Page 42 of Cowboy

My lower belly swirls with the anticipation of all we’ll do. Or it might be that Bull lifts me only a little and then slams me back down on him. He guides me to draw him deep and then lift to the tip, threatening to release him. It’s a teasing game of torture, and I love it, but I need more.

“You touch yourself?”

“I . . .” I don’t know how to answer him. Do I admit that all these weeks of wanting him has left me with a heavy finger workout? Do I tell him he’s been the center of every fantasy? Do I confess how even the slight nearness of him has had me so worked up, some nights I think I’ll hardly make it to bed before I combust?

“Do it. Now.” His command sends a thrill through me, and I reach for the tight nub, working it frantically as he slides me up and down his thickness.

This is a big dick, I want to scream to the mirror, briefly recalling Shelton’s words. I only peek at our reflection for a second because the scene is too much. I’m a woman gone wild at forty, and I’m falling for the man behind me.

“Bull,” I groan, getting so close.

“I can’t wait to feel you explode all over me, milking me with your tight—”

“If a cow reference comes next—”

“Pussy,” he mutters, and I break, shuttering with the release. A noise echoes in the room, and I realize I’ve been screaming out his name like a prayer of gratitude. Falling forward, I brace a hand on the bed between his thighs as he hammers into me, thrusting upward as I fall back down over him.

“Sweetheart,” he hisses once before stilling me. I look up at the mirror again, and his face strains behind me. A vein stands out in his neck. His fingers dig into the fleshy part just above my hips. His eyes are closed, but the lids pop open, and he catches me watching him. With a slow smile on his lips, he leans forward, sucking at my shoulder while his sight remains on mine through the mirror. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

The compliment is a heavy one, said with honesty and confusion, as if he’s startled at the truth of what he’s said. I blush. Not from the position we’re in but from his sincerity.

“You’re so sweet, Bull Eaton.”

“And you’re delicious,” he mutters, dragging his teeth over my shoulder once more before pressing a kiss to the raked skin. “And now I really need a shower.”

He chuckles, forcing himself to jiggle inside me, and we both feel the rumble from our joined attachment. I lean forward a bit more to release him, and Bull laughs.

“You are one dirty momma,” he teases.

“I will not be calling you dirty daddy,” I say, shivering with the thought. Bull helps me to shift off him, and we both scoot to the end of the bed.

“Just as long as I’m still Sprout’s daddy, you can call me anything you want.” He brushes back my wild hair, partially air-dried from our romp, and presses a quick kiss to my lips.

As Bull exits the room, I reach for the towel dropped to the floor and wonder if I can ever call him mine.

13

Inside Her or Insider

Bull

More than two months have passed with Scarlett in my bed every night. Her body is beside mine, and I outline her changing shape as she lies on her side. The “baby bump,” as she calls it, is present, but a simple glance at her and you still can’t tell she’s pregnant. She’s taken to wearing some of my T-shirts as dresses or summer smocks, also her word, as she continues to work at the Busy Bean. Our hours remain early, with me milking cows starting at four in the morning and her shoving off to work by five thirty. I’d love for her to quit the coffee shop and work around the farm more as we can always use the extra hands. She doesn’t need to work for money. I have plenty to take care of her, but she continues to like the job even if she isn’t trained in baking pastries or making coffee.

“It’s early,” she mutters in front of me as her back presses against my chest. My hand continues to skim over her hip and toward her belly again, just feeling the heat of her skin. Summer’s warming up, and the open windows let in cool relief in the dawn hours.

Scarlett gave me a leather wrist cuff with a single silver washer on it with Sprout engraved in the metal. It’s a father-to-be gift. I don’t wear it while I work, worried it will get caught on something and snap, but I slip it in my pocket every day and return it to my wrist as I return home. It tickles against her skin, and I lean forward to suck at her neck.

“Bull, babe, whatcha doing?” Her sleepy voice hints having sex might be the last thing on her mind, but I can’t seem to get enough of her. I’m like a sex-crazed teen around her, and I’ve been questioning if her pregnancy hormones are somehow contagious. I wouldn’t say I have a pregnant woman fetish, but something about Scarlett and her changing body turns me on.

“Thinking of you,” I whisper to her sleep-moist skin. “But it’s early. Go back to sleep for a bit.” I’m ready to get out of bed when her hand catches mine over her belly, and she moves it upward under her T-shirt to cover the heavy swell of one breast. Scarlett already had nice tits, but their growth is just as mouthwatering as everything else. Filling my mitt, I massage the one. At times, she’s told me they are extra sensitive, almost aching, so I’m gentle at first, cupping the weight, smoothing over her hardening nipple. With her fingers over mine, she forces me to pinch her.

“What are you doing?” I tease as she purrs while I stroke and tug at the ripe tip. Shifting her to her back, I lift the T-shirt and latch onto her, sucking as much as I can. She overflows my mouth, but I leave no inch untouched, licking at her, slurping at the globe, wondering what she’ll taste like when the baby comes.

“Is it wrong that I want a taste once you lactate?”

“Are you comparing me to a cow again?” she mutters, a quiet chuckle mixing with her irritation.

“It’s just such a marvel to me, and as milking is my business, I want to experience it.”