Page 36

GRACE

Stay city girl, trade concrete for sky.

McCartney’s words haven’t stopped whirling around my mind since I discovered them on my screen. As I look up at the two rugged cowboys standing over me, I feel the difference between what is going to happen here and all the hollow sexual experiences I had before I came to Cooper Hill.

These men aren’t soulless skyscrapers. They’re trees rooted into the earth.

Reliable and strong. Able to weather all of life’s storms and earthquakes without toppling.

Their eyes aren’t focused on the present but on the future.

They aren’t taking the easy way out with crypto trading, manifesting, and influencing, but giving everything they have to forge a life together.

And I want to be part of it, even if it’s only for a while.

Don’t say goodbye.

That was the hardest part of the poem to read because I can’t promise that. I have a life far away from this place where I’ve carved out a place of my own. This home, this family, it’s the opposite of the sterile calm of my apartment and office. And yet, I can’t turn away.

This is wrong. Heartless in a way to make them think I can be what they need for the future they’re dreaming of.

But maybe I can be what they need at this moment, while they’re waiting for the woman who has what it takes.

Corbin needs this so badly. His touch was desperate, like he wanted to burrow under my skin and curl up inside me.

Conway hasn’t been able to look at me fully for days.

The weight of this place is bearing down on him, and I can feel the craving he has for a release of tension. And me?

I’m a little drunk on cowboy loving, care, and consideration. I’m a little desperate to be surrounded by strength and goodness and be reminded that good men do exist in this world. After so many orgasms at the hands of the men in this house, my body is antsy for more.

But the truth is, I’ve always felt like an empty bucket that’s looking to be filled. There’s a gap inside me that I haven’t found a way to seal. No matter what I do, it’s always there, aching a little like a paper cut in the ocean.

I unbutton my shirt, taking my time so they can come to their senses if they need to. Two sets of eyes watch as I part the fabric to reveal my powder blue lace bra below.

Corbin tugs his flour-dusted shirt over his head, revealing a work-honed muscled chest dusted with light brown hair that makes my mouth dry. He doesn’t have abs as such. Just a firm abdomen that’s all man. His jeans follow before Conway has even unhooked a belt buckle.

Whatever Corbin is feeling after that horrible confrontation has spurred him forward.

Anger at being called out for moving on after a devastating loss.

Resentment at the lack of respect and consideration from his brother-in-law.

I can’t blame him for needing a release or seeking softness when it’s offered.

He’s the first to climb on the bed with me, wearing only his tight black boxer briefs that outline his thick, erect cock. I help him tug my jeans over my hips and ass, and he yanks them down my legs, stroking upward along the outsides of my thighs when I’m bared to him.

“Jesus, Grace. You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says gruffly, fingers hooking into the edge of my panties as he looks straight into my eyes.

I glance up at the sound of Conway’s belt being drawn through loops and the rustle of fabric as he removes his shirt.

I should feel overwhelmed at the sight of two such big, masculine men surrounding me, but I don’t.

I know they aren’t here only to take from me. They want to give.

“Take them off,” I whisper, already anticipating Corbin’s tongue on my clit and maybe his fingers inside me.

Conway knee walks across the mattress until he’s on my right, while my panties are eased down my legs, and I’m spread open by Corbin’s strong hands, whimpering at the sensation and the hungry look in his eyes.

“Taste her,” Conway orders, unsnapping the front fastening of my bra. His fingers toy with my nipples as Corbin uses his thumbs to part my labia and the tip of his tongue to run slight circles around my clit.

Corbin’s mouth is warm, reverent, and he explores me with intense focus, as though every inch of me he touches is holy ground. I grip the sheets, breath hitching, body arching into the attention like I’ve been waiting for this kind of worship my whole life.

“Damn, she’s beautiful,” Conway says, as Corbin’s hands anchor my hips as he kisses lower, slow and unhurried.

Around me, the bed shifts. Conway trails his fingers down my arm, watching my face with a quiet awe that almost undoes me. Corbin’s palm rests gently on my thigh, grounding me in the moment.

“Look at her,” Conway murmurs, voice husky with appreciation. “She’s glowing.”

I let out a soft sound that’s half moan and half laugh as Corbin kisses up my inner thigh, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. He doesn’t rush. Neither of them does. There’s no frenzy here, no performance. Just two men so attuned to what I want and need, it hurts my heart.

The men that came before weren’t like this, which made it easier for me to retreat into myself. But I can’t hold back as they both watch me and the pleasure their actions are stimulating.

Conway’s gaze is heat and promise wrapped in restraint. “Tell us what you want, Grace,” he says. “We’re yours.”

I swallow hard, my heart hammering in my chest. “I want this,” I whisper. “Both of you. Like this… don’t stop.”

Conway leans in and kisses my shoulder, lips soft against my skin. “We won’t. Not until you forget the world exists outside the walls of this room.”

He doesn’t realize that’s already happening. Bit by bit, everything I thought I wanted, everything I thought was important, is slipping away. The world outside of the fences that encircle this home seems like an illusion, a dream I’m forgetting hour by hour.

I arch into Corbin’s mouth as he presses two thick fingers inside me and curls them perfectly.

I stare into Conway’s eyes as he watches me writhe, cataloging everything so he can ruin me again when it’s his turn.

He caresses me with soft touches like a brush over canvas, marking the edges of my form until I fall into pleasure so deep, I drown, gasping and curling, trapping Corbin’s fingers deep inside me as my thighs clamp together.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing my knee. Corbin shifts upward, his chest pressing to mine, his mouth brushing my ear. “You okay?”

I stroke his cheek with the back of my fingers. “Yeah. More than okay.”

Conway threads his fingers with mine as Corbin presses a kiss to my collarbone, then my sternum, then lower still.

Somewhere in the press of skin on skin, the weight of their gaze, and in the way their hands never stop learning me, I stop thinking about what comes next.

I just feel.

And I fall a little deeper.