by BA Tortuga
Landon sputtered, and she had to check Cotton to see his reaction. She knew that wasn’t always kosher. Cotton just burst out laughing. Her own laughter started deep down then, all of the sudden, they were all laughing, loud and hard, and somehow she ended up in Cotton’s lap, his arms around her waist.
“Mmm. Hey, honey.” He kissed her cheek while Landon and Laurel galloped around the kitchen, doing some kind of deranged polka.
“Hey, baby.” She felt good, leaning right here. Like she belonged.
“Can you believe those nutburgers?” He tickled her belly, just a little.
“Yep. Cajuns.” She winked, wiggled in his lap.
“You know it. Having fun?” Cotton was. His eyes were just twinkling.
“I am. I’m glad you came for me.”
“Me, too.” Cotton kissed her, lips warm and a little hopsy. She hummed, letting him kiss as much as he wanted, sorta jonesing on the fact that he’d let his friends see.
“Mmm.” He licked her lower lip, pulling away to smile at the twins. “Supper?”
“Lawd, yes. Y’all are cute as bugs, Boll.” Landon grinned at them.
“Bowl?”
Cotton stroked the cotton boll on her boob. “Boll.”
“Oh. That’s adorable.”
“Yeah.” Cotton chuckled. “He’s a dork.”
She noticed Cotton’s fingers lingered, just a little.
“Well, come on and grab a plate.” Laurel pushed her hair back and flapped a hand at the food.
She slid out of Cotton’s lap, handed her boy a plate, then spooned up some rice and beans. “God, it smells like heaven.”
“Thanks, honey.” Laurel had the prettiest smile. God, it was nice to meet a country girl who wasn’t vicious.
They all settled down to eat, talking about surprisingly normal shit—movies and TV, tattoos and football. Cotton seemed completely at ease. If he and Landon weren’t really close friends, she’d hate to see the mind meld he had with his long-time buddies.
After they ate, they all set to cleaning the kitchen, washing and drying, putting food away.
“Are y’all gonna spend the night, Boll?” Landon asked.
“That would be good.” Cotton peered at her. “Is that okay, honey? I’ll keep driving if you want.”
“This is fine, Cotton, so long as we’re not putting y’all out.” Ah, the eternal southern dance of politeness.
“Shit, honey. We asked, didn’t we?” Laurel grinned, winked.
“Well, it’s set then.” Cotton waggled his brows. “Unless you intend to make us sleep in separate rooms.”
“Lord, my virgin ears.” She thought Cotton was going to deck Landon.
“Uh-huh. Virgin. Damn, y’all. I wouldn’t make you sleep alone.” Emmy thought Laurel was possibly the cutest girl ever.
“Thanks.” Dessert was some sort of pastry thing that made her want to move in. They had that standing up, drinking thick, sweet coffee.
“Y’all want to play cards for a while?” Em got the feeling Laurel was lonely, desperate for someone to talk to.
Checking with her, Cotton raised an eyebrow, slapping at Landon, who was trying to Bogart his last bit of dessert.
“Sure. No strip poker, though. I suck at that game.”
“No way.” That growl was adorable, Cotton glaring hard.
Em couldn’t stop her pleased blush, or the way she stepped closer. “Possessive cowboy.”
“I am. My girl.” He put his arm around her, sharing his last bite of flaky crust.
“Yeah, baby.” She leaned in, resting against him. They were going to have to talk about this whole quitting thing, about how she was going to make ends meet.
Later.
For now, she would play cards, then go to bed with him and not have to worry about anyone disapproving. She had a feeling she and Laurel might just end up as good friends.
They each grabbed another beer and headed for the living room, hand in hand.
Chapter Twenty-Three
New Orleans was just right. The weather wasn’t too cold or too hot. It was early enough in the year that it wasn’t muggy. And the ghost tour they were currently on was cheesy, spooky and hilarious.
Cotton thought Emmy was having the time of her life.
The guide was hamming it up and flirting with everyone—from him and Em to the old couple who were along with. His girl was tucked in against his side, listening to every silly story, fascinated. He’d bet his bottom dollar she’d have nightmares tonight, if she wasn’t careful, too. Of course, then he’d get to hold her and comfort her. Oh, he was an evil bastard.
He was her evil bastard, though, and she was more relaxed and happy with him now than she’d seemed for months. It made him happy. Made him nervous, though, too. For the event. Since he was dead sure she was coming this time, he’d got her seats in the family section.
He was gonna let folks know she was his and he was proud. Damn proud. And fuck the sponsors. Cotton just hoped to hell no one was evil to her. She needed to keep the confidence going that she’d found with Laurel. That girl was a pistol. Landon had approved, too, which Cotton was man enough to admit made shit easier. Landon’d pulled him aside last night, saying that he hoped Cotton held on tight, offering to watch her back.
Lord, he was silly over her. Cotton grinned when she squeaked over the boo factor the guide had just pulled. “Having fun, honey?”
“I am!” God, her dark eyes just shined.
“Me, too.” He so was. “Wish I hadn’t worn my boots, though.” The cobblestones were murder.
She nodded, leaned in a little. “It’s times like this that I wish I wore flip flops more often.” She was in these amazing lace ups that made her legs look like heaven in the full, little leather skirt.
“It’s a good look, though.” For both of them. Even in the Big Easy they was drawing stares.
“Thanks.” Her hand slid down, brushed over his butt. “You, too. We could go swimming, if you want, when we get back.”
“We could.” The pool should still be open. If it wasn’t, they’d sneak out there anyway.
“I’d like that.” She snuggled close, then jumped and squeaked as the guide poked her with his umbrella.
“Pay attention!”
“No poking!” Cotton stared the man down when he opened his mouth. No way was someone gonna poke his girl, then scold.
The guy turned away, started talking to the older couple, and Emmy pressed in, lips right at his ear. “That was hot, baby.”
“Yeah?” He puffed up a little, tickled as anything. “No one pokes my girl but me.”
“Works for me.” She leaned a little harder, and he could feel one of her nipple rings against his arm.
They could go now. They really could. Cotton grinned. All they had left was the pirate bar, and that was the least cool thing. “Wanna make a run for it?”
“You know it.” She twined her fingers with his and off they went, laughing as they headed toward Jackson Square.
They’d stop and get a coffee on the way back to the hotel. Cotton’s momma had said she could remember when there were ten or more coffee shops right on the square. Now there was just the Cafe du Monde, but it didn’t matter. It made Emmy happy. In fact, his girl seemed to be on cloud nine, teasing and laughing, touching and playing with him.
“Oh! Man, those donut things look good.” Damn, his feet slipped and slid in the powdered sugar on the floor.
“Uh-huh. Dude, I bet these guys are sticky when they get home.” She pulled her hair up and into a quick, messy bun, exposing her neck. Pretty.
Cotton wanted to nibble on it. Her neck, not the floor. He gave into the temptation, just a little, as she sat, teeth teasing her skin. She jumped. Cotton chuckled. “Tasty, honey.”
“Cotton Sayers! What are you doing, nibbling on folks!” Coke Pharris sauntered over, the bullfighter solid as a rock and bruised all to hell.
“Gramps! Hey, man.” Coke was a good ‘un, always there to save a cowboy
’s ass. “Coke, this is my girl, Emmy. Em, this is Coke. He’s a bullfighter.”
“Fearless Pharris. You’ve got an amazing career, sir.” Emmy held out her hand, and Coke took it, shook.
“Cotton’s…girl? Really. Well, I’ll be damned!” Coke tugged her in, hugged her. “Pleased to meet you, girl. You keeping your man in line?”
“We’re having a ball.”
He reeled her back in before Coke squished her. Coke didn’t always remember folks weren’t bulls.
“You in early for a reason, Mr. Coke?” He was hoping the man was having a little vacation.
“Me and Dillon are meeting Sammy and the Cajun, along with a couple of the local guys, in the morning to do some work on a little gal’s house. She’s got two babies and lost her man in the storm.”
“Oh, man. That’s rough.” Cotton shook his head. “You’ll have to tell me how y’all hook up with this stuff. I got to go to a signing tomorrow then Emmy and I are shopping, but I can get behind helping out.”
“There’s, like, some list deal on the ’puter, man. Dillon tells me.”
“A mailing list?” Emmy brightened right up. “I can help you there, baby.”
“Yeah?” Cotton smiled at Coke. “Emmy’s real good with computers.”
“Yeah? They scare me bad, but Dillon likes ’em. I’ll have him do…whatever he does to tell you wherever it is.”
Emmy was struggling not to chortle, he could tell. She was such a sweetie.
“Do you know, son, if they have to-go cups of coffee and doughnuts here? I’ve been sent on a mission.” Man, Coke must’ve lost a bet, for Dillon to send him out here at night on his own.
Now it was Cotton’s turn to chortle, and he didn’t hide it. “Yeah, the to-go line is up there at the inside counter, man. You have fun.”
“Thank you, son. Pleased to meet you, Miss Emily, ma’am.”
Emmy beamed, watched him leave. “He’s a sweetheart.”
“Coke? He’s the old man of the circuit. Everyone’s grandpa, you know?” He liked Coke, too. “He’s uh… He’s kinda with the clown, though.”
“No shit?” Em grinned. “Tell the truth, baby. Are you the only straight cowboy on earth?”
“Oh, fuck no. You should meet AJ.” He tilted his head. “This is close enough. You might actually meet his wife, Missy.”
There were a lot of straight guys. More than not. Bull riders did tend to form bonds with their traveling partners, though. Cotton tried not to think on it.
“I’m just teasing, Cotton. Really.”
“I know, honey.” He cackled. “Man, I’m glad Packer never made a pass at me.”
One eyebrow arched, then his girl started giggling, her laughter just filling the air.
Cotton laughed, too, and their coffee and beignets came, which meant all they did was moan and chew for a bit. He did love to watch her eat sweets. She had a dot of sugar on her nose and her lipstick was mostly gone. It was too cute. Too hot, too. Lord.
“What? Am I a mess?”
“A little?” He reached out and brushed some sugar off her lip. “Not bad.”
She pinked, licked her lips.
“Mmm. I wish I could do that here.” He’d lick her all over when they got back to the room.
“Mmmhmm…” Emmy licked again, blushed and wiggled.
“Well. Come on, honey. Let’s take the rest back to the room.” The coffee was gone, and they could wrap the beignets up in a napkin.
“Okay, baby.” She stood, brushed herself off, which gave him a great view.
Cotton followed, grabbing pastry with one hand, twining the fingers of the other with Emmy’s. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Purple. What’s yours?”
“Green, I think. I mean, sometimes I really like blue. Like in Wyoming or Montana, when the sky is so clear.” He grinned. See? He was interested. Wanted to know all about her. That Jeff could take his, ‘I bet you don’t know what her favorite color is’ and stuff it up his ass.
“I haven’t ever been there. Is it pretty?” Em let him help her across the street, avoiding the busker with the trumpet.
“It is. It’s big sky stuff, for sure.” He swung her hand back and forth. “What’s your favorite food?”
“Hamburgers, although we probably shouldn’t tell Jeff.”
“I knew it!” Cotton just crowed, dancing her in a circle. “I even told him.”
“What?” She laughed, dancing along, lifting her face for a kiss.
“That Jeff. I told him that denying you hamburgers was bad.” Cotton grinned, his cheeks stretching. “Mine is apple pie. Could you guess?”
“And I know you like sugar in your coffee and real syrup on your waffles and you don’t like strawberry jelly.”
“Mmm.” See that? She knew a lot. “And I know your birthday is April Fools’ Day, and that you wear the thong panties for me, but you wear the cotton ones with the rainbows when you’re being comfy.”
He’d snuck a peek at her driver’s license. The other he knew from experience.
“Yes. And you’re a September baby and you like having me close when you’re sleeping.”
“I do.” They both hurried up a little, and Cotton figured they had the same thing on their minds.
“I want you, huh?” She squeezed his fingers. “Like in that whole do me now way.”
“Yeah?” His voice broke, and Cotton cleared his throat. Suddenly it was a little hard to walk.
“Uh-huh. You know, like push me up against the wall and fuck me hard?” God, his girl… She blew his mind.
“I can do that. Soon as we have a wall. We can swim after.” Or maybe in the morning.
Emmy’s chuckle was husky. “Or in the morning. I expect you to keep me melty, baby.”
She pinched his ass.
“I will. I so will.” He went even faster, needing to get inside before he burned alive.
They got to the hotel, zipping through the lobby, then through the courtyard to their little room. When the door clicked shut, Cotton whirled around like a bull was on his butt and pushed Emmy against the door. “Will a door do?”
“You know it.” She arched against him and rubbed. Cotton lifted Emmy, sliding his fingers under her ass and pushing. She was so hot against him, smelled so good. Her skirt was smooth under his touch, but the leather was thin enough that he could tell she was wearing those little thong panties, for him.
“Oh, honey.” He pushed one hand down, then up, getting under the skirt to feel. Oh. Oh, man. He lived to touch her bare skin, to feel her all soft and smooth and hot against him. She was burning up for him, and he didn’t think it was because of the leather. Cotton slipped his fingers under the little scrap of thong, just to see if she was good and wet for him, too.
“Baby…”
Oh. Oh, hell’s bells. She was slick and burning up, his fingers sliding right in to touch her, to flick that tiny little ring.
She jerked, jumped, and Cotton chuckled, doing it again. “I like how that makes you move, baby.”
“I love how you’re not scared of it. You never”—her head fell back, and she swallowed—“never once were.”
“No, ma’am.” What was there to be scared of? He’d known right off the bat that she was his. He’d just needed to know it was okay to show it.
“Love how you touch me.” Emmy had hold of his shoulders, her hips rocking in a hard, steady rhythm, driving her sweet, wet skin against his hand. Cotton pressed against her, working her clit in little circles. Goddamn, she was making him crazy.
“Cotton. Cotton, please…” Those little sounds were fine enough to make a man feel like a god.
“Uh-huh. Oh, honey. You feel like heaven. Can I?” He knew he was strong enough to hold her up, right there, and push inside her. Now, getting his jeans open? Uh…
“Now.” She shoved her hands between them, tugged his belt open, then his fly. “Need you in me.”
“Now.” He nodded, lifting her a little higher, letting her wra
p her legs around his waist.
“So strong. Baby…”
He stared at her—still dressed, a little messed, needy and tugging at him. Cotton blinked. Damn. He’d almost opened his mouth and popped the question. Right there. Dude. He smiled instead. “Just need you, honey. That’s all.”
She grinned, licked his lips. “Good. Now take me. I ache inside, huh?”
“Okay.” He could do as he was told, yes he could. Cotton lifted her higher, pushing against her, then inside her.
“Oh…” Her moan was sweet as fuck, deep and throaty, and her eyes fastened on his, full of pleasure.
“That’s it, honey. Soft. Hot.” She was all that and a bag of chips. She was his whole damned world. It was scary.
“Yours. Cotton.” Yeah. Yeah, she got it. His girl, his pretty, fierce, needy girl.
“All mine.” He started moving, rocking, letting her have all of him. In, out—he set up a rhythm. Emmy helped him, bearing down and shifting forward, riding him but good. Sweet girl. Christ. She held on to his shoulders, her ass bouncing, and she squeezed him so tight. He could stay there and hold her forever. Wet and hot, her body wrapped around him like magic, like a silk fist. Hoisting her up, Cotton braced his legs good and wide and humped harder, sliding in and out. Please. Yes.
“Oh. Oh, fuck.” She was close. He could feel her rippling all around him.
“Yeah. Emmy. Come on, honey.” Cotton couldn’t get to her with his hands. He had to hold her up.
She nodded, whimpered softly as she jerked and bucked around him.
“Oh. Oh.” These little sounds kept coming out of his chest, and Emmy was moaning, and it was like a symphony or something—their very own song.
Her orgasm made her squeeze around him, and he could finally let go, push deep and fill her up.
Cotton grunted, his hips snapping up, his cock swelling, his balls emptying. Oh, Christ. He might just die happy.
Course…if he died, he couldn’t do this again.
That would suck, because this was quickly surpassing bullriding as his favorite thing. He could see why AJ liked being married so much.
He started dancing them drunkenly toward the bed. Emmy’s legs twisted around his waist and she held on tight.