Page 112 of For Cowgirls and Kings
“Ew,” Gus huffs, pulling Stetson into his lap, his hand wrapping around her throat lightly to pull her face toward his for a kiss.
“Look who’s talking,” I fire back.
“Now, now kids. There’s enough big guy to go around.” My head snaps back to Mateo’s, a shriek of delight leaving Faith in the same moment.What has gotten into this man, and how do I keep him like this?
“Okay, big guy,” Stetson barely gets all three words choked out before Gus growls, his fingers pinching tighter on her throat. It feels like it should be a private thing they share—his affinity for hand necklaces—but I know he doesn’t give a fuck what me or anyone else thinks. And honestly, I think we’d all like a hand necklace by the end of the night.
Mateo winks, and I blush hotly as if caught. The image ofthe fantasy I told him about earlier in the day flashes in my mind. And fuck, if I don’t blush worse.
The speaker starts crackling, the opening notes of a familiar song floating through. “Mateo Reyes, is that the queen Chappell Roan?” I tease, a smile pulling at my lips so harshly my cheeks ache. The memory of us dancing in my living room, months before everything went to shit, flashes through my mind. For the first time since it happened, I don’t feel complete devastation or anger when I think about it either. Because thinking about before—naive, and only barely happy—is nothing to how I feel when I’m with Mateo now. Then I was too afraid to live, now I’m afraid of not living to the fullest.
Trauma is weird like that.Even in the darkest, most horrible times in our lives, we can find light that is both warmer and brighter than anything we experienced before it.
He extends his hand out to me, and I don’t hesitate sliding my hand into his. Maybe I should be more careful, but I’m realizing pain is what got me here in the first place, and I can’t be sorry for that. Not when it made me realize what love is and should feel like. Not when it brought me Mateo, and the image of a life I finally want to live.
Electricity shoots up my arm, as it always does when I touch him, and the familiar, yet vastly different pound of my heart fills my ears.
“Dance with me, cowgirl?” he asks, a note of vulnerability lacing his voice as he lifts me up.
I wrap my arms around his neck, our bodies already swaying wildly over the hardwood floor, Gus’s reluctant groan vibrating behind us. “Always,” I whisper.
Mateo hugs me a little tighter, his fingers pressed firmly to my back as we sloppily twirl around the small room toPink Pony Club, just like we did months ago. Only nothing is the same; I don’t know that they ever will be again.
FORTY-ONE
MATEO
April 5th, 2025
I wantto wake up with your cock buried inside of me.
I groan, shifting uncomfortably in the chair once more. Everyone’s exhausted, and drunk, draped over various items of furniture in the warm space. Gus and I are the only ones still awake, from what I can tell—Stetson laying vertically across the couch, her head in his lap. Faith’s curled in a ball in one of the two love seats, snoring lightly. And Dale passed out, her head on my chest, drool dribbling from her slightly ajar mouth.
She’s fucking asleep, and we have a room full of people who would bare witness, yet, the fact that she’s drunk is the only thing keeping me from lifting her up and burying my cock in her heat.Fuck everyone else here.
My cock pounds almost as if with a heart beat of its own, the skin pressed so tightly against the zipper I’m certain I’ll have a zipper shaped bruise down the length of it tomorrow.
I want to wake up with your cock buried inside of me.
“Fuck,” I groan under my breath, shifting yet again.
“You can take my old room and fuck her, if you’re that uncomfortable.” I still at Gus’s crude words. We haven’t spoken much today, partly because I know he hasn’t totally forgiven me,and partly because I know he’s been so focused on Stetson that he doesn’t give two fucks that I’m even here.
“She’s drunk.” I pull her head tighter against my chest as if to protect her.
He snorts. “I’m pretty sure you have permission dude. She was basically riding you through your jeans there before she passed out.”
“That’s not consent, Gus. She’s drunk, that means she can’t give consent.”
His brow crinkles at that. At his core, I know Gus is a good person. And although I don’t understand or even agree with how Stetson and he came to be, I know what they have works for them. Maybe she likes being fucked drunk. But I imagine they’ve discussed such boundaries—at least I hope.
But Dale and I…we’ve barely done any talking. Not about anything serious and it’s actually starting to bug the actual piss out of me.
Gus clears his throat, and I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to say whatever else is weighing on him. He’s clearly uncomfortable, and even though that makes me curious, it also terrifies me. Gus doesn’t get uncomfortable about anything.
“What’s the deal with you two?” he finally asks.
I sigh, closing my eyes. “We’re seeing where it goes. We haven’t really talked about anything—we’re just having fun…” I scrunch my nose. I hate the way that sentence sounds, and I especially hate the way it makes me feel.
