His hand brushed the curve of her waist, sending a shiver up her spine. Josie wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, the day’s labor carved into the ache of her shoulders and the calluses on her palms. “You’ve always been our everything,” he murmured, his lips brushing her shoulder. “Your turn,” she whispered, her voice thick with need, her pussy still pulsing from Duke’s release. She tried to cling to her usual confidence, but her voice wavered, betraying the desire simmering beneath. He pushed in slowly, his length stretching her anew, the sensation of being so full making her moan into Duke’s mouth. “You ready for me, Ma?” Duke murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. “Oh, we’ll be gentle, Ma…” he drawled, his voice rich with promise. Josie’s mind was a storm, guilt and desire swirling together in a tempest she couldn’t escape. “Seems you had the right idea, Ma,” Wyatt said, his voice low, laced with a warmth that curled her toes beneath the water. The air was thick with the scent of hay, sun-scorched earth, and the faint musk of cattle—an aroma that had woven itself into her very being over the decades she’d run this place.
