Cowboy Resurrection: Cowboy Cocktail, Book 2

by Mia Hopkins

  Dean took a sip of the Pappy Van Winkle he knew Bo wouldn’t have opened for him if he’d come alone. “I’m not interested in keepin’ anyone at this point, Bo.”

  The old cowboy frowned. His thick, white eyebrows came down with the corners of his mouth. “Bullshit, boy. I see how you look at her.”

  “You’re imagining things, old man. I just met her.”

  “Never stopped you before.” Bo drained his glass and let out a happy hiss. “And for the love of God, stop calling me ‘old man’.”

  Back in the truck, Monica didn’t allow herself one minute of gloating before she turned on her computer again and checked off more items on her list. “Good. That took about as long as I anticipated. That leaves me enough time to pop by the sheriff’s station to approve all the sponsors’ signage before it goes off to the printer’s.”

  Dean shook his head as he started up the engine. “My God, woman.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t you ever give it a rest?”

  “The sooner this all gets done, the sooner I free up my schedule for the rest of the stuff that’s going to land on my plate soon,” she explained without looking up. “If it sits, things just get worse. I don’t want to get behind.”

  “It’s a rodeo association isn’t it? What about your associates?”

  She shrugged. “They’ve got their own tasks to handle. These are mine.”

  “I know everyone on that board,” Dean said. “They’re nice people, but I wouldn’t exactly call them go-getters. You’re doing more than your fair share. I know it.”

  “Well, if you want something done right…yadda, yadda.” She waved her hand absently.

  He looked at his watch. “It’s eleven. What time do your signs need to be at the printer’s?”

  “Before they close at five.”

  He left Bo Walker’s property and headed north. “All right. I’m taking you somewhere.”

  Monica looked at him at last. “What?”

  “You ever been up to Lake Isabella?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many times?”

  She paused. “A couple.”

  He smiled. “Don’t lie.”

  “Okay, once.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Six,” she said sheepishly. “It was a school trip. Polliwogs.”

  “Then you’re long overdue.”

  “Dean—”

  “You said it yourself. Printer at five.”

  “But I have to work.”

  “This is work. Market research. Think about it. Lake Isabella or Rodeo Days. Most townspeople that weekend are going to be at one or the other.” He grinned. “Best know your competition, right?”

  She turned off her computer and looked at him with an impatient sigh. “Fine. An hour. No more.”

  * * * * *

  After stopping at the bait shop for a six-pack, Dean drove around the shore of Lake Isabella and headed up into Sequoia National Forest. The road narrowed into a mountain highway and, though it had been years since he’d come up here, Dean followed it to the unmarked turnoff he and his brothers had discovered when they were in high school. The forest grew lusher and thicker around them.

  “I’m taking you to a super-secret spot. Just before the Kern River feeds into the lake. MacKinnon Rock.” Dean could still see Monica’s suspicious expression through the lightly mirrored lenses of her sunglasses. “Well, I call it that anyway,” he added.

  In a cloud of dust, Dean parked the truck by the side of the road in the shade of a black walnut tree. He grabbed the six-pack and a couple blankets out of the truck bed. Monica climbed out and shut her door.

  “Follow me,” he said. “Watch your step.”

  They walked through a break in the underbrush and the Kern River appeared before them, dark and beautiful. As far as Dean knew, only he and his brothers ever visited this swimming hole. A large boulder created a break in the current where a smaller creek flowed into the river. The water was clear and deep.

  “Pretty, right?” he said.

  “Not too shabby,” Monica replied, but she was smiling. She sat down on a granite slab and hugged her knees.

  “There’s lots of secret spots up and down the river.” He paused. “You know, I always liked living out here. It’s the memories that make me want to turn tail.” Dean walked up to the edge of the river and nestled the six-pack in the water to keep it cool. Then he began to undress.

  “What are you doing?” Monica asked, taking off her sunglasses.

  “Going for a swim.”

  “Are you crazy? That water is freezing.”

  “Hot day like this?” As he took off his hat, he looked up at the blazing sun directly above their heads. “Come on. It’ll feel good. Take off your clothes.”

  She shook her head. “No way. Go ahead. I’m staying here.”

  “No, you ain’t. I’m gonna toss you in one way or another.” He took off his shirt. “You decide if it’s clothed or naked.”

  “The hell you are.” Her voice rose a notch above the soft tumble of the water. “I’m not getting naked here. What if someone sees?”

  “Someone? A lizard? A bird?” He laughed as he removed his boots and socks. “I’ll protect you, Monica. Just leave your clothes on that rock. Your panties will be nice and warm when it’s time to get dressed again.”

  She held up a finger and waggled it at him. “No. No way.”

  “Come on. Ain’t you never gone swimming naked before? And you grew up out here?” He took off his shirt. “You oughtta be ashamed of yourself.”

  She was trying not to stare at his chest and failing miserably. “Sorry,” she said. “I must’ve been studying for my SATs.”

  He undid his belt buckle and took off his pants and underwear all at once. The sunlight warmed his bare skin. He turned and pointed at her. “All right. I gave you a chance.” He started toward her.

  She crab-walked backward up the rock and scrambled to her feet. “No! Dean, don’t you dare!”

  “Hairy naked redneck coming at me? I’d do what he says.”

  She held up a fist. “I will punch you in the goddamn balls, Dean MacKinnon. This is a silk blouse.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He started laughing. “Then take it off, princess.” He took another step toward her and she started to dance, jumping from one foot to the next. She looked so cute that he stopped in his tracks. His laughter faded away.

  “Monica,” he said softly. “Princess, look at that pretty river. Come on. One time. With me. What do you say?”

  With a wary expression, she looked at him, then at the river, then back at him again. “I don’t like…I don’t like mud between my toes,” she murmured.

  “I’ll carry you.”

  She frowned. “Fine,” she said at last.

  Dean watched her undress. First she stepped out of her slippers. Then she removed her jewelry and slipped it into the pocket of her blouse. She unbuttoned the blouse and carefully laid it on the stone. With a sigh, she removed her belt and jeans. Still wearing her simple black bra and panties, she took a moment to tie up her hair.

  With her arms above her head, Monica looked like a fantasy come to life. Smooth dark brown skin, full breasts, wide hips, small waist. Dean stared. His eyes couldn’t get their fill. Blood rushed through his system like a river swollen with snowmelt. His cock twitched and hardened.

  She looked him in the eye, clearly avoiding looking at anything south of his belly button. “Why do we have to be…naked?” she said. “Why can’t I just wear my underwear?”

  “Dyes and detergents, princess. Can’t contaminate the water. Think of the environment.” He grinned. It was a bald-faced lie. But the image of her naked body had haunted his dreams for two nights straight. He had to see her again.

  With another sigh, she unho
oked her bra. “Turn around,” she said.

  “What? Why?”

  “Just turn around. I’ll climb on your back.”

  “My back? Why don’t—”

  “Do it, MacKinnon!” she snapped.

  He put up his hands and turned toward the river. “Okay, okay.”

  His ears strained to hear the sound of cotton sliding on skin as she took off her bra and panties. His hard-on began to ache. He heard her quiet footsteps on the rock as she came close.

  “Now get down,” she said softly.

  He got down on his good knee, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She pressed her smooth, heavy breasts against his back. He reached behind him and hooked his hands behind her thighs. The sensation of her sweet, soft sex nestled up against the small of his back was almost enough to make his knees buckle beneath him.

  The tally was three. He’d jacked off three breathless, frantic times since the incident in the field. A fully grown man who’d had enough sex for ten lifetimes wasn’t supposed to react to anything this way. And yet Monica Kaur had gotten under his skin in a way he couldn’t explain.

  “You ready?” he asked. His voice was rough.

  She rested her chin in the crook of his neck and shoulder. “I guess so,” she said glumly. Her breath caressed his ear. His hard dick jutted out at an acute angle, casting a funny shadow on the rock. Carefully, he walked into the water. His old injuries—dozens of them—began to ache. He pushed the pain aside.

  “It’s cold,” he warned her. “Really cold.”

  “Whose idea was this again?” She tightened her grip on him. Goose bumps rose on her arms in anticipation. When the water came up over his hips and over her shins, she hissed and wiggled like a snake. Dean enjoyed the reaction.

  As he waded out into the middle of the river, the river rocks on the bottom became smaller until he stood on a bed of pebbles. The sound of rushing water grew louder.

  “There’s no mud here,” he said. “Do you want to get down?”

  “Okay,” she said.

  Before she could loosen her grip, he leaned backward and dunked them both in the river over their heads. The frigid water felt like an electric shock and Dean popped up, breathless, pushing the hair out of his eyes and whooping with laughter.

  “You asshole!” Monica yelled, but she was laughing too, splashing him with great sheets of icy water. Her hairdo had come loose and her black hair streamed down over her shoulders like rivulets of ink. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

  He didn’t remember reaching for her. But all of a sudden she had thrown herself into his arms and they were kissing like crazy teenagers again, lips and tongues exploring, eyes wide open with wonder. The sound of the river filled his ears along with the kick-drum beat of his own heart. Monica had a hunger that mirrored his own. She cupped the back of his neck with her hands, and pulled him deeper into the kiss. Only then did they close their eyes and give in, collapsing into each other like two stars going supernova at the same time.

  Heat supplanted cold. His blood was boiling so hot in his veins, he couldn’t even feel the frigid water anymore. Too lust-addled to be graceful about it, Dean picked her up again and carried her awkwardly back to the riverbank, almost losing his footing on the stones. As carefully as he could, he laid her out on the rock and kissed her, over and over again until she was breathless. He kissed her neck and the hollow at her throat. He kissed a trail down her sternum, then took one dark nipple between his lips and suckled her hard. She arched against him, digging her fingernails into his forearms. With his other hand he reached down between her legs. He swiped his fingers against her. She was slick and hot.

  “Have you been thinking about me?” he whispered against her breast. He began to stroke her with his fingertips. The soft lips of her sex began to swell; her clit was like a hard seed against the pad of his thumb.

  She nodded and gasped. “For two days straight. I can’t stop.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

  Too revved up to go slow, he plunged a finger into her and stroked the front wall of her impossibly tight pussy. He lowered his lips to her clit and began to tongue it without mercy. The taste of her fed a deep hunger inside of him that had been growling for days.

  His cock needed her. Now. But in order for this to work, she had to come first, and she had to come hard.

  If Dean MacKinnon had learned anything after ten years of soul-numbing debauchery, it was how to make a woman come fast and hard.

  Whimpering, Monica lay paralyzed on her back as Dean jacked up the tension in her body. Soon, she was shaking against him, struggling to hold back her orgasm. His tongue was relentless on her tender clit. Her rosy pussy quivered around his finger; carefully but quickly he slid another one in, stretching her. He began to thrust gently, back and forth into her slickness, trying to get her used to the sensation. She was small. It was going to be a tight fit. As he opened her up with his fingers, he loved her up with his tongue. Her entire body was trembling.

  “Dean, I’m close.” Her hoarse whisper drove him wild.

  He flicked his tongue quickly against her stiff little clit, back and forth, again and again. Her wetness amplified the sound of his tongue and his fingers working away at her. He drowned in his frantic need to have her, to feel her around him, to explode.

  She grabbed his shoulders and sat up halfway. She squeezed her eyes tight and bit her lip and whimpered once, just once, before he felt her body break loose.

  “Oh, fuck, yes.” She threw her head back and moaned.

  Her entire lower body convulsed, once, twice, three times. The slick muscles in her pussy contracted hard, crushing his fingers like a nutcracker. Her pretty nipples tightened, and goose bumps covered her whole body. She was so wet with arousal that a fresh puddle formed on the granite under her ass.

  Still shuddering, she collapsed back onto the rock as Dean carefully withdrew his fingers and brought them to his mouth. He licked them as she watched him.

  “I missed how you taste,” he said softly.

  She blushed hard.

  He reached across to his jeans and pulled out a condom. Without fanfare, he tore the packet open with his teeth and rolled it on as she stared.

  “You’re huge,” she said.

  “That’s why you had to come first.” He knelt down and carefully flipped her onto her belly. “This way hurts less. I promise.”

  Parting her legs with his knee, he straddled her left thigh and, from behind, nudged her hot, slick opening.

  “Come up on your side a little,” he said softly.

  She lifted her right shoulder and planted her hand against the warm stone.

  “There you go.” He leaned down and kissed her neck. “Tell me to stop if it hurts too much, all right?”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise me, Monica.”

  “I promise.”

  He slid his hips forward and seated himself between her sweet, round ass cheeks. Still dripping from her orgasm, her pussy stretched to accommodate him as he pushed in the head of his cock, then half his shaft. The grip of her sex was amazing. Dean was breathing so hard he could barely get the next words out.

  “Take two deep breaths. In and out. Twice.”

  On her second inhalation, he thrust hard, pushing himself as far as he could. She didn’t flinch or whimper. Instead, she arched her back and thrust her ass out toward him as if to offer him more. The gesture made his balls tingle. She liked sex—just like he did.

  He stroked her ass cheeks and gave them a gentle squeeze. “You all right?”

  “Yes.” She licked her lips and arched her back even deeper.

  He wondered if she’d flinch at dirty talk. “You ready for me to fuck you now, Monica?”

  She didn’t flinch, but she did do something that made him lose his mind. She squeeze
d his shaft hard. He heard a soft kiss as the lips of her sex tightened around the base of his cock.

  “Yes,” she said, closing her eyes. “I’m ready.”

  Blood on fire, he rested one hand on the rock and one hand on her hip. Dragging himself out of the grip of her pussy, he pulled out halfway and then thrust forward hard, slamming into her ass and making it jiggle. They grunted in tandem, two animals locked together by lust.

  “Same rule,” he murmured. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

  “I promise,” she said again.

  He found his angle quickly. With an unrelenting lust that burned in his bones, he fucked her, his abs slapping against her beautiful ass again and again and again. Lost in the pleasure of making love to Monica, he forgot about everything—the pain and awkwardness of being back home, the guilt at being a failed husband, the aching loneliness of the road. He was nothing but this, here and now, his dick in her pussy, the filthy, sexy sound of two people crashing into one another and uncovering something profoundly good.

  Then she surprised him once more. She reached behind her and stroked his face. A moment of tenderness in a wild storm of fucking.

  “You’re amazing,” she said quietly. Her dark eyes narrowed and burned into his. “Dean. You’re amazing.”

  He began to come, hard and long, and for a split second, he almost believed her.

  * * * * *

  Together, they lay naked in the sun on the blankets, drinking beer, talking and looking up at the cloudless sky.

  “Your fiancé was a damn idiot,” he said. “How long were you engaged?”

  “Almost three years.”

  Dean whistled low. “Long time.” He glanced over at her. Pain ghosted her expression for only a moment before it disappeared.

  “He wasn’t a bad guy. We had lots of issues, but in the end, we wanted different things. He wanted me to stay home and raise kids. I wanted to pursue my career first.” She took another sip of beer, trying to find the right words. “He loved me, though—a different version of me.”

  “Then he didn’t love you, princess.”

  “He wasn’t a bad guy,” she said again.