Cowboy Resurrection: Cowboy Cocktail, Book 2 (8 page)

“Gorgeous,” he murmured.

And then she began to ride him.

Tentatively at first, she undulated her hips. Mesmerized, he reached forward with his other thumb and softly pulled back the outer lips as he continued to stroke her clit. She squeezed him harder. Moisture from her arousal began to drip down onto his balls. She found her rhythm and began to ride him harder, the insides of her thighs slapping against his hips and her gorgeous tits and hard nipples bouncing madly above him.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed.

She threw her head back and ground her teeth. With each passing minute, she grew wetter and hotter around him. Soon they were both sweating. The room grew steamy with the heat of their fucking. Dean wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer.

He sat up against the pillows, changing the angle so she could grind against the top of his cock and his pubic bone. Still rubbing her clit with his thumb, he dragged his middle finger through the pool of lube at the base of his dick and reached behind her.

“Can I touch you here?”

She looked down at him, eyes blazing. “You can do more than touch me there, if you want.”

Gently, he stroked her tight opening until it flared at his touch. With firm, steady pressure, he pushed his middle finger into her up to the first joint. She bore down, both on his finger and his dick, and he threw his head back on the pillows and grunted, struggling not to come, even though the first tremors of a big orgasm tingled up and down his spine.

Monica pulled herself up off her knees and planted her feet flat on the mattress. She began to ride him hard, almost all the way up his shaft before slamming back down. The sound, the smell, the sensation of her lit up Dean’s nervous system like the Fourth of July. Too turned on to see straight, he pushed his finger deeper in and quickened his thumb on her clit. She arched her back, hard. Her nipples shrank to tiny points. She shut her eyes and moaned deep and low in her chest.

“That’s it,” he whispered.

In a half second she was coming like a thrashing mountain lion, digging her nails into his thighs. The orgasm seized every muscle in her body, and she bucked against him like she was being electrocuted. God, she was beautiful when she came. He’d never get tired of watching it.

Trembling, she slid up and off him. Before she could collapse into a heap, he picked her up and placed her on all fours in the middle of the bed. As the last of her orgasm rippled through her, he buried his cock in her pussy, delighting in the resistance her body. He took the bottle of lube and squirted some directly into her, filling her ass with clear gel.

“Can I?” he said softly.

“Hell, yes,” she murmured, fisting her hands into the sheets.

As he thrust into her slowly and deeply, he worked his thumb into her tiny opening.

“Ever been fucked here, princess?”

She shook her head. “No. Always curious about it, though.”

A thrill passed through him as he thought about the nights he could spend training her. He wiggled his thumb gently and she squirmed beneath him. She was snug as hell.

“Not tonight,” he said. “But if you want it, I’ll show you. Soon.” He reached forward with his free hand and swept her hair off her neck, exposing her back. He stroked her smooth skin and squeezed one of her ass cheeks. She squeezed him back—both his dick and his thumb.

“I’d like that, Dean,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. “I want you. Every way. Every way you want to give it to me. I want it too.”

Who is this woman?

Every one of his muscles was twitching from the effort of holding back. Slowly, Dean withdrew his thumb, reached down, grabbed her hips and took a deep breath.

“I’m going to come,” he said softly.

“Do it.”

He fucked her hard. After two-dozen strokes, his orgasm bucked out of its chute, tearing him up like a monster that was too wild to ride and too big to handle. He came in endless hot shots of come that shredded him from the inside out. When he finally collapsed onto the bed, Dean felt vulnerable and raw, trampled by lust.

In the darkness, Monica reached for him and held him tightly. The words came out before he knew what he was saying.

“I haven’t been this happy in a long time.”

He almost flinched when he heard himself. But the expression of naked emotion didn’t scare her. Nothing seemed to scare her.

“I feel the same way,” she whispered.

* * * * *

Homemade potato salad and fried chicken. The paper plate that Dean’s mother handed to him drooped under the weight of a double portion of each.

“Looks good, Ma,” he said, “but I can’t eat all this.”

Cecilia MacKinnon was wearing a sparkly red-and-blue T-shirt and a dazzling smile to match. Her long brown hair was coiled into a neat bun decorated with rhinestone stars. “In high school you would’ve come back for seconds.”

“Must’ve had a tapeworm or something.”

“Aw, hush. Don’t be gross.”

“Sorry. Thanks.” He kissed the top of his mother’s head before she turned to feed the rest of his brothers.

Dean looked around at the crowd gathered on the track at Oleander High School. Familiar faces, grown older. New kids he hadn’t met before. Everyone was in attendance, from migrant workers in town for the season to families who’d farmed the Central Valley for generations. All had come out for a picnic and to watch the annual Fourth of July fireworks launch.

He sat down in a camp chair next to his father and started on his supper.

“Look at her,” Dale MacKinnon said with a grin. “Your mom is a stunner, ain’t she?”

Dean’s parents had always been affectionate, so to hear his dad doling out sugar was nothing new. Dean took a bite and watched his mother handing out plates, surrounded by family. She looked happier than she had in months. Then he looked at his dad. The big bear of a man he’d grown up with looked thin and pale, worn down by chemotherapy and illness. But Dale’s clothes were neatly pressed and his boots and belt buckle were polished to a high sheen. In his new white hat, he carried himself with the same pride he always displayed, in sickness or in health.

“So I heard you’re part of the show tonight,” Dale said.

“Yeah, but nothing special. Before the fireworks launch, the rodeo association’s raffling off some prizes.”

“What kind of prizes?”

“Passes to Oleander Rodeo Days and a meet-and-greet with Dandelion Wine at Walker Ranch. They want me to pick the tickets.” He grinned. “I feel like I should be in an evening gown or something.”

His dad snorted. “That’d cause a splash. Is Bo here tonight?”

“He’ll be on stage with me.”

“I’m surprised.” Dale took a drink from a bottle of water. “Fourth of July is hard for him. Always has been.”

Dean nodded. “Opening ceremonies at bull-riding shows—he’s the same way. Too many pyrotechnics and stuff.” He knew his old mentor had struggled with anxiety for years. According to Dean’s father, Bo had come back from Vietnam a changed man. It was one of the reasons he’d retired from bull riding and took up stock contracting instead.

“Dean!”

He looked up. Tottering her way through a minefield of picnic blankets and beer coolers, Monica headed straight for him. Her long black hair was loose and wild. She wore a modest but form-fitting navy-blue dress and sky-high red heels that made fireworks go off in funny places inside him.

Next to his mother, Dean’s brother Clark raised his beer can toward Monica. “Hot damn. God bless America.”

“Shut up, Clark,” Dean said. He put down his plate and stumbled toward her like an idiot, but not before placing a small, well-placed kick to the underside of Clark’s forearm. Beer splashed all over Clark’s crotch.

“Oh, you fucker!” said Clark, hopping up.

“Watch your language!” their mother barked.

“Sorry, Ma.” Clark corrected himself. “Oh, you gosh-darned fornicator.”

Dean met Monica halfway and together they headed toward the event stage as she briefed him on what was going to happen. Using every excuse he could to touch her, he held her hand and put his other hand on the small of her back to steer her over the crowded field. With his thumb, he strummed the waistband of her panties through the fabric of her dress and fantasized about pulling her under the bleachers, yanking off her underwear and sinking himself balls-deep inside her.

She stopped talking. Maybe she asked him a question. She was looking at him like she expected an answer.

“Huh?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes at him. “I
said, after I give my spiel, you turn the crank, open the little door and pull out the tickets. I’ll announce the winners. After that, you and Bo sign autographs and take pictures until the fireworks start. The table is set up by the lemonade booth. Can you handle that?”

His hand crept a little lower and he gave her ass a tiny squeeze. “I think I can handle that, Miss Kaur.”

A half-smile formed on her lips. “Behave yourself, please.”

“Behave myself, huh?” He squeezed her again. “Let me ask you something. Did you wear this to embarrass me?”

She looked genuinely offended at that. “How is my outfit embarrassing?”

“No, princess. It’s not the outfit.” They finally made it backstage past the security guard. Performers and stage crew filled the small space, so Dean couldn’t do what he wanted, but he did pull her close enough to whisper in her ear, “It’s the giant hard-on you’re giving me because you look so damn fine in it.”

She said nothing, but a slight tremor ran through her, an aftershock to all the soul-shaking secret sex they’d had in the last three months.

Up on stage, the high school marching band finished up its spirited performance of Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the USA”. Dean leaned closer. “When can I see you again?”

Her breathing quickened. “Wait for my text.”

“Bakersfield? Same place?”

She nodded and squeezed his hand. Dean remembered the feeling of both her hands in his as he pinned them up above her head. Tangled up in crisp motel sheets, they kissed as he drove into her like a madman. The old air conditioner struggled to keep up with them, the room sweltering with the heat of their fucking.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she whispered. “Down, boy. You’ll be on stage soon.”

He let go of her hand, took a step back and blew out a frustrated breath. “Yeah. You’re right.” He adjusted himself in his jeans. “Shit.”

“Calm yourself,” she said. “I’m going to go get Bo, okay?”

“Okay.”

The raffle went exactly as Monica had planned. It had been a shrewd promotional stunt for the rodeo—the eyes of the entire community were on them, and all the proceeds from the raffle went straight to the high school music program. Dean sheepishly admitted to himself that it felt nice to be in front of a crowd again. Maybe he was a closet attention whore. He hoped not.

To his surprise, a long line of fans waited at the table for autographs when he and Bo sat down. Monica stood quietly behind them, his little mastermind, eyes on everyone and everything.

Somewhere around his fifth autograph, some kids waiting in line began to throw handfuls of poppers onto the asphalt. The explosion startled Bo, who dropped his marker on the ground. When Bo stooped to pick it up, Dean saw that his old mentor’s hands had begun to shake.

“You okay?” Dean said quietly.

Bo looked up at him, an unfamiliar angry expression on his face. Anxiety ghosted his eyes. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” he grumbled.

The fireworks display was going to be a big one—hundreds of explosions, the biggest in Oleander’s history. Monica and Dean exchanged a look. She nodded at him, a slight nod filled with subtext, and Dean realized she was about to take control of the situation yet again.

Without hesitation, she stumbled forward slightly and caught herself by placing her hand on Bo’s shoulder.

“Oh, God,” she murmured. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple with her thumb.

“Whoa, there,” Dean said, playing along. He stood up at once and offered her his chair. She sat down.

“What’s going on?” Bo said. He still looked agitated, but his tone softened when he saw that something was wrong with Monica.

She took a deep breath and let it out. “I just got really lightheaded there for a moment.”

“Did you have anything to eat today?” Dean asked.

She nodded. “Breakfast. But…I’m on this new medication. Plus the heat and the crowd. I think everything is just getting to me.”

Bo opened a bottle of water and handed it to her. “Drink this, honey.”

She drank and made a face. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think I can stay for the rest of the event.”

“Dean, take her home,” Bo said. “She’s not well.”

“No,” she said. “Dean has to make sure we get all the information we need from the raffle winners and then he has to deliver the ticket money to Mrs. Martinez at the school. Could you take me home, Bo? I don’t live far from here.”

Chivalry trumped anxiety, and Bo stood up at once. “All right. Let’s go. Take that water with you.”

A grateful look on her face, Monica threaded her arm through Bo’s and let him lead her out towards the parking lot. They were gone only minutes before the first rocket went off, a huge explosion of red-and-gold sparkles that lit up half the sky.

Dean greeted the last of his fans and took care of the odds and ends that Monica had assigned him. When he was finished, the fireworks show had already ended in a dazzling cascade of glitter and fire. Most families were packing up and ambling home. A few stragglers danced drunkenly on the grass, red cups in hand, while the grounds crew tried to shoo them away.

Dean walked up the empty bleachers and took a seat.

Years ago, he’d found an empty prescription bottle in Bo’s truck. Lorazepam. Dean had looked it up. Doctors commonly prescribed the medication to veterans who suffered from PTSD. Dean had struggled with this knowledge. It took him a long time to understand that his tough-as-nails friend and mentor carried heavy burdens in private—deep wounds, decades old.

But Monica, as smart as she was, had understood at once. And even more than that, she knew how to protect Bo without damaging his pride.