Emily's Cowboy

by Donna Gallagher

He was trapped, unable to move, standing outside his own bathroom door. He could hear the sound of the water running, but could not for the life of him take a step away, although he was terrified that at any moment, Emily would open the door and see him standing there stupidly, sporting a boner hard enough to hammer nails into wood.

  “Yeah, that would be awesome. She’d appreciate it, I’m sure,” he murmured, his feet still refusing to move. Then he heard it—soft sobs coming from behind the closed door. Emily was crying, and Gareth could not stop himself, was unable to ignore the sounds of the woman he loved in despair. He opened the door and, disregarding the fact he was fully clothed—cowboy boots and all—he stepped into the shower stall. The sight of her crumpled to the floor with her hands over her eyes as she wept was heartbreaking, and he gathered her into his arms.

  “Oh, baby… Shhh… Don’t cry. Mac will be fine. He is going to be fine. The worst is over.”

  Gareth held her to his chest, stroked the length of her wet hair, felt her chest, her breasts rise against him as her sobs racked her body. Emily’s tears had more power to bring him to his knees than any opposition player’s tackle. The fact that she was naked in his arms was but a distant observation. He hated seeing her in pain, in distress. Would do anything to stop her tears. He didn’t care that he was now completely soaked, his clothes heavy with water. Consoling his Emily was Gareth’s only concern.

  Then he felt her lips on the skin of his neck, their warmth as she kissed him there, and her arms as she reached around behind his head, drawing him down so his mouth was tantalising close to hers. Like a lightning bolt hitting him, awakening his body, Emily’s naked form came back to the forefront of his mind. Like a heavy hit lined up and delivered perfectly from an opposing forward, his need for her slammed into him, robbing him of any previous gallant intentions. He needed Emily, needed to feel her skin. Needed to feel himself buried deep, balls-deep, inside her.

  “Love me, Gareth. I need to feel something other than the guilt that’s eating me alive. I should have done more, should have reacted quicker, found Dad sooner… Distract me. Make it go away. Make me think of only you, even if it’s just for a while… ”

  “Emily, you did all you could. You probably saved your father’s life, got him help, did all the right things. Stop it. Stop trying to take the blame for everything that happens, every time life deals a blow that’s unfair. Mac’s accident is just one of those things. Working the land comes with its dangers. You know that.”

  Gareth was not a saint, and he was not going to give up the opportunity of showing Emily how much he still loved her. If she wanted him to make love to her, distract her, he was going to do that…and more, until she had no doubt of his love.

  He took her mouth with his as he steadied her head in his hands, drawing her body hard against his own. He turned her face gently to gain a better angle, a better connection. Their faces mashed up against each other, he devoured her, his tongue demanding as he laved every part of her mouth hungrily, eagerly. The sounds of her sighs—muffled by his mouth, but still audible—sent him into a sexual frenzy. He needed more. Needed to feel her orgasm, needed to be the one that brought his Emily fulfilment. Only him. Always him.

  “More, I need more. I need you naked, to run my hands over your chest, Gareth, need to have that experience again,” she begged when she dragged her lips from his.

  He had fought her attempt to break from the kiss, but with her words he responded to her plea. Fighting to disrobe from the sodden clothing was difficult, endlessly time consuming, when what he wanted was to be touching her again. In frustration, he ripped his shirt open. Buttons flew and the sound of material ripping echoed around the bathroom, but Gareth didn’t care. He needed to be naked. As he fought to undo the button on his jeans his fingers felt like thumbs. The simple task of undoing the metal fastening—something he did a million times a day—was an impossible assignment when his mind was full of Emily, fixated on her naked body.

  “Here, let me.”

  And before he could blink, there was Emily, his Emily, on her knees in front of him, one of her hands gently grasping his balls as the other stroked his rock-hard cock through the soaked fabric of his jeans. He feared he would come from just the touch of her hand, even with the jeans shielding him from the feel of her delicate skin wrapped around his cock. He needed them off now, wished he held some magical power so that one sweep of his hand could make the jeans and his boots disappear. Remove the barrier that stood between him and ramming his cock home in the sweet haven of her pussy.

  “Oh, Em, I don’t think I’ll last. I want you so much.”

  Gareth groaned the words, his voice conveying both his agony and his complete need for her. If she felt the same as him—the overpowering longing that had robbed Gareth of the ability to relay from his brain the instructions to successfully unclasp the metal fastening—then she hid it well. It only took Emily a moment before she was pushing his jeans down past the swollen head of his cock, which—now relieved of the pressure of being strangled by the constraining denim—was standing fully erect, brushing against her cheek. She managed to get his jeans past his hips but stopped at his knees. Gareth’s boots, now full of water, were an impassable impediment.

  But his Emily was not to be deterred from her apparent goal. She gave up on the task of removing his jeans, instead focusing her attentions and her precious hands on his hard length. Gareth audibly groaned at the first touch of her hand. Her grasp was firm as she stroked his shaft, just as she knew he liked. With an anticipation that all but killed him, he waited for that sensation, that first lick of her tongue around the rimmed head of his cock. He knew that was what he would feel, remembered it, hungered for it…then it was there. The mind-blowing, cock-exploding feel of that warm, wet tongue on him, so fucking familiar, so fucking good that Gareth’s sanity was teetering on the edge. It was all he could do not to grab her head and slam her mouth onto him, until his head reached the back of her throat.

  Gareth felt the tightness of his balls as they drew up, so tight and so high they were almost forced inside his body. He was holding on by a hair’s breadth as Emily’s mouth rode him in perfect rhythm, swallowing him, worshipping him. The sight of her—his cock inside her mouth, in and out, rubbing against her lips, the stretch of her mouth around his girth—was pure heaven, but it was what Gareth saw unmistakeably in her eyes that finally did him in. Emily’s eyes conveyed her emotion, and it wasn’t just need, or an attempt to put sadness from her mind. In Emily’s eyes was love. Gareth could not misinterpret, could not imagine or perhaps just project what he wanted to see, because it was too clear. Too honest. There before him.

  Emily loved him. And for Gareth, that vision, that emotion her eyes betrayed no matter what her words had told him, was the most wondrous sight he had ever seen. He could not, would not come in her mouth—not this time. This first climax would only happen once he had made her see that he loved her just as much in return, after he had Emily screaming his name, begging for her release over and over. Until he could convince her of his need for her to be with him. Forever. Until then, he would not find his own release. It would be his reward.

  He pulled her up from her knees, gathered her in his arms, ignoring her protests. He forced her to meet his gaze, trapped her face in his hands and kissed her thoroughly, trying to portray all his emotions. He didn’t allow her to breathe, making her share his oxygen, share his breath, as he wanted her to share her life with him.

  When he finally dragged his lips from Emily’s kiss-swollen mouth, he was shaking, trembling under the force of something so strong, so elemental, that Gareth found it almost too hard to comprehend. He hadn’t thought it was possible to love her this much. She was his.

  “Mine. You have always been mine, Emily. Don’t fight me on this—you won’t win.”

  Gareth’s tone was arrogant, dominating, but he didn’t care. As he shut off the water still running from the shower, he twisted the taps with such force it was a wonder
they did not crack under it. Gareth grabbed the towel within his reach and wrapped it around Emily’s shivering body, hoping that it was desire that had her quivering and not cold but needing to make sure, needing to do everything for her, to protect her and cherish her.

  Emily stood still, her eyes wide, staring at him, clutching the towel around her. Gareth removed his boots, shucked his jeans the rest of the way from his body. His brain was clearer now his mind was set—he was able to take charge of the moment. He was confident that with that clarity he would be able to send Emily so high, make her desire him, crave him, want him so much, so wholly that she would not—could not—walk away from him again.

  He swept her, towel and all, into his arms and strode towards his room. He placed her gently onto the centre of his bed. He peeled the towel from her grasp, tossed it over his shoulder as he looked at her. Emily, naked, spread out on his bed—the bed that he had spent many a sleepless night tossing and turning in over the burning need for her. It was now perfect with the addition of her sexy form. Her hair was still wet, soaking into his mattress, his pillow. He didn’t worry about any of that—all Gareth cared about was Emily. He knew that his face was not portraying gentleness—his expression was probably hard, showed off his intention, his determination to prove to Emily that they were meant to be together. But she showed no sign of fear in response to that lack of softness in his gaze.

  Gareth lifted Emily’s left foot, held it to his lips and gently kissed each of her toes, sucked them into his mouth as he began his journey, his mind focused on her and on making love to every part of her. He was unprepared to leave even one speck of her body overlooked or unloved. He kissed the length of one leg, licking behind her knee, raining kisses over her as she squirmed, her body arching into his touch, her need building as she tried to gain purchase on him with her hands, to expedite his long, slow journey. But Gareth would not be halted or hurried.

  He could smell the aroma of Emily’s desire, her pussy calling him to her, enticing him. When he finally reached the sacred spot between her legs, his own hunger was rampant. He nuzzled against the velvet-soft covering of her cunt, breathed the scent of her deep into his lungs. Her fragrance was more potent than any expensive, designer perfume to Gareth’s nose. Nothing compared to her.

  He attempted to reinforce his weakening composure, his longing for her nearly overwhelming. Gareth tasted her, prepared—yet unprepared as well—for the gut-wrenching reaction his body had to the sweet taste of her arousal. He lost himself in the pleasure of her taste, licking, imbibing her juices like some starving animal. Screams tore from her, pleasurable screams that satisfied his male ego as he continued his loving assault on her. He drove her hard with the force of his stabbing tongue, his eager lips as he pushed her towards climax, then refused to give her what she needed, refused to allow Emily to tumble into the abyss.

  Gareth was waiting for her to cry out his name, to beg him, to promise not to leave him again.

  His cock was so hard, the pain as much a stimulant as a reminder of his promised reward, and it pushed Gareth harder. He thrust two fingers into her pussy, finger-fucked her hard, ruthlessly, as he continued to tease her clit with his tongue, first with soft, feathery touches, then hard, firm pressure, before sucking the unhooded nub between his teeth, nipping, squeezing the ignition to her climax. Then she was begging, pleading words like, “Enough!” and “More!” and “Stop!” and “Don’t stop!”, contradicting herself with her breathless pleas.

  They weren’t enough. Gareth needed more from Emily. And finally he succeeded—he heard the declaration he had longed for her to utter, and the sound of it, those simple words, were more melodious to his ears than any piece of music in the world.

  “I love you, Gareth. I need you… Please!”

  This time when he felt the walls of Emily’s pussy contract, felt the tension in her body as she strained to reach that peak, he let her fall. He sucked so hard on her clit and stabbed his fingers so fast into the tight folds of her sheath that he gave her no choice but to orgasm. As the quivering of Emily’s body changed into rigidity he felt her come, and tasted it as her sweet cream coated his face.

  Not giving her a chance to recover, Gareth climbed over her and buried his rigid, throbbing cock in her warm, wet pussy, still pulsating from the strength of her orgasm. He pushed through any resistance from her inner walls, seating himself fully into her depths.

  He was home at last. “Fucking home, Em. I’m home.”

  He gave her pussy a moment to adjust to him, then Gareth gave in to his need. He thrust and pumped into Emily like a man possessed—and he was possessed, the desire palpable, alive in the room. He took her with him again as he reached his own release, sent her spiralling over the edge as he joined her. They were connected, sharing the bliss that their coupling had achieved, had always achieved.

  Chapter Eight

  I shouldn’t be out here—it’s too dangerous, stupid. The roaring in my ears is deafening, like a freight train hurtling towards me, and it’s so dark. It’s supposed to be the middle of the afternoon and yet I can’t see thirty feet in front of me. I’m stumbling around in near darkness, hearing the cries, the continual scurrying around me of animals desperate to flee the monster bearing down on them, on me…but I have to find the horses. The mothers and their babies, the ones I turned out into the paddock, thinking it would be safe. Until the wind changed direction.

  Panic is making me stumble, distracting me in these vital moments. I spin around helplessly, trying to gain my bearings, trying to hear the whinnying sound of my beautiful horses again. I need some way of finding them. It was so distressing to discover the emptiness of the paddock, to see the crumpled fencing they had torn through in their panic. Without thought I’ve come in search of them, to find them, to lead them to safety.

  Where are they, my three chestnut fillies and their babies, all born in the spring? They’ll perish on this summer’s day if I fail. The idea of discovering their charred, broken bodies is a nightmare too heartbreaking to contemplate, but it spurs me on. I can’t let that happen. No matter what.

  The smoke is everywhere, and heat—it’s like a furnace. The day’s temperatures were already scorching without the added heat from the monster growing ahead, rampaging through the dry bushland, decimating, ravaging the lands, blackening the ground, leaving the earth looking like a vision straight from hell. The fire has been burning for most of the day, but I thought—we thought, Dad, Gareth and I—that it was headed in the other direction.

  My thoughts, my fears will not be silent as I race around, ignoring the maelstrom of the ember storm as the fiery missiles hit my arms. The smoke is suffocating me. I’m straining to breathe through the material covering my mouth. Clean oxygen is long gone.

  Then I see them, see my Sierra standing in front of her colt, throwing her head from side to side as if she can’t make up her mind which way to run, her nostrils flaring. I think of how much the smoke must be hurting her, filling her lungs even before the fire has a chance to consume her. Her eyes are wide, fearful, crazy as she rears on her hind legs, looking as if she is trying to protect her foal, her baby, ready to fight the cruel tentacles reaching out with burning fury from the fire’s belly. I hear the loud screech of my whistle before I realise I have called to her, and her ears prick up. She hears me! She is leading her foal.

  Now I see the other two horses, but I don’t see the remaining foal. I scan the area, obscured by the billowing, dense smoke, but find no sign of the small, defenceless animal. But at least I have found these ones. I need to lead them out of the fire’s path—and quickly. The tremble of the forest floor is telling me there is not much time.

  I run, looking over my shoulder, making sure the horses are with me. I can just make out the tree line, where the giant eucalyptus and gum trees end and our paddocks and fields begin. The horses rush past me. I can still hear thunderous sounds behind me, but it is not horse hooves—it’s the fire’s approach. It’s chasing me, catching
me. Sparks and embers are all around. The heat, the smoke, the smell of singed hair filling my burning nostrils… My eyes are running, my breathing laboured.

  Then there’s a loud crack, like a whip or a thunder clap, and I’m on the ground. The pain is intense—my face, my neck. I can hear screaming, the piercing human sound of horrendous distress, someone in pure agony, but I can’t find the source of the screams…

  “Emily. Emily… Wake up, baby. You’re having a nightmare. Come back to me.”

  Emily had relived this nightmare over and over. As she was pulled back to reality—awoken from her dream state to Gareth’s face hovering over her, filled with concern—she swore she could smell the burning bushland, hear the screaming—her screaming as the burning branch had crashed down on her, leaving behind the gruesome reminder of that time, branded into her skin. She could not stop the reflex action of moving her hand to her face, feeling the knotted, damaged flesh under her fingertips, reminding her constantly of her pain.

  It had been Gareth who had come for her, saved her, known she would be looking to the welfare of her horses first and foremost. She remembered the torturous, unrelenting agony of the burns, her flesh withered and dead from the flames. The treatment of the burns had been nearly worse than the injuries themselves, as her bandages had been repeatedly changed and rotten skin scraped away. After surviving the ordeal, she had been left with hideously disfigured skin. She was a freak. A monster.

  “Are you still dreaming of the fire, Em?” Gareth said in tender tones as he drew her into his arms.

  “Not so much these days, but I guess the stress has fired them up again.” She squirmed at her terrible choice of words, a pun that held no amusement.

  “Oh, Emily, I don’t know what to say. But, baby, you need to let go of it, let go of that awful time. The fire is still burning inside you, still causing you pain. Let me help you extinguish the fire, help you put it behind you.”