Page 69 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

FIFTY-THREE

ADALENE

I pull up the drive, the last of my belongings sitting in various boxes in the back seat. I park, the dust settling around the front window to reveal the perfect house, with the perfect view, and the perfect man sitting on the porch, waiting for me.

Is my heart going to explode? It’s likely, but I can’t say I’d be disappointed.

I’d been determined to do the last sweep of my little cottage on my own—a final goodbye that wasn’t half as sad as I expected it to be.

It’s hard to be sad when I knew all of this was waiting for me.

I had to keep from racing back, breaking every law to get here, just so I could make sure it was real and not just a figment of my imagination.

Mateo rock’s in a large wooden chair on the porch, his chest bare from the heat, his legs jean clad and crossed at the ankles. He’s not wearing shoes—his feet bare—and it’s enough for me to swoon. Seeing this man so carefree, so domesticated— it’s a wet dream. And I plan to never wake up.

He raises a glass of what looks like whiskey to his lips, taking a deep sip that makes his throat bob dramatically, all while his eyes bore into mine.

There’s a heat that’s palpable even from here, and I contemplate how long I can sit here before involuntarily combusting.

Mateo lowers the glass, his dark eyes narrowing slightly in challenge.

We haven’t spoken yet, but I already know what he’ll say.

Are you just going to sit there and watch me, or are you going to join me?

I lick my lips, my throat all of a sudden feeling achingly dry. This is it—the beginning of my forever staring me in the face, and I’m almost too excited to reach out and take it. I trust Mateo to catch me, but it all just seems too good.

He shifts, uncrossing his ankles, to lean his elbows on his knees. His muscles ripple with the movement, my favorite abs— the second row from the bottom —looking especially delicious and I smirk.

Bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. And even though we’ve been at each other for days now, I’m not even the least bit satiated. If anything, I’ve never felt more feral for him. And I enjoy a little pain with my pleasure.

Delayed gratitude and all that.

As if reading my mind, Mateo shakes his head, before standing and walking inside.

Did he just leave me out here? To unload all these boxes and a heavy helping of horniness all on my own? What kind of man does that to his woman?

I’m yanking the door to my car open, and stomping up the stairs before I have a chance to second guess myself. The front door slams behind me, and it takes several seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dark interior of the entryway.

It’s exactly enough time for Mateo to step out of the shadows behind me, wrapping his sweaty arm around my middle, and his enormous hand over my mouth.

I freeze, my fight or flight engaging at the sudden contact, but then his scent floods my system, and the familiar feel of his front to my back, and I melt against him.

My annoyance isn’t gone— she’s just a horny bitch who prefers to fuck over fight . And right now, I’m practically rubbing myself against him, desperate for him to have me any way he wants me.

“What’s got you so bothered, cowgirl?” His words are hot air against the shell of my ear and I shiver.

Blood pounds through my veins, all racing toward the ache between my thighs, and I mindlessly rub my legs together to relieve the growing pressure there.

The hand that was around my middle, snakes down between my legs.

I groan into his palm, the promise of his hand on me enough to make me pant.

But instead of touching me where I need him, his fingers bite into the flesh of my thigh, yanking the leg up so that I’m standing on one foot—held up only by his strength.

I yelp, eyes snapping open at the movement.

Mateo tsks, his lips brushing against my ear once more.

“Naughty girls don’t get relief. Not that easy.

You wanted to be a big girl and finish cleaning your house alone,” his tongue runs over the shell of my ear, “then you wanted to be a brat and tease me, challenge me. And then you come storming in here”—his fingers bite into my raised leg, and I try to move closer to relieve the tension building from the way he has me so spread out—“pissy and expecting me to crawl or something.”

“You would crawl if I told you to,” I mumble, the words jumbled through his fingers. He chuckles, the sound reverberating through my very bones like an electrical current.

He presses a tender kiss against my pulse.

“You’re right I would. But you don’t want that man right now.

You want the one whose going to fuck you, however I want, wherever I want.

You want me to claim you, bend you, break you.

You want me to fuck you like only I can, because I want to. Because you’re mine.”

My heart, and pussy, flutter at his words and I fight off the overwhelming need to melt against him. He’s exactly right, of course, but part of me isn’t ready to give up the brat act. Not yet— not when it’s getting me exactly what I want.

I lick at his palm and he shudders before lowering his hand to sit lightly around my throat. “You’re not being very friendly, are you?” I taunt, and it’s enough to send him over the edge.

Mateo growls a second before he spins me, my braided hair whipping out in a wide circle. He grips my hips in both hands, and hoists me over his shoulder before I even realize what’s happening.

I yelp, my hands grappling for anything to hold onto, my vision blurring, as he stomps down the still bare hallway of our house—the walls just begging to be filled with frames and memories of the life we’re building together.

That doesn’t seem to be the current mission though, as he steps through a doorway, pausing only to close it behind himself. Oxygen wheezes in and out of my lungs, and I’m so disoriented I don’t know what room we’re standing in.

Not until he flops me down on a mattress, clicking on a warm light which illuminates the space. My jaw unhinges at the sight, and I drink in the various items hanging around the room with a hunger that matches that growing low in my core.

“A sex room? The secret room you’ve been working on is a sex room?

” I squeak, my eyes pinging to items I recognize: a couple different style whips hanging off hooks, next to ropes and handcuffs, various dildos and vibrators on a small table, and a leather swing hanging in the corner next to them.

And items I don’t recognize: some kind of metal bar with what looks like cuffs on either end, some kind of ball with leather straps on either side, and a pole with small leather straps hanging from the end.

He steps into view, blocking the room, and I slowly raise my gaze to his. It’s full of fire, and questions, as if he’s both confident, and nervous— always so eager to please —I can’t help but lick my lips at the sight.

How did I get so lucky?

“Do you like it?” His voice is barely above a whisper.

“It had to have cost a fortune,” I respond and his eyes narrow.

“When are you going to stop worrying about the cost of things I get for my woman ?”

I smirk at that, the brat in me flicking her hair in a taunt, daring me to say the words dancing on my tongue. Leaning back on the bed, I spread my legs slightly, and then whisper, “Your woman? I thought I was your friend.”

His body shudders once, eyes closing briefly, before his hands snap out, gripping my ankles and pulling my body to the very edge of the bed.

I fight him, only a little, and he growls, like he both hates and loves my defiance. My core drips with need for him, only contained by the thin fabric of my underwear and the workout shorts covering them.

“Roll over,” he commands, and I do exactly as he says, rolling onto my stomach.

His hand lands across my ass with a sharp crack, the sound filling the room.

I cry out, but don’t move—having him so unhinged is a high all its own, and I wouldn’t dare wish to come down.

“You want to act like a brat? You like to taunt me with that fucking ‘f’ word, like you don’t damn well know we’re more than that? That it makes me fucking crazy?”

I groan, pressing my toes into the floor to push my ass higher into the air, desperate for him to touch me again.

“Do you like making me crazy, Dale?”

“Yes.”

“Call me your friend one more time,” he hisses, and I shiver at the intensity in his voice.

“You are my friend, Mateo.”

A second spank lands across my ass, before his hand tangles in my braid yanking my head back. “Get on your fucking knees.”

He releases my hair, stepping away, and I scramble forward once more.

Once I’ve settled into position, his hands run softly over my ass, gripping the waistband of my shorts, pulling them, and my underwear off in a single motion.

Once I’m naked and spread open for him, he presses a single kiss on either cheek, a motion that sends goose bumps to pebble my skin.

“Remember, you always have the control Dale, all you have to say is stop and I will. But unless you do, I’m going to fuck the word friend right out of your vocabulary.” It’s a vow, one that races through my heart and down my spine until I feel myself dripping down my thighs.

“Don’t stop,” I whimper, mindless now with need. The delay’s at this point feel more like torture, and I need Mateo so bad it hurts.

The sound of a cap opening fills the space a second before a cool liquid drips down through my crack.

His large finger follows the path, warming the liquid with each swipe through my ass, pressing harder and harder against the puckered hole there.

I groan, desperate to be filled by this man, in any way he sees fit.

“You want me to fill your ass?” His finger teases in and out as he asks, and I push backward into him. I’ve never done anything like this, and although fear races through me at the thought, so does exhilaration.