He chuckles and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. All of this seems to be amusing the heck out of him and also not changing his mind with the way his helmet isstilloutstretched.
“Let me see that thing.” I bump him out of the way to get to a metal box standing a couple feet tall near the outlet. A series of dials spreads across the top panel—buck, spin, speed. I release an exasperated sigh, pointing a finger at his chest. “Keep it at level one and whatever you do… don’t laugh.” I snatch the protective headwear.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He winks at me again.
I fit Reed’s helmet over my braid and hike my leg over the bull’s back. “This is a terrible idea,” I mutter to myself. “What am I supposed to do with my hands?” There’s barely a slippery hump to clutch onto.
“You’re supposed to swing your arm in the air like this.” Reed grips the waist of his pants with one hand and lassos the other arm above his head, prancing about.
“All right, Buffalo Bill.”
“Ready, cowgirl?” He closes his hand on the speed dial.
I shake my head.
The mischief in his eyes when he says, “You might like it,” has me forgetting to grip on tight, and the bull starts to sway with the twist of the dial. I lurch forward, clinging to the faux animal’s back for dear life. A loud clanking rings from the machine my legs are choking as it bucks me forward and back, side to side. Faster and faster, it jerks.
“This is not level one!” I holler right before it pitches me off the side into the bed of hay.
Three seconds. That’s all I lasted.
He yanks the dial to the off positionand the whole barn quiets as he dives next to me, sending a vortex of straw swirling around us. I can’t stop giggling.
“So, what’d you think?” He brushes away the random pieces that landed on my face and removes my helmet. He’s practically draped over top of me and the weight of his body sends a swoop low in my belly. My laughter stills.
“I liked it,” I whisper, losing myself to the midnight sky of his eyes. His tongue wets his lips and my gaze traces the glistening path.
“What else do you like?” he whispers back.
Somehow the air feels more charged with the bull turned off. In every intimate exchange I’ve ever shared with someone, it’s always felt one-sided. It’s been about what makeshimfeel good. I’ve never considered what I might like before. No one asked.
“I don’t know what I like,” I admit.
He threads a hand in my hair and works his fingers in slow circles, massaging my scalp and the base of my neck with the perfect amount of pressure. A sigh escapes my lips.
“What about this?” he asks. “Do you like this?”
I swallow and nod. Then he leans in closer and my eyes flutter shut. I think he’s going to kiss me. I can feel his breath ghosting across my lips, and Iwanthim to kiss me. But just when I think our lips are about touch, I feel a tingle skitter down the shell of my ear. The proximity of his body, his warm breath, his sultry voice when he says, “How about this?” My back arches toward him.
“Yes.” A broken gasp leaves my lips.
I want to tell him I need his mouth everywhere, but he’s already brushing it down the column of my neck like he read my mind.
I groan his name.
He drags down, down, pressing a kiss to my collarbone. “Do you like my mouth here?”
I finally get the courage to say it out loud. “I like your mouth everywhere.”
He touches his lips to mine, and I forget where we are. It’s brief. Not nearly long enough for me before he’s pulling back and making space between us. Pushing off the palms of his hands and standing. I instantly miss the weight of him pressed against me.
“I have something else I want to show you,” he says, holding out his hand.
“Okay.” It comes out in a breathy stutter.
I’m stumbling when he gets me standing. Tows me behind him until he’s hopping up on the first rung of a wooden ladder.Creak, creak, creak, it squeaks with his bounce. When the shabby step doesn’t give under his weight, he helps me onto the first one. Ten planks later and I’m pulling myself over a wooden platform at the top.
“Wow. It’s like a little home away from home up here,” I say to the twin-sized mattress on the left and the free-standing desk on the right. “And look at that view,” I add, peeking out the small window to the land below. Mini figures of our crew stake out camp on the grass surrounding the couple’s wraparound porch. None of them seem to be bothered by the ruckus our bucking bull just caused.
