead. Along with the ominous clouds of a storm. It would be all too easy for me to imagine us one day taking over the farm. Together.

And thinking like that would be a disaster.

Rather than going all the way back to the house, I drive us to the North barn. Playing with Solomon at every stop is a dirty business, because he’s filthy. Plus, riding through the tall grass flings all sorts of bugs and debris, essentially adding another layer of dirt on top of the first one.

So I head to the barn so we can clean up. It’s the closest place with running water.

I let Cash clean up first. Then, after I’ve washed my hands and arms, I wet a paper towel to wipe off with. I drag it over my sweaty neck and chest, then up my arms as well.

When I’m finished, I move to throw it in the trash and find Cash watching me. He’s leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, staring. He’s not smiling, but there’s a look on his face I’m becoming familiar with. A heat in his eyes. It’s dark and dangerous, and it has the ability to burn me up if I’m not careful.

I stop. Not on purpose, but because I feel the world shift beneath my feet when he unfolds his body and moves slowly toward me. I feel like I’ve been chosen by a lion as his mate and he’s stalking me.

Cash stops in front of me. He doesn’t say a word. He just bends and scoops me up into his arms and carries me back to the four-wheeler.

I parked it in the sun on the crest of a hill. It’s obscured by woods on three sides. The only thing in the field below is grass. No people, no eyes. Just grass. Tall, tall grass, swaying calmly in the warm breeze.

He climbs onto the four-wheeler and sets me in his lap. He looks into my eyes for several intense seconds, watching me like I’m all he sees. And he’s all I see. For this moment, it seems we are completely alone in the world, each wholly consumed by the other. Nothing else exists.

It scares me that I like it that way. Just him and me. Nobody else.

Cupping my face, Cash kisses me. It’s not an overtly ravenous kiss, but there’s something just beneath the surface that scorches my insides. It’s as though he’s trying to absorb something from my soul, like he’s taking more than just the physical.

With practiced hands, he unbuttons my shorts and rubs his palm across my naked belly. Chills spread down my legs and heat pools in my core. A volcano of hot lava seems always to be boiling just under my skin whenever Cash is around.

Winding an arm around me, Cash lifts me and pushes my shorts and my panties down my legs then tucks them behind the seat. Still, he hasn’t spoken. And still, there is that implied danger in being with him, in letting him take me where he wants to go.

But I go. I have to. I’m helpless against it. At least for today. Maybe not tomorrow. But today, I go.

Never taking his eyes off mine, Cash scoots back a little and unzips his pants. I can’t help but look down and revel in the absolute perfection of him.

With confident fingers, I reach out and grip his thick shaft, stroking the hard satin length. When I hear him groan, I see one glistening drop of liquid appear on the head. Sliding back on the seat, I bend forward and touch my tongue to the tip, licking the drop. Then licking him again.

I close my lips around him and feel Cash’s fingers fist in my hair. I can’t fit much of him into my mouth, so I lick and suck my way up and down the sides, cupping his balls and teasing them with my lips and tongue.

Then Cash is pulling me up, kissing me. Thrusting his tongue into my mouth, tasting himself in my saliva. Roughly, he grabs my hips and lifts until I’m straddling him. Then, in one sharp movement, he flexes his hips and pulls me down onto him, impaling me.

I can’t stop the cry of pleasure that escapes my lips. It feels as though it’s torn from somewhere deep. Against my will.

I ride Cash in the bright sunlight, both of us gasping in the fresh air. I moan when he nibbles my ear. I whimper when he lifts my shirt and bites my nipple through my bra. He tells me how it feels to be inside me. He whispers things he dreams of doing to me.

I don’t need Cash to tell me I’m all he’s thinking of, that I’m all that’s on his mind. I can see it in his face, feel it in his kiss. For now, he’s all mine. And I’m all his.

Absorbed by his passion, by his eyes, by his touch, I lose my grasp on reality when my body succumbs to the throes of my orgasm. The only thing I’m aware of is Cash’s breath in my ear and the feel of him coming in time with me. With each pulse, I feel heat shooting into me, intensifying my own pleasure.

I’m breathless, my arms and legs wrapped tight around Cash. He’s panting against the skin of my throat, his hands splayed over my back, hugging me to him.

I could stay this way forever.

If only Cash was the forever type.

His arms tighten around me as if he knows what I’m thinking. I sigh into his neck and hope that he doesn’t.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT – Cash

The drive from Salt Springs to Atlanta Sunday night isn’t exactly a luxurious one. I mean, we’re on the back of a motorcycle. But still, Olivia seems comfortable. I feel her rest her cheek against my back. Her thighs are pressed tight against mine and she’s snuggled up like she’s content.

Only I get the feeling she’s not. She’s stuck on something in her head again and I don’t know what to do about it.

We had sex a dozen times over the weekend and all I can think about is the next time, the next thing I want to do with her, for her, to her. I can’t seem to get enough of her.