Chapter 1: Caught in the Act
The Alabama heat hadn’t quit with the sun. It clung to the old ranch house, seeping through the walls, making the air in the living room thick and still. Evie was alone, or supposed to be. Des was in Mobile for two nights on a parts run, and the hands were all down at the bunkhouse. The only sounds were the frantic chirp of cicadas through the open windows and the low mumble of the television.
She’d been flipping channels, bored, her bare feet tucked under her on the sun-cracked leather sofa. Then she’d landed on some late-night cable movie. It wasn’t the plot. It was the way the man on screen pushed the woman up against a wall, the way her head fell back, the raw, hungry sound she made. A familiar, aching emptiness pulsed deep in Evie’s belly.
It had been like this since her wedding night. One taste, and a switch had flipped. Des was a good husband, eager, but he worked hard and slept harder. Lately, it wasn’t enough. The craving was a live wire under her skin.
Her hand slid under the thin cotton of her sundress. The fabric was damp where her breasts pressed against it. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She never did around the house. With a sharp tug, she pulled the dress over her head and tossed it on the arm of the sofa, the cool leather a shock against her back. The flickering blue light from the TV played over her pale skin, her full curves.
Her fingers trailed down her stomach, through the faint, soft patch of hair, and found her wet. Soaking, already. She let out a shaky breath, two fingers slipping inside herself with practiced ease. Her other hand cupped her breast, thumb circling a taut nipple. She closed her eyes, imagining harder hands, a rougher touch, a bigger fill than her husband could ever provide. The fantasies were getting bolder, closer to home.
The creak of the screen door was lost under the movie’s gasp-filled soundtrack and the cicada drone.
Her eyes flew open.
Trez filled the doorway, backlit by the porch light, his silhouette massive and unmoving. Behind him, crowded in, were Rex and Jax. Three sets of eyes, wide and dark, were fixed on her—on her naked body, on her hand buried between her legs.
She yanked her hand free, scrambling backwards over the sofa cushions, a strangled sound catching in her throat. Her heel caught on a seam in the leather, and she pitched forward, not onto the floor, but directly into Trez.
He caught her, his hands like iron bands on her bare arms. Her naked chest slammed against the rough denim of his shirt. And she felt it—the hard, formidable length of him pressed against her lower stomach, even through his jeans. A bolt of pure, unadulterated heat shot through her, erasing the panic for a single, dizzying second.
Des had talked, sometimes, after a few beers. Bragged about the men in his family. I’m the runt of the litter, sweetheart. Dad, Rex, Uncle Jax… they’re built different.
She pushed herself away, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn’t try to cover herself. The initial shock was melting, replaced by a daring, reckless rush. She saw their faces: Trez’s unreadable granite mask, Rex’s hungry, open-mouthed stare, Jax’s narrowed, calculating gaze that dropped to her breasts and stayed there.
Slowly, deliberately, Evie walked back to the sofa. The air crackled. She turned, looked each of them dead in the eye, and sat back. Then she leaned back, spread her legs wide, and let them look. Really look.
“Well?” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “You came in for something. You gonna just stand there? Or do you want a taste?”
For a long moment, there was only the hum of the night. Trez’s jaw tightened. Rex took an involuntary step forward, stopped only by a slight lift of Trez’s hand.
“Get dressed,” Trez said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the quiet room. It wasn’t a request.
He turned, a pillar of implacable will, and gestured to Rex and Jax. “Tools are in the truck. Let’s go.”
Confusion and a spike of humiliation warred inside Evie. This wasn’t how the fantasy went. They were supposed to fall on her, to take what she was offering. Rex looked at her, then at his father’s retreating back, frustration plain on his face. Jax just smirked, giving her one last lingering look before turning to follow.
They walked toward the door, their boots heavy on the worn floorboards. The rejection burned, fusing with the leftover need, creating something sharp and vicious.
Her voice cut through the humid air, clear and dripping with challenge.
“Probably not that big anyways. Can’t satisfy me.” She paused, letting the words hang. “Cowards.”
All three men stopped dead. Trez’s shoulders went rigid under his shirt. He didn’t take another step toward the door. The night held its breath.