In Bed With My Ex's Brother-in-Law novel · Chapter 8 of 32

Chapter 8: First Night

Gran was in the kitchen with her coat on when we came in.

She looked at Rance. She looked at me. She looked at the two of us standing a good foot apart and fooling nobody.

"I'm going to the bunkhouse," she said. "The boys owe me forty dollars at pinochle."

"Gran, it's nine o'clock."

"Then I'll be late." She picked up her coffee can of quarters. "Lock the door. Those boys have ears."

The screen door banged behind her.

Rance stood in the middle of his own kitchen.

"She's been waiting to do that for years," he said.

"For me?"

"For anybody." He rubbed his jaw. "Mostly for you."

I walked down the hall to his bedroom and stopped in the doorway.

I'd slept in that bed ten nights.

I'd never once had him in the room.

He came and stood behind me. Not touching. Just there, the heat of him at my back, the smell of the grulla still on his hands.

"Shiloh."

"I know."

"I need you to say it plain." His voice was low. "Not because of Coy. Not to get back at anybody. Not because I got on a horse."

I turned around.

"I've wanted you since the tack room," I said. "I've wanted you since you held my wrist on that couch. I want you now. Yes."

His eyes went gold.

"Say it one more time."

"Yes, Rance."

He shut the door behind us and turned the lock.

The bolt slid home with a click I felt in my teeth.

His mouth was on mine before I finished the word.

I grabbed the front of his pearl-snap shirt and pulled.

Two snaps gave.

He made a sound low in his chest and walked me backward until my legs hit the bed frame.

I turned us and pushed.

He sat, hard enough the bed creaked.

"Shiloh."

I climbed onto his lap, knees on either side of his hips.

His hands found my waist and held.

Not pulling.

Just holding, like he was waiting to see what I'd do.

I liked what that did to me.

"You rode a horse tonight," I said.

"I did."

"Because of me."

He nodded once, eyes gold in the lamplight.

I reached between us and went for his belt.

He let me.

Leather slid through the buckle, and I had his jeans open before he drew his next breath.

"You're in a hurry."

"Six years of watching you at rodeos," I said. "You tell me."

His jaw tightened.

That thin white scar went bright when he clenched.

I put my mouth on it.

He exhaled through his nose and his fingers dug into my hips.

I licked along the scar to his ear and bit the lobe.

"Fuck," he said.

"Not yet."

I slid off his lap and dropped to my knees on the floor.

He looked down at me.

His chest moved hard under the ruined shirt.

"Shiloh."

"Take off the shirt."

He pulled it off his shoulders and let it fall.

Bare skin, brown from ranch work, the long raised scar down his right ribs.

The puckered one at his left shoulder.

The pale line above his hip.

I reached up and touched the rib scar first.

The same place I'd touched on the couch.

"Widowmaker," I said.

"Careful, Rawlins."

"I'm not in a careful mood."

I leaned in and ran my tongue along the raised tissue from bottom to top.

He shuddered.

His hand came to the back of my head.

Not pushing.

Just there, fingers in my braid.

He was hard under the open fly of his jeans.

I could see the shape of him against the denim.

I peeled the jeans down his thighs.

His cock came free and stood up against his belly.

Thick.

Wet at the tip already.

I wrapped my hand around him.

He hissed through his teeth.

"Tell me how long you've thought about this," I said.

"Years."

"Say it."

"Since Lander. Saw you settle a horse nobody could get a halter on. Watched your hands."

I stroked him once, slow.

He made a sound like a man kicked in the chest.

I did it again.

"Shiloh."

"I'm going to suck your cock, Rance."

His hips jerked.

"Do it."

I leaned in and closed my mouth around him.

Salty, hot, the skin soft over the hardness.

He groaned.

I took him deeper and his fingers tightened in my hair.

"Look at me," he said.

I did.

His eyes were pure gold, and he stared down at me while I worked him.

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