He could totally get into the role of the randy cowboy peeping Tom.
“Do you like watching me?” she said, then closed her eyes, losing herself to his touch.
“I’d rather be inside of you,” he growled. He was damn close, but he wasn’t about to go over the edge without Miss Rootin’ Tootin’.
She released his hard length, and he lined up his cock, brushing the glistening head of his shaft across her delicate folds. Georgie ran her tongue across her top lip before she arched into him and welcomed his penetration with a breathy moan.
“Georgiana, you’re so wet for me, you dirty cowgirl,” he said against her lips, then captured her mouth in a breathtaking kiss.
As their bodies moved together, their tongues met, licking and caressing in a sensual dance. After today’s life-changing revelations, they needed a release, a respite, a moment to lose themselves in one another.
And while they’d done it on just about every surface of the bungalow, here on the couch with Georgie’s hands pressed to his chest as she rode his cock would always bring him back to their first time. It seemed like eons, not months ago, that they’d given in to their mutual disdain and opted for a little sexual stress relief.
He’d never been more drawn, more furious, more frustrated, or more attracted to another person until his life collided with hers.
He rolled his hips and set a heated pace as Georgie’s faint gasps of pleasure bloomed into moans of ecstasy. The friction between them grew into a fiery inferno as he kissed her neck and gripped her ass, ready to take them over the edge.
“Yes,” she panted and raked her nails across his shoulders.
He had the rancher’s daughter right where he wanted her.
Without missing a beat, he worked her body, changing the angle of penetration. And then, they were there, hovering in that space between this world and the next, teetering on the edge of complete carnal gratification. Georgie cried out as they met their frenzied release, rocking and clinging to one another, drawing out each rippling wave of their climax.
“It looks like the rancher’s daughter likes it quick and dirty,” he said, then pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
“Oh, she likes it other ways, too.”
“This cowboy could use some details,” he replied, lowering his voice as the thought of round two sent a fresh jolt of lust straight to his cock.
Georgie sighed, coming back from wanton bliss. “The rancher’s daughter likes it…dog!” she finished, her warm body going stiff.
“You want it doggy style, cowgirl?” he asked, but something was off.
She gazed past his shoulder. “No, not doggy style. It’s our dog.”
“What about him?” he asked as a cool rush of air sent goose bumps prickling up his arms.
Georgie gasped. “He ran out the door with our Faby!”
7
Georgie
Georgie blinked.
Had she just watched Mr. Tuesday swipe the half-diapered doll and run out the front door?
And had she and Jordan had dirty-girl cowboy sex in front of Faby, their fake baby?
“Georgie, we need to go after him,” Jordan cried, jolting her from her stupefied state.
“Hold on! I need to do a quick clean-up,” she said, maneuvering her body off her husband’s cock, then grabbed a few tissues from the box on the end table. It was one thing to chase after a runaway dog dressed like a slutty farmhand. It was an entirely different bale of hay doing it with you-know-what running down your thighs.
Jordan adjusted his clothing, then plucked his jacket and her cardigan from the wall hooks.
“Here, babe! We need to hurry!” he said, tossing her the garment.
They started for the door when she spotted the diaper bag.
“Do you think we should bring Faby’s stuff?” she asked.
Jordan ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. Do you think there’s something in there that Faby will need?”
“I’m not sure what to bring on a mission to save a fake baby from a real dog,” she replied, worry starting to get the best of her.
Her husband paced the length of the living room. “I bet Mr. Tuesday thinks Faby is another chew toy,” he said, then froze.
Wide-eyed, his jaw dropped, and she knew they both just happened upon the same chilling revelation.
They could not show up to the Battle of the Births with a mauled fake baby—or worse than that—no fake baby at all!
What kind of parents lost their fake baby hours after they’d been entrusted with its care?
“We have to save Faby!” she exclaimed.
“We have to!” he repeated, slinging the diaper bag’s strap across his body before taking her hand as they made a mad dash out the front door.
After barely a block, Jordan was ahead with her lagging behind like a tortoise tethered to a cheetah.
Sweet baby chaser! Her husband could run!
She released his hand as they rounded the corner, headed toward the Tennyson neighborhood’s business district.
She gasped for breath and pointed down the street. “Keep running, Jordan! You’re faster! There’s a good chance Mr. Tuesday is headed for the park. You can corner him there.”
Jordan shook his head. “I am not leaving you behind. We’ll run at your pace. It’s safe for you to continue to exercise at the same level you’re used to.”
She stared up at the sky. Streaked in heavenly shades of orange and blue, the dusk Denver nightscape was a sight to see. But soon, this masterpiece of majestic colors would fade into black. Then, not only would they still be searching for a dog and a doll, they’d be doing it in the dark of night.
She shook her head. “No, you have to go! We’ll be losing the light soon, and God knows where he’ll go if we can’t find him and Faby soon. You’re stronger and faster. You need to get to Mr. Tuesday and rescue our fake baby.”
Jordan ran his hands through his hair again, leaving his perfect dark waves curling out this way and that like a toddler with bedhead.
He took her hand, his green eyes brimming with apprehension. “Georgie, please don’t make me choose between my pregnant wife and my fake baby!”
This was complete insanity.
“Okay, we’ll jog together. I’ll try to pick up the pace a bit. Keep an eye out for Mr. Tuesday and Faby!”
They continued, weaving their way past couples and families strolling down the sidewalk when a chorus of shrieks and squeals caught their attention.
“Is that dog eating a baby?” trilled a distraught woman with a scrap of white material in her hand.
Oh no! She had Faby’s diaper!
“There he is!” Jordan exclaimed as a blur of black and white fur shot down the street, leaving a slew of horrified people in his wake.
They took off running, and Jordan gestured to the woman.
“Grab it, babe!” he said as the chase shifted into high gear.
Passing the shocked Tennyson Street patrons, she snagged the diaper out of the woman’s pinched grip. “Thank you! And don’t worry. It’s not a real baby!” she called over her shoulder to the slack-jawed lady as they closed in on their targets.
The diaper bag jostled up and down, bumping Jordan’s elbow, then her arm, then Jordan’s elbow, then her arm again in a bizarre pre-parental masochistic motion. Could they stop and reposition the bag? Sure, if they wanted to spend the rest of the night searching for a dog and a doll. But they were losing daylight by the second, and there was no time to hesitate. Jordan glanced over, and she met his gaze, then nodded.