Page 10 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

SEVEN

ADALENE

I’m jolted awake, my body and mind feeling like two very separate and far away pieces. There’s a pounding in my head that feels similar to a hammer, violently and steadily pushing me closer to losing whatever might still be stirring in my stomach.

Rolling over, I shield my eyes from the streams of sunlight that are already filtering through the deep green curtains covering my bedroom window. So it’s full daytime out there— great . I plan to sleep so long today that the light fades into dark, and I can forget my existence a little longer.

I close my eyes, letting the thought settle into my bones, resignation in the fact that I feel like death, and wish for it too, when something warm slides across my stomach. It’s not soft and furry like Queen Tut laying on me. It’s bare, and hot, and firm…

My eyes snap open, and I barely contain a scream both from the harsh light, and the sight of a tan arm dusted in small blonde hairs laying across my chest. I slowly tilt my head to peek a glance at the man laying beside me, and then instantly pinch them closed again.

Fucking hell.

The memories from last come pouring back in, like a spigot over a cloth covered mouth—suffocating me with its violence.

Earlier that morning…

“This is where you live?” His voice is filled with wonder and a giddy laugh bubbles out of my chest. This feels so incredibly dirty and wrong having him in my space.

I don’t do this—I don’t bring men into my safety net.

But I’m drunk enough, lonely enough, and angry enough to do something this stupid, just this once.

Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s the most innocent, nicest guy I could have decided to invite here.

Unlike the beautifully dark man whose face haunts each of my fantasies…and didn’t even bother to call me to wish me a happy birthday today. Not that it matters. He hasn’t in years, and yet— no, Dale. Just because you’ve shared a few encounters lately means nothing.

But how I wish it did.

Which is exactly how I ended up here. With a man who looks nothing like him. And no doubt behaves just as opposite in and out of the bedroom—like everything is new and exciting and beautiful. He’s too sunny and positive, but for now that’ll have to do.

Because he’s sitting on my couch, looking at me like a puppy dog waiting to be pet, and as dirty as it makes me feel, I’m inclined to oblige him.

I clear my voice and walk into the small living room, hoping I look more confident and assertive than I currently feel. “ Yeah, it’s not much.”

He smiles widely at me, his clean face crinkling around light blue eyes. “It’s cute, just like you.”

I bite my lip to keep from snorting. Is that his idea of flirting? Is that what we’re doing?

It’s two in the morning, Dale, and you’ve invited him to your house for a sleepover. That’s exactly what he thinks is happening here.

“Um, thanks. Hey, do you want anything to drink?” I bite my lip again, hating how insecure I sound. His hand reaches out, grabbing lightly at my thigh, pulling me toward him on the couch. I let him pull me in, sinking onto his lap, my hands on his chest, my legs straddling his.

His large hand brushes the side of my face, and I close my eyes leaning into his touch.

If my eyes are closed, I can pretend his blonde mullet is black and combed back.

I can pretend his perfectly smooth face is covered in dark stubble, and his thin pink lips are plump and permanently turned down in a light frown.

I can pretend his muscular arms are covered in dark tattoos and scars from working a ranch, instead of a light film of blonde hairs.

If I keep my eyes closed, I can pretend.

“What do you want Dale?” He sounds breathless, and a little insecure himself, his voice quivering.

And something about eliciting that reaction from him sends a bolt of heady power through me, landing like a rock in my stomach.

I ache, and if I keep my eyes closed, maybe he can finally be the one to cure the dull throb I always carry with me.

“Kiss me.” It’s a demand, my voice harsh and needy, and he complies, without a breath for me to reconsider what I’m doing.

As his lips hit mine, I pinch my eyes closed tighter. His lips, soft and thin, remind me I am, in fact, just pretending here. And with a sinking feeling, I know nothing we might do would satisfy me the way I need. Even in a room surrounded by darkness, and a mask over my eyes.

There’s no pretending my way out of this one.

His lips slant, tongue spearing into my mouth, and he groans.

His hands roam down my back, gripping my ass and pulling me closer to his chest. His hard dick is straining against the thick denim of his jeans.

It rubs against my aching core, and I know if I start rubbing on him, I might just be able to finish. Just like this.

But that feels too pathetic. Even for me.

So I kiss him, or rather allow him to kiss me, for several beats.

“God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” His words fan across my neck as he bends forward, peppering my throat with wet kisses.

“Mhm,” I mumble, making sure to keep my eyes closed.

“What do you like? What can I do? Please, tell me.” His words send a thrill through me. So eager to please me, and I can’t say I don’t like the idea.

“Keep kissing me.” My voice is a hoarse whisper.

“I’ll be a good boy, I promise.”

That makes me groan, and I start to rock my hips, just a little. Why can’t I come like this? Who cares—right? His body, mouth, or personality might not do it for me. But his words—they’re scratching an itch I keep buried deep inside.

Fuck it.

I open my eyes, and slide my hands through his hair, yanking at the blonde strands to pull his face back. His pupils consume the blue around them, his eyes glassy with desire, mouth swollen. He’s panting beneath me, his hands still stroking my back and ass like he just can’t help himself.

“Good boys must be trained. They don’t get rewarded on the first trick. Do you understand me?”

His eyes blow wider, and he instantly nods. I yank harder on his hair and he groans again, eyes fluttering shut. I lower my lips to his Adam's apple, licking at the column of his corded throat, biting and sucking as I go.

“Fuck, I’ll be such a good boy.”

“You’re going to make me come, that’s your first task,” I whisper the filthy words in his ear, and he shivers, his hands pinching into me. I’m driving him crazy, and I’ve never felt better about it.

“Yes, fuck yes. I’ll do anything you ask me to do.” His words are strangled, eyes still pinched closed.

I start rocking on his dick harder, the thick column of it pressing into my aching pussy. I wonder how good it would feel if I would let him actually fuck me.

But even as I wonder, I know I won’t. Not this time. Not like this.

My hips pump wilder, and his chest rises and falls faster and faster with each pass.

“What do good boys do?” I bite his earlobe, pulling the soft skin into my mouth as I ride him harder, the buzz of a climax coiling in my belly. I’m so fucking close, and the thought of how dirty this is pushes me higher.

“Fuck, they make you come. Use my dick, Ms. Mendes.” The use of my teacher name leaves his mouth, filling me with a rush of filthy sparks of lightning—both wrong and right leaving his lips—all sizzling across my skin, racing to my wet pussy.

I bite down on his neck, his hair still tightly in my fists.

I hate how it sounds coming from him, but also can’t fight how the word fills me with a rush of power.

“Yes, Yes! Fucking come.” His hands push and pull at my hips, helping to push me closer to the edge. “That’s it, I’m your good boy.”

I’m enveloped in a dark tunnel, falling and falling into a pit of depravity. I know I’ll have no hope of escaping, but I can’t for the life of me wish to reach for a life line as I fall.

Present…

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I snap my eyes open. Okay, that wasn’t my hangover pounding in my head. That sounds like someone at my door…

“Dale, your car’s here, so I know you’re home. Please open up.”

“Fuck!” I hiss, looking over at the man still dead asleep next to me. This is actually my worst nightmare.

“Dale, for the love of god!” I sit up, my head spinning and I grip the edge of my nightstand.

I look down at my body to see that I’m still fully clothed, my black jeans tangled in purple sheets, and sigh with relief.

As I look over at my sleeping companion, I notice he too, is mostly clothed, beside his T-shirt now laying across his face.

It could have been so much worse.

Think happy thoughts Adalene Maria…

Another round of banging begins at the door and I jump out of bed, stumbling towards the front of the house, not bothering to look at myself in the hallway mirror. I don’t want to know how bad I look. Won’t matter anyways, when I’m dead in a matter of minutes.

Yanking the door open, I suck in a sharp breath, and wish with all my might for god to strike me down this instant.

“Fuck, I thought you were dead.” Mateo’s shadow fills the small doorway, and I don’t miss his freshly pressed white shirt, rolled up to his elbows, or the scent of fresh cedar and spice that wafts off him. He pauses, looking down at my current state and raises a brow. “Crazy night?”

I squint my eyes at him, my anger flaring to life. “Yeah, actually. People typically do go out on their birthdays.” His face falls, a guilty look consuming his features, and he shuffles.

“I know, I’m sorry. I remembered at like two this morning, but didn’t figure you’d still be up, so I rushed over here with birthday apology muffins and coffee.”

Something about his words piss me off more. We have never been “apology muffin and coffee” close, so why now? What the fuck does it mean?

To protect myself the only way I know how, I do what I do best. I self-destruct.

“Well, for your information, I was up at two, and would have welcomed a call, seeing as we’re close all of a sudden.” There’s a bite in my words that even I cringe at.

His eyes widen, before narrowing. “Can I come in?” I cross my arms, blocking the doorway. No fucking way.

“Not today.”

“Queen Tut wants to see me.” His voice is quieter now than before, and I don’t miss the hint of a growl. He’s getting pissed— good.

“Not. Today.” I bite out the words, daring him to challenge me.

“So he’s still here then. It’s”—he looks down at his thousand dollar watch—“after noon, Dale. Picked a classy one, like always.”

“How dare you?” I try to contain the rage bubbling in my throat.

“Oh, don’t start being modest now. Get him up, make him leave, and then we’re having muffins and coffee. Friends can talk about one-night stands, right?”

I stare at him, too dumb-founded and caught off guard to know how to respond.

This was not how I expected him to react, and the fact that he doesn’t care about another man in my bed—even though we didn’t do anything besides middle-school worthy dry humping, not that I will tell him that—because we’re “friends” crumples something inside of me.

I instantly deflate, and step back to close the door.

His giant, tattoo covered hand catches the handle, a look of true anger crossing his stoic features before melting away again.

“Hey, Dale, you here? Oh—” I turn to face my “one-night stand” and groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. I hear Mateo huff behind me, sounding closer to a laugh than anything, and I instantly want to melt into the floor.

Mateo brushes past me, ignoring my attempts to block his entry, and walks right up to a still sleep-ridden Jared, whose eyes are now the size of saucers.

“Mateo, and you are?” He sticks his intimidating hand between them, and Jared has the good sense to take it.

“Jared.”

“Cool, time to go, Jared.” Jared looks at me only once, a small timid smile tipping his lips before he nods and strides for the door. “Need a juice box or anything?”

Kill me now.

I scowl back at Mateo; I can’t believe that he would say that. His face gives away no emotion, but I can see well-hidden anger sparkling in his normally warm eyes. Jared chuckles, either trying to play it off, or completely oblivious, and walks out the front door without a backward glance.

He waves back at me once he gets to the corner where his car’s parked, a full-watt smile on his face— always so fucking happy. “Thanks for a fun night, Ms. Mendes.”

I choke, air sawing through my lungs, frozen and unable to move to even close the front door. After a few seconds I hear Mateo mumble something under his breath before stomping over and slamming the barrier between me and my mortification.

“He’s a fucking kid, Dale.”

“He’s twenty-five,” I hiss, scrambling to find my composure once more.

“He looks like a little boy with mommy issues.”

I turn at that, the heat of a blush blooming across my neck and face. I start towards my room, moving as fast as my legs will carry me, afraid of what he’ll think if he sees me blushing like this.

“Fuck, Dale. That’s what does it for you?” I slam my door closed, not waiting to hear what else he says.

Because yes, it does. But not with a little boy like Jared—not really. I crave the idea of bringing a grown man to his knees. To make him beg for me the way Jared did.

A tall, dark, tattooed man who bows for no one.