Page 10 of Claiming Cowboy
“Good girl,” I murmur, thrusting harder. “I’m not stopping until you’re shaking around me, until everyone in this town knows exactly who’s making you feel this good.”
It takes another four minutes for me to cum. Four minutes of her clenching around me so tight it feels like she’s trying to fuse us together. Her breath fans hot against my ear, soft and frantic, her tits sliding against my chest with every thrust. Her thighs lock tighter around me, her body trembling, and her pussy… fuck. It feels like she was made for me. I’m certain of it. Just like I was made for her.
My hands grip her hips harder than they should, chasing that last pulse of heat until my release hits. I bury my face against her neck, groaning as the pleasure rips through me. For a heartbeat, there’s nothing but her body wrapped around mine, the world narrowing to the sound of her breath and my heartbeat hammering against her chest.
I kiss her neck, then her cheek, then her jaw, soft, quick kisses that melt into nuzzles. I gently bite her ear and whisper, still breathless, “See what you do to me? It’s more than… fuck.” I can’t even find the words.
“Yeah,” she pants against my shoulder, voice rough and warm. “Yeah, I see.”
I tip her chin up and kiss her, deep and hungry at first. Then slower. Softer. Gentler. Each kiss eases something in me, turns the fire into something warm and steady until it feels right to finally let her breathe.
She rests her head on my shoulder, laughing softly. “Your heart is so loud.”
“That’s on you, sunshine,” I murmur with a grin. “Making me feel old.”
“Thirty-eight isn’t old,” she argues, still a little breathless.
She playfully teases me as I soften and slip out of her, and I toss the condom into the bin behind me. The warmth between us doesn’t fade with the heat. If anything, it grows deeper, softer, threaded through our breaths and quiet laughs.
She pokes at my age, my job, the way I talk, but it’s more than playful banter. She asks questions too—real ones. Not the usual, shallow curiosities people toss my way. NotWhy do you do it?orDon’t you get lonely on the road?orWhat about next season?
She asks if I’m addicted to the rush, if I love the bulls even when they’re trying to throw me, if I have a favorite. She wants to understand why I live the way I do, why I chose this path instead of something easier.
And I ask her questions back. Why she left the city when it’s supposed to be where people her age build their lives. Why she didn’t flirt back sooner if she wanted me. That one earns me a blush, a quick glance down at her body, and a quiet promise to tell me later.
We talk like this, skin still warm, breaths still mingling, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like someone actuallyseesme. Every thoughtful question, every honest answer, the way she lets her guard fall away and lets me in—it settles in my chest like something solid.
The way her hair falls loose against my arm, the way she looks at me without pretense or expectation, makes everything else fall away. No roaring crowds. No bulls. No road. Just her. Just us. And with every word, I realize I don’t just want her in my bed. I want her in my life.
Paige reaches behind the counter for her clothes. She steps into her underwear, then slides her dress up, smoothing it over her warm skin. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks still flushed, and I swear I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
I zip my jeans, pull on my shirt, and step closer to fix the strap of her dress. My fingers brush her bare shoulder, and she shivers. The soft smile she gives me isn’t shy anymore. It’s something better—trusting.
She’s not chasing me. She’s not asking what this means or talking about labels. She’s not reaching for her phone to take a picture or post about sleeping with the town’s rodeo star. She’s just here with me. Breathing the same air. Enjoying the quiet after something wild. Maybe that’s all that matters.
Maybe helping her straighten the shop, brushing against her as we move around, stealing soft kisses when we pass each other, maybe juststayinginstead of walking away will be enough for her to look past the things that should scare her off: the fame, the age gap, the marks I’ve left on her skin, the fact that I’ve never been one for rules.
A man can hope.
Ican make it happen.
We clean up in quiet harmony, the soft clink of trays and hum of the fridges the only sounds between us. I take the trash out for her because there’s no way I’m letting her walk out back alone at night. When I come back in, she’s standing by the door with the keys jingling lightly in her hand.
“Everything’s locked up,” she says.
“Yeah?” I glance at the counter, then at her, my grin tugging wider. “I don’t think I’ll ever walk into this bakery again without remembering this.”
Her laugh is soft, real, and it hits me low in the chest. “Yeah, I don’t think I will either.”
“Guess we kind of ruined your bakery innocence tonight,” I tease, tilting my head.
She snorts and shakes her head. “You’re impossible.”
“But charming,” I counter, stepping closer.
Outside, she fiddles with the strap of her dress again, then looks up at me through her lashes. “So…”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I say, brushing my knuckles along her jaw. “And if that oven burns you again, I’m getting a part-time job as your official oven opener. I prefer you unburned.”
