Claiming The Cowboy (Meier Ranch Brothers 3)

She caught his length as it spilled out into her hand. Her touch was strong but tender; her eyes widened.

“Do bull riders take any kind of…enhancement drugs?”

The question was so unexpected, so goddamned flattering, he laughed and charged her with a savage kiss that had the tip of his penis lurching and straining toward the object of his affection. In an unceremonious shedding of too-tight jeans, in a path that meandered toward the other side of the cottage, they took time to celebrate each small victory with a kiss more heated than the last, and once, for her to sidle his belt around her neck again, and once for him to rummage in his wallet for his two-pack blister of condoms. His pulse kicked faster and faster with each diversion. In less than eight seconds—a victory in his mind—he was stark naked and hard and straight and as searing as a branding iron pulled from the fire.

She kissed him hard, backing him up against the ladder—not a vertical one but angled with wider and wider footholds toward the bottom. He wedged his ass inside the most convenient step, a little like a shelf, and spread his thighs wide to accommodate her right where he wanted her, with little space to scale without first engaging in a dance of intimacy. The last thing he expected her to do was to drop and take him fully into her mouth, but that’s exactly what she did.

Instead of on her knees, she squatted wide, her newfound boldness like a butterfly opening in beauty and confidence. The view drove him fast and hard, rivaled only by the absolute dedication she had to sucking him off. And just as her nails had driven him wild at his scalp, she gathered his scrotum with eggshell delicacy and clawed insanity-inducing paths that triggered hot currents of gooseflesh up the back of his thighs. His cock vibrated, pleading for the same. She took the hint. Her tongue and nails took turns driving shattering hits of need through his member, base to hypersensitive tip. When he thought he would combust with the delicacy of it all, she took him in hand and jacked him as if he was a well and she was dying of thirst.

Chase nearly slithered to the floor. He tossed the condom wrapper into the loft and raised his arms above him to hold on to the ladder, sucking in breaths on the foulest string of curses Gretchen had likely ever heard. He couldn’t help it, but instead of turning her off, she giggled and went at him harder, more insistently, adding thrilling visual diversions like pleasuring herself with a combination of his big toe and her free fingers and sandwiching his bum knee with her heated breasts, his buckle tapping his thigh in time to her titty-fuck. She was playful and liberated in a way he never would have imagined, and he never wanted the real world to encroach on them again.

He took both of her hands and stretched them to the ladder above his head. She grabbed hold, giving him a prime opportunity to restore attention to her breasts. The diversion cost him five minutes in time but absolutely nothing in the arousal department. He placed her bare foot on the step at his shoulder, inviting her to climb, nipping at her clit as she passed him. She let out a whimsical squeal and slowed her progress all the way to the loft so that he could come at her from below and eat her pussy senseless.

She scrambled up the final few rungs, turned the switch on an old converted oil lamp so that the close, pitched space glowed gold like an Edison bulb, and motioned with one sexy wag of her finger to follow her lead.

This time, when Chase drew near, fragility replaced frivolity, quiet replaced damned near every noise in the cottage, and devotion replaced all pretense of this tryst being casual. For as much thrill as they had brought to each other’s pleasure centers, it was also, unquestioningly, a meeting of hearts and a compromise between two vastly different worlds. He had never felt this strongly about anyone, dared to think that maybe there was something more to hang his future on than his dream of a distillery in his home town. He was the world champion risk-taker on the back of a fifteen-hundred-pound bucking animal, but when it came to risking everything for the kind of love that only Meie

rs seemed to find, he wasn’t sure he had it in him.

He tugged her down on the bed beside him. Moving inside her became his priority, his everything.

“Gretchen,” he whispered.

She placed a fingertip to his lips to silence him. “I know.”

He wanted to gift her the control she so desperately craved in all things. She kissed him onto his back and helped him unwrap and roll the condom into place. Atop his bed, earlier in the night, he had placed his smoke-gray cowboy hat—her cowboy hat—on the bed, brim side up, the way every ancestor who had settled the land had done. Now, he placed it on her.

Her knee swung wide and she mounted him.

In his hat and not a stitch of clothing more, she looked better than amazing. As he’d known she would. And from that vantage point, she looked like his. Taking his belt in hand, she recited everything he had taught her, mastery the first time because she was so goddamned smart.

“Around the hand and wrist, back against the gloved palm, lock the fingers down, arm bent and relaxed.”

Her way of accepting him fully. A surer sign there never was.

His cock squirmed against her crease.

She cradled his buckle in her palm, leaving the leather end loose. He chased it with his lips to bite it then gave it a tug to bring her close. When she leaned down, he kissed her slowly and lovingly, as if they had already had a lifetime together, looking back, just to try it on for size. She was as beautiful at seventy as she was at this moment.

With calloused hands, he skimmed her body—shoulders, calves, the tender flesh beneath her breasts that absorbed their magnificent weight, cheekbones that needed no adornment, every bit of her flared sex pressing down on him. When his thumb skimmed her parted mouth, breath that had started to come again in short gasps breezed past before her tongue made an appearance to sample herself.

At this innocent, inquisitive taste, she began to move, tiny rhythmic motions back and forth, her hips drawing small circles, her seam easing along the length of his erection. Her breasts mimed the motion in perfect tandem. The increasing friction on his cock and the gyration of those succulent pendulums were the strongest indications that she intended to go the distance, the time, the fullest ride he would permit.

Bulls didn’t finger-fuck, but Chase reached between them and followed the nub of her clit, pressing repeatedly, in the motion they created together, on the cusp of recapturing her finest moment below. But there was no way she was enjoying that ride again without taking him with her.

He grabbed her hips and sheathed himself inside her. Every parting inch was a broiling-hot inferno that awakened warning sizzles of need deep in his sac. Pulses of lust coiled and released, his cock the epicenter, everywhere she touched him the aftershocks. Instinctually, as if she was born to the motion, born to ride him, her rhythm quickened. Buck after buck, he packed her deeper and deeper until he was convinced he would split her in half. Instead, her silken pussy expanded and accommodated and launched an all-out assault. Awash in her cream, snagged on the most attention-grabbing sight of her taking her own breasts in hand and grinding his dick to oblivion, he clenched his teeth and steeled his determination to hold off his climax until she knew the kind he could deliver.

The single best route to his full-length advantage was not this position.

With great care, he slid her off him and requested that she back her exquisite ass to the side of the bed. He positioned her knees beneath her, planted wide. Her ass cheeks were round and firm and looked like a juicy peach, ready to be plucked. Unable to resist one last sweet treat before he entered her again, he dipped his mouth low and drizzled her cream onto his tongue.

Between each flick of his tongue, he lavished praise on her. “Like fucking nectar…never enough.”

At the trench of her cheeks, he settled his cock. He liked the look of it there, damned near purple through the rubber haze, veins swollen like blue roads on a country map that led only one place: her nirvana. He reached forward to part and rub and finger her clit before the tip of his shaft declared enough diversion, homed in on the rim of her channel, and charged in, no directions needed.

With one deft glide, he filled her, spaces he hadn’t known when he was on his back, depths of erotic torture that overpowered him. The first two times he parted her flesh, he did so with painstaking slowness. He didn’t want to hurt her, knew he would split her deeper than ever, and the sight of her beautiful body swallowing him, inch by inch, drove him to near insanity.

Gradually, ever-so-slightly, he drove faster.