Racing Hearts: Bennett Boys Ranch

by Landish, Lauren

  “I’m not going to fuck you, Shayanne. Not like this. But do you trust me?”

  I have virtually zero reason to do so. He’s a Bennett. I’m a Tannen. By our very nature, we’re adversarial for some reason beyond me. I barely know him, having only spent one long evening watching the sun set over his hard features as we talked about our lives. But then my memories remind me of the kind smiles he’d give me when I was an annoying kid, the way he’d been a perfect gentleman at Sophie’s wedding, the gentle but firm way he guided me at Hank’s, and the way he looked at me under the tree. My gut tells me everything I need to know about Luke Bennett.

  I do trust him. And I want him for whatever he has in mind, though I’m disappointed I’m not getting fucked right here and now by him.

  “Yes,” I tell him, looking directly into his eyes, daring him to betray that trust while demanding that he earn it.

  “Sit on the desk.”

  I have a moment of hesitation. Am I really doing this? But then I look in his eyes, so dark with lust, and I can feel the needy pulse in my center.

  Be brave, Shayanne.

  I hop back up, but this time, he opens my legs wide, placing one of my bare feet on each of his spread knees. It’s a weird kind of diamond shape, keeping us apart but also somehow connecting us in a deeper way.

  I feel vulnerable and exposed, even though my most private of parts is still covered by a slip of cotton. I’m trying to relax, but the nerves and need are all spiraling in my belly and I want him to do something, anything.

  I want the rushed urgency, the devouring feel of his lips on my skin, the barely bridled passion rushing through us that obliterates my every thought.

  But Luke is power personified. I know from the explosion in his kiss earlier that he’s working hard to restrain himself, that he is sitting in that chair through sheer force of will, not because he’s not as desperate as I am.

  “I’m not going to fuck you, Shayanne. But if you’ll trust me, I want to do something else,” he says.

  My mind runs away from me with wishes and dreams as fantasies and ideas from every dirty book and sexy movie I’ve ever seen whip through like flashcards of excitement. “Anything,” I vow, meaning it because at this point, I’m game for anything that will ease this ache in my core.

  “Touch yourself for me,” he says, shocking me.

  Okay, thought we were heading toward some oral action, maybe some finger play, but not myself. I blush because though I’ve obviously done that a lot, and I’ve even got a little toy hidden in my dresser, I’ve never had an audience.

  Before I can argue, he leans back in the chair, his hand running down his chest like I did earlier, and he slips a thumb beneath the waistband of his underwear. And I realize that it’s not only me who’ll be touching myself.

  This idea just got a whole lot better.

  “Show me,” I demand, not because I need some tit-for-tat arrangement but because now that he’s planted the idea of watching him jack off, I desperately want to see it.

  I want to learn how he touches his cock, how he teases and draws out the pleasure for himself so I can do it to him too. And I realize that’s how he feels about watching me. We’re exploring, learning each other, just differently from what I expected.

  He slides his hand under the cotton, cupping himself, and I groan, hungry to see. He lifts his hips again, using his other hand to slip the fabric under his butt until he’s bare-assed on his office chair. He’s still covering himself, but his hand moves to stroke his length and several inches peek out the top. I have zero experience to compare to, but I think that means Luke Bennett is hung like a horse.

  He pumps his hand up and down, revealing more of himself. He’s thick and hard, and there’s a vein that runs along the underside. Obscenely, I wonder what that vein would feel like as he thrusts into me.

  He groans, and my eyes jump to his, but his are focused on my core poised inches away from his cock. I curl my hips up, and his lips part, a jagged breath escaping unconsciously as he murmurs what he’d like to do.

  Unbidden, my hands slide up my thighs from my knees to the crease where my center begins. Hesitantly, I rub through my panties, feeling the wet heat through the fabric.

  “You feel that? You’re soaked through,” Luke growls, like it’s a personal achievement on his part. Hell, it is, because every bit of this desire is for him.

  I slip my fingers beneath the cotton, testing and teasing myself. Am I really going to do this? It seems crazy as fuck, but I am. I’m too far gone, too needy for him. I buck into my own touch, wishing it were his.

  “Tell me how you feel.”

  My words falter, and I try to think of a sexy way to say this, but my brain is only thinking yes, yes, yes and nothing comes to mind. “Hot, slick, so wet,” I say.

  It must be right because he squeezes at the base of his cock, shivering as he fights back his orgasm. And suddenly, I don’t feel shy and uncertain. I feel powerful and desirable.

  And I want to show him too. I want him to come looking at my pussy. I want him to be the first man to see me there and watch me come apart.

  I pull my panties to the side, pausing while he looks at me. “Goddamn, Shayanne. Your pussy’s so pink and pretty. Look at how wet you are.”

  I think any other time, that would embarrass me, but he says it hungrily as his tongue slips out to wet his lips. I run my finger through my folds, gathering my juices, and then hold my finger out. “Want a taste?”

  He dives at my hand, that primal urge testing his restraint as he sucks and licks at my finger to get every drop. His hand jerks faster up and down his cock in powerful strokes as I watch, memorizing every movement.

  Pulling my finger out of his mouth, he actually groans, like I’m taking something from him that he wants as madly as I want him. He sounds like he needs me with a deep hunger that can only be satisfied in just one way.

  I drop my finger back to my pussy, running circles around my clit and then occasionally tapping at the hard button. My hips jump every time I do, getting closer and closer to coming.

  My breath is ragged, eyes locked on him stroking himself in front of me as I slide a finger inside myself, feeling the warm, silken tightness of my inner walls.

  “Wanna know what I thought at Hank’s?” Luke asks through gritted teeth, his hand never stopping.

  “Uh-huh,” I cry, unsuccessfully trying to make my brain concentrate on words, but they float away like feathers in the wind.

  “I thought you were the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen and wondered how I missed your turning into such a stunner. I held your hips so I wouldn’t grind against you like an asshole, and when you drove away, I wished the night hadn’t ended so soon. I jacked off that night, just like this, the smell of your sunshine and shampoo on my shirt.”

  “Luke,” I whisper, on the edge. “Please . . .” I don’t know what I’m begging him for. I’m the one touching myself, feeling each pulse of my pussy as I get closer, but I need something from him. I just don’t know what it is.

  “And then the sun set over our tree as I watched it turn your hair to red and blonde highlights, fiery like you are. And I wanted to fuck you right there in the soft grass while you cried out my name. The one that matters, my first name, just how you said it against my chest. Because I don’t want our last names to matter. I left because I couldn’t take it anymore, was on the verge of losing it, but I teased us both with that hug, knowing it was all we should do. But here you are, riding your fingers like a goddamn cowgirl, about to come all over my desk, and all I can think is that I want everything.”

  I buck hard, a shiver racking through my body, and I force my eyes to focus. “Are you going to come?”

  His teeth gnash, his face contorted in pleasure. “I’m doing everything I can to wait for you, Shay. Make that pussy come for me, and I’m gonna fucking come like a damn freight train. Come, Shayanne. Please.” His voice is strangled, like he’s gripping the edge with all his might, but his word
s send me flying.

  “Yes, Luke,” I cry out, my pussy quivering beneath my blurring fingers as I come apart. I’m riding a fierce wave, lost in a star-spotted dark abyss of pleasure, but I force my eyes open, wanting to see him come too.

  The muscles in his neck stand out in strain as his jaw clenches hard. His brow furrows deeply, but he keeps his eyes on my core. “Fuck, Shay,” he rumbles, like the words are forcing their way free as his cock jerks in his hand. White cum jets from the crown, covering his hand, and he spreads it along his shaft, working himself for more.

  It’s glorious to see him this way, vulnerable and lost to the pleasure we wrought together. I only wish we’d done this sooner, like on the way home from Hank’s, or hell, in the parking lot. Fuck, I just came and I’m already wanting more.

  Luke reaches for my hand with his left, pulling my honeyed fingers to his mouth and licking at them as he moans in delight. After a second’s hesitation, I do the same to his right hand, pulling it to my mouth.

  “You don’t have to,” he reassures me, but I want to know what he tastes like too.

  I lap at the creamy fluid, that’s a mix of salty and sweet, and smile. I suck one finger into my mouth to clean it, and Luke pulls it back and grabs his dropped T-shirt.

  As he wipes his hand, he grins. “Woman, if you keep that up, we’ll be going for round two . . . and I’m thinking we might need to slow our roll until your mind catches up with our bodies.”

  Still sweet and thinking of me, not wanting to push me too far, too fast. But for such a gentleman, Luke has a filthy mouth that promises more, and I love it.

  He wipes my hand too, and I press the cleaned fingers to his chest. “That was . . . wow.” Words to adequately explain the bubbles in my body escape me, but I try again. “Wonderful,” I say seriously because it feels like he’s looking at me uncertainly, but the high I’m riding right now makes me feel ten feet tall and bulletproof. “Everything I could want and more. And yes, I want more.”

  He nods. “I know, but I don’t want to pressure you. Shit’s gonna hit the fan. You know that as well as I do.”

  He’s talking about more than what we just did. He’s talking about who we are, where we live, and our family histories.

  His words hit me hard, piercing my armor of happiness as doubts painfully rip their way through my heart and responsibilities slam back onto my shoulders. He’s the enemy, but he doesn’t feel like it. Not at all.

  Chapter 6

  Luke

  Coming all over my own hand while Shayanne rubbed her sweet, gleaming pussy in front of me is damn near the best orgasm I’ve ever had, and that’s dangerous. I don’t care about getting myself jammed up. I can handle her brothers and dad and whatever hassle they throw my way.

  But I don’t want to get her in trouble, and I really do want her to think about what the hell we’re doing because now that I’ve had a taste of her, I’m not letting her go.

  That I can’t wait to have another taste of Shayanne is a sentiment I’m not all too familiar with. I’m usually more of the ‘love-’em-and-leave-’em’ type, but with one glance, one taste, one earth-shattering moment, Shay’s got me tied down tight.

  It’s left me feeling like tying her to my side and daring her family to try and take her away from me is a damn fine game plan. I know, it sounds pretty damn caveman-ish, maybe even more Mark’s style than mine, but I’m feeling a good Neanderthal grunt coming on.

  Still, I’m trying to be gentlemanly, even though what I really want is to flip her over my desk and fuck the shit out of her, then hold her in my arms and learn every single thought that’s ever run through her pretty head. Okay, I could probably flip-flop the order of those.

  Maybe. If I have a cold shower first.

  I tuck myself back in and pull my jeans up, zipping them but leaving them unbuttoned. I grab my T-shirt to wipe the last traces of evidence of our activities from my chest and then swipe along her pussy, knowing this will be my new favorite shirt even after it’s been through the laundry. A reminder of the first time we gave in and admitted to what’s happening between us.

  She pulls her T-shirt over her head. I help her get her panties situated right, inhaling her sexy arousal, and my mouth waters for another taste, but I force myself back.

  “Fuck, you smell good, Shay. I want to eat you up,” I tell her, eyes on the way her panties dip down in a V right above her mound.

  She wiggles a bit, but when I look up, instead of hunger, her hazel eyes are wide with . . . something not-good that I can’t decipher. Shock? Fear?

  “Shayanne?” I say quietly, like I’m talking to a wild animal because that’s what she looks like right now. Hair a mess from my fingers, shirt on but hanging haphazardly, mouth dropped open, showing me her little white teeth. Teeth that only moments ago were biting her lip in pleasure.

  “I have to go,” she says, pushing at me. I can read her face loud and clear now. It’s panic, pure and potent.

  I move, letting her hop down from my desk, but I reach for her hand. “Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  She shakes her head, silently reaching for her jeans and pulling her hand from mine to yank them on. She puts her boots on just as fast. Faster than I can find words to make her stay, to make her explain what just happened.

  We were fine—hell, way the fuck better than fine—then bam . . . like someone flipped a switch, she’s pulling away from me.

  Fuck.

  Our families. That’s what I said that spooked her. Well, her family.

  Because I suspect I could waltz Shayanne right up to Mama’s dinner table tonight and she’d be greeted with open arms and a double helping of peach cobbler. Some questions, for sure, but open arms.

  I’m sure that’s not the case if I were to show up at her house, though. If I didn’t walk in with my friends Smith and Wesson, I’d be walking into a bloodbath. Mine.

  She’s walking away, already at the barn’s back door as I run after her. “Shayanne, I don’t care about our last names. I care about you. What we just did . . . that was something. You felt that too.”

  I don’t have fancy words and sweet poetry. I can’t strum a guitar, and when I sing, it’s off-key and only the horses and cows hear me. I’m just a plain old cowboy, but what I want right now is to have all those words, all those skills. I pull at my hair, willing the words to pour out, but my mouth just opens and closes like a fish.

  She turns back, and I see the tears shining in her eyes. Those glimmering diamonds tear my guts out. She presses a kiss to my cheek, catching the corner of my mouth, and I turn to kiss her back, but she’s gone.

  She’s literally running across the field, knees high and elbows pumping, jumping over the big trough hose to get away from me. The sight leaves ice in my heart and pain in my soul.

  I almost call out, scream her name, but the sound would carry and alert everyone in a several-acre radius. That would definitely lead to questions. Questions she doesn’t want, apparently.

  “Shayanne,” I say quietly, though to my heart, it sounds like a booming drum.

  What the fuck?

  * * *

  I’m a grouch all afternoon, torn between stomping my way over to Shayanne’s house and demanding an explanation or leaving her alone, since that seems to be what she wants. One minute, I’m reaching for my hat and heading for the door, and the next I’m slumping behind my desk, trying to work and getting nothing done.

  I’m man enough to admit that trespassing onto her family property to see her is a scary proposition, knowing what I do about her brothers and their ‘hit first, ask questions never’ style. But right now, I’m so twitchy with all this pent-up frustration coursing through my veins, I feel like I could put my fist right through the big maple outside the barn.

  Luckily, there’s no one in the barn but me and the horses, and I’d never hurt them. My brothers are out on the acreage somewhere, leaving me to do my own thing, same as always, not knowing that today, it’s probably saving them fr
om a therapeutic knuckle buster.

  I use the unrest to fuel me, punishing myself with manual labor. I muck the stalls, one by one, until they’re as clean and cozy as a stall can be. I brush each and every horse, talking to them as I carefully care for them until their coats gleam like they’re ready for a show.

  “What the hell happened, Briarbelle?”

  But the horse doesn’t answer, the universe doesn’t answer, and I still don’t know any more than I did when Shay high-stepped it out of here.

  I lead Briarbelle outside, letting her run freely in the front pasture I’ve claimed for my training. I watch her mane bouncing and streaming behind her, wild as the wind she creates as she runs. It makes me want to run too, not away this time, but just as freely as Briarbelle is. She’s got no worries, no concerns, just the feeling of her hooves on the grass and the wind in her eyes.

  But I’m not free, and neither is Shayanne. We both have restraints holding us back, keeping us in place, no matter how much we might want to fight them.

  I skip dinner at Mama’s, well aware that I’m not fit for company since I couldn’t make polite conversation right now if I tried, not wanting the interrogation about my piss-poor mood I know would be coming. Instead, I hide away to lick my wounds and heat up some chicken and mashed potatoes in the ranch hand house, my makeshift home.

  The night is long and empty as I toss and turn in bed. I’m used to sleeping alone, always do, and I’ve never felt lonely in my sheets. But tonight, instead of spreading out like I usually do, I want to curl up with Shayanne in my arms.

  But she’s not here. And next door has never seemed so far away.

  With a grunt of frustration, I throw the blanket off and stalk to the kitchen. I grab a beer from the fridge and pop it open, guzzling half of it in one go as I stare out the window over the sink.

  “Fuck this,” I tell the night. The moon’s clear and bright in the sky right now, a yellow harvest moon that casts a faint light over the fields outside. If I were younger, and if it were a few weeks later, I’d call it a Halloween moon.