Beneath His Stetson

by C.M. Campbell

“You look like a woman who needs two shots of whiskey, a dance, and maybe

man with a slow drawl who knows how to apologize with his hands.”

Just looked. The kind of look that made me feel stripped, read, and chosen all at once.

“You sure?” I asked, low enough only she could hear. “You wear that hat, you don’t leave this night untouched.”

“That means you’re mine,” I said. “Mine to touch. Mine to taste. Mine to bend over and fuck until that hat’s sliding off your head.”

“I want to see you come,” he said, voice low, controlled. “I want to watch you fall apart with my name in your mouth and nothing but your fingers to help you.”

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he said, tone rich and rough. “All that mouth, finally put to good use.”

“Unless you want me to pull over and bend you over the tailgate.” His voice darkened. “Let everybody out here in the dark hear you scream while I fuck the attitude out of you.”

“Keep my Stetson on, Baylynn. I wanna see how sexy you are wearing it and riding my dick.”

“I want you to cum in my mouth,” he growled, “and I’m gonna fuck you while it’s still on my tongue.”

want you to ride me in it. I want you wearin’ my Stetson while I stretch this pussy open.”

“You feel that, don’t you?” he murmured, voice rough and reverent. “That slow stretch? That’s me claimin’ you from the inside—ain’t no other man gon’ fit where I’ve been.”

“You think you’re in charge now?” he asked, one hand wrapping around my throat—not tight, just enough to remind me. “You’re mine, darlin’. You ride for me.”

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s my girl. So good for me. So fuckin’ tight—just like I knew you’d be.”

“You take this dick so fuckin’ good,” he growled. “This tight little pussy’s so greedy—sucks me in like it’s made for it.”

I kept my grip tight, pace slow and grinding. Every stroke was deliberate. Meant to draw out the tension she’d been carrying since breakfast. Meant to wreck her without breaking her.

He washed me like I mattered. Like every inch of me deserved reverence. He kissed my shoulder while rinsing the shampoo from my hair, pressed his hand to the center of my chest when he turned me around, like he needed to feel the beat of my heart beneath his palm.

figured right.” He leaned in, hand resting between my thighs as he kissed me—slow, familiar, the kind of kiss that tasted like more than just lust. It tasted like home. That quiet kind of home you build in secret and protect with your life.

“I don’t need pretend,” he said finally. “But I needed to be reminded.” “Of what?” He met my gaze. “That some things are still worth wantin’. Still worth takin’ slow.”

“Whatever life throws at us—we’re still us. Still fire. Still fight. And I’ll spend the next ten years proving it all over again.”