Chapter 25 #2
Dalton wiped a hand down his face, smearing the dirt even more, then flashed the camera a cocky grin. “Feelin’ damn good, man. Just needed to make that eight, but we’ll see how it shakes out.”
The interviewer laughed. “And how are you celebrating tonight?”
Dalton winked, tilting his head enough to shake out his sweaty blonde curls. “Well, if you’re a buckle bunny and wanna party, we’ll be at—”
The screen cut mid-sentence, the feed cutting back to the announcers while the crowd roared in laughter.
From the edge of the frame, I could see Dalton chuckling. I rolled my eyes as I pulled the phone so it was closer to me.
The announcers’ voices rose in excitement as they set up the stakes for the next ride.
“Alright, folks, here we go—rider needs an eighty-eight point one to keep himself in the lead and secure that forty-thousand-dollar sponsor bonus tonight. The pressure’s on.”
The camera panned over the arena, cutting to the chutes, and I already knew.
Even before the name flashed across the bottom of the screen, I knew.
Beneath the bright gold helmet and matching gold chaps, there was no mistaking him.
Beau.
My breath caught in my throat as the camera zoomed in on the chutes.
One guy was gripping the back of Beau’s vest, spotting him as another guy I didn’t recognize pulled the bull rope tight.
The contractor leaned over the rails, adjusting the flank strap on the bull.
These were all things I’d learned in the last couple weeks of watching events.
Beau was locked in, his body tense, but controlled, his hand flexing around the braided handle of the rope. His chest rose and fell slowly, the stillness before the storm, the exact moment his mind shut out everything but the eight seconds ahead of him.
I sat up straighter in bed, gripping my phone tighter, my pulse hammering in my ears.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, barely breathing.
I’d seen him ride before—spent weeks binging bull riding footage, so of course I’d run into videos of him. But back then he was just a face on a screen, some name in a caption. A rider in a different world.
Now, I knew he was real. Right next door on his ranch. And watching him this time was… personal.
The second the camera locked onto him, my thumb hovered over my screen, and without thinking, I hit screen record.
For later.
For . . . I don’t know why.
I told myself it was because I wanted to understand the sport better. Because I was working in this world, and watching someone I knew compete at this level would be helpful.
But as I watched him settle onto the bull, shifting his weight, rolling his broad shoulders back as his fingers flexed around the bull rope, I knew that was a lie.
The bull beneath him was massive—thick, dark brown with a streak of white down its side. It stomped at the ground, nostrils flaring, already itching to buck. When the camera panned to his face—what little I could see beneath the golden helmet—my stomach clenched.
He was focused. Still. Like he’d done this a thousand times before and would do it a thousand times again. His thighs gripped tight against the bull’s sides, his free hand lifted, his entire body taut and ready.
The gate flew open, and the bull exploded out of the chute, twisting midair. My breath hitched, and I felt the power, the raw, untamed force of it, even from the other side of the screen.
One.
Beau’s movements were controlled. Every shift of muscle, every flex of his fingers was precise, like he was made for this.
Two.
His thighs clenched tighter, keeping himself centered as the bull twisted left, jerking back hard to the right. The muscles in his forearm flexed against the bull rope, veins straining as he held on.
Three.
I swallowed hard. My throat was dry, and my entire body was suddenly too warm beneath the blankets.
Four.
It was dangerous, completely insane—and so fucking hot.
Five.
I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t ignore the way my thighs pressed together, my skin too sensitive, my chest rising and falling as heat curled low in my stomach.
Six.
He rocked with the movement, grinding, rolling, his entire body working in rhythm with the beast beneath him.
Seven.
I was gripping my phone as I pulled it close to my face. One. More. Second.
Eight.
The buzzer blared, but Beau didn’t jump off—he rode the momentum, letting the bull launch him forward before releasing, landing so fucking effortlessly on his feet.
The bullfighters rushed in to corral the bull away, but I was still staring at him. Watching as he tossed his helmet to the ground, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, his chest rising and falling hard beneath his tight shirt, his mouth curved in that cocky, knowing smirk.
I hated that smirk.
I loved that smirk.
My thighs clenched tighter, but I was glued to the screen.
The announcer’s voice carried over the roaring crowd.
“And your event winner, taking home a forty-thousand-dollar bonus check—Beaudreau ‘Beau’ Banks!”
The camera panned to him as he pulled off his gloves, his face streaked with dirt. His shirt clung to his chest, his mustache was too long, his whole body was disgustingly filthy . . . and somehow, he still looked unreasonably attractive.
The interviewer stepped forward, handing him the oversized check, and Beau held it up for the crowd, flashing that goddamn smile.
“Tell us, how does this win feel?”
Beau tilted his head, rolling his shoulders back, and let out a slow, satisfied exhale. “Feels about right, don’t it? Bull tried to throw me, but I guess I was just a little meaner tonight.”
Cocky. Smug. Infuriatingly Beau.
The crowd went wild, but the interviewer wasn’t done.
“And what about the infamous single-man Beaudreau Banks? Anyone special you’d like to dedicate this win to?”
I choked on my own spit. My arms trembled. My jaw popped open, slack, useless.
They zoomed in on him, his skin glistening under the bright arena lights.
Beau chuckled, shaking his head, his hands gripping the oversized check like he’d done this a hundred times before. “Nah. No one special yet . . .”
I exhaled, relief flooding me. Thank God. See? Not about me. Not even a little bit.
But—
He grabbed the mic. “Just a really good friend back at home. That’s who I’m dedicating this to.”
I screamed. Shrieked like a goddamn insect had landed in my bed and threw my phone across the room.
No. No.
Oh my fucking God.
He wasn’t talking about me.
Absolutely not.
Not possible. Couldn’t be.
I jumped off the bed, pacing, shaking my hands out like I could physically rid myself of the delusion.
“A good friend back at home.”
He meant Harleigh. He had to mean Harleigh.
Or Roger. Maybe even Kline!
Or—oh my God—maybe some other girl from back home I didn’t even know about.
My breath came in short, frantic bursts. I needed facts. Logic. Rational thinking.
Because there was zero chance he was talking about me.
. . . Right?
“Fuck my life,” I groaned, grabbing my phone and slamming it into Do Not Disturb. I didn’t want to see whatever text Harleigh was inevitably going to send.
I flopped back onto the bed, exhaling sharply, staring at the ceiling for a moment before my thumb hovered over my screen.
I shouldn’t.
But I did.
I hesitated only a second before pressing Play again.
Beau filled the screen—filthy, drenched in sweat, his jaw tight as he strapped onto the bull again for a replay.
My stomach clenched.
Why did he look so good? Why did this look so thrilling, so dangerous, so unlike anything I’d ever been a part of?
My entire life, I’d been told I wasn’t enough. Not strong enough. Not tough enough. Not woman enough.
Watching the way he commanded control over something that should’ve been uncontrollable . . .
Heat coiled low in my stomach, my breath hitching as my fingers drifted under the waistband of my cotton sleep shorts, tugging my thong aside.
“My friend back at home,” I murmured, voice dripping with sarcasm as my fingers slipped inside, my body reacting before my mind could stop it.
I put the video on repeat so I could continue to watch the way Beau took control over that bull, while my fingers dipped into my aching, wet pussy.
A man who rides a bull like that knows how to fuck.
I knew this from firsthand experience, yet it wasn’t enough to quench the thirst I had.
I squeezed my thighs together as my fingers found my clit and circled slowly. Beau’s voice growled through my mind, thick, dripping with heat.
“You gonna be good for me, baby? Or do I gotta teach you how to take my cock?”
A sharp breath left my lips as I pressed down harder, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles.
The memory of that night in the hotel slammed into me. The way he’d owned me that night—his palm firm against my throat as he spread me open, his spit dripping onto my tongue before he’d kissed me so fucking deep it made my head spin.
“That’s it. Take it. You’re mine tonight.”
I gasped, dipping my fingers lower, sliding through the slickness pooling between my thighs.
I had been. His. That night, in that hotel room, under his touch, I had belonged to him. The burn of his cock stretching me open, the way his hips moved brutally slow, teasing, taunting, making me whimper, making me beg—
“You want it, baby? Say it. Tell me how bad you wanna be fucked.”
I moaned, my back arching off the mattress as I thrust my fingers inside me, my free hand gripping the sheets.
“That’s what I like to hear.”
My fingers worked faster, chasing that same sensation, that same blissful ruin he had given me.
The way he had praised me, ruined me, fucked me senseless—it had been like nothing else.
“You feel that, baby? Feel how wet you are for me?”
The video of him riding burned into my mind, blending with the memory of him grinding against me, his cock buried deep inside.
I spread my legs wider, circling my clit faster, panting now, drowning in the mix of reality and the past.
“That’s right. Fucking take it. Such a good girl when you wanna be.”
I whimpered, my toes curling, my body tightening, chasing the peak.
I needed it.
I needed him.
“Come for me, baby. Let me hear it.”
And fuck—
I did.
The tension snapped. My legs shook as my body clenched around my fingers. I gasped his name into the empty room.
“Told you, baby. You can run, but you’ll never stop thinking about me.”
My breath hitched.
I stared at the ceiling, reality sinking back in, my body still humming, still hot.
Fuck my life.