Thrill of the Hunt

By Jeffrey Kosh

Alexa, a stunning beauty is prisoner of her own marriage, because JT knows how to keep her on the leash. Yet, lately, something is challenging her master’s sway, attacking horses and fading in the dark.
So, when a sizzlin’ hot cowboy shows up at the farm looking for work, she dreams more than getting inside his tight jeans.
Meet Slade Carver, handsome drifting cowboy with a dark past. Raised as a hunter, he’s bagged more than he bargained for. Now, he just wants to stay away from troubles, but can’t help when he sets his eyes on Alexa. However, nothing is as it seems in this hot erotic novel of rough sex, dangerous hunts, and betrayal.
Who's hunting who?

From Jeffrey Kosh, author of various horror stories, comes this erotic thriller that will leave you breathless with its shocking ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeffrey Kosh
• Release date: Jul 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476279435

Jeffrey Kosh

Jeffrey Kosh is the pen name of an author of three novels, some novelettes, and a long series of short stories. Perhaps best known for his horror fiction, Jeffrey also writo erotica and likes to experience different paths. His works have been published by Alexandria Publishing Group, Grinning Skull Press, May-December Publications, EFW, and Optimus Maximus Publishing. He is a full-time graphic artist, creating book covers and movie posters for professional publishers and filmmakers. His short story ‘HAUNT’ was featured in the ‘FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE’ anthology, while ‘ROAD OFF’ became the lead in the ‘SCARE PACKAGE’ anthology. His debut novel, ‘FEEDING THE URGE’ is now at its fourth incarnation and has been expanded and remastered with a different ending. His most successful novel of late is THE HAUNTER OF THE MOOR, published by Optimus Maximus Publishing.

Book preview

First Edition

Copyright 2012 Jeffrey Kosh

Published by the Alexandria Publishing Group

Edited by Natalie G. Owens

ISBN: 9781476279435

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

DEDICATION

QUOTE

THRILL OF THE HUNT

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

BIOGRAPHY

Dedicated to

ARIZONA

The Grand Canyon State

The Female of the Species

And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him

Must command but may not govern—shall enthral but not enslave him.

And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail,

That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

THRILL OF THE HUNT

CHAPTER ONE

I killed the engine and let my Harley slide on the macadam until the front wheel touched the road’s edge. Then, I lazily glanced over the horizon, shielding my eyes with the right hand from the harsh glare of desert’s sun.

There it was; the farm I was looking for.

I’d found the ad stitched on the greasy wall of a local dinner. ‘Hand needed’ it said, followed by an out-of-town address and a cell number. I was looking for a temp job, so hadn’t wasted time and called this Mr. Rutherford at once. A woman had answered my call, but she had been immediately interrupted by a harsher and masculine voice.

Ya just don’t git it, do ya? Keep yer hands off my mobile, Alexa.

That had been followed by muffled sounds, as if she was trying to cover the mike with a hand, and then the guy had clearly forced the device out of the woman’s grip.

Who's there? Clearer, but still harsh.

I told him I was interested in his offer and he invited me over to the ranch.

Must see if y’ve the right balls for the job, boy. Then he had given me directions.

So, I had followed Rutherford’s hints to reach this Bent R Ranch and in less than twenty minutes I spotted the whitewashed wooden walls of the farmer’s homestead.

I left the bike and went straight yonder the tall fence surrounding the property. All I could see was neglect. The place was a real mess.

Sawgrass grew everywhere in large, quarrelsome lumps, defying concrete and cultivated lands alike. A weathered corral, in need of urgent maintenance, held a of unkempt horses, while a series of empty rabbit cages had collapsed under their own weight. The homestead itself appeared in need of repairs, with paint peeling away like a snake shedding its skin. A couple of windows lacked shutters, and the last were leaning against the building like a pair of lazy truckers in a rest area. No doubt the owner was in need of help.

I adjusted my Stetson, getting advantage of hat’s shade, then turned my gaze to the left, checking the barn. Same misery there – the faded red and white thing sag on the side, and the roof showed some gaping holes.

Man, I was looking for a job, but this was crazy. Rutherford would do better at mothballing the place and build a new one from scratch.

I started to backtrack to my bike, shaking my head in disbelief at the ruins this ole fart called a ranch, when I took notice of something, or rather someone.

Mother of Jesus!

The chick that came out of the barn was something you don’t see every day, I reckon.

She was five-feet-and-something, with a mane of flaxen blonde hair coming out of her black Stetson. Her curvy body was firm but slender, highlighted by the tightest jeans I’d ever seen gracing a woman’s bottom, fastened by a golden belt which cast fiery sparks in the sun’s brightness. Better more was her upper half, because she wore a sleeveless white linen shirt tied just under the bosom, exposing abdominals so flat and sexy you couldn’t avoid thinking how they’d feel when yours met hers in a belly-bangs-belly match. She had tucked her ass-squeezing pants inside a pair of black boots with high heels that caused her calves to lengthen in her strut, and I found myself envying those lucky jeans.

She walked to an old well, swinging her tail end like a puma. It was a very hot day and the poor missy was sweating hard. She looked for temporary coolness in the chilly waters by reeling up a bucket and pouring some on her uncovered flesh. Even from that distance I could clearly see her firm nipples straining against the wet fabric.

I felt a bulge taking shape below the waist of my torn and faded jeans.

God if I wanted her!

Who was she? Mr. Rutherford’s daughter, maybe? A niece, or little sissy?

His … wife?

Nah, the guy sounded like he was sixty or seventy, and that hot girl looked to be in her late twenties.

I pushed my sunglasses on the nose’s ridge as I wiped off pearly drops of sweat, and narrowed my eyes to better take in her features.

Luckily, I have excellent vision — I can shoot a squirrel in the eye from two hundred yards — a gift from my demanding father first and my hunter’s career next.

She looked Eastern European or Swedish, maybe Russian. Intriguing anyway.

Now, my vision can be good, but a binocular’s better, so I rushed to my Harley, got my pair from the left saddle, and quickly backed to the fence, unwilling to lose a single instant of that unexpected sexy show.

She hadn’t stopped. She kept wetting, getting drencher and drencher. Liquid rivulets drag-raced on her belly, curving around the navel and merging into a single stream