Chapter Twelve - Westin

CHAPTER TWELVE

WESTIN

I'm supposed to be the responsible one. The problem solver.

I don't feel responsible anymore. I'm all tied up in knots, so hot at night that I can't get any rest. It's good that Sovereign is distracted with his own woman problems, because I'm having a hard time keeping mine private. I prefer it that way. I've never been the type to talk about my love life, and I won't say a word about it if I'm not forced into it.

Nobody but Jensen will ask what's going on. Sovereign and I have been close friends for over two decades. We've never once talked about sex together.

It's just how it is. We both like it that way.

Jensen already knows, but he's nosy in comparison. I let him in a little because he helps me find ways to see Diane. But I do warn him; I'm not in the habit of putting my private business out there for everyone to speculate.

Having him in my corner is proving to be helpful. Jensen knows everybody's business. He does a lot of jobs for the surrounding ranches, including Carter Farms. It lets him keep tabs on David while I traipse over the field in hopes of seeing her .

He gets me time to see my girl. I pick up the organic cigarettes he likes when I go to the city.

Fair enough trade in both our books.

In June, there's a two week stretch where I don't get time to visit. We have a lot of repairs at the ranch, and Sovereign is distracted, so I have to pick up the slack. I think he's planning on going after his girl soon.

I'm not sure if that's a good idea or not.

I feel sorry for her, the same way I do Diane. Neither of them know what they're getting into, mixing up with Sovereign Mountain men. But Keira Garrison isn't my business.

I stick to who is—Diane.

It's the end of June when my personal drought ends. Jensen goes into the city and calls me to let me know he ran into David Carter. They're heading back to South Platte to talk to grain distributors and come up with some storage options for Carter Farms.

All I hear is that I have the go-ahead to see my girl.

I clean up and take the truck out to her place, making sure to park it in the woods and cut down through the western field. Everything is still, the air too hot for birds to sing. It's late in the summer for lilies, but I look anyway, and I'm rewarded with a single yellow blossom.

I pick it, holding it gently by the stem so it doesn't wilt in the heat of my hand.

The front door is open. Dust rises in puffs under my boots. Chickens scramble, clucking loudly, as I climb the steps. In the front hall, I see Diane. She's on her hands and knees, scrubbing the worn floorboards

I don't think I've seen her prettier. Her hair is tied up in a bandana, her skirt tucked up around her waist. I pause in the door, my mind going back to my childhood.

This is an all-too familiar scene. My father did this, showing up at the end of the day, always with a little gift in tow for my mother.

Maybe to apologize for being the man who fell in love with her .

She looks up before I can follow my thoughts to darker paths. Her face flushes as she scrambles to her feet, wiping her forehead.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

"Came to see my girl," I say.

It's the same thing every time, and she eats it right up. Her smile flashes white teeth, and she comes down the hall and turns her face up so I can kiss her. I'm lost in her taste, how it makes my head go empty and my blood pumps hard.

We break apart. I tuck the flower behind her ear.

"You should let the lilies grow," she whispers, but she isn't displeased. "Do you want some lemonade?"

I'd like to eat her out more than I'd like lemonade, but I nod. She gives me a frosted glass and disappears upstairs. The house is perfectly still, scrubbed until the pale wood floorboards shine.

It's a nice home, big enough for a family.

I think about that for too long.

The stairs creak, and she comes down, barefoot with her hair wet down her back. Her boots are in her hand. She's in the prettiest cotton sundress, made of brown and gold stripes. It takes me a moment to realize it's handmade, probably from curtains.

I frown, wondering if David gives her enough money to buy the things she needs. She's too proud to take it from me, but next time I go to town, I'll bring her real fabric.

"How long is David gone for?" I ask, as if I don't know.

She sets her boots down and leans on the counter, giving me a nice view of her cleavage. Since we met, I noticed she's taken a lot more interest in her appearance. She was barefaced before, but now she wears a little makeup on her eyes and mouth.

She's softer too. Her voice isn't snappy when she talks to me, the way it was when we met.

"Probably after dark," she says.

"Anybody else home?"

She shakes her head. "All the wranglers are in the field or in town with David."

"Come here," I tell her .

I stand, pushing the stool in. She obeys, and her hands slip behind her back, the way they do when she's unsure. Before she can speak, I pick her up and lay her out on the countertop.

"Westin," she breathes. "Not here. This is where I make the food."

I don't really care. Her skirt slips up and, God, she's got no panties underneath. My mind goes blank. She's beautiful, soft skin, and bare pussy. I wonder if she keeps it that way just for me. The idea makes my head spin.

Just for me.

Her lashes flutter, eyes on the ceiling. "Westin," she says again.

I run my hand up, tugging one strap of her dress down to reveal her breast. No bra either.

"Say my name just like that, darling," I say, kissing the inside of her thigh.

She breathes it again, like a prayer.

"Close your eyes," I order.

She obeys, lashes against her cheeks. Her breasts rise and fall. A quiver moves down her stomach and her pussy clenches. When my tongue runs over the soft heat of her sex, her lips part and let out a moan.

"Oh God," she gasps.

"Just me," I say. "Just me and you, darling."

That's all I want. Just us in the kitchen, talking, eating the food she makes. Just her, spread out on our table while I pleasure her pussy until I can't take it anymore and I carry her upstairs. To our bed.

I want to live here with her.

Maybe David can visit Sovereign Mountain and have an accident like Clint Garrison did. The thought is pleasant. I mull it over as I drag my tongue across the soft, wet entrance of her pussy, dipping my tongue in a little more every time I circle it. She tastes like summer, like sweet lemonade.

I could eat her out for hours. Her silky thighs brush my jaw, her scent filling my mouth and nose. Her sighs and moans echo in the kitchen. This was worth every second of the wait. When she comes, my fingers inside her, a soft gush of arousal drips from my knuckles. I pull them free and lick them clean.

God, I could drink her neat, like whiskey.

I kiss up her body, lifting her to sit upright. Her eyes are glazed, her breasts heave.

"I want to do that for you," she whispers.

I consider her. Of course I like blowjobs, and I'd do a lot to get one from her, but I also like rough sex. I like degradation and choking and spanking. I don't want to slip up and give that to her before she's ready.

"Please," she begs.

My ego purrs. I kiss her again, letting her taste herself.

"Good girl," I say. "Let's get you down on your knees."

Her eyes widen as I lift her, and she sinks down. A fire sparks in the back of my brain, emptying my head.

"Tuck your hands behind your back," I tell her.

She does as she's told. Eyes big, lips parted. In one motion, I strip my belt off.

"You liked being tied up in my truck?" I ask.

She nods.

"Use your words, darling, I need to hear you."

"Yes," she says.

My cock throbs. Every nerve and muscle in my body is alight.

"I'm going to put this around your neck," I say. "I won't pull it tight. You tell me to stop if you don't like it."

Her eyes somehow get wider, and a slow, dusky rose blush creeps up her neck and stains her cleavage.

"Yes," she whispers. "I understand."

Gently, I loop it around her neck and pull it until it's around her throat, but not tight. Her breasts rise and fall quickly. I unzip my pants, pushing them down low enough to unleash my cock. It's hot, hard, and wet at the tip, ready for her mouth.

"Oh my God," she breathes .

It'd be a lie to say I haven't fantasized about exactly this, but reality is so much sweeter. I draw her closer, guiding her head with the belt without cutting off her air.

"Open your mouth for me, darling," I say.

Her lips part.

"All the way," I say, slipping the head of my cock between her lips. She widens her jaw, and her eyes lock with mine. I almost blow my load right there. My hips jerk, pushing my cock halfway into her mouth.

Her lids flutter as she moans, closing her lips around me.

"Pretty little slut," I say, brushing her hair back with my free hand.

She moans again, the vibrations teasing my cock. She's soft, she's wet, but most of all she's Diane, and somehow, I'm the lucky man who gets to have all her firsts.

And lasts.

I take a second to compose myself, cradling her chin in one hand and holding the belt in the other. Then, working slowly to get her acclimated, I fuck her mouth.

Gently, slowly, giving her all the time she needs.

She blinks away the tears that form. I can tell she's unsure what to do, so I take control and use her mouth so she doesn't have to do any of the work. It's still the best fucking blowjob I've ever had.

She tries to say something. I pull out, saliva clinging to my cock in a thin strand.

"You can go a little harder," she whispers. "I'm okay."

I lift my brows. She cocks her head.

"Harder, please," she says. "Sir."

How the hell she knows all my weak spots, I don't know. My cock jerks and pleasure sparks.

"Harder on your mouth or neck?" I ask.

She nods.

"Fuck," I say under my breath.

Who am I to deny her anything? I tell her to tap my leg if she wants out. Then, I push back inside and wrap the belt once around my hand and jerk it close. Her nails pierce through my work pants. She moans, her eyes rolling shut.

I fuck her mouth, and she loves it.

Pleasure moves through me in a rush. I consider pulling out to give her a choice, but I decide against it. This is the only time I've gotten to come inside her, and I'm taking it.

My cock goes rock hard. I push to the back of her throat and she gags, but she doesn't tap out. Hand in her hair, I hold her down on my cock and let go, pumping everything I have down her throat.

Clarity hits me like a wall of bricks, and I release the tension on the belt. She gasps around my cock. Her eyes lock with mine as I empty the last of my cum into her mouth.

She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I pull from her mouth and slip the belt from her throat. She snaps her lips closed, like she doesn't know what to do next.

"Did you swallow?"

She shakes her head.

"Show me," I order.

Hesitantly, she puts her tongue out. My cum sits on it, pooled in the dip in the middle. I'm still rock hard, and my cock throbs at the sight.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you're a dirty slut," I breathe. "Swallow it."

Her tongue darts in and her throat bobs. My head buzzes with satisfaction as I pull her to her feet and kiss her mouth, her neck, the dip between her breasts.

"You're so pretty," I murmur.

It feels like I've said some version of that a hundred times since we've met. She's just so fucking pretty, and I can't stop marveling when I see her big, brown eyes look up at me.

I might be done for, wrapped up around her little finger.

"Thank you," she says, unsure.

She needs reassurance. I set her on the counter and find a washrag. Her hands knot together in her lap. I wipe her face and hands, then spread her thighs and clean her there. By the time I'm done, the fire is back in her eyes .

"You alright, darling?" I ask.

She nods. "I liked that. A lot."

I think I might have met my match. She's new to this, but she's a natural when it comes to the fundamentals.

She jumps down and smooths her skirt. "You hungry?"

I'm not, but I am if she's cooking. "I could eat."

She starts moving around the kitchen, her cheeks still flushed. I sink down at the table, unable to keep my eyes off her. I'm just playing house in my head, pretending this is our home and nobody else exists.

It's heaven.

She makes a plate with cheese, fried green tomatoes, and ham. I don't want to leave, so I talk about anything I can think of. The haying season, coming up soon. The cattle we're planning to auction this fall. I get her to tell me a little about her grandmother, but not much. Her soft, brown eyes go from happy to sad, so I turn it back to things she likes.

She likes being outside, but she doesn't get to go out very much. We go upstairs, and she shyly shows me a box she has of pressed flowers, dried and preserved between two bits of clear plastic. Each one is labeled with their scientific name.

I ask her where she learned all this. She says she quit school when her grandmother died because David said she had to. But it's clear she's smart. The handful of books in a crate under her bed are worn through.

I listen to every word she says. I get the feeling I'm the first man who has.

"You like the yellow lilies best," I say. "What are those called?"

She's sitting against the headboard, feet bare. "Glacier Lily."

"Why don't you like me picking them?"

Her eyes go distant. "Nobody likes being locked up. I feel like…maybe I shrivel up being at home, just working in the house. I'd like to be able to go out, do what I want."

"Why can't you?" I ask .

I know, but I'd like to hear the particulars. She sighs, picking the wilted lily from her hair and turning it over in her fingers.

"David's not very happy with me most of the time," she says quietly. "I don't know why. I think he's just…all messed up inside. He was really young when our parents passed. He had to do a lot."

I'm quiet. She wipes her nose.

"I still hate him sometimes," she says. "Just because you got dealt a bad hand doesn't mean you have to be mean. There was a time when I did everything for him. Then, he just pushed me away."

If I had to guess, he started hating her when he realized she was a financial burden. I know how hard David's life has been, but I know other men who've been dealt far worse, and they don't take it out on women.

I find I don't have much sympathy for him.

She wipes her nose, but her eyes are dry. They fix out the window, her heavy lids flickering.

"Anyway, fuck David. He's just bitter," she says. "I tried for years. I'm not trying anymore."

There's a dark undercurrent to her voice.

"Do you have siblings?" she asks.

"No," I say firmly.

She can tell by my tone that I'm not willing to talk about my family. There's a short silence, then she shrugs and sits up.

"It's getting on towards dinnertime," she says. "You better go home."

I shift up on the bed and take her face in my hand, kissing her gently. Slowly, so she remembers the way it feels after I'm gone. We don't talk much as we go downstairs. She kisses me again on the step, her fingers hooked in my belt loops.

I light a cigarette and walk back through the field to my truck. Back at Sovereign Mountain, I finish up chores. It's dark when I get back to the gatehouse and start undressing. In my pocket with my keys is the flower I put in her hair. She must have slipped it in when she kissed me goodbye .

That night, I sit staring out my window, the flower in my hand. The moon is big, caught in the spidery branches of the tree outside.

Under my mattress, carved into the wood is a list of names.

Clint Garrison.

Thomas Garrison.

Avery Garrison.

The first name is crossed out. The others are just biding their time. Part of me wishes I had a good enough reason to add one more, one that, once crossed off, would simplify everything.

David Carter.