Summer's Wicked Cowboys [Casanova Cowboys 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Rhea Regale

  “You’re not playin’ fair, Summer,” Braden said in that sexy gruff that made her purr.

  “Neither are you.”

  “You’ve been thinkin’ about takin’ the reins. I can see that look in your face, that contemplation.”

  Summer nodded. “I’m not denyin’ it. And I’m still tempted if you don’t fill me. Now.”

  Braden’s lips twitched. The air stirred between them, thick with anticipation and lust, filled with the delicious scents of their mixed arousal, sweat, and heat.

  “You know what the best part is?” Braden asked quietly.

  Before Summer could respond, he plunged his cock deep inside her, filling her with one swift, fierce movement. She cried out, bowing off the mattress, losing her grip on the post and sinking her fingers into her hair as her world exploded. Each thunderous pulse in her clit shattered her over and over, blinding her, stealing her breath, and igniting her heart into a racing frenzy. “That.”

  Her orgasm held claim to her in an unrelenting grip. Braden moved inside her, against her clit, taking and claiming like a powerful beast. Summer whipped her bound hands around his neck, grabbing his silky hair and tipping his face up to hers.

  “When I take over?” she asked, her voice honey thick and sexually charged. She planted her foot into the mattress and shoved him onto his back, dropping her leg from his shoulder to come over him. “Next time, restraints. You know better.”

  Braden lifted his hips, thrusting deep into her. “I do, baby. I do.” The remote flashed in her peripheral vision a split second before the butt plug erupted into a fierce vibration that spiraled her up from the waning orgasm to the tip of another powerful crest. Braden whipped her beneath him again and growled, “But I know how to keep you right where I want you.”

  Summer clung to him with each filling thrust, her body tugging and tearing in every direction of pure, raw bliss. They slid against each other with ease, the thin sheen of sweat that covered them heating up the room, holding her blood at a feverish temperature.

  Braden pushed deep, holding himself inside her body. She unraveled, gasping for air between her screams, the vibrations churning pleasure into an all-consuming euphoria.

  “Wicked, wicked Summer,” Braden said. He licked her from collarbone to chin then claimed her mouth. His kiss was possessive, filling her mouth as his cock filled her pussy. He suckled her tongue before devouring her, breathing into her lungs and groaning into her mouth. Her arms cinched tightly around his neck. Her legs squeezed his narrow waist. His strength was the only thing keeping her from drowning completely.

  Braden’s long, hard strokes quickened, and she felt the force of his orgasm as his cock stretched against her tender pussy walls. He arched, tossing his head back and letting out a low, deep howl. His demanding thrusts strummed her clit, the vibrating plug igniting her G-spot, and she cracked wide open once more, following Braden into that heady delight where thoughts fled for safe grounds and nothing but the intensity of now existed.

  Braden folded over her, his heavy breaths spreading over the side of her face as she fought to gain grounding. The butt plug silenced, but its hum resonated through her sensitized nerves. The dull thud of her slowly easing orgasm throbbed against her head. Her muscles turned to water, her legs falling open, her arms hanging from the binding around Braden’s neck.

  Braden eased her arms from around his neck. He dropped to his side and untied the handkerchief, tossing it to the foot of the bed and pulling Summer against him. Despite the heat that radiated off him, the air of the room finally sliced through their passion-induced firewall, cooling her boiling temperature.

  Summer traced the hard cuts of Braden’s moist face, rubbing her palm over his coarse jaw line. She turned her face up to him, her eyelids heavy with satiation and fatigue. He cupped the side of her face, his thumb running along her bottom lip, the tips of his fingers sifting back into her damp hair. The stormy swirl of emotions riding untamed in his expression tightened her chest.

  “Braden?” she whispered, lifting her head off his arm. A small half grin curled his lip as he eased her head back down and kissed her forehead.

  “I love you, Summer,” he whispered. “God, I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too,” Summer reassured.

  The haunting tone of his voice bothered her. His arms tightened around her in a way that left her chilled. Her gaze shifted to the window from beneath Braden’s chin. Something was off, unsettled, and she began to wonder if it had anything to do with those fading taillights she had seen leaving Carter’s home in the dead of the night.

  Chapter Five

  Carter slumped down on the back steps leading out to the overgrown fields and pasture that was once productive land for produce and cattle. Now it looked like the beginning of a jungle where snow hadn’t leveled the tall grass. The wooden fence that once corralled premium beef cattle had rotted into a dilapidated mess. Everything was crumbling around him.

  However long he sat on the back porch, mulling over his past life in Ryder and the tragedy of war, he wasn’t sure. He watched the dusk turn to darkness before finally returning inside. The electricity had been turned on during the day, but the house remained cold and lifeless animated only by the fire he started in the fireplace. He hadn’t trekked upstairs, uncertain whether he was prepared to face the remnants of his dead family. Had Colt packed things up? Or would he walk into rooms as they were left five years ago?

  Carter leaned back on his heels, draping his arms loosely around his knees as he watched the fire come to life. The logs crackled and popped as the flames warmed the wood and expelled air, triggering the memory of potent gunfire. He let out a long, slow breath, shoving the visions aside. The psychiatrist assured him he had improved since he returned from Afghanistan. The army wouldn’t have released him if they didn’t feel he was well enough to enter society.

  In part, Carter wanted to leave. He forced his best front, painting a picture of a man who was well on his way to healing. Now, he wondered if he should’ve stayed a little longer, gone through more counseling, and faced the truth that he wasn’t as well as he should be.

  Headlights spread over the wall above the fireplace. Carter stretched up on his feet and cautiously walked toward the window. His heart was a throbbing wreck in his chest. He silently prayed maybe, just maybe, Braden had come by to talk things over. The man’s resentment from earlier stung bad, and his comment about Summer left him hurting more than he had when he first left Ryder.

  He had done both of them wrong. He had fallen into a forbidden love with his closest friend at the same time Summer held his heart. He had loved Summer from the moment she first arrived in Ryder as a student at the local community college. He caught his first glimpse of the short, slender twenty-three-year-old at Ride’em, dressed in cute little cutoff shorts and a halter top that hugged each delicate curve of her body. Her legs had been tanned by the Kansas sun, her golden brown hair tied in a perfect ponytail. The dark slant of her brows enhanced her slightly upturned amber-brown eyes. Everything about the woman stole his breath, as well as Braden’s. She radiated sensuality and passion. She glowed with innocence and tenderness. Carter always called her his angel, and she was his angel in every way.

  She was the light that gave him hope in his darkest years, standing right alongside Braden.

  “I never stopped loving you, Summer. Never,” he whispered, peeling back the curtain. The moonlight shined bright in the night sky, framing the police cruiser sitting in front of his house. The sheriff climbed out, the familiar face lending a sense of relief to Carter’s over anxious mind. He went to the front door and pulled it open as Rylan reached up to knock.

  “Ry,” Carter greeted, shifting aside for his cousin. Rylan crossed into the house and let Carter close the door before pulling him into a hard embrace. Carter clapped Rylan’s shoulder, accepting the affectionate motion with a short laugh. “Christ, cuz. How’ve you been?”

  “I’m askin’ that question of y
ou first,” Rylan said, stepping back and holding Carter at arm’s length. His scrutinizing gaze rolled over him from head to toe, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a sad half grin. “Man, you took it hard, didn’t you? Colt gave me a heads-up last week that you were comin’ back after the doc signed you off.” Rylan grabbed his chin and turned his head to get a better look at the scars. “Damn it.”

  “Just a small price to pay,” Carter assured. He chuckled and twisted his chin from Rylan’s hand. “They go away with time.”

  “Not everythin’ scars the same, does it?”

  Carter eyed his cousin for a long moment, reading a potent understanding in his eyes. “Guess not.”

  “Well,” Rylan said, cutting through the dense air that seemed to billow around them. He looked around the place, slipping his hands into the pockets of his leather coat. “Colt’s got ten days of competition then we’ll be on this place like pests to make it look like new.”

  “I’ll be starting tomorrow when I get home. Tim set me up down on the ranch helping out with the horses.”

  Rylan paused in the living room and turned back to him. His dark brows were cinched, his lips in a tight line. “That’s Bray’s place, isn’t it?”

  Carter shrugged a shoulder and pressed his lips together, joining his cousin in the living room. “Was a bit awkward. He didn’t hang around long.” He nudged the duffle bag leaning against one of the sheeted chairs. “Don’t blame him for being pissed.”

  “Things’ll fall back into place in time. Many people here were shocked that you left. Rumors crept around town, but we silenced them quickly. We took care of everythin’ here, Carter. The case was closed as fast as it opened. Your name is clean.”

  “It’s amazing what a well-built shell can hide from the world,” he said and sighed.

  “Your father was a dick. We all knew that. He might’ve been able to put on a show for the townsfolk, but all us Ryders knew the truth.” Rylan clapped his shoulder and ducked his head until he caught Carter’s gaze. “Your prints were not on that gun.”

  “I pulled that trigger.”

  “That remains to be seen, Carter. Your actions were justified.”

  Carter fisted his hands at his sides. “Killing men who threaten to bring devastation to this country and kill hundreds of innocent people is justified.” He groaned and turned away, raking his hands through his hair. “No. Nothing was justified. My momma’s death wasn’t justified. My pa’s drunken fucking stupidity wasn’t justified. Nothing from the past five years was justified.”

  He lashed out, slamming a fist into the wall. The plaster cracked and dust floated up from the new hole that left his knuckles abraded and red.

  “Hey, Carter.” The calm in his cousin’s voice, and the strength in his hands as they held his shoulders, worked to suppress the growing self-disgust. “You’re family. You’re my family. You’re Colt’s family. You’re Brody, Craig, Travis, and Landon’s family. We’re here for each other under any and all circumstances. You are not alone, Carter, no matter what you may think. You are not.”

  The ring of his cell phone cut through the house. Carter swallowed the thickness in his throat and rubbed his forehead as he went to grab the phone from the mantle. He stared at the number, not recognizing the area code or the digits that followed. After the third ring, he answered the call and brought the phone to his ear.

  “Hello?”

  “May I speak with Carter Ryder?” The quiet, feminine voice caused an unsettling twist in his gut. He didn’t recognize the voice. Summer’s soft, husky voice had always left his nerves sizzling. Her words could melt a man’s will in mere moments. But she wouldn’t have this number.

  “This is Carter.”

  “Oh. I–I know we haven’t met, but I…” A muffled sniffle filled his ear. His brow wrinkled. He glanced back at Rylan, who stood a couple feet behind him, an air of support. “I’m sorry. It’s just that speaking to you after all the letters I received from Henry…well, I know how fond he was of you and I know what you did to try and save him.”

  Never in a million years could anything bring him to his knees the way that single sentence did. He dropped, the breath rushing out of him. Rylan crouched down beside him, resting a hand on his arm. Carter pursed his lips, staring at the dancing flames in the fireplace as he listened to the stifled sobs of the widow on the other end of the phone.

  “I’m Jilian, Henry’s wife. I’ve been wanting to call you, but I’ve been too reluctant. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about talking to me.”

  “No, no. You can call anytime,” Carter said, keeping his voice steady despite the turbulence churning inside his body. “I’m sorry about your husband. He really was a great man.”

  “One of the other officers said you covered him and took the brunt of the attack in a heroic effort to save him.”

  “I was doing what we were all trained to do.” Carter bit down on his teeth and willed the knot in his throat to untie. If he was a hero, Henry would’ve come back in the seat of an aircraft, not in a flag-draped metal box in a C-17 cargo plane with other fallen soldiers. He would’ve been the one killed, not his friend.

  All because a single piece of shrapnel caught his brother-in-arms in the neck.

  “Every one of you are heroes. What you did is commendable. I am thankful Henry had a man like you in his life, in his last moments. I know he didn’t die alone.”

  Carter turned his head to the ceiling and blinked away the sudden sting of tears. Every scar along his body burned as he relived the moments before he and Henry went down. His muscles twitched and tensed. Rylan’s fingers pressed into his skin. Maybe he wasn’t quite ready to discuss that day with his deceased friend’s widow. He still blamed himself for not saving Henry’s life.

  The woman let out a ragged breath. “I–I guess what I wanted to say is thank you. Thank you for being his friend. Thank you…for—” Sobs filtered through the phone. His jaw ached, clenching his teeth so damn hard to keep the knot in his neck from bursting out in a sob of his own. “Thank you, Carter.”

  The phone went dead. Carter dropped the thing on the floor and braced his hands on his knees as he fought desperately for composure. Cool moisture slid down his cheek. A matter of minutes shattered the fragile repairs of his being.

  “Carter—”

  “Ry, do me a favor?” Carter interrupted, his voice strained. “Let me be. I need time. I’ll stop by the station tomorrow. I don’t know. We can grab a bite?”

  “I don’t want to leave you like this.”

  “I’ll be fine.” He dared to look at his cousin, despite the tear streaking his face. “I didn’t come all the way home to do something stupid.” At Rylan’s stubborn expression and narrowed eyes, he added, “Please.”

  “Don’t give me a reason to regret walkin’ out of this house,” Rylan warned.

  “You’ll see me tomorrow,” Carter said. He pressed to his feet and swiped his arm over his face. Rylan slowly straightened up, never once taking his eyes away from Carter. That silent scrutiny pierced him, his cop of a cousin peeling away at his layers, trying to decide if he was ready to jump ship and give up before giving home life a change.

  I made a promise.

  Carter walked to the door and held it open. Rylan took the hint and moved past him. He paused on the top stair and glanced back at Carter.

  “Swear to me, cuz, you’ll be fine. And if you need anythin’—I don’t care if it’s paper to wipe your ass—you call me immediately. Hear?” Rylan asked. Carter nodded.

  “Swear it, Ry. I’ll be better company tomorrow. I’m still working things out.”

  “You’re not alone.”

  “I know.”

  As Rylan rounded the front of the cruiser, he closed the door. He may not be alone, having his family nearby, but he was alone. No one understood how he felt, what plagued his conscience, or the nightmares that woke him in cold sweats during the night. No one understood just how alone he really was in trying to fight for sturdy fo
oting in this fucked-up world deemed his life.

  He barely remembered walking through the house or digging around his pa’s liquor cabinet. Drowning in his lonesome sorrow, he barely recalled cracking open a brand-new bottle of whiskey and taking to it like a thirsty fiend. The biting cold air on this Kansas night didn’t touch his bare arms when he took a seat on the back porch. The whiskey burned nicely, warming him from the inside out as he replayed Jilian’s grief-stricken voice, her heartfelt words. He replayed that attack at the COB, trying to see what he did wrong, what he should’ve done to protect Henry.

  Raising the bottle of whiskey to the sky, he grumbled, “This one’s for you, pal,” and took a deep drink.

  The alcohol hit him fast. When he climbed to his feet, the world rushed around him. He grabbed hold of the railing and stumbled down the stairs, aimlessly swatting aside weeds. Somehow, he made it to the closest stretch of rotted fencing and kicked at the lowest slat. The wood splintered, the force of his kick sending him stumbling backward. He took another deep gulp and kicked again.

  “Damn fucking war.”

  Another kick landed him on his side, but the slat didn’t break. “Fucking pointless loss. All of it.”

  He growled and gave the top slat his best right hook. Whiskey sloshed over the lip of the bottle. A dull pain ebbed up his arm from his knuckles, but it didn’t stop him from punching the fence again and again, stealing drinks between each swing. His tongue became heavy, barely forming the loathsome words he wanted so badly to shout to the heavens.

  “Why? Why all of this?” he slurred.

  Carter shuffled back, away from the beaten fence, and wiped tears from his face. He took one last drink of whiskey, held up the half-empty bottle, and snarled. He pitched the bottle at the fence. The glass shattered with a loud pop, whiskey-covered shards falling like diamonds in the moonlight.

  He fell twice trying to make it to the stairs, despite his attempt to make each step count. Grabbing hold of the railing, he pulled his useless body up the stairs and somehow stumbled to the back door and managed to get into the kitchen. The house spun viciously. His stomach lurched, but he held down the urge to vomit. He rolled off the counter, following the doorway into the living room.