Braving The Storm: An Age Gap, Cowboy Romance (Crimson Ridge Book 2)
Braving The Storm: Chapter 1

Fucking snow.

Living in this part of the mountains is pretty goddamn awesome if you hate people, but it means putting up with being entombed in a grave of white powder and ice for what feels like half the year.

Tires crunch. Gravel sprays. Heavy metal pulses through the speakers. My truck rounds the final bend, and the A-frame peak of my roof comes into view.

How long has it been since I was last here? With one hand on the wheel, my other reaches up to rub the back of my neck as I try to think.

A little too long.

Although, that transient shit has been my entire life before settling in this place. Plus, I don’t mind helping a guy like Colton Wilder out.

He’s about the only person in Crimson Ridge who doesn’t listen to gossip or rumor.

But fuck me, after weeks of taking care of his ranch for him while he’s been away and helping his son out as he prepares for his next rodeo event… I am more than ready to collapse in my own bed.

Pulling up outside the cabin, conifers stand like proud, ominous sentinels around this place. Keeping watch over the only location I’ve ever felt like I can truly rest. Even if there’s no guarantee that will always be the case for a guy like me.

The sky above is mostly clouded over, only partially allowing a faint glow of stars and moonlight to peer down on Crimson Ridge tonight. Drifts of snow are clumped around here and there, glowing an eerie shade of white even through the darkness, and I already know I’ll need to do a thorough check around the property after not being here to see to things throughout the depths of winter.

All of that can wait for the morning.

Right now, I just want a hot fucking shower and a stiff drink.

Grabbing my duffel from the passenger end of the bench seat, I sling it over one shoulder and heave myself out of my truck. It’s only a few strides to cross the gravel and make it up the couple of steps to my front porch. As I shove the key in the lock and step inside, the warm scent of cedarwood floats up to greet me.

Fuck. Can I even be bothered with lighting the fire? Suppose I should, before I throw myself in the shower, at least. The old girl needs time to get some heat into her bones, and right now, it’s as frigid as a nun’s cunt in here.

When I go to kick each boot off, my hearing catches on a noise. The hairs on the back of my neck raise, and my skin prickles. Something moves deep inside the house, and I’m immediately on edge.

Not something… someone.

The distinct sound of shuffling, moving, is human. Not an animal who managed to replace its way inside, seeking shelter from the tail end of winter.

Setting my bag down softly, so as not to make a sound, I know exactly where my hunting knife is, but that’s back in the glove compartment of my truck. I also know where my rifle is stashed in my bedroom, but that’s down the hall in the direction of the noise.

Not that I need either of those things to defend myself against some fucking idiot thinking they can break into my place. People don’t scare me. I’ve got a body built off the back of willingly tangling with nearly two thousand pound, angry as fuck creatures. When you’ve sat on the back of a bull that wants nothing more than to toss you and stomp your ribs into the dirt, that shit fundamentally changes your perspective on life.

With a shrug to get rid of my jacket and free up my arms, I roll my shoulders inside my shirt and flex my knuckles. Tattoos and the flash of silver from my rings peer back at me in the gloom. Fitting really, whoever this is can wear a face full of my ink and take an imprint in the shape of my metal bands as a gift when they run their sorry asses back down the mountain.

It’ll be some hillbilly dipshit who married their cousin creeping up here. Fancying that they can poke around my property and replace the stacks of gold they all think I’m sitting on after a pro career. Acting like I’m rich or some shit. It won’t be anyone who lives out in these parts. While I might not be friendly with every single person who lives on this mountain, no one from the Peak is dumb enough to pull a stunt like this.

The short hall leading down to the bedroom is almost pitch black, but I see where whoever this is straight away. Soft light and shadows move on the other side of the open bathroom door, and I slow my progress when I realize there’s music softly drifting from within.

Music?

That makes me pause. I’ve crept this far on silent steps, and now my mind is turning the situation over, trying to make sense of whatever is going on.

I hear a feminine sound, a hum, and my eyes squeeze shut. Dragging a hand through my hair, I tilt my head back.

Goddamn, it wouldn’t be the first time a fucking buckle bunny has let themselves in up here.

Even though I’m mildly hacked off that whoever this is has turned up unannounced and uninvited, my dick stirs. The thought of a quick fuck, before I kick them out and send them packing back down to Crimson Ridge sounds pretty damn appealing.

Being stuck up at the ranch and buried in the snow on top of Devil’s Peak for the winter has had my balls on ice. Literally.

The blackened, twisted part of me wants to make this a game. This cunt thinks they can slip into my house and make themselves at home? Well, this is my arena, my rules.

Silently, I inch toward the open entry and keep myself hidden in the heavy shadow as I make my plan to replace out who the fuck is in my bathroom and exactly what sweet flavor of pussy is going to be on the menu tonight.

As I watch on with hungry eyes and a rapidly hardening cock through the doorway, the girl inside has her back turned. She only has the small lamp above the mirror switched on to see by. It’s dimly lit in here, like the rest of the house, everything shrouded in shades of black and gray.

With her back still turned to me, she hums along with whatever folky, girly shit plays through the speaker on her phone.

Then she starts to get naked.

This girl is entirely unaware that I’m here, and fuck… it’s the hottest thing.

She isn’t doing a strip tease to try and seduce a pro bull rider. She’s not a girl on a pole shoving her fake tits in my face. She’s not a buckle bunny offering to get on her knees in a filthy back alley at three a.m. to suck my cock ‘til I blow all over her face.

No. This is someone who is sexy and curvy and slowly removes each item of clothing because it’s at her own leisure. Like she’s enjoying all this for no one but herself.

Jesus. My cock is begging to get in there and make a reacquaintance with whoever the fuck this girl is. I’ve fucked my way through life, never doing repeat hookups—even during a regrettable goddamn catastrophe of a time better left forgotten—but I certainly don’t remember her.

If I’m really honest with myself, there’s no way I would.

I don’t remember them.

I don’t remember their faces or their names, and I certainly never kept their numbers that they snuck into my phone contacts when they thought I wasn’t looking.

Her arms tug the cropped sweater she’s wearing over her head, revealing a pair of high-waisted leggings. Fuck. No bra. Just an expanse of smooth, olive skin and a flare at her hips. There’s the tiniest roll over the top of her waistband, and that softness makes my mouth water.

Having a handful of pliant flesh to squeeze and dig my fingers into, leaving a bruise or five in the shape of my grip, is my favorite type of fuck.

The long dark curls hanging midway down her back swish over her skin as she moves. Dragging my gaze down… down to an ass that is absolutely begging to be palmed and spanked and pounded into while I fill this girl’s cunt from behind.

My breathing grows more ragged as I lurk in the shadowed hallway, continuing to devour the sight of the feast preparing herself for me. Because there’s only one reason this girl is in my house, and if she’s here in search of my dick, then I’m going to enjoy every second of playing with my meal.

She strips off the rest of her clothes. Sliding those skin-tight leggings down, panties gone at the same time, revealing even more to me. Humming along to the music, this girl is entirely lost in what she’s doing. Oblivious to her surroundings.

I’m fully hard and have to quietly, carefully readjust myself. The head of my dick has already started leaking at how fucking hot this girl is. Her arm lifts, and I can’t help but notice a small tattoo, fine line text curving around the outer side of her breast. Tits that even from here, from a barely there glance side-on, I can see are heavy and full and just made to be tortured.

As she bends over to fully tug those sinful, fitted leggings off, that’s what breaks me. I catch a glimpse of her from behind. Soft and dusky rose-colored pussy lips peek out at me.

Just at the moment she’s fully naked, still halfway bent over, I strike.

My long stride closes the gap between us in a second. Wrapping one hand around her throat to lock her against my front, my other hand fumbles with my button and fly. As I do so, my knuckles graze against the bare skin at the top of her ass, brushing her lower back. Maybe I’ll paint that part of her later with my cum.

“Darlin’… that’s no way to go about begging for my cock. Kinda rude to be letting yourself in without asking.” I growl, with lips pressed against her ear. “But you’re lucky tonight. I’m feeling generous. So much so, after watching that little performance, I might even let you come.”

She’s rigid as a board beneath me. I feel her throat work frantically below my tattooed fingers. Pulse fluttering in the side of her neck. This girl is short compared to me, barely reaching my chest. Her head tucks perfectly against my torso, and my filthy thoughts are already running wild at the prospect.

“Now, I’m gonna bend you over that counter so I can fuck you into next week… then you’re gonna get the hell off my property.”

She yelps as I relent a little pressure on her throat, easing back off her windpipe ever so slightly. As I do, her hands fly up to pry my fingers away, but I’m not in the mood for anything that isn’t my version of this game. I spin us toward the vanity so that we’re both facing the mirror.

Catching sight of her front-on for the first time, I have to stifle a feral noise.

Fuck, she’s got amazing tits. Hard nipples stare back at me in the reflection and the soft glow of the lamp light, and maybe it’s because I’ve been stuck with nothing but cattle and horses for company this winter; I decide right then and there, I already know there’s going to be a second round to this game. I’m not going to pass up an opportunity to come all over them. Mark her the fuck up and enjoy sliding my dick between that soft valley… then I’ll let her go.

I mean, she is naked and waiting for me in my house, after all.

She really should count herself lucky I’m interested in fucking her more than once to begin with.

As I position her body exactly where I want her, keeping a tight hold over her neck, my other hand shoves my briefs down. Freeing my aching cock, I give it a couple of firm strokes, swiping the pre-cum off the tip. Goddamn, her cunt is right there, and the heat flowing between our bodies makes my head spin with anticipation.

Her hands fly out to brace against the counter as I tighten my hold on her throat, using the leverage to bend her forward. The action makes those perfect tits hang a little lower, full and soft.

But it’s her eyes.

Eyes that stare back at me, wide like a doe’s in the mirror.

Dark eyes that seem somehow familiar. More than familiar.

I was sure I didn’t recognize this girl, but now I’m ransacking my mind, trying to place her.

“What the fuck?” She croaks, sounding panicked and strained. Her voice finally breaks free as she braces herself against the sink with one hand and tries to claw my fingers away from her neck with the other.

“Uncle Stôrmand?”

I go still.

Jesus.

Fuck. Fuck my life.

My hand is on my rigid, leaking cock, and I’m staring at my niece’s nipples.