"Eight seconds? I think we've got you back up to at least eight minutes now."
A groan rips out of me. I need her. Now. I lace my hand around her throat and push her back against the wall behind the chutes.
"Eight minutes? Hmm?" I say against her flushed cheek.
Her nails drag down my chest, catching on the buttons of my shirt, and the adrenaline from the ride has nowhere to go except straight into her.
"I could probably make you come in your boxers just by bending over in these shorts, Ace."
I bite my lip. She isn't wrong. I get hard looking at her in sweatpants. In these cutoffs, I don't stand a chance.
"And I can make you come without even touching you, pretty girl."
She nods slowly. "I know you can." She tugs me closer by my vest. "I'm soaked for you right this second, Acey."
I press my forehead against hers. Every drop of blood in my body rushes south, and I'm grateful for the chaps because there's no hiding what she does to me.
"You kill me, woman. You absolutely kill me." I swallow. "But never stop. Okay?"
She doesn't answer. She just kisses me. My hand tightens around her throat, and for a split second, I forget where I am. Forget the arena, the riders, the fifty people milling around behind the chutes. There's just her mouth on mine and her heart pounding against my chest and the taste of salt from her tears on my lips.
Until Hunter clears his throat behind me.
I'm too hard to turn around. So I press myself flush against Harper, shielding the situation, and drop my forehead to hers.
"We're going to, uh—head off." Hunter's voice is gruff. A man choosing not to see what he's seeing. "Congrats, Ace. We're proud of you."
His words slam through my chest harder than Gravedigger ever could.
Hunter Sterling doesn't say proud often. He doesn't waste words, doesn't hand out praise like loose change. When he says it, he means it with everything behind it.
"Thank you," I manage. Half a whisper.
Colten mutters something that sounds like "still going to kill him" as their footsteps fade.
Once they're gone, the tension holding me together gives way. I drop my face against Harper's shoulder, and she wraps her arms around me. I let her. For a minute, I just let her.
"We're all proud of you, Acey," she whispers into my hair. "You looked incredible out there."
I pull back. Search her glistening eyes.
She's here. She's real. She screamed my name loud enough for me to hear it over two thousand pounds of chaos. She's standing in the dust behind the chutes with mascara on her cheeks and her hand over my heart, and she's mine.
"Shall we celebrate?" she asks, her voice dipping into something that makes my pulse kick.
I smile. "Yeah." I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Will you go on a date with me, Harper Jones?"
Her face softens. Like I've just given her something she didn't expect. Like being asked on a date still means something to her.
"Yes," she says.
I slide my hand down her side, fingers tracing the curve of her waist, settling on her hip. I pull her close enough that my mouth brushes her ear.
"And however horny you are right this second—hold on to that. Because we're playing tonight."
Her eyes light up. That spark. That dangerous, golden, Harper spark that tells me she's already three steps ahead of me, and I'm going to enjoy every single one of catching up.
"Playing?" she repeats innocently. As if she doesn't know exactly what I mean.
