Page 240 of Ride a Cowboy

“Get us the hell out of here, Mark,” Matt demanded when it looked like they’d surround the vehicle.

Mark pulled out into traffic, causing a taxicab to slam on its brakes and blare the horn. “Jesus,” he muttered. “The drivers in this city are fucking crazy.”

He’d had the same complaint this morning. The lawyers had hoped a verdict would be reached today. They’d suggested she bring her own transportation home rather than risk being followed by the swarms of reporters onto the subway system. It had been good advice.

“Maybe you should pull over and let me take it from here,” Bridget suggested when she noticed Mark’s white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. She’d learned to drive on these mean streets. She could maneuver her way through traffic like a pro.

Mark shook his head, then mumbled another curse when a large truck cut into his lane. “No. I’ll get us back to your apartment.”

She grinned. Her guys had been troopers, accompanying her to New York, staying in her tiny apartment under protective custody with her. They’d endured the traffic jams, crowds, and dreary weather. She’d never seen two men less attuned to life in the city, yet they’d never complained once. Never been anything less than completely supportive of her and what she needed to do.

“Who were the guys talking to you before the horde of reporters descended?” Matt asked.

“Oh. One man was the police chief. He wanted me to tell Rodney his job would be waiting for him after he recuperated.”

Neither man replied to that. They all knew Rodney faced a long road to recovery before that could happen. His arm had been badly injured by the bullet, many of the nerves destroyed. Caleb had confided last night on the phone he feared Rodney would never recover full use of the arm.

Bridget’s heart ached at the thought. Rodney had risked his life and his career to keep her safe. In the end, he’d nearly died taking a bullet meant for her, and now perhaps he’d never be able to use his arm again. It wasn’t fair.

Chalk up another strike against her and her damn ambition. Lyle gave his life so that she could achieve her dream job, and now there was a good chance Rodney had sacrificed his own future for her. How many lives had she wrecked in her attempts to get what she wanted?

“Who was the other fella? The one in the cheap suit?”

She laughed at Matt’s description. Her editor in chief was the epitome of bad taste, complete with long sideburns and a comb-over. “My boss.” She swallowed heavily, then continued, “He offered me a promotion to the news staff, my own office, even a raise.”

“Hey,” Mark said, glancing in the rearview mirror at her. “That’s great.”

“Yeah,” she said. The news didn’t feel any better now than it had when she’d been offered the job. In fact, it felt terribly wrong. A year ago she would have been dancing in the street after such an offer.

It was Lyle’s last gift to her. She’d gotten exactly what she’d always wanted. The old saying “Be careful what you wish for…” drifted through her mind. How could she turn the job down knowing it was Lyle’s greatest hope for her? That he’d given his life so that she’d have this chance?

Even Rodney had risked his own career to see her brought safely back to New York, to this future. Rodney’s voice drifted through her mind. You’ll be the greatest reporter New York City has ever seen.

They rode in silence the rest of the way to her apartment, the quietness stifling.

Matt took her hand as they walked up the stairs to her third-floor apartment. It was the first time since her return to the city there hadn’t been a cop positioned outside her door.

“Free at last,” she whispered.

Matt squeezed her hand.

They entered the apartment. The second the door closed behind him, Mark reached for her arm and pulled her into his embrace. He kissed her so hard her lips stung. She relished the pain, shared his need for raw, hard, no-holds-barred sex.

She gripped the hem of Mark’s long-sleeved shirt and pulled it over his head. Matt was behind her in an instant, ripping first her coat, then her shirt off with haste.

“Naked,” Mark demanded. None of them needed more instruction than that. She unhooked her pants, stripping them off with her panties. Matt and Mark followed suit, and within seconds they were all undressed and reaching for each other.

Mark dropped to his knees in front of her, lifting her legs over his shoulders, holding her open to his hungry mouth as Matt supported her weight with strong arms wrapped around her chest. He gripped her breasts roughly, pulling and squeezing the aching flesh as he placed a long line of hot, wet kisses along the side of her neck. She felt him suck the sensitive skin beneath her ear and knew he was marking her. She didn’t care. She wanted the world to know, needed them to know, that she belonged to these two men, and that they belonged to her.

Mark’s tongue drove into her dripping pussy and she cried out. He fucked her with his lips, his teeth, his tongue, driving her to the now familiar heights she’d never achieved with another man. These men were made for her.

“God,” she said, gasping for breath. Matt tightened his arms, gripping her more securely. She wasn’t sure how he was managing to keep hold of her. Mark was driving her insane and her body was gyrating out of control.

“Come for him, sweetheart. Let him have a taste of you. Then I’m going to put you on your hands and knees and fuck you from behind.” Matt’s erotic whispers combined with Mark’s wicked mouth cast her into white-hot bliss. She cried out and trembled, her orgasm coming so hard and fast her bones shook.

Matt, true to his word, barely gave her time to come down from heaven before he had her on the floor in front of him. He slid into her from behind as her fingers clenched against the rug, looking for purchase. There were no preliminaries—just raw, hard, deep thrusts. She loved it.

Mark’s legs appeared in front of her and she realized she needed more. She looked up, beckoned him closer with her hungry eyes. Mark knelt before her and she took his cock into her mouth.

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