Free Cowboy Resurrection: Cowboy Cocktail, Book 2 by Mia Hopkins Page A

tremors of a big orgasm tingled up and down his spine.
    Monica pulled herself up off her knees and planted her feet flat on the mattress. She began to ride him hard, almost all the way up his shaft before slamming back down. The sound, the smell, the sensation of her lit up Dean’s nervous system like the Fourth of July. Too turned on to see straight, he pushed his finger deeper in and quickened his thumb on her clit. She arched her back, hard. Her nipples shrank to tiny points. She shut her eyes and moaned deep and low in her chest.
    “That’s it,” he whispered.
    In a half second she was coming like a thrashing mountain lion, digging her nails into his thighs. The orgasm seized every muscle in her body, and she bucked against him like she was being electrocuted. God, she was beautiful when she came. He’d never get tired of watching it.
    Trembling, she slid up and off him. Before she could collapse into a heap, he picked her up and placed her on all fours in the middle of the bed. As the last of her orgasm rippled through her, he buried his cock in her pussy, delighting in the resistance her body. He took the bottle of lube and squirted some directly into her, filling her ass with clear gel.
    “Can I?” he said softly.
    “Hell, yes,” she murmured, fisting her hands into the sheets.
    As he thrust into her slowly and deeply, he worked his thumb into her tiny opening.
    “Ever been fucked here, princess?”
    She shook her head. “No. Always curious about it, though.”
    A thrill passed through him as he thought about the nights he could spend training her. He wiggled his thumb gently and she squirmed beneath him. She was snug as hell.
    “Not tonight,” he said. “But if you want it, I’ll show you. Soon.” He reached forward with his free hand and swept her hair off her neck, exposing her back. He stroked her smooth skin and squeezed one of her ass cheeks. She squeezed him back—both his dick and his thumb.
    “I’d like that, Dean,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. “I want you. Every way. Every way you want to give it to me. I want it too.”
    Who is this woman?
    Every one of his muscles was twitching from the effort of holding back. Slowly, Dean withdrew his thumb, reached down, grabbed her hips and took a deep breath.
    “I’m going to come,” he said softly.
    “Do it.”
    He fucked her hard. After two-dozen strokes, his orgasm bucked out of its chute, tearing him up like a monster that was too wild to ride and too big to handle. He came in endless hot shots of come that shredded him from the inside out. When he finally collapsed onto the bed, Dean felt vulnerable and raw, trampled by lust.
    In the darkness, Monica reached for him and held him tightly. The words came out before he knew what he was saying.
    “I haven’t been this happy in a long time.”
    He almost flinched when he heard himself. But the expression of naked emotion didn’t scare her. Nothing seemed to scare her.
    “I feel the same way,” she whispered.
    * * * * *
    Homemade potato salad and fried chicken. The paper plate that Dean’s mother handed to him drooped under the weight of a double portion of each.
    “Looks good, Ma,” he said, “but I can’t eat all this.”
    Cecilia MacKinnon was wearing a sparkly red-and-blue T-shirt and a dazzling smile to match. Her long brown hair was coiled into a neat bun decorated with rhinestone stars. “In high school you would’ve come back for seconds.”
    “Must’ve had a tapeworm or something.”
    “Aw, hush. Don’t be gross.”
    “Sorry. Thanks.” He kissed the top of his mother’s head before she turned to feed the rest of his brothers.
    Dean looked around at the crowd gathered on the track at Oleander High School. Familiar faces, grown older. New kids he hadn’t met before. Everyone was in attendance, from migrant workers in town for the season to families who’d farmed the Central Valley for generations. All had come out for a picnic and to watch the annual Fourth