His hand moves to the clasp at my back. Flicks it open with practiced ease. The straps slide down my shoulders and he pulls the bra away, tosses it somewhere in the hay.
For a second, he just looks. His chest heaves. His hands flex at his sides like he's memorizing this, storing it away.
Then his mouth is on me.
I cry out, can't help it, the sound swallowed by the storm. His tongue circles my nipple, his hand kneading the other breast, and I'm shaking, grinding against his thigh like I can find relief there.
I can't.
"Please," I hear myself say. "Eli, please—"
He kisses his way back up to my mouth, one hand still working my breast, the other sliding down my stomach. His fingers hook into the waistband of my jeans.
"Tell me to stop," he says, voice wrecked.
"Don't you dare."
The button pops free. Zipper slides down. The sound is obscene in the quiet between ragged breaths and rain hammering the roof.
His fingers slip just inside, not far, just enough to trace the edge of my underwear. Just enough to make me whimper. My hips cant forward, begging without words.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're—"
His hand slides lower, palm cupping me through thin cotton. I'm soaked. Not from the rain.
He feels it. Groans like it costs him something.
"Hazel, we—" He's trying to think. To be reasonable. "We can't—"
"We can," I gasp, reaching for his belt again, getting it open this time. "We are."
His hand moves against me, heel of his palm grinding slow and deliberate. I'm going to come apart. Right here. Like this.
My hand slides into his jeans, finds him —
"ELI!"
Chace's voice cuts through everything, sharp and urgent, like a bucket of cold water.
Eli freezes.
His hand stills against me. His forehead drops to my shoulder. His breath comes in harsh pants against my bare skin.
For half a second, I think he won't stop. That he'll choose this instead. That he'll damn the consequences and take the last step.
"Fuck," he swears against my skin. Low. Broken.
Then he pulls back hard, like ripping free costs him something physical.
His hands leave me. He drags them through his hair, water flying. He won't look at me. Can't.
"Eli!" Chace yells again, closer now. "We've got a problem out here!"
The colt shifts, startled by the raised voices, and I reach for the lead on instinct, trying to ground myself in something solid as my pulse pounds everywhere.
Eli turns toward the door, rain already blowing in around the edges. He pauses with his hand on the latch, shoulders tight, head bowed like he's fighting a war inside himself.
"Stay with him," he says, voice rough. Commanding. Necessary.
