Page 10 of His Big Hometown Cowboy (Bigger Is Best #1)

He worked me open slowly, methodically. Added a second finger with careful patience. His attention was absolute. The hot water cascaded over us, steam swirling, cocooning us in heat and intimacy as he prepared me.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he rasped, his free hand coming around my hip to find my cock, stroking my length with slow, steady pressure. “Opening up for me.”

The rough tenderness in his voice… it undid me. My knees felt weak. I gripped the tile tighter, lost in the sensation. His fingers working deep inside me, his hand bringing me closer to the edge.

“Please,” I gasped, pushing back against his hand, needing more. Needing him. “Need you now, Wyatt.”

He withdrew his fingers slowly, leaving me feeling empty, aching.

“I’m going to fuck you so good, Timmy,” he promised, his voice thick with intent as he positioned himself behind me. I felt the blunt, heavy head of his cock pressing against my entrance. Hot, hard reality. “Going to make you feel me with every step you take today.”

He pushed forward. Slow, inexorable pressure. Despite his careful preparation, the stretch burned. He was big. So damn big. And I was still tender. But the initial sharp discomfort dissolved quickly into exquisite fullness.

“Fuck,” I hissed, the sound swallowed by the running water as he bottomed out, sinking deep, his hips flush against my ass.

His hands gripped my waist, holding me steady, anchoring me. “You okay?” Worry tinged his voice.

“More than okay,” I assured him, already pushing back against him, my body instinctively seeking more. Urging him on. “Fuck me, Wyatt. Hard.”

He withdrew slowly, deliberately, making me gasp at the friction, then drove back in with a force that slammed me against the wall, and caused stars in my eyes.

My body yielded, accepting his size, his strength.

He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust deeper, harder.

Pushing me forward until my hands slipped on the wet tile.

I scrabbled for purchase, needing to brace myself against the onslaught.

“Sweetheart,” he grunted between thrusts, his pace relentless, powerful. “Your tight ass taking my cock. I love how fucking perfect you feel around me.”

Water cascaded over us, plastering my hair to my face, adding another layer of slick sensation to the overwhelming pleasure. His hand slid around my hip again, finding my cock, gripping me. Stroking me in time with his powerful thrusts. The dual stimulation was devastating. Too much.

I was careening toward the edge, fast.

“Not gonna last,” I warned, my voice breaking as he hit that perfect spot deep inside me again and again. “Too good… fuck…”

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice rough, guttural. His hand tightened around my length, squeezing rhythmically.

His words, the raw demand, pushed me over. I cried out his name, a ragged sound, as my orgasm crashed through me. White-hot waves of pleasure.

My body clenched around him, milking him, gripping him tight. Wyatt followed seconds later, driving deep one last time, holding himself there, pulsing inside me, his groan a low, visceral rumble against my back. His larger body curved protectively over mine.

We stayed like that for several long moments. Connected. His chest heaving against my back. The only sounds the drumming water and our ragged gasps for air.

Eventually, he withdrew carefully, turning me gently to face him. His expression… it was softer than I’d ever seen it.

So open. Vulnerable.

He leaned down and kissed me then.

A sweet contrast to the raw passion of moments before. We finished showering, taking turns washing each other’s hair, sharing lazy, water-slicked kisses under the hot spray. A comfortable intimacy settling between us.

Clean, wrapped in thick, fluffy towels, we returned to his bedroom.

Wyatt dug through a drawer, pulling out clothes for me. A plain white t-shirt and dark gray sweatpants. The shirt hung mid-thigh, the sleeves ridiculously long. I had to roll them up a few times. The sweatpants required cinching the drawstring tight just to stay on my hips.

He stood watching me struggle, dressed now himself in dark wash jeans and a fresh navy t-shirt that strained across his broad shoulders.

A smirk played on his lips. “You’re adorable.” His amusement was poorly hidden.

“Hey, not all of us are built like lumberjacks,” I shot back, rolling up the cuffs of the sweatpants. They still threatened to swallow my feet. “What do you even eat to get this big? Small livestock?”

“Mostly beef.” He chuckled, the sound warm. “Speaking of which, you hungry?”

My stomach answered with an embarrassingly loud growl. Wyatt laughed again, gesturing for me to follow him. “Kitchen’s this way.”

Family photos lined the hallway walls–younger Wyatt, his stern father, Travis grinning awkwardly in teenage snapshots. It felt… permanent. Lived in.

The kitchen was modern. Stainless steel appliances, dark granite countertops, a big island. It contrasted with the rustic, scarred wooden table, and chairs tucked in a breakfast nook overlooking the pastures.

“Coffee?” Wyatt offered, already scooping grounds into the machine. The rich aroma began to fill the air.

“God, yes.” I hopped onto a tall barstool at the island. He moved with an easy, efficient competence. Cracked eggs into a bowl, chopped peppers and onions on a thick wooden cutting board, whisked everything together with practiced speed.

There was something impossibly attractive about it. This big, powerful man, who’d completely wrecked me twice already, now making me breakfast with quiet focus. Domesticity looked dangerously good on him.

While the coffee brewed, I slipped off the stool and wandered over to the massive refrigerator. It was plastered with more photos, held by dusty magnets shaped like cows and tractors.

Wyatt and Travis at a rodeo, grinning widely. Wyatt on horseback, looking impossibly regal against a backdrop of rolling hills. Wyatt accepting some kind of plaque beside a massive, prize-winning bull.

“Your whole life is right here, isn’t it?” I observed, tracing the faded image of a much younger Wyatt, arm slung around his father’s shoulders. Both wore identical serious expressions.

“Pretty much.” He glanced up from the sizzling pan, his expression unreadable for a moment. “Dad built most of it. I’m just trying not to screw it up.” A weight settled in his voice, subtle but there. The burden of legacy.

I leaned against the cool metal of the fridge. “Do you ever think about doing something else? Being somewhere else?”

He was quiet for a moment, carefully pouring the egg mixture into the hot, oiled pan before answering.

The sizzle filled the silence. “Used to.” He kept his eyes on the omelet.

“Especially right after Dad died. Got overwhelming. Thought about selling, maybe moving to Austin. Houston, maybe.” He shrugged those massive shoulders, the movement making the muscles in his back shift under his shirt.

“But this place…” He finally looked at me.

“It’s in my blood, I guess. Couldn’t imagine just…

handing it over. Letting strangers have it. ”

I nodded, understanding the pull, the obligation. But also seeing the constraint. The sheer, unshakeable permanence of it felt… huge. Almost suffocating from my perspective. “Must be nice, though,” I said, voicing the thought aloud. “Knowing exactly where you belong.”

His blue eyes met mine across the kitchen. “Most days.” He admitted, surprising me with his candor.

I’d always perceived Wyatt as the immovable object. The steady center. Completely at home in his skin, in his role. That he sometimes might have felt confined, trapped by the life I envied for its certainty. It added another layer to the man I was rapidly starting to have… well, feelings for.

“What about you?” he asked, expertly flipping the omelet with a flick of his wrist. “Silicon Valley not all it was cracked up to be?”

I bit the inside of my cheek, accepting the steaming mug of coffee he slid across the granite countertop. Black. Strong.

I considered how much to say. How much honesty could this fragile new thing between us handle?

“It was exciting,” I began slowly, choosing my words. “At first. The pace, the energy… felt like we were changing the world.” I took a sip of coffee, the heat welcome. “Building something important.”

Years designing an app to connect people based on shared hobbies, genuinely trying to combat loneliness, build community.

Then the VCs got involved. Saw dollar signs.

“But like I said before, the project we poured everything into, they pivoted. Turned it into this aggressive monetization machine. Gutted the whole purpose.” The bitterness was still there, raw and sharp.

“Working eighty-hour weeks, burning out… for what?” I traced the rim of my mug.

“And everyone there. So intense. Everything optimized. Networking, kale smoothies. Like one wrong move and you’d fall off the hamster wheel. ”

Wyatt slid a perfectly cooked omelet onto a plate, added toast, and placed it in front of me. He said nothing, just listened. His silence was more comforting than platitudes would have been.

“Sounds exhausting,” he finally said, starting another omelet for himself.

“It was.” I took a bite. Cheese, peppers, onions, fluffy eggs. Delicious. “This is amazing, by the way.”

A faint smile touched his lips. He looked pleased. “So, what’s next for you?” He asked casually. “Back to California?”

The question hung there. Loaded. What was next?

Last night, this morning… it felt real, and if I was honest with myself, better than anything had felt in a long time.

But it was just one night. One morning. We hadn’t talked about… well, anything beyond the next hour.

“Not sure,” I said. “Got some savings. Enough to take some time off. Figure things out.” My gaze drifted out the kitchen window to the wide-open pasture beyond. A world away from the frantic energy I’d left behind.

“Here?” The word was soft, almost tentative. But his eyes, when they met mine, were sharp, intent. Waiting.

My heart did a weird little flip. Staying here?

Trading coding sprints and venture capital pitches for… what?

Quiet mornings and this man?

The thought was ridiculously appealing.

“Maybe.” I held his gaze. “Depends on what’s keeping me here.”

A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. The same possessive heat flared in his eyes. “I can think of a few things. I could start a list.”

The smell of burning eggs broke the spell. Wyatt cursed under his breath, quickly rescuing his own breakfast from the brink.

We ate at the island, the easy silence returning. It felt normal, easy.

Like we’d been doing this for years, not just hours.

Bumped hips cleaning up, stacking plates in the dishwasher, the casual domesticity slightly unnerving at how right it felt.

“I should probably get you back,” Wyatt said finally, leaning against the counter, drying his hands on a towel. His reluctance obvious.

“Yeah,” I agreed, equally unenthusiastic about leaving this bubble. “About Travis…”

Wyatt raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently.

“What do we tell him… about us?”

“The truth. That we’re together now.” He paused, then added, “He’ll deal with it.”

His confidence was a balm, but a knot of anxiety still tightened in my stomach. Travis wasn’t homophobic, not remotely.

But this… this was different.

His best friend. His little brother.

“What if he’s weird about it? What if he thinks… I don’t know… that it’s messy? Or thinks he has to choose sides or something? He’s always been so protective.”

Wyatt pushed off the counter, closing the distance between us.

He stopped inches away, looking down at me.

“Travis? Okay, maybe he’ll be surprised.

” He conceded. “Might take him a minute. But he loves us both.” His hand came up, resting gently on my shoulder, solid and reassuring.

“He’ll come around. He just wants us both to be happy. ”

“There’s only one way to find out, I guess,” I said, trying to borrow some of his certainty, squaring my shoulders. “We have to tell him.”

Wyatt nodded, his expression serious now.

He pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around me, tucking me against his solid warmth. His chin rested on the top of my head.

Safe. Secure. Like this was exactly where I was supposed to be.

“Okay, then.” His voice was a low rumble against my ear. “Together.”

The word resonated deep inside me.

A team. Facing whatever came next.

Here. In this kitchen, in this house, with this man who felt more like home than any place I’d ever known. I leaned into his embrace, letting myself believe it, just for this moment.

“Together,” I agreed, the anxiety still fluttering, but overshadowed now by a fragile, burgeoning hope.

Coming home might have been the best decision I’d ever made.