5
LACEY
Somehow, I’d made it twenty-six years without getting on a horse. I’d been fine with that, hadn’t known it would be remotely interesting. I’d been completely wrong. I was enjoying it a whole heck of a lot. Of course, I never imagined riding between two Marlboro men—minus the cigarettes and ten times the s*x appeal—either. That made all the difference. I was practically drooling at the way their strong thigh muscles were blatantly visible beneath taut jeans. Their hips rocked with the gentle motion of the horses and had me wonder what else they could do with them. Not the horses, their hips. And their hands holding the reins? Gah.
I had no idea I had a hand fetish until now. I definitely noticed the lack of wedding rings. I spent the first hour just silently ogling them. I had to
