She presses into my touch. “You first.”
I thrust deep and grind my hips, rubbing against her clit. The walls of her pussy tighten, fluttering around my shaft as I hold myself in place, continuing to roll forward against that sensitive little spot.
“Tilly.”
“Rowe,” she snaps before closing her eyes, gasping. I lower myself to my forearms and lean so fucking close that our nosesbump. Her features tighten, brows scrunching tight as she starts to shake. “I love you.”
There it is. With a deep groan, I glide out and barrel in for the last time. The gush of her arousal sounds as I come, taking her lips in a hard kiss. Her legs quiver and fall from around my waist. I push up on one arm and bring the other to her cheek, stroking it with my knuckle.
“I love you, hellcat. I’m not letting you go again. If you run, I’ll chase you the way I couldn’t the first time.”
She touches my throat, then my jaw. Her touch warms my lips. “I’m not running.”
“I don’t know shit about being with anyone,” I admit, regardless of the fact that she already knows that.
“I’ll teach you.”
I tip her chin up and nod. “Gonna have to be patient with me.”
“Patience has never been my speciality,” she teases, kissing me once.
“I’ll teach you.”
Her giggle seals the deal.
42
TILLY
August is evenhotter than the two months prior. What I assumed would be a brutal summer has been worse, and I’m so sunburnt that I can’t have my shoulders out anymore. My cropped shirts have become, well, not cropped, and the sleeves are too long. Sunscreen isn’t doing what it should for me anymore, so I’ve been left with no other option.
Rowe’s been getting quite a kick out of my inability to wear what I’d like. The more fabric I’m wearing, the less he grunts in annoyance when I’m around the other cowboys. I think that makes me want to wear nothing at all instead, if only to get a rise out of him. It’s been too long since he’s tossed me over his shoulder and taken me in the stables like a possessive beast. Three weeks, to be exact.
I’m itching for it.
Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m currently sitting on the fence, watching him prepare to mount Wraith for the first time. There’s something about Rowe doing what he does best, especially after he’s worked so hard to get to this point, thatturns me all the way on. He’s not quite wrangling a tiger, but it’s crazy nonetheless.
The terrifying black horse is a bit less so now. He’s moved into the stable, and while he’s kept in the paddock at the back, he’s taken to his new home. It’s still isolated, and none of the kids are allowed to go in and muck it or feed him, but it’s a hell of a lot better than living out here.
He’s clean too. Groomed to perfection, thanks to me and with brand-spanking-new horseshoes. I didn’t ask the farrier how bad his hooves were when he first got to work on them last week, and I won’t now. That information will only make me sad, and Wraith’s come too far for me to be anything less than happy.
His black-as-night braided mane shakes slightly when Rowe cinches the saddle and gives the stirrup a tug. Wraith stays relatively still, but this is their first time doing this together. His ears are still up, even if they’re twitching slightly. Rowe’s eyes are heavy on him, watching for the first sign that he’s going to lose it.
It’s been months of work leading up to this point, and if he pushes him too far or if things go even slightly sideways, it could send them back to the beginning. My fingers tap on the fence as I watch from afar.
Rowe slips his foot into the stirrup now and applies some weight. He bounces his knee, letting it bump the saddle. Wraith pins his ears back. My man releases the pressure and mutters words I can’t hear from across the pen. Slowly, Wraith’s ears go back up, and Rowe tries again.
The second attempt pulls the same reaction. My stomach tumbles with dread. There are a million different reasons why training isn’t my thing, and this right here? Yeah, this is one of the biggest ones. I couldn’t handle the disappointment of working toward something for so long, only to not succeed onthe first try. I’m lacking the specific patience it takes for this work. Rowe has it in spades.
This isn’t just any horse.
As much as I know Rowe would never verbally admit it to anyone, even me, this horse has helped heal his soul. Wraith may have been forced here under the orders of a cruel man, but what he found here was a family who will stop at nothing to see him whole again. They’re two sides of the same coin, and I know when Rowe looked at him that first day, he saw himself: broken, alone and in need of stability after years of being locked away.
They were both so, so angry with the world, but now? Now, they’re finding themselves again.
I fold my hands in my lap and tap my thumbs together. Rowe hasn’t retreated yet and once again applies weight to the stirrup. There’s a twitch of Wraith’s ears, but they don’t pin back. He stays still, calm.
My eyes burn as I stare across the dirt. Rowe’s stroking Wraith’s neck, and I can almost hear the words he’s speaking. The huge horse turns his head then, and one dark eye finds Rowe. I can hear the heavy breath that he pushes out, and I squeeze my hands tight. He doesn’t look angry or afraid, but there’s still something there . . . a dare almost. Like the horse is trying to tell him to just get on with it already.
