Laying Down The Law (#4, Cowboy Way) (The Cowboy Way) by Becky McGraw

TWELVE
     
    Brock did not waste time going around to the passenger door. He stopped at the driver’s door and his hand shook as he inserted the key into the lock.  He opened the door and all but tossed Melanie up onto the seat, then pushed her over with his body as he hurriedly cranked the truck.  They could not get back to the ranch soon enough, he thought, throwing the SUV into reverse and glancing in the rearview. 
    Need clawed at his insides like barbed wire, electrified wire that set every nerve in his body on fire.  It had been that way all afternoon, but he’d fought it. Brock was done fighting something Melanie obviously wanted as badly as he did.
    He had never in his fucking life wanted a woman as bad as he wanted the one sitting beside him.  Right now.  Not tomorrow, not next week.  Right damned now. 
    The tires shrieked and the SUV lurched when he threw it into gear and slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. Melanie’s body pitched forward, her hand landed on his thigh and Brock groaned as her fingers dug in and fire shot up his zipper to scorch his painfully engorged cock. 
    Her muscles tensed and he looked down into rich, gold-flecked pools of need and her hand slid higher on his thigh as he held her gaze.  Tires squealed, a horn blew rudely, and Brock woke up, slammed on the brakes and flew toward the steering wheel. 
    His heart pounding in his ears, Brock frowned at the older lady in the baby blue Cadillac who glared at him from her position half-in and half-out of the last aisle in the parking lot.  His middle finger itched, but he was the sheriff in this town.  He didn’t flip off old ladies—even the ones whose license should be revoked, he thought, as he stopped at the main road.  When he found an opening he pulled out and turned right to head toward the ranch.
    Reaching down, he undid the button on his jeans and slid his zipper down an inch because it was cutting off his circulation.  He put his hand back on the wheel, and was surprised when the zipper moved to the bottom of the track.  Looking down, he saw Melanie’s fingers pinching the tab then met her eyes.  She licked those porn star lips of hers that tasted like cotton candy, then turned in the seat, smiling a smile that tightened his balls.
    No, she isn’t thinking that .  You’re dreaming, dude . 
    “Lift your hips a little, sheriff,” she said, taking a firm hold on either side of his jeans to tug them apart.  The look in her eyes, her words which rang inside his head, made his heart pump blood through his body like a high-pressure water main.
    God, he wasn’t dreaming.   Electricity buzzed through him as he tensed his muscles, lifted and tried like hell to stay on the road while she jerked his jeans lower on his hips. 
    Brock hadn’t had a blow job in a vehicle in a very long time.  He hadn’t had real sex in a long time either—at least three fucking years.  If Melanie put that beautiful mouth on him, there was no guarantee it wouldn’t be over for him in seconds. 
    But there was no way in hell he was going to stop her when she lowered his underwear and her warm palm closed around him, dragging a throaty groan up from his toes which were curled inside his boots.  Her head descended and his breathing became non-existent as her hair covered his crotch, her hot breath warmed his cock. 
    He had to see her do this, he thought, his right hand falling to grab the ends of her hair and hold them back.  Fuck, it was dark—he couldn’t see a damned thing except when they passed a street light.  Letting go of her hair, he reached up to turn on the dome light and Melanie leaned up to look at him. 
    “I need to watch you,” he croaked, his hand shaking as he grabbed the ends of her thick, silky hair again to hold it back.  The corner of her mouth ticked up, before her head lowered toward him again.  Her palm closed around him and she squeezed, right before her hot breath brushed his skin.  Brock hissed a