Page 32 of Spurred On

His hot breath dances against my neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. My hands find the back of his hair, and I comb my fingers through it. You would expect a man like him to be emotionallyhardened. His job is one of the most dangerous in the world; he’s been through hell, yet everything about him feels soft in a way.

His lips start to move from my breasts down my stomach. He peppers kisses along my skin, sending goosebumps over my skin. Mav takes his time, and my body feels like an engine revving up, begging for some sort of friction. When he reaches my hipbone, my breathing becomes labored. “Mav, please.”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Him. In whatever form he’s willing to give me tonight.

“You. More of you.”

The smile that lights up his face is nothing short of sinister. “That can be arranged.” He unbuttons my pants and drags them down my body, tossing them to the side because we definitely will not be needing those tonight. His hands roam down my thighs, stopping just above my knees to spread them wider for him. His focus is trained on my thigh as if something has caught his eye.

“What?” I ask. His thumbs rub over the same spot of my inner thigh over and over again.

“I like you like this. Branded with my belt buckle.” I sit up just enough to see that his belt buckle left little indents on the inside of my thighs. I’ve been so worked up, I didn’t even notice it was digging into my skin. The only thing I’ve been able to think about is him. The thought of being branded by him isn’t as off-putting as it should be. In fact, I think I like the sound of that a little too much. I liked being called hiswifeway too much. It wasn’t so much that he stood up for me. No, it was that he claimed me as his. As untouchable. I’ve been on my own for so long, I almost forgot how it felt to belong to something. To have someone to count on. Sure, I have friends, but this kind ofclaim is different. It’s making me one of his own and doing it loud enough for the world to hear.

He gets on his knees, a sight worthy of a lifelong memory, and kisses each indent. It's so close to my pussy that I buck up at the feel of his breath against my panties. My body feels wound so tightly that it will take next to nothing to make it snap.

I slip out of his touch to sit up. He stands in front of me on the bed, and I rip his clasped buttons open, one by one, until his shirt is completely open. He strips the shirt off his shoulders and chucks it in the same pile as my jeans. I begin to push the white T-shirt up, exposing pieces of his chiseled core. My hands brush against it as I pull, and I feel his body harden beneath my touch. His erection strains behind his starched jeans.

“I want to see you,” I plead.

He pulls the white tee over his head, leaving him with jeans and a belt buckle. He’s a walking wet dream for anyone with a cowboy fetish. Coincidentally, I was today years old when I realized I had a cowboy fetish because everything about this man is doing it for me.

My hands start to work at his belt. “I thought you dry humping me was hot as fuck. But watching you claw at me, trying to get me naked, is going to make me come in my pants.”

“If looking at me undressing you is all it takes, we need to work on your stamina, cowboy.”

“I have plenty of stamina, but looking at you while you look like this? That’s something I couldn’t have prepared for.” The glint of lust in his eyes makes the moment so much more heated.

“Can I?” I ask, looking at him as I undo his belt the rest of the way and begin to unbutton his pants.

“If you don’t soon, I'll probably beg.”

“I’d love to see you beg for me.” It’s only half a joke. Seeing this man, who is afraid of nothing, on his knees for me makes me feel a whole new level of powerful.

“Speak the word, baby, and I will get on my knees for you anytime you ask.”

Fuck me. My pussy throbs at his words and the implications of them.

My fingers loop around the top of his boxer briefs, and the swell of his cock makes me feel a bit of pride. I’ve never really felt sexy or like I’m something special, but to be the reason for a reaction like this? I suddenly feel like I am glowing in my skin.

My breath hitches when his cock springs free. His free hand immediately begins to stroke it, and I can’t take my eyes away. I’m locked in on the way his hands grip around the girth.

“Do you still want to touch me?” he asks, his lids growing more hooded by the second.

Unable to speak, I nod my head, and my hand shakes a little as it circles around him. My hand, much smaller than his, can’t quite grip all the way around. His hand covers mine, and as he begins to stroke, a small bead of precum makes its way to the top. I think it’s my turn to come. Something about this experience feels incredibly intimate. Not just sexually. When my eyes drift up, I see his are already locked on mine.

My thighs begin rubbing together, desperate for some sort of attention on my clit—literally anything.

“I think I’ve got you wound a little too tight. Do you want me to take care of that?” he asks.

“Yes. Please.”

He drops back to his knees and grips my panties. “Lift your hips, baby.”

My body immediately responds; the rush of the air from the room tells me just how wet I am. I don’t have it in me to be embarrassed. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” He holds up my no longer dry panties, and I see where I’ve soaked them through. “Does your pussy want me this bad? You should have asked me sooner, baby.”

My thighs snap shut, the pulsing of my clit becoming too much. “Fuck, Mav.”

He tosses the panties to the side, and his big, calloused hands close over my knees to spread them wide and push them up.

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