8. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
River
N ote to self: don’t fall asleep on the couch with a hot bull rider, and not set an alarm.
It’s a miracle those beastly dogs woke up from our post-lunch nap. Bronc eager to give me more kisses while my body draped over half of Gray’s.
“You never got your hand checked.” The words slip free as I watch Gray flex his hand just after parking in the Boulder Ranch lot.
“It’s fine.”
“Don’t bullshit me. It’s not.”
“River.” His head drops, a sigh shuddering free. “I’m going to ride tonight.”
There’s something so heartbreaking in his tone. Preparation for someone to tell him not to, keeping him wound tight. An automated response from countless occasions of standing up for himself.
Placing my hand over his, our eyes meet. “I know. Just—” An exasperated sigh leaves me. “Come to the med room so I can give you a shot. At least you won’t feel it then.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank me after you come see me at the hospital Monday for your hand and that busted jaw, too.” A soft push delivered to his shoulder, making the corners of both our mouths quirk high.
“You’re so bossy.”
“No. I’m not.” The retort empty of any true bite. It’s not the first time I’ve been told such. Only Gray makes it endearing, while all the others have made it a flaw.
We don’t say anything more as we exit the truck. We move side by side, riders and rodeo workers alike moving about around us. We’d already witnessed the crowd entering the arena as we pulled up. Their line of traffic made us both late for our report times.
“Hey, Grayson! Ready for tonight?” another bull rider calls his way.
“Aren’t I always?”
The guy only chuckles in response, pulling his gear from the bed of his truck before disappearing in the opposite direction.
A handful more of similar interactions slow our path to our destination. As much as Gray might feel like he lives in his brother’s shadow, he’s a star in his own right. Not a single one of those people mentioned Tate. An occurrence that must seem more miracle than normal when the tension leaves my cowboy’s body with each departure.
The barn that houses the med room is nearly empty when we enter. The air-conditioned space sending my body into a fit of shivers. I always keep a fleece pullover in my car, but it’s still at the bar since we didn’t wake up in time to go get it.
The weight of Gray’s arm settling around my shoulders riles my insides. Memories of his tongue and hands all over my body last night, making my core ache. The inability to press my thighs tighter together while walking only intensifying the fluttering below.
“You want me to get you a jacket?”
“No, I’ll be fine. On the table.”
“River.” That added bass to his voice makes my insides tingle. Every muscle of my core unforgivingly clenching as if he were moving inside me again.
“Grayson.” My tone just as hard slipping out of his hold.
He only grunts while I move through the room like a bat out of hell. Opening drawers and unlocking the supply cabinets while eyeballing stock levels. I hadn’t bothered last night. There was no point when I wouldn’t be back.
The ruffling of paper fills my ears. My gaze drifting over my shoulder, only to catch Gray as he lines the tables for me before hopping onto the middle one. Pulling out the Toradol and a syringe, I set the injection on the table beside him. Pinching his chin lightly, I turn his head, palpating his jaw. The press of my fingers far from gentle, per the flex of the muscles and the veins popping alongside his neck. “How bad does it hurt?”
“Not bad enough to not taste you.”
I immediately let go of his face, taking a step back, that dark glint in his eyes making my heart race.
“Not here.”
Yet he still reaches for me, my body just close enough for his fingers to wrap around the front of his t-shirt I chose to wear instead of my scrub top. “My clothes look way too good on you.”
“Gray.”
My body is far too responsive to him. Too ready to let him strip me bare and bend me over one of these tables.
“Just a kiss, Dr. Thompson. I’ll feel much better after that.” The purr to his words almost makes me groan aloud.
“You’re so full of it.” My attempt to shove out of his steel grip, useless.
“Or you could be full of me.”
For as sweet as Gray can be, his filthy mouth has me on edge. “You have to stop saying things like that.”
The tip of his nose trails over my cheek, his arm looping around my back, holding me between his spread legs. “Why’s that?”
“Because it’s not normal to want to constantly have sex with you.”
A hardy laugh leaves him. His head falling back, but his grip on me only tightening.
“I really like you, Boss.” Then his mouth is on mine. Hot and heavy, all-consuming.
My fingers find their way into his hair. My favorite place to grab hold of him. The soft strands sliding against my fingers before knocking that damn backward ball cap he looks so fucking sexy in onto the floor.
Rough palms untuck my shirt before running up the bare skin of my soft stomach. Each closing over my breasts in a light squeeze.
“Gray, we should stop.”
“Uh, uh. You’re making me feel better,” he mumbles against my lips.
My groan vibrates up my throat as he captures my mouth. The slant of his lips over mine drawing me in before I open up for him. The dangerous dance between our tongues and my fingers in his hair sure to leave us naked and fucking on this floor.
One hand snakes back down my stomach, undoing the ties on my scrub pants before dipping behind the band of my underwear.
“Gray.”
“Shh, baby. No one gets to hear you moan my name but me.”
Long fingers slip between my swollen folds. Two fingers sinking inside me with ease. My nails dig into his shoulders, my lips against his neck, trying to stifle my moans. Anything so no one suspects what might be happening in here.
“What the fuck?” a male voice barks from the doorway. The knob smacks into the wall so forcefully I’m convinced there’s a matching hole to Gray’s from yesterday.
I immediately try to jump back, but Gray holds me in place, his fingers still working inside me. “Get out.”
I can barely see over Gray’s shoulder, but there’s no mistaking a very pissed Tate coming our way. Once again, I try to wiggle out of Gray’s hold, but he won’t release me. “Gray,” I hiss.
His fingers only move faster, the pad of his thumb finding my clit. My head flies forward, my face hitting the hard muscle of his chest. Lips tucked into my mouth, I fight to hold in every little noise that wants to escape because of Gray’s talented fingers.
“You should be focused on riding, but you’re in here, what?”
“Tate, I swear. Get out,” he snaps.
Tate is mere steps from us when Gray yanks his hand from my pants, sucking each of his fingers into his mouth. His damp fingers lazily shoving my shirt back into the waistband of my scrubs with a wink, as if to say our little secret .
Holy mother of all things … he just licked the fingers he had inside me clean. With his fucking brother right there.
A hand comes down on Gray’s shoulder, partially turning him to face his brother. “You can never take anything seriously, can you? You could die out there, but you’re in here trying to get your dick wet!”
Gray jumps off the table, the syringe I’d prepared for him skittering across the floor.
“You don’t know shit. Why are you even here?”
The fuming anger that seemed to propel Tate forward burns out. His eyes boring into his brothers with an emotion I can’t quite place. “To check on you before you ride.”
“Well, don’t. I’m good.”
The corners of Tate’s mouth turn down into a deep frown. His brow sinking low in defeat. “You could listen to me just once.”
“Why? Because you went pro. Newsflash: you retired, big brother. You couldn’t just let me have this, could you?”
“Gray, I—”
Stepping between the two men, a hand to each of their chests, I’ve seen enough. It was clear there was tension between them, but whatever the fuck this is is stupid. “Tate, unless you need medical care, you need to leave.”
His eyes narrow on me, but he turns on his heel, stomping out of the med room before slamming the door behind him.
Turning my back to Gray, my hands brace against the next table. Deep breaths funnel in through my nostrils, only to drift back out through the same openings. The two of them are much worse than I expected. Children in men’s bodies. Balls of pent up frustration over years of throwing barbs instead of communicating like fucking adults.
Gray’s whispered words are the only thing that makes me turn back around. “Thank you.”
Gratitude shines there in his eyes. Something sad and lonely accompanying it. I don’t know much about their history, but judging from what Gray told me last night, no one ever seems to be on his side. It’s always him against Tate and the world.
Gingerly taking his face between my palms, I force his gaze to me. “I didn’t do anything, but let’s get this hand squared away.”
Turning away to prep another injection, I hear Gray rustling around behind me before sitting on the table again.
Taking his hand in mine, he’s trembling. I won’t call it out or ask why. The interaction with his brother shook him up, and it’s tugging at my heartstrings. Sure, Gray could probably use a little growing up; we all could, but to see the devastation he’s wearing so plainly hits hard. Too hard.
A reminder that I can’t even recall the last time I spoke to my parents or my brothers. The term “irreconcilable differences” applies to more than just divorcees.
Something tells me Gray doesn’t want to fight with Tate. Maybe he just needs a push to find some middle ground. It wouldn’t hurt if they didn’t spit words with venom while they’re at it.
“This is going to pinch a little.”
“I can take it.”
I inject him in two places. Not once does he flinch or make a sound.
“Done.”
“Not even close, River.” Gray pulls me between his legs again, a soft brush of his lips against mine. “You just might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”