Change of Hart (Wells Ranch, #3)(119)
Me neither.
For safety purposes, I pool saliva on my tongue and go down on him with a final, attentive bob. My cheeks hollow to suck any remaining ice cream from his cock. The back of my hand swipes across my mouth to clean up the excessive amount of spit, and I consider whether the sloppy mess I’ve made of his lap is enough to clean him well enough.
Fuck it.
Helping shimmy my underwear down my thighs, he stares up at me with a look of bliss. “Jesus Christ, I have the sexiest wife in the world.”
The title makes my heart flip. Somehow—by some stroke of fate or luck…maybe both—I’ve been given the opportunity to love this man twice in a single lifetime.
I lean in to kiss him, positioning myself so his cock bobs against my entrance. And I grip it, stroking while dragging the head between my pussy lips, eagerly watching every telling expression on his face.
“Fuck, you’re so wet.” His fingers dig into my thighs. “Be a good wife and sit on my cock. I want your cum dripping down me like ice cream.”
The tip slips in with ease, and I slowly settle onto his lap with a moan. The stretch of my muscles around his cock makes me throw my head back in ecstasy, with hair cascading down my back and the autumn sun warm on my face. His hands find their way to my hips, bunching my dress up so he can watch himself sink into me, and keeping me steady as I come close to falling apart. Being here with him is heaven on Earth, and when he drives upward to ensure I’m getting every last damn millimeter of his cock, I swear there are angels singing.
Denver adjusts the angle slightly, hitting my G-spot with a whimper. I moan and fall forward until our foreheads touch. And he thrusts with a new primal need while sweeping my hair away from our faces.
“I know, baby,” he replies to the whine escaping my lips in short bursts. “Feels so fucking good for me, too.”
Placing a soft kiss on my lips, he holds his palms to my shoulders to sit me upright again. His jaw ticks when he looks up at me, entire body shuddering while my pussy clenches around him. Every muscle in my body is stiffening with an impending orgasm, and he rockets me up and down on his lap, forcing his cock to hit my G-spot until I’m crying out so loudly they can probably hear us back at the ranch.
“I.” Thrust. “Love.” Thrust. “You.” Thrust. Sweat beads on his forehead, and his eyes close.
“I love you so much,” I say through an elated exhale, stroking the pad of my middle finger over my clit in rhythm with every bounce. Heat curls in my core and fireworks out when I feel the heat of his cum fill me, a low moan escaping through his gritted teeth.
Denver squints up at me with a satiated smile, eyes brimming with love, and pulls me into him for a slow kiss. If it weren’t for his unshaken hold on me, I’d be crumbling to the earth. And if that isn’t the perfect metaphor for our lives together, I don’t know what is. Time standing still when I’m encompassed by his touch, and the branches of our tree swaying above us, it’s like I’m sixteen again—madly in love with Denver Wells.
It’s always been Denver Wells.
Epilogue—Denver
(five years later)
Standing next to Blair’s dad, I keep a hand firmly on my son’s back so he doesn’t fall off the fence rails he insists on climbing. Constantly trying to keep up with his older sister and cousins, he’s already a bit of a wild child. Though I guess he comes by it honestly.
The rodeo stands are packed, and Oliver wiggles his tiny butt to “Hell on Heels” by the Pistol Annies, when the world’s cutest barrel racer comes out of the alley. Frank leans on the rail, recording the run on his phone to show his wife during his daily visit to the care home. And Blair’s standing just beyond the timer in the arena, hands anxiously clasped over her mouth as her horse rounds the first barrel at a trot. Circling around to the second barrel, our adorable four-year-old is bouncing in the saddle with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on her face. Her light brown hair whips out from underneath the pink helmet—just like her mom’s always does—and when Avery rounds the third barrel, I swear the entire rodeo ground hoots and hollers collectively. All the way home, to where my gorgeous wife is jumping up and down, dirt clouding around her dusty jeans as she cheers on our baby girl.
“Come on, Oll. Let’s go congratulate your sissy.” I scoop up the two-year-old, settling him onto my shoulders, and we walk with Frank over to where our truck and horse trailer are set up.
Blair’s in the middle of tying up her horse. A wedding gift from Jackson and Kate that five years later I’m still convinced was meant as a gag—the buckskin Blair accidentally rode through a thunderstorm, thinking it was one of mine. It turns out Sandy makes a decent barrel horse. And he has a pretty undeniable bond with Blair. Something magical happens to her after a few hours spent in the saddle following a hard day. Between running her own clinic, coping with her mom’s mental decline, and raising two feral children, she deserves the escape.
“Dad!” Avery shouts, already eating a celebratory Rice Krispies square on the fender of the horse trailer. “Did you see me go super fast ’round those barrels?”
“You bet I did. Super fast.” I smile at her, lowering her brother to the grass. “You’re going to have more winning buckles than your mom pretty soon.”