Page 54 of My Cowboy Salvation
“Be sure to say hi to your mom for me,” I say, holding my hand up in a wave.
As he drives away, Dylan rests her head against my shoulder and sighs in contentment. “That was, strangely enough, one of the best Thanksgivings I’ve ever had.”
I kiss her head. “It’s just the start of many perfectly imperfect Thanksgivings together.”
Heading inside, she starts for the kitchen. “Guess we probably should get started on the dishes.” But I don’t relinquish her hand, instead pulling her up against me.
“Oh,” she says, and glances down to confirm the bulge growing in my pants as my hands rest on her ass.
“There’s just one thing I’ve wanted to do since you first came down in this little blue dress.” I drop to my knees, my hands already running up her legs. I freeze when I reach her ass, unaware until now she’s not wearing panties. “Fuck. It’s a good thing I didn’t know about this before now, or I wouldn’t have been able to think.” I settle between her legs, my tongue eagerly searching her out.
Her fingers sink into my hair, clutching me as I eat her out as fiercely as if she was the main meal. Her legs shake and tremble as she rides my mouth, soft moans and whimpers telling me almost as much as the slick folds and swollen clit that she’s quickly reaching climax. When she cries out, holding my head prisoner between her thighs for those rapturous seconds, I know she’s come. But I’m not finished, and I push to my feet, quickly whipping her dress up and over her head, revealing her full, naked body.
There are pink, pucker marks on her skin, still raw from that awful night, but finally painless, and I pause to kiss every one of them, worshipping her body, wanting her to know how loved and wanted and desired she is.
When a few minutes later, I lay her on the couch and gather her legs around my waist, I look down at how fucking beautiful she is. I touch her cheek, caressing the skin for a second as she leans into my touch. Then, with her watching, I slide the head of my dick into her hot, slick folds. Her eyes widen, and she gasps with the pleasurable pressure as I fill her entirely. I thrust, again and again, until she grips my ass, arching her back, pushing her breasts up so I can slip one of those pebbles into my mouth.
I could happily spend the rest of my life doing this very thing each and every day. Watching her face experience the rapture and pleasure of not just the physical connection between our bodies as she clenches around me, giving into the wave of orgasmic pleasure, but the emotional connection that only brings us closer and strengthens our love for each other.
As I thrust one last time into her, seeing the languid smile on her face as she watches the pleasure from my climax, I’m overcome with a wave of what can only be described as bliss.
My heart fills and warms as I sink into the cushion and pull Dylan into my arms, knowing that this is our forever.
* * *
Dylan
The moonlight poursinto the skylight, offering just enough light for me as I make my way down the stairs. For the first time in a long time, I’m awake and restless, not because I’m haunted with fear or regret or sadness, but because I’m filled with such overwhelming joy.
Carefully, I lift my cello from its case—mycello, the one I was able to recover along with a few more personal belongings once the dust settled. I run my hand along its fine lines, then lift the bow and test it against the strings.
I could have let Simon taint this one beautiful thing for me. Not just the instrument, but the music this instrument helps me create. But I’m choosing to look past the horror of that part of my life and look instead to the things I have to be grateful for—something that’s probably a bit easier thanks to my sessions with a therapist these past few weeks.
I’m not going to let Simon break me.
As I slide the bow across the strings and my fingers pluck and strum the notes of the song that seem to best fit my current state and mood, I think of all the poor women who Simon terrorized and ultimately killed. Women who never had the chance to move on from the horror he inevitably turned their lives into.
It’s for those women I play for right now, as well as all the other women who have lived under threat and fear for their lives, thanks to monsters like Simon. As much as I’m looking forward to earning a place in the Kalispell orchestra, I’m most looking forward to the work I’m going to do with Hope on the ranch. Helping people find the strength, the comfort, or the healing they might be in need of.
In furtherance of that, along with my therapy sessions, I’ve joined a support group for women recovering from domestic abuse. I’ve told my story about the abuse I suffered under Simon, and the help I’m getting through therapy, along with my work at the ranch. As a result, two women from the group have signed up as clients for Hope’s ranch. With time, I hope we can reach and help so many more.
There are footsteps on the stairs, and I’m well aware Logan is watching me play, but I’m too focused on finishing this piece, hearing the final strains of the song to stop now or to worry about how I must look dressed in only his tee shirt.
When I’m done, I open my eyes and find Logan staring down at me with so much love and adoration, my heart skips a beat.
“You’re incredible,” he whispers, then leans down to kiss me oh so softly, sending a ripple of excitement down to my toes. “Are you almost done?” he asks, pulling away. “I can keep you company.”
I lift my cello and return it to the case. Then, holding out my hand, I wait for him to take it, which he does, caressing my knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “Let’s go to bed.”
There will be more time to play in the morning and every day after that.
For now, I just want to feel his arms around me, reminding me that sometimes good things can come from bad, horrible moments. Sometimes good really does prevail.
And life can start again. Even better.
* * *