Page 51 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

THIRTY-NINE

ADALENE

“What the fuck are you grinning about over there?” Stetson hisses, panic bleeding into every word. It’s kinda funny, seeing her stressed out like this. As much as I want to comfort her, I know it would be useless.

She might be nervous about getting married, but someone would have to kill her to keep her from walking down the aisle.

Gus and Stetson are like two deadly, all-consuming forces, colliding with the kind of impact that shakes the fibers of existence.

They’re not two beings, but one in two dark, twisted bodies—always destined to find the other, to end up here.

And I’m so grateful for it. Stetson deserves this happy ending, more than anyone I know.

She’s fucking earned it.

“I think it has to do with whoever’s on the other end of that phone she’s become attached to. Maybe a certain, dark haired, tattooed, suave papi—” Faith teases, and I shoot her a menacing glare slicing the rest of her words away.

“Ah,” Stetson snickers, and turns to face the mirror once more, brushing a nervous hand over her golden curls.

“Today’s about Stetson, Faith. Don’t need to worry about me.”

Stetson rolls her eyes, her gaze finding mine through the reflection of the mirror. “Please, I’m desperate for a distraction. How’s Papi in bed?”

I groan. “Stop calling him Papi.”

“Why? Does it make you jealous?”

“No.” Yes. I’m searching for a better retort when my phone buzzes again, and I greedily take in the words.

MATEO: What’s a fantasy you have?

ME: I’m trying to help Stetson get ready. You know, the bride. Leave me alone.

MATEO: You’re cute when you’re trying to be bossy.

ME: You were calling me all kinds of names this morning when your cock was buried in my pussy. I don’t recall cute being on that list. And I’m not trying to be anything. I am the fucking boss.

MATEO: Fuck. Me.

ME: Not if you don’t let me focus on my best friend during her wedding day.

MATEO: Tell me a fantasy and I’ll leave you alone until you tell me to. I promise I’ll be a good boy.

“You’re actually giggling. What the fuck are you guys talking about?

Are you sexting?” I didn’t hear Stetson walk up to me, but now she’s hovering over my shoulder, and I fight the overwhelming urge to clutch the screen to my chest. I don’t want to hide from her.

She deserves to see behind my walls, as I demanded with her.

It just takes daily effort to remind myself of that.

I want her and Faith to know me, completely and without reservation. It’s just scary.

“Oh my gosh, you are,” Stetson cackles, and it’s enough to change my mind about letting her see anything.

“And what if we are?” I ask begrudgingly.

“Are you going to answer him?”

“What are they saying? I want to know!” Faith adds, and I face her, heat spreading across my cheeks.

“The last message had something to do with being a good boy and fantasies. Does Papi like to take on the submissive role? Do you call him a good boy? Oh my gosh, do you make him crawl?” Stetson’s face is alight with mischief, and genuine curiosity, and any irritation dissipates.

A memory of Mateo, crawling on all fours towards me, my pussy dripping with his cum from the two times we had already fucked earlier that night, as I demanded he clean me up with his tongue begins to play on loop in my mind.

“I’d actually die to see that man crawl on his knees,” Faith states, fanning herself.

I gape at her. “I’ve never heard you say anything so dirty, Faith!”

My phone buzzes again, and I twitch, but keep my hand firmly clutched to my chest to keep myself from looking at it.

“Just tell him a fantasy so you can both think about it while you stand next to me during the ceremony. It’ll be hot.” Stetson winks.

“I don’t know what fantasies I have. I feel like I’m living my fantasy,” I whisper.

“Do you want to get tied up? Gagged or blindfolded? Oooh, exhibitionism? Gang banged? I bet Mateo has some super hot friends.” I blink rapidly as Faith lists off kink after kink, not a hint of her normal shyness anywhere in sight.

I catch a glance of Stetson whose expression is a similar mix of wonder and terror.

“Who are you and what have you done with Faith?” I demand.

“You guys, of all people, should know that image is just that. An image,” she says, looking at her fingernails, from irritation or embarrassment I’m not sure.

“I know babe, but?—”

“Cosmo, remember? When I feel truly relaxed, I let myself be someone else. My true self. And my true self likes all that shit. I hope to be gang banged at least once, just to see how far I can be stretched?—”

“I need alcohol for this conversation,” Stetson chokes, clutching invisible pearls around her neck. Stetson and I are the farthest thing from prude, but Faith? I thought if you looked up the word in the dictionary, her face would be right there next to it.

“I’ll get some champagne, one glass surely won’t hurt.” I begin standing up, and Faith points at my phone with a sharp look.

“Respond to that sexy man or I will.”

I gulp, shooting her a devilish grin. As shocking as it is to see her like this, I fucking love it. She walks out and I whisper shout to Stetson, “I think you should marry her instead. Fuck, if you don’t, I might.”

“Have you met Gus?” Stetson teases, walking to the window near her bed, looking out over the barn and corral below. I take the short break to open my phone back up.

MATEO: I’ll eat your pussy until you squirt on my face if you tell me.

MATEO: I’ll eat your ass, too. I honestly want to do both.

MATEO: Dale, it can’t be that bad, please tell me. I’m getting desperate.

MATEO: Cowgirl, I’m begging.

I feel like maybe I should be irritated by his bombardment of messages when I made it clear I was busy. But I can’t find it in me to care. Well, I care, but like “love the obsessive attention” kind of care. I love it. I want more of it. Of him.

ME: You’re being a very bad boy.

ME: But I’ll tell you a fantasy, for my benefit and not yours.

Three dots pop up, floating, and then disappear. I smirk at his obvious restraint.

ME: I want you to fuck me while I’m asleep. Not like playing asleep, actually asleep. I want to wake up to your cock buried inside of me. Tie me up, gag me, and use my body. Take away my senses, beyond the feeling of your fat cock taking and taking and taking from my pussy until I’m raw.

I watch the text disappear down the invisible line, to where Mateo’s sitting somewhere downstairs. I hold my breath, hoping to hear his reaction, and to my surprise, I do.

“Fuck, Dale.” It’s barely there, but when Stetson turns to face me, her eyebrows raised to her hairline, I know she heard him too. I shoot her a sheepish grin.

“I told him to fuck me when I’m sleeping,” I share, desperately wanting to open up even as it feels like I’m peeling my skin back with a butter knife.

“Kinky.” She winks. My phone buzzes again, and I look down at it, trying and failing to ignore the arousal slicking the inside of my thighs. I know if I stood up right now, there would be a stain on the chair from it leaking through the black robes Stetson gave us to get ready in.

Mateo: Yes, cowgirl.

I exhale a shaky breath, closing the text chain, and slide the phone away from me on the dresser. I clap my hands together, shooting Stetson a grin, right as Faith reenters with a bottle of champagne and glasses.

“Let’s get you ready to go meet the monster!”

The song changes, the soft notes of some haunting melody filling the small speakers, announcing Stetson’s entrance.

The few people present are already standing—Faith and I stand on the left, Mateo and McCrae on the right.

There’s no guests, and if I’m being honest I’m not sure if McCrae was invited or just showed up.

I didn’t have a chance to ask Stetson when I saw him, and Gus has made no move to acknowledge him that I’m aware of.

It’s just us— the small broken family we’re building —and the local preacher.

I first laughed when Stetson told me they were having a preacher at their small backyard gathering, but she’d been set on it.

She said that it was the Big Guy who intertwined their fates, so he should have a role in their day.

I love the simplicity of it all; the raw sentiment of having only the people who actually matter present, instead of making it some kind of production.

It feels more monumental like this, more magnified on the true purpose—these two obsessive, crazy people who love each other more than any person has a right to.

And I get to be here for it.

That has to mean something.

The thought makes me ache for my family—or the family I wish they were.

I haven’t spoken to my mom in weeks, not after our last phone call, and she hasn’t made a move to contact me either.

For the first time in my life, she seems truly lost for words, and even though I’m grateful for the reprieve, I’m also so angry.

I’ve seen what people who truly love each other will do to protect them, will do to comfort and love them. And my family’s done none of that.

I’ve always felt like I had an amazing family, full of so much love that it hurts. But now I’m not so sure. Not when I see the way Gus loves Stetson, or the way I love them both. They’d kill for each other, and I’d kill for anyone here.

That’s family to me. And it’s heartbreaking to realize that’s never what I’ve had with the one I was born to.

A tear races across my cheek as I turn to face Stetson making her way down the porch steps to where we’re all standing in the entry of the newly built barn.

Horses nicker in the background, their pawing and whinnies mixing with the music, a warm spring Texas breeze whistling through the boards of the barn.

My heart pinches at the beauty of the moment, and I sneak a peek at Gus, even as I hear Stetson’s boots crunching over the sand right outside.

He looks devilishly handsome—more cleaned up than normal, his face trimmed back into a short mustache that Stetson’s made more than one comment about loving.

He’s dressed in dark pressed jeans and a white button down with pearlescent snaps down the front, tied together with a new black belt, his Stock Show Buckle in the center.

Gus isn’t wearing a hat today, and his curls, although trimmed back some, rustle in the breeze dancing over his dark eyes.

His eyes are so glued to the entrance of the barn that I’m not sure he’s even blinking, and his lips are pressed together in a firm line; not a scowl or a smile, but more like a look of control. Like he’s trying to keep from falling apart. From crying.

The only break in his normally stoic characteristics is the incessant bob of his Adam’s apple, like he’s swallowing over and over, and his hands are clasped at his waist, knuckles white.

I have half a mind to walk over and hug him.

In the next moment he goes a little more rigid, blinking, and a single tear races across his cheek.

It’s wiped away before it even skitters over his cheek bone, but the sentiment alone is enough to make more tears well, hot and heavy in my own eyes.

Faith sniffles behind me, clearly trying and failing to contain water works of her own.

As I turn to find Stetson’s figure, my eyes trace first over McCrae, who’s gaze doesn’t waver from his little brothers, a blank look painted like an iron mask across his face. But his eyes are anything but blank—they blaze with desperation, but desperation for what, I don’t know.

My eyes then clash into a pair of warm brown ones, their familiar heat branding into my soul like a hot iron. I only allow myself a moment to stare at him, an unspoken acknowledgment of wanting passing between us like a live wire, before I put my attention solely on Stetson.

She’s breathtaking.

Stetson walks into the barn, her curves draped in soft cream fabric.

The top of the dress is a square neckline—simple but classy—the bottom soft and flowy, melting over the shape of her ass and the bump at her adorable belly.

A small jeweled belt sits above said bump, and black boots cover her feet.

She left her hair down and curled, just like Gus likes it as she had said, but pulled one side back with a jeweled hair clip that matches her belt.

She looks like a vision, classy with her black and whites, and clutched in her hands is a small bouquet of poppies, freshly picked from the front of the house this morning, tied together with black ribbon.

She’s always been an effortlessly kind of beautiful, but this?

This is something different. This is the kind of beauty that god turns to admire, just like the rest of us mere mortals.

She gets to where Gus is holding out a hand, sliding hers into his. There’s no hesitation, no look of concern or worry melting away. Just peace.

Like coming home after a long vacation. Or getting in the saddle after being off all winter. Or, or I don’t know what.

The kind of peace I’ve never known. But now that I’ve seen it, I’m nearly desperate for it. I want what they have.

“You look beautiful, little filly,” I hear Gus whisper, and Stetson shakes her head.

“Don’t shake your head at me. You are beautiful.

The most beautiful person here, anywhere.

And I’ll spend every moment for the rest of forever showing you, proving to you, just how beautiful you are. Inside and out. You. Are. Everything.”

Tears fall unchecked down my face at his words not meant for my ears, but reaching each of us all the same. Because he doesn’t care about what people will think or feel—hell, I don’t think he even knows anyone else is present.

And fuck, I want that too.