Page 17 of Dirty Sweet Cowboy

I ache deliciously. My body feels different now—awakened, sensitized, alive in ways I never knew possible. It's been two days since Wayne's fingers inside me in the tack room, four days since his mouth between my thighs under the oak tree. Each time he touches me, each orgasm he gives me, I change a little more. Become a little bolder, a little hungrier, a little more his. I catch myself watching his hands constantly—those large, calloused hands that can be so gentle yet so commanding—imagining them on my body, in my body. I dream about him at night and wake up wet, aching, ready. The girl who arrived on his doorstep two weeks ago wouldn't recognize me now. I barely recognize myself.

We've moved into a new routine. I sleep in his bed every night now, tucked against his solid warmth. He kisses me breathless, touches me until I'm crying out his name, but he hasn't taken me completely. Not yet. "When you're ready," he keeps saying, though I'm starting to think I've been ready since the first moment I saw him.

Tonight, we're in his bedroom—our bedroom now, I guess. The lamp on the nightstand casts a warm glow over the space, making everything feel intimate, secret. I'm wearing just an oversized t-shirt that belongs to Wayne, the hem hitting mid-thigh. He's shirtless, wearing only low-slung pajama pants that do nothing to hide his arousal.

He sits in the armchair in the corner of the room, beckoning me over with a crooked finger. "Come here, angel."

I go to him without hesitation, drawn by the command in his voice, the heat in his eyes. When I reach him, he pulls me down onto his lap, positioning me so I'm straddling his thighs, facing him. His hands settle on my waist, warm and solid through the thin cotton of the shirt.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, gaze traveling slowly over my face, down my neck, to where my nipples have hardened beneath the fabric. "Do you know what I want tonight?"

I shake my head, heart already beating faster in anticipation.

"Want to watch you," he says, voice dropping lower. "Want you to touch yourself for me. Show me how you pleasure yourself when you're thinking of me."

Heat floods my cheeks, but a matching heat pools between my legs at his words. The thought of touching myself while he watches should be embarrassing, but instead, it's thrilling.

"I don't…I'm not sure how," I admit. It's not entirely true—I've touched myself before—but never with such deliberate intention, never with an audience.

His lips curve into a knowing smile. "I'll teach you. Show you how to touch yourself the way Daddy likes."

That word—Daddy—sends a jolt of electricity straight to my core. He's used it before, in heated moments when we're both close to the edge, and each time it affects me more deeply. Makes me feel both protected and possessed in a way that nothing else does.

"Okay," I whisper, nodding.

His hands move from my waist to the hem of my shirt, slowly drawing it upward. "Arms up," he instructs.

I comply, allowing him to pull the shirt over my head, leaving me completely naked on his lap. The air feels cool against my heated skin, making my nipples tighten further. I resist the urge to cover myself, instead letting his gaze roam over me, reveling in the hunger I see there.

"Perfect," he growls. "Now put your hands on your breasts. Show me how you touch them when you're alone."

My hands shake slightly as I raise them to cup my breasts. They're small enough to fit easily in my palms, nipples pressing against my skin. I squeeze gently, watching his face for reaction.

"That's it," he encourages. "Play with your nipples. Show me how you like it."

I roll my nipples between my fingers, gasping at the sensation that travels straight to my core. His eyes darken, pupils expanding as he watches.

"Does that feel good?" he asks, voice rough.

"Yes," I breathe.

"Good girl. Now slide one hand down. Slowly."

I obey, trailing my right hand down over my stomach, hesitating at the junction of my thighs. His gaze follows the movement, intense and approving.

"Spread your legs wider," he commands. "Let me see all of you."

I shift on his lap, widening my stance, exposing myself completely to his view. I should feel vulnerable, exposed, but instead I feel powerful. The way he looks at me—like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen—makes me bold.

"Touch yourself," he says. "Show me how wet you are for me."

My fingers slide between my folds, finding myself slick and ready. I gasp at the contact, at the jolt of pleasure that shoots through me.

"So wet already," he murmurs appreciatively. "Spread it around. Get your pretty pussy nice and wet for me."

I do as he says, circling my entrance, gathering moisture, bringing it up to the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top. My breathing quickens as pleasure builds.

"That's it," he praises. "Now circle your clit. Slow circles, the way Daddy likes."