Chapter 18 Brick
brICK
The dust hasn’t even settled, and my ribs already know they’re going to hate me in the morning.
The crowd’s roar is still in my ears, loud as a train.
Someone slaps my back, someone else shouts my name, but it’s all a blur.
I did it. Ten seconds on a bronc that wanted to make me a chalk outline, but I won.
My legs ache, my shoulder throbs, and I can feel blood somewhere on my arm, sticky under my shirt, or maybe it’s sweat, but I’m grinning like a fool.
After the fight with Reno, I needed this win. Needed proof that I can still ride, still do something right, still be worth the dirt I stand on. Because nothing makes a man feel worthless like hurting his own kid.
I slip away from the noise as soon as I can, cutting behind the arena to the stalls where it’s quieter.
The air back here smells like hay and horses.
The broncos shift in their pens, restless but calm in that animal way that means everything’s fine as long as you don’t bring your mess into their world.
People complicate everything. Animals never do. They don’t care about what you said, or who you disappointed, or what you broke. They just want feed, air, and for you to come at them slow, maybe show them a little attention.
I drag a stool over by the stall rail, drop down, and lean against the wood.
My arm protests, my ribs complain, but I breathe through it.
The arena noise fades to a dull hum. It’s peaceful here—dust catching in the artificial light, horses shifting their weight, one flicking an ear like she’s listening to my thoughts.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I know, girl. I’m a mess.”
The mare blows through her nostrils, unimpressed.
“Same, girl.”
The gate at the end of the row creaks open, footsteps scuffing over the packed earth. I don’t even look up at first. People wander through all the time—hands, kids, fans who want something signed.
“Brick?” Soft, uncertain, and sharper than any pain I’ve got.
I look up.
Annie’s there, framed in the light from the gate, still in her scrubs.
She’s got her medical bag slung over her shoulder, and there’s a line between her brows that wasn’t there this morning.
Her hair’s pulled back, but a few strands have escaped, clinging to her temples from the heat. She looks like she ran here.
For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe.
“I saw the ride,” she says, voice wan, walking toward me, quick but careful, like she’s not sure if she should be mad or relieved. “You’re limping.”
“I’m fine.” I stand, which immediately proves that I am, in fact, not fine. My ribs pull, my thigh cramps, but I hide it with a grin. “Takes more than a horse to put me down.”
“That was not a horse,” she says, eyes flashing. “That was a small, angry god with hooves. You could have—” She cuts herself off and drops her bag, staring at me. Voice goes softer now. “Where does it hurt?”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“Stop saying that.” Her voice trembles, not with anger, but something else. Fear. The kind that hits you after you realize what could’ve happened. I see it in her eyes, and it guts me.
“Annie.” I take a step toward her, slow. “Hey. Look at me.”
She does, and that’s it. That’s the end of pretending anything is simple.
Her eyes find mine, and all that worry and fire and relief collide in one look. The air between us changes. I don’t know who moves first—maybe we both do—but she’s running the last few steps between us.
By the time I reach for her, she’s already there.
She slams into my chest, her hands braced on my shoulders, breath coming fast. “You scared me.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“You never mean to,” she says, half laughing, half shaking, and that’s all it takes.
I tilt my head down. She rises on her toes. The world shrinks to the space between our mouths.
The horses shift around us, restless again, or maybe that’s just the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears. The air smells like sweat and hay and her shampoo, that clean, soft scent that found its way into my skin weeks ago.
“You’re impossible,” she says.
“So are you.” And then our lips meet.
It isn’t careful. It’s not the polite kind of kiss that makes sense. It’s the kind that happens after you risk too much for too little.
She tastes like salt and adrenaline. Her hands slide up to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, like she’s trying to make sure I’m really here.
My own hands find her waist, her back, the warm, solid curve of her.
I don’t even realize I’ve backed her against the stall gate until one of the horses snorts, loud and judgmental, and she laughs against my mouth.
That laugh. God, that laugh. It’s a sound that makes a man believe he hasn’t ruined everything yet.
I pull back just enough to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing quick. She looks up at me like I’m a problem she’s tired of solving but can’t walk away from.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she says softly.
“Why not?”
Her sparkling eyes dart all over my face, then settle on my mouth. “The stalls are public. What if Reno—”
“Too late, remember?” My thumb brushes her jaw. “And I’ll remind you that you came looking for me.”
“I was checking on my patient.”
“You dropped your bag.”
Her lips twitch. “You’re insufferable.”
“But you suffer me all the same.”
She exhales, shaking her head, and for a moment she leans into me again, forehead resting against my chest. I wrap my arms around her because I can’t not. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
She nods once. “You did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
The silence after that is heavy but not bad. It’s the kind that fills itself. I can feel her heartbeat against mine, quick but steadying. The world is still too loud, still spinning, but right here—this tiny pocket of quiet, of her—it all slows down.
“You ride like you’re trying to outrun something,” she says finally.
“Maybe I am.”
She tilts her head up again. “What?”
“The past…the endless future…everything. But you make me want to stop and be still and enjoy the moment.”
Her eyes soften, and for once she doesn’t argue.
We stand there in the half-light of the stalls, in each other’s arms. Somewhere, someone’s laughing, a horse stamps, the announcer’s voice echoes faintly. None of it matters.
Right now, it’s just her. And the taste of her lips is still on mine.
A shudder passes through her. “I can’t…”
Not sure I want to hear the rest of that sentence. But I have to ask. “You can’t what?”
Her breaths heave. Stress. Longing. Something else. I can’t tell. But when she looks up into my eyes, everything else fades away. The strength returns to her voice. “I can’t lose you.”
That does something funny in my chest. “You won’t—”
Her mouth is on me before I can finish. Her fingertips trace through my hair, pulling me tighter to her, forcing me to her mouth like she needs the air in my lungs.
My hands sink to her round ass and cup her there.
Again, I’m not sure which of us moves first, or if we move together, but the weight of her is in my hands as she grabs my shoulders and latches her legs around my waist. I turn and press her back against the stall’s outer wall, and my hard-on digs against the seam of my jeans as I kiss her and grind myself between her thighs.
Whatever this thing is between us, I can’t help myself. I want this woman more than life itself.
When she groans in my ear, my brain goes blank, but some part of me has enough wherewithal to find an empty stall. It’s clean—must not be in use. Inside, there’s a small bench, clean hay, and nothing else. The neighbor is a sleeping mare.
Two thoughts go through my brain at the same time.
This is a public place.
This is the perfect place.
I pull back, and she must read my mind. Her nimble fingers work quick on my belt buckle as she kneels. I stroke her hair to get her attention. “Darlin’, what are you up to?”
She smirks when she looks up at me. “I’m not up to anything. I’m down to something.” Then she unzips me, and her warm hand is on my cock before I can add color commentary.
An involuntary hiss escapes me. “That is—”
Her mouth is on me.
“Fuck, baby, that’s incredible.”
Her tongue flicks around my edges and lines, painting in up and down strokes that make fireworks go off in my head. I lace my fingers into her hair to control the rhythm. Her mouth is wet silk, with the occasional tooth stealing my breath and adding to the intensity.
The barn door opens at the end of the row, and I have never been happier that the people running the show built a proper stable with real wooden stalls. Where those folks are, they can’t see Annie, or that my pants are undone. In fact, they only can if they peer over the stall.
Fingers crossed they don’t come down here.
“Are you Brick Wyatt?” the older lady asks.
Annie doesn’t stop. In fact, she keeps at me, a hand on my balls now.
Fucking hell.
“Yes, ma’am, I am,” I croak out. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m doing my post-game ritual. You know how athletes are—superstitious, the lot of us.”
The gent accompanying her nods firmly. “Come on, Martha. We’ll get an autograph later.”
“Well, alright…” she mumbles as she toddles out with him in tow.
Feeling Annie giggle with my cock in her mouth is something I never thought I’d want. But it’s interesting. “What are you doing, funny girl?”
She slides off of me. “What? You’re good under pressure.” Then she swallows me back down.
“Oh, that is it. I have half a mind to put you over my knee.”
“Mmhmm,” she hums on me.
I pull myself from her lips, and there’s a popping sound. “You wanna see me good under pressure? I’ll show you.” With that, I pick her up onto her feet, spin her around to lean on the stall wall, and yank her scrub pants and underwear down.
“What are you—”
“You thought that little stunt was funny. I’ll show you something funny.
” I pull her hips back and feel around until I find her soaked pussy from behind.
Her gasp is everything. “I knew you’d be wet for me.
” I lean against her back, my cock poised to slide inside.
“Tell me no, and this game ends, but just remember who won.”
“Are we playing a game of fuck chicken? Whoever quits first is the loser?”
It’s more that I’m giving her a chance to say she doesn’t want to fuck in public. “Something like that.”
“I’m not chicken.”
“Good.” I slam home, half my length in one shot, retract, then the rest of me. Once I got the head in, there was no stopping that. Not here. Not now. This is game on.
“Fuck!” she barks, and I slap a hand over her mouth.
“Gotta keep those shouts to yourself, baby. Don’t want to attract attention, do you?”
She whimpers against my palm as she works herself back against my shaft. Her hands grip the railing on top of the stall wall. She’s shaking already.
“After all,” I grunt hot on her neck, going deep on every word, “anyone could walk in here at any time. Wouldn’t that be a travesty?”
As soon as I uncover her mouth, she squeaks, “Yes!”
“Especially since I know you’re so close. Wouldn’t want your orgasm to be interrupted by some strangers.”
She vigorously shakes her head. Biting her tongue, I’m sure of it.
“Better make it quick, then, huh?”
Her head bobs up and down.
So I reach into the front of her scrubs and find her throbbing clit.
Her whole body bucks against me like a rogue wave.
With my other hand, I cover her mouth again and lean in close to her ear.
“Scream for me.” Then I work her clit fast and rough, and it’s just seconds before she follows my order as she comes.
It’s enough to pull me into my own, wave after wave of cum filling her up as we cry out together.
After, my head drops onto her shoulder, and I kiss my way up until I pull out, turn her around, and kiss her properly. I press my forehead to hers, and we breathe each other’s air for a few minutes. When my heart stops racing my good sense, I murmur, “You are an amazing woman, Annabel Pearl.”
“You…” She snorts a giggle to herself.
“Not exactly the response I was hoping for—”
“No, no, it’s nothing about you…well, kind of.”
“You’re killing me here.”
Annie smiles up at me. “Until now, I didn’t know you knew my whole name, and it seems like the kind of thing I should have known before I let you come in me.”
I snort at that. “Yeah, that seems like a good rule.”