Sharing a Tent with My Best Friend's Brother

Chapter 3

The barn was a big wooden structure near the corral, filled with the sweet smell of hay and horses.

Faded horseshoes hung on the walls, old saddles stacked against one side, a place for ranch hands to take breaks.

Colt helped me toward it.

Then we heard the sound.

A low moan, rhythmic and breathy.

"Oh—yes—right there—"

I froze.

That was Daisy's voice.

And the answering groan belonged to Chase, her fiancé.

They were on the other side of the barn, entangled, half undressed, completely oblivious.

Colt grabbed my wrist and pulled me behind a stack of hay bales close to the wall.

"Don't move," he breathed against my ear.

We stood there, hidden in the shadows, as Daisy and Chase took their time.

I should have closed my eyes.

Instead, I looked.

Stripes of moonlight fell across Daisy's pale skin, Chase's hands gripping her hips, the wet sounds filling the dark.

The pressure inside me exploded.

A small sound escaped my throat—half moan, half whimper.

Colt's hand clamped over my mouth, his body pressing against mine, holding me still.

"Shh," he warned.

I could not stop shaking.

I climaxed again, hard and convulsing, right there in his grip.

He felt every tremor.

His heartbeat thundered against my back.

Daisy moaned louder; Chase grunted.

They kept going, oblivious.

Time stretched.

The hot wetness between my legs spread further, and every few minutes another wave rolled through me.

By the time Daisy and Chase finally staggered away, I was limp against Colt's chest, gasping for air.

He slowly pulled his hand away from my mouth.

I should have run.

But I could not move.

I stayed in the circle of his arms, and what was left of my sanity screamed at me to go.

"Look at me," Colt said softly.

I did not.

"Look at me, Wren."

I turned my head.

In the moonlight, his eyes were dark, searching my face, one hand still resting on my hip.

He looked down at me, and then he said, "Where's your underwear? I don't feel a seam."

I looked down.

I was not wearing any underwear.

"You—you felt my underwear?" I choked.

He pulled back, his jaw clenched.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

He ran a hand along the back of his neck, flustered.

It made something in my chest twist.

"No," I said before I could stop myself.

"I don't have any underwear on."

I whispered, mortified.

"Everything I had is soaked."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, a humorless laugh.

"God, you're killing me."

"What?"

He stepped toward me slowly, moonlight hitting his face.

"All night, I've been trying to be a gentleman. Pretending I don't notice."

My heart beat faster.

"Notice what?"

He leaned in close.

"Notice the way you're trembling. The way you've been looking at me all weekend. The way you're soaked through entirely."

I stopped breathing.

His voice dropped to a murmur.

"Wren. Do you want me to touch you?"

I hesitated, my mind screaming warnings, but my body had already decided.

I could feel the dampness between my legs, the ache that demanded satisfaction.