Page 99 of Filthy Fae

“Yes, just like that,” I cried.

“Spread ‘em for me, Princess,” he said, pumping into me rhythmically.

I widened my knees on the bed, letting him get even deeper. He pushed off the bed and stood behind me, gripping my hips and slowing his motion. His cock strained inside my sheath, filling me to the brim and then some. “Pound me,” I whimpered, needing it to be over, to find my relief.

“What’d you say? I can’t hear you with your face in a pillow,” he said, swiveling his hips and hitting all the right spots inside me. I cried out wordlessly, not able to form a coherent thought.

I pushed up onto my knees and threw my arm around his neck, turning my head to bite down on his ear. “I said, pound me,” I growled.

Sawyer crouched slightly and then thrust upward, rocking me forward onto the bed. He fell onto me, driving into me faster and faster, his cock slippery with my juices. At last, he collapsed onto me, his hips locked to mine. When his cock lengthened inside me, it hit that spot one last time, and I cried out again and again, my walls clenching around him as his come flooded into me.

His chest heaved on top of my back as we lay there catching our breath. His cock pulsed with contentment inside me, and I squeezed back in answer.

“Damn, girl,” he said. “I should have encouraged my dad to get married a hell of a lot sooner.”

4

Amber

A few days later, when the guys were out, I got a phone call. This time, I knew that it was no renter. “You probably shouldn’t be calling me,” I said as an answer.

“Tell Sawyer that when he doesn’t answer his phone, I’ll call you instead,” Cody said. “Then I won’t have to.”

“Calling their girlfriend is probably not the best way to earn forgiveness for running off with Waylon’s fiancé,” I said. “Just FYI.”

“I reckon,” he said. “Well, you can tell my brothers that I’m heading that way. Haven’t been around in a few years. Wanted to get a look at the ranch.”

“Um…I don’t know if that’s really the best idea,” I said. “I mean, I believe you’re sorry. I even think they believe it. But that doesn’t mean they’ve forgiven you.”

“Thing is, I tried staying away and leaving them alone,” he said. “And that didn’t work. So I reckon it’s time for a new approach.”

“If you say so.”

“Let them know I’m coming by,” he said. “I’m not going away this time. Guess they’ll just have to get used to that.”

“I’ll tell them.”

When I’d hung up, I texted the guys. When I didn’t get an immediate response, I figured I’d better head out and tell them. They probably had the tractor running and couldn’t hear a text alert over the engine. I didn’t think they’d enjoy coming home to find Cody there again, probably sitting in their kitchen chatting with me. I could be mean and tell him to go fuck himself, but I didn’t think I could be as cold as Waylon. I felt bad for Cody, and I’d probably cave before the guys got home.

With that in mind, I bundled into my snow pants, parka, gloves, and hat before I headed out. It was cold as hell outside, though it hadn’t snowed in a week. The guys had headed out that morning, though I wasn’t sure where they’d gone. I thought about taking Van Gogh, but Holden had mentioned recently that she hadn’t been shoed in a while, and I didn’t want to risk her getting snow packed up in her hooves.

I passed the barn, outside which the horses were huddled under their blankets in the corral, eating hay from the round bale. Van Gogh lifted her head when she saw me, gave me a withering look, and sneezed.

“Love you, too,” I said, blowing her a kiss. I waddled out to the shop, bundled up so big I felt like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Inside, I looked around, considering my options. The guys had taken the giant tractor, which meant I could take either the side-by-side, the four-wheeler, or the T-Bird. Though I really wanted to drive the convertible, Waylon would literally murder me for even looking at the vintage muscle car he’d rebuilt from scratch. It was the love of his life. He’d probably rather I slept with his treacherous brother than touch the T-Bird.

That thought made me laugh as I climbed into the side-by-side. I’d never driven it by myself before, but I had driven it. Waylon had given me two lessons, and the last time, I’d basically done everything myself. It would be exactly the same this time, minus the bossy, demanding cowboy in the passenger seat.

I started it up, smiling to myself. It wasn’t so hard at all. And yeah, I might have almost run into the door of the shop, but I managed to stop in time to roll up the garage-style door. The driveway to the shop was packed firmly from the frequent use, so I rolled the cart right out onto it. I gave it some gas, and after an initial lurch, I was on the move. As some slim person in Virginia once said, I’d come a long way, baby. During the past year, I’d learned my way around the ranch so I wouldn’t get lost, taken on almost all of the horse duties, and now I was handling the equipment like a pro.

Without Waylon there barking orders at me, I could really enjoy myself on the side-by-side. I sped up, bouncing along one of the drives that wound through the ranch. My hair spilled out of my cap and whipped in the wind. It was almost as much fun as riding a horse. And unlike Van Gogh, the cart didn’t take its sweet time speeding up when I told it to. All I had to do was press down on the gas pedal, and it lurched forward and roared along the road like a beast.

As the cart crested a small swell and then dipped down the other side, my ass bounced a foot off the seat.

“Yee-haw,” I yelled, clutching the steering wheel and laughing like a maniac. This must be how Waylon felt driving his slick little convertible. Hell, if driving a car was half this fun, I might never walk anywhere again. Now that I knew how much fun it could be to drive this thing, Van Gogh better shape up and suck up to me good. She was in serious danger of being replaced as my main mode of transportation around Coyote Ranch.

In the light of the morning sun, the whole ranch was like a glittering winter wonderland. In times like these, I was so glad I’d left New York with its stinky exhaust and grey slush. Nothing in the world could compare to the sparkling purity of snow in Wyoming. The sight of thin white trees ahead drew my attention. I gazed up at them, awestruck by the beauty of the aspens, now camouflaged against the snow. Their white bark and black, horizontal stripes blended right in. They were every bit as beautiful in the winter as the fall.

They were in the exact same spot, too. Which meant I was about to nose-dive the cart into a giant riverbed.