43. Callie
Chapter 43
Callie
Hard to believe we leave tomorrow.
Two weeks at Colt’s family farm, gone in a blink.
We head back for the next ride in the morning. Maverick’s in. Colt’s still sidelined, no matter how much he hates it.
The round pen isn’t much anymore, just weathered rails and half a gate hanging off its hinges, but the moment I see it, something in my chest pulls tight. I wander closer, boots dragging through dry grass. We must’ve ridden a thousand circles in this pen growing up, but I was barely old enough to tie my own shoes when I climbed into the saddle first. Back then, we were only allowed to ride with our parents watching, but I snuck in anyway, daring the boys to follow.
Colt and Maverick climbed the fence rails, wide-eyed and hollering advice like they knew better. But they didn’t dare climb in until I did. I still remember the look on Colt’s face when I took off at a trot, equal parts terrified and impressed. Maverick followed the next day, jaw set like he had something to prove. And after that, it was always the three of us.
Colt trails behind, his crutch slowing him down, but he’s steadier now, moving better than he was even a week ago. He tossed his sling a week out of the hospital, stubborn as ever. Determined to ride in the championship, whether he’s ready or not.
Maverick walks beside him, close enough to catch him if he stumbles. The air between them isn’t tense anymore. It’s warm. Quiet. Full of something unspoken. Lingering glances. The kind that say more than words ever could.
I climb onto the lowest rail, arms stretched wide for balance. The wood creaks beneath me, but it holds.
“Remember when you tried to rope that bale of hay and ended up tying yourself to the fence?” I grin, tossing the memory over my shoulder.
Colt groans. “You gonna bring that up every time we’re near this place?”
“Yes,” Maverick answers flatly, stepping onto the bottom rail beside me. “Because it was hilarious.”
Colt snorts, brushing a hand through his hair. “You try learning to dally with a rope twice your size.”
“You were seven,” I tease.
“And convinced he was already a rodeo champion,” Maverick adds, voice lighter than I’ve heard all day.
We fall into silence, each of us taking in the space. The dirt’s cracked, weeds creeping through in places, but the bones of it are still there. Solid. Familiar. Like the three of us, maybe older, rougher, but still standing.
A breeze kicks up, carrying the scent of dry grass and storm on the wind. I glance toward the sky, dark clouds, bruised and low. “We should probably head back.”
Too late.
The first fat drop hits my arm. Then another. In seconds, the sky opens up like someone flipped a switch.
“Shit!” Colt laughs, already trying to tuck the blanket back into the basket we brought, but he’s fumbling with one hand and a crutch, moving too slow.
“Go!” I take them from him, already half running toward the shelter just past the edge of the field.
I barely make it a few steps before my boots slip in the wet grass, and suddenly, Colt’s no longer behind me.
“Don’t—” he starts, but Maverick’s already there, cutting him off with a curse.
“Save it.”
In one smooth motion, Maverick hauls Colt up into his arms like it’s nothing.
Colt lets out a strangled sound. “I swear to God, Mav?—”
“Complain later,” Maverick grits out, already jogging after me, rain soaking his shirt. “Or you can break the other leg too.”
“I hate you.”
“Sure you do.”
They catch up fast, and we duck under the rusted metal overhang just as the rain really lets loose, thunder rumbling low as the rain pounds down in silver sheets. It’s not much, just a wide-open space with one wall half caved in, but the roof holds, and it’s dry.
Colt’s scowling when Maverick sets him on his feet, muttering something about dignity and how he could’ve managed , but his cheeks are pink, and his eyes are lit up in a way I haven’t seen in years.
I don’t say anything. I just smile and lay the blanket out while they catch their breath, drenched and grinning, the ease between them as natural as breathing, like no time has passed.
The wind howls just outside, pushing sheets of rain sideways through the open bay. But in here, it’s warm, cozy in the way only something old and familiar can be.
Colt eases down onto the blanket, groaning as he shifts to stretch out his leg. Maverick stands nearby, shaking the water from his hair, his shirt stuck to his chest, dark with rain. He glances at me, then down at Colt, like he’s checking both of us before finally settling beside him.
It’s quiet for a moment. Just the sound of the storm and my heartbeat.
“I forgot how good this kind of quiet feels,” I say softly, brushing damp hair out of my face. “Like the world’s finally minding its business for once.”
I glance between them, both soaked, both beautiful in completely different ways. The kind of beautiful that aches a little to look at. Maverick’s gaze is steady, guarded like always, but there’s warmth there now.
Colt grins. “We still got those strawberries?”
I reach for the picnic basket, peeling back the damp towel covering the food. “A little smushed, but yeah.” I lift out the container and a can of whipped cream.
Colt lets out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Thank God. I was about to think this day couldn’t be saved.”
I plop down between them and pop the lid. The strawberries are definitely bruised, but still red and sweet-smelling. I hand one to each of them, then grab the whipped cream.
Colt leans in, his eyes dark with mischief, but there’s a low hum beneath it now, something heavier. “You gonna make it fancy?”
I arch a brow, pulse fluttering. “You want me to serve you?”
He grins, slow and lazy, like he already knows the answer. “I mean… you could just put it straight in my mouth.”
My heart skips. I cover it with a smirk, but my fingers tighten on the can. I swirl the whipped cream onto a berry, slower than necessary, watching his gaze follow every movement like he’s starving.
“Open up, cowboy.”
He does. No hesitation.
I lift it to his mouth. Colt leans in, lips parting, and wraps them around both the berry and my fingers, sucking them into his mouth with a slow, deliberate pull.
The heat is instant, spreading between my thighs, dampening my panties. I feel the wet flick of his tongue, the soft scrape of teeth. It’s too much and nowhere near enough.
My fingers slip free with a soft pop, and his eyes fall shut as he bites down on the berry. “Hmmm,” he hums, voice gravel-thick. “Tastes good.”
A shiver runs through me, goosebumps erupting along my skin as Colt’s tongue catches a drop of cream at the corner of his mouth and licks it clean, slow and unhurried, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
Across from us, Maverick hasn’t moved.
He’s watching every breath, every shift. His posture is rigid, jaw tight, like he’s barely holding himself together. His eyes are hooded, unreadable, but the way he looks at us is anything but calm.
I reach for another berry.
He stops me.
His hand circles my wrist gently, but firm enough that I freeze. My pulse spikes as his fingers slide down to my palm, guiding it toward him with deliberate care.
His gaze holds mine. Dark. Hungry. Pupils blown wide.
Then, softly, almost reverently, he brushes his lips across the tips of my fingers.
There’s a pause. A breath suspended in time. The current arcs between us, wrapping around my ribs, my spine, winding me so tight I could break open.
Then he leans forward, and his tongue flicks out, swirling over the tips of my fingers, catching the sticky sheen of strawberry juice. But it’s more than that. His mouth lingers. His eyes stay locked on mine.
And it hits me. He’s licking Colt too.
The berry. The whipped cream. My skin. His tongue. Colt. It’s all connected.
The thought shatters me. Delicious and dangerous.
A full-body flush blooms through me like wildfire, liquid heat coiling low, spreading out until my skin feels too tight, too sensitive.
Outside, the rain picks up, hammering the roof like it’s got something to say. Thunder cracks again, loud and deep, but it barely registers.
Because inside this shelter, the world has shrunk.
Just us.
Just touch. Just taste. Just the heat of those ravenous gazes.
Colt sits up behind me, his thighs bracketing mine, my back to his chest. His hands land on my hips, pulling my ass against him, hard, sure, claiming every inch.
I shiver under the weight of it.
“You know…” he murmurs near my ear, voice lower now, rough with intent. “We could make this a whole lot messier.”
The rasp of it slips under my skin and curls in my gut, a dark ripple of need growing.
I laugh, but it breaks halfway. A sound caught between a moan and a whimper.
And I don’t pull away.
Maverick’s eyes are locked on mine, pinning me in place, dark and unreadable, like storm clouds gathering.
Colt’s hands glide up my spine beneath the hem of my shirt. His knuckles brush bare skin, and I inhale sharply, the cool air against my stomach only making me more aware of how warm he is. He slides them higher, slow enough to make me tremble.
Maverick cocks his head, lips parting slightly as his eyes roam over me. Then he moves, spreading my knees to make room for himself. He takes the hem of my shirt from Colt, lifting it until the pink lace of my bra is revealed.
Colt cups me through the fabric, thumbs brushing over the peaks, and lets out a ragged exhale against my shoulder. My spine arches, a helpless sound slipping from my throat.
“Good girl,” Maverick murmurs, voice like smoke. Then he lifts the hem to my mouth.
“Bite.”
I do. My teeth sink into the fabric, and my chest heaves under their hot gazes.
Every heartbeat feels counted. Every inch exposed as the air between us crackles, hot and waiting.
Maverick leans forward, plucks a strawberry from the basket, and circles my navel, the pink juice dripping down my stomach.
Then his tongue is there, hot on my skin, licking the path he made.
He and Colt exchange a look over my shoulder, some silent command passing between them.
Then my bra’s snapping open.
Colt lifts my back from his chest to slip it off, and the new angle shifts me closer to Maverick.
He doesn’t hesitate, swirling the berry around my nipple before sucking it into his mouth.
He groans, low, teeth scraping gently at the tender peak before letting go with a pop.
“Sweetest thing I’ve ever had.”
Colt replaces Maverick’s mouth with rough fingers, rolling my nipple between them as Maverick continues his torment.
The barest graze skims over my other breast, cool liquid turning warm against my fevered skin.
I ache for his mouth. For more.
Maverick presses his nose into my collarbone, a low growl rumbling from his chest.
“So fucking delicious. We’re going to eat you up.”
He guides Colt’s hands until he’s cupping both of my breasts from below, long fingers bracketing my nipples. I moan when Colt pinches them.
Maverick stares at me, grin a slash across his face, hunger radiating off him in waves.
Then he runs his tongue along my nipple again, this time sucking Colt’s fingers too. The slick sound of his tongue sends shivers down my spine. Watching him take Colt into his mouth undoes something inside me.
Colt groans behind me, fingers flexing, hips jerking.
The sound punches through me like a pulse, a deep ache blooming low and sharp.
Then Maverick runs that damn fruit over Colt’s fingers, lifting his hand and sliding two of them deep into his mouth, a low rumble vibrating in his throat.
Colt grinds his cock into my back, hard and desperate. I feel every inch of him, hot, insistent, and perfectly pressed against me. My pulse skips, then races.
Maverick’s mouth leaves my breast with a wet pop, and he leans back just enough to look at me, eyes blown wide, lips slick, and jaw tight with restraint.
He hooks his thumb into the waistband. “Take these off.”
His voice is deep gravel, not a request. A promise.
I nod, but Colt beats me to it. His hands slide down my sides, fingers hooking into the waistband of my shorts and tugging them down my hips. He pauses, glancing to Maverick like he’s waiting for approval.
Maverick nods once. “Nice and slow.”
The fabric drags along my thighs, cool air kissing new skin. My breath shudders. I lift my hips, letting them strip me bare. When they’re gone, Colt’s hands trail back up, palms warm, reverent, stroking over my knees, the inside of my thighs.
Maverick hands anchor me, firm and possessive, as he spreads me wider, hooking my legs on the outside of Colt’s. I feel completely exposed, but never safer.
Then his mouth is on me.
A cry bursts from my lips, high and raw, as his tongue slides through my core, purposeful and slow. He licks me like he’s tasting something he’s craved for years. Like he’s memorizing every reaction.
Colt shifts behind me, cradling my back against his chest. One hand wraps around my ribs; the other returns to my breasts, fingertips circling, teasing, pinching just enough to make my hips jolt.
“Fuck, you’re perfect like this,” he whispers, voice ragged.
Maverick groans into me. The vibration tears through my core, and I moan loud, needy, falling apart with every stroke of his tongue.
He doesn’t rush. He works me over, licking, sucking, then flicking that spot again and again until I’m trembling, my thighs closing around his head, my hands clutching at Colt’s arms for something, anything to ground me.
Colt presses kisses to my neck, murmuring in my ear. “That’s it, baby. Let him make you feel good. Let us take care of you.”
The words melt through me like honey. My hips rock without meaning to, chasing every bit of friction.
Maverick doesn’t let up.
His mouth is devastating. He licks into me like a man possessed, slow and deep one moment, relentless and precise the next. When he slides two fingers inside, curling just right, I break.
My cry echoes through the shelter, swallowed by the rain hammering the roof. My body bows, locked tight, heat exploding through every nerve.
Colt holds me as I shake apart in his arms, his breath ragged, his hand still teasing my nipple, gently now like he’s grounding me. Worshiping me.
Maverick licks me through the aftershocks, slow and lazy, until I whimper from the sensitivity and try to pull away.
He looks up then, mouth glistening, and gives me a wicked smile.
“Told you we’d eat you up.”