Page 16 of My Cowboy Temptation

Look. But don’t touch. Remember.

I take a steadying breath and say the words. “Show me your tits, brat.”

She shivers and smiles even wider, just before she drops her hands to her sides, and the bra drops to the floor.

They’re perfect, glorious. Fucking marvelous, and I wonder how they would feel if I pressed them tight together and slid my dick between them.

She raises her hand to cup one, and her hand is too small to hold it entirely. I know with certainty they’d fit perfectly inside my palm, and my hand twitches, almost as if it feels her tit already there.

She raises her other hand and holds both of them, her thumbs circling the pebbled nipples. She arches her back again, lifting them up toward me, and I swear I can almost taste them in my mouth. I run a hand through my beard, begging for restraint.

Then she does something that I’m not ready for.

She takes a step toward me, then another, gliding gracefully toward me like a cat, her boots clicking on the floor. She stops next to me. Tits white and glowing, her pussy only covered by the barest thread of fabric from her panties.

Her hands are on her tits again, rubbing them, squeezing them. “You can touch, Brody. I won’t mind.”

Fuck me. If I touch her, it’s all over. I don’t know if I could stop. Which is the only reason why I don’t reach out and touch the tit she’s offering me and hold it in my hand like I’m dying to.

“What about this?” she asks and slides one hand down to touch the top of her panties. “Darn. These are still on? I totally forgot. We can’t have that.”

She keeps those green eyes on me, even as her fingers slip under the fabric at her hips, and she starts pulling them down, leaning down so her tits are so fucking close to my face it’s as if she’s daring me to drop my gaze down to see the prize.

And fuck me if I don’t do that very thing, and I watch as her mound comes in sight—a fucking bare, baby smooth mound that as far as I can see, hasn’t a lick of hair on it. But before I can confirm this, she turns around so her ass is now in my face. She leans forward to slide the panties, and I’m paralyzed as she leans even lower so I can see her bare ass and the tight hole that would probably kill me and her if I fill it with my cock, and then I get a glimpse of the full, swollen lips of her pussy, a pussy that I’m sure is slick with moisture, ready for me.

I have to close my eyes, just to stop the torture. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three—

Something lands on my chest, and I grab it, opening my eyes as I do. Her black lace panties are draped over my fingers, and it takes some effort not to sink my nose in the soft fabric and inhale the musky, heady scent of her pussy.

“You’re just not any fun,” she says and feigns a pout before lowering her gaze to the tent that’s grown in my pants, a tent that even the blanket on top of me can’t hide. Her eyes light with excitement. “You sure you don’t want to come out and play?”

It takes a Herculean effort, but I manage not to move a muscle.

She sighs. “Okay. Guess it’s just going to be me after all.”

She strides bare-assed to the bed and, taking a hold of the bedpost, hauls herself up. Only, instead of releasing the pole, she holds on and swings her body weight to the side, doing a loop around it, which is a fucking glorious sight as her tits bounce from the motion. She stops and wraps a leg around the post, rubbing her pussy illicitly against the post even as she leans back. Then her hips gyrate as she humps the post, and all I want is her humping my wood, nothing else.

She moans, and fuck me if I don’t want to reach down and loosen my belt buckle to pull my dick out and fist it in my hand. But I’m strong. I can withstand this.

Right now, she’s touching herself, pleasuring herself. I haven’t overstepped any boundaries.

Callie comes to a stop and slowly slides down to the mattress. Thank God. She’s exhausted herself. Maybe now she’ll finally get some sleep.

Fuck no.

Her legs are opening, and I know I should look away, but instead, instinctively, I lean up to see the full folds of her pussy slowly spreading open for me.

“What are you doing, Callie?” I groan.

“You want me to detail it for you, Brody? I’m about to touch my clit, imagining it’s you, and since you won’t stick your hard, thick cock into me, I’m going to have to be satisfied with my fingers. Unless, of course, you’ve reconsidered.”

She places her hand in front of her mound, her fingers trailing down over the lips until she finds her clit and moans again as she rubs it. Then she holds it up to me so I can see the moisture glistening on her fingers even from where I’m lying. “I’m so hot and wet right now.” She slips a finger into her mouth and slowly pulls it out, her eyes never leaving mine. “Don’t you want to taste me?”

I grunt, not feeling particularly articulate. “You’re drunk. I can’t.”

“I assure you, I’m not drunk.” She lowers her hand again and plays with the full lips of her labia as I watch. “I’m very much aware of what I want, who I want, and how I want it. And right now I want you touching me, tasting me, sinking that magnum-sized cock deep inside of me as you say my name before our release. And I’m going to feel that same way tomorrow, the next day, and every day until the day I die, Brody Dalton.”

Then, knowing she has an avid audience, Callie raises two fingers and slowly pushes them into her pussy. She glides them out and repeats the motion, her hips rising up each time.

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