Her pussy clenches greedily, sucking me deeper as I bottom out, balls pressed against her ass.
We both groan at the perfect fit.
I hold still for a moment, savoring the way she pulses around me, our foreheads touching. "Feel that? You're owning my cock just like I'm owning this pussy."
"God, yes... fuck me, Spur. Make me yours," she begs, legs wrapping around my waist.
I start thrusting, slow and deep at first, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, grinding my pelvis against her clit with each stroke.
Her tits bounce with the rhythm, and I release her wrists to pinch and twist her nipples, making her cry out.
Sweat slicks our bodies as I pick up speed, pounding into her harder, the bed creaking under us.
Her nails rake down my back, marking me as hers too.
"Mine," I grunt with every thrust, angling to hit her g-spot relentlessly. "This pussy, this body—fucking mine."
She meets every slam, her walls fluttering as another climax builds. "Yours! All yours! Harder!"
I flip her over suddenly, pulling her onto her knees.
Gripping her hips, I drive back into her from behind, one hand tangling in her hair to arch her back.
My other hand reaches around to rub her clit furiously while I fuck her hard.
The sight of my cock disappearing into her over and over, coated in her juices, pushes me closer to the edge.
"Cum for me again, Dakota. Milk my cock," I command, spanking her ass lightly, watching it jiggle.
She screams my name, pussy convulsing violently as she squirts around me.
The tight spasms yank my own release from me—I roar, burying deep and flooding her insides, filling her until she’s practically overflowing.
We collapse together, my body covering hers protectively, cock still twitching inside her as we catch our breath.
After a long time she falls asleep against me with my cock still soft inside her, her wrapped wrist on my back and her breath even at my collarbone.
I don't sleep.
I lie there and look at the ceiling of my cabin and think about the woman in my bed with my name on her wrist.
Then my mind shifts to the man somewhere in Texas who has been writing her notes thinking he gets to be part of her story.
He doesn't.
Tomorrow morning we’ll drive to Abilene, and everything will change.
* * *
I’m up before the sun. Dakota asleep in my bed, gauze on her wrist, hand near her face the way she sleeps. The mark under the gauze.
I dress in the dark. Boots, jeans, clean shirt, cut.
In the kitchen I pack the cooler—coffee in two thermoses, water, the protein bars Dakota eats before she rides because they don't sit heavy.
The cigarette in its sandwich bag goes in my saddle bag with my piece and two extra mags.
I walk to the main barn in the dark.
