Bradi, Mason
wished he hadn’t.
She’d moved up the creek and knelt in a spot of grass to
wash the mud from her hands. Tight, faded denim hugged her heart-shaped ass and
his hands itched to palm those mounds. She stretched to wet a bandana, causing
the waistband of her jeans to dip lower, and a strip of hot-pink lace played
peek-a-boo between it and her shirt.
His jeans tightened as his cock strained against his fly.
He’d never thought about what kind of underwear Bradi wore—she was naked in his
recent fantasies—but if he had consciously thought about it, he wouldn’t have
figured her for the lace panty type. Last time he’d seen her in her panties, she’d
worn white cotton with a Barbie logo. They’d been six and he’d wanted to brag
about his Ninja Turtle briefs.
As she rose, he looked away to gather the rope. He stowed it
behind him and turned to find her standing beside his horse with her hand out. Fuck. She wanted a ride. And god, he wanted to give her one.
“Well?” She thrust her hand higher. “Give me a hand up.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He hadn’t thought this far ahead
when he’d decided to stick around and help, and his brain certainly wasn’t
working now. All he knew was he couldn’t have her sitting behind him, her tits
rubbing his back, legs spread… Fuck. “You’re covered with mud.”
“Um, yeah. I kinda noticed that.” She stared up at him with
expectant green eyes. Why hadn’t he ever noticed the flecks of gold or the ring
of black that reminded him of the sun coming through shadowed forest trees? At
his lack of response, her hand fell to her side. “You’re going to make me
walk?”
“I don’t want that shit all over me.” Damn, he felt like an
ass. He was an ass. He couldn’t let her walk. He’d just have to survive
the ride home…and make sure it was a short one.
Before he could offer his hand or an apology, her eyes
flashed with anger. And maybe a bit of hurt? “God, Mason, when did you turn
into such a pussy?”
She spun around and the metallic whir of a zipper crawled up
his thighs and into his balls. Lust rose high but panic shifted into overdrive.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Taking off my clothes so you won’t get dirty.”
Oh, hell no! There was no way— Shit. She hooked her
thumbs into the waist of her jeans, starting the downward motion that revealed
a hint of one cheek.
“Just get on the damn horse.” He pulled his foot from the
stirrup and stuck out his hand. “But I can’t take you home.” His place was
closer. “I have things to do.”
A long second passed, then the zipper made a return trip up.
His dick jerked in disappointment as she latched on to his hand, shoved her
boot into the stirrup and swung herself onto the horse behind him, mimicking
his irritated tone. “Things to do.”
The warmth of her body seared his back as she settled into
place. His gaze dropped to one side, taking in the slender thigh nestled close
to his. The thought of those long legs wrapped around his waist made his balls
ache. If she had any idea what she was doing to him, she’d be glad to walk
home. Hell, she’d probably run.
But Bradi wasn’t wired that way. He doubted she ever thought
about sex. She’d never dated in high school and she never talked about anyone
in particular at A&M. The only conversation they’d had about sex was
short-lived when he confided his loss of virginity to Katrina Forbes and Bradi
made it clear right away the subject of sex was off-limits.
The odds of her still being a virgin at twenty-five were
slim, but somehow he couldn’t imagine her having sex with anyone.
Anyone but him.
Mason’s hips rolled with every sway of the saddle, and a
different kind of moisture dampened the already-wet crotch of Bradi’s panties.
After years of fantasizing, she finally had him where she wanted him—between
her legs. Too bad he was facing the wrong direction. And had on clothes. And
didn’t know she was of the female
wished he hadn’t.
She’d moved up the creek and knelt in a spot of grass to
wash the mud from her hands. Tight, faded denim hugged her heart-shaped ass and
his hands itched to palm those mounds. She stretched to wet a bandana, causing
the waistband of her jeans to dip lower, and a strip of hot-pink lace played
peek-a-boo between it and her shirt.
His jeans tightened as his cock strained against his fly.
He’d never thought about what kind of underwear Bradi wore—she was naked in his
recent fantasies—but if he had consciously thought about it, he wouldn’t have
figured her for the lace panty type. Last time he’d seen her in her panties, she’d
worn white cotton with a Barbie logo. They’d been six and he’d wanted to brag
about his Ninja Turtle briefs.
As she rose, he looked away to gather the rope. He stowed it
behind him and turned to find her standing beside his horse with her hand out. Fuck. She wanted a ride. And god, he wanted to give her one.
“Well?” She thrust her hand higher. “Give me a hand up.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He hadn’t thought this far ahead
when he’d decided to stick around and help, and his brain certainly wasn’t
working now. All he knew was he couldn’t have her sitting behind him, her tits
rubbing his back, legs spread… Fuck. “You’re covered with mud.”
“Um, yeah. I kinda noticed that.” She stared up at him with
expectant green eyes. Why hadn’t he ever noticed the flecks of gold or the ring
of black that reminded him of the sun coming through shadowed forest trees? At
his lack of response, her hand fell to her side. “You’re going to make me
walk?”
“I don’t want that shit all over me.” Damn, he felt like an
ass. He was an ass. He couldn’t let her walk. He’d just have to survive
the ride home…and make sure it was a short one.
Before he could offer his hand or an apology, her eyes
flashed with anger. And maybe a bit of hurt? “God, Mason, when did you turn
into such a pussy?”
She spun around and the metallic whir of a zipper crawled up
his thighs and into his balls. Lust rose high but panic shifted into overdrive.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Taking off my clothes so you won’t get dirty.”
Oh, hell no! There was no way— Shit. She hooked her
thumbs into the waist of her jeans, starting the downward motion that revealed
a hint of one cheek.
“Just get on the damn horse.” He pulled his foot from the
stirrup and stuck out his hand. “But I can’t take you home.” His place was
closer. “I have things to do.”
A long second passed, then the zipper made a return trip up.
His dick jerked in disappointment as she latched on to his hand, shoved her
boot into the stirrup and swung herself onto the horse behind him, mimicking
his irritated tone. “Things to do.”
The warmth of her body seared his back as she settled into
place. His gaze dropped to one side, taking in the slender thigh nestled close
to his. The thought of those long legs wrapped around his waist made his balls
ache. If she had any idea what she was doing to him, she’d be glad to walk
home. Hell, she’d probably run.
But Bradi wasn’t wired that way. He doubted she ever thought
about sex. She’d never dated in high school and she never talked about anyone
in particular at A&M. The only conversation they’d had about sex was
short-lived when he confided his loss of virginity to Katrina Forbes and Bradi
made it clear right away the subject of sex was off-limits.
The odds of her still being a virgin at twenty-five were
slim, but somehow he couldn’t imagine her having sex with anyone.
Anyone but him.
Mason’s hips rolled with every sway of the saddle, and a
different kind of moisture dampened the already-wet crotch of Bradi’s panties.
After years of fantasizing, she finally had him where she wanted him—between
her legs. Too bad he was facing the wrong direction. And had on clothes. And
didn’t know she was of the female
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