Page 39 of Cowboy in Colorado

“You want it?” he cuts in.

I grit my teeth. Nod. “Yes.”

“You want more?”

I nod again. “Yes, I want more.”

“Then relax for a fuckin’ second and let me give you more.”

“I just—” I let out a breath, and with it comes a truth I would never in a million years have ever told a man, under any circumstances, but for some reason, this day and this man have loosened the truth out of me in truly frightening and worrisome ways. “I’m not used to not being in control. I don’t like it.”

“No shit, Brooklyn. You’re wound up tighter than a fuckin’ drum.” He flutters his hips, giving me a soft, slow, shallow thrust that’s barely a thrust at all, barely even a movement, just a tiny flex of his hips, and that minuscule slip of him ever so slightly deeper elicits a gasp from me. “Deep down, you want someone to take control. Even just for five minutes.”

“Sounds like the inference of someone suffering from an excess of toxic masculinity to me,” I say, but something small and hard deep inside my chest wriggles uncomfortably, a little niggling worm of doubt.

He shifts his hips again, another little flex, and I feel him move inside me—it’s a tease, because goddammit I want it, I want him, I want more, I need to come with him inside me because no orgasm is ever quite as good as one delivered by a good hard fucking.

He doesn’t insist on restating his position, doesn’t argue with me about my toxic masculinity comment. Instead, he teases me. Shows me that I’m wrong—he knows I’m assuming I won’t like it in this position because I have no control, and he believes otherwise. He thinks some part of mewantsto let him take control. He’s wrong, but he can think what he wants—after he’s given me another orgasm.

He interrupts my train of thought with another shallow thrust, but this time, he lets my legs down to a less extreme and upright angle, and dammit, dammit, dammit…it doesn’t feel as good.

I growl in frustration, and in a display of mind-reading, he laughs and levers my legs back up, and this time pushes them vertical, and further yet, so the greater majority of my entire body is suspended off the bed and held there by his hips—and by the thick hard throbbing shaft crushed deep inside me.

He doesn’t move immediately—again. I growl impatiently, and he just rumbles a laugh. “Relax.”

“Will—”

“You want to just fuck and get it over with? Or you want to really enjoy it?” He waits for my answer, buried deep, throbbing inside my tight-clenched channel.

I grit my teeth again. “Both.”

Another laugh. “Can’t have it both ways.”

He slides a palm down my thigh, caresses my ass, and then his touch feathers over my hip and drifts over my belly—he has to lean hard against my thighs, pushing himself deeper, but he reaches my breasts and toys with them, flicking my nipples and cupping their heavy weight one and then the other before pinching my shoulder—which is odd, and decidedly not an erogenous zone.

“You are tensed all over,” Will says. “One big ball of stress and tension.”

“Maybe you missed it, but today was pretty fucking traumatic for me.”

“I don’t miss much,” Will answers. “You just need to relax and let go for a few minutes.”

“I don’t know how,” I mutter, the admission burning a hole in my chest.

He takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. “Try that.” He does it again. “A deep breath, nice and slow.”

I can’t help a laugh. “You have your dick in me, and you’re gonna stop and teach me deep breathing techniques?” I laugh again. “I do yoga, Will. I’m familiar with how to breathe.”

“So use it. Relax.” He pulls backward, drawing his shaft nearly all the way out of me, hands on my ankles, pushing my legs backward, pushing against them for leverage. “Just feel.”

I growl, frustrated, impatient, uncomfortable with this whole situation—I didn’t give him a fake answer before; I really do want both to just fuck and get it over with, but also to really enjoy this. God, I’m so mixed up. I want this to be over—it’s intense and scary and I’m emotionally fraught and already vulnerable and already owe this man my life several times and he’s already somuch, so overwhelmingly male and primal and alpha and commanding and sexy and I can’t afford to like him, because he doesn’t like me and we have to do business and we shouldn’t even be having sex because it’s just going to confuse the whole issue, and GODDDAMMIT he feels

SO

FUCKING

GOOD

Inside me.