Chapter 12
Four Months Later
"Hey," Willow's hushed voice floats through the air.
I spin, and a grin takes over my face. "Sugar, how'd you get back here?"
She glances behind her and then shuts the dressing room door. She leans against the wood, crossing one bare leg over the other and pointing her fringy, white cowboy boot to the side. She bats her lashes at me. "I wanted to say good luck."
My cock strains against my zipper. I tease, "Are you trying to make me lose my concentration coming in here wearing those shorts?"
She smirks, slowly grazes her fingers over the edge of the cut-off denim, and innocently asks, "These old things?"
I grunt and close the distance between us. I lean over her, stopping an inch from her lips, and warn, "Be careful, sugar. I might have to skip this event and pretend you're the bull I need to ride."
She breathlessly taunts, "Don't tease me, Wyatt."
I clench my jaw, debating about what to do with her.
She takes her hand and slowly inches it up my chest, one finger at a time. She gets to my neck and stops, grazing her fingertips over my Adam's apple.
I groan, then admit, "This isn't helping my dilemma."
"What's the problem?" She tilts her head.
I slide my hand behind her head, grip her hair, and tug.
She gasps, her eyes blazing with a fire I never want to extinguish.
I close the distance between our bodies and press my cock against her stomach, murmuring, "You know the rules."
She gives me another sly look, then slips her hands around my neck, gliding her thumbs behind my ears.
Tingles race down my spine. The little room left in my pants disappears, and I press closer, reminding her, "This is my first professional shot." I release her hair.
She smiles, her expression full of pride and excitement. "I know. I came to give you a good luck kiss."
My heart thumps harder against my rib cage. I accuse, "You're getting me all riled up, sweet thang."
She smirks again, then tilts her head to the side to get under the rim of my hat. Her lips barely graze mine, and she chirps, "Okay. Good luck." She ducks under my arm and reaches for the door.
I move over and pin her against the door so her back is against my chest.
Another tiny gasp escapes from her lips.
I murmur in her ear, "I think you can do better than that."
She glances at me over her shoulder, playing innocent, and asks, "But I know the rules. We wouldn't want to break them."
I grunt and slide my hand around her waist, then drop it between her thighs. Her back arches against me, and I skim two fingers under her denim and over her silk panties. "Who said we're breaking them?"
Pink flushes her cheeks. She licks her lips and states, "Aren't you right now?"
"Tell me the rule," I demand, pressing against her clit.
She murmurs, "No sex or messing around before you compete."
I circle my finger and kiss her neck. "Why?"
Her panties dampen. She closes her eyes and breathlessly answers, "You need all your focus to stay on the bull."
I increase my speed, asking, "Then why are you in here making my cock ache like a stallion left too long in the corral?"
"Ummm… I… oh, good lord," she whispers, her eyelids fluttering.
"What did you want, sugar? Me to think about you sitting in the stands with your pussy all slick and ready for me?" I slip my fingers under her panties and glide one inside her, repositioning my thumb on her clit.
She takes a shaky breath, and her hot exhale hits my chin.
"Answer me," I order. "Is that what you wanted?"
"I… I… I…" she whimpers.
I kiss her but don't let her put her tongue in my mouth. "That's what you wanted, didn't you, sugar?" I kiss her chin.
"Yes." She barely gets the word out, then whisper-shouts, "Wyatt!" Her eyes roll, and her body breaks against mine. But I know my girl. This is the appetizer before her real high comes.
I put my free hand over her mouth as I continue playing with her pussy, mesmerized as I always am whenever I make her come. I've memorized her different expressions, but they never grow old.
She grabs my thigh and digs her nails into my chaps, her muffled sounds echoing around us.
I growl, "That's it, sugar. You sit in the stands nice and wet for me. When I finish showing everyone in this town who the new champion is, I'm going to tear up your pussy until you can't walk tomorrow."
Another incoherent noise vibrates against my hand, and her knees give out, but I've got her pinned between the door and my body. She trembles harder against me, and her eyes close. She's right where I want her, about to spiral out of control.
I tear my hand out of her shorts.
Her eyes fly open, and desperation fills them.
"Naughty girls don't get rewarded," I taunt, sticking my fingers in my mouth to lick off her taste, which only tortures my cock more.
She stares at me, taking deep, hitching breaths.
I take my fingers out of my mouth, then spin her around to face me. I order, "Now, give me a proper good luck kiss."
Her lips curve into a sultry smile. She reaches for my cheeks, slides her tongue against mine, and sets my blood boiling for several minutes.
I force myself to retreat. "You better get out of here before we get caught."
"Okay. Good luck," she offers.
I puff out my chest. "The bull needs the luck, sugar, not me."
She grins, gives me one last chaste kiss, then rises on her tiptoes. Her breath teases my ear as she whispers, "Can't wait to celebrate tonight." Then she licks my earlobe.
A buzzer goes off. I glance at the digital clock on the wall, then groan. I squeeze her ass, mumbling, "Me either. Now, get out of here."
She retreats, pinning her dazzling smile on me, then steps aside.
I inch the door open, then stick my head out to make sure no one is around. I nod for her to go, and she disappears.
I shut the door and then take a glance at myself in the mirror, the adrenaline becoming more intense than ever before. I stare at my reflection.
Devil's Backbone is a goner.
I'm going to dominate him.
Eight seconds.
The air in my lungs turns stale. My nerves vibrate. I take a final look and then head for the door. I step outside the dressing room, and see Willow exit into the arena.
"There you are!" Coach Jax booms.
I spin toward him. "Had to get ready."
"Cutting it close," he scolds.
I ignore him and move toward the rider's exit. "It's all good."
"Wyatt," he calls out.
I freeze and turn back. "Yeah?"
He taps his head. "Use it today."
"I am. I will."
"Whatever you have going on in there, clear it out," he advises.
Panic hits me. Did he see Willow?
"I'm clear," I insist.
He puts his hands on my shoulders. "Forget this is your first professional ride. It's you, Devil's Backbone, and eight seconds. Nothing else matters. Understand?"
I let out a breath laced with relief. He didn't see anything. I nod. "Don't worry. I'm good."
"You've prepared for this your entire life. But don't get cocky," he orders.
I shake my head. "I won't."
He studies me a moment, then releases me and slaps my back. "Good. Go do your thing."
I nod and walk to the exit. I open the door, and the music from the arena surrounds me. I take it all in, with another shot of adrenaline kicking in.
I'm finally here.
The nervous anxiety builds in my stomach. I survey the stands, find the Cartwrights, and try not to keep my eyes locked on Willow's for too long.
It's not time for that, I reprimand myself, then refocus on why I'm here.
Bucky and Matrix are waiting for me. The rodeo clowns and pickup men are on their horses, ready to help protect me when I jump off the bull.
Devil's Backbone snorts in the chute, unhappy he's caged in and unable to escape. But he isn't just a bull. He's a legend stitched together from fury and muscle and a storm waiting to damage everything in its path.
His thick shoulders twitch with every breath. His flanks coil tight like a spring begging to snap. A low, guttural snort pushes out of him, then again, louder, with steam curling from his nostrils.
I step closer to the gate, meeting his wild, rolling white glare.
He slams his horns against the steel, and it isn't because he's scared.
He's pissed.
Devil's Backbone was never meant to be caged and contained. His hatred is hotter than Hell, and he's ready to punish me for even thinking I can tame him, much less dare to try.
A horn blows, and the clock turns to zero.
"Time to ride," Bucky booms, then spits tobacco on the ground.
"Hold tight with your thighs," Matrix reminds me.
I nod, slide my glove onto my hand, and step up. My heart pounds so hard, it could burst through my chest cavity. I sling my leg over the angry bull, and he snorts several times.
"Eight seconds. You got this," Bucky declares.
A drop of sweat drips down my chin. I grip the braided rope and push my hat tighter on my head. My knuckles lock, and all 800 pounds of Devil's Backbone shifts, full of pure muscle and his bad mood.
I don't blink. That would break my focus. There's only my breathing, the bull, and the brutal silence right before all hell breaks loose. It's nerve-racking but one of my favorite feelings.
"Ready?" Matrix asks.
Eight seconds.
"Cut him loose!" I order, squeezing my thighs against the beast.
The gate swings open, and Devil's Backbone's fuse is already lit. He charges out of the chute, bucking and circling, angry with the need for revenge.
One Texan.
Two Texan.
Devil's Backbone thrusts his hips high into the air.
I almost go flying but catch myself, squeezing my thighs tighter.
Three Texan.
Four Texan.
Five Texan.
The bull tries to toss me again, jerking toward the right.
I hang on, bouncing up in the air, and I lose my hat. The hot air hits my sweat-soaked hair, but I stay on the beast.
Six Texan.
He thrusts harder, trying to toss me off. I keep my eyes on his horns.
Seven Texan.
Eight Texan.
The horn blows, and the cheers of the crowd fill the arena.
I did it!
The rodeo clowns barrel at me.