Maybe that’s what I need to do too. Give up on the idea of love.
Love hurts.
But why does the idea of not loving anyone hurt more?
I already know the answer, and it’s currently standing in a field with a horse that most people would have given up on.
I sit with Ginger for the rest of the day, and it isn’t until the light slipping in through the doors goes dim and the sky turns a deep, dusty blue, wispy clouds streaking through it, the color of fire as they hang on to the last drops of sunlight that Silas finds me.
He comes to a stop in front of Ginger’s stall, resting his arms on the door as he peers over at me where I’ve made a small seat on a couple of hay bales.
A soft smile touches his mouth, “She good?”
Ginger settled almost immediately, became more relaxed and ate plenty. “Yeah, better than good.”
“And you?”
Swallowing, I meet the eyes of the man who has stolen a part of my soul. I don’t know how to answerhim because yes, I’m okay, but no, I am not. I am conflicted and confused, and I don’t know how to move forward when I know I’m toeing a line that will either end in heartbreak or give me something I have been missing.
I told him I didn’t want to hide anymore, and I don’t, which is why I find myself standing and reaching for the lock to let myself out of the stable. He steps back to give me room, but instead of leaving; I step right up to him so there’s barely an inch between us and press onto my toes.
His brows twitch into a frown right before I press my lips to his.
I’ve waited to kiss him all day.
I wanted to do it back at Cal’s place, wanted to do it in the truck home, and when we got back here, but I didn’t.
I have been craving his taste. His touch.
He doesn’t move, not for a few seconds, but then his hands go to my waist, and he tugs me into him, closing that final small gap until all of me is pressed to every part of him. He angles his head to deepen the kiss, and when I part my lips, he wastes no time gaining entrance, his tongue stroking in while his fingers flex at my waist. My shirt is only thin, but it may as well not be there at all with the way his touch brands me. He sets me on fire, and like a moth to a flame, I’m helpless to stop myself from falling into him.
One of his hands slides down my back, to my ass, where he then squeezes, pressing his hips forward. I whimper at the feel of his hard length pushing into my lower abdomen.
A rumble sounds from his throat in response before he pulls away from the kiss, “The fucking sounds you make.” The words are spoken on a groan, his eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t get enough of you, baby.”
I can’t decide if I prefer Honeybee or baby coming from his lips, but both make my heart race. Running my hands down the ridges of his abdomen, I find the hem of his shirt and tuck my hands under it, letting my nails bite in just a little and revel in the small moan he makes.
“Driving me fucking crazy here, Juniper.”
“I want you,” The words are shaky with need, my muscles pulled tight.
“Here?”
“Anywhere.”
That’s all he needs to hear. Both hands grip me beneath my ass, and his long legs stride toward the small tack room, the only one in this stable with a full door. He kicks it open and closed in a matter of seconds, and then my back is pressed to it while he grinds his hips up, hitting me right in the center. Only a few layers of material separate us, and I can feel every roll of his length against me.
“How do you want it?” He asks as he kisses me down my throat, “Do you want to ride me, baby? Or will you let me make you feel good?”
“Fuck,” I groan when he angles himself just right to grind against my clit. “More. Just more.”
“So needy,” he praises, and my body breaks out in goosebumps. Gently he lowers me to the ground and reaches for my shirt. “You’re still in control.” He assures me before he pulls it off and throws it onto the workstation, leaving me in just a pair of denim shorts, my bra, and cowboy boots. He runs his thumb over his bottom lip, his eyes dragging down me as if he can’t bear not to look.
“So damn pretty,” he mumbles, more to himself than to me. “Take them off.”
His order is soft but no less demanding, and I flick the button of my shorts before I kick off my boots so I can push them down my legs. He reaches for them and places them with my shirt, keeping that distance between us so he can get a good view of me.
With anyone else, I would feel vulnerable and out of my depth, but with him, it makes me feel alive.
