DON’T STOP

Taking her innocence 4

Lila

I yanked my hand back like I’d been burned, stumbling a step away. The sudden movement made Ryder’s breath hitch, but he didn’t speak. Didn’t move to cover himself.

I couldn’t see his face clearly anymore, but I could feel his eyes on me. They were heavy and watchful.

“I—” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat, trying to sound normal, but it came out shaky and too loud in the dark. “I’m fine! Just… looking for the bathroom!”

Silence from downstairs for a beat.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Delaney called back, sounding relieved. “It’s the door right across from the kitchen. Goodnight.”

I heard her footsteps fade away.

I stood frozen, breath coming in shallow bursts, hand still tingling where I’d touched him. The air felt thicker now, charged.

“I’m sorry,” I suddenly blurted into the darkness, my voice cracking. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. Please just forget any of this. I don’t know why I even said that.”

I smacked the side of my head lightly with my free hand, like I could knock the stupidity out. My palm still burned with the feel of him—hot, hard, and pulsing. I couldn’t believe I’d touched it. Touched him.

Before he could say another word, I spun around and fled, bare feet silent on the hallway floor. I slipped back into my room, shut the door as quietly as I could, and leaned against it, chest heaving.

I still had to pee. Badly. But there was no way I was going back out there. I’d hold it until morning if I had to. I crawled into bed, pulled the covers over my head, and squeezed my eyes shut. Sleep came eventually, restless and fitful.

When I woke up, sunlight was streaming through the curtains, and the memories slammed into me all at once.

His c**k in my hand. The way it throbbed. His low voice saying “just once.” My own voice asking to touch it.

I groaned into my pillow, face burning so hot I thought I might actually burst into flames. I wished the floor would open up and swallow me. I wished last night had been a dream. What the hell did I do? I wasn’t even drunk, so what exactly possessed me to say and do all that?

“Lila, honey?” Delaney’s voice floated up the stairs, cheerful as ever. “Breakfast is ready!”

I lay there for another minute, praying for a sudden natural disaster. None came.

I forced myself out of bed, threw on an oversized hoodie over my sleep shorts, and dragged myself downstairs.

The smell of bacon and coffee hit me first. Then I saw the dining table. Breakfast was spread out—eggs, toast, fruit, and pancakes. And there he was.

Ryder.

He was sitting at the head of the table in a faded black T-shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders, dark hair still a little messy from sleep, sipping coffee like he didn’t have a care in the world. He looked up when I walked in, his gray eyes meeting mine for a split second before I jerked my gaze away.

Delaney beamed from the kitchen doorway. “Good morning! Isn’t it nice to finally meet your uncle properly?”

Nice?

I wanted to die.

I couldn’t even look at him. I bit my bottom lip hard and stared at the floor, shuffling toward an empty chair as far from him as possible.

Delaney laughed softly, setting a plate in front of me. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous. Come on, you know Ryder’s the sweetest thing ever.”

I managed a weak nod, sliding into the seat.

Ryder’s low voice cut through the quiet, calm, and even moment.

“Morning, Lila.”

I mumbled something that might have been “morning” and kept my eyes glued to my plate.

Because if I looked up, I knew I’d see his face and remember exactly how his c**k felt in my hand.

Breakfast dragged on forever.

Delaney kept the conversation flowing, bright and effortless, talking about the weather, the new foal born last week, and how the peaches were coming in early this year. She laughed easily, refilled coffee cups, and passed the syrup like we were some normal little family. Ryder ate in silence, only speaking when spoken to, his deep voice short and clipped. Every time he reached for something, I flinched internally, terrified our hands might brush.

I kept my eyes on my plate, pushing eggs around, barely tasting anything.

When the plates were mostly empty, Delaney clapped her hands lightly. “Ryder, why don’t you take Lila out to the ranch today? Show her around properly. She’s never really seen the place.”

My fork froze halfway to my mouth. Hell no.

I opened my mouth to refuse, but Ryder spoke first, calm as ever.

“Okay. She should get ready.”

I blinked, head snapping up. “I don’t think I want to go,” I said quickly, too quickly.

Delaney tilted her head, her smile softening. “Why not, honey?”

I bit my bottom lip, heat creeping up my neck. I couldn’t exactly say because I touched your husband’s d**k last night, and I’m terrified to be alone with him.

I just shrugged, staring at my juice glass.

“It’ll be fun,” Delaney pressed gently. “And if you hate it, you never have to go again. Promise.”

I had no real excuse. No escape.

I sighed softly, defeated. “Fine.”

Upstairs, I washed up quickly, brushed my teeth until my gums hurt, and changed into a pink striped T-shirt and my comfiest jeans. Simple. Safe.

I came back down, grabbing my phone from the counter.

Ryder was standing by the front door, arms crossed. His eyes flicked over my outfit once, slow and deliberate.

“Wear a cottage skirt,” he said.

I stopped. “What? Why?”

“Do as I say.” His voice was low and firm. “I’m outside.”

He walked out without another word, the screen door swinging shut behind him.

I turned to Delaney, my eyebrows raised.

She gave a small, apologetic nod. “Just do as he says, sweetie. He has a reason, I’m sure.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt and trudged back upstairs.

Brown cottage skirt it was. Light, flowy ending just above my knees. I paired it with simple sneakers, because I wasn’t about to wear heels on a ranch.

When I stepped outside, the morning sun was already warm. Ryder was leaning against his big and black dusty truck, the kind with oversized tires and a bench seat. He wore faded jeans, boots, and a plain gray T-shirt stretched across his chest, with a black cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes.

The hat.

I’d only seen it in that one i********: photo, but in real life, in person, it fit him perfectly. Shadowed his sharp features just right, made him look even taller, broader, and more dangerous. The brim cast a line across his storm-gray eyes, and when he glanced up at me, my stomach flipped.

He looked… unfairly hot.

I swallowed hard and walked over, climbing into the passenger side without a word.

The door slammed. The engine rumbled to life, and just like that, we were alone. The truck rolled down the gravel drive, dust kicking up behind us.

Neither of us spoke.

But I could feel his eyes on me every time I dared to breathe.

I kept my hands clasped tight in my lap, staring out the windshield, trying to ignore how close his body was, how the heat from him seemed to fill the whole cab.

Then, out of nowhere, his voice cut through the silence. It sounded low and rough.

“Are you a virgin, Lila?”

I blinked, heat flooding my face instantly. I rolled my eyes hard, turning to glare at him.

“You asked that yesterday,” I snapped, stressing the word like a warning. “And I don’t think you should be asking me that, Uncle.”

The word tasted bitter on my tongue, a reminder I desperately needed, for both of us.

He didn’t flinch. Just kept his eyes on the road, fingers tightening slightly on the steering wheel until the veins in his forearm stood out sharper.

“Not my fault you triggered me,” he said quietly.

I frowned, my heart thudding. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer right away. The truck slowed to a stop at a gate, and he reached out to open it without getting down, muscles flexing under his shirt. Once we rolled through, he let the gate swing shut behind us and kept driving, slower now, like we had all the time in the world.

“I haven’t been able to have s*x in a long time,” he finally said, voice low and even. “Problem down there. Can’t get hard. Haven’t been able to for years.”

My breath caught. I stared at his profile, mouth dry. Why was he even telling me this??

“But yesterday,” he continued, glancing at me for the first time since we’d started driving, gray eyes dark and intense, “with you… I felt different. Someone finally got me hard.”

Excuse me?

The words echoed in my head, but I couldn’t make my mouth form them. I just stared, cheeks burning, thighs pressing together involuntarily under the skirt.

He let that hang in the air for a long moment.

“So I was thinking,” he said, voice dropping even lower, rougher, “how about we explore? I help you taint that innocence a little—teach a curious little virgin what she’s been missing. And you help me… until I get it working right again.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out at first.

“I don’t think—”

“Why do you think I told you to wear the cottage skirt?” he cut in, eyes flicking down to my lap for a split second before returning to the road.

My stomach flipped, a rush of heat flooding between my legs so suddenly I had to shift in my seat.