Page 126 of Knotting the Cowboys

I hear the sound of foil tearing—of course he has condoms, probably been carrying them since the blockers lifted—and then the blunt head of his cock is pressing against my entrance.

He feels huge from this angle, and I force myself to relax, to breathe. I haven’t taken a thick cock since my explorative years, none of the men of Iron Ridge meeting my “standards” but beggars can’t be choosers when you’re an Omega.

"You better like it fast and deep," he warns, lips brushing my ear as he leans over me, chest pressed to my back. "Cause I'm a rough youngling with the stamina of a bull, and I've been dreaming about this for days."

"Less talking," I manage to gasp out, pushing back against him. "More fucking."

He laughs—dark and promising—before slamming into me with one brutal thrust.

The stretch burns perfect, and I cry out, not caring how loud I am. He wasn't lying about being rough. His pace is immediately punishing, each thrust driving me up onto my toes, forcing me to brace harder against the truck.

"This what you wanted?" He grabs a handful of my hair, using it to arch my back further. "To be fucked like you deserve? Like the goddess you are?"

"Yes," I moan, the word breaking as he hits something deep inside that makes me see spots. "Harder, Austin, please?—"

He complies, hips snapping against my ass with enough force to bruise, and I love it.Love the way he's losing control, the way he's taking what he wants while giving me everything I asked for.His free hand slides around to find my clit again, rubbing circles that have me racing toward the edge.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, and the rough velvet of his voice wraps around me even tighter than his hands. “Let go for me, Will. Need to feel you squeeze my cock, need to hear you scream my goddamn name.”

Every word is gasoline. Every thrust, every graze of his palm on my clit is a spark. I am perilously close. It’s not even sex anymore but a demolition, all my worst defenses coming down brick by brick. My breath is stuttering and my vision blurs around the edges, every sense funneled to the wet, obscene slide of him inside me and the way he mutters filth in my ear like a secret only I’m worthy of hearing.

His hand slides up, fingertips digging into my hip to hold me impaled on him, and with the other he never stops playing me, coaxing me, demanding I give him everything. “You can do it,” he urges, tone low and dangerous, but so goddamn proud. “I know you want to. Show me what you sound like when I make you come.”

It’s the unsparing, relentless rhythm of his hips, the precision of his fingers circling my clit, the weight of his body pinningme down like I’m already conquered and he’s just claiming the spoils. I try to breathe but all that comes out is a sob; it’s too much, I can’t, I need?—

But I do. I shatter so hard my knees give out and I’d have collapsed if not for his iron grip on my waist and the truck holding me up. My orgasm roars through me like a flash flood, tearing loose a wail so loud I think the coyotes on the ridge will answer. I scream his name, I scream for God, I scream for nothing at all, just the sheer animal joy of being wrecked by someone who knows exactly what I need.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even slow down. Instead, he fucks me right through it—riding every aftershock, grinding into me until I’m begging, until I’m incoherent. My body goes limp, legs shaking violently, but he’s still there, murmuring how beautiful I am, how good I taste, how he could do this all night and never get tired of me.

Somewhere in the haze I feel his lips on my neck, teeth scraping just enough to leave heat without breaking skin, and then his hand at my throat again, holding me steady as he fucks me deeper. Even as I sob and tremble and try to pull away, he chases me, not letting me hide from the white-hot pleasure or the rawness of what’s been unlocked.

It’s the possessive praise that does it. My orgasm crashes over me like a thunderstorm, and I do scream—his name, God's name, wordless sounds of pleasure that echo off the empty hills. He fucks me through it, drawing it out until I'm shaking, oversensitive and desperate.

"Where?" he grits out, and I understand what he's asking.

"Inside," I gasp. "Want to feel you?—"

I want to be filled with hit hot cum, to experience what its like. I realize I probably won’t get what I want because he’s wearing a condom, but the idea that he even asked to give me a mere option turns me on even more.

He comes with a roar that probably scares the wildlife, hips stuttering as he empties himself into the condom. I feel every pulse, every shudder, and it triggers another mini-orgasm that has me whimpering against the truck's hood.

We stay like that for a moment, both panting, bodies still joined. Then he carefully pulls out, steadying me when my legs threaten to give out.

The sound of the condom being dealt with barely registers through my post-orgasmic haze; all I’m aware of is the abrasive thud of my heartbeat in my ears and the riot of sensation still winding through my body. My knees feel like overcooked noodles, and my arms tremble as if they’ve been holding up the truck instead of the other way around. The night air should be cold enough to sober me, but my entire spine is molten, liquefied by what just happened.

I barely have time to catch my breath before Austin’s hand finds my left thigh, squeezing and massaging gently like he already knows my bones are seconds from just giving up. He pulls me upright, pinning my back to his chest, the aftershocks of his last thrust still rolling through my hips. I let my head fall back against his shoulder, let him support my weight, let myself just be held for a split, perfect moment. I almost want to cry from how safe and anchored he makes me feel. Like he’s not just holding me to keep me upright, but to tether me back to this earth when I’m half sure I just died and came back.

His mouth is at my ear before I can even try to compose myself, his voice a rough, needy scrape against my shell: “Please tell me you can handle one more.”

My laugh is closer to a sob, the kind of jagged, breathless sound that says yes, I need it, I need you to ruin me again even if it splits me in two. “Splattered against the truck?” I tease, and I can feel the answering shudder run through all the thick muscle pressed against my back. His hands are already moving, greedyand reverent at the same time, sliding up over my belly to cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples with just the right amount of pressure to make my thighs squeeze together.

But there’s no time to brace, no hesitation left in either of us. With one swift motion, Austin lifts me so that my toes dangle, my thighs parted around his hips, and sets me on the edge of the truck bed. The metal bites at my skin, making me gasp, but that pain just sharpens everything else. I can feel slickness dripping down my inner thighs, pooling beneath me, and I’m so humiliation-drunk on it I could scream. He groans at the mess, his hands spanning my hips, thumbs digging in to anchor me in place.

“You’re amazing,” he says, and the awe in his voice is indistinguishable from hunger. “I could watch you come apart a thousand times and never get tired of it.”

His hands spread my thighs even wider, and before I know what’s happening, he’s on his knees in the dust, mouth latching onto my pussy like he’s starved for weeks. The shock of his tongue, hot and relentless, tears a scream out of me so raw I’m half afraid I’ve severed my own voice box. It’s pure worship, pure fucking devotion—he eats me out with the intense focus of a man memorizing every detail for the rest of his life. Every flick, every suck, every hum against my clit is engineered to devastate me completely. My heels drum uncontrollably against the truck, my fingers clawing at the roof for purchase.

He doesn’t stop when I come. If anything, he doubles down, flattening his tongue and circling my most sensitive nerves in a merciless, never-ending rhythm that turns my post-orgasmic sensitivity into something close to agony. I sob, I plead, I babble his name until the syllables lose all meaning, but he just holds me open and keeps going. Another orgasm wracks me, leaving me boneless and shivering, a marionette with all the strings cut.

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