The men froze, then laughed like it was a joke. One sized me up, like he might test it. I didn’t move, I didn’t need to. The fury rolling off me was enough. One by one, they peeled away, muttering, tossing glances over their shoulders.
Kristin let out a breath. Shaky. Her hand was still tight on the reins, her chest rising and falling too fast. She looked at me, eyes wide, and for a split second, I saw it, the fear, raw and real. It gutted me.
Then she snapped her head up, fire flashing back into place. “What the hell, Lincoln?”
I clenched my jaw. “You alright?”
“I had it under control.”
“The hell you did.”
“They were congratulating me,” she snapped, though her voice wobbled at the edges.
“They were ready to put their hands on you.”
Her chin lifted, pride shoved back into place like armor. “So what? You think you get to step in whenever you feel like it? You think you can just claim me?”
My temper flared hotter than the stadium lights. I stepped in closer, close enough she had to tilt her head back to hold my gaze. “You are telling me you didn’t feel it? Them pressing in, reaching out to touch you? You didn’t feel me wanting to tear them apart?”
Her lips parted, her cheeks flushing. No words came out.
“Tell me I am wrong.” My voice dropped, rough, dark with everything I had been holding back.
She shook her head, defiant, but her hand still trembled on the reins. “You don’t get to be jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.” My chest pressed against hers now, the reins trapped between us. “I’m furious. That is different.”
The air between us snapped tight. I could feel the heat of her, see the pulse hammering in her throat, the way her body leaned infinitesimally toward mine even as her mouth spit fire.
“You don’t get to claim me,” she whispered again, but softer, like she did not believe it herself.
“That ring on your finger says you’re already mine.”
Her breath hitched. That was all it took.
I grabbed her waist, pulling her hard against me, and kissed her. It wasn’t gentle or careful. It was years of hunger, of restraint burning out all at once. Her gasp was swallowed by my mouth, and then she was kissing me back, fierce and desperate, her hands clutching my jacket like she would fall if she let go.
The world disappeared. The men, the horses, the noise, it all fell away. There was only her, pressed against me, her lips hot and demanding, her body melting into mine.
We stumbled back into the shadows of a chute, half-hidden, though I didn’t give a damn who saw. My hands slid under her jacket, desperate to touch, to prove she was here, she was mine. She shivered, arching into me, her mouth opening undermine, giving me everything I had been starving for.
I broke away only long enough to rest my forehead against hers, both of us breathing like we had just run the barrels ourselves. “Tell me to stop.”
She shook her head no, and pulled me back instead, kissing me harder, deeper, her tongue tangling with mine, a low sound breaking from her throat that nearly undid me.
I groaned against her mouth, pressing her against the wooden gate, one hand fisted in her braid, the other sliding up her back. She clung to me, nails biting through my shirt, gasping when I kissed down her jaw, to the curve of her throat. I reached between us and fumbled with her belt.
“Lincoln,” she whispered, half warning, half plea.
I couldn’t help but smile against her mouth as I popped open her belt and snapped off the old buckle she was wearing. Kristin went stiff against me and pulled away.
“You won, you get a new buckle.” I slid it on and did her belt back up. “In all the commotion, you missed the ceremony, and I figured I could present it to you better.” Leaning down again, I kissed her, and she melted against me.
I lifted my head, eyes locking on hers. She was fierce and soft all at once, pupils blown wide, lips swollen from kissing.
“You’re mine,” I rasped, voice rough, “and you know it.”
She did not argue. She kissed me again instead.
