Page 50 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

“You’re still clothed,” I challenge, getting more annoyed with his defiance—I just want him to do as I say so I can fuck him already. So I do the only thing I can think of that would be a punishment to him at this moment .

I slide my hand down my body, my boot still pressed firmly in his chest, and begin to make frantic circling motions over my clit.

I groan, biting my lip as an orgasm quickly builds, its familiar tingling firing low in my belly.

I slide two fingers into my waiting pussy, the walls instantly clamping down on the intrusion, and Mateo and I cry out in unison.

My eyes find his, now pinched in a mix of pain and frustration.

There are creases by his eyes, and his lips are nearly white with the pressure of pinching them together.

The line of his cock is long and hard beneath the thin fabric of his boxers, and I ache to have it inside of me, not my own fingers.

Fingers that’ve gotten enough action of the years that I hope after tonight, I never have to use them again. But tonight, this is about a lesson. About doing as you’re told.

“Please,” he croaks, and it only spurs me on, my hand pumping and circling faster.

I stare into his eyes, my own heavy lidded. “Will you do what you’re told next time?”

“Yes, please. I’ll do anything. Let me touch you. Let me finish you,” he begs and the power associated with hearing him beg is enough to send me over the edge.

“Next time you’ll be a good boy,” I whisper–shout, throwing my head back, body going rigid. The orgasm explodes through me, milking at my fingers.

And as incredible as it is, I still feel empty. I still feel needy and want more. I sit up on my elbows, chest glistening with a thin layer of sweat, the turquoise jewelry stark against my tan skin, and smile at him.

“You’re going to fuck me now.”

The words hit him like a crack across a snow covered mountain—his pristine, perfect exterior sliding away with monumental force, sweeping me under with the weight of his unrestrained desire.

I don’t see him shed his boxers, but in the next moment he’s stretched out on top of me, his naked body pressing into mine, burning my flesh with his own.

His scent floods my senses, and I feel both set to drown and catch fire, and part of me hopes it’s both.

His lips sear to the column of my throat, his tongue lapping in the same path his teeth nip at my skin. His teeth graze my collar bone and I hiss, leaning into his ravenous mouth, hoping against hope that I can crawl beneath his skin and burn .

My fingers frantically yank at his hair, and his teeth pinch harder, both in punishment and encouragement.

I pull at the strands, desperate to bring his mouth to my own, but he fights me, his fingers roaming over my skin, his lips and teeth and tongue—I feel like he’s touching me everywhere and the sensations are borderline too much.

Last time we came together—my first time—was different. He was different; kinder, calmer, more restrained. This version is anything but. This time he seems to barely be conscious, driven by a primal need to devour, devour, devour.

“Mateo—” I moan, the ‘o’ drawn out as his lips wrap around my aching nipple. My eyes roll to the back of my head, body arching to push more of my sensitive flesh into his devilish mouth.

He growls in response, his hands somehow ending on my hips, pining me to the bed with his full weight.

He’s so at odds, so out of his mind, and I love it . He wants me to be in control, even though it’s clearly taking everything in him to fight the instinct to dominate. It’s mind over body, and the sentiment hidden within his carnal behavior pinches at my heart.

Mateo wants things to be different with me. He’s told me so over and over.

And I want to oblige him, even if it physically kills me to stop his insatiable consuming.

“I need you inside of me.” I plead my words little more than a whisper of air.

He freezes, a predator zeroing in on the final kill. And then his face tilts toward me, his eyes melding to my own. His chest heaves, the motion causing it to brush against my waist, my thighs.

He’s just so fucking big, and I’m…I’m the one controlling him. I’m the one in charge of this beast, this man, this king. His face strains as he hovers above me. I want his full fucking weight on me. I want to feel him on me, in me— maybe forever.

“Like this?” He chokes on the words.

“Put my legs on your shoulders.”

He pinches his eyes closed a moment, sucking in a ragged breath, his head drooping. His hair tickles over my strained nipples, and I moan, the need already coiling deep in my belly.

After what feels like minutes, he lowers himself, his cock lining with my soaked pussy.

Torturously slow, he lifts one boot clad leg over his shoulder, pausing to kiss my knee before lifting my other, placing an identical kiss on the other knee.

I’m basically folded in half, my pussy on full display— and mercy —to the man hovering above me.

“You’re going to kill me,” he whispers the vow in the same moment that he sheaths himself inside of my pussy, only stopping when he’s completely seated.

He’s so big, and I’m so small—this angle, making him fill me even more, the tip of his dick bumping against my heart, or ribs, or wherever it pierces as it rearranges my organs.

“Fuuuccckkk,” we moan in unison, our cries punctuated with the steady thump, thump, thump of the headboard against the wall. Mateo’s hips thrust, slow and steady, the bumps and veins on his enormous cock filling me, and stretching me in a way that no other man will ever be able to compare to.

He’s utterly destroying me, and I can’t help but love every moment of it.

His eyebrows pinch together, and I watch in rapt fascination as he focuses, his bottom lip trapped between his starkly white teeth, his eyes glued to where his cock slides in and out of me, his velvety skin now covered in a sheen of my cum. It’s fucking incredible.

“More,” I beg, the heat of an orgasm building but still hovering too far out of reach. “Harder.”

He grunts, rutting hard and faster into me, his balls slapping lewdly against my ass. My nails claw at his chest, at his neck as I try to pull him closer, desperate for friction against my swollen clit.

“Fuck, Dale. You’re the most fucking incredible woman—you feel so fucking good.” Beads of sweat pepper his forehead, and I wipe a hand through it, pushing into his hair. “I love how you feel. Tell me how to be good. Tell me what you need to come.”

I can barely focus on his words long enough to register his request. What do I need to come?

“I need more, friction maybe?” I pant.

He shifts, my right leg falling, his thumb finding my clit in the same motion.

He rubs hard, small circles over the fiery bundle of nerves—over and over and over.

My legs tremble, and my fingers fist in the sheets, desperate to stay grounded, even as I feel like I’m beginning to float away from my own body.

“You’re so close. Come for me, drench my cock with your cum. Make a mess of my dick—mark me baby, stain me so that I can never get the scent, the feel, the taste of you off me.” His words are my undoing, each one pushing me farther and farther over the edge until I’m free falling into the unknown.

My body goes rigid, my calves and back muscles taunt, and I’m faintly aware that I’m screaming. The release is so intense, so violent, that I’m unable to control a very unfamiliar warmth from flooding me, spreading down my legs.

“Oh fuck!” he roars as his pounding becomes more frenzied, his hip bones grinding against my pelvis, the waves of my own release unable to ebb away, as if he’s pulling orgasm after orgasm from my ravaged body.

It’s all too much, and I try to push away from him, screaming as he grips my hips, bruising my skin with the force of his thrusting.

I’m just coming and coming, my head fuzzy and far away—I can’t even remember the last time I breathed.

“Oh.” Thrust. Scream. “My.” Thrust. Scream. “God.” Thrust. Scream.

And then he stills, and I feel the pulse of his straining cock inside of me, the ribbons of his pent up release painting my insides.

My walls milk at his throbbing cock as he releases over and over inside of me, filling me so completely I know I’ll never fully be rid of his presence beneath my skin.

Finally, his arms give out, the full weight of his body crushing down on me, his heart thundering just above my own.

After several shaky, shallow breaths, I’m able to peel my eyes open just a fraction.

His hair’s drenched, matted to his forehead, his eyes both wide as they roam my face and hooded from barely tempted desire.

This image of him is absolutely breathtaking, and my heart aches, not for the first time today.

He smiles, a dazzling look full of awe as he says, “you fucking squirted, Dale. It was?—”

I pinch my eyes shut, willing the unbearable wave of heat to not consume my entire face. I’m unsuccessful, of course, and Mateo’s fingers grip my chin, pulling my eyes to his waiting gaze.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare take this victory from me by being embarrassed.

This may be one of the greatest days of my life—definitely the greatest sex I’ve ever had.

You fucking squirted—I made you squirt. Twice,” I groan, embarrassment filling my chest like a balloon.

But I note the sound of awe in his voice, and something about his blatant excitement soothes the growing mortification.

At least a little.

“I’ve never—” How do I even finish that?

“I’ve never been with anyone who has, either. If that helps.”

I bite my lip, but keep my eyes firmly clamped shut. “I’m not sure. Kinda makes me feel like a freak.”

“Fuck no! We were made for each other; the way your body responds to me, fits my cock, comes for me. I’ll never have sex this good again.”

At that, I peek a single eye open. There’s genuine concern on his face, and I snort a small laugh, my embarrassment replaced with something awfully close to joy.

Mateo has that ability—even in my darkest or weakest moments, he makes me feel powerful.

“Maybe we should try again and see? Just imagine, if we had a sex room with all kinds of toys…” I trail off.

I’ve always wanted a sex room, but I never planned to speak that aloud. Especially to someone as pristine as Mateo Reyes. But he only smirks, his eyes glittering with mischief and renewed desire.

“Adalene Mendes, you dirty fucking girl.”