Page 50 of Claimed By the Cowboys

Jensen’s arm is warm around my shoulders. Bo’s hand rests heavy on my thigh. It’s perfectly domestic, like this is a normal weekday night in a life I somehow get to keep.

When the show ends, the mood shifts.

Bo turns my face toward him and kisses me with the kind of slow thoroughness that makes my toes curl. Jensen’s mouth finds the side of my neck where I’m sensitive, sending shivers over my scalp. Warmth pools between my thighs as hands slide under my shirt, under my bra, and between my legs. They strip me right there on the couch, until I’m naked and aching between them.

While Jensen lies back and pulls me over him, Bo seeks out the condoms. I can sink onto Jensen’s wrapped cock as Bo moves behind me, his slick fingers preparing me carefully before he pushes in, too. The stretch is intense, overwhelming, and totally perfect. They move together, filling me so completely I can barely breathe.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Bo murmurs against my shoulder. “You can take us both. You’re doing so good.”

Jensen’s hands grip my hips as he thrusts up into me. I come hard, twice, before they finally follow, first Jensen, then Bo, holding me tight between them as they pulse and release inside me.

My body is already used to taking them both. My mind is so full of them, I can’t think about anything else.

Afterward, I lie sprawled across their chests, sticky and sated, listening to their hearts beat under my ear.

The life I could have with them shines so brightly on the horizon it almost hurts to look at.

But is it real?

Or a beautiful mirage that will disappear the second I try to reach for it?

I don’t know yet.

Tonight, though, I let myself believe it’s real for a little while longer.

I let myself believe it’s mine

Chapter 25

Brandy

A couple of days after my run in with Mama, I have a late shift, which means the morning is mine, so after I drop Naomi and Elijah off at school with hugs and reminders to hand in their homework, I don’t drive home. I turn the car toward the ranch instead. I know Bo and Jensen have work to do, but I’ve become kind of addicted to being around them.

It’s easy to come up with a long list of their positive attributes. I’ve never known men like them. There’s no jealousy between them, and they’re mature in approaching our connection. They don’t make demands of me, but they’re interested beyond politeness in my life. Their differences warm my heart as much as their similarities. And the way they look at me? That’s the icing on the cake. Standing naked before them, I’m powerful and desired. I feel like a queen when they’re both inside me.

The truth is, the weight on my chest loosens the second I’m near them, and that alone makes me want to squeeze in any time I can get with them.

The sky is clear, and the breeze is soft and warm, and I catch myself smiling as I turn onto their long dirt road, already imagining Bo’s slow smile when he sees me, and Jensen’s easy “hey, darlin’.”

Then I pull up near the ranch house and freeze.

There’s a woman at the washing line. She’s blonde with long hair tied up in a messy ponytail, and her cut-off denim shorts show off slim, tanned legs. Her pink halter top leaves most of her back bare and drops low at the front, revealing a full cleavage when she bends to pick up something from the laundry basket at her feet. She’s hanging thongs and matching bras in soft pastels and black lace to dry in the wind. They’re the kind of pretty, coordinated sets I haven’t owned in years. She moves in a way that’s comfortable and unhurried, pinning each piece with easy confidence.

My heart falls so fast I’m woozy.

All the times I’ve turned up unannounced, and there’s never been anyone else here. No other cars. No women’s clothes. Just Bo and Jensen and the space they kept making for me. Was that luck? Do they have a revolving door of women coming and going to warm their bed?

They’ve never made promises of fidelity, and I’ve never stated any expectations that we’d be anything other than casual.

My throat is as tight as a fist as I reverse carefully and drive away before she can turn around and see me.

The tears start before I even reach the main road, coming so hard and sudden they blur the windshield. I have to pull over once to wipe my face and breathe. All the things they told me, all the soft words and patient promises, and how precious and wanted they made me feel, seem like a carefully constructed cover. It was all just a way to keep me coming back while they found someone with less baggage.

She looks like she belongs here. Blonde. Tanned. Long-legged. Perky. The kind of woman my mind automatically puts beside a cowboy without having to rearrange the picture.

Not me.

Not a Black woman with two kids in tow, a grieving mama with a list of expectations, and enough baggage to fill the bed of Bo's truck.