She wraps around me with everything she has—short nails scoring my back, heels digging into my thighs, and tight as a vice pussy slickly clenching my cock in waves. We move, slowly at first but rapidly gaining speed.
Her moans are buried against the skin of my chest, and I swear I feel the sharp edge of her teeth. We’re wild, our hips banging into one another and the headboard banging into the wall in a staccato rhythm, chasing this thing building between us.
Sex. Orgasms. Maybe more?
Right now, all I know is pleasure.
I lift up to my knees, fighting the tight grip she has keeping us locked together. It changes the angle and lets me see my cock disappearing inside her, coming back out covered in her honey.
“Fucking beautiful.”
So is the flush on her cheeks and the flutter of her lashes as her eyes roll back in her head. Maybe I say that aloud because she nods, agreeing with me or asking for more?
I strum at her clit with one hand and pluck a nipple with the other. “Get there, Lil Bit. Come for me.” A few more sharp thrusts later, which she matches stroke for stroke, she detonates, bucking her hips fast and hard as she destroys me with her orgasm.
“Fuck . . . Erica . . .” I bite out as I follow her over, jerking violently as I come.
I hold myself deep inside her, not wanting to lose this connection yet. A soft and hazy-eyed Erica is a sight to behold, and I take a mental snapshot of the moment, knowing I’ll replay it just as much as the amazing sex we just had.
Too soon, she moves, and I get up to take care of the condom.
I don’t know why, but I mostly expect her to kick me out when I return from the bathroom. Like she got what she needed from me and now, I’m free to go. But she smiles and pulls back the covers, patting the bed beside her in invitation. “Do you need to go?”
I climb into bed, finding my space next to her. “Nope, there’s nowhere I need to be.”
That’s not true at all.
Shayanne will have told the whole family about Erica and me leaving the market together, and my phone is probably blowing up in my jeans pocket. I don’t give a shit and don’t have any interest in answering their intrusive questions.
And chores will need to be done dark and early in the morning. But if I’m not there, the guys can handle it. I’ve done the same for them. Though they’ll have just as many questions as the women. Gossipy old assholes, with their knowing looks and smirks.
Regardless of what’s at home, I do exactly what I want to do. Maybe for the first time ever. I simply lie down in bed with a beautiful woman and don’t give a second thought to anything but what I want and what she wants.
In her bed, in her arms, I feel that little bit of freedom welling up.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”
Erica moans in her sleep. For a former soldier, judging by the picture I saw in the living room, she’s shit for waking up for reveille. Is that even a thing still? I’ve got no idea beyond what I’ve seen on television.
Admittedly, as a rancher, I’m always up with the sun. But it’s a bit hard to rise and shine for me too this morning.
Mostly because we last fell asleep about two hours ago. We spent the night dozing and then waking up to fuck again.
Last night was like Olympic-level sport fucking.
Erica is amazing, insatiable, a revelation.
I need carbs and Gatorade this morning to refuel and recover. And probably some of the udder balm we use on the cows for my dick. Not that I’m complaining in the least. Hell, I’d go again right now if only she’d wake up.
I press a kiss to her forehead, letting her drift off one more time as I get up, pull on my underwear, and hit the kitchen. I’m a shit cook for the most part, but there’s one thing I know how to make from scratch. A quick rustle through her cabinets and fridge provides all the supplies.
“What’s that smell?” a sleep-roughened voice says from the pile of blankets in the middle of the bed. For a tiny thing, she takes up the whole bed herself, damn near lying diagonal and spread-eagle. I didn’t mind at all because she was half draped over me that way.
“Pancakes. Coffee.”
“Shit. If this is a dream, don’t wake me up. It’s too good to end yet.” One eye peeks over the covers, and she looks at me skeptically, as though I’m going to disappear before her very eyes. Well, eye because just the one has opened.
“Not a dream. But if you don’t move your ass, I’m going to eat your pancakes.”
“Nightmare” is the mumbled reply, which makes me chuckle. But she does get up, making a pit stop in the bathroom. She comes back out in fresh cotton panties and nothing else to sit down at the table. “Looks good.” A blink follows. “Scratch that, looks great. I don’t remember the last time someone cooked me breakfast.”
My chest puffs up at that. Either there hasn’t been anyone warming her bed in a while or they were assholes who bailed. Or she kicked them out, more likely. But I’m here, still here, which feels like a damn accomplishment with this woman.
“Haven’t cooked for anyone in a while. Shayanne and Mama Louise do the cooking at the ranch, mostly.”
It just slips out. Normal conversation, sharing tidbits with a stranger. Okay, definitely not a stranger if I know how hard she likes her hair pulled and what she sounds like when she’s ready to come. But I’m not usually one to share . . . anything.
Erica takes it in stride, having no idea that my walls just cracked a little bit. “I met Shayanne, and she mentioned Mama Louise. Is that your mom?” A big bite of pancakes goes into her mouth and she moans obscenely. “Ohmigod, these are so good.”
I smile at the compliment before answering her question. “No, Mama Louise is a Bennett. They own the ranch I work for.” I don’t tell her half of it used to be my ranch but I had no way of saving it from the debt Dad put us in when he died. It doesn’t matter now anyway, since that’s all water under the bridge. Murky water for sure, but done and over with. And we’re all good now working with the Bennetts. Working for them.
And I’m patching over that wall crack with a few dabs of hope and shut-the-fuck-up.
“I figured you would be more of a morning person being military, or is this lazing about a rebellion against those sunrise mornings?”
She freezes, suspicion on her face.
I point with my fork. “Picture over there. Emily doesn’t strike me as the guns and boots type.” A small tease and she relaxes again.
“I went into the Army shortly after high school. Those boot camp mornings were hell, but that was the easy part.” She shrugs and adds, “After basic, I went to Virginia for advanced training. I was lucky, posted stateside the whole time, with pretty regular hours. I came home a couple of years ago to run the shop when Dad retired.”
“And now you get lazy Sunday morning brunches specially made for you,” I conclude with a smirk.
She finishes her pancakes, putting away as many as I do and using more syrup than a sugar-starved toddler. She takes our empty plates, washing them in the sink. “What are you doing today? Need me to drive you home?”
And so it ends. She’s kicking me out now. But she offered a ride, and I’ll take those extra minutes with her. “That’d be great. Thanks. What do you usually do on Sundays?”