Baby Makes Three

Her half-hooded eyes connected with mine, and I gasped for air while her body slowly spiraled her back to earth. Out of all the women I’d ever been with, she was the only one who threw her entire being into sex, and it was addicting how powerful she could make me feel. Her earth-shattering orgasms always left her weak and pliable in my hands, and I knew exactly how I wanted her tonight.

Exactly how I wanted her every night for the rest of my life.

I laid myself down on her body and propped myself up on my hands, and my thick shaft slowly rubbed up and down her swollen and sensitive folds before I slowly slid into her. She met my eyes while her body trembled in my wake, with her milky skin that held a burning passion between her legs, and the flush that spread over her chest when I bottomed out into her tight core complimented the raging blue of her eyes.

I thrust into her slowly, watching the frustration cascade over her features with a grin on my face. She was mine. Chelsea August was wholly and entirely mine, and I was never going to let her forget it. Our skin slapped together in the darkness of my dorm room, and my balls hit the crook of her ass when she wrapped her legs tightly around my waist. I lifted myself up onto my knees and unhooked her legs before I tossed them over my shoulders, and I could tell by the way her eyes widened that things were about to get interesting.

I folded her in half and laid my body weight onto her hamstrings, trapping her underneath my body. I wanted her immobile, forced to take the pleasure I was drilling into her body while she raked her nails up and down my arms. Her dirty obscenities devolved into mindless drones while her jaw hung open, and I thrust my tongue between her sweet, pillowy lips and swallowed every single groan that wafted up from her stomach. I felt her fingernails raking down the muscles in my back, and my hips snapped against hers so hard the bed was knocking against the wall.

She could draw any pattern she wanted with those nails, so long as it was my body she was drawing them on.

“You’re mine,” I grunted. “And you’re beautiful.”

“Fuck, Flynn. Oh… yes. Right there. Right there. Right-”

My hips stuttered just as her walls gave way to my cock. They fluttered around my dick, milking my body for everything I could give her, and I filled her core with the essence of myself. I choked her name into the nighttime air while our cap and gowns fluttered with the air conditioning on the floor, and the only thing I could think was how I wanted to do this.

This was how I wanted to end every day for the rest of my days… buried inside of Chelsea as her body gave its control over to me.

I could smell our scents entangling with one another while the sweat from our bodies dripped onto each other’s skin, and as she slid her legs from my shoulders, I watched her body shudder while I slowly pulled out from between her legs.

My body felt naked when it wasn’t pressed against hers.

I held her entire being close to me that night. We didn’t bother cleaning up, and we didn’t bother showering, we simply stared into each other’s eyes before I finally watched her fall asleep. We’d reached the end of the road of our childhood and were about to venture out into the cold world of adulthood, and I thought back to our graduation ceremony that morning and how proud I was when I heard them call her name.

My Chelsea was nestled safely in my arms, and she had graduated college when no one else thought she would.

But I woke up that morning to an empty bed, and she was nowhere to be found. No water was running, no breakfast was being begged for, and no lights were on in the dorm room. There wasn’t even a note scrawled out to give me any sort of inclination as to where she had run off to.

And just like that, my Chelsea was gone. No rhyme, no reason, no explanation, and no apology. She took what she wanted, Chelsea gave what she could, and she left before sunrise.

And she dumped my heart at the entrance to my dorm room before she’d left.

Chapter 2: Flynn

I saw the angry bull off to my side as I stood on the railing of the cage. The barrelmen were lined along the opposite wall, and I couldn’t help but feel a tremor begin in my legs. I took a few deeps breaths to slow my breathing, but I couldn’t help but get angry at the nerves I was feeling. It had been a few years since I’d ridden a bull, but it’s like riding a fucking bike: you just get back up there and do it. There ain’t no practicing or trial runs or nothing like that, you just hop up, jump on, and feel the bull underneath your legs.

See, that’s the thing about bull riding: everyone always thinks you gotta tame the bull. Somehow control its rage. But you can’t control the rage of a bull any more than you can control the path of a tornado: it just takes off, and all you can do is protect yourself and move your body in contrary motion to how the bull is bucking. I picked my eyes up and looked around the stadium, and I real

ized every single seat was full. Sure, I’d been advertised a bit around town with getting back into the swing of things, but I didn’t think this many people would show up just to watch the ride.

It calmed my nerves a bit, seeing all them out there.

I love performing for a crowd. Yeah, sure, I got myself my own ranch and all, but there ain’t nothing like riding for a crowd. Making people smile has always been a thing I’ve enjoyed, and if I can make them smile while doing something that makes me smile, then even better.

“Mr. Rawlings? Time to go.”

One thing I’ve always prided myself in was, I never had a re-ride. Even if I knew something had gone wrong with the equipment, I always knew I could hang on. I never needed the barrelmen to dig me outta trouble, and I always felt confident at the draws before the competition. Bull riding ain’t ever about the animal you get. It’s always about how you can cope with the situation handed to you for eight solid seconds.

Don’t sound like much time, but when that rough stock drops for the first time and that bull takes off, it sure as hell begins to feel like a lot of time.

Of course, the draw this time around for my homecoming ride, they had to give me the bull that almost killed its last rider. When any rough stock ends up wounding or killing its rider, there’s usually some sort of investigation that happens to determine whether the animal should be retired or not. After this bull’s investigation, they decided that the rider didn’t do everything he could’ve to roll right off the bull, and it put his body in the bull’s way.

I had to keep that in mind when finally rolling off this bull after my ride.

I took a deep breath and hopped onto the bull, and I felt his muscles start to twitch beneath my legs. When I did not get off his back, he began flinging me around in the pin, and I adjusted my body weight not to slide off. That usually frightens even the best of bull riders, but to me, it’s a little sneak peek into what’s to come… a little practice run to see how the bull will move. I can tell a lot about a bull by those preliminary shakes in the cage: where it likes to throw its weight, which hooves are more dominant, whether the bulls likes to rear backward or forwards. It’s like a little cheat sheet for the next eight seconds.

My name was announced over the intercom, and the crowd went wild, and I wrung my hand in the rope before I set myself. My shoulders were back, my head was high, and I watched the assistant open the gate before the bull I was riding shot outta the cage like a piston in a car. He leapt forward, tossing me with him, and I shifted my weight just before he dodged to the right.