Page 135 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

Willy slips his fingers free, wipes them down the thigh of his jeans with lazy satisfaction, then reaches for my fly.

The button pops. The zipper follows.

Red loosens his hold long enough for me to rise to my feet between his knees, and Willy hooks his fingers into my waistband, peeling my jeans and underwear down together.

I step out of them one boot at a time before Red catches my hips again and settles me back onto his lap. He whistles.

“Christ, Arizona.”

I laugh through another shaky breath and tip my head back against his shoulder just as Willy settles between my thighs and closes his mouth over me.

His tongue finds me.

He doesn’t ease me into it. He works slow circles over my clit until I bite my lip hard enough to stop myself from crying out, then pins my thighs wider and keeps going with relentless patience.

Red’s heartbeat pounds against my back. Somewhere beyond the fire Emmett shifts, his breathing catching, his belt scraping softly as he moves closer, but every thought I have narrows to Willy’s mouth and the rough scrape of his stubble against my skin.

Then two fingers slide inside me.

I gasp and clutch at his hair while he takes his time, easing deeper until every inch of me tightens around them. He holds me there just long enough to make me ache before curling them with infuriating precision.

My breath catches. My hips jerk.

He does it again.

The pressure builds in ruthless, relentless waves, each stroke finding the same place until I can’t tell where one ends and the next begins. I cling to him, rocking without meaning to, chasing the sensation while he refuses to rush me.

The growl vibrating through his chest only drives me higher, and I can feel my control slipping faster with every careful curl of his fingers. I’m already shaking, already balanced on the edge.

One more stroke.

My body gives in before my mind can catch up.

The second orgasm crashes through me before I can brace for it. My hands bury themselves in Willy’s hair while I rock helplessly against his face, and the growl that vibrates through him only pulls me higher.

I’m so wet I can hear it.

When he finally lifts his head, my slickness shines along his chin before dripping onto my collarbone. He licks his lips without breaking eye contact.

Before I can catch another breath, Emmett brushes his fingertips across Willy’s cheek, gathers a smear of me, and slips his fingers into his own mouth. The groan he lets out tightens every nerve inside me.

I want to watch him unravel.

“Come here,” I tell him.

He comes so fast he almost falls into my lap, catching himself on Red’s knee before I cup his face and pull him into a kiss.

Smoke, salt, and hunger fill my mouth. I bite his lower lip just hard enough to leave my mark, and he shudders beneath my hands.

I drag my nails down his chest, tugging open his flannel until his heartbeat jumps beneath my palm. He presses my hand harder against himself while a rough sound disappears into my mouth.

He rocks against my bare thigh, desperate for friction, while Willy’s hands roam over my hips, keeping me open for him. I hook my fingers into Emmett’s belt loops, drag him closer, and trail my mouth up his throat.

His pulse leaps beneath my lips.

Red’s arms tighten around my waist as he draws me back onto his lap with my back against his chest. I lift my hips for him while he opens his fly, settles himself beneath me, then guides me down over the thick length of him, already leaking enough to make me shiver.

Across from us, Emmett watches with parted lips.