Page 8 of His Big Hometown Cowboy (Bigger Is Best #1)

I pressed a kiss to the top of his head, inhaling the scent of his hair, sweat, and sex. “No?” A small smile touched my lips. “How’d you imagine it?”

He shifted, rolling slightly so he could look up at me.

His eyes were soft, clearer now, but still held the shadow of the intensity we’d shared.

“I figured I’d have to seduce you. Slowly.

Patiently. Wear down your defenses.” A wry twist touched his lips.

“Wasn’t expecting you to be quite so… dominant. So sure.”

I huffed a quiet laugh, tightening my arm around him. “Four years is a long time to wait, Timmy. Long time to think. Maybe I changed more than you realized.”

“Clearly.” His fingers traced idle patterns across my chest, the light touch sending shivers down my spine despite the heat between our bodies. “The Wyatt I remember wouldn’t have asked me to Rainbow Night. Would never have…” He trailed off, a faint flush returning to his cheeks.

“The Wyatt you remember was still trying to figure a lot of shit out.” I caught his hand, stilling its movement, linking our fingers together over my heart. “Still afraid of what people would think. What my dad would have thought.”

His expression softened with understanding. “And now?”

“Now I know what matters.” My gaze held his, letting him see the truth, the certainty that had settled deep inside me sometime between pulling into the driveway and pulling him onto this bed. “And I know what I want.”

A slow, beautiful smile spread across his face, lighting up his eyes. “And what do you want, Wyatt Walker?”

“You,” I said simply.

His breath caught, a tiny hitch in his chest.

My gaze dropped to his lips for a second before returning to his eyes. I brushed a stray strand of damp hair from his forehead, my touch deliberately possessive. “And I’m done pretending. Done denying that I want every single inch of you.”

The smile that bloomed across his face then was pure wicked satisfaction. It reached his eyes, making them sparkle.

“For the record,” he said, pressing his body flush against mine again. His cock already stirred back to life, nudging against my thigh. “I’ve had a thing for you since... well, it seems like forever. Used to jerk off thinking about your hands. Wondering what they could do to me.”

His confession, mirroring my own unspoken thoughts from years past, sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in my belly.

“Well, sweetheart,” I drawled, rolling him carefully onto his back. I settled my heavier frame over his, pinning him gently. The feel of him beneath me was everything. “Looks like I’m gonna have to show you exactly what these hands can do.”

His laugh was breathless, turning into a gasp as I rocked my hips against his, letting him feel me hardening again.

“Again?” he asked, eyes wide and bright with renewed desire. A challenge glittered there.

“I told you.” I lowered my head to capture his mouth, biting his lower lip gently before soothing it with my tongue. “I’ve got years of waiting to make up for.”

This time, though, something shifted inside me. A need for a different kind of connection.

I reached for the lube again, slicking my fingers generously. But instead of reaching for him, I shifted, then reached behind me.

His eyes widened, tracking my movement. “Wyatt…” His voice was hesitant, questioning.

I met his gaze, holding it, letting him see the intention, the need.

“Want to feel you inside me.” The words cost me something, exposed a part of myself I hadn’t known existed until him.

I worked myself open with practiced, deliberate movements.

No hiding. I allowed him to see exactly what I was doing, what I wanted.

What only he could give me. “Want to ride that perfect cock until you’re begging me to stop. ”

The groan that escaped him was low, almost pained. Filled with disbelief and raw hunger. “Holy fuck. Yes. Please .”

I positioned myself carefully over him, straddling his hips, my heavier thighs bracketing his slimmer body.

Looked directly into his eyes, needing that connection, that silent affirmation.

Then I sank down slowly, taking the head of his cock, then more.

The stretch, the burn, it was intense. Exquisite.

Grounding me in the reality of this moment—Timmy beneath me, inside me, finally, irrevocably mine in a way I hadn’t expected.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed out, hands gripping my thighs hard, fingers digging in, leaving marks I knew I wouldn’t mind. “You’re so fucking tight, Wyatt.”

“Been saving this ass for someone special,” I growled out, the words raw, true.

I started to move. Slow at first. A torturous rhythm.

Lifting nearly all the way off before sinking down again, grinding slightly, letting him feel every inch of my body gripping his thickness. Letting myself feel him filling me.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick. One hand reached up, tracing the line of my pecs, fingers finding my nipple, pinching gently. The unexpected sensation shot straight to my groin. “Taking my cock like… like you were made for it. So fucking hot watching you ride me.”

His words, his touch, fueled me. I increased the pace, rocking harder, faster, angling my hips to make sure he hit that spot deep inside me, the one that sent jolts of pure pleasure radiating outward.

My cock bounced heavy and hard against his stomach, still sensitive from before but hardening again with the overwhelming sensations.

“That’s it,” I encouraged through gritted teeth, voice rough with pleasure and the effort of staying in control. “Fuck up into me. Deeper. Want to feel you deep inside.”

He planted his feet flat on the bed, lifting his hips off the mattress, thrusting upward, meeting me halfway. The new angle, the depth, it sent stars exploding behind my eyes. A deep groan ripped from my throat, raw and unrestrained.

“Right there,” I panted. I ground against him, chasing the feeling. “Fuck, Timmy, your cock feels so good. So fucking good inside me.”

“Touch yourself,” he commanded, his voice sharp with authority, surprising me. “Want to watch you stroke that big cock while you ride me.”

The demand, coming from him, was everything I ever wanted. I wrapped my hand around my aching length, giving a few hard, fast pulls that had us both moaning, hips bucking. The sight clearly drove him wild. His thrusts became more frantic, deeper, slamming into me with possessive force.

“That’s it,” he urged. His eyes were dark and hungry as he watched me work my shaft. “Gonna make you come. Gonna fill you up so good, Wyatt.”

The intensity of the sensations—being filled, touching myself, watching him watch me—pushed me closer than ever. My movements grew desperate, less controlled, chasing the white-hot pleasure coiling tight at the base of my spine.

“I’m close,” I warned, voice strained, stroking faster, harder. “Fuck… you’re gonna make me come. Gonna come…”

“Do it,” he demanded. His hands gripped my hips tighter, anchoring me as I rode him harder, faster. “Come for me, Wyatt. Want to feel this tight ass squeezing my cock when you shoot your load.”

His words, the raw possession in them, pushed me over.

I came with a choked, hoarse shout, my body convulsing.

Thick ropes of white sprayed across his chest, my stomach, my hand.

My inner muscles clenched rhythmically around him, gripping him tight as the pleasure washed over me, wave after wave. Almost too intense in its perfection.

The sight, the sensation of my climax, triggered his own release. He thrust up hard one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he came deep inside me, my name a broken, guttural cry on his lips.

I collapsed forward again, completely spent, catching my weight on my forearms, forehead resting against his damp shoulder. We stayed like that, tangled together, slick with sweat and come.

“Holy shit,” Timmy finally managed to rasp out, sounding utterly wrecked beneath me.

I carefully lifted myself off him, muscles trembling, and settled onto the mattress beside him. Exhausted but exhilarated. Changed. “Definitely worth the wait.”

He turned his head on the pillow, looking at me. His eyes were soft, filled with a dazed tenderness, but still smoldering with the echoes of our passion. “Not what I expected when I came home.”

A flicker of insecurity, unfamiliar and unsettling, tightened my chest. “Better?” The question slipped out, vulnerable.

His smile was slow, spreading across his face, reaching his eyes. Pure, unadulterated satisfaction. “Definitely fucking better.”

I pulled him close again, tucking him against my side. His breathing evened out quickly, exhaustion claiming him. As I held him, listening to the quiet rhythm of his sleep, my own thoughts raced.

He was here. In my bed. In my house. After all these years of quiet longing, he was finally mine .

The reality of it settled deep in my bones, a profound sense of rightness.

But this ranch, this life, it demanded everything. My time, my focus, my future. How did Timmy, this whirlwind of feeling and connection, fit into the rigid structure I’d built?

Looking down at his sleeping face, the soft curve of his lips, the dark sweep of his lashes against his cheek, I knew one thing for sure. I’d waited too long for this. Whatever complications lay ahead, whatever adjustments needed to be made… I’d figure it out.

Some things were worth waiting for.

And some people were worth changing everything for.

Timmy Prescott had always been both.