Cowboy (The Busy Bean)

by L. B. Dunbar

  “I’m so sorry about that,” I say, opening the lotion bottle and squirting some into my hand. Bull doesn’t look up at me. His position reminds me of a sexy cowboy on the cover of a romance novel. Chest gleaming, body leaning, and his thumbs hitched in his pockets while his shirt dangles from one hand.

  “I saw him press you up against the truck and kiss you.”

  I gag. “He did not kiss me. He just . . . moved in too close.” Hastily, I rub at my arms, smoothing in lotion before tugging at the curled knot of the towel over my breasts.

  “What was he doing here?”

  “He said he wanted me back until he learned I was pregnant.”

  Bull nods in response, keeping his gaze downward. His chest flexes as his hand clutches the plaid material tighter. I want him to look at me, but he doesn’t, so I cross the small space and cup his face, pressing against his jaw so his eyes meet mine.

  “Bull, honey, I’m not going back to him. He’s an idiot. He said he’d take me back, but instead, it should be the other way around. I should want to take him back, and I don’t. He should be apologizing to me, but he wasn’t.”

  “What if he had apologized? What if he’d recognized the error of his ways?”

  “That’d be a small miracle, but even if he did say he was sorry, there’s nothing to go back to. We’re over. We were over long before he cheated. I just didn’t see it until what happened happened.” I shudder to think how much longer I might have lived in the dark about our marriage. Perhaps Brittney’s pregnancy was the wake-up call I needed. Or maybe my own pregnancy is.

  I step back for the dresser, reaching for the lotion once more and smoothing some on my other arm.

  “And he said nothing about the baby?” Bull can’t comprehend the thought of a man not wanting a child.

  “Shelton isn’t interested in being a father.” At least not to my child, which hopefully isn’t his child.

  “Maybe you need to back up and explain everything to me.”

  I turn and step over to him, noticing his feet are bare and his jeans are dirty. I press at his thighs, so he’ll let stand between his legs.

  “He told me Brittney was getting fat, so I told him I was pregnant. I just sort of blurted it out. Then he accused me of lying, making up the story to turn him off. He wanted to have sex with me.” I chew my lip, nervous about offering up this information, but I don’t want any secrets between us, and I don’t want to lie to Bull about Shelton’s reasons for being here. Bull’s head pops up at the confession. “When he asked for clarification of the truth . . . if the baby was really his . . . then I lied and said it wasn’t. That’s when he said everything was my fault.”

  I glance down at the shirt still in Bull’s hand. He sets it on the bed next to him and reaches for the hem of the towel at the top of my legs. He tugs me closer to him, spreading his legs wider to accommodate me between them.

  “You know that’s not true. This isn’t one of those Screwup Scarlett things you’ve mentioned. This was all him, and he’s a fool for looking elsewhere.”

  “That’s sweet,” I whisper.

  “I’m not trying to be sweet. I’m being honest. His mistake, though, is my reward because it brought you to Vermont. It brought you to the Gin Mill and Green Rocks, and a night I never want to forget. It brought you right here.” He tugs at the material again, and I clutch at the twist near my chest. If he pulls the towel once more, I’m going to be naked before him. Unfortunately, I sense Bull’s earlier desires have dwindled a bit, as have mine after Shelton’s visit.

  “I’m grateful to be here,” I remind Bull because I truly am. He’s done more for me in the last month than Shelton did in our entire marriage. It’s a sad reality.

  “What’s with the boxes downstairs?”

  “Those are the remainder of my things. I had the cleaning service pack them up and ship them to me. I hope you don’t mind that I had them sent here. I’ll move them out of the way.” I should have done that before I showered.

  “You shouldn’t be lifting things.” An edge to his voice punctuates the words.

  “I can manage,” I snark, growing edgy myself. “I should get dressed.” I spin around, but as my back comes to him, his arms wrap around my waist, tugging me to his chest, and I stumble onto his lap.

  “For a moment there, I thought I’d lost you. I saw him lean into you, thinking he kissed you. Then I saw the moving van going down the lane. I thought you were already gone.” His arms tighten, and my hands cover his forearms, stroking over them.

  “I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t disappear like that.”

  “You still might leave.” A million questions rest in his tone.

  “If we learn the baby isn’t yours, you’ll want me to go anyway.”

  Bull stiffens behind me, squeezing me tighter into his chest.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because it’s true. If Sprout isn’t yours—”

  “You don’t think I want you? What do you think earlier was? In my truck. By the tree.” His mouth presses to my neck as he speaks as if the words can seep through my skin.

  “You got caught up in the excitement of the heartbeat. We both did,” I admit, as I’m just as guilty of wanting Bull to take me on the front seat of his pickup despite the parking lot and equally guilty for what we did by the tree. That beautiful fricking tree and its romantic stories, plus all his pretty words about heart and life.

  I’m not asking you to marry me, Scarlett.

  “I wasn’t caught up in anything but you. I told you I don’t care who the father is. I want Sprout, but I also want you.” His arms flex around me a second before he continues.

  “I like you. I like how your scent lingers in the bathroom after you shower, and you laugh at my jokes. You get excited about watching movies, and you want everything explained during a hockey game. I like your smile and how you chew your lip when you’re horny and how . . . Just, dammit, Scarlett. I wake up looking forward to seeing you, and I want to go to bed with you in it every day that ends with day and turns into a night. I care about the baby, but this isn’t only about Sprout. This is about you. Us. I don’t want you to leave.”

  My heart beats so fast in my chest, I’m certain he can hear it through my back. My body trembles at the fierceness of his tone, the sincerity in it, the intensity of it.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  His breath hitches behind me, and his mouth comes to the exposed portion of my back. Suction kisses work over my shoulder blade, and my knees give a little, lowering me to his spread lap. I rest in the crook of his legs while his lips continue to suck at my skin. A soft tongue licks along the curve of my shoulder blade before he nips me, and I squeak. He lifts an arm at my waist for the knot of the towel and tugs it free.

  “I should shower,” he mutters as his teeth continue to nibble at my shoulder blade. The only response I can give him is a soft purr. He tugs the damp towel from between us, and I sit naked in his lap. His hands coast up my sides before both come forward to cover the bump of my belly. His nips turn more aggressive, and he shifts behind me to get to the curve of my neck just above my clavicle. With a sharp bite from him, I bend forward, pressing my backside into the seam of his jeans, and groan. The noise spurs him onward, one hand dipping lower on my body, forcing my legs to spread while the other hand remains flat on my belly, holding me in place over him.

  “We were interrupted,” he mutters, strumming his fingers over my sensitive folds. I tip my head back for his shoulder. “No more thoughts about him.”

  “Fine by me.”

  Bull slips a finger into me, destroying all my thoughts of anything but him. His finger easily slides back and forth as I’m instantly wet for him.

  “Slide your legs over mine.”

  I do as he says, but my legs are shorter than his, and my toes can’t touch the ground. “I’m going to fall,” I warn as I struggle to sit over his thighs with my legs spread wide open. His finger hasn’t lost a beat, adding a seco
nd to the first.

  “I’ll never let you fall,” he says, and a million more promises linger in his words. His mouth works more intently at sucking my skin along my neck and down my shoulder. His teeth scrape over the ball of my shoulder while his fingers slip in and out of me, making a soft suction sound.

  “Bull,” I warn, as my thighs tremble and my toes point, desperate for support as they dangle inches above the ground. He scoots himself back on my bed only a few inches, not breaking his rhythm. His heels hook into the low frame, lifting my spread thighs and opening me in a way I’ve never felt so exposed. It’s wild and wonderful as his fingers work me and his mouth kisses me. I glance up to note how we sit within the small frame of the mirror over the low dresser opposite the end of the bed. Unable to help myself, I watch as Bull fingers me, and his mouth sucks at my skin.

  After another minute, his eyes catch mine in the reflection, and he pulls back. He keeps his focus on me in the mirror, his deep voice ruffling my hair. “You like watching?”

  “I like watching you,” I admit. “I like watching us.”

  “Sweetheart, I need to be inside you,” he says to me through the mirror.

  “I’d like that.” His fingers release me, and I cry out at the absence, but he works at the button and fly of his jeans, shifting me only a little to lower his pants and underwear to his thighs.

  “I really should have showered,” he mutters.

  “You smell like sunshine and hard work.” And all man. Scooting back a bit more, he keeps me reversed to him, and I shift my legs, so I balance on my shins.

  “You naughty woman,” he teases, holding himself upright and dragging his tip through my slit, moistening himself before guiding my hip to lower me and take him in.

  “Jesus,” he hisses behind me, holding me still a second. I can’t say this is a position I’ve experienced before. I’m on my knees, straddling him, my back to his front, but my God, I’ll do it again.

  “Eventually, I’ll be too fat to do it missionary,” I say for some reason, and Bull chuckles behind me.

  “We’re going to practice all kinds of positions, sweetheart. Missionary is the least of them. And you won’t be fat. You’ll be beautiful.”

  My lower belly swirls with the anticipation of all we’ll do. Or it might be that Bull lifts me only a little and then slams me back down on him. He guides me to draw him deep and then lift to the tip, threatening to release him. It’s a teasing game of torture, and I love it, but I need more.

  “You touch yourself?”

  “I . . .” I don’t know how to answer him. Do I admit that all these weeks of wanting him has left me with a heavy finger workout? Do I tell him he’s been the center of every fantasy? Do I confess how even the slight nearness of him has had me so worked up, some nights I think I’ll hardly make it to bed before I combust?

  “Do it. Now.” His command sends a thrill through me, and I reach for the tight nub, working it frantically as he slides me up and down his thickness.

  This is a big dick, I want to scream to the mirror, briefly recalling Shelton’s words. I only peek at our reflection for a second because the scene is too much. I’m a woman gone wild at forty, and I’m falling for the man behind me.

  “Bull,” I groan, getting so close.

  “I can’t wait to feel you explode all over me, milking me with your tight—”

  “If a cow reference comes next—”

  “Pussy,” he mutters, and I break, shuttering with the release. A noise echoes in the room, and I realize I’ve been screaming out his name like a prayer of gratitude. Falling forward, I brace a hand on the bed between his thighs as he hammers into me, thrusting upward as I fall back down over him.

  “Sweetheart,” he hisses once before stilling me. I look up at the mirror again, and his face strains behind me. A vein stands out in his neck. His fingers dig into the fleshy part just above my hips. His eyes are closed, but the lids pop open, and he catches me watching him. With a slow smile on his lips, he leans forward, sucking at my shoulder while his sight remains on mine through the mirror. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

  The compliment is a heavy one, said with honesty and confusion, as if he’s startled at the truth of what he’s said. I blush. Not from the position we’re in but from his sincerity.

  “You’re so sweet, Bull Eaton.”

  “And you’re delicious,” he mutters, dragging his teeth over my shoulder once more before pressing a kiss to the raked skin. “And now I really need a shower.”

  He chuckles, forcing himself to jiggle inside me, and we both feel the rumble from our joined attachment. I lean forward a bit more to release him, and Bull laughs.

  “You are one dirty momma,” he teases.

  “I will not be calling you dirty daddy,” I say, shivering with the thought. Bull helps me to shift off him, and we both scoot to the end of the bed.

  “Just as long as I’m still Sprout’s daddy, you can call me anything you want.” He brushes back my wild hair, partially air-dried from our romp, and presses a quick kiss to my lips.

  As Bull exits the room, I reach for the towel dropped to the floor and wonder if I can ever call him mine.

  13

  Inside Her or Insider

  Bull

  More than two months have passed with Scarlett in my bed every night. Her body is beside mine, and I outline her changing shape as she lies on her side. The “baby bump,” as she calls it, is present, but a simple glance at her and you still can’t tell she’s pregnant. She’s taken to wearing some of my T-shirts as dresses or summer smocks, also her word, as she continues to work at the Busy Bean. Our hours remain early, with me milking cows starting at four in the morning and her shoving off to work by five thirty. I’d love for her to quit the coffee shop and work around the farm more as we can always use the extra hands. She doesn’t need to work for money. I have plenty to take care of her, but she continues to like the job even if she isn’t trained in baking pastries or making coffee.

  “It’s early,” she mutters in front of me as her back presses against my chest. My hand continues to skim over her hip and toward her belly again, just feeling the heat of her skin. Summer’s warming up, and the open windows let in cool relief in the dawn hours.

  Scarlett gave me a leather wrist cuff with a single silver washer on it with Sprout engraved in the metal. It’s a father-to-be gift. I don’t wear it while I work, worried it will get caught on something and snap, but I slip it in my pocket every day and return it to my wrist as I return home. It tickles against her skin, and I lean forward to suck at her neck.

  “Bull, babe, whatcha doing?” Her sleepy voice hints having sex might be the last thing on her mind, but I can’t seem to get enough of her. I’m like a sex-crazed teen around her, and I’ve been questioning if her pregnancy hormones are somehow contagious. I wouldn’t say I have a pregnant woman fetish, but something about Scarlett and her changing body turns me on.

  “Thinking of you,” I whisper to her sleep-moist skin. “But it’s early. Go back to sleep for a bit.” I’m ready to get out of bed when her hand catches mine over her belly, and she moves it upward under her T-shirt to cover the heavy swell of one breast. Scarlett already had nice tits, but their growth is just as mouthwatering as everything else. Filling my mitt, I massage the one. At times, she’s told me they are extra sensitive, almost aching, so I’m gentle at first, cupping the weight, smoothing over her hardening nipple. With her fingers over mine, she forces me to pinch her.

  “What are you doing?” I tease as she purrs while I stroke and tug at the ripe tip. Shifting her to her back, I lift the T-shirt and latch onto her, sucking as much as I can. She overflows my mouth, but I leave no inch untouched, licking at her, slurping at the globe, wondering what she’ll taste like when the baby comes.

  “Is it wrong that I want a taste once you lactate?”

  “Are you comparing me to a cow again?” she mutters, a quiet chuckle mixing with her irritation.r />
  “It’s just such a marvel to me, and as milking is my business, I want to experience it.”

  “I’ve heard about this kind of thing,” she says, stroking over my hair while her eyes remain closed, and I continue to swirl my fingertip around her nipple.

  “You’re going to be beautiful while you nurse.” Scarlett’s eyes slowly open. “I can’t imagine I’ll ever see anything more beautiful than a mother feeding her babe.”

  “That’s a cow reference again, isn’t it?” she hisses, turning her head to the side, but I capture her chin and bring her face back to me.

  “It’s a compliment. You understand what an incredible gift you have. You can grow a life inside you. You can feed that baby from your own body. It’s an amazing wonder.”

  “Some women find it a curse.”

  “Really? I get the whole period thing feeling like a punishment, but do you hate being pregnant?” Scarlett’s quiet as her hand lowers over her exposed belly.

  “Actually, I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would.” Her fingers spread, continuing to marvel at her own ability.

  “That’s my baby in there,” I say, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her belly.

  “Bull,” she whispers. She’s cautious, concerned I’ll change my mind if we find out it’s not biologically mine. She’s worried my hopes are too high, but she doesn’t understand that my heart has fallen in deep. I’m in love with her and the baby. A few weeks back, when her ex showed up, she worried I was all in for only Sprout, but it’s not just the baby. I want all of her.

  My fingers circle the bump of her abs before lowering to stroke over the coarse hair near the apex of her legs. Her thighs spread automatically, anticipating where I’m headed, and I don’t want to disappoint her. I never want to give her a reason to second-guess her decision to stay with me. My hand slips forward, curling over her before two fingers thrust inside.