Page 20 of Auctioned to the Cowboys

It takes a lot to hold back the powerful urge I have to claim her. In a heartbeat, I could lift her off her feet and carry her up the stairs. I could tear her clothes from her sweet body and explore and taste every inch of her. I could fill her, but I need confirmation it's what she wants.

Her breathy moan as I pull away, and the curl of her fingers to grip my shirt, tells me all I need to know.

She's ready.

She wants this.

And I'm going to eat her up.

“Hold that thought,” I say gruffly, already imagining peeling her out of her frumpy outfit and destroying her. “When the timer goes off, and those muffins are safely out of the oven, it's on. I'm going to take you upstairs and show you what it means to be my woman.”

She nods, but there's a flicker of fear in her eyes as I take a step back, needing to put some distance between us before I risk burning the house down for another kiss that'll end in me carrying Taylor to my bedroom.

The minutes it will take for the muffins to bake are minutes she can sort through her thoughts. When I go back into the kitchen, I'll ask for her confirmation. There will be no doubt either way.

I have some paperwork to deal with, so I head to the backroom, where my desk is positioned looking out over the yard. I can barely concentrate on what I'm doing, and my ears strain for the ring of the timer. Between my legs, my cock is semi-hard in anticipation but a little delayed gratification never did a man any harm.

I'm filing the last of my paperwork when the noise I've been waiting for travels from the kitchen.

It's time.

I find Taylor placing the cooked muffins on a wooden board to cool. The warm cinnamon, vanilla, and berry scents are enough to get my taste buds going again, but what I really want to put my mouth on is Taylor.

She hears my footsteps and turns, facing me with parted lips and flushed cheeks. I cup her jaw and lean in close. Her pulse thrums against my hand, a nervous pounding that sends a shiver up my spine.

“Can I take you upstairs?” I ask.

Without hesitation, she answers, “Yes.”

When I scoop her into my arms, she grabs my shoulders for stability, but she's safe in my embrace. Safe until I decide otherwise. I climb the stairs fast, like a firefighter on his way to a rescue. I take her into my room and lay her on my bed, kissing her mouth as I run my hand under her shirt, finding the soft, warm skin of her rounded breasts.

She moans, grabbing onto my shoulder, her hands moving over my flanks until they rest on my ass.

I silently curse at her perfection and my desperation to explore. Finding myself losing control isn't where I like to be. I'm forty, so nothing should feel this burning and new. I've had more than my fair share of women. I even loved some of them. But the urge to fill Taylor with my dick and my child is primal. My desire to hear the happy sounds of children in this house is so deep I’m crazy with it.

My desire to claim this woman so that she knows running isn't an option makes my hands tremble.

“Taylor.” I murmur her name against her neck, and she sighs as my erection presses against the apex of her thighs. “This is okay?”

She nods, and I kiss her deeply, wondering about her acceptance of this strange arrangement we've brought her into. She's gone from being single to married to having three lovers without any objection. She's willing to take us all despite our differing looks and ages. I'm old enough to be her daddy, but her hips are shifting against me, seeking friction. I know I can take care of her in a way that no boy her age could. I know she’s safe with me, and I want to show her.

“I'm going to make it feel so good,” I tell her, pushing up her shirt and pressing a kiss between her breasts. She's spilling out of her bra, as though she's outgrown it but hasn't updated her size. She needs clothes and it's something we'll rectify as soon as we can. No woman of mine will ever go without what she needs.

When I ease her nipple free and circle it with my tongue, she grabs my shoulder and holds me in a vice-like grip.

Oh, my sweet girl likes that. She likes it a lot.

I move between her nipples, teasing with circling licks and nipping with my teeth. Taylor squirms beneath me, craving more, and I grind into her pussy like she's my prom date and dry humping is our only option. But her whimpering drives me crazy, and soon, I'm tearing off her shirt and mine and struggling us both out of our pants.

I loom over her when she's naked. She rests her arms over her chest, shy of my gaze. There's no artifice in her action, no coyness. Her innocence throbs between us like a pulse.

Even though Clint has already claimed her, this still feels like a first time. My hand on her thigh is so tanned and rough, and her skin is so pale and smooth. Her youth sings from every part of her, as my maturity does from me.

“Show me,” I say, nodding at her concealed breasts. A flush climbs her cheeks, but she acts on my instruction perfectly, revealing her tight, rosy-tipped nipples and gently curved tits. There's a mark left behind by Clint that swells my cock. “Good girl,” I whisper, letting my fingers explore the wet, warm place between her thighs. She shivers at my praise, her eyes holding mine, searching.

“Play with those sweet nipples,” I urge, and when she does, tentatively, making my cock kick between my thighs, I reward her with more praise. “That's it. That's so perfect, Taylor. You're so perfect.”

She shivers again, and a little gasp escapes her lips. She likes words of affirmation, but it's more than that.

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