Page 80 of Eight Second Hearts

His hand tightens in my hair again and he throws that hand into the air just as the bull starts to move. He jerks inside me, and I scream at the pleasure of it, as the bull tilts forward and back, forcing him to stroke inside me in violent bursts that have me seeing stars. He grunts with every thrust, clearly struggling as much as I am, riding me like the multi-million dollar cowboy he is. Eight seconds feels like forever this time as the bull slings us around and pitches forward and back like the best of them. I lose count somewhere around three as the feeling of him stretching my ass overtakes me. A long line of gibberish falls from my lips as I cry out my pleasure, as I writhe against my bonds.

By the time the beep comes again, I’m a mess of desperate almost release, my body tense with the hum of it.

“I think it’s time for you to flood me,” he groans as he takes over the rhythm and fucks me harder. “Let me see that pussy weep for me.”

He reaches down and presses his fingers inside my pussy, moving them faster than his hips stroke inside me, forcing my body to react again. My core tenses and I scream, an orgasm shattering through me with so much force, I can’t contain it. My body tightens as I squirt with every thrust of his fingers.

“Fuck yeah,” he grunts, his hips losing their constant rhythm. His breaths turn into pants as he jerks his cock out of me and rests it against the top of my ass. His warmth spurts across my skin, covering the small of my back, and when he’s done, he wipes his hand through it and rubs it in, groaning at the sight of him painting me with his release.

I can’t catch my breath. I’m rasping against the leather, weak, and still somehow hungry for more.

“Fuck,” Tripp rasps, hopping off the bull and hitting another button on the panel. “Let me get you untied. You can’t be comfortable.”

“This is fine,” I croak, just lying there draped around the bull, unconcerned with anything else but the spasms in my pussy and my ass. When I’d agreed to come out to the barn with Tripp, this isn’t what I’d thought would happen, but I’ll be damned if I’m not pleased with it.

He chuckles as he tugs at the straps and they loosen, letting blood finally return back to my limbs as he helps me off the bull and cradles me against him. He carries me over to a large wooden table and seats me on it.

“Let me grab something to clean you up,” he grunts, turning away from me.

I get a good look at the long-stripped scars across his back and the mottled design on the back of his shoulder. I lean back on the table to try and gather my senses, and my hand touches something metal when I don’t pay attention. I look down in confusion, still a little dazed from the way he’d just rocked my world, so it takes me a minute to figure out what it is I’m looking at. Frowning, I pick up the long metal stick, at least a couple of feet in length, and stare at the design on the end of it. The same logo on the gates for Fairview Acres.

My eyes widen in horror as they flick from the metal in my hand to the scar on Tripp’s back.

A scar in the exact shape and size as the brand on the end.

“No,” I rasp, and Tripp turns around, confused. His eyes drop to the metal in my hand and understanding flashes in his eyes. “He didn’t do that to you. Tell me he didn’t,” I beg, my eyes welling before he’s even answered.

Because we both know the answer.

“It’s okay, scribbler,” he murmurs, coming closer to wrap me in his arms. “It doesn’t matter now. It was a long time ago.”

The metal clatters to the floor from my hand. I wrap my arms around the man and cry for the boy who grew up in this hellhole.

The man who carries a legacy on his shoulders. . .

. . .and has it burned permanently into his skin.

Chapter 46

Indie

The snow finally stops the next day and we’re able to finally clear the roads. While Tripp and Beau go tend to the porches and the barn, Ram invites me up onto the fancy enclosed tractor to help him clear the driveway well enough that we can drive down it if we need to. The city of Steele is hard at work clearing their own streets according to the radio and the highways will be next. Life will go back to normal.

Or at least as normal as things can be when you’re sleeping with three men.

No one seems weirded out by the new dynamic. No one acts jealous. I’m tempted to bring it up and ask, but part of me fears my questions will ruin things. Right now, it’s okay for us all to just exist in our little bubble, to just enjoy each other’s company. They don’t seem to mind sharing and I’m enjoying myself just as much. Does there need to be anything more than that?

I’d worried being in the tractor with Ram would make it cold, but because it’s enclosed, it apparently has temperature control, so it’s warm by the time he loads me up into it and we set out scrapping the driveway from our house to his mom’s cottage. She stands on the porch gratefully and waves as we continue ourway along the path. We manage to clear that pathway all the way to the house, and I get a good look at the plantation home again.

“He was evil, wasn’t he?” I ask Ram, staring at the thing that looks more monstrous than cozy.

“I don’t know much about evil,” Ram murmurs, “but the devil for sure lives in that house. If not for Tripp and Beau, I’d have convinced my mama to go somewhere she was appreciated long ago.”

“Why stay now?” I ask. “Why not find her somewhere else?”

“She won’t leave,” he replies. “She cooks for everyone who works here, just like her own mama did. Like Tripp, we have a legacy here, but ours wasn’t so grand.”

“Until you,” I murmur, leaning back to look in his eyes. “You’re paving your own legacy.”

---