Page 32 of Dirty Cowboys
Nash reaches out to touch my shoulder. “Scary doesn’t have to be bad.”
“What I need to know,” Duke says, “is what you want. Not what you think you should want, or what makes sense. What do you actually want?”
I take a deep breath. “I want to see where this goes. All of this. With all of you.” I pause, looking between them. “Is that even possible? Can I be with each of you separately? I mean, I know you three have something together.”
“We’ve never brought anyone else into what we have,” Walker says bluntly. “It’s always only been us.”
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t try to see if it works,” Duke adds. “You might not like us for long—I mean, Nash isn’t easy to live with.”
Nash flips him off, and I laugh at how easy their relationship is with each other.
“And the masks?” I ask, feeling embarrassment wash over me. “I know it’s probably silly now, but there are still things I want to explore.”
Nash laughs. “If you want us to wear masks while we tie you up and make you beg, you only have to say the word.”
“I would prefer not to,” Walker adds, and I wait for him to say he doesn’t want me at all. “I want you to see my face when I make you come. But if that’s what you need to feel safe, I’ll do it.”
“It’s not just about feeling safe,” I say. “More about letting go. When I can’t see your faces, I can be anyoneand do anything. It’s like being given permission to be the version of myself I’ve always wanted to be.”
Duke nods slowly. “Then we figure it out as we go. No rules except you keep your safe word.”
“And honesty,” Walker adds, shooting a look at Nash. “Complete honesty about what we want, what we need, and what we’re feeling.”
“I can live with that,” Nash says. “As long as I still get to make her scream my name.”
Between my quiet giggles, I reply, “I think I can arrange that.”
Chapter Twelve
Nash
It’s been a week since the night of the storm, and Indie is driving me absolutely fucking crazy. Not in the way she usually does, with those little sounds she makes when I kiss her neck or the way she blushes when Walker brushes past her. This is different. I want to tie her to a chair just to keep her still for five minutes.
Doc Henderson cleared her yesterday. He said her head injury was healing fine and she could now resume normal activities. But “normal activities” to Indie apparently means throwing herself into ranch work like she’s been doing it her whole life.
I watch from the bars of the horse pen as Indie helps Walker repair a section of damaged fencing, herblonde hair tied back in a messy bun and her face flushed. She’s wearing one of my old shirts that hangs loose on her body, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
“Hand me that wire,” Walker says, and she passes it over without missing a beat.
I smirk. He must appreciate working with her. He hates asking me because I like to rile him up and pretend I don’t know what he is asking for. It normally ends with his hand around my neck and my cock hard as a rock.
“Like this?” she asks, mimicking the way he’s been wrapping the wire around the fence post.
“Tighter,” he says, moving behind her and covering her hands with his. “Feel how much tension you need?” Indie relaxes back against his chest, soaking up the moment of Walker being soft and tender.
Duke emerges from the barn, his black hat pulled low against the sun, and heads in my direction. “She is going to work herself into the ground if she keeps this up,” he says, stepping up beside me.
“Tell me about it,” I mutter. “Yesterday I found her mucking out stalls at five in the morning. She said she couldn’t sleep and wanted to make herself useful.”
“And you let her?”
“No, I made her watch me do it. The woman ismore stubborn than a bull with its head stuck in a fence.”
“I need to make a quick trip into town and pick up supplies. Keep an eye on things here?”
“Sure thing, boss,” I say, tipping my hat. “But if Indie tries to lift anything heavier than a hay bale while you’re gone, I’m tying her to a chair.”
“She won’t like that.”
