Page 109 of 11 Cowboys
She knows what she wants and what we have to give.
But will it be enough?
39
GRACE
I feel them all inside me.
Their cum leaks from me in lazy rivulets, slicking my thighs, pooling beneath my tailbone, soaking the blanket under me—and somehow, the sensation only fans the flame. I should feel spent, satisfied, wrecked.
Instead, I feel sacred.
My body’s humming, my skin flushed and hot beneath the cool night air. The fire pit’s crackling behind me, and someone’s hand, maybe Jaxon’s, is stroking my hair. Nash runs a gentle finger down my shin like he’s intending to calm me.
I look around at my cowboys gathered around me, their attention totally focused.
Five of them have already been inside me tonight, their bodies etched into my skin like verses I’ll never forget. Jaxon. Harrison. Nash. Conway. Dylan. Each one left something behind, both physically and emotionally. I still feel the imprint of every kiss, every whisper, every groan when they spilled into me.
And now the rest are still here.
Watching.
Waiting.
Still hard. Still reverent.
I glance toward Lennon first. He’s crouched nearby, fingers laced, forearms resting on his knees, watching me like I’m a riddle he already knows the answer to but enjoys hearing me say it out loud.
“You okay?” he asks, voice even, but his voice and eyes are intense, like he’s asking if I want more.
“Yeah.”
Cody lets out a soft groan, his jaw tight, his cock already out and heavy in his hand. He’s palming himself slow and steady, like he’s barely holding back.
McCartney shifts closer, too, still shirtless, lips red from kissing, curls damp from sweat. His hand trails lightly up my thigh, as if asking permission without saying a word. I part my legs a little wider. He smiles, soft and so full of emotion that looks like love that it makes my throat tighten.
Brody hasn’t moved. He’s still standing at the edge of the blanket, arms folded over his broad chest like he’s trying to stay out of this, but his eyes lock on the mess between my thighs, his jaw clenched so tight it must hurt.
I reach for him first.
“Brody.”
He jerks, surprised that I said his name. Like he didn’t expect to be picked.
“Come here,” I whisper.
For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move. The war he’s fighting in himself is clear as day. He wants this, but he doesn’t want to want it. Or maybe he’s as scared as I am that giving himself over tonight will start us all on a journey we can’t come back from.
Then, his arms fall to his sides, like he’s lost his internal battle. Or maybe he’s won.
He crosses the blanket in three long strides, unbuckling his belt as he drops to his knees. I push myself upright witha slow grunt, letting my arms wrap around his strong neck as I pull him in for a kiss. He stiffens at first, uncertain, but when my mouth opens beneath his, he groans, low and guttural, and kisses me like he’s starving.
His hands find my hips. His mouth devours mine, and when he pulls back, his eyes are dark and wild.
“You sure?” he rasps.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Of course. I want all of you.”
