Page 45 of CowSex
Fuck me.
I don’t sleep with the women I have sex with, and there I was, holding onto her like my life depended on it without so much as a kiss.
Not that it is what I am looking for from her, not from anyone. I am done with relationships, have been for a while. Uncomplicated sex is all that I require now and for the rest of my days.
Still, memories of Gracie Elliott’s body pressed into mine wouldn’t stop trampling over every cohesive thought I have.
How she feels—soft. Curvy.
How she smells—fucking delicious. It’s light, fresh and citrusy. Nothing heavy, sickly and overpowering like a lot of women. Most women in fact.
These memories all march straight to my dick again.
When I woke, I knew I was gonna have to deal with the way it was standing and winking at me before I could face her again. It took less than five minutes for me to jerk off and then shower. I was still left feeling pissed though. Pissed and vulnerable. Not a feeling I liked.
The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and I knew that I had to get out of the cabin and do something. We’d finished the last of the bourbon last night, and I was down to my last few beers.
I’d bought a few things from Dempsey’s grocery store in town when I arrived a week ago, but that was mostly gone. Plus, I needed toiletries—condoms—maybe.
I shook that thought from my head—both heads, got dressed, and then made my way outside to take care of the snow that had built up on the veranda and driveway. Thinking, manual labour would also burn off some energy and my bad mood.
A couple of hours later she appeared. Leaning on the fence that wraps around the veranda watching me.
I finished clearing the snow from the driveway and made my way back to the house. I wanted to be pissed with her. I was angry at her and her questions and the way she’d gotten me to open up and tell her all about Kalea, my daughter.
I climbed out of my truck, opened my mouth, and then took her in. A ridiculous pair of furry lace-up snow boots with jeans that looked like they’d been sprayed on, a puffy snow jacket that matched her boots perfectly, her silvery hair was once again braided, and I had no clue why but those pink and purple strands just did something to me. Her head was covered with a beanie with a furry pom-pom on top that was about the size of her head. Her face was—fuck—her face was beautiful. It looked free of any makeup, her cheeks glowing pink because of the cold, her eyes, which are the colour of a hawk’s, sparkling in the winter sunlight. Her lips had a soft sheen of pink covering them, and I again wondered if the myth was true, did the colour of her lips match her nipples?
My dick twitched in my jeans, and I moved around the front of my truck to remove the plough. When she followed me, I just didn’t have it in me to be mean. She just looked too fucking cute to pick a fight with, so I invited her to join me in town instead.
I feel strangely nervous. It’s been a while since I’ve walked the streets of my hometown, and I wonder what the locals are going to think about seeing Koa Carmichael, one of Addison's favourite sons, in town with a stranger. A gorgeous stranger with a weird sense of style and a funny way of talking. This should set the tongues wagging, but right at this moment, I can’t find a single fuck to give.
I walk around to the passenger side of my truck and undo the door.
“Need a hand, Essex?”
Gracie reaches out with her left hand, but fuck that. I put my hands on her hips, spin her around in her seat and slid her down my body to the ground. I make sure that she feels every single inch of me.
I shouldn’t have done it. I just couldn’t help myself.
We remain stationary for a few seconds, me pressed against her as she leans back inside the passenger side of the truck. Despite the door still being open, she really has nowhere to go.
“The wrist doing okay?” We both look at her hand that’s resting on my shoulder as I ask.
“It’s all right. Swelling’s going down, but I had to take the bandage off when I showered, and I’ve not put it back on.”
“Let’s go eat and then head to the drugstore. We’ll get you a compression bandage that’s easier to get on and off.”
Reluctantly, I step aside so that she can move and I can close the door.
“This way.” I motion with my head to the left of the parking lot and fight the urge to take hold of her hand. Today’s the first day in weeks that I haven’t had bourbon for breakfast, and it’s making me think all kinds of strange thoughts.
I bury my hands in my pockets and lead the way to the diner. It’s almost eleven thirty on a Saturday morning, and I just know the place is gonna be packed. There are a lot of folks from this town that I still consider acquaintances. I smile and nod when their faces light up with recognition as we walk through town. There’s a couple I even stop and chat with, introducing Gracie as a friend from England when I do.
There are a few who have claimed to know me over the years just so they have a story to tell. They look, they recognise me, and then put their heads down, knowing full well that those stories were lies I knew they spread. I’ve learned to let it go. As the band made it big, the odd person has crawled out of the woodwork, or the gutter, with a fabricated story to tell, but Addison is a town mostly made up of honest, hardworking people.
Gracie stops outside a gift store. Judging by the window display, it’s already geared up for the tourists. Overpriced, locally made soaps, candles, and Afghan rugs line the shelves, and I turn to Gracie.
“You good with interior design, as well as fashion?”
