Chapter 52

They lay together, sated. Cole’s ass was almost off the small bed, but his other side was glued to Tabby.

The woman was so delicious, he didn’t know if he’d ever leave this tiny loft, ever again. Just stay and do stuff to her all day long, rest up, then start again, through the night. Dax could leave a tray half-way up the stairs, couldn’t he?

Though it had all been him, with the grand finish. That didn’t sit right with him, never had. “Got an idea.”

“Your last idea just about blew my brain cells. What makes you think I want to go another round?”

He grinned. “The way you handled the last roundup, Missy. Especially if all you need to do is just lay there?”

“Have at it.”

That’s all he needed to hear. He grabbed her hips, swung her ass over the side of the cot. “Need more room.” And then, eyes on hers, watching her reaction, he pulled the upright sack of grain she’d thrown off the bed earlier up flush against it, and positioned her rear on the top.

“Hey.”

“Don’t complain. Look.” He patted it down around her. “Comfy?”

She wiggled. “Oh well, of course. Sack of grain, and burlap. How could it be anything but.”

She was trying to get his goat, but he planned on sparring with her for a long time to come, and couldn’t just give in. “Excellent.”

A look of surprise came over her face. “Hey. Exactly the right height. How do you come up with these ideas, Cole?”

“Cowboy wisdom. Use what’s around you. Always ask yourself: can I use this for another purpose? Reuse, recycle, repurpose. Use for wild hot sex with Tabby Logan. You know.”

Her lips quirked in a smile. “Don’t think I’ll be forgetting that rule.”

She lay there, hands over her head, breasts and all the rest of her accessible. Unashamed, unabashed. Her ass off the cot, propped on the sack, a bit higher than the cot. Legs splayed.

“Fine presentation, if I do say so myself.” Cole patted her ass, then left her there, walked over to the basin, wiggled his fingers into the water. “Mite coolish.” He took another towel scrap, dipped it in, then washed off his cock. Took his time.

“Hey, Cowboy. Naked woman over here, waiting.”

He didn’t turn around, just to tease her. Hopefully she’d like the view. His ass was just an ass, but women seemed to say it was one of his best features. He’d always shaken his head at that, unsure if it was a compliment. Possibly a hidden insult. “For?”

“Um, apparently something needs eating out.”

The sexy words spiked an avaricious greed in him, surprised him. Hey Bucko. Remember, she writes hot sex. “On my way, ma’am.”

He toed his discarded jeans over, knelt on them. “Floor’s a bit hard.”

“Among other things.”

“Don’t be reminding me.” He put his hands on either side of her pussy. “Now, what do we have here?”

“Well, if you need me to explain it, I’m wasting my time.”

“Hesh.” He laid one hand on her breast to teasingly shut her up, and enjoyed the feel of her flesh. There was no scar tissue there, and that was fine but then he remembered, and it mattered. At least twenty percent of her skin was scarred, and it was as valuable as the original flesh. Maybe more. Medals of a battle fought in life, and hell, she was still coming off the winner, in his opinion.

He was never going to forget that, and he was never going to be leaving any of it out. So he slid his hand, purposefully, over to where there was a bunching of the skin. And there was the bit. Raised, right between her breasts—over her heart. He splayed his fingers out so his pinky and thumb hit the mounds on both sides, but kept his palm right there. Practically fixed. The spot was so warm, and he could feel her heart beating…dear Lord.

Tabby.

The enormity of what they were doing, once again, hit him, stopped him. This wasn’t just about a roll in the hay, despite where they were. It was far more.

“Hey. What’s that about?” Tabby demanded, and pulled him back into the moment. Out of his deep communion with her body.

“Sorry, babe. But if I’m going to enjoy myself here—and I intend to—I will be connected to…what’s important.”

She raised her head up, eyes incredibly serious, locked them on his. A sudden concern skittered through him. Had he pissed her off? Like, really?

Note to self: A man might want to know that before he buried his head in a woman’s pussy.

But more, a man who wanted to really touch a woman’s heart, care for it like it was his own—actually better than his own—needed to know. “Have I messed up, Tabby?”

Her eyes, those gorgeous, darkened pools of caramel, went liquid. Abruptly, he knew this was a moment, and it was important. He held his breath, waited, as their eyes stayed locked on each other. Yes, it was sex, and it was fun and good and meaningful and all that. But also, he was on his knees, in front of her. Serving her. If she’d let him.

And it was what he intended to do for the rest of his life, and hers, if she’d let him.

He waited longer. Time felt as though it stretched, elastic. Then Tabby swallowed, sighed. Her face softened, and she looked away.

When she looked back, all of a few seconds later—where had she gone mentally in those few seconds?—she just shook her head.

“No, Cowboy. You didn’t.” She exhaled a breath. Reached down with one hand, gently stroked the top of his head. Her touch warm. Soft.

Accepting him.

“Tabby, are you okay with this? All of this? I know I came off as the big macho guy telling you no more makeup when we’re together, but…”

She put a finger on his lips firmly, stopped him. “I get it, Cole. I get it. And I’ll decide what I want to do going forward. But for now, Cowboy, if you’re in the mood, you still have a job to do.”

His cock jumped, and inside his crotch was turmoil. Holy hell, he wanted her again. “Well then, Ma’am, I’ll see you laying back down and letting me get on with it.”

She giggled. “I was hoping you say that.”

“I never finish a meal without an aperitif.” The man bent to his work, and got busy. Flailing limbs, an excitable pussy, milky-white thighs that clenched around his ears and squeezed him intermittently - none of it deterred him. He dove into sweet, spicy depths and when he was done, the little lady was screaming his name, and her lovely folds were spasming around him. Swearing at him, calling him a dirty bastard.

He was quite good with all that. He was quite sure he was exactly that: a dirty bastard. At least he hoped he’d performed as expertly as one. Bad boys, right?

And he’d never enjoyed it more.