Chapter 9 - Teagan
I hear the tearing of the condom and then the slight burn as he pushes inside of me with a desperate quickness. The sudden feeling of being empty to completely full is painful for only a moment as he allows me to sit and adjust to his wide width before he begins to move.
“Fuck, you’re tight. Are you alright?”
I nod. “I’m okay.”
“Shit,” he swears again, “Are you clenching?”
“No,” I whisper as he lets out another groan.
“I can’t go slow. It’s been too long, and you feel too good. Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nod my head, my dark brown hair cascading like a waterfall over my shoulders and down in front of my face.
And then he moves. Deliberately pulling himself completely out and then slamming all the way back inside until he’s buried to the hilt.
I let him take over, pounding into me as we find our rhythm of him pressing in and me pushing back, meeting each of his thrusts with as much strength as I can.
His hands reach around, squeezing at my breasts through my tank top as he tweaks my nipples and kneads them in his large hands.
“I wish you were naked right now," he groans from behind me, and I smile.
A sentence of pleasure. Probably one that he normally wouldn't allow himself to say. But when something feels this good, I'm guessing even Wilder can't hold it in.
My gaze drifts upward through a tiny crack in the wooden stall, landing on a horse in the next stall over.
She’s bent low, munching contentedly on a pile of hay, her tail swishing lazily in rhythm with her movements oblivious to what’s happening next to her.
The peacefulness of the scene makes me smile, a serene contrast to the way Wilder drives into me with unrelenting force, over and over, his hands gripping my hips like I might float away if he lets go.
There’s something almost poetic about this moment—being surrounded by nature, by these powerful yet gentle animals that I used to care for, while being brought to the edge of oblivion.
The mingling sounds of our bodies moving together—skin slapping skin, breathes panting, deep groans—fill the stall and ripple out into the quiet barn.
It feels raw, untamed, and primal in a way that causes my arousal to peak.
Wilder’s hand drifts to my clit where he rubs firm circles while his other holds my hip in place. I can feel every callous, ever groove of his palms as he works me toward the edge.
I’ve never had sex in a barn before—hell, I’ve only been with three other guys, and none of those encounters even came close to this.
It’s not just the setting or the heat of the moment; it’s the way he moves, like he’s claiming every piece of me while still leaving room for me to breathe.
He’s so damn passionate, even if he’s shyer than the men I usually go for.
But this all feels different. Wilder feels different.
And as my body tightens, clenches, and shakes beneath his, I can’t help but think this might be one of those rare, unforgettable sexual moments that I’ll replay in my mind for years to come.
“Fuck, that feels so good,” I groan. “I’m close.”
“Take my cock. I want to feel you squeeze me tight but don’t let any of the other workers hear us when you come,” he whispers as he continues to take me in all of the ways I’ve never been taken before.
I let out a muffled moan as I try to hold back at the same time as he groans, deep and throaty from within his chest. “If someone walks in on this and sees the view that I’m looking at right now, I might just have to stop and fight them.”
I groan, “Don’t stop. Please don’t ever stop,” I cry as he continues to thrust into me, his palm squeezing one of my butt cheeks so hard I know I’m going to have a mark.
I arch my back, pushing against him, offering him everything I’ve got as he shifts, finding a deeper angle that has me seeing stars.
He doesn’t let up, his hips driving into me relentlessly, the sound of skin meeting skin mixing with the low hum of the barn’s large ceiling fan.
The air is thick with the scent of hay, sweat, and pure, unfiltered lust.
Wilder’s hand suddenly slides around my waist, his rough palm trailing down my stomach until he finds the swollen bundle of nerves between my thighs. The instant his fingers begin to rub firmly, circles slow and deliberate, it’s like free-falling into the abyss.
I grip the back of the wooden chair I’m holding for support, my knuckles whitening as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak that I can’t hold off.
My release slams into me like a lightning strike, leaving me trembling as I toss my head back, a strangled gasp slipping through my lips despite my effort to stay quiet.
My body clamps down on him, my insides squeezing so hard it almost feels like I’m trying to pull him deeper, as if that’s even possible.
The intensity forces me forward, my chest pressing against the cool wooden slats of the chair as my legs shake beneath me. Wilder lets out a low growl, his movements faltering as he pumps into me two more times. His breathing stills, and then I feel him freeze, his cock going rigid inside of me.
The rhythmic pulses of his release send shockwaves through me, the condom catching every hot, potent surge as he fills it completely.
We’re both panting now, struggling to come down from the high as the barn falls silent save for the hum of the fan and the distant rustle of the horses shifting in their stalls.
My wrists tremble as I lean over the chair, my head bowing forward, trying to catch my breath.
Each inhale feels sharp, like I’ve been running for miles, the world still spinning in the aftermath.
Wilder doesn’t move right away. His hands slide up my sides, steadying me, his touch unexpectedly tender for someone who just wrecked me so thoroughly like he’s checking to be sure he didn’t injure me.
“Hell, Rosie,” he murmurs, his voice low and raspy. I can’t even look back at him yet—I’m too dazed, my heart still racing like it might burst out of my chest.
Wilder Cameron.
Wilder-Sex Cameron is what he should be called because that? That might just be the wildest, most exhilarating thing I’ve ever experienced.
Still gripping the chair for stability, I let out a shaky laugh, my body tingling all over. “I’m not sure I can stand upright right now.” I mumble, my voice hoarse.
Wilder’s chuckle is smug, deep, and utterly infuriating in the best way. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he says, pulling back slowly, carefully, as if he knows I need a moment to recover.
It’s not a bad thing. Not even close. And I have a feeling Wilder knows it too.