Page 38 of Claimed By the Cowboys
Clay had seemingly decided his logical brain was also going on vacation because, with that hungry look in his eye, I doubted he was going to be stopping anytime soon.
Our movements were frantic and rushed. There was no romantic undressing or even taking the time to appreciate one another.
Clay’s T-shirt got ripped over his head, and his jeans shoved down just enough for his cock to spring free. My nails dug into his shoulders as I pulled him into me, his cock lining up perfectly.
“I won’t go gently, omega,” he growled in warning.
I didn’twanthim to.
The first thrust shattered my mind.
I had experienced rather sizable alphas—Zeke’s meat monster had left my poor pussy sore in the best way for days, a constant reminder of what we had done.
But Clayton?
He was harder than any cock ought to be and… textured? There was cold, hard metal scraping inside me, and it was massaging my internal walls.
“What the fuck?” I gasped, clutching his shoulders.
“Piercings.” He smirked. “Can you handle them?”
Piercings? I never in a million years would have thought Clayton, of all people, would have piercings! Zeke, I could totally see doing it. Dakota, if he had a few drinks, maybe…
But Clay? He was so straight-laced.
“Warning would have been nice,” I panted.
“Where’s the fun in that? Fuck, you’re so tight.” He pulled back, and now I knew what was raking against my walls, I could appreciate it that much more.
The metal was cooler than the flesh of his cock, the differing temperatures causing chaos of the best kind.
Despite the soreness, I met him thrust for thrust. I craved it, needed it, in fact. It was rough, animalistic, and messy.
I had been so close to release that, almost immediately, the pressure started to build again.
“You’re tightening around me so beautifully, omega,” he praised, nipping at my earlobe.
His cock was throbbing, making the piercings press even deeper into my walls.
How would it feel if he knotted me?
Our hips crashed together frantically, both of us desperately chasing our release.
“Take my knot,” he growled as he started to expand, and I was done for.
The stretch had been just as good as the other Blackwood men, but this was even more maddening, thanks to the variety of textures.
Wave after wave of release hit me, and I thanked my lucky stars that I was sitting on the counter and being held up by Clay’s arms, because otherwise, I doubted my legs would have held up.
My legs wrapped around Clayton’s waist, holding him in place, even as his knot expanded and he locked himself into me.
“Jesus, fuck,” he muttered, twitching as he rested his forehead on my shoulder, coming down from his own high.
It dawned on me that we were locked together.
And we didn’t particularly like each other.
I was about to open my mouth, to saysomethingto break up the silence, when the clatter of little feet could be heard overhead, followed by a sweet voice screaming, “Daddy C! I want to show you Dolly!”
