Beau Unguarded
BEAU
Unguarded
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
"I won't give up on you so darling / don't give up on me / I can't promise nothing but the rest of me / I'll fight for you I'll fight for us a fight to never leave"
– Bailey Zimmerman
***
Heard the water before I saw her.
The soft hiss of the shower across the hall, the groan of old pipes, the familiar rattle in the wall above my headboard. I’d been flat on my back for what felt like hours, staring at the ceiling and replaying my mother’s phone call on a loop.
A girl you barely know.
Three months.
Come home before you ruin your life—and hers.
She hadn’t raised her voice. She didn’t have to. That quiet, brittle desperation in her tone did more damage than any screaming match with my father ever had. And the worst part was the way some of it landed. Wormed in. What if she’s right? What if you’re dragging Winnie into this mess with you?
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Winnie in the barn earlier—pale, hollow-eyed, wrapped around Bandit’s neck like he was the only solid thing left in her world. Reporters on the drive. Pops with a shotgun. A rooster going feral to protect her because I hadn’t.
She was probably in there now, scrubbing at the feeling of being watched, while I lay here marinating in guilt.
Screw it.
I shoved the covers back and swung my legs out of bed, padding across the hallway in nothing but gray sweatpants hanging low on my hips. I had a drawer full of the damn things. They were comfortable, easy to pull on, and yeah, they framed my dick like they’d been designed by a pervert. Guilty.
The bathroom door was cracked. Steam curled out into the dark hall, warm and heavy, carrying lavender and humidity.
I slipped inside and clicked the lock.
That tiny sound sent a spark straight down my spine.
The curtain was drawn, a thin fogged plastic that turned Winnie into a moving shadow—long lines, the curve of her waist, head tipped back under the spray. She looked like some kind of water nymph someone had dropped into my shitty mortal life by mistake.
I should have said her name. Knocked. Something.
Instead, she dragged the curtain back a little to grab the soap—and froze.
Water beaded on her skin, sliding over the swell of her breasts, disappearing between her thighs. Her curls were slicked back, eyes huge when they collided with mine.
She sucked in a breath, a scream building.
I moved on instinct, closing the distance in two steps. My hand covered her mouth, my other palm flattening against her bare, wet back, pinning her gently but firmly to the cool tile.
“Hey,” I breathed by her ear, voice rough. “It’s me. It’s just me, baby. You’re okay.”
Her body was coiled tight against mine, heart slamming. My sweatpants were immediately soaked where her skin met mine, and my cock took one look at the situation and went from “annoyed” to “urgent.”
Recognition flickered in her eyes. Then fury.
She yanked my hand away and smacked my shoulder, hard enough to sting. “Beau Sterling, are you out of your goddamn mind?” she hissed. She looked like a wet, furious cat and I wanted to drop to my knees and worship. “I almost knee-capped you. I thought you were an axe murderer.”
“An axe murderer with a really impressive dick,” I said before my brain could stop my mouth.
She narrowed her eyes. “An axe murderer with a death wish. Pops hears you in here, he’s coming through that door armed, and then I’ve gotta explain why there’s a dead rich boy on my bathmat with his dick out.”
I huffed a laugh, stepping closer until our chests brushed, her wet nipples dragging across my skin like sparks. “Honestly? Worth the risk. You were in here naked without me. That offends me on a spiritual level.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m devoted.” I dipped my head, running my nose along her damp throat, breathing her in.
Clean and warm and Winnie, underneath the soap.
I gave the tendon there a light bite and she shivered, hands flying to my shoulders instead of pushing me away.
“You want company? I can just hold you. Let you relax.”
Some of the heat left her face then, replaced by something softer, more fragile. Up close, the exhaustion was obvious—bruised circles under her eyes, the kind of tension in her jaw that didn’t come from just being turned on.
“Just a shower?” she asked quietly.
“Just a shower,” I lied automatically, then let some honesty slip in. “Unless you decide you want more.”
Color crawled up her neck. She chewed her bottom lip, eyes flicking briefly down to where my sweatpants were doing an increasingly poor job of hiding how badly I wanted her.
“Okay,” she said.
The word went through me like a live wire.
I stripped the sweats off in one motion and kicked them away. Her gaze dropped, lingering on my chest, my stomach, then lower—on the hard, heavy length of my cock jutting up between us, already flushed and slick at the tip.
“Jesus, Beau,” she muttered. “You’re always ready.”
“Only for you.” I stepped into the spray with her, hot water hitting my shoulders as I hauled her gently against me.
Her wet body slid against mine, every point of contact an overload. But I forced myself to slow down. To hold her instead of just grinding her into the wall like my dick was begging me to.
We stood there for a long minute, just breathing. Her cheek against my chest, my arms wrapped around her, the sound of the water a curtain between us and the rest of the world.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured into her hair. “Right here. I’ve got you.”
“I know,” she whispered, fingers tightening at my back.
After a while, I reached for the shampoo. “Turn around,” I said softly.
She did, water streaming down her back. I squeezed lavender into my palms and worked it into her hair, slow and careful, massaging her scalp with my thumbs. Muscles I hadn’t even realized were clenched started to ease under my hands.
She let out a low sound, almost a moan. It shot straight to my balls.
“That feel okay?” I asked, kissing the spot where her neck met her shoulder.
“Feels…” she sighed, leaning back into me, her ass pressing against my hips, “dangerously good.”
I rinsed her hair, then grabbed the body wash. I took my time, lathering my hands and smoothing over her shoulders, arms, the dip of her waist. I dropped into a crouch to wash her thighs and calves, my thumbs tracing the strong lines of muscle I’d watched work a hundred times in the arena.
By the time I stood again, she’d turned to face me.
Her eyes were dark, pupils wide, something more than gratitude simmering there. She plucked the soap from my hand.
“My turn,” she said.
Her palms slid over my chest, thumbs flicking my nipples until they hardened, then down my stomach. When she wrapped her hand around my cock, slow and sure, I nearly forgot how to stand upright.
“Fuck,” I groaned, head thunking lightly against the tile. “Win…”
“Talk to me,” she said, voice steady even as her hand stroked from base to tip, twisting just enough to make my breath catch. “You’ve been in your head all night. Even when you’re right here, you’re somewhere else.”
I dragged my gaze back to her face. Steam blurred the edges of everything, but her eyes were sharp.
“My mom called,” I said, words scraping out. “She… unloaded. About you. About me. About how I’m going to wreck your life if I stay here. How this is some phase. How she ‘won’t watch me throw everything away for a girl I met three months ago.’”
Winnie’s hand slowed but didn’t stop. “And what do you think?” she asked carefully. “Do you think she’s right?”
“No.” The answer flew out of me, fierce and immediate.
“I think she’s scared. I think she’s never seen me want something that wasn’t on their approved list, and it freaks her out.
But I also…” I swallowed. “Winnie, I brought this shit here. The articles. The cameras. Your name coming out of strangers’ mouths. I hate that for you.”
She let go of my cock and pressed both hands flat to my chest. I missed her touch instantly, but the look on her face pinned me in place.
“You also brought your tired ass to my barn at five in the morning to muck stalls,” she said. “You brought someone who tells Pops dumb city jokes until he actually laughs. You brought someone who looks at me like I’m not a mistake.”
Her voice wobbled at the end. It damn near broke me.
“Do you want to leave?” she asked quietly.
“No.” It wasn’t just a word. It was a vow. “God, no. I want to stay here. With you. With this.” I gestured weakly around us. “I just… don’t know how to not be scared I’m going to fuck it up.”
She exhaled, a shaky sound. “Then don’t decide my feelings for me,” she said. “You don’t get to. If you have to go because of money or contracts or whatever, fine—life’s messy. But you tell me. You don’t sneak out. You don’t ghost. You don’t let me find out from a goddamn headline.”
The thought of her hearing from anyone but me made my stomach turn.
“I won’t,” I said, fingers coming up to frame her face. “I swear it. If I have to go, you’ll hear it from me first. No disappearing act. I’m not doing that to you.”
Some of the tightness in her shoulders eased. “Okay,” she whispered.
“Hey,” I added, softer. “I’m not planning on going anywhere, Winnie.”
Something in her eyes melted. She surged up onto her toes and kissed me.
It started slow. Thank you, I’m scared, I want you. Then her mouth opened under mine and everything got louder. Hotter.
I gripped her hips and walked her backward until her back hit the tile. She hooked her legs around my waist like it was the easiest decision she’d ever made. The slide of her slick body against mine was torture.
I reached between us, lined myself up, and pushed in.
Her head thumped back, a sharp cry tearing from her throat. “Oh, fuck—Beau—”
Her heat wrapped around me, tight and wet and so perfect my vision went white at the edges.
“Jesus,” I bit out, forehead dropping to hers as I fought for control. “You feel… insane.”
I drove into her slowly at first, savoring every inch, then harder when she rocked down to meet me, chasing the friction. Each thrust dragged a helpless sound from her throat, her nails digging into my shoulders, her body clenching around me like she never wanted to let me go.
The water pounded against my back, steam thick as I thrust up into her, angling my hips so each stroke rubbed right where she needed it. Her breaths turned into little broken gasps, her thighs trembling around my waist.
“Beau,” she panted, eyes squeezed shut, “don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“Not planning on it,” I rasped, mouth finding the wet skin of her neck, her collarbone, the soft underside of her jaw. I sucked a mark just where I knew she could hide it under her shirt, the possessive part of me purring at the sight.
Her hands scrambled at my back, one arm wrapping around my shoulders like she needed an anchor. I shifted, grinding my pelvis against her with each thrust, and that did it—her whole body went tight as a bowstring.
“Right there, right there, oh my god—” She broke, muscles clenching around me, a strangled cry ripping free as she came hard, squeezing my cock in pulsing waves.
I followed on pure instinct, slamming in deep and holding there as heat ripped through me, my body jerking with it. I buried my face in her shoulder, groaning against her skin as I spilled into her, riding it out until my legs shook.
After, we just breathed, pressed together under the spray. Her fingers traced lazy patterns on my spine. My hand cupped the back of her head, thumb rubbing circles into her neck.
Eventually, we peeled ourselves off the tile and actually used the shower for its intended purpose—rinsing, soaping, making each other laugh when one of us slipped.
We dried off, tangled up in the same towel for a minute just because we could, and then crawled into bed, skin still warm and loose from the heat.
She tucked herself against my chest like she’d always lived there. “Thank you,” she mumbled, already half-asleep.
“For what?” I brushed a damp curl off her forehead.
“For not running,” she breathed.
I pressed my lips to her hair. “Not going anywhere,” I murmured.
***
Her alarm went off at 4:47, some twangy tragedy about trucks and heartbreak. She rolled over, kissed my jaw, and padded around in the dark, pulling on sports bra and shorts.
“Training,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep, city boy.”
“Be safe,” I muttered, catching her hand and tugging her down for one more kiss.
When the door clicked shut behind her, the room felt too quiet.
I got up eventually, padding over to the dresser where Pops had left a photo album. The leather was cracked, the plastic sleeves cloudy with age.
Nana at sixteen, hair wild, trophy in hand. Nana at forty, teaching a little gap-toothed Winnie how to hold the reins. Winnie at twelve, clutching her first buckle, eyes fierce and unsure all at once.
On the back, in Nana’s looping script: My girl. Born to fly.
My chest ached.
She was born to fly. Fast. Free. Untethered.
And I was the one thing heavy enough to drag her out of the sky.
I closed the album, that thought sitting in my gut like a stone—even as the scent of her shampoo still lingered on my skin.