Page 33 of Stray

“Honestly? I would wrap those thick ass thighs of yours around my head while I tongue fucked that juicy little pussy until you passed out from orgasms.”

“Oh, my god,” I pant, “More.”

“Baby, you’re killing me,” he groans. “I’m trying very hard not to fuck my hand right now.” He takes a ragged breath. “I want you on top of me. I want to fill you so deep with my cock you’ll feel me for a week. I want you to hold me down and ride me like that fucking bull at Spurs.”

I feel myself getting closer. My body is alive with electricity, my core tight and on fire. “I want to hold you down,” I whine out. “I-I want to hurt you,” I cringe at my choice of words, but Jackson is undeterred.

“How?” he growls softly. “Use that perfect mouth and tell me exactly how you want to cause me pain.”

“Jackson,” I whine louder, and he moans.

“Come on, baby, you wanna choke me?”

“Yes,” I pant, my legs shaking.

“You want to make me bleed?”

“Yes,” I whisper, unsure how he will take that, unsure why the thought of making him bleed turns me on so much.

“I want you to,” he whispers, taking me by surprise. “You riding my cock while trailing your nails down my chest, leaving a path marking your pain all the way down, goddamn it….” He growls, and I can’t anymore. I can’t hold on another moment.

“I-I going to come…” I say frantically.

“That’s my baby. Come for me. Let me hear you find your pleasure.”

“Jackson!” I cry out as I hit my peak, the tightly wound cord snapping and filling my body with a delicious, warm feeling. I start to come back down, and the reality of what I did, what we did, comes into view. Oh my god, how am I supposed to ever look at him again?

I’m about to tell him I quit and then run away when I hear squealing tires outside and…

“What the fuck? Is that a kid crying?” Jackson asks, and I stand up, hanging up my phone and walking out of my room. I hear his door open but don’t look at him as I walk to the front door and open it slowly.

“Oh my god,” I whisper, looking at the teary-eyed boy on the porch.

* * *

“No way,” Carter laughs nervously as he paces back and forth in the living room where Jensen, Jackson, and Dorothy sit, staring at me, holding the now-sleeping toddler. His name is Wyatt, at least it is according to the piece of paper attached to his suitcase. Wyatt Carter Rowe.

“I triple-wrap this shit!” He yells, sounding on the verge of tears.

“Language!” Dorothy hisses. “Now, who is his mother? And I’m using that term very loosely at this moment.”

Jackson looks at the note and curses under his breath. “Emmaleigh Anders.”

Carter groans, “Oh my god, that was one time, like four years ago!”

“Huh,” I say sarcastically. “You don’t say.”

Carter points a finger at me. “Listen here, Hellraiser,” he snaps before Jackson stands between us.

“Take a breath, and choose your next words wisely.” He warns Carter lowly, and it sends a jolt to my abdomen, fucking hell. Can he stop turning me on?

“What am I going to do?” Carter groans, looking at the sleeping boy in my arms. “I don’t know what to do with kids. Does he still need breast milk? I’m not lactating!”

“Son,” Dorothy sighs before grabbing his shoulders. “He’s over three. He’s eating food by now. Stop freaking out, this will be okay. You’re gonna do the right thing and care for your son.” Carter’s face falls as he stares at his mom like she’s betrayed him.

“I can’t. I… there is no way he’s mine. You’re gonna believe Emmaleigh over me? He… goddamn it! Fuck this, I’m out of here.” He growls before turning and leaving the house.

Dorothy sighs as her head falls into her hands. “Jackson, what are the chances we can get Derek to fly back out here for a little while? With your brother like this and Theo out of commission… we need help to get our ranch ready for winter.”

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