Page 46 of Claimed By the Cowboys

Life is short.

Mr. Jenkins was right.

These moments of bright laughter and the warmth of the sun on my face are the ones worth capturing like fireflies in a jar. The rest really is wallpaper.

Somewhere out on a quiet ranch, two cowboys are waiting for me to decide that I’m allowed to want more than wallpaper.

I push higher on the swing, with tears drying on my cheeks, and let myself fly.

Chapter 23

Jensen

I’m stretched out on the couch with the TV on low; some old Western is playing that I’m only half watching while I scroll through social media, checking out the antics of my nephews and liking my sister’s posts before she has a chance to tell me I need to be more involved. Bo went to bed an hour ago, muttering about early mornings and sore shoulders. I feel him, but I’m not ready to sleep yet. My mind is busy with Brandy, wondering where she is and what she’s doing, churning over how she might be feeling, and hoping she’ll come back, despite the heaviness in her heart.

The blue light from the screen flickers across the living room walls and gunshots ring out as men drop with cinematic flourish. Then a soft, hesitant tap on the front door draws my attention.

I mute the TV and cross the room barefoot. I check the sidelights and open the door to see Brandy standing in the porch light, dressed in jeans and a tank, with her long braids loose. Her eyes are puffy, her cheeks are wet, and my heart drops ten stories.

“Darlin’—”

She doesn’t let me finish. She steps straight into me, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist, and pressing her face hard against my chest. One of her hands slips under the hem of my T-shirt, sliding over my stomach, seeking out what she needs.

I want to ask what happened. Why has she been crying? Why is she here this late, looking like her heart is breaking? She clings to me, desperate and shaking, already kissing the side of my neck, telling me that talking isn’t what she came for.

I close the door behind her with one hand and lift her with the other. She wraps her legs around my waist without hesitation, her mouth finding mine in a deep, hungry kiss that tastes like salt and need. I carry her up the stairs, careful not to bump her against the walls, and push open Bo’s bedroom door with my shoulder.

Bo is sprawled across the middle of the big bed like a starfish, with one arm flung over his eyes, and sheets tangled around his hips. He stirs the second I lay Brandy down beside him.

“What—” His voice is rough with sleep, then he sees her face and sits up fast. “Brandy?”

She reaches for him immediately, pulling him down into a kiss while her other hand stays fisted in my shirt. I release her grip gently and strip out of my clothes so I can join them on the bed. Between us, Brandy’s so small and burning hot, already tugging at her own top like she can’t stand the fabric against her skin.

We help her with soft, careful hands and once she’s bare, she looks up at both of us with wet, shining eyes and lifts her wrists.

“Tie me,” she whispers. “Please. Do whatever you want to me. I… I need to let go of everything… I don’t want to think. I need you both to take what you want.”

Bo’s gaze meets mine over her head. It’s what she needs and understanding passes between us. He nods once.

I grab one of his soft leather belts from the chair while he finds a tie. We bind her wrists together above her head, then secure them to the headboard with careful knots, tight enough that she’s held, and loose enough that she could pull free if she needed to.

Brandy tests the restraints and lets out a long, shaky breath that sounds like pure relief.

“We’ve got you,” I murmur, kissing the inside of her wrist. “Just relax.”

Bo settles between her thighs first, while I lie beside her, stroking her braids and whispering filthy, loving praise against her ear. He licks her until her back is arching, opening her with thick fingers that make her moan. When he wraps up and pushes inside her, she groans loud and broken as her hips rise to meet him. I watch how her body opens for him, stroking myself as slick noises fill the room. Her bound hands flex against the restraint, and tears slip from the corner of her eyes even as she begs for more. I kiss them away as my brother thrusts hard enough to make her eyes roll.

Then I take his place, driving into her while he kisses her, swallowing every desperate sound. We switch again, and again, keeping her on the edge until she’s sobbing with need.

“Please,” she begs.

“Good girl,” Bo growls. “Good girl. Give it to us.”

Then we finally let her fall over and over until she’s limp and trembling between us. Only then do we chase our own pleasure, stripping the condoms to come over her belly and the soft curls between her thighs, marking her as ours.

When we finally untie her wrists, I gather her against my chest while Bo curls around her back. We’re sticky and sweaty, but it doesn’t matter. The room smells of the three of us, as it’s supposed to. Bo pulls the covers over our naked bodies. Brandy doesn’t sleep, though. Her body hitches, and she covers her face with her palms.

I press my lips to her forehead. “What’s wrong, darlin’?”