Three days since Jake dismissed me as too inexperienced to satisfy him, and I was still replaying it like a song I couldn't get out of my head. Still wanting to prove him spectacularly, devastatingly wrong.
At first, I went ice cold. Professional. Ranch hand Adison who showed up, did the work, left. No small talk. No eye contact.
If he wanted an employee instead of whatever the fuck we'd been becoming, fine. I could do emotionally unavailable.
Then the anger kicked in. Every time he gave an instruction, I heard the subtext: ‘You're too young to understand this. Too innocent to handle that.’
So I worked twice as hard out of pure spite. Hauling feed bags until my shoulders screamed, mucking stalls with aggressive efficiency that made Tommy ask if I was okay.
I wasn't. But admitting that felt like letting Jake win.
And what surprised me most was how he started asking my opinion.
Not in that condescending way men usually did, where they'd already decided and wanted you to agree. He actually listened when I spoke, considered my suggestions, implemented ideas I'd offered.
The respect in those questions did what flattery never could: made me want him for the way he seemed to actually see me.
During work, Jake treated me like an equal who happened to make his blood run hot. That combination was more seductive than any practiced charm could ever be, and made my anger at him for his previous words completely shatter.
Today something shifted. Because here's what I'd noticed while nursing my wounded pride: he couldn't stop watching me.
His eyes tracked my movements when he thought I wasn't looking. That hazel gaze following me across the yard, the barn, anywhere I moved within his line of sight.
His hands lingered at my waist when he helped me down from the truck—half a second too long, fingers pressing into my hip bones before he caught himself and pulled away like I'd burned him.
The muscle that jumped in his jaw whenever Tommy got too close, too friendly, too… anything.
Tonight, I was done playing these games. If he thought I couldn't satisfy his needs, fine—I'd make him admit he was lying through his teeth about not being interested.
I padded barefoot down the hall to his door. It was cracked open just enough to see him lying on top of the covers, still dressed, staring at the ceiling like it was personally offending him.
I knocked softly.
He turned his head, and his eyes went wide when he saw me—bare legs, oversized shirt riding up slightly, hair still damp. "Adison—"
"Can't sleep." I didn't wait for permission, just stepped inside and closed the door with a soft click. "Thought maybe you'd have the same problem."
The lie was obvious. We both knew it. But he didn't tell me to leave.
I climbed onto his bed like I had every right to be there, fitting myself against his side. He went rigid, every muscle locked, but still—he didn't tell me to leave.
My hand found his forearm, fingers tracing the scars from years of ranch work. His breath caught. I laid my head on his shoulder, felt his heart hammering beneath my ear.
"Do you really think I'm too young?" I asked quietly.
Silence. Just his chest rising and falling, breathing uneven.
"Because I don't feel young when I'm around you," I whispered.
His eyes closed. I watched his throat work as he swallowed hard. My knee hooked over his thigh, eliminating the last careful distance between us, and I felt him tense like a wire pulled too tight.
"I think about you," I said, my breath warm against his neck. "All the time. When I'm working, when I'm trying to sleep, when I wake up. I can't stop thinking about you."
He released a breath he'd been holding, rough and shaky. I lifted my head to look at him, found his eyes already on mine—dark hazel, conflicted, full of want he was trying desperately to contain.
"Do you think about me too?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
From the way he looked at me, touched me, couldn't seem to stay away no matter how hard he tried.
He closed his eyes. "Adison, you should go back to your room."
Not an answer. A deflection.
"That's not what I asked."
"It's late. You're tired. This isn't—"
"Bullshit." The anger kicked in fast. "Stop pretending you don't—"
"I'm not pretending anything. I'm trying to do the right thing."
"By lying?"
"By maintaining boundaries you keep trying to obliterate." His voice was controlled, careful. Too controlled. "You need to go."
The dismissal—again—hit exactly wrong. Three days of his hot-and-cold routine, of him looking at me like I was everything he wanted and nothing he could have, and now this.
Another brush-off. Another reminder that I was supposedly too inexperienced, too young, too something to matter.
Fuck. That.
I shifted, swung my leg over his hips, straddling him before he could process the movement.
His hands came up automatically to grip my waist—stopping me or steadying himself, unclear which. "Adison, what are you—"
I kissed him. Hard. No tentative bullshit, no giving him space to think or rationalize or build more walls. Just my mouth on his, demanding a reaction that wasn't carefully controlled neutrality.
For one suspended moment, nothing. Then his control shattered so completely I felt the pieces hit the floor.
Jake’s hands tightened on my waist, pulling me down against him, and he kissed me back with a hunger that proved every word out of his mouth had been lies. His grip was bruising, possessive, one hand sliding up to tangle in my hair.
His skilled mouth was demanding control and claimed what I was offering. The sound that came from his throat—raw, desperate, purely male—vibrated through my entire body and hit me somewhere south of my stomach.
When his teeth caught my bottom lip, I gasped, and he used the opening to deepen the kiss until I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only feel.
His other hand gripped my hip hard enough to leave marks, holding me against him, and I could feel exactly how much he wanted this.
How much he'd been lying about not being interested.
I rolled my hips experimentally and his grip tightened, a curse breaking against my mouth. "Fuck, Adison—"
"Still think I'm too inexperienced?" I bit down on his jaw, felt him shudder. "Too innocent to satisfy you, daddy?"
Then he froze. Just—stopped. Reality crashed back like cold water.
"No…" The word came out rough, damaged.
He grabbed my hips and lifted me off him, set me aside on the bed like I was something dangerous he needed distance from. He stood, putting half the room between us.
"No. This can't— Fuck… this can't happen."
I sat there, breathing hard, watching him visibly rebuild whatever control I'd just demolished.
"You're Richard's daughter," he said, voice cutting despite the unsteadiness. "And you're twenty-one fucking years old. This can't happen. It won't happen again. Go to your room, Adison. Please…"
The rejection would've worked better if he meant it. But I could see his hands shaking. See his chest rising and falling too fast. See how carefully he was not looking at me because looking might break whatever resolution he was clinging to.
I stood slowly. "You can lie to yourself all you want, Jake. But your body just told me everything I needed to know."
His jaw clenched hard enough to crack. "Adison—"
"You want me." He stopped when I took a step toward him. "You can dress it up as inappropriate or wrong or whatever helps you sleep at night. But we both know the truth now."
His jaw clenched so hard I thought something might crack. "Adison, you need to leave. Now."
Another step closer, near enough to feel the heat radiating off him, to see his pupils blown wide with desire he couldn't quite hide.
I watched his control fray visibly, saw the war happening behind his eyes, felt the moment he nearly gave in. His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for me, and I knew I was close to breaking through.
But I also knew that if I stayed another second, I'd beg. And begging wasn't how this needed to happen.
So I turned for the door, letting my hips write a promise the night could read. I walked slowly, deliberately, aware of his eyes burning holes in my back.
When I reached the hallway, I glanced over my shoulder and caught his expression—raw and hungry and barely restrained.
"Goodnight, Jake," I said softly. "Thanks for proving my point."