Chapter 25
KAI
Ihave no idea what’s happening in the arena.
Somewhere in the distance, an announcer is saying something about the saddle bronc championships. The crowd is cheering, and cowboys are risking their necks on thousand-pound horses bred for violence.
I missed the entire introduction and the first rodeo star. The man could have been trampled for all I know, and I wouldn’t have noticed.
All I can focus on is the woman sitting next to me.
June is pressed against my side in the stands, her body warm and soft and impossibly distracting. My arm is draped around her back. Her scent wraps around me with every breath I take, and I swear it’s getting deeper. Richer. More intoxicating by the hour.
She insists she feels normal, says nothing has changed, but I know better.
“Kai.” Her voice cuts through the fog in my brain. “Are you even paying attention?”
“Absolutely,” I lie.
“Really? What just happened?”
I glance toward the arena, where a cowboy is climbing off a horse to scattered applause.
“That guy rode. Did okay. Not as good as Carter will do.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “You didn’t watch any of it.”
“I watched the important parts.”
“Which were?”
I lean in closer, letting my lips brush against the shell of her ear. “The way your thighs look in that skirt.”
Her breath catches, just slightly, and satisfaction curls through my chest. She’s wearing this tiny denim thing that barely covers anything, and with her legs crossed beside me, the hem has ridden up to dangerous territory.
I’ve been staring at those legs for the past twenty minutes, imagining what it would feel like to have them wrapped around my head.
“Kai.” Her tone is warning, but I can hear the smile underneath it.
“June.” I match her inflection perfectly.
“We’re in public.”
“I know.” I breathe her in again, letting my nose trail along the curve of her neck.
“Doesn’t change what I want to do to you.”
“You’re such a tease.”
“I want to eat you.” The words come out low and rough, barely audible over the noise of the crowd. “Want to spread you out and taste every inch of you until you’re shaking.”
She shivers against me, and I feel the tremor all the way down my spine.
“How do you hold on to any control?” she asks, her voice slightly breathless now.
“Who says it’s working?”
“You’re still sitting here, aren’t you?”
“Barely.” I press a kiss to her cheek, lingering there, letting my lips drag across her skin.
“So you enjoy teasing me, is that it?”
She turns her head, those hazel eyes sparkling. “I admit, I do enjoy seeing you all worked up.”
“You know this is just going to make me more crazy.”
“More than you already are? Impossible?”
I nod slowly, holding her gaze. “You have no idea. Right now, I’m so hungry for you I could do anything.”
She laughs, bright and warm, and her hand lands on my thigh. It’s a casual gesture. Friendly, even. But the moment her palm makes contact with my leg, every nerve ending in my body lights up.
“You’ll be fine,” she says.
I will absolutely not.
Her fingers are just sitting there. Not moving, not stroking, just resting against my thigh, and somehow that simple touch has my cock throbbing, straining against my jeans, desperate for attention it’s not going to get. Not here, anyway.
I try to focus on the arena and watch the next cowboy settle into the chute. But my attention keeps drifting back to June, to the curve of her shoulder where I left a mark not long ago, to those goddamn legs that are going to be the death of me.
She shifts beside me, uncrossing and recrossing them, and the movement causes her skirt to ride up another inch. I catch a glimpse of smooth inner thigh, the shadow where the fabric ends, and my imagination goes into overdrive.
What is she wearing under there? Those little lace things she seems to favor? Something simpler? Nothing at all?
The last thought makes me groan out loud.
“What?” June glances at me, confused.
“Nothing.” Everything. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Things that would get us both arrested if I said them out loud.”
She blushes, that pretty pink color spreading across her cheeks, and I want to strip her out of that top and watch the flush spread across her chest, her stomach, lower.
The announcer’s voice booms through the speakers, snapping me back to reality. “Next up, ladies and gentlemen, from the Wildfire Star Rodeo is Carter Storm!”
June immediately perks up, clapping her hands together. “Carter’s next!”
She’s bouncing in her seat now, excited and eager, and I can’t stop staring at the way her breasts move with each bounce. The top is thin, doing very little to hide anything, and I’m fairly certain I can see the outline of her nipples through the fabric.
Christ. I need to get a grip.
“Kai.” She’s staring at me now, eyebrow raised. “Don’t look at me. Carter’s right there.”
Right. Carter. My best friend. The reason we’re here.
I force my attention to the arena, where Carter is settling into the chute, positioning himself on the back of a massive bronc. Even from here, I notice the tension in the horse, the way it’s already fighting against the confined space, eager to explode.
Saddle bronc is one of the classic rodeo events, and Carter has been dominating it for years.
The goal is simple in theory, brutal in execution: stay on the horse for eight seconds while it does everything in its power to throw you off.
The rider holds on to a thick braided rein attached to the horse’s halter, keeping one hand in the air at all times.
Touch the horse with your free hand, and you’re disqualified.
Get thrown before the buzzer, and you get nothing.
Points are awarded based on the rider’s form, the horse’s performance, and the overall difficulty of the ride.
Judges look for smooth, controlled spurring, a strong grip, and the ability to match the horse’s rhythm without fighting it.
The best riders make it look effortless, and the horse’s power works with them rather than against them.
It sounds manageable when you describe it. It’s not. The horses used in saddle bronc are specifically bred and trained to buck, and they’re incredibly good at it.
Carter makes it look effortless. That’s his gift.
He’s one of the most naturally talented riders I’ve ever seen, with an instinct for movement and balance that borders on supernatural.
Where other cowboys fight against the horse, Carter seems to flow with it, anticipating every buck and twist before it happens.
He reads the animal beneath him with uncanny precision, shifting his weight and adjusting his position in real time.
It’s beautiful, in a violent sort of way. Poetry written in dust and adrenaline, just his thing.
June is on her feet now, blowing him a kiss from the stands. Carter’s head turns toward us, that familiar grin spreading across his face. I give him a nod: You got this.
The gate swings open.
The horse explodes out of the chute, all strength and fury. Its back legs kick high, launching Carter’s body upward, then its front end drops and twists, trying to throw him sideways. The motion is violent, jarring.
Carter doesn’t even flinch.
He rides with his free arm high, his body moving in perfect counterpoint to the horse’s bucking. Back and forward, up and down, a brutal rhythm that he makes look almost graceful. His form is textbook, spurs marking forward and back with each buck, his center of gravity low and stable.
“He’s a fucking show-off,” I mutter, but there’s pride in my voice. The bastard really is something else.
Beside me, June is gushing. Melting. Her eyes are locked on Carter, and I feel a flash of something that might be jealousy if I were a different kind of man.
Instead, it’s just heat. Arousal. The knowledge that she looks at all of us that way, that we all get to experience her awe and her passion and her complete, undivided attention.
The buzzer sounds. Eight seconds.
Carter lets go and tumbles off, landing on his feet and immediately moving away from the still-bucking horse. Pickup riders move in to help the bronc, while Carter jogs to the arena fence, climbing up to wave at the roaring crowd.
But his eyes find us first. Find June, who’s cheering and clapping and whistling through her fingers so loudly that the people around us are staring.
Carter blows her a kiss, and she pretends to catch it, pressing her palm to her heart.
I lean in close to her ear again. “You wait until I’m on Brutus. Much more dangerous than that.”
She glances at me, concern flickering across her features. She kisses me quickly.
We settle back into our seats, her hand finding mine and squeezing tight.
Fuck me, she’s beautiful. “You have to be careful on Brutus.” Even worried, even scared for me, she’s the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.
“I will,” I promise.
But June is restless now, shifting in her seat, glancing around the arena.
“I want to grab a drink,” she says. “Come with me?”
“Absolutely.”
We make our way out of the stands, navigating through the crowd until we emerge into the area behind the arena.
It’s quieter here, the roar of the audience muffled by distance and concrete walls.
Vendors are selling food and souvenirs, and groups of spectators mill around, taking a break from the action.
June starts toward one of the drink stands, but I catch her hand.
“Come on. Let me show you something.”
She raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“You’ll see.” I tug her away from the crowds, leading her down a corridor that most people don’t know exists. It’s where the rodeo crew have their private spaces, rooms reserved for the performers and staff who work behind the scenes.
I find the door I’m looking for and push it open, ushering June inside before following and kicking it shut behind us.