From the Ashes (Bring The Heat #3)

1. Phoenix

Phoenix

O ur eyes meet for the fifth or sixth time over the flames of a bonfire so big, if either of us were sitting, we wouldn’t be able to see the other.

He’s been stealing glances at me for the last hour.

Every time it happens, my heart rate ticks a little faster, and I’m unsure if it’s because I want to punch him or fuck him.

Probably both .

Losing to him tonight means I have to win tomorrow in order to hold on to the World Champion title in bareback bronc riding for the third year in a row…

which was supposed to be easy until Walker-fucking-DeVille entered the circuit.

Nonetheless, I’m still the reigning champion even after losing to the rookie tonight.

Two perks of having that title are hanging off my left arm and have been trying their best to get me to leave the celebration in favor of what they promise to be an unforgettable night . But thanks to the pair of dark eyes that keep finding mine through the flames, it already is.

I don’t mind a roll in the hay with a buckle bunny every now and then, but the first time Walker snagged my gaze, I knew what I wanted tonight.

The first problem, however, is that his snarl matches mine, and I’m pretty sure it’s because he only wants to fight me.

But if he’s a good fighter, it could be as good as fucking him, I remind myself.

The bigger problem is I’m careful to keep my bisexuality under wraps where my job is concerned, and I’d be handing a hell of a lot of ammunition to my biggest rival. Especially because the chances that he swings the same way I do, are slim to none.

Of course, the professional rodeo circuit wouldn’t kick me out or tell me I can’t compete, but I’d be a fool to think it wouldn’t taint my career.

Sure, I could switch to the International Gay Rodeo Association (IGRA).

They welcome riders with any and every orientation, but I simply don’t want to.

My skills as a bronc rider have absolutely nothing to do with who I like to fuck.

And while I appreciate the inclusiveness of the IGRA and what they stand for, as a competitor, I want the focus to be on my ride, not my sexual preferences.

I don’t want to enter the ring as a bisexual cowboy. I just want to be the best cowboy .

Normally, I wouldn’t even entertain the idea of hooking up with a guy on the road.

Quarters are close in the camper my team travels in, and privacy is non-existent.

I’ve been caught with my pants down more than once, but when it’s with a busty brunette whose tits are bouncing in the moonlight, the guy I share a bunk with just laughs and cracks open another beer before heading back out.

If he were to walk in on me going to town on a guy?

Well, that might make traveling, showering, and sleeping next to each other six months out of the year a little awkward, even though my bunkmate is definitely not my type.

But the more I stare through the glow of those flames, the more I’ m certain Walker could be.

I lean over to hear what the girls are saying, realizing I’ve been mentally absent from their conversation for too long.

It’s a couple minutes before I can disengage again, and when I look back across the flames, Walker isn’t there.

I scan the area for his lean frame and find him with his back to me, walking toward the dark rows of vehicles. I can just make out the sweat-slicked curls sticking out from underneath his cowboy hat as he retreats, and they decide my next move for me.

Untangling my arm from Mindy? Mandy? Morgan?

and her friend, I follow Walker, not yet ready to let these butterflies off the hook.

He’s been alone all night, dismissing the advances of the numerous women trying to flirt with him.

With his hat low and his head down, his fuck off vibes are strong despite his win.

Like I said, just my type.

It’s probably the bronc rider in me, but I love a challenge, especially when it comes to taming a brooding beast.

I fall into step beside him and casually ask, “Where’re you off to so early?

Party’s barely gotten started.” That’s a lie, of course.

That fire’s been going for at least two hours, but cowboys and cowgirls party hard, and it’ll be burning for another four or five.

“I thought you’d at least come say hi. Maybe let me congratulate you on your win,” I taunt, smirking to myself about how I’d like to congratulate him.

He turns at the sound of my voice, and his eyes go wide as his lips part in shock.

Fucking perfect lips.

Goddamn , I’ve never seen lips like that on a guy, but now that I have, I know with certainty, I’ll picture them for a long time to come when my hand’s wrapped around my dick.

Walker’s all lean muscle and about an inch shorter than me, but he’s fucking beautiful. The fading firelight makes the smattering of freckles pop on his clean-shaven cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

More than just having “gaydar”—which is a ridiculous term by the way—I know bi/gay guys flirt just like straight guys.

The signs are all the same. Glances, smiles, light touches, excuses to interact.

If they’re reciprocated, it means the other party is interested, just like flirting with a woman.

So, I shoot my shot because I’m buzzing heavily, and this moody fucker doesn’t seem like the type to blab his business everywhere.

He raises his beer to those full, soft lips and I see him try to hide his wince.

Can’t fault him there; Busch Light isn’t for everybody, and I know for a fact he only turned eighteen recently.

He had to get special permission to enter the adult circuit.

Since he’ll be eighteen during the championship rodeo, they approved it, pissing me off and making my season a lot more challenging.

Walker stares at the can for a second before raising it again and finishes it in three swallows. His features twist in disgust the entire time.

If I were a lesser man, I might be concerned his reaction is because of me and not the beer, but thank God I’m gifted in the confidence category. So, I just stand my ground and wait him out.

“Helluva ride tonight,” he finally says. Although, it sounds like his words come out against his will. “Looks like we both have our work cut out for us tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Riding is just one of my many talents,” I flirt and give him a wink. When he stays silent, I press on. “I’ve got something better in my truck…if you’re interested,” I tell him, nodding toward his beer can.

It’s an invitation for more than just liquor, and he knows it.

But just like offering to buy your potential partner for the night a drink at the bar, it’s the signal he’s hopefully looking for in this coy game we’re playing.

His gaze was heated across that bonfire…

and my ego tells me it wasn’t due to the flames.

Walker swallows hard. His clenched jaw and flared nostrils tell me he’s either about to punch me in the face or drop to his knees and suck my dick right here in this dirt field.

After the longest second of my life—which is saying something since I ride bucking horses for a living—he nods and follows me to my truck.

Thank fuck. We can go back to being enemies in the morning, but tonight, I want to make him my own personal bucking beast.

We walk back two more rows, gaining some much-needed distance between us and the party goers.

I unlock the cab and pull the bottle of whiskey, and a few other smaller items, from the glove box.

Not bothering with cups, I take a swig from the bottle before passing it to him and pocket the items I hope we’ll need soon.

He looks at the bottle like it personally offended him before committing to a decision and throwing back a healthy swallow. He definitely can’t hide his wince this time, but before I can take the bottle from him, he downs a second gulp, bigger than the first, and starts coughing immediately.

“Not a big drinker then?” I smirk.

After another cough, he wipes his mouth.

“Not really.” Something flashes in his eyes and whatever hesitation he had a few minutes ago is replaced by a solid resolve to see where this thing between us goes.

He takes a bold step closer so that when he hands the bottle to me, pressing it into my stomach, his fingers graze my abs through my shirt.

“Or maybe I’m just thirsty for something else. ”

Bingo.

This man is like my own fucking kryptonite because there is nothing I love more than a dirty talker in a cowboy hat.

Hooking my index fingers through his belt loops, I yank him closer still, feeling brave thanks to the cheers and laughter coming from the bonfire four hundred yards away.

Up close, I can see the youth in his features.

I’m only twenty, but I look a lot older. Hell, I feel a lot older. This sport will do that to a person.

“You’ve done this before, right?” I ask him, already fighting the urge to reach out and touch him.

I know I could make it good for him, hell I am going to make it good for him, but I’m not interested in taking someone’s virginity.

Way too much pressure.

The first time is a big deal. A lot of people remember it forever, and despite how I feel about Walker in the arena, no one deserves for their first time to be a quick, rough fuck between enemies and hidden like a dirty little secret their partner is ashamed of.

I’m surprisingly sentimental over shit like that.

Probably because my first-time was a clusterfuck of limbs and expectations. I had sex with a guy before I had sex with a girl, and the dude did not care that I’d never taken a dick before. We were both seventeen, but he’d already been having sex for a while.

He finished. I didn’t. And as soon as he was done, he said thanks, I feel a lot better.

Then he zipped his pants and went upstairs in search of more cheese puffs while leaving me on the fucking floor of the bathroom in his parents’ basement, wondering if that’s really how that was supposed to go.

When I saw him at school the next day, he didn’t even acknowledge my presence .

The feeling of being used and abandoned stuck around for a long time after that.

Returning to the present, I see Walker sneering at me, and I smile at the snarl on his face. “I’m not a virgin,” he replies, obviously offended I would ask.

“Just covering my bases,” I explain with a wink and a grin.

Walker continues staring at me with a decent amount of loathing in his eyes.

Okay, a hate fuck then. I’m down.

I actually prefer rough sex to gentle caresses and shit. It’s why I tend to enjoy myself more with male partners than female ones.

“ We don’t tell anyone about this, understood?

” I add. “I don’t need my career being overshadowed by my sex life,” I growl, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him to me, thankful I finally have a reason to touch him as the hum of the high-voltage connection between us settles into my palm.

“And you think I do?” he responds against my lips with fire in his words. “I’ve got just as many eyes on me this season as you…probably more.”

The barb stings, but only because he’s right. Everyone’s watching him, eager to see how the young rookie holds up against the big boys.

“No,” I admit. “I know you don’t. And just for the record, I’m going to kick your ever-loving ass tomorrow.” My smirk is unmistakable right before my lips crash down on his.

“You couldn’t manage it today,” he pants between kisses as I assault his mouth. “What makes you think tomorrow will be any different?”

I pull away from him, and I know the biggest grin is spreading across my face because this is going to be oh so fun . “Cocky little shit, aren’t you? ”

He shrugs. “Nothing really little about me.”

“That’s yet to be determined.” I chuckle, but as soon as he reaches forward, cupping me through my Wranglers, I’m willing to let the issue go.

“We gonna waste time trading insults or would you rather give me what I came over here for?”

Fuck me sideways and halfway to Sunday.

Just to be sure we’re on the same page, I place my hand on his shoulder and lean in so my lips are against his ear. “And what exactly did you come over here for?”

The hand over my cock squeezes and blood rushes to fill my dick so fast, I sway on my feet, gravel filling my voice.

Giving him a wicked smile, I nod. “Not here, though.”

We’re still leaning against the passenger side of my truck in a row full of other trucks and party goers who could wander down this row at any time, seeking their own liquor to add to the mix. Including my teammate.

“There’s a barn where they store the tractors and maintenance equipment down by the river,” Walker offers.

I quirk a brow. “A literal roll in the hay, huh, cowboy?”

He drops his hand, tired of my sarcasm, and crowds closer until he has me pressed against the truck. In this position, we’re eye to eye.

“You always talk this much?” He grips my biceps and I let out a groan. I can tell he wants to be rough and fuck , I want to let him. The way he’s holding back has my cock twitching in my skin-tight jeans. I’ve been on the road forever, and I’ve missed the feel of a man.

“Yeah,” I admit. “But it’s a lot harder for me to talk when my mouth is full. So, by all means, shut me up.”

At the thought of me wrapping my lips around him, he yanks me away from the truck and pulls me behind him, weaving between the vehicles, careful to stay out of sight.

I still feel a little off balance because he’s the biggest threat to my title, but he’s also hot as hell, willing, and he has just as much on the line as I do, which makes me trust him to keep his mouth shut.

Even through the haze of the alcohol, I feel his desperation for this. For me.

So, I let him lead me into the darkness.