Chapter Eleven - Diane

CHAPTER ELEVEN

DIANE

I only know one side of men, the rough side that makes me want to draw up and hide. The mean side that keeps me hating them.

In Westin River Quinn, I've discovered a new world.

My body tumbles down from its high. His lids are heavy, and his glittering hazel eyes are drunk on sex. He takes me by the hips and ruts his cock into me like he can't stop himself. My head spins, and I'm rising high in a new kind of euphoria, feeling things I've never felt.

When I first met him, he seemed so mild.

There's no mildness in him now.

My desire is soft and desperate. His is hard and driving. God, it drives on and on as he chases his climax. I see it in the way his jaw tightens.

And yet, his hands don't hurt me.

With one, he holds my hip and tugs me down onto him. With the other, he holds me by the throat. My head falls back and to the side. The mountains are a blue crack over the horizon. The sun blazes hot. The windows of his truck are down, and everything smells like hayfields .

He pulls me in, hand firm on my throat. His mouth meets mine, and I taste him, like leather and desire on my tongue. Inside, I ripple with pain as he gets closer to the end. It was like this the first time, right before he pulled from me and spilled onto my inner thigh. I know what's coming now.

He grits his jaw, our lips touching.

"Fuck," he groans.

He reaches behind me, and the belt around my wrist releases. In a second, I'm off his lap and on my back across the seats. He's on one knee over me, one boot braced against the door behind him. I see a flash of hazel, a glitter of sweat. Then, he comes on me, all over my naked breasts, swearing as he does. It hits my neck and chin.

My brain buzzes.

I want him to do that again and again.

My head lolls to the side. His hand is there, braced on the seat before my eyes. Those long fingers know how to touch me. Maybe they hurt me a little too, but I don't dwell on that. The pleasure is so much stronger.

He pushes himself upright and takes a bandana from his pocket. I lie still while he wipes my breasts, up to my throat. He rubs two fingers over the last bit and puts it to my lips.

"Open," he says.

I hesitate, but the part of me that needs him like air, like water, urges me to obey. So I do. His rough fingertips slip past my lips. I taste salt and Westin on my tongue.

Our eyes meet and my lips close over his fingers. My stomach has a pit in it that says one thing—I'm falling hard and fast.

"Good girl," he says, gently drawing his fingers from my mouth.

He sits back and I hear his belt buckle clink. The roof of his truck swims in my vision. His zipper hisses, and then he lifts me up, and I'm in his lap again.

"You alright, darling?" His voice is soft.

I nod, breathless .

His fingers move over the buttons of my dress, covering my breasts. Then, he leans in and kisses my neck. A low, guttural sound comes from his chest.

"You smell like mine," he says.

That goes right through my veins like fire. I'm breathless, but I smile, unable to hold it back. His eyes light up, fixed on my mouth.

"God, you're pretty," he says, distracted.

I think I might be scared, even if it is flattering, the way he's staring at me. I'm starting to think this is more serious than I thought. Maybe that part of me that wondered what it'd be like to belong to him is a louder voice than I anticipated.

"I guess…maybe I should go," he says.

It's clear that's the last thing he wants. I trail my fingers up his chest and rest two of them on his pulse point.

He keeps still, just letting me touch him.

"Do you want to come see my horses instead?" I ask. "The men will be gone for a while yet."

"Sure, darling," he says, smiling. "Let's go see your horses."

He gets out of the truck and tucks the front of his shirt in, circling to open my door. My heart patters when his hands touch my waist to lift me down. I don't think I'll ever get tired of feeling him pick me up.

We head to the barn. It's cool inside, the industrial fan whirring. Gracey and Sunshine are in their stalls due to the heat. It's not normally this hot this early in the year, and they need time to acclimate.

I lean on the door. Gracey pushes her head over the top and nuzzles my hair.

"What's this one's name?" Westin asks.

For a second, I just stare up at him. No one asks me about me or my animals. No one really cares. I've never had a man look at me the way he's looking now—like he gives a damn what I say.

It makes me want to squirm. Instead, I shrug like this is casual.

"Gracey," I say. "And that over there is Sunshine."

His mouth curves .

"What? You don't like their names?" I raise a brow.

He leans his elbows on the door. "I think it's sweet."

"Well, I was a lot younger when I named them," I say. "The names are from a book. But they fit them, I think."

"They sure do."

Sunshine throws her head hard, neighing. She's jealous. I step over and rub her gently with my fingernails. She has a white blaze down the center of her nose, and she loves when I scratch it.

"Do you have a horse?" I ask.

"Yeah, I have a gelding named Rocky," he says.

"Like that's any better."

He smirks. "I call him that because his gaits are all shit. Really jumpy and too slow, even when he gallops."

I turn around and tuck my hands behind my back, leaning against the wall by Sunshine's door. Westin moves until he's right before me, not caging me in but still reminding me what he's capable of.

That he likes to call me a whore, tie me to his steering wheel, and fuck me hard.

My toes curl. I look up through my lashes, but without warning, his face changes. It's stern now, like he's thinking about something that doesn't please him. He narrows his gaze, fixing it through the door to the driveway.

"You okay, sir?" I ask.

He nods, reaching in his pocket. He takes out a cigarette and puts it unlit in his mouth. "Let's go inside," he says. "We've got a bit more time, and it's hot."

His voice is stern too. Nonplussed, I follow him from the barn to the porch. He stands in the doorway and lights his cigarette and smokes. One foot on the porch, one in the doorway. I take my boots off and pad barefoot down the hall and into the kitchen to get some water.

After a minute, I head back to him. He's got a little bit left to smoke so I join him on the porch, handing him a glass.

"I didn't take you for a smoker," I say.

"I'm not really," he says .

"Can I try?"

He shakes his head. "You're too pretty for shit like cigarettes. It's bad for you."

I scowl. "You're doing it."

He glances at me. "Diane, I said no," he says, not unkindly.

I roll my eyes. He arches a brow.

"You better watch yourself," he says, his voice dropping.

He doesn't scare me the way men's threats usually do. This is a different kind of fear. It makes my heart pound, but it's laced with something sweet.

"Or what?" I whisper. "You won't touch me."

"No." He shakes his head. "But I'll tie you up with my belt and fuck the sass out of you."

Once again, I'm speechless. He flicks the cigarette butt into a potted plant.

"What's this about Thomas Garrison?" he asks. "I heard Jensen Childress say something about you getting set up with him."

There's an edge to his voice, but it's not directed at me. I shrug, rolling my eyes.

"They have a lot of money," I say. "David likes the idea of getting in good with them, like being family. He's always kind of pushed me to talk to Thomas, but I don't."

A trickle of sweat moves down his neck.

"Yeah? What's Thomas think about that?"

I sigh, sitting on the porch rail. My bare feet swing. "He always had a thing for me, even when we were teenagers. He used to be nicer, but the older he gets and the more time he spends with his brothers, the meaner he gets about it."

"Does he fuck with you?"

Westin takes out another cigarette. I watch him flick his lighter, a muscle in his forearm moving. Then, he inhales and exhales slowly.

His face is hard. Cold.

"Um, no," I say. "Sometimes Avery does, like he did the night we met. I kind of wish it was Avery that died, not Clint. Maybe you can invite him up to Sovereign Mountain too. "

Westin's brows shoot up, and there's a second of silence. Then, he lets his head fall back as he laughs that rich, deep sound.

I frown. It wasn't that funny.

"I wouldn't worry too much about Avery or Thomas, darling," he says. "I have a feeling they'll sort themselves out."

"What does that mean?" I press.

He shakes his head. "Don't you worry about it."

I flip my hair, jumping off the railing. "I'm getting whiskey. You can't tell me no because it's my whiskey."

He laughs, following me into the kitchen. I take down a shot glass and a bottle and step out the back. This porch is cooler with wooden lattices on either end to block the sun.

I sit on the bottom steps, my bare feet in the dust. He sits behind me on the top step. I'm between his knees, back to him, his boots on either side of my body.

I find I like sitting like this.

"What are you doing here? Just talking?" I ask, pouring a half shot.

He tugs at my hair. "Just looking at you."

I glance over my shoulder. My stomach swoops.

"Why's that?" I whisper.

He cups my chin, fingers trailing on my throat. "Because I'd like to keep seeing you."

My heart hammers as I throw back a shot. It burns in my veins, giving me courage.

"You mean you want me to be your girl?" I ask.

"I mean, you are my girl," he says, thumb stoking the underside of my chin.

My head spins. He smells good, like sweat and the sex we just had in the truck. I take another half shot because what I want to ask requires bravery.

"Do you actually like me?" I whisper.

He rumbles, and I feel it through his hand. "Yes, I do."

The way he says it makes me go wild—firm, deep voice steady. No fucking around and pretending he doesn't care. It's straightforward, and that turns me on .

I shift, looking up at him from between his knees.

"I like you," I say. "Sometimes you make me roll my eyes, but I still like you."

The corner of his mouth turns up. His fingers caress my neck, slow and soft.

"Good girl," he says.

Electricity crackles. I'm right back where I was before he fucked me, hot and bothered and empty between my thighs. I want to be at the center of his world, the way I was tied to his steering wheel, his eyes and hands and body praising me, making me feel good.

Like there's nowhere he'd rather be than with me.

Maybe I just want to be tied up too. That felt better than I ever expected.

"I guess I should go," he says. "Before you get drunk."

The back of my head buzzes from the whiskey. My eyes fall to his zipper, at the level of my eyes. My tongue wets my lips. Into my head flashes an image of me with my face in his lap while he holds my head.

I know he'd feel good in my mouth; he feels so good between my legs.

"What're you thinking?" he asks.

"Can I do what you did for me?" I ask.

A crease appears between his eyes. "What?"

My hand goes to his zipper. His brows rise and he shakes his head. Disappointment fills my chest.

"You're a little tipsy," he says.

I roll my eyes. He reaches down and gives my thigh a light spank; not enough to hurt, but enough to make me want to straddle him. Then, he gets up and makes me go inside and have a glass of water.

"You're very responsible," I say, handing him the empty cup.

"No, just taking care of what's mine," he says.

I'm a mess inside after that. I'm so flustered, I don't know what to do with myself. So, I make food. He watches while I put together cold chicken sandwiches and take a jar of pickled eggs from the fridge. We eat standing at the kitchen counter, not saying anything .

Before he goes, after I'm sobered up, he kisses me. It's not a brief kiss or a swipe of his tongue. No, he sets me on the counter and kisses me like it's an experience.

Hands stroking my body. Mouth warming mine. He groans when I finally part my lips. He bites the tip of my tongue. I do the same to him.

He tugs down the front of my dress and leaves a little purple mark on my breast.

Like a secret only we know.

When he leaves, I feel like a new woman. For a few glorious hours, I'm soft and safe. Then, the men come back, and I put my head down and go about my chores.