Page 33 of Montana's Bravest

His hands travel the length of my back, caressing my skin. His hips follow the wave of my movement with perfect timing—it feels effortless as if he does it by instinct. My core is lavished with pleasurable pulses, amplifying every stroke and touch.

“I’m almost there, Cass.”

“I’m ready, baby.”

As the rhythm drives his hip up, he pulls me down so my pelvic floor is glued to him. Inside, he has gone so deep that every side of my walls are stretched. Not having an orgasm with this man is impossible—especially now that he has quickened the pace and thrust harder. My core convulses around his cock as he bucks against me.

“God… Cassidy…” He groans as he releases.

I falter forward, bouncing against his hard pecs. My toes curl like aspen leaves in the sun, my thighs tighten against his sides, milking the pleasure that’s still trapped within me.

Sam straightens my cowering body so he can reach my crown and kiss it. He keeps kissing while my head bobs up and down following his vigorous panting.

“Cassidy…” he murmurs.

I’m too weak to respond. He’s still in me and I’m in no hurry to leave him. I will bask in his warmth, and the glorious peak he has granted me, for as long as I can.

As drowsiness takes over, I roll off to his side. I must’ve fallen asleep for a while.

My eyelids flutter open to find Sam tracing lines through my hair

“Where have you been all my life?” he asks.

“Roaming. I don’t stay in one place long.”

A kiss lands softly on my brow, his lips questioning. “Ever think about settling down?”

I play with one of his nipples—they’re erect, probably still recovering. “Never say never. I’m known to be unpredictable.”

“Huh?” he sniggers. “Tell me something about you that you think will surprise me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Everything.” Then I nudge myself up, propping my head with my hand. “I won the Kalispell Barrel Racing Championship twice in a row.”

“Kalispell?”

“I was born and raised there.”

“Barrel racing you said? I presume it’s got something to do with horses?” he asks.

“Huh! You really are from New York.”

He cackles, glancing at the ceiling as if trying to remember how tall the buildings are in the Big Apple.

“Guess I’ve still got dirt to shake off from the city sidewalks,” he responds gleefully, then gives my lips a quick peck. “So, what do you have to do to win this barrel race?”

“Basically fly without leaving the ground.” I crack a smile. “You and your horse run a cloverleaf pattern around barrels. Fastest to complete the round wins.”

He scoffs in amusement. Then I feel his palms engulfing my ass cheeks, squeezing them. “Is that why you chose cowgirl?”

I pinch his nipple, my way of acknowledging his proficiency in sex position lingo.

He admits, “That’s about the extent of this New Yorker’s riding skills. Barely managed a pony ride at Central Park.”

“I’ll show you the ropes.”

“I’d rather not be the death of some poor beast.”

His laughter gives way to a thoughtful silence, his eyes searching for something more. “Why did you stay, Cass? Why me?”

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