Page 6 of Her Grumpy Cowboy
His chest puffs out and pure masculine satisfaction fills his expression.“Good girl.I’m going to reward you now for being honest with me.”
I don’t know why but every time he calls me good girl, that’s exactly what I want to be.I want to be his good girl, the one he rewards every night in his bed.The thought sends another wave of arousal through me.
He resumes his gentle motions, and it feels so right to have his fingers touching me.He slides his thick finger into my body, and I moan so loudly that I should probably be embarrassed.
But Walker just grins, revealing little laugh lines around his eyes.“That’s right, little kitten.I expect you to be loud any time I’m touching my pussy.”
I swallow hard, loving the idea that he gets to control my body.“Y-your pussy?”
“My pussy.It belongs to me now and I’ll do whatever I want with it,” he says firmly.
He slips another finger in and it’s so tight.I’m good and filled but I still crave more.I want him to ram his big cock into me.
My walls flutter around his fingers as his dirty words sink in.I’m his to use and I don’t have a choice in the matter.The idea makes me even wetter.There’s so much pleasure building in my body that I tense my back.“Even fuck it?”
“Fuck it, finger it, make it squirt.”He rubs the pad of his thumb roughly across my clit.“Come now, baby girl.”
His permission is all I need as wave after wave of bliss overwhelms me.I’ve never had an orgasm this powerful or felt so sated.It was more than just the way he touched me.It was the things he said in my ear too.He made me feel dirty and good at the same time.
Boneless, I slump across his chest, and he rubs circles along my back.“You did good.I’m so proud of you.”
Warmth steals over me at his praise.I’ve never been praised for anything.I’ve never been told I was special or pretty.But there’s something about when Walker says he’s proud of me.He makes me believe that maybe I am those things.
I don’t know how long we stay cuddled together but eventually he says, “I’m taking you home with me tonight.We’ll cross the creek in the morning.”
My heart leaps in my chest at the idea that I’m going to get to spend the night here with Walker.Maybe we’ll even get to do more sexy things together.
I start to move from his arms, but he tightens his hold on me.
“Stay put,” he growls in that deep tone that melts my panties.
I still instantly.I’ve learned I like what happens when I listen to him.He makes the rules and when I obey, I get rewarded.
A second later, he swings open his door and gets out of his truck with me still in his arms.He’s carrying me, holding me tight and doing his best to shelter me from the rain that’s pelting us.Wrapped up in his arms in this downpour, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.That’s because Walker will always keep me safe and protect me.
I close my eyes, trying to commit this moment to memory as he carries me up the porch and through the house.When he finally sets me down on my feet, he looks almost reluctant to let me go.
The rain has made his normally thick brown hair into curly, wet tendrils that I want to run my fingers through.He clears his throat.“I’ll get you something dry to put on.”
I nod, feeling suddenly awkward.What am I going to say tonight to this hot cowboy that fingered me into the best orgasm of my life?Maybe I should just chance the rain and hope I don’t drown.
While I debate my odds of surviving, I study my surroundings.His home is cozy with plenty of throw pillows on the floral couch and the stained coffee table that has a pile of paperbacks on it.Apparently, Walker is a reader and judging by the covers, he likes thrillers.
The room is pretty if a bit dated with the gray Berber carpet and the peeling paint.But then I remember what he said about his folks passing away.He probably hasn’t taken the time to redecorate it since then.Walker doesn’t exactly strike me as the type to spend hours pouring over decorating magazines and making those online boards with the perfect color scheme.
Glancing out the window of his living room, I spot a red bird feeder.Sadness washes over me when I see it, the same as it always does.I made my dad one for Father’s Day when I was little.He spent over half an hour critiquing it and telling me all the ways I made it wrong.Now I just stick to safe gifts like a new pair of socks.
I know I should call him and my shoulders slump at the thought.“I have to go back to the truck.I need my—”
Walker holds out my bag.I didn’t even realize he was still standing here.
I take it from him and search through it as he moves to start a fire in the fireplace.It only takes him a few quick motions and I marvel at it.He’s so good with his hands.
Glancing back at my phone, I realize it has no service.“Any chance you have a phone I can use?”
“In the foyer,” he says over his shoulder before he leaves the room.
His cellphone is on a small entry way table.It’s a distressed oak chest that’s beautiful.A matching mirror hangs over it, and I wonder if he made the set himself.The idea of Walker getting sweaty as he works has my body ready for round two.
