His mouth opens again.Then—
Thunder.
The sky opens.
Rain slams into us like a freight train.Cold, hard, furious.The ground goes from dry to soaked in under ten seconds.My shirt clings to me.Banjo jerks beneath me, startled.
‘Shit,’ Luke yells.‘We need to move!’
We break into a gallop, no time to finish the fight.No time to be anything butfast.
The wind lashes through my hair.Water stings my face.The horses thunder across the field, hooves kicking up wet dirt, the ground turning slick beneath us.
By the time we make it back to the yard, we’re drenched.Dripping.Wild-eyed.
Luke slides off Skip and yells, ‘Grab the tarp!’
I jump off Banjo and nearly eat it in the mud.We scramble, pulling covers over the feed bins, tying down the equipment, shouting instructions we can barely hear over the roar of the downpour.
By the time we get to the front porch, we’re soaked to the bone, shoes squelching, hair plastered to our faces.
We stand there, chests heaving, breathing hard.
And then Luke lets out a sound – half laugh, half shout.
He throws his head back and laughs again, properly this time.Loud.Free.Rain-soaked and completely unhinged.
I gape at him.‘What?’
He grins, water streaming down his face as he grabs my shoulders.‘Rain!’He whoops, triumphant.‘Finally!Some fucking rain!’
I start laughing too – because he’s soaked and yelling and my heart’s still racing and I’m so emotionally off-balance I don’t know what else to do.
And then his hands are on my face, mouth crashing into mine.It’s full of pent-up anger and lust and confusion and apology rolled into one perfect, electric, desperate kiss.
‘I’m sorry,’ he breathes, forehead resting against mine.
‘Me too,’ I whisper.
I kiss him again, and we don’t talk after that.
We stumble into the house, wet clothes clinging to our skin, shoes discarded somewhere along the way.Inside, the hallway is warm and dim and too small for all this energy.
Luke pulls me into the bathroom.His hands are tugging, stripping me, peeling my wet clothes from my body.He’s rough with it.So am I.Buttons snap.My shirt clings to my arms and he tears it free.He fumbles with my shorts.I rip open his belt.
He reaches for the drawer, his fingers brushing the handle before I grab his wrist.He freezes.Looks at me, confused.
‘I’m on the pill now.’
It’s all I need to say before I shove him back into the shower.Water blasts overhead, warming us as fast as our bodies already are.
Steam builds instantly.
I press my hand flat to his chest.Wet.Warm.Beating fast.
Then I slide my hand lower, wrapping it around him and guiding him in.
No pause.No hesitation.Just the heat of him filling me in one long, perfect thrust that knocks the air out of my lungs.
