Cowgirls Don't Cry(107)

“God yes.” She scrambled off his dick so fast he laughed.

Scooting to the very edge of the couch, he repositioned her on his lap, facing forward, her knees by his hips. “Reach for the edge of the coffee table.” He pressed his hand over her mound, keeping her pelvis tilted so he could toy with her clit.

She pushed back into him as he drove forward. “This position should be called frogger with my legs like this,” she panted. “And I don’t like how my ass is in the air.”


“I love your ass in the air. It’s sexy.”


“It’s weird.

But Jessie’s tense body supported her statement. He stroked his thumb side to side on her clit in the way that made her forget everything but how good he could make her feel. “Come on, Jess. Let go. Let it take you.”


“I can’t. This feels too much like…we’re trying to be circus performers.”


Her words had the intended effect. He stopped moving. She pushed up to look at him. The uncertainty in her eyes was his undoing. As much as he loved to test their boundaries, their flexibility, there came a point when it wasn’t necessary, like now.

Somehow he got her turned around. Somehow in the mix of arms and legs and strangely angled bodies, and the tightly pulled thread of need tethering them together, they ended up on the floor. Face to face, skin to skin. He put his lips by her ear and breathed, “Jessie McKay, you own me,” and slid inside her.

Brandt rocked into her. Their pelvises moving in tandem. In opposition. In perfect synchronicity.

A rush of wetness coated his cock and her cunt contracted around his shaft. He held still, letting her body drag him over the edge. He closed his eyes to lose himself in the moment. To lose himself in this woman he loved.

As soon as Brandt’s cock quit pulsing and her contractions tapered off, Brandt lifted his head from where he’d buried it in the sweet spot of her neck.

She grinned. Wickedly. “On the floor beneath the tree on Christmas Eve afternoon, Mr. McKay?

Mmm. I feel so very naughty. Probably means Santa’s not coming tonight, huh?”


“Mama mama mama!”


She held him and cried buckets. Through her gasping cries, Samantha babbled, making Landon incoherent promises. Kissing his cheeks. Rubbing his back. Touching him as if his presence might be a dream. Just holding him like she’d never let him get away from her again.

That softened the knife’s edge of pain a little.

Samantha’s eyes drank in every nuance of his face. “Lookit you. You’re such a big boy now.”


“Yef.”


She laughed, even though she was still crying. “And you’re talking too. I’m in for it now, huh?”


“Yef.”


Jessie slipped from the booth, desperate to escape because this was goodbye she’d been dreading since the day she’d first set eyes on him. With her feelings in such turmoil, she was as afraid she’d break down as she was afraid she wouldn’t break down.

Landon finally looked at her and those big blue eyes lit up.

“Hey, lil’ buckaroo,” she said softly.

He said, “Down,” and wiggled until his mother released him. He ran to Jessie hell bent for leather. His contact with her was more of a body check than a hug, which made her laugh. She squeezed him with one arm and placed a kiss on top of his head. “I’m gonna miss you, sweet boy.”


Jessie expected him to squirm away, because even at nineteen months the kid had a time limit on hugs, especially when his uncles were around. God forbid if a McKay—of any age—appeared too girly.