Cowboy Up (Coming Home #3)

“Whatever, honey.”

He stands and I lean my shoulder against the doorframe to watch him. His head dips once he’s on his feet, pressing a light kiss atop our daughter’s head. Her tiny little rosebud mouth purses, but she doesn’t wake up. His eyes close, lips still pressed against her head while he takes a moment, like he always does. Never fails, he works hard all day and the first thing he does when he comes home is strip his shirt off, wash his hands, and hold our daughter to his chest until she’s asleep; then he kisses her sweetly and breathes her in.

Since before Harlow was even born, Clayton would end his day much like this, only with his mouth against my belly and our daughter kicking against his touches.

My pregnancy was the kind that women dream of. I was happy, full of energy, hungry for my husband’s touch, and hardly gained any weight. Of course, when you have a man like Clayton Davis showering you with his love, there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell you’ll feel anything other than pure bliss.

Not everything has been sunshine and rainbows. In the year since the fateful night that almost stole this from us, we’ve continued to move forward—but it was the early days when we both were frantic to erase the memories of that night that put a dark cloud over the beginning of my pregnancy.

The first thing he did was buy an RV—not just any RV either. This was the luxury of luxe, grander than some homes. And after he pulled it down the drive and parked it in the grass away from the house, he told me we were moving in—temporarily—to his deluxe home on wheels. I didn’t argue with him because I could see it in his eyes, the wild hunt for control driving him.

So we moved into the RV.

And we lived in it for almost four months while Clayton put all his responsibilities on hold so he could oversee the complete renovation of our home. I didn’t need to ask to understand why. I knew why he needed that. Even if it was to erase what Jess had done, I have a feeling he was also banishing the ghosts of his childhood as well.

The first time I saw all the hard work he poured into our home, I cried for an hour. Not only had he gutted and updated everything, he’d turned the spare bedroom closest in ours into the most heavenly nursery I’ve ever seen outside of a showroom.

The nursery had me crying for another hour.

While our house was being renovated, he also hired someone to rebuild our gazebo. This time he created a wraparound porch outside the structure with a freestanding hammock and an outdoor table. We’ve had a few dates in our spot and not once has our time out there been anything short of perfect. All the painful memories from that night are completely eradicated.

What we didn’t do though was worry about The Sequel. Not until six months ago, when I was entering my last month of pregnancy. I hadn’t been sure that I wanted to reopen my store, but in the end, Clayton helped me see past the sadness I’ve been associating with rebuilding. I think a little part of me hasn’t been sure I could reopen without continuously looking over my shoulder. I knew Jess and John were gone, but with so much of their evil being connected with the store, I had a hard time seeing past it.

Until Clayton.

Until my husband reminded me that we’ve got nothing but beautiful now.

It didn’t hurt that he reminded me while filling me with his cock and loving me slow.

“She’s out,” Clayton says softly, standing in front of me and startling me out of my thoughts.

I lean to the side and look around his delicious naked torso to see the blanket-covered bundle in the middle of the dark gray crib. When I straighten and blink up at Clayton, nervous flutters start to fill my belly when his smile grows.

“You got somethin’ for me?” he questions, smiling.

“Maybe,” I hedge, a nervous giggle breaking free.

He tilts his head and studies me.

“Come on, honey,” I request, placing the camera on top of Harlow’s dresser and taking his hand in mine. He follows as I pull him from our daughter’s doorway and into our room. I drop his hand when we reach the middle of our room and turn to him. My eyes roam from his chiseled chest, over his defined abs, and down his denim-covered legs to his bare feet. I take a deep breath and smile at the floor before looking up at my husband.

“Strip, handsome.”

His eyebrows shoot up, but he brings his hands to his buckle without questioning me, making quick work of shucking his pants and briefs, standing to his full height in all his naked glory.

With a wink, I reach down and pull my sundress up and over my head. My breasts bounce free, reminding me that they’ve taken on a life of their own since having Harlow. Clayton’s eyes burn as he looks down at them. He’s made it no secret that he loves the changes our daughter brought to my body—especially my breasts. Anytime they’re out, he’s licking his lips and staring, and with a breastfeeding four-month-old, they’re out often.

“On the bed.”

Silently, he walks around me, not without reaching out and grazing my thigh with his fingertips. He climbs into our bed, right in the middle, and lies down with his arms up and hands behind his head.

I climb up on the bed and shuffle my knees forward until they’re pressed against his hip. He watches me intently with his emerald gaze, his erection bobbing when my eyes look down at it. When I lick my lips, he groans.

As much as I’d love to sit here and drink him in, I need to feel him. Shifting, I climb over him, spreading my legs and sitting back on his knees. His eyes look down his body and straight between my legs, his nostrils flaring wildly. My hands go to his thighs and I start moving them, caressing him slowly while leaning forward until his cock is right at my mouth. My tongue comes out and licks him. He hisses but doesn’t move. God, I love the taste of him. Opening my mouth wide, I take him as deep as I can and lift one hand up to work his shaft while flicking his the head of his dick with my tongue. I hum when I taste his salty essence, moving my other hand down and between my legs. I don’t take my eyes off his, wanting him to see the pleasure I get from using my mouth on him. I also know what he looks like when he’s about to come, and right now, as much as I love it, I want him inside me when he does.

Removing my mouth with a loud pop, I start to crawl up his body.

“I’ve been waitin’ all day to give you my bad, Clayton Davis.” I place my hands next to his head and lean down, placing my mouth close enough to his to feel his hot breath as he pants. My pussy glides against his erection, making me moan. “You’re goin’ to sit there and let me give that to you. You’re goin’ to keep your back on the bed and let me take everything. I want to feel you, so deep, Clayton.”

“Fuck yes,” he hisses.

“You gonna sit there and let me give you my bad while I love my husband?”