Page 42 of Cash

“This conversation is over.”

CHAPTER 10

Cash

TEXAS PETE

I can’t sleep.

Usually, it’s because a wave of grief hits me, and I’m unable to turn off my mind.

Tonight, it’s because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Mollie, even though it’s been three fucking days since I saw her last.

I made her cry. Took it way too far and made the daughter of the man I respected more than anyone else in the world fuckingcry.

To be honest, I didn’t think she cared enough about Garrett or the ranch to cry. She never visited us. She and her daddy weren’t close. But that doesn’t mean his death wasn’t a knife through the heart for her.

I would know. I’m embarrassed I assumed losing a parent wouldn’t deeply affect her.I wish he’d been that good to me. Lord, how that must’ve hurt, me throwing in her face proof of how well Garrett cared for my brothers and me. I didn’t do it intentionally, but still. Doesn’t sit right, knowing I reminded her of a past she’d rather forget.

When we got back to the house, Mollie disappeared inside without a word. She didn’t come to supper. I weatheredPatsy’s judgmental looks, Wyatt’s not-so-subtle questions, best as I could.

I haven’t seen Mollie since. Patsy mentioned she spoke with Mollie a few times when she emerged from her room for a late breakfast or lunch, and Wyatt told me he ran into her before supper last night. She said she’d been tied up, working on her company, but I have a feeling she’s been avoiding us for other reasons.

Avoiding me in particular, because I crossed every line imaginable and was a total prick to her.

This is exactly what I wanted—to put Mollie on the run. But my victory doesn’t feel nearly as satisfying as I’d hoped.

In fact, it feels pretty fucking awful.

Lying awake in bed, I stare at the ceiling as the drone of the air conditioner outside my window fills the silence.

Like her father, maybe Mollie has regrets too. Things she wishes she’d said or done differently.

Maybe she isn’t as careless or self-centered as I thought. The look in her eyes when she’d turned her head to meet my gaze—the vulnerability I saw there, the flicker of intelligence, interest?—

She’s a fucking stunner. Decent on horseback too. Pickleball must actually be a good workout—you gotta have strong legs and a decent amount of stamina to stay in the saddle that long, even with me behind her. We were both sweating, but it just made her prettier. Her skin glowed in the afternoon sun. And the way she moved on the horse with me, hesitant at first but more confident as time went on, makes me think she’d be a good rider if she put her mind to it. That tight little body of hers is surprisingly limber.

I wince when the sheets catch on my dick as I kick them to the bottom of my bed. I’m sweating. The half chub I’ve had all night is suddenly rock hard.

Reaching down, I suck in a breath. I’m already leaking.

JesusChrist. I need to masturbate while thinking about City Girl like I need a goddamn hole in my head.

Yeah, she’s a knockout, and she tells it like it is. And she didn’t quit on me the other day, despite the overwhelming experience of being back on her daddy’s ranch for the first time in decades.

But Mollie’s also greedy and stuck-up. And the shit she wears. Riding behind her, I could almost see down her purple shirt. The thing wasthis closeto coming totally unbuttoned all the way to her navel, which allowed me a glimpse of the soft swell of her tits as she rolled her hips in time to mine.

I fist my dick in a tight grip and pull. Tell myself I’m only taking care of it because I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t.

Tell myself I’m only this hard, this needy, because it’s been too long since I got laid.

The whole thing is ugly and quick. Hard pulls. Images of Mollie bent over a fence. Bent over a chair. Bent over the edge of my bed. I fuck her with the greediness I saw in her the other day. But she takes it.

Lord, shetakes. I’m shoving inside her mouth now. She plays with herself as she sucks my dick. I try to slap away her hand, but she ignores me, running the pads of her fingers over her clit again and again and again.

Her playfulness, her refusal to be pushed around, has me coming in hard, hot spurts into my hand.

I still can’t sleep. At three thirty, I shower. Pull on jeans and a shirt. A belt and Garrett’s boots.