Page 109 of For Cowgirls and Kings
Three dots pop up, floating, and then disappear. I smirk at his obvious restraint.
ME: I want you to fuck me while I’m asleep. Not like playing asleep, actually asleep. I want to wake up to your cock buried inside of me. Tie me up, gag me, and use my body. Take away my senses, beyond the feeling of your fat cock taking and taking and taking from my pussy until I’m raw.
I watch the text disappear down the invisible line, to where Mateo’s sitting somewhere downstairs. I hold my breath, hoping to hear his reaction, and to my surprise, I do.
“Fuck, Dale.” It’s barely there, but when Stetson turns to face me, her eyebrows raised to her hairline, I know she heard him too. I shoot her a sheepish grin.
“I told him to fuck me when I’m sleeping,” I share, desperately wanting to open up even as it feels like I’m peeling my skin back with a butter knife.
“Kinky.” She winks. My phone buzzes again, and I look down at it, trying and failing to ignore the arousal slicking the inside of my thighs. I know if I stood up right now, there would be a stain on the chair from it leaking through the black robes Stetson gave us to get ready in.
Mateo: Yes, cowgirl.
I exhale a shaky breath, closing the text chain, and slide the phone away from me on the dresser. I clap my hands together, shooting Stetson a grin, right as Faith reenters with a bottle of champagne and glasses.
“Let’s get you ready to go meet the monster!”
The song changes, the soft notes of some haunting melody filling the small speakers, announcing Stetson’s entrance. The few people present are already standing—Faith and I stand on the left, Mateo and McCrae on the right. There’s no guests, and if I’m being honest I’m not sure if McCrae was invited or just showed up. I didn’t have a chance to ask Stetson when I saw him, and Gus has made no move to acknowledge him that I’m aware of.
It’s just us—the small broken family we’re building—and the local preacher. I first laughed when Stetson told me they were having a preacher at their small backyard gathering, but she’d been set on it. She said that it was the Big Guy who intertwined their fates, so he should have a role in their day.
I love the simplicity of it all; the raw sentiment of having only the people who actually matter present, instead of making it some kind of production. It feels more monumental like this,more magnified on the true purpose—these two obsessive, crazy people who love each other more than any person has a right to.
And I get to be here for it.
That has to mean something.
The thought makes me ache for my family—or the family I wish they were. I haven’t spoken to my mom in weeks, not after our last phone call, and she hasn’t made a move to contact me either. For the first time in my life, she seems truly lost for words, and even though I’m grateful for the reprieve, I’m also so angry. I’ve seen what people who truly love each other will do to protect them, will do to comfort and love them. And my family’s done none of that.
I’ve always felt like I had an amazing family, full of so much love that it hurts. But now I’m not so sure. Not when I see the way Gus loves Stetson, or the way I love them both. They’d kill for each other, and I’d kill for anyone here.
That’s family to me. And it’s heartbreaking to realize that’s never what I’ve had with the one I was born to.
A tear races across my cheek as I turn to face Stetson making her way down the porch steps to where we’re all standing in the entry of the newly built barn. Horses nicker in the background, their pawing and whinnies mixing with the music, a warm spring Texas breeze whistling through the boards of the barn.
My heart pinches at the beauty of the moment, and I sneak a peek at Gus, even as I hear Stetson’s boots crunching over the sand right outside.
He looks devilishly handsome—more cleaned up than normal, his face trimmed back into a short mustache that Stetson’s made more than one comment about loving. He’s dressed in dark pressed jeans and a white button down with pearlescent snaps down the front, tied together with a new black belt, his Stock Show Buckle in the center. Gus isn’t wearing a hat today,and his curls, although trimmed back some, rustle in the breeze dancing over his dark eyes.
His eyes are so glued to the entrance of the barn that I’m not sure he’s even blinking, and his lips are pressed together in a firm line; not a scowl or a smile, but more like a look of control. Like he’s trying to keep from falling apart.From crying.
The only break in his normally stoic characteristics is the incessant bob of his Adam’s apple, like he’s swallowing over and over, and his hands are clasped at his waist, knuckles white.
I have half a mind to walk over and hug him.
In the next moment he goes a little more rigid, blinking, and a single tear races across his cheek. It’s wiped away before it even skitters over his cheek bone, but the sentiment alone is enough to make more tears well, hot and heavy in my own eyes. Faith sniffles behind me, clearly trying and failing to contain water works of her own.
As I turn to find Stetson’s figure, my eyes trace first over McCrae, who’s gaze doesn’t waver from his little brothers, a blank look painted like an iron mask across his face. But his eyes are anything but blank—they blaze with desperation, but desperation for what, I don’t know.
My eyes then clash into a pair of warm brown ones, their familiar heat branding into my soul like a hot iron. I only allow myself a moment to stare at him, an unspoken acknowledgment of wanting passing between us like a live wire, before I put my attention solely on Stetson.
She’s breathtaking.
Stetson walks into the barn, her curves draped in soft cream fabric. The top of the dress is a square neckline—simple but classy—the bottom soft and flowy, melting over the shape of her ass and the bump at her adorable belly. A small jeweled belt sits above said bump, and black boots cover her feet. She left her hair down and curled, just like Gus likes it as she had said, butpulled one side back with a jeweled hair clip that matches her belt.
She looks like a vision, classy with her black and whites, and clutched in her hands is a small bouquet of poppies, freshly picked from the front of the house this morning, tied together with black ribbon. She’s always been an effortlessly kind of beautiful, but this? This is something different. This is the kind of beauty that god turns to admire, just like the rest of us mere mortals.
She gets to where Gus is holding out a hand, sliding hers into his. There’s no hesitation, no look of concern or worry melting away.Just peace.
