Page 21 of Wild Horses

Great. The one thing Idon’twant to talk about. I clear my throat. “You caught that, huh?”

“I caught you tensing up in my arms and heard words that sound like you practice them in front of a mirror slipping out.”

He’s too good for me. I’m an asshole. I swallow and say, “I told you I’m a barrel racer.” At his nod, I continue. “This week is the national finals. I, um, should be there competing right now.”

War tugs on my shoulder, his brow creasing as he hovers over me. “So you do that full-time? Like a job? I guess I thought it was a hobby or something.”

“Definitely not a hobby.”

My terse answer doesn’t derail the conversation. “I didn’t know that… is that why you travel so much, too?”

Dipping my head, I say, “Gotta go where the purses and the points are.”

“Traveling like that must make relationships hard.”

“Why do you say that?” There’s a sharpness to my question and to my fingers digging into the bed.

My tone catches him off guard. “Well, I mean anyone who travels that much, unless you’re good with long distances, it would strain—I’m guessing. Do you usually date?—”

I cut his stammer off with my mouth.

Kissing War is effortless, but pushing down the storm of growing feelings for him isn’t. But tonight has to be it. He’s a distraction—a beautiful distraction. I would love to see where this could go, but I can’t afford it.

Refocusing on the delicious man above me, I nip his full bottom lip and tug. His hips pin me to the bed, pressing into me in a slow, seductive grind. Each movement causes whimpers to escape my mouth. With an aching moan, War breaksthe kiss and shifts his weight, pulling me into his arms and resting his chin on the crown of my head.

“If refractory periods weren’t a real thing, I’d take you again right now.”

I tilt my head back and laugh, thankful for the change in topic. “Let me get us some water.” As I move, I poke his thigh with my toe. “To help with your recovery.”

War props himself up against the headboard, watching me pad across the room to get a plastic cup. With one arm behind his head, he looks for all the world like the snack of my dreams. We pass the tepid tap water back and forth until it’s gone, and then I slip beneath the sheets.

I rest my chin on his chest and drink in my fill of him like the greedy goblin I am.

“Agreeing to go on this date and ending up in bed with you are probably in the top five most impulsive things I’ve ever done.”

“You never packed up and took a road trip somewhere new or got a dealer’s choice tattoo? Not even when you were…” I smirk. “Young?”

With a mutter, War rolls us and pins me to the bed. “Again with the old thing? I’m six years older than you, not sixty.”

My laugh is breathy as I stare up at him. “You’ll just have to prove how virile you are, Pretty Boy.”

“That’s an oxymoron, you know? Calling me PrettyBoyand an old man all at once.”

“You’re an oxymoron. Now kiss me and then answer my original question. You’ve never done anything reckless or irresponsible?”

Following my command, he sinks his mouth against mine. The plush give of his lips sends a fresh wave of arousal through me. War tastes like the remnants of the drinks we shared andthe lingering flavor of my orgasm. It’s heady and delicious—my new favorite.

A hum escapes my lips when he coils a tangled strand of my hair around his finger. “No. Never. I was always the yes man, the perfect son. Anything that would make my parents look bad or damage the company’s reputation was never on the table.”

“Sounds boring. And stifling. You’re supposed to be impulsive and make mistakes when you’re young. And your parents should be there to teach you why you shouldn’t steal the tractor and chase the neighbor’s stud bull.”

He huffs a laugh into my hair. His words have a bitter edge. “You and I had very different childhoods.”

Using every ounce of strength in my thighs, I twist until I’m straddling his torso. Then I wriggle until my pussy rests against the base of his cock. He grows thicker and firmer with each glide of my wet center against him until he’s at full attention. I grip the base of his cock, pumping him from tip to root, then rubbing his hard length against my clit and between my lower lips.

“God, you look like some sort of queen sitting there.” I love how his hips buck as if he has no control over them. As if he can’t keep himself from chasing that connection—fullness for me and tight heat for him.

“Do you want to talk more about what happened today? Or those other top five impulsive moments?” I ask, writhing against the base of his cock.

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