Page 20 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

FIFTEEN

MATEO

Without saying as much, Dale’s made it clear she’s tired of the crossed wires, and confusing signals firing between us.

Which, thank fuck, because so am I. I don’t know what we are, or where we’re going, but I do know one thing: I think about Dale every second of every day.

And I want to show up for her, anyway she’ll let me.

She made it very clear two nights ago when we talked that I’m not welcome to pop in and out of her life when it suits me.

I just hope she’s ready for me to show up, and climb into a permanent spot. Because if she thought that would turn me away, she has another thing coming.

The truck rumbles to a stop beneath me, and I look up at the Texas spring sky, dark grey with rain laden clouds. Sucking in a breath, the smell of pizza coats my nostrils—weirdly sweet pizza because she likes it with pineapple.

You got this.

I roll my eyes. What am I? A lovesick teenager? I run a fucking million dollar ranch and casino conglomerate, with hundreds of employees. I think I can win over one woman.

One especially stubborn, reclusive, feisty woman who sees me as her friend and would like to keep it that way for safety's sake. But I’m jumping in, and I’m dragging her with me.

I open the door, a dinging filling the cab, when the hairs on my neck prickle, as if being watched.

I look over my shoulder, heat crawling across my skin like snakes, and I shiver.

There’s no one else out, the gloomy weather keeping most people inside this evening, and there’s no cars I don’t recognize.

I’ve become very familiar with all the cars lining her street, especially since the man was seen outside of her house two nights ago.

That night, we found a silver Honda parked on the corner—it was beat up and extremely out of place with the others.

But I haven’t seen it again, and I don’t see it now.

A door slams shut to my right and I jump, nearly dropping the pizza.

“Mateo?” Dale calls and I whirl to face her. My heart pounds like a drum in my throat, my senses still on high alert. But I don’t want her to know that—I don’t want her to be scared when I already have her well protected.

I plaster on a smile, slamming my truck door and saunter toward her, pizza in hand. Her eyes scour my face, searching for what, I don’t know.

My own drop to the ratty T-shirt covering her chest, draping off one shoulder.

The same shirt I saw her— no, bad boy. If I get a hard on right now, she’ll definitely turn me away.

This time her legs are covered in black leggings, her feet bare displaying bright purple toenails.

She wriggles them, no doubt noticing me stare at them, and I look back up at her with a wink.

“Special delivery.”

She scowls, crossing her arms further. The motion pushes her breasts together beneath the fabric, making it painfully clear she’s not wearing a bra.

My mouth goes dry at the sight. I remember what they looked like, how the nipples showed a deep purple color, and the swells were dusted in the perfect pattern of freckles.

She also remembers that I now know what they look like, and she shifts, adjusting her shirt to make their shape a little less obvious.

“Why are you here?” she asks, her tone dry.

“I brought pizza.” I wave the box in front of her, and her eyebrows rise in question. “Wait, why’re you outside?” I look back over my shoulder for any out of place vehicles once more, before facing her again.

“Tut was meowing at the door. He’s been doing that a lot lately, so I came out to see if there was something out here.”

The memory of Tut meowing at me through the glass flashes through my mind, and my smile wobbles. “Uh, want to eat this while it’s still hot?”

“Who says I haven’t already eaten?” She cocks her hip, and I bite my cheek.

“Have you?”

She rolls her eyes. “Not yet. But what if I don’t invite you inside?”

I step forward, invading her space, the box the only thing between us. “Then my ego would be mortally wounded and I’d never recover. Take pity on me. I hate pineapple on pizza and this thing is covered in it.”

She shakes her head, the sass deflating from her body, and I don’t bother fighting off my grin.

“Should have brought whiskey too,” she states, turning back to the front door.

“I was sure you’d have some.”

She huffs, but doesn’ t disagree.

“How’s your parents?” I lean back into the couch cushions, their fuzzy exteriors all but swallowing me. I should feel ridiculous, surrounded by velvet purple, but it’s so Dale and I’m quickly realizing just how badly I want to be surrounded by anything Dale.

She pauses mid bite, setting the piece down to look at me thoughtfully. “They’re okay.” Her words are hesitant, and I lean back further, a motion I hope shows her I’m not running off regardless of what she says.

Her family was always good people, but I know she never fit in with them.

Much like me, she was the outsider in her own family.

And because of that, her mother was hard on her—that much was evident in the drastic flip that occurred in both Dale’s exterior appearance, and how she thought and spoke as she grew up.

She’d spent her entire life suppressed, and when her mom and sister left for her grandparents the day after graduation, Dale was never the same.

Which is fine by me. I like this version of her better anyways—even if I didn’t act right about it all those years ago.

“My mama’s still bitter as ever that I won’t come there, but I know she’ll shackle me to the floor if I do.

And my sister and papa are good, living their own lives.

” She straightens slightly, tracing a small circle on her knee absently.

“It’s weird that I haven’t seen them in ten years, and while I miss them, I can’t picture my life any differently. ”

“Your mom was tough,” I offer, hoping I’m not overstepping any bounds.

“She loves me in her own way,” she defends, but there’s no heat to her words, like she hardly believes them herself.

A fact that breaks my heart. Dale’s the kind of person who deserves unconditional love, from everyone she meets, much less her own parents.

How can her mother not see the amazing woman she's become?

My mother, although terribly absent in my life, was always my ray of sunshine, so full of love for me and Valentina I was afraid she’d burst from it sometimes.

She never once told us how to live or who to be, even in scenarios where parental advice would have been welcomed.

It didn’t suit her free spirit lifestyle.

I shoot her a small smile, and she sags.

“I know, how could she not? But you know that everything she projected onto you is her own insecurities, not your shortcomings. You were the best kid alive, of that I have no doubt, and became a woman any parent would be proud of. If she doesn’t say as much, it’s because she was probably never taught the words. Doesn’t make it right, but?—”

She leans back on her palms, the action pausing me mid sentence, her hair wrapping around her waist in its usual braid. “Pretty wise there, but you brought the pizza. Shouldn’t I be paying you somehow? Not the other way around? I’m a teacher, I can’t afford pizza and therapy. ”

It’s a deflection—Dale’s never been one to talk about her feelings, but as the words hang between us, a hundred different ways she could “pay me” filter through my mind, each one dirtier than the last.

I readjust my hips, looking for release where my straining zipper’s concerned at this point, only to meet dark eyes burning into my own, halting my movements.

“What’re you really doing here, Mateo?” Her words cut me to the core, exposing the flame of desire that seems to blaze brighter each time I’m around her.

“Uh, pizza?” But my voice is gravely, full of my poorly hidden intention, and her eyes narrow.

“But you haven’t eaten any.” Her eyes flick down, confirming that I haven’t touched a slice.

“I don’t like pineapple on my pizza.”

“Have you tried it?” She sits up, her eyes full of challenge.

No. “Yes.”

Dale rolls her eyes, pushing onto all fours, crawling toward the box. None of this should be pornographic—nothing she’s said or done should turn me on.

Yet my dick hasn’t gotten the message, as more and more blood pools beneath my waistband.

She grabs a small slice, sitting back on her haunches as she extends it to me. I stare down at the triangle covered in the offending topping, raising an eyebrow. I flick my eyes back up to hers, which blaze full of challenge, and something more .

Or that could just be my dick talking at this point, but fuck, I hope it’s more.

“What exactly do you want me to do with that?” I nod toward the pizza in her hand, leaning farther away from it, and the heat building between us.

Her eyes narrow, and she draws her bottom lip between her teeth, rolling it before dropping back to a crawling position.

With the slice still extended in one hand, she begins crawling forward once more, stopping only when her body’s pressed between my knees.

And hovering just above my now rock hard cock.

What is this woman doing to me?

“Put it in your mouth,” she states, hovering the slice in front of my face, eyes boring into my own. My fingers instantly fist at my sides, digging into the cushions at the demand in her voice.

I’ve always been the dominating one in every relationship—family, working, even with my limited partners. But this? I have no control around Dale, and the truth is, I like it this way.

As the boss in life, maybe it would be nice to relinquish control with the one person I’m realizing I trust more than anyone. I trust that she’d protect my heart and soul, because that’s who Dale is. She’s a caretaker, and god, I want her to take care of me.

A dark eyebrow rises, and she leans forward slightly, the action causing one surprisingly taunt nipple to graze my thigh. A groan rises in my throat, but I swallow it down, terrified that if I show my eagerness too quickly, it’ll scare her off.

I don’t even know if she knows what she’s doing, how she’s demanding me and what it’s doing to my body. Does she know the power she wields over me? Over everyone in her life? Does she know any man would fall to their knees for a chance to worship her?

Sighing deeply, pushing the air back out through my nose, I open my mouth slightly. I remain frozen, jaw open, daring her to push further into this dominating roll she’s taken. Will she follow through?

She smirks, her eyes shining. Of course she will. Dale doesn’t back down from a dare.

She scoots further, her heavy breasts all but sitting on my thighs now, and it takes every ounce of concentration not to shiver at the electricity pulsing toward my dick. One little match at this point and I’d burst into flames.

She hasn’t even done anything overly sexual and I’m a fucking wreck.

Her arm extends, the pizza hitting my tongue.

I bite down, the first taste being that of regular pizza—garlic, cheese, soft bread—all the good things about pizza.

But my pallet quickly explodes with sweet, tangy notes—a contrast to the normal pizza flavor, but not unpleasant.

Something different, and unique that I regrettably don’t hate.

She’s never going to let me live this down.

“Good boy,” she praises, the words going straight to my cock, and I choke on the bite. I suck in a deep breath, tears collecting along my lashes as I fight to get oxygen back into my lungs.

Dale sit’s back, a shit eating grin consuming her face. She shakes her head, that damn braid swishing, before extending the remaining slice toward me.

After gaining my breath, and the remains of my dignity, I reluctantly take the slice. I take another bite, instantly filled with regret.

Although still decent, it doesn’t taste as good without her feeding it to me. Or praising me for doing so.

Her smirk tells me she knows it too.

“Not bad,” I finally manage to offer, chewing another bite.

“Who knew little peasant ole me could teach the king something.” She sits back onto her ass, drawing a greater distance between us, and I scramble for any excuse to be near her once more.

I reach for a second piece, more to feel her heat than for the pizza itself. “We could trade lessons if you want. I’m sure there's a thing or two I could teach you, too.”

Her eyebrows raise toward her hairline before I have a second to reconsider the implication of my words. We still haven’t discussed her confession about the state of her virginity, something I fear she was trying to stay well away from.

But why?

She can’t think that’s something that would be embarrassing, right?

If anything, it makes me want her more. Not that I would care if she had slept with every person in Moztecha, but because I want to be the one to mark her, inside and out, first, last, and forever.

I nearly choke on the bite in my mouth again, the thought catching me totally off guard.

Yes, I know I want her. But first, last, and forever? I just might be in over my head with her. And yet, I never want to come up for air again.

“Easy, your highness, you might bite off more than you can chew.” She stands, brushing crumbs off her lap, striding toward the kitchen effectively ending the conversation.

But not my thoughts, or my wanting.

Now that the idea has formed and taken root, I know I’ll have to see it through. I’m going to be my best friend’s first, last, and maybe, just maybe, forever.