The sun hung low over the McAllister Ranch, its dying light painting the sky in streaks of crimson and gold, like a wound that refused to close. The air was thick with dust, kicked up by the restless hooves of horses in the paddock and the slow, methodical work of the ranch hands finishing their evening chores. The scent of leather, sweat, and hay clung to everything, a familiar perfume that had long since seeped into the walls of the old house. Inside, the kitchen was a battlefield of half-washed dishes, a simmering pot of beans forgotten on the stove, and the sharp, metallic clang of a cabinet door being slammed shut with enough force to rattle the windows.

Sarah stood in the center of it all, her chest rising and falling in quick, sharp breaths, her fists clenched at her sides. The late afternoon light spilled through the window over the sink, casting her in a harsh, unflattering glow. She was a woman built for sin—curves that refused to be tamed, hips that swayed even when she stood still, and a temper that could strip paint off the walls. Her dark blonde hair, usually pinned up in a loose bun, had long since escaped its confines, tendrils clinging to the dampness at the nape of her neck. She wore a thin, sleeveless blouse, the fabric clinging to the sweat between her breasts, and a pair of faded denim jeans that hugged her ass like a second skin. The outfit had started the day neat, presentable. Now, it looked like she’d been wrestling steers in it.

Jake leaned against the doorframe that separated the kitchen from the living room, his broad shoulders nearly spanning the width of it. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his plaid shirt to his elbows, exposing forearms corded with muscle and dusted with dark hair, the veins standing out against his sun-browned skin. His Stetson hung on a peg by the door, leaving his thick, dark hair slightly tousled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it in frustration. His jaw was set, the stubble along it catching the light, and his green eyes—usually warm with humor—were flat, unreadable. He’d been patient. Too patient. But patience, like everything else, had its limits.

“Sarah,” he said, his voice low, the drawl more pronounced when he was tired or annoyed. “That tone ain’t gonna fly.”

She whirled on him, her blue eyes flashing like lightning over storm clouds. “Oh, now you’re gonna lecture me about tone?” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. “You think you know everything, don’t you? Like I’m just some damn child you gotta scold every time I so much as breathe wrong!”

Jake pushed off the doorframe, his boots thudding against the worn wooden floor. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. The quiet danger in it was worse than any shout. “I ain’t lecturin’ you, darlin’. I’m tellin’ you. You’ve been snappin’ at me all damn day, and I let it slide ‘cause I know you’re tired. But you don’t get to talk to me like that. Not in this house.”

Sarah’s nostrils flared. She could feel the heat crawling up her neck, her pulse hammering in her ears. “Maybe if you actually helped instead of just standing there like some goddamn statue, I wouldn’t be so—”

“Enough.” The word cracked through the air like a whip, and she froze mid-sentence, her mouth still open, her breath caught in her throat. Jake didn’t move. He didn’t need to. The authority in his voice pinned her in place better than any rope.

For a second, she looked like she might argue. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers twitching at her sides. But then her shoulders slumped, just slightly, and the fight drained out of her. She turned away, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Fine,” she muttered. “Whatever.”

Jake exhaled through his nose, his patience fraying. “Sarah.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she spun on her heel and stormed toward the screen door, her boots pounding against the floorboards. The door slammed behind her with a sharp snap, the spring hinges groaning in protest. The sound echoed through the house, a punctuation mark on the end of her temper.

Jake stood there for a long moment, listening to the cicadas outside, their shrill song rising and falling in the heavy evening air. He rubbed a hand over his face, the calluses on his palms catching on the stubble along his jaw. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached for the hook by the door and grabbed his hat. He settled it low over his eyes, the brim casting his face in shadow, and stepped out onto the porch.

The evening was cool, the kind of cool that promised a hot day tomorrow. The sky was a deep, bruised purple now, the last of the sunlight bleeding out behind the distant hills. The ranch stretched out before him—fences, pastures, the dark shapes of cattle moving slowly toward the water troughs. The air smelled of earth and grass and the faint, musky scent of horses. Somewhere in the distance, a cow lowed, the sound mournful and drawn out.

Jake descended the porch steps, his boots kicking up little puffs of dust with each step. He didn’t go far. Just to the old willow tree that stood sentinel near the corner of the house, its branches drooping low, brushing the ground like the fingers of a sleepy giant. He crouched down, his thighs straining against the denim of his jeans, and selected a thin, supple branch. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he snapped it free, the wood bending easily in his grip. He stripped away the leaves, his fingers moving with the surety of a man who’d done this more times than he could count.

By the time he stood again, the switch was smooth, flexible, the perfect tool for the job. He tested it against his palm, the sharp whip of it cutting through the evening quiet. Then he turned, leaning back against the willow’s trunk, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.

The screen door creaked open, the hinges whining softly, and Sarah stepped out onto the porch. She’d washed her face, he noted. The anger had been scrubbed away, leaving her skin pink and her eyes red-rimmed, like she’d been rubbing at them. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her fingers digging into her own flesh, as if she needed the pain to keep herself grounded. She saw him then, standing there in the gathering dark, the switch held loosely at his side. Her breath hitched, just slightly, and her steps faltered.

Jake didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just watched her, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

Sarah swallowed hard, her throat working. She stopped a few feet away, her toes curling against the wooden planks of the porch. “Jake,” she started, her voice trembling just a little. “I—”

“You know why I’m here,” he said, cutting her off. His voice was quiet, but it carried, sharp as the switch in his hand.

She flinched, her fingers tightening around her arms. “I know.”

He pushed off the tree, stepping closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. The porch light caught the gold in them, made them gleam like a predator’s in the dark. “You crossed the line, darlin’,” he said, his voice low, almost gentle. “Now, we can talk it out, or you can take what you’ve earned.”

Sarah’s breath came faster, her chest rising and falling under the thin fabric of her blouse. She could feel the heat of him, the way his body radiated warmth even in the cooling evening. Her gaze flicked to the switch, then back to his face. She knew what it would feel like. Knew the sharp, biting sting of it, the way it would make her skin burn, the way it would leave her trembling and wet and ache with the need for his touch afterward. She should argue. Should stand her ground. But the fight had gone out of her, leaving only the raw, exposed nerve of her guilt.

“I…” She wet her lips, her tongue darting out quick and nervous. “I’m sorry. I know I was outta line.”

Jake’s hand came up, his callused fingers cupping her cheek. His thumb brushed over her skin, catching the dampness there. “You’re my good girl, Sarah,” he murmured. “But you gotta learn to rein it in.”

She nodded, her lashes fluttering down. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I know.”

He didn’t say anything else. Didn’t need to. She took his hand, her fingers small and cold against his, and led him to the porch swing. The chains creaked as he sat, the wood groaning under his weight. Then he pulled her down, guiding her over his lap with a firm, unyielding grip. She went easily, her body molding to his, her hips settling over his thighs, her ass presented to him like an offering.

The switch rested against the curve of her backside, the cool wood a stark contrast to the heat of her through her jeans. Jake’s free hand smoothed over her hip, his touch almost tender. “This hurts me more than it hurts you,” he murmured, his breath warm against the shell of her ear.

Sarah shivered, her fingers clenching the edge of the swing. “I know,” she whispered.

Then the first strike landed.

The sound was sharp, a crack like a gunshot in the quiet evening. The pain bloomed instantly, a white-hot brand across her ass, the denim doing little to dull the sting. Sarah gasped, her back arching, her nails digging into the wood. “Fuck—!”

“Count,” Jake said, his voice steady, unyielding.

“One,” she choked out, her breath coming in short, sharp pants.

The second strike followed, just as precise, just as biting. She jerked against him, her thighs pressing together, a traitorous heat pooling between them. “Two!”

He didn’t rush. Didn’t let the strokes blur together. Each one was deliberate, measured, the switch landing with a snap that echoed through the still air. Sarah’s counts came faster, her voice breaking on the higher numbers, tears slipping down her cheeks. By the time she reached ten, her ass was on fire, her body trembling with the effort of staying still.

Jake tossed the switch aside, the wood clattering against the porch. His hand came down, rubbing slow, soothing circles over the heated flesh of her ass. “You okay, darlin’?”

Sarah nodded, her forehead pressing against the swing, her breath hitching. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

He helped her up, his hands gentle as he guided her to straddle his lap. She went willingly, her legs spreading to bracket his hips, her forehead resting against his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other rubbing slow circles over her back. “You’re forgiven,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She let out a shaky breath, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too, brat,” he rumbled, his lips curving against her skin.

For a long moment, they just sat there, the swing creaking softly beneath them, the evening wrapping around them like a blanket. The cicadas sang, the horses shifted in their stalls, and the world kept turning, oblivious to the quiet storm that had passed between them.

Then Jake shifted, his hands sliding down to cup her ass, his fingers pressing into the tender flesh. Sarah gasped, her hips jerking involuntarily. “Sensitive?” he murmured, his voice dark with amusement.

“Bastard,” she breathed, but there was no heat in it.

He chuckled, the sound low and rough, and stood, lifting her with him as if she weighed nothing. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms looping around his neck, and he carried her inside, kicking the screen door shut behind them.

The house was dim, the only light coming from the lamp in the living room, casting long shadows across the floor. Jake didn’t bother with the bedroom. He set her down on the couch, the leather cool against her heated skin, and knelt between her legs. His hands went to the hem of her blouse, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her stomach as he pulled it up, over her head, tossing it aside. Her bra followed, the straps sliding down her arms, the cups falling away to reveal her breasts—full, heavy, the nipples already tight with arousal.

Sarah’s breath hitched as his hands came up, his palms cupping the weight of her, his thumbs brushing over the stiff peaks. “So fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost reverent.

She arched into his touch, her head falling back against the couch, her fingers tangling in his hair. “Jake,” she breathed, her voice already thick with need.

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, his mouth closed over one nipple, his tongue swirling, his teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. His free hand slid down, popping the button of her jeans, the zipper following with a slow, deliberate pull. She lifted her hips, helping him drag the denim down her legs, taking her panties with them. The cool air hit her bare pussy, the dampness there already slick, already aching for him.

Jake groaned against her breast, the vibration making her whimper. “Fuck, you’re soaked,” he murmured, his fingers sliding through her folds, gathering the wetness there. “Already so wet for me.”

Sarah’s thighs trembled, her hips rocking into his touch. “Please,” she begged, her voice broken. “I need you.”

He didn’t make her wait. His fingers worked between her legs, two of them sliding inside her with a slow, deliberate thrust. She cried out, her back arching, her nails digging into his shoulders. He curled his fingers, finding that spot inside her that made her see stars, and her breath came in sharp, desperate gasps.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips trailing down her stomach, his breath hot against her skin. “Take what you need, darlin’.”

She was close. So close. Her muscles clenched around his fingers, her thighs shaking, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. But then he pulled back, his touch disappearing, leaving her empty, aching.

“Jake—!” she protested, her voice raw.

He chuckled, the sound dark and knowing, as he stood, stripping off his shirt, his boots, his jeans. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the head already glistening with pre-cum. Sarah’s mouth watered at the sight of it, her pussy clenching with the need to be filled.

He knelt again, his hands sliding under her knees, spreading her wider. “You want this?” he asked, his voice a rough growl as he guided the head of his cock through her folds, teasing her entrance.

“Yes,” she gasped, her hips lifting, trying to take him in. “God, yes.”

He didn’t make her beg again. With one slow, deliberate thrust, he filled her completely, his cock stretching her, filling her so deeply she could feel him in her throat. Sarah cried out, her fingers clawing at his back, her legs locking around his waist.

Jake groaned, his forehead pressing against hers, his breath coming in harsh, ragged bursts. “Fuck, you feel good,” he growled. “So tight. So mine.”

She could only whimper in response, her body already winding tight, her orgasm coiling low in her belly. He moved slowly, his thrusts deep and measured, each one dragging against that spot inside her that made her vision blur. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into the still-tender flesh of her ass, the sting only heightening the pleasure.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice a dark whisper against her ear. “Let me feel you.”

Sarah shattered.

Her orgasm crashed over her like a wave, her body clenching around him, her cry muffled against his shoulder. Jake followed her over, his release a deep, shuddering thing, his cock pulsing inside her as he filled her with hot, thick cum. She could feel it, the wet heat of him spilling into her, marking her, claiming her.

They stayed like that for a long moment, their breaths slowly evening out, their bodies still tangled together. Then Jake pulled back just enough to press a soft kiss to her lips, his hand cupping her face.

“I love you,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the lines of his face.

He smiled, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “I love you too, brat.”

Outside, the cicadas sang on, the ranch quiet and still around them. And for the first time all day, Sarah felt at peace.