Hannah
I look up and over Queen’s back. Savannah, another rider who is competing tonight, stares down at me from the back of her dapple gray horse.
“Yeah, sorry. What was that?” I give her a weak smile.
My mind is still reeling from a couple nights ago.
The way Dean’s hands felt between my legs, his mouth on my breasts.
I stomped out the moment I could get my thoughts together enough to pull away from him.
Running like a madwoman with my tits rubbing against my backpack all the way back to my trailer.
The second I got inside, I slammed my door and flopped onto my bed.
What the fuck was that! I screamed into my pillow, making Queen pound against the trailer floor on the other side of the wall.
When I finally looked in the mirror, I almost didn’t recognize myself.
It wasn’t the wild state of my hair, or the bite mark on my shoulder.
Not even the hickeys across my neck and chest. It was the fire in my eyes, a little bit of spark that I thought I had lost years ago.
The way he commanded me so easily, how I obeyed without hesitation.
I never listen when someone speaks to me that way, but with Dean?
A shiver runs through my body just reliving it.
“Ok, girl. Spill.” I hadn’t noticed that Savannah had jumped off her horse and walked over to me.
“What?” I’m still flustered over the fact that the man who has been memorialized in my dreams for the past couple years is in fact Dean Wilder .
He doesn’t come across as the kind of man who would run blindly to the aid of a girl he has never met before.
Yet, there he was, sprinting for me and carrying me out like a dark knight coming to my rescue. That contrast alone has me spiraling.
Rolling her eyes, Savannah gently pulls my hands from where they have paused getting Queen ready. “Hannah, I’ve been talking to you for ten minutes. Your turn is coming up soon, and you’ve been over here staring into space. What is going on?”
I feel my cheeks heat, embarrassed I’ve been so distracted by this man.
A man that I can never repeat the other night with again, despite it being easily the hottest thing that I’ve ever experienced.
I’ll never be able to look at a tack room the same way again.
“Just some guy. He’s got me all…in my head,” I reply, turning back towards Queen.
“Mmm-hmm. Just some guy…and his dick?”
“Savannah!” I turn, slapping a hand over her mouth.
The girls on the circuit are close. Even though we want to win, want to be the best, want to be the one standing on stage collecting the check at the end of the night, we still cheer for each other.
We still want everyone else to succeed, too.
Just because I don't allow myself to have any friends, I still feel comfortable and safe with these women.
Prying my fingers from her mouth, she smiles back at me.
Wiggling one perfectly manicured finger in front of my face, she gives me a wink.
“Time to put that dick away and get focused, you’re up next.
” Sliding back in her saddle, I mentally kick myself for wasting so much time daydreaming.
I won’t even admit to her that it wasn’t even Dean Wilder’s dick that has me all turned around.
Just his hands, his mouth, his eyes, fuck!
As I hoist myself up and settle into the saddle, the hair on my neck stands up.
I feel eyes on my back, and turn around just in time to see Dean pull himself up on the fence across the arena.
My jaw drops open and I narrow my eyes at him, silently cursing him in my head.
He nods his head, his lips tipping up ever so slightly, like he knows just what his presence alone does to me.
He’s gorgeous, in a rough and mysterious kind of way.
But the way those storm cloud eyes bore into me has my ass shifting against the worn leather, unintentionally chasing the fire that his fingers brought to life within me.
I don’t miss the dip in his gaze as he watches my movement.
Queen rocks forward and back, thankfully pulling me from my standoff with the devil of a cowboy in all black.
Fuck me, is he going to be at all my stops this summer?
I make a note to never be around him, never be alone with him, hell, never look his way again.
Just forget it ever happened. Yeah right, my brain whispers back at me.
I push Queen to walk to the entrance, doing my best to pull all my focus away from Dean and into the next few seconds the moment our names are called over the speakers.
“Hey! Congrats on the win tonight, Hannah.” Kasey strolls up to where I’m standing in the equipment closet in my trailer.
I lean against the door frame and look down at him.
He grins up at me with that smile that would stop anyone else’s heart.
A kind man was always what I envisioned would be my type, but it’s not doing it for me lately.
Someone dark and moody seems to have thrown off my usual taste in men.
“Thanks, Kasey. You didn’t do too bad yourself.” I hold up my finger and thumb. “So close to that top spot.” I give him a genuine smile of my own.
“So you’ve been watching me, then?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I roll my eyes and turn back towards the equipment I need to hang up before I take a shower.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says as he turns and walks away.
After a few more rounds around the tack room, I turn the light off, lock the door, and step inside my room.
My body still buzzes with adrenaline after my win.
It was close, but with each ride, we seem to be shaving off the milliseconds.
Except the room feels too hot, too tight.
I need to burn some energy. Pulling my hair loose and tossing my hat on my bed, I step out into the warm summer night and make my way back towards the arena.
I make a mental note to find out what truck Dean drives so I can spot it in the future.
Like other nights, most people have packed up and set off for their next stop, but I hate driving at night and like to get my sleep. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.
I pass a few venue staff on their way out, nodding to a few but keep walking until I reach the outdoor arena.
The dirt has just been raked and the overhead lights are off.
The full moon casts a glow around me that feels so peaceful I could lay down on one of the bleachers and stare at the stars until the sun came up.
Deciding against it, I make my way to the middle of the arena and spin in a slow circle, taking in the rows of empty seats surrounding me.
When I ride, I don’t have time to look around me.
I’m in and out. I forget how many people fill this space. It’s humbling.
“Like the view, darlin’?” Startled, I spin towards the deep voice, the one I’ve tried to steer clear of all night.
Even when we stood on stage together, I wouldn’t look his way.
I felt his eyes burning a hole in the side of my face the whole time, but I didn’t cave.
But now, with nowhere to hide, I feel like his prey.
He’s still in his black chaps, the long fringe on the sides slapping against his long legs as he eats up the distance between us.
I can’t decide if I should try and run past him or hold my ground.
Before I come to a decision, his boots stop a few short feet away from me.
The wind kicks up, blowing my curls around my face.
Heavy hands frame my face, pushing the strands behind my ears.
“Don’t ever tie this back again, you hear me? ”
“W-What?” I gasp, his touch rough and gentle at the same time. A contradiction I can’t wrap my brain around.
Running his hands through my hair again, he stares into my eyes and whispers, “Let your wild out, don’t tame it.”
Despite the hot summer air around us, my skin breaks out in a cold sweat.
He’s too close. I can smell his mouth watering scent all over me, and I just know my clothes will smell like him tomorrow.
I shouldn’t want that to be the case so badly.
My body trembles and I lean into him without thinking.
He drops his hand with a cocky smirk, and I reel back, running my hands over my arms. He walks over to the side where a barrel sits on its side, overlooked by the crews that put everything away earlier this evening.
He carries himself with confidence, a natural ease to his strides.
The long sleeves of his black Carhart are rolled up, exposing the tattoos I’ve been dying to see underneath.
His forearms flex as he effortlessly rights the barrel and carries it towards me.
As he gets closer, I try to look at the ink that he usually keeps hidden underneath his riding gear.
Just above the spur on his left hand is a tattoo of a skeleton head wearing a cowboy hat, cacti sprouting from the top.
His right arm turns and I just make out the outline of a horse's face on the inside of his forearm.
When the barrel makes a heavy thud next to me, I snap my attention to him, confusion written all over my face.
“Up,” he mumbles gruffly, grabbing me by the hips and lifting me.
My hands fly out and grip his shoulders for balance.
They are firm and clearly lined with bulky muscles.
I feel every flex and strain as he sits my ass roughly on the top of the barrel.
“What the fuck, Dean?” I try to push myself off, but he grabs my knees in his warm hands and pushes them apart.
“Absolutely not!” I struggle against his hold. “We cannot do this again, that was a?—”