Eventually, I slip inside, taking my time to fill her, drawing out the tension. She hisses as I get to the hilt. Her legs are pressed against my pelvis. We’re as close as two humans can get, yet it almost doesn’t feel like enough. She’s crawled into my soul, and I want to live in hers, but I fight back those thoughts, reminding myself that admitting such things is too much. I won’t be making any verbal promises. I’ll be keeping all my feelings to myself.
Pulling back, watching as I spill from her body until only the tip remains, I take a breath and surge forward, filling her once again. Staying steady, I repeat the motion as Scarlett’s head rolls on the pillow, her bright hair glowing in the dimness of dawn. She’s so beautiful. Her hair reminds me of the Engagement Tree when it’s in fiery bloom come fall. The heart of this land. She’s the heart of me.
Taking my time, I pull back and thrust forward, drawing out the sensation until we’re both panting with the need for more. Angling higher on my knees, Scarlett moans.
“What’s this?” Her voice squeaks with the change in position, allowing my shaft to rub against her clit as I move forward in this position. Her eyes spring open and widen. “Bull?”
The hitch to her voice tells me she likes this, and the tension in her body hints she’s close.
“I told you, I want to feel you. There’s no better sensation than when you come and I’m inside you.”
Her arms stretch over her head, reaching for the slats of my wooden headboard. Fingers curl around the wood strips as she moves her hips in a way that matches my dance over her, and she breaks. Her legs tighten at my hips. Her head tips back. She’s a goddess like this, all curves and arches, giving in to the power of us coming together. With that thought, I release the tension I’ve been holding back. Her orgasm sets off mine, and I spill into her, pulsing as she clenches. If she wasn’t already pregnant, she would be from this.
Lowering my hands to brace myself on either side of her shoulders, I stare down at her, still inside her. There’s so much I want to tell her. How happy she makes me. How much I love her. How thrilled I am she’s having this baby, but I keep it all locked up tight.
“Feel good, sweetheart?” I ask, knowing there’s no way she doesn’t, but what I really want to know is if she’s satisfied with me. Could she ever fall in love with me? Could she want more with me?
That night, dinner is almost ready at the main house, and I’m expecting Scarlett any minute. Joey has the television on in the den, and I’ve wandered in to see my favorite niece. When Canyon showed up with her a few years ago, our world turned upside down. Our mainly male household didn’t know what to do with a girl on the edge of becoming a teen. Thank goodness Carly took over the female matters, although I’d like to think Canyon has a good handle on these things. His love of women over the years certainly should have prepared him to raise one, which leaves me wondering how I’ll be if Sprout turns out to be a girl.
“Whatcha watching?” I ask as Joey sits on the couch, her feet up on the ottoman. The television screen comes to life with blaring music and the spinning title of KTEL. The program is titled Insider. Admittedly, I haven’t investigated the place where Scarlett told me she once worked. She doesn’t talk about it, dismissing her former employer as a modern-day gossip rag full of spoils about the rich and famous. It’s definitely not my thing. I’m not up on pop stars, movie star marriages, or even the greatest hits in music.
“It’s summertime in the city, but what about the neighboring countryside? Who’s missed some of our favorite stories? Ever wonder what happened next? In tonight’s segment, we have updates on some of our most requested stories, turning old news new again.”
The square image in the upper right corner immediately has the hairs on the back of my neck lifting. Despite it not being full-screen, I already recognize the picture as well as what the headline reads. As if conjuring it larger, the square blows up to fill the monitor, and the headline appears.
Bovine Bridegroom turns Dirty Dairy.
“Turn this shit off,” I hiss to Joey, but she’s transfixed by the image. The remote is in her hand, but she doesn’t change the channel, and the train wreck begins as a familiar-sounding female speaks.
“In a special interest story about our New England neighbor Vermont, this tale doesn’t hold the happily ever after of Julia Roberts in Runaway Bride. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. You’ve heard always the bridesmaid, never the bride, but what about the repeat groom? Sources say this hunky dairy king has been engaged and left at the altar on more than one occasion.”
The image focuses on the backside of a cowboy, covered in muck, but zooms in to highlight the tight-fitting jeans.
“Who could leave a man like that?” the feminine voice questions, a hint of both sarcasm and attraction in her voice. Closing my eyes, I don’t need to see the rest of the scandalous special segment, but my ears remain open, and it’s then that the familiarity of the voice registers to full recognition.
“Looks like this bovine bridegroom has taken to the fields. Perhaps he’s found love in other places, although that’s not legal in most states. Just what are they doing in Vermont?”
As my eyes slowly open, I watch as the cowboy in question is bent forward, rocking in a way that didn’t seem inappropriate in any manner until this shitshow aired and interpreted the motion as thrusting into a calf. Eventually, the cowboy is caught hitching up the poor thing, which was stuck in the mud, caused by days of rain and a flood of the backfield. In the video, the thickness of the muck sucks at his boots, and he falls over, tumbling with the baby cow. The medium-sized animal lands on top of the poor sucker. For a moment, the calf rocks, his own hooves stuck once again, and the position is nothing more than a mess. But this no-nothing show spins its own web.
“Poor cowboy can’t even get the cows to come home with him.”
That babe unsticks himself and stumbles out of the mud, leaving the cowboy in a heap, covered in muck. When he rolls over and presses upward, the backside angle is caught again.
“Looks like our dairy king is out of luck, or should we say muck, with even his own animals. Oh well, here’s hoping he catches the next one.”
There’s a chorus of chuckles before the video shrinks, and the screen shows a group of reporters—and I use the term very loosely—crammed together in an office cubicle.
“Updates?” The original male announcer stands with his arms over a mid-waist cubicle wall.
“Last check-in, the Bovine Bridegroom has sworn off women,” a male reporter states.
“But a quick search of Dating Dairy shows an image of someone strikingly similar to the cow king,” adds another person.
“The best way to confirm likeness might be a view from the backside.” The female lowers her eyeglasses, pulling them forward and back like a trombone. Despite the glasses and the longer length of hair, there’s no question who she is. She’s the woman who reported the whole damning scandal on the video. “Wowza.”
“Jojo, turn it off,” I demand. Her head turns as if she’d forgotten I was behind the couch. Then her eyes shift to my side, narrowing at who she sees.
“I knew you looked familiar,” my niece states. As if in slow motion, my neck cranes, and I gaze at Scarlett over my shoulder. Behind her stands my brother Blade.