Page 68 of One Last Rodeo

“I can’t wait to see it.”

He chuckles and licks me again. There’s no fear with Jensen when he’s between my legs. No hesitation. No awkwardness that I’ve spent years training myself to expect. To be honest, I didn’t know that was even possible with a man. To be naked and seen in the middle of the day with the sun as our only light and not worry about a mole, or a stray hair, or anything being seen astoo muchand notabsolutely, clinically perfect.

With Davis, I’d felt like I had to fold myself into a shape I wasn’t comfortable with at all times, and I was constantly fighting to tell myself it was normal and what I wanted. But I didn’t like making myself smaller and less. I didn’t like worrying if I was too smart for my ex and making him insecure.

Thankfully, I didn’t dumb myself down for him often, but it still stung when I could tell he didn’t appreciate my experience and always acted like he knew better no matter what the specialty was.

“Tell me your favorite part of this trip,” he says.

His fingers slide out of my pussy, and I gasp as he drags my wetness up, across my clit, circling it, pinching lightly—just enough to make my hips jerk.

There are birds chirping, insects buzzing and the lapping of water outside the boat. But none of those sounds are as calming as Jensen's heated breathing between my legs. His tongue presses against my clit, pointed, dragging back and forth. My thighs press around his face, pinning him in place.

“Fishing,” I breathe out. “This. You. The simplicity of just sitting on a lake together without any sort of agenda.”

He hums his approval against my clit. The vibration causes me to let out an involuntary moan.

“Good answer.”

My hands move to his head, tangling in his hair as his baseball cap tumbles somewhere behind him. My nails—red and smeared and imperfect from the way he painted them—are dry now as they scratch against his scalp.

Something about seeing them in his hair knocks loose a thought that I can’t ignore: When did I get this comfortable with the mess? When did I stop needing everything to be sterile, clean and predictable? Was it the moment I let him ruin my clean, bare nails with red nail polish? Or was it that first, unexpected night that we spent together when he undressed me and made me come?

“Oh… just like that,” I moan when he adds another finger. His tongue circles my clit, and his hand works me faster, deeper.

“I love watching your pussy take me like this,” he says against me, his breath hot. “Swallowing my hand. Gets me so hard.”

He drags his teeth lightly across my clit and my whole-body jolts. He groans—or maybe moans—my name. "Catalina." I can’t tell anymore over the rushing of blood in my ears.

I know I hearCatalinaonce. AndKittytwice. That’s all it takes for my body to start shaking. His fingers fuck me harder, rougher, his tongue flattens against my clit until I’m squirming, sliding an inch across the bench with each stroke. The boat rocks beneath us, sloshing against the water like it’s reacting to every roll of my hips and plunge of his fingers.

His free hand tightens on my thighs, squeezing until it borders on pain, until the pleasure sharpens into something blinding. He draws my clit into his mouth and sucks hard, and I come apart.

“Yes—oh fuck yes,” I cry, grinding desperately against his face, my knees shaking around his shoulders, his red nails that match mine biting crescents into my skin. “Don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. I knew he wouldn’t. He twists his fingers, hits something inside me that sends my vision spinning. By the time I’m gasping through the first orgasm, he’s already pulling another one out of me—pulling it from somewhere deep, somewhere I didn’t know still existed.

I don’t even realize he’s standing until he lays me down on the belly of the boat, shoves his thin shorts down his legs, and presses the blunt, bare, thick head of him against my entrance.

“Take it,” he grunts, pushing in slow, then all at once. “Take it all, Kitty. Milk me with that pussy.”

My breath leaves me in a broken sound as he fills me—every inch, every demand he’s held back is manifesting in this. His hips snap into mine, hard and relentless. I hook my heels around his hips, dragging him closer, deeper, needing all of it and holding on.

The boat rocks violently, wooden hull creaking, water sloshing. Sweat beads along his forehead, dripping onto my chest, mixing with lake air and heat and something that scares me because I’ve never acted like this. I’ve never felt like this before.

It’s the messiest, hottest sex I’ve ever had, and I know I'll never forget this unexpected summer day.

“Fuck, you’re so good to me,” he groans, lowering his forehead to mine. His eyes lock onto mine, unblinking. “So, fucking good, Kitty.”

I feel him stiffen inside me, feel the way he tries to hold back his orgasm and fails, and that alone pushes me over the edge again. My nails scrape down his back, my thighs tremble, voice breaking as everything inside me tightens and shatters.

He comes at the same time, his hips stuttering, his breath ragged and raw across my lips. And for a moment the whole world goes impossibly still until his lips soften as they kiss across my mouth, to my cheeks, and down my chest.

When we finally stop shaking, he pulls out slowly, watching the mess he made leak out of me. There’s no embarrassment. No instinct for me to hide it. I leave my body soft and open for him to watch with a proud look on his face. I know he likes to see what he leaves behind in me. This is his favorite part.

He bends down, scoops some of his seed with his fingers, and then pushes it gently back inside my pussy before smoothing my dress down over my hips to cover me.

“Don’t shower when we get back to the cabin.”