Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

CONNOR

I didn't need to ask Neil about Ezekiel Miller, but I'd use every excuse possible to see the hot, sexy sheriff. I couldn't get the buttoned-up man out of my head. With every thought and every spare moment, Neil's face invaded my mind. So, I'd fabricated a reason, knowing full well I'd run into him, and then crowded him against the door, hoping I might get a kiss.

I could have stolen a kiss.

I didn't.

But God, I was hard, and even an hour of research into the bull riding circuit for my new job to find LouAnne's ex-boyfriend failed to get Neil out of my head.

At least following Ezekiel's trail to a fairground four hours south of Whisper Ridge got me focusing on driving, which was something, and by the time I ended up at the Red River Bull Riding Fairground, I wasn't quite so hard or focused on Neil. The place wasn't bustling with activity, but then it was midweek and out-of-season—no kids running around with cotton candy, but there was still that smell of fried food wafting through the air. I hadn't watched rodeo much but knew it was a vast industry.

Ezekiel's trailer was easy to find among a small cluster of semi-permanent mobile homes and RVs dotting the outskirts of the fairground. It was a modest, worn-down setup, with peeling paint and a small porch cluttered with gear and tools. A couple of empty soda cans sat beside a folding chair, and a bull riding poster flapped against the side in the wind.

I knocked on the door, and moments later, Ezekiel emerged. He was a sturdy man in his mid-thirties, with a sun-weathered face and hands that had seen their share of hard work. His jeans were frayed at the hems, and his boots looked like they'd been through hell and back. Despite his rough exterior, his friendly smile put me at ease. My research indicated he was a safety man responsible for distracting the bull after the rider was thrown. It seemed way more dangerous than being a SEAL, but each to his own.

"Hey there, name's Connor," I introduced myself, offering a hand.

Ezekiel shook my hand firmly. "Zeke, what can I do for you?"

"I'm here from Whisper Ridge."

His demeanor changed as quick as a flash. The friendliness faded, replaced by a flicker of anxiety.

"Is it LouAnne? Is she okay? Jesus, is it Archie?" his voice was tight with concern .

I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. "They're both fine," I lied because besides what I needed to know regarding a connection to Quinn through Archie, I didn't know much about LouAnne herself, just that Archie was a good kid.

Ezekiel ran a hand through his hair, clearly uneasy. "LouAnne… she's had a tough go of it. Alcohol and … yeah… Archie, poor kid."

"You have a daughter. Grace?"

He glanced behind him through the open door and shut it before approaching me.

"What about Grace? She's not LouAnne's, she's mine, and I'm with Essie now." His hands were fists, but I stepped back and kept my expression neutral.

"It's Archie?—"

"You said he was okay."

"He is, but he asked me to track you down."

"What? Why? Is everything okay?"

I could see the question in his eyes—Archie wasn't his son, and Ezekiel hadn't been in Whisper Ridge long enough to have Archie calling him dad.

"Archie wants to see Grace, wants to know Grace. Calls her his sister."

"She's not his real sister," Ezekiel amended, defensive, and then he shook his head. "He was always good with her when I was on the road. They should know about each other. I just never thought he'd want to, but with his mom being as she is, and…" He slumped then, sitting back on the porch, and I crouched in front of him. "I tried to stay with her, but I couldn't, and she wouldn't let me take him wi th me, but she couldn't stop me taking Grace, and shit… I meant to go back, but the work here is long and…"

I knocked his elbow when he went quiet. "Can I tell Archie you'll call him? Can we figure out a visit?"

He shot me a worried stare, and then his expression cleared, and he nodded. "Please."

I was back in the car after meeting little Grace, who was this cute little thing who loved Barbies and missed her big brother Archie. The fact that she remembered him even at three made her dad pause, and then he scooped her up in a hug, apologizing for not visiting Archie and the woman she called Momma-Lou.

This was one of the easiest PI jobs I'd ever completed, and it gave me the warm fuzzies, so I threw caution to the wind, and when I got back to town, I broke into Neil's place, and then sat on his sofa, waiting for him to react to the silent alarm I deliberately set off.

I needed to be inside him, and he needed to know that and admit he needed me too, and we should scratch that itch.

Then we'd be done.

Neil came home with his weapon drawn, I remained calm, sitting casually on his comfy stuffed sofa in the dimly lit living room. The room was filled with the soft glow of a lamp, the sound of rain pattering against the windows, and the heater humming in the background.

Neil's eyes flickered with anger and confusion as he saw me. He locked his gun away in the safe. "I could arrest you for breaking and entering," he said, his tone icy .

"You won't," I replied, a smirk tugging at my lips.

"I will," he insisted, but there was a hint of hesitation.

"You won't."

"It's like you're stalking me."

"Am I, though?"

"You broke into my house."

I'd give him that. "Sure."

"And you won't leave me alone, which is textbook stalking."

"You know you don't want me to leave you alone."

He huffed at that. "Fuck's sake."

"I was just waiting for you."

Neil's eyes narrowed, and I could see the tension in his jaw. The rain outside continued its relentless assault on the windows, the noise only amplifying the charged atmosphere between us. I could feel the heat building, the anticipation. I was hard, and I could see the outline of Neil's arousal tenting the front of his uniform pants.

Was a man ever as sexy as Neil Windham?

"You should come here and sit on my lap," I suggested, my voice low and coaxing.

"No," he snapped, but I could see the conflict in his eyes.

"Come on, Sheriff," I teased, my voice dripping with cockiness and desire.

He cursed under his breath, the irritation clear in his tone. But then he was moving, crossing the room in a few quick strides. He straddled my lap, his body tense and warm against mine.

"I hate you," Neil muttered, his voice a mix of anger and something else—something needier .

"No, you don't," I said, my hands resting on his hips. I felt the tension and heat radiating from him.

His eyes blazed with a mix of frustration and desire. "You drive me crazy," he admitted, his voice softer now.

I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear. "I know, but you want me as much as I want you."

He didn't deny it. Instead, he sighed in resignation, his body relaxing against mine. The rain continued to pound against the windows, the dim light casting shadows that danced around the room. The warmth of the heating and the coziness of the sofa seemed to wrap around us, creating a bubble where nothing else mattered.

Neil's breath hitched as I ran my hands up his back, pulling him closer. "I hate you," he whispered again, but this time was less convincing.

"Show me how much," I challenged, my voice husky with need.

He captured my lips in a fierce kiss, pouring out all the pent-up frustration and desire in that moment. Then, without a word, he scrambled off, too quick for me to catch. I watched him for a heartbeat, my mind reeling. But when I saw him heading to the bedroom, something clicked inside. I wasn't going to let him walk away, not without making him understand.

I followed him, ready to apologize, to make him see that this was me being the most real I'd ever been. Also, I wanted him, not out of desperation or confusion, but for all the right reasons. He stopped at the bedroom door, and I froze for a second, wondering if he would turn around. But he didn't. Instead, he started to remove his uniform, one layer at a time, methodically placing each piece on a chair in the corner. He never looked back, but I knew he was aware of me standing there, just as I knew this was my moment to break through the last of his defenses.

Then, as if he could sense my hesitation, Neil turned to me, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "You have too many clothes on," he said, his voice low, almost rough with unspoken need.

I'd never stripped so fast in my life. My fingers fumbled with the buttons, the zipper, and anything in the way until I was down to nothing, not a shred of clothing or hint of doubt left. By the time I looked up, Neil had crawled onto the bed, naked, his body a perfect mix of tension and surrender.

"Okay." He was resigned, as if he'd made a final, hard-won decision. "Okay," he repeated, softer this time, and held his hand to me. "I'm done fighting this."

His words hit me like a jolt, even though I knew exactly what he meant. There was no more pretending, no more walls between us. I crossed the room in a few quick steps, taking his outstretched hand. With our fingers laced, he pulled me down on top of him. I tumbled onto the bed, onto him. As he spread his legs, I settled between his.

"Show me what you've got, Mr. I-think-I'm-all-that."

"You think I'm all that?" I teased and lowered my lips to his, enjoying a long, lazy kiss that was less about sex and more about everything I felt for Neil.

"No," he murmured when we separated. "I said, you think you're all that. I don't have any opinion on the subject."

"You're lying," I said and tracked kisses from his lips to his chin and then to his neck, lower until I could suck a mark I knew would be hidden by his uniform. I trailed licks and nibbles from Neil's neck, savoring the way his breath hitched with each kiss. The taste of his skin was intoxicating, and his warmth beneath me only fueled the fire. As I moved lower, I could feel his muscles tense and relax. He carded a hand through my hair, his fingers curling there, not to guide or control, but to anchor himself, the other hand touching my face.

"What have you done to me?" he moaned as if he didn't want to feel all of this we had going on.

As if he were going to up and leave at any minute.

"Stay still."

I couldn't tell if I was warning or begging.

"Stuff!" He flailed a hand toward the nightstand, unable to reach it because I had him trapped beneath me.

Shit. He's trapped beneath me. I could do anything.

I want to do everything.

"In a minute," I managed as I kissed and nibbled his left nipple and then his right.

I kissed a path down his chest, my lips grazing over the faint contours of his body, feeling every slight tremor running through him. His skin was so impossibly soft, and I couldn't get enough of it. Each kiss I placed was deliberate, a promise, a plea, an unspoken confession of everything I felt.

When I reached his belly, the softness there made me pause, made me want to linger. He didn't have a six-pack. He wasn't only hard and muscled; he was a contradiction of edges and lines and smooth and soft, and I wanted it all. I pressed my lips gently to his tender belly, feeling the slight give of his flesh beneath me, whispered kisses there and then lower, until I was able to lick and suck his cock, never taking him fully in my mouth, playing with him like a puppy with a toy. I wanted to learn every inch of him, and I felt like a goddamn winner when I found a birthmark on his inner thigh. I kissed him there, my cheek nudging his cock, which was hard in my hands.

He yanked my hair. "Suck me," he demanded.

But there was no way he was in control of this. Yes, I was versatile, and yes, I hoped to hell that one day he'd pin me and make me lose my mind, but today was all about me showing him what I wanted, and as I licked him from root to tip, I was taking it all.

Now I needed condoms, I needed lube, I needed more kisses. I reared up over him, caged him, took his hands, held them loosely in mine, pressed him to the mattress, and kissed him again, slower this time, letting my mouth linger as I breathed him in, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath my lips.

"Babe, you're beautiful," I whispered, and he couldn't answer me as I kissed him hard, although I saw his frown.

When the kiss was deeper, when I rocked against him, our cocks hard against each other, I heard the slight catch in his breath, felt the way his body responded to every brush of my lips, and it filled me with a sense of awe. I kissed him again and again. He attempted to twist his hands out of my grasp to reach the drawer.

I released my hold and then cradled his face. "I'll sort it, babe."

"I'm not your babe," he muttered as he wriggled under me, his eyes widening when it hit him that fidgeting just made everything worse for him. And for me.

"Tested negative, PrEP, always condoms," I whispered against his lips.

He nodded. "Same."

"Aren't we being sensible adults now?" I smiled.

"Fuck off and fuck me, asshole," he snarled.

I kissed the snarl into submission. I could do this all day, kiss and rock, make love to my man.

"Not until you relax," I whispered, reaching for the needed supplies and dropping them next to us. I sat back, straddling his hips, getting a close look at his beautiful cock as I concentrated on suiting up and then squeezing a hell of a lot of lube on my fingers. Then I moved, using my knees to widen his legs, and nearly came there and then. "You're gorgeous all over."

"It's an asshole," Neil snarled, and I sighed.

"It's a beautiful fucking asshole," I pointed out, and he closed his eyes with a sigh when I pressed my fingers to his hole. "Hey, babe?—"

"Stop calling?—"

"You're my asshole."

He rolled his eyes, and god, did he not realize how sexy he was when he was pissed at me?

I stretched him, all the time kissing his belly, finding that birthmark, rubbing my cheek on his cock, inhaling the scent of him, and loving him the best I could.

"I'm ready. Get inside."

He attempted to turn on his front, but I pinned him, snagged a pillow and pushed it under his ass. "I want to see your face. "

"No. Come on. Jeez?—"

"Stop talking."

He shut up when I pressed the tip of my cock to his hole, closed his eyes, strain on his face as I worked my way inside, one barrier, the next, until I was fully seated and willing away my instant freaking orgasm.

"Beautiful," I murmured, kissing him as I rocked, his cock trapped between us.

He gripped my arms, still tense, and then he began to relax, curling up a little as I hooked his legs over my lower arms, knee-walking enough that I could change the angle. I knew the moment I pegged him, the very second he felt the first pass of my cock on his prostate. He gasped and whimpered as I did it over and over. Of course, he was tight, but when he gripped my arms, and began to groan, I was losing control.

"I'm close," I warned him, and he circled his cock, but his hold was loose, and his eyes were shut. "Open your eyes, babe."

He was so lost in chasing the high that he never even called me on it, and then he arched beautifully, his mouth open, his eyes wide. I fucked into him as he tightened impossibly hard around me, and I came inside him as he orgasmed beneath me.

For a moment, we lay there in silence, and then, with reluctance, I eased myself out, kissing him through any discomfort, and then I padded to the bathroom, grabbed a cloth, made it damp, and headed back into the bedroom. Part of me expected he'd have gotten off the bed, but instead, he was boneless, his softening dick so pretty on his thigh. I cleaned him gently, soothed any parts I might have hurt with kisses, and then pulled the covers over us and held him close.

"Go to sleep, babe."

He muttered something in my arms, I think it might have been a fuck you, but I smiled.

He was in my arms, and I was in his.

This was where we were supposed to be.