Cowboy in Colorado (Fifty States of Love)

by Jasinda Wilder

  He stares at me, and I see his wheels turning. “For real? That’s how you do things, normally?”

  I nod. “I’m telling you, Will—what happened in your cabin was highly, extraordinarily unusual for me. I never throw myself at a guy like that, ever. Never strip for a guy. Never, ever. I never let a guy put me on my back like you did. That position you had me in? Never, ever, in a million years, would I let anyone ever fuck me like that, Will. Never.” I shake my head, still having trouble wrapping my head around the whole situation. “I’m a control freak. I like the power, need to know I’m in charge. A guy wants to be with me, he has to understand it happens on my terms, and I lay those terms out in black and white before they get to put a finger on me. It’s always very tightly, strictly controlled.”

  Will nods, but it’s a gesture of I’m listening, rather than comprehension. “Why?”

  I shrug. “I’m Brooklyn Bellanger. Any male in the five boroughs and most of New Jersey knows who I am, and that I’m a single, eligible young female. From the moment I hit puberty and started growing these puppies,” I cup my breasts and give them jiggle, “men of all ages have tried to con me, manipulate me, seduce me, bribe me, and use me in an attempt to get money from me or my father, or to get closer to my dad. I learned early on that I couldn’t trust men, that all they wanted was my assets, and I mean that both literally and metaphorically.”

  He makes an unhappy face. “Never thought of that angle of things.”

  I shrug. “It’s the reality of being the only daughter of Thomas Holden Bellanger, especially when you look like I do.” I sigh. “I wished all throughout my teenage years that I was either ugly or a man, because I wouldn’t have had to deal with what I did—if I had been ugly, men wouldn’t want me, and if I was a man, I could act however I wanted and get away with it because I was rich and influential. As a woman, I got judged for everything. If I tried to date a guy, the press was all over it, and that’s despite Dad doing everything he could to keep me out of the spotlight. How I dress, what I say, where I go, is judged differently because I’m a female, and one whom society deems attractive.”

  He considers. “A lot I’ve never given a thought to.”

  “Why would you?” I ask. “I don’t mean that as a jab, either. You’re a guy; it’s not something guys think about. Doesn’t affect you—you especially, growing up the way you did, on the ranch, outside, away from TVs and magazines and all that.”

  “So all that led to you being super strict about sex.”

  “I discovered pretty early on in my sex life that I’m a very…um…high-rev sort of person.” I shrug, waving a hand. “I need a lot of sex, frequently. Just how I am. But I’m also kind of high maintenance, just being truthful. The only way I ever found that allowed me to have sex frequently enough to satiate my needs was to set rules, to stay in control. Trust me, I tried things that you would call normal, without the rules. It never worked. If the guy thought he was in charge, it went haywire. They always ended up thinking things were something they weren’t, that I was someone they could manipulate or use. I had to set them straight from the get-go—I’m in charge. I’m in control. This happens the way I want it to, the way I need it to, and they’re either on board with that or I find someone else.”

  At that moment, the bell rings again and Rachel brings in another two carts full of food—and god, did she deliver on my request for a stupid amount of comfort food.

  When she’s gone and Will and I have had a few minutes to start eating, he addresses me again. “So, you and me—this is totally outside the norm for you, even just sexually speaking.”

  I nod, and wipe a drop of grease off my lower lip with a napkin. “Very. It was from the outset, though. I still can’t quite explain what happened to me in your cabin—I just…I went a little crazy, I guess.”

  “Maybe after all these years of controlling every aspect of every sexual encounter, you just snapped,” Will suggests. “Recognized somehow that I’m safe for you, that you can trust me to take over.”

  “Letting you take over has been hard, every single time,” I admit. “I always start out mentally resistant, wanting to take over. I have to convince myself to trust you.”

  He tilts his head. “Even last night, or this morning, or whatever?”

  I nod. “Yes. Every single time. Some part of me tries to reassert control.”

  “You haven’t, though.”

  I shake my head. “Between the cabin sex and the elevator, I’m aware that you know very well how to make me feel good, and I do enjoy letting you have control, once I can get my head to shut up.”

  He nods. “Um, speaking of the elevator…”

  I grin. “Already taken care of. Footage has been erased.”

  “If there’s going to be footage of us having sex, I want us to be the ones doing the taping.”

  I laugh. “Would you?” I ask. “Want to record us, I mean.”

  He shrugs, nods. “Could be hot. Someday, maybe.”

  We devour the food in silence for several minutes, and then I can’t keep the one question on my mind from spilling out. “Will?”

  He hears the seriousness, and sets the burger he’s half done with on the plate. “Yeah.”

  “How is this going to work? Just logistically?” I gesture at my penthouse, and the city beyond the walls. “I can’t leave New York, not for good, and you can’t leave Colorado.”

  He sighs. “I don’t know, Brook. I really don’t. I’ve thought about it.”

  I pick at my fries. “You have?”

  He nods, finishes his burger in two bites, washes it down, and then wipes his hands and face with a napkin before reclining back on the couch. “I have. I can back off my time at the ranch a little, but not too much. I’m the boss, and they’re my horses, but I could afford to be away for a long weekend here and there, a few times a month. So, if you could fill in the gaps when I can’t get away, we could make sure we see each other a lot.”

  I do some thinking. “Do you guys have an airport nearer than Denver?”

  He shrugs. “I dunno. Don’t fly much. We always drove to the East Coast as a kid.”

  I hesitate. “I have an idea, but it would mean using some of your family land.”

  He sighs. “Hit me with it.”

  “An airfield.”

  He nods. “Different from an airport?”

  “Yeah, meaning it’s private. Just somewhere to land a plane.”

  “You have an airplane?” he asks, skeptical.

  I laugh. “My dad does—meaning I do, if I want one.”

  He shakes his head. “What else do you guys have? Jeez.”

  “You really don’t have any concept of what billions of dollars means, do you?” I ask.

  He snorts. “Who does? Who could?”

  “Good point. I grew up with it, and I still have trouble processing it if I think about it too hard.” I wave a hand. “Basically, think about it like my father has the resources of an entire country. He owns an airport in New Jersey—the whole thing. Just so he has somewhere private to fly into and out of. He owns a fleet of airplanes, from tiny little prop planes, what they call pond-hoppers, to airliner-size passenger jets. He has a fleet of boats both commercial and private, from fishing boats to super yachts to deep ocean mega-sized cargo ships, to entire cruise ships.”

  “Bullshit. Your dad owns a cruise ship?”

  “He owns a whole cruise line, Will, as in cruise ships plural.”

  He blows out a breath. “Crazy.”

  I nod. “I know.” I wave again, trying to put this part of getting to know each other behind us—I’ve always hated having to explain the caliber of my father’s wealth. “It’s all his, Will. Not mine. I’m very well-off personally, from what I’ve earned in my own career—but it’s millions in comparison to my dad’s billions.” I roll a hand. “Think about it this way—a thousand seconds is seventeen minutes, okay?”

  Will nods, thinking. “Okay.”

  “A million secon
ds is twelve days.” I wait.

  “Okay.” He nods again, still with me.

  “So, that’s where I’m at, financially. Twelve days—millions, and I’ve worked my ass to the bone to get there, using as little of my father’s wealth or influence as possible.”

  “Got it.”

  “So, a thousand seconds is seventeen minutes, a million seconds is twelve days, and a billion seconds is…ready for this? A billion seconds is thirty-one-point-seven-nine years.”

  Will stares blankly at me. “Really? Holy shit.”

  “Yeah. So, now take a billion seconds, add another billion, and another billion, all the way up to seventy—sorry, ninety—billion, and that’s where my father’s worth is.”

  “But that’s not actual dollars, like he doesn’t have that in actual liquid funds.”

  “No, obviously not—that’s worth.” I suppress a groan—this stuff bores me to tears. “Cash assets are worth much less than net worth, though Dad’s cash assets are still several times more than what most people can even comprehend. His real wealth is his value as owner, founder, CEO, and president of the Bellanger network of companies, and the literally unlimited credit he has based on that net worth. So, if he wanted to buy an island for ten billion dollars, he could, with a few phone calls and signatures. He wouldn’t, unless there was some significant return on that investment, but he could, even though he doesn’t have ten billion literal cash dollars in a bank somewhere.”

  Will nods. “You think I’d understand this more, since my family is worth quite a bit ourselves—nowhere near your level, of course, but still a lot. It’s not my area of expertise and interest. I care about horses. I follow the basic sense of profit and loss and overhead and all that since I’m the owner and manager of everything, but it’s all just numbers—I do what I have to do to keep the numbers that our accountant tells me is our profit higher than the numbers he tells me are the overhead.”

  I flop backward on the couch, head tipping back with a groan. “Will, can we please stop talking about money?”

  He grins. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that. I want to know because I care about you, but I don’t really care what your dad is worth. Or what you’re worth, honestly.”

  I sit forward and fix him with a deadly serious gaze. “You don’t? No bullshit. Honest truth, now, Will.”

  He shakes his head, eyes not moving from mine. “Not at all, Brooklyn. Money is a tool for me, something I have to use because it’s how our society is set up. I’d be happy as a fuckin’ clam if I could never think about money again, if I could just ride herd and raise horses, and leave the business end to someone else. I do not—and this is God’s honest truth—give a single fuck about being rich. More money, more problems. I just want my family to be comfortable, my ranch to run smooth, and raise quality stock. I don’t need a single dollar in my own account to be happy and content.” Cutting, piercing, vivid blue eyes bore into mine. “Especially if you and I are together. I’ve got horses, good hands to help me ride the herd, a few good friends, food to eat, and now, a beautiful woman who seems to care about me for who I am.” A shrug, hands lifted palms up. “What else could a man ask for?”

  “I never thought you were after my money,” I say. “I don’t think I even thought about that. But it’s deeply comforting to know that you really do like me for who I am.”

  He stands up, takes my hand and lifts me to my feet. Standing face to face, I have to tilt my head to stare way up into his deep, wise, open, warm blue eyes. “I love you for who you are, Brook.”

  “How can we be in love when we barely know each other?” I ask. “I still feel like we just met, in some ways.”

  “I don’t have to know every detail about you to know I love who you are,” he says. “I’ll just enjoy the process of learning who you are day by day.”

  “Even if we don’t get to see each other every day?” I ask, resting my hands on his chest.

  “You and I aren’t built to be around each other all day every day. We’d kill each other.”

  I laugh. “You do have a point, there.” I grin up at him. “So, you’re fine with us being apart most of the week, and then when we do see each other…”

  “We’ll spend the first twelve hours fucking each other’s brains out,” Will finishes.

  “Do you differentiate between fucking, having sex, and making love?” I ask.

  He fiddles with the tie of my robe. “Yes,” he says. “I’ve fucked women before you—a lot, I don’t mind admitting. And obviously have had a whole hell of a lot of sex. But I’ve never made love until I met you. I honestly hated the term and thought it was stupid and outdated.”

  “Me too,” I say, with a laugh.

  “But then you looked into my eyes while you came, and you said my name, and I suddenly understood what that phrase meant, how powerful it was—it was like being hit by a lightning bolt.”

  “Which is why you took off the way you did.” I gaze up at him, willing him to untie my robe.

  He nods. “Scared me stupid. I’m no coward, but that was more than I knew how to handle.”

  “Same,” I whisper.

  “So, what I’m learning is that with you, we can do all three at once.” He slowly tugs the end of my belt. “I can fuck you, and it’s making love because I love you, and obviously that means sex. Lots, and lots, and lots of sex.”

  The knot comes free, and my robe slinks open, just a sliver at first.

  “You know, since you’ve never had anyone but me here, that means this whole penthouse has not been christened.” His voice is low, a predatory purr.

  I bite my lip, nod. “That is true. So far, we’ve only broken in my bed.”

  His gaze flits around the living room and kitchen, and settles on the island. “I think the first thing outside your bedroom that needs to be christened is your island.”

  I frown. “The island?” I glance at it. “Why?”

  He slips the robe off my shoulders, and I let it tumble to the floor, my stomach flipping at the hungry, loving way his eyes rake over my naked body, as if he hasn’t had me half a dozen times already—and yet I know that no matter how many times we do this, somehow, that look in his eyes will never change.

  He kneels at my feet. Kisses my thighs, my belly—my core, eliciting a gasp from me. Yeah, never getting tired of this. Ohhh, oh my, that tongue of his is so wicked, so talented. But this time he doesn’t drive me to orgasm right away—he licks and flits his tongue over me until my knees are weak and shaky, until I start to grind on his mouth and sag on his shoulders for support. And then he stands up with me, somehow supporting my weight and keeping me balanced sitting on his shoulders—making it seem effortless. His mouth is buried against my core and he devours me as he walks across the room, stopping at the island. He crouches down so my butt hits the cold marble, setting me on it. Laying me backward. Tugging me forward so my entire lower half is suspended in the air, at the mercy of his hands holding me aloft—and his tongue renews its assault on my sex.

  “Because it’s the perfect height for me to do this,” he whispers.

  And this time, he doesn’t stop, lashing me and licking and flicking and suckling me until I’m screaming his name and thrashing against his wild, hot mouth, coming hard, and he doesn’t stop even when I beg him to, doesn’t stop until I’m coming again and then again, until I’m limp, wrung out completely by the endless onslaught of orgasm after orgasm.

  When he finally lets me down from the tumbling, rolling, boiling waves of climax, I find myself laughing hysterically.

  Will stares at me, uncomprehending. “What’s funny?”

  “Just how insane it is what you’re able to do to me,” I say, when I can breathe again. “I didn’t even know I could have multiple orgasms, and you’re giving them to me like you’re some kind of orgasm Pez dispenser.”

  He grins. “I just love how you lose it. I love the noises you make. The way you squirm.”

  I bite my lip and growl las
civiously. “I owe you now, Mr. Auden. Big time.”

  He grins. “You’re about to pay me.” He flips a condom from out of the folds of his towel where it’s wrapped around his waist. “I came prepared.”

  I shake my head, take the condom from him, and toss it aside. “Won’t be needing that.”

  “I won’t?” He frowns. “You said you’d lapsed on your birth control.”

  “I have.” I hop off the counter and move around him so as he spins to keep me in front of him, his back is to the island. “My poor abused vagina needs a little break from all the pounding you’ve been doing.”

  He frowns harder. “Brook, if I’m too rough you have to—”

  “Not at all, Will. I love it when you can’t help but fuck me like that. I’m just saying—I want you, I need you, but my vagina needs a break.” I push him up against the island, and he gets the idea, hopping up to sit on it, feet dangling. “So, I’m going to take something from you which I’ve been wanting for…quite some time.”

  “Brook…”

  I touch his lips. “Shut up, Will. Accept it. Let me have this. Please.”

  He lets out a harsh breath. “Anything you want.”

  I tug at his towel until it comes open, revealing his rigid erection. “Anything I want, whenever I want it?”

  He nods. “Always.”

  “Promise?”

  He nods. “Promise.”

  “Then, every once in a while, you may have to just suffer through the occasional blowjob.” I smirk up at him. “Like right now.”

  He fakes a long-suffering expression. “Well, if I have to.” Serious, then. “But just be aware, I’d always, always rather be with you. Inside you. Making you feel good—making us feel good together.”

  “Me too,” I say, fondling his thick shaft. “Believe me. But sometimes, I just want this.”

  “Why?”

  I shrug. “Just do. Same reason you like going down on me—you like my reactions, the way I sound, the way you make me feel.” I caress him, slowly and gently. “I also really do need a break.”

  “Then we can take a break, you don’t have to—”