Page 71 of 11 Cowboys
She’s had enough for tonight, but next time, she’ll know what to expect, and maybe I can push her further.
I rest my hand on her stomach, feeling the soft flutter of her breath, while Nash brushes lazy fingers through her tangled hair. The room smells like sweat and sex, and I glance over her head at Nash, who meets my gaze with a tired grin and a small nod. We did good.
Grace suddenly lets out a soft, satisfied groan. “Holy hell.”
I chuckle low in my throat. “You ain’t gonna need to use that pillow tonight, darlin’.”
That earns me a breathless laugh. She turns to me, eyes still heavy-lidded but warm. “Jaxon told you about that?”
“We want to give you what you need, Grace. That’s why.”
“It’s okay,” she says, brushing her fingers across my lips.
There’s a long beat of silence. Strange as hell, but it’s comfortable. I don’t move, and neither does Nash. Grace doesn’t pull away or cover herself like she’s got regrets waiting in the wings.
I know better than to believe this means she’s staying. We’ve been here before with other women, on other nights with a similar soft aftermath that hid more doubt than we could see. But I can’t stop myself from brushing my knuckles lightly over her bare shoulder.
“You good?” Nash murmurs.
She hums, half asleep already. “Yeah. More than good.”
I glance over, catching the curve of her mouth in the lowlight. “I gotta admit,” I say, dragging a hand through my hair. “I usually don’t stick around long enough to ask that.”
She laughs softly, the sound low and a little self-conscious. Then, quieter: “I don’t usually stick around, either.”
The edge in her voice is there. It’s a flicker of fragility she’s conscious of sharing.
“Not used to waking up in the same place two mornings in a row?” I ask gently.
Her fingers drift across my chest, slow and aimless. “I’m not used to being wanted after,” she says. Then, a breath later, like she’s afraid of the words. “Sometimes I panic. I get this rush of—what if I’m messing this up by staying?”
“We want you to stay,” Nash whispers softly, stroking her arm.
I grin against her temple. “Even if you couldn’t cook for shit, we’d still want you.”
“Yeah. You’re not interested in my homemaking skills?” she teases.
“We’re good on that front. There’s a line of eleven men already handling all that stuff.”
“That’s a solid selling point.”
I roll onto my side to face her better. “We’re all figuring this out, you know? How to act around you. How to be with you.”
“Don’t act,” she says. “Just be.”
“Okay,” I rub my stubble, the rough scrape grounding me. “Alright. I’ll be real, then. We want to know you. All of it. The sweet parts. The messy parts. Even the weird stuff.”
Her lips twitch. “Weird like what?”
“Weird like—I snore. It’s brutal. I like to think I make up for it in other… nighttime activities.”
Her smile blooms now, warm and amused. “Okay. My weird thing? I alphabetize my books. Even the cookbooks.”
“Lennon will love you for it.”
“I sing in the car.”
“Beau will join you,” Nash says, smiling. “I talk toanimals more than people.”
