Ride Me Dirty(10)

By: Vanessa Vale

I would have her. I knew it the moment I sat down beside her and picked up her clean citrus scent. When her pale eyes met mine, I saw the desire there. I'd felt sucker punched. Lightning strike. Name the cliché. I hadn't wanted a girl this badly since I was a scrawny twelve-year-old. And that hadn’t worked out so well. But Catherine was a full-grown woman with perfect breasts and rounded hips. She was a little thing, but she was all woman. Soft. Curved. Aroused. Oh, hell yeah. I’d seen that look in a woman’s eyes before. She’d been just as hot for me as I’d been for her. But she’d panicked and shut me down.

I didn’t know her last name. Hell, I didn’t know much. But Bridgewater County was a tight community and she was coming here. I was sure I could find her.

I adjusted my cock. Again. Having a semi for the past four hours made it uncomfortable to sit, but thinking about how she could've gotten herself off just riding my thighs on the plane wasn't helping.

“That makes it even worse. We fuck her, she gets the one night stand that she wants, then goes back to New York,” Sam countered. “The conversation with her friend only proves that she's not going to stay.”

“Shit, man. You need to chill,” I told him, shaking my head. I told him a thousand times to loosen up and the women would flock to him. Seemed he was even more uptight than the woman on the plane. I kept hoping one would come along and inspire him to unleash the fighter I knew lurked within. No such luck yet.

He gave me the finger. “You want me to fuck a woman I barely know and walk away? That's not how the Bridgewater way works, jackass. I want a woman between us that we're going to keep. Not fuck and wave farewell.”

“Start by helping me find her. Talk to her. I'll bet you fifty bucks you’ll take one look and be hard as a fucking rock.”

He waved his hand toward the door. “I’ll think about it. Now, get the fuck out of my office.”

“There's only one problem.” I didn't get up as he wanted.

Sam gave me an impatient look, waiting.

“Based on that IM alone, she's on the prowl. That means she might choose to fuck some random asshole just to get her jollies. If she wants hot monkey sex—” I held up my hand at Sam’s raised brow. “—Her friend's words, not mine, we just need to ensure we're the men—the only men—to give it to her.”

Sam sighed, ran a hand over the back of his neck. He wasn’t just two years older, he was bigger than me. Taller and broader, he’d played football in high school and college. He'd wanted off the ranch all his life and I was just thankful he'd returned to Bridgewater to settle. Besides the whole Samantha fiasco, we'd been burned by women who either wanted us for our money—the ranch wasn't small and Sam did extremely well as a lawyer—or, for one night, interested in being in the center of a Kane cousin sandwich.

But I had a feeling about Catherine, a feeling she would love being taken by two men, love being touched and fucked and kissed by both of us. But convincing the uptight, New York attorney of that? Shit. That was probably going to be more difficult than I wanted to believe, and I would absolutely need Sam’s help. He was the dark, brooding, intense one. I had a feeling Catherine would go for the quiet reserve my cousin offered before she would take a chance on a player like me.

Sam set the softball back on his desk and frowned. “Fine. I'll help you find Airplane Girl. But right now, I have work to do. Are we finished?”

I knew when to stop pushing. Until he met Catherine, I wouldn't be able to convince him. She'd be the one to do that.

I stood to leave and gave him a wave as I walked toward the door. “I know, I know, get the hell out.”

Now I just had to find Catherine and figure out a way to introduce her to Sam. One look, and I was confident he wouldn't be able to walk away from her. No fucking way. Getting Catherine into bed with both of us was going to be a bit harder, but neither of us ever backed down from a challenge. And what a hot, enticing challenge she was.



“How long will you be in town?” Cara Smythe asked. I'd found a note with her phone number and the house key tucked beneath the knocker on Uncle Charlie's front door when I arrived.

She grew up on the property next to his and we'd played together as kids when I would visit. I remembered her with red hair, freckles and a blue bike with streamers on the handlebars. God, I had wanted a bike just like that, but living in New York—and with my parents—didn't allow for one, or a puppy, or running through the sprinklers on a hot July afternoon. I remembered Cara as always smiling and happy, whether we were jumping rope or sneaking around after her older brother and his friends. Her parents were equally likable and I always envied their loving relationship. My parents were the complete opposite—spending Christmas on European cruises instead of in front of the tree—and I remember wishing I could stay in Montana forever. Instead, after the summer when I was twelve, I never went back. Life moved on and Cara was married now and lived in town.