Page 37 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

THIRTY

ADALENE

A thousand possibilities race through my mind—each one more outlandish than the one before it. Mateo’s on his knees.

Surely he doesn’t know what he’s offering me.

Surely he doesn’t think I’ll offer myself to him, again, facing rejection because all we’ve ever been and will be, is friends.

Surely he doesn’t expect me to risk our friendship— ruin our friendship —again.

Last time we barely spoke for ten years, and right now, with everything falling apart in my life, I can’t lose him too.

The memory of propositioning myself to him all those years ago—and being rejected—which led to one of the worst nights of my young life plays on loop in my head.

His body shakes, a shiver racing down his spine, making his head rub dangerously between my bruised, tender, and now aching breasts.

What the fuck is happening?

“You don’t know what you’re saying. Get up, Mateo.”

His grip tightens, and a growl rips from his lips, muffled by my own body. “I do Dale. I know exactly what I’m saying.”

My heart kicks up, which as it’s already racing, feels impossible. It’s going to explode. “If you want to risk ruining our friendship, you’re going to have to be man enough to tell me—to take me—not wait for me to risk my neck. Not again. Not after you rejected me.”

I can’t believe I just said that, but even as they leave my lips, they feel slightly…untrue? Less than I need them to be? Not what I want? I don’t fucking know.

He groans once more, the sound so full of pain, I have to fight the overwhelming urge to reach out and comfort him. Does he even remember the way I had practically begged him to take me home? Does he remember why he didn’t?

Why didn’t he?

“I won’t take you, Dale. You have to take it for yourself, however you want, wherever you want.

But if you’re looking for consent, or willingness to tread into these foreign waters together, know you have it from me.

Know that you also have my desire, my want— my hopeless fucking need —to have you.

Our friendship can stay rooted between us or it can burn to fucking ash, but it’s all up to you.

I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll be whoever you need.

You have the power and control over me—I think you always have. ”

His eyes flash up at me, chocolate pools now darker and deeper than I’ve ever known them to be.

I’ve always wanted a man to want me; more than that, I’ve always wanted this man to want me.

I’ve lain awake more nights than are right and proper, imagining how and why this opportunity would present itself.

What I would want it to look like. What I would want it to feel and sound like. What I would want him to say, and do.

But nothing compares to this.

This moment, with Mateo—a King in every sense of the word—begging me to use him for my own pleasure, for my own needs, for my own healing. I feel drunk, and I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in weeks.

“I don’t know how.” I hate the way my voice trembles.

His eyes glitter, a small smirk twisting his lips and if he wasn’t holding me up at this point, I’d be a puddle on the ground.

“Yes you do. I know what you read, what you watch. I know you’ve imagined all kinds of things.

” He pauses, searching my flushing face.

“There are no right or wrong wants or desires. If you have someone you can trust, and who can trust you, anything’s possible.

And I, Mateo Reyes, submit my mind, body, and soul to you, Adalene Mendes.

I trust you. And I want you to share your darkest desires with me, even if I’m unworthy. ”

Someone pinch me. Unworthy? There’s nothing about this man that could be unworthy. There’s no one who could possibly be worthy of him —most of all me.

Yet, I don’t have it in me anymore to hear my insecurities, at least not right now when his words are booming in my brain, and his hands are branded on my skin. I want him, and I don’t want to fight against it anymore.

I lick my lips, an action that has Mateo’s chest rumbling again, and heat coils low in my belly. He’s so responsive, so zeroed in on me and my motions. If I moved left, I honestly think he’d bend or break to follow me.

The power’s all-consuming.

“There will be rules,” I state, allowing the heady power to replace my earlier anger with no less heat.

“One, you will tell me if, and when what I want makes you uncomfortable, unsatisfied, or unwanted.” My eyes pierce into his, and he nods.

“Two, this can’t alter our daily lives. I still have to be Dale, your friend, and you have to be Mateo, my friend.

I can’t lose the one person I talk to and trust with my fears and insecurities.

” His eyes glisten, and I fight off the overwhelming urge to drop to my own knees and kiss him.

But I have to get this out. He nods again.

“Three, I reserve the right to add limits and expectations as we do…things. I have no idea what I do and don’t like. ”

“Of course,” he whispers, his eyes growing more pleading. Like he’s waiting for me to sever the restraint like a noose between us.

“And four, we can’t fall for each other.

This has to be a safe space, a place of learning, control, and release.

If you’re agreeing to let me use you how I want and need, you’re also agreeing to let me go back to just friends, without the added benefits, whenever I need.

I don’t need or want the extra weight of feelings added.

I can’t, I don’t even know what or how to feel anymore. ”

I stare at him, and he stares back at me, time all but standing still.

The last, although the most painful, feels like the most important one.

I can’t fear what’ll happen if this doesn’t work.

I need more boundaries than that—more security.

Even if it feels like I’m cutting my own heart from my body.

“Okay, I agree.” There’s a hint of reluctance in his voice, but it’s firm and determined, and I have to trust that he’d say otherwise if he didn’t actually agree. That’s what this will be for us—the ultimate act of trust.

I exhale, some invisible weight lifting from my chest, “Now stand up and kiss me Mateo, like your life fucking depends on it.”

He doesn’t hesitate, his eyes never leaving my face as if they’re magnets for my own. He stands up, graceful and lyth like a panther, towering over me. I don’t know if I’m still breathing any more, and I don’t fucking care.

He leans in, both hands sliding torturously slow up my arms bringing with them a wave of goosebumps, until they land on either side of my neck. He looks at me hungrily, like he’s set to devour me, and fuck I hope he does.

Lowering his face to mine, his lips only millimeters from my own, I can feel him breathing, and the cinnamon scent of him is so thick around me I’m almost dizzy from it.

“Yes, cowgirl.”

I snort at that, caught off guard by the name. “ Shouldn’t it be Mistress? Or something?” I babble nervously because he’s just hovering above my face like a brat. Like a brat not doing what they’re told.

He shakes his head slightly, his nose brushing my own. “Maybe, for others. But in my world, the cowgirl is the one in control, the one with the reins, the one on top.”

I suck in a shaky breath— fuck. He’s so fucking hot, and even if it feels funny, I can’t think about it anymore. We’re teetering on the edge, and I’m desperate to be drug under the current.

“If you don’t fucking kiss me—” Before I can finish the threat, his lips crush into my own.

I remember our first kiss like it was yesterday, and I fully expected it to be the best kiss of my life.

But this one, this is something different. Where he was tender and soft last time, it’s replaced with an edge, with firmness and strength. He’s always been big and strong, but he’s so much more now.

His lips move against my own, somehow both soft and firm, pulling and tugging at my own, urging me to join him— no, take over him, consume him.

I slide my tongue along the bottom seam of his lips, and he groans, the sound sending a shiver to race through my body, my remaining composure snapping.

My hands race up his front, feeling his impossibly hard muscles flexing beneath my hands.

One hand fists in his shirt, while another one pushes into his perfect, fucking hair—I’m met with silky strands.

I groan back, pushing into him, pulling his face closer to mine with the roots of his hair.

I spear my tongue into his waiting mouth, and he wastes no time nipping and tugging at it with his teeth. It spurs me on, and I return fire, biting and pulling at his back. He willingly lets me have it, our tongues and lips impossibly tangled .

My clothes feel tighter and tighter around me, scratching and itching at my overly sensitive skin. Am I on fire?

I pull back only a fraction and he growls pulling my face back with a firm hold on either side of my neck.

“Take me to your room,” I mumble against his lips.

I wait, heart in my throat. I’ve never been inside his room, and he’s never offered. Not that I’ve been to his house more than a handful of times, but something about it feels like seeing beneath his mask.

Maybe it’s because I know how precious I hold my own space.

What if he denies me?

He pulls away, his eyes wild—the brown swallowed by his glittering black pupil. He looks as out of control as I feel, and something about that both soothes and electrifies my already racing heart.

He doesn’t waste a second, scooping my small body into his enormous arms, and carries me to the opposite end of the hallway, to his room .

He doesn’t release his hold on me to open the door, instead kicking through it, the latch cracking, the door swinging open with a bang. I stare up at him, mouth ajar.

He’s insane. Why do I fucking love seeing him so out of control?

I greedily take in his room, surprised by almost everything I see.

I expected black and gold, or red and gold—something befitting a king.

But I’m met with blue and warm tans. It’s a humble room, with wooden furniture, a brown cowhide rug and a denim looking quilt over an enormous bed.

There’s frames littering the walls, pictures too small for me to see their faces.

It’s warm and inviting, and the simplicity of it makes my heart ache. How misunderstood is this incredibly powerful man?

I’m snapped from my assessment, when he tenderly sets me on the bed, like I’m made of glass, and then straightens, towering over me.

“What now?” I squeak. He just shakes his head, and I remember what he said. I have total control. This is my game.

I scramble onto my feet at the edge of the bed, facing him, and I see his hands fisting and relaxing at his side.

“Are you fighting the urge to take over?” I tease, my brow quirking. His face doesn’t relax—if anything it looks darker. It’s the only encouragement I need, reaching out a finger to trace over his shirt buttons. “I want to undress you.”

His body quivers beneath my finger, but he remains silent. Instead, he steps forward, tilting my head back with a finger under my chin. He kisses me again, this time soft, barely a whisper of a kiss.

“I’m yours, Dale. Now and always.”

Surely he doesn’t know what he’s saying— as driven by lust as I am.

But when I look into his hungry gaze, in my bones I know he does. This is the edge of a dangerous blade we’ve danced upon for our entire lives, and it’s finally time to see what color we bleed.