Her Four Cowboys

I threw my head back and gave in to the motion as I continued to ride him, feeling him thrust so deeply inside of me that I could practically feel him tickling my belly. His hand snaked down to my clit again, and he began to rub it in smooth circles, leaning forward at the same time to drag his tongue and teeth up my neck.

What I felt coming wasn’t an orgasm. It was a nuclear attack of some kind. It needed to be studied by sex therapists and neurologists so that they could recreate it.

“Come on my cock, Lucy,” he said into my ear, biting my earlobe gently. “Come all over me.”

As I sank down onto him, the climax ripped through me, filling me with white light once more and erasing pretty much every thought I’d ever had.

He gripped my hips tightly and thrust into me a few more times, groaning as the lingering muscle spasms of my pussy milked the orgasm out of him. One more thrust, and I could feel the heat of him spilling into me and down my thighs. I slumped forward, letting my head settle on his shoulder as our breathing settled and our hearts both slowed down.

“Jesus,” he said, running his hands soothingly up and down my back.

“I don’t think he was anywhere near here,” I mumbled, letting my head fall to the side and enjoying the feeling of his body shaking me as he chuckled.

I lifted my head up, looking down at Austin with my hands still propped on the seat behind him as he reached up to gently cup my neck. His eyes were soft, and he was still inside of me, his seed leaking out.

Reality came crashing back into me as I realized the position I’d been in last week with his brother, and I didn’t waste another second in climbing off him and looking around for my pants.

“I have a really early morning,” I said as I pulled on my underwear and jeans, finding it hard to look at him directly, “so I should get going.”

“Okay,” he said, and it killed me to hear the unsure tone in his voice as I pulled away from him. He hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, he’d done everything so right I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk back to my car.

I turned back to him and cupped his cheek with my hand, leaning in for a last kiss. He responded eagerly, leaning forward and kissing me in turn.

“Thank you for tonight,” I said, grinning against his mouth. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too.”

I climbed down out of the truck and headed to mine, feeling him with every step I took. As I drove the familiar route home, I thought about my rushed exit, and realized the more I thought about it that the guilt I’d expected to hit me didn’t come.

All I felt was more alive than I ever had.

20

ADAM

“Adam, honey, have some more chicken,” my mom said, passing me the platter of roast chicken and veggies. “You’re looking a little skinny lately.”

I rolled my eyes, taking the platter from her and placing a leg and thigh on my plate, along with a few potatoes. “Don’t know what you mean. I’ve been eating approximately a shit load of food every day.”

My mom shut her eyes in a pained wince as my brothers hid a chuckle behind their hands. It was a running joke among us that Sunday dinners were more sacred than church in our family. Growing up in a ranch family had made regular meals a spotty occurrence. We all had our chores and our strict schedules that we stuck to like glue in order to keep the ranch running.

Still, my mother missed the dinners that we would have as kids who were too little to keep our own schedule, so she instilled Sunday dinners, which were meant to be treated with as much respect as church. And attendance was mandatory, at least in our family. It was the one place and time when we were asked not to swear.

“Adam,” my dad said sternly from his place at the opposite end of the table, “come on. You know better.”

I held my hands up, digging into the perfect chicken that my mom had made for dinner. She’d taken to not cooking much throughout the week, conserving her energy for the elaborate Sunday feasts when she tried out the new recipes she’d found online, using us as her all-too-willing guinea pigs.

“Great dinner, Mom,” Austin said, taking a bite of the lemony asparagus that Mom had set on the table. “Is the chicken a new recipe?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I got it off a blog for Spanish recipes. You know, I can’t get complacent if I’m going to keep you boys impressed and coming to Sunday dinner.”