Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Black Hills Ranch.
My temporary new home until the urge to move on hit me.
Normally, I would have taken in the sight of the working ranch and automatically focused on the ranch hands, the equipment, the different buildings, but mostly the horses. They were part of the reason I was here, after all. A person could tell a lot about a ranch by the way it cared for one of its most important assets… the horses. The animals were invaluable in mountain terrain. They could access places that no ATV or 4x4 ever could.
So yeah, I should have been focused on the horses, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the Range Rover sitting in front of a dark brown, rustic two-story house that had probably seen better days. The mere design of the house had me suspecting that it was at least a hundred years old, and with all the fixing and patching it had undergone over the years, the thing would be there for another century.
Even if I hadn’t recognized the Range Rover immediately, I would have noticed it anyway because I’d seen the expensive SUV in a parking spot near the convenience store before I’d found the young man and his tormentors. It hadn’t exactly fit into a street lined with rugged pickup trucks covered in mud and sporting heavily treaded tires. And since Eden wasn’t near any main highway or interstate, there probably weren’t a lot of tourists itching to explore the run-down town.
Although I hadn’t seen the young man I’d encountered in the alley few days earlier drive off, between the kind of clothing he’d been wearing and the fact that the Range Rover had been gone when I’d left the alley, I’d already known the vehicle had to be his. I just hadn’t expected to ever see it or him again.
God, I hated thinking about him without having a name to go with the face that had haunted my dreams every night from the moment I’d met him. As I’d jacked myself off in my sleeping bag the last few nights, I’d wanted a name to whisper as I came deep inside him while fucking him beneath a canopy of stars. I’d been tormented with images of him riding me, the sway of his graceful hips, his lust-filled eyes holding mine as his ass gripped me so tight that I wanted it to go on forever and also end as soon as possible so I could watch his body jerk with pleasure as I thrust up into him. With his cum spattered over my lower body and mine enveloping us both deep inside of him, I’d had this split second where I’d been so certain it had all been real only to come to my senses to find just my cum smeared all over my hand and abdomen. I was the only one breaking the silence of the forest around me with all my panting and grunting that accompanied the aftershocks.
“Damn it,” I muttered as I dismounted and loosened my horse’s girth enough that the saddle would stay in place but would also give my mount some relief from the pressure along the sensitive skin just behind his front legs.
The first thing I needed to do was find my new boss or the ranch’s foreman and introduce myself.
Unfortunately, my body wasn’t listening to my brain, and I ended up at the base of the steps for the wraparound porch. I dropped my horse’s reins to the ground, which was the automatic signal for him to stay where he was, and then I was climbing the steps. The front door looked a million miles away, yet my heart was racing with what I’d find on the other side of it.
My palms were sweating when I pulled my hat from my head and then knocked on the door. I glanced behind me to see if anyone had noticed my presence, but everyone was doing their own thing.
I knocked again.
“’Mumin,” I heard someone call out from inside the house. I couldn’t make sense of the words but figured on a working ranch, people were coming and going all the time, so I reached for the doorknob.
“Hello?” I called as I scanned the quaint kitchen. It was somewhat outdated but clean. There were small knickknacks here and there, but what caught my attention was two very old, very used mugs sitting in the middle of the kitchen table with an old-fashioned carafe, probably for coffee. It was a strange centerpiece to be sure, but who was I to judge? It wasn’t like I knew what passed for interior decorating skills, even in a refurbished farmhouse. It smelled heavenly, though. Apple pie maybe?
“’Ngon.’”
The response to my greeting still made no sense, but it didn’t matter. I’d already started searching out the stairs because I could tell the voice was coming from below me.