Stepbrother Master(34)

“R-right,” I said, hurrying to play along. It was almost unnerving how confident and unruffled he was. Where had he learned to be such a good liar?

“Isn't that your favorite spot, Ford?” Russ beamed, wrinkles deepening at the corners of his eyes. “I guess I shouldn't have been worried about you two.”

Huh? Worried in what way? I tried to force myself to calm down—nobody was making any accusations. But it felt like every single dirty, naughty thing I'd done with Ford was painted on my forehead.

Ford looked wry. “I told you I wouldn't leave her to fend for herself, Dad.” I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or embarrassed.

Celeste chose that moment to resurface, calling, “Food's on the table. I'll get out of your hair now.” With a wave, she disappeared from the room.

We all went to the dining room to continue catching up while our parents ate. Under the table, Ford's hand edged closer to mine, as if to reassure me. I shifted it away. I had to start controlling all the ways my body automatically responded around Ford. No more casual touches, lingering glances, or kissing on the mouth. The heaving bosom and wet panties were probably hopeless, but I'd hidden those since I first came to the ranch, right? I tried to ignore the voice in my head that sneered, Yeah, for a whole week. Amazing restraint there.

Eventually our parents finished their sandwiches and Ford excused himself, saying that he had work to do. I went to my room, relieved … but already dreading dinnertime.





Chapter 14


Ford





Sitting down to dinner with my father, new stepmother, and Emma carried a touch of the surreal. It drove home the point that she was actually my stepsister, but the hard-on that had imprinted itself against my zipper didn’t seem to get the memo. Maybe because I didn’t care about labels at this point. She was just Emma—and was becoming a whole lot more every day. Having her tied and under my hand had been … intoxicating. Her reactions—her enthusiasm—had been everything I could have asked for. Our last week together, seeing how well we’d meshed, both in and out of the bedroom, changed everything, and I wasn’t sure exactly what to do about it yet. But that was for another day.

“Anything I need to know about that happened while we were living it up in wine country?” my father asked, drawing me out of my thoughts and back to the conversation.

“Sorry, what?”

Dad lifted a heaping forkful of mashed potatoes to his mouth and chewed, giving me time to gather my thoughts before he repeated his question. “Report. Update. Rundown.”

“Oh. Nothing of note. Cattle are all good. The farrier was out. Horses are in top shape. I’m thinking we may need to hire on another hand—even though Griff won’t admit it, he’s starting to slow down more and more, and I’d like to take some of the load off him. I know he tries to keep up with the younger guys, but he’s earned his retirement.”

“He’s going to argue about being put out to pasture,” Dad commented.

“I know, but we don’t have to put it to him that way. I’ll just ease back his responsibilities slowly. Maybe get him training a new guy to take up some of his time, and it can be a gradual process.”

Dad shrugged. “If you think you can navigate that minefield without blowing off a leg, I’ll leave it to you to handle.”

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the clinking of silverware on china.

I nabbed another piece of bread from the basket in time to see my father reach for the dish of mashed potatoes. Cynthia snatched them away and slid the salad bowl into his grip. Part of me was glad to see someone taking care of Dad again, but I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would last. This wasn’t Cynthia’s first honeymoon phase by a long shot. Before I could think much on that, Cynthia dabbed at her lips with her napkin and launched into conversation.

“Emma, honey, I knew you would love it here. I’m so glad you’ve given the ranch a chance. There are so many things to do and see. I haven’t been so active in years.”

Emma bit down hard on her fork before swallowing a bite. A pink blush tinged her cheeks, reminding me of the color of her ass before I’d switched from my hand to the paddle. The urge to rile her up was too strong not to give in.

“Emma was definitely active last week,” I said, glancing up as I finished buttering my bread and lifted it to my lips. “We had a great time giving things a chance. I’d like to think Montana has given her a whole new range of impactful experiences. She was in good hands while you were away.” The double entendres weren’t lost on Emma; her pink slowly turned to red. Teasing her like this was juvenile as hell, but she had about lost it at lunch when we talked about ‘ropes’ and ‘riding.’