Page 133 of Double Bucked

No, it’s more like…winning.

It’s more like…

Your cowboy is now my cowboy, too.

“How does she taste?” Everett asks.

“Sweet as honey,” Ransom mumbles. The stretch in his denim is working double time.

“Feel her,” Everett instructs. “Feel how wet she is.”

Ransom pivots. His brown eyes meet my own. He climbs onto the bed and cups my cheek. His breath tickles my face. He catches my lips in his and I can taste it. I can taste me in his kiss. I relish in his familiarity. The way he claims me is rough and urgent. I push my mouth against his, their eager plaything.

Ransom’s hand slips between my legs. I gasp as he fondles my sex and, boldly, slips a finger inside of me. “He was right,” Ransom says. “You’re soaking, princess.”

I whimper. My thighs close around Ransom’s arm.

He tilts his gaze upward. “Y’like watching me finger her, you filthy bastard?”

Oh shit.

I’ve never heard anyone talk to Everett like that and get away with it.

But Everett grins. He slips his hand over my hair. He grabs a handful of it and grips. It tugs tightly at my scalp and pulls a gasp from me. “Not as much as I’m going to enjoy watching you fuck her.”

His voice is a dark, syrupy thing, and it goes right between my legs.

“I need something first.” Ransom removes his hand from my cunt. He points to the closet. “Toss me my jacket.”

Everett does. Ransom nods to me. “Flip, princess,” he says.

I twist over onto my belly. His knee wedges between my thigh. I gasp at the pressure. I find myself grinding against it.

The low, throaty chuckle from Ransom makes me ache. He smacks my ass—a quick, chastising swat. “Settle down now.”

Like I’m some animal to be tamed. I bite the mattress to keep myself from growling.

These men have made me feral.

Ransom’s jacket hits the bed. I hear him riffle through the pockets, and then I feel his fingers in my hair. They pull back my hair from my scalp. They make quick work, crisscrossing the strands into a neat braid.

Licking my pussy. Using me. The way they look at me, talk about me, and touch me makes me burn and writhe.

But this…

When Ransom gets his fingers in my hair and braids it back, it puts me into a trance.

When he finishes, it’s as though I’ve been wrapped up in a blanket of peace. Normally, my body is buzzing, primed to fight. When Ransom cinches off the braid with a band, something in me releases. My body relaxes. I want to be touched. I want to be used. I want them to mold me like clay with their strong, capable hands. I’m ready for anything.

Anything.

“Up,” Ransom says, so I sit up.

He’s holding a yard of rope looped in his hands.

“Show me how good girls pray,” he tells me.

I can’t help the smile that crosses my lips. We’re anything but good right now. I fold my hands in prayer position at my chest. He gets to work, looping the rope around my wrists, locking me into place. My blood goes hot at the wonderfully familiar sensation of itchy rope around my bare skin.

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