Beneath His Stetson

by C.M. Campbell

“You look like a woman who needs two shots of whiskey, a dance, and maybe a man with a slow drawl who knows how to apologize with his hands.”

“I said I was trouble,” I breathed. Her voice was soft. “I’m not scared of trouble.” I pressed in a little more. Not enough to satisfy. Just enough to tease. “You should be.” She turned her head, lips brushing my jaw. “Then make me.”

“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.”

“You gonna make good on all that talk—or just keep staring like I’m a goddamn fever dream?”

“I want your hand in your pants,” he said. “Right now.” I didn’t move. “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 gonna just stare at me?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Or are you gonna let me see how bad it’s gotten?”

Karderro hadn’t touched me where I needed. Hadn’t said much at all. Just sat back and watched, the way a man does when he knows he’ll get his turn—and then some.

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

“Fuck, that’s a sight,” he whispered. “You choking on my dick like you were made for it.”

“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.”

“Say who’s in charge.” “You are,” I gasped. “Karderro—please, I can’t —” He pulled away completely. “You don’t beg very well,” he said, “for a woman dripping down her own thighs.”

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

“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath. “Look at this pussy…”

“Goddamn, darlin’. You look edible.” He parted me with both hands, spreading me open with filthy reverence. “Drippin’ like you missed me,” he said, leaning in closer. “Tight little thing. Greedy and swollen and fuckin’ perfect.” I whimpered. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,”

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

“I 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 look so fuckin’ pretty ridin’ my dick like that. Like you were made for it.”

“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.” I was unraveling. The hat dipped. Sweat rolled down my spine. “Say it,” he growled. “Tell me who owns this pussy.” “You do,” I choked out, riding harder, faster, chasing that edge. “You cum on this dick, you let everybody know who it belongs to.”

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

“You think you run this?” he rasped. “You think that pussy gets to make the rules?” Another slap. And then his fingers soothed the burn, spreading me wide. “You’re fuckin’ soaked again,” he said. “Dripping like you want to be punished.”

“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.”

“Stay up,” he barked. “Don’t you fuckin’ collapse on me.” I tried. God, I tried. My thighs were quivering, my elbows buckling, but I held on. Because this wasn’t just fucking. This was him taking me—owning every inch I gave him and then some.

“You hungry?” I asked. “Starving.” “You want eggs or dick first?” She laughed, full and rich. “Really?” “Just tryin’ to prioritize.” Her fingers brushed down my chest. “What if I want both?” “Then I’ll feed you twice.”

“Didn’t think you’d be gentle,” she murmured. “I’m always gentle after I wreck you,” I said, running a clean palm down her side. “Balance.”

“You’re good with them,” I said. She glanced over her shoulder. “I like big, quiet men who listen more than they speak.”

No panties. “Damn,” I muttered. “That for me too?” She lifted her chin. “Wasn’t planning on ridin’ a horse today.”

“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.”

Ten years, two kids, and a mortgage later—and he still played the long game like a man who never forgot how to seduce me with silence. This wasn’t pretend. This was maintenance. Marriage. Roleplay wasn’t the escape. It was the remembering. And God, did I remember now.

“I didn’t expect to find forever in a pair of dusty boots and a slow drawl.” He smiled, slow and full of knowing. “You didn’t just find it. You built it.”