Untamed

by Shey Stahl

  Then, when his mouth finds mine, it’s eager, but controlled in the sense that I can tell he’s not just some overeager kid. He’s a man.

  With a simple twist of his thumb and forefinger together, he has the button of my shorts undone with one hand.

  So talented. Now take me!

  Although everything is happening so fast, he’s not rushing through it like we did the first night. Moving both hands from my waist, he hooks them around the backs of my knees. He brings both my legs to rest on his left shoulder, his eyes flicking to my ankle and the Indian feather I have above the scar. I shouldn’t have a tattoo, but I do. Pays to know people who will do anything to mark you with ink. “What’s that from?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “The tattoo?”

  “No. The scar.”

  My eyes move to it. “Rattlesnake. Got too close and it bit me.”

  “I know the feeling,” he teases. He’s not referring to a snake, that’s for sure. With a smile, he takes his hat off and puts it over my face, laughing.

  It smells like him. Dirt and grass, but there’s a distinct leather cowboy smell that melts me on the inhale. It’s everything I want to remember.

  I remove the hat to see him watching me. There’s a slight grin that hasn’t faded, but it’s more the intensity in his eyes that makes me nervous. He’s a man . . . everyone else I’ve been with have been boys compared to him. What if I don’t . . . I don’t know. Shit. What am I doing? He’s probably been with hundreds of women.

  Taking the hat in my hand, I place it on my chest, covering my breasts. Grayer grins, knocking it away and then drags his hands back on my hips, dipping his fingers into the waistband of my shorts. “What do you want?”

  Am I supposed to know what that means? I shrug. “I don’t know. Show me what you got, Eight Seconds.”

  “You might regret that.” He gives me a wink and I lift my hips for him. Slowly, he slides them down over my thighs as his knuckles graze my skin. When they’re at my ankles, he tosses them near his hat on the floor.

  I’m not sure what he’s going to do next, but his mouth is lingering on my skin over the bruise on my calf that’s forming.

  “Does it hurt?” he asks, still looking at the bruise, and then giving it one more kiss.

  “No.” I bend my knees, sliding my feet down his bare chest.

  He stops, grabbing my ankles and spreading my legs for him.

  “You’re trouble,” he says when my legs are spread and my lower half is now completely bare for him.

  “You’re torture. . . .” My words are a whisper, but I know he hears it.

  Grayer’s mouth twists, a half grin that fades quickly as his eyes drop. His fingertips move and squeeze my upper thighs as he groans, a low, throaty sound I want more of. When his hands fall away, he leans in, supporting his weight with his arms beside my head. His buckle presses against me when he does this, the cool metal causing me to jump. Moving his right hand, he scoots my hips down to the very edge of the bale, both hands now on my hips. “Are you going to let me do what I want to you?”

  I nod.

  He pauses, his eyes searching mine, waiting to see my reaction. My hands move to his chest and then his head, wanting to fist that beautiful golden-brown between my fingers. He lets me pull at his hair, trying to make him come forward, but then he stops, taking my wrists and pinning them down on the bale. “Don’t move.”

  Pressing forward, his buckle grinds into me again. The hard metal has bumps and ridges that outline a cowboy on a bucking bull, and I never would have thought that could work.

  But it’s Grayer Easton we’re talking about. He knows his way around a woman’s body and I’m his sinning soul waiting for him. Just when I think this can’t get any better, his lips are on mine, his elbows holding him up while my wrists are still trapped in his hold.

  He grinds his buckle into my center. “You like that?” he asks against my lips, his sweet breath blowing over me.

  I can’t even respond because while his question lingers, his movements dominate. He doesn’t stop moving my hips against his buckle. I’m fucking a belt buckle worn by a world champion bull rider.

  I’m not sure what it is about Grayer and this, but everything is exactly right and the friction of the cool metal grinding against me is everything that I want. Writhing under his hands, I begin to move my hips on my own will without his direction. My body becomes possessed by his touch and I can’t get enough of him.

  When Grayer comes forward, his chest is heaving with heavy breaths, giving me another angle. I kiss his rough and tense cheek, his jaw, and then his lips, anywhere I can access.

  “That’s it . . . come for me,” he says, plunging his tongue into my mouth. The warmth starts low and it’s sudden, first a slow burn and then stronger, like the pop of a firecracker. Nothing about this compares to what I’ve experienced before. It’s crazy to me that the boys around here have nothing on Grayer Easton and he hasn’t even entered me yet. This orgasm is going to be the eight-second ride of my life for sure, maybe longer. Let’s hope for longer.

  Grayer’s eyes are low, watching his buckle rubbing where it wouldn’t normally be touching me, moving me against him. When I start to shake against him, my heels dig into his ass, begging him to come closer, harder, anything to make this last longer.

  He does. Oh God, does he.

  His breath comes out in short gasps, much like mine, when he notices me getting closer. “You’re beautiful when you fall apart.”

  “Oh God!” I scream, squeezing my eyes shut and throwing my arms around his shoulders. I hang onto him where I can, clawing at his skin.

  His rough voice is low and tense as he whispers to me, “There you go. Come all over my buckle.” One hand moves from beside me, wrapping around the back of my neck and bringing his eager kiss to mine. He’s excited and his kiss shows me, wild tongue and frantic gasps telling me how beautiful the sight before him is.

  My attention goes to the clanking of his buckle and then the faint sounds of his zipper.

  Oh God, he’s taking them off.

  He smiles at me, dirty and wicked, when he notices I’m watching him. He arches a cocky eyebrow. “You want me to take these off, right?”

  I nod eagerly, knowing that me having an orgasm just off Grayer’s buckle must have gotten to him more than he’s willing to admit. It takes him longer than I would like for him to get his pants off and then he’s searching for the condom in his wallet.

  “That was so fucking hot.” He pants, rolling the condom on.

  “Have you done that before?” I ask, still trying to catch my breath. I can’t wait for him to get that condom on. I want more. So much more. I never want tonight to end.

  “No, I’ve never done that.” He presses his erection to my center. He slides forward, between my folds, but doesn’t slip in.

  I move slightly, but he holds me in place.

  It’s obvious he’s in control here, not me.

  “Stay there. I’m nowhere near done with you.”

  He’s most certainly not.

  Tracing my cheekbone with his fingertips, I know what he’s going to ask me. It’s in his eyes before his lips let the words pass through. “Are you sure?”

  I slide my fingers over the hair on his chest and the ink covering the skin. “I’ve had sex before, Grayer.”

  He gives me a long stare, searching for any regret. When he doesn’t see that, a grin appears. “Yeah, but you’ve never had sex with a bull rider, have you?”

  Oh. Uh. Speechless. How do I respond to that one? I want to say so many snarky things, but nothing comes to mind.

  “No,” I finally stutter. My heart starts hammering, the cool night air washing over my body, heated only by his breath. I flinch when his palm finds my bare breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple.

  “Are you sure?” he asks again, sucking my nipple into his warm mouth. The sensations of his soft tongue lapping at my breast makes me shiver in his arms, unable to control my body arou
nd him. “You have to tell me you’re sure or I’m not going to do it.”

  “I’ll never say no to you.”

  His eyes find mine. “Maybe you should.”

  My legs wrap around his waist a little tighter. “Something tells me I’d be stupid to tell you no.”

  He doesn’t seem convinced just yet, his eyes scanning the barn and our surroundings. I’m not sure, but it must dawn on him about then that we’re in the barn and we might want something a little more comfortable. Or private. None of that matters to me. I don’t need a bed or anything else. I just need him. “Should we go to your room?”

  “My dad’s in there. . . .”

  He laughs, shaking his head. “The barn’s just fine.” He doesn’t say any more and though there’s still some hesitation, he’s giving in to me.

  “Do you want to?” I ask, wondering if this is just for me. The last thing I want is for him to do this just because I wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “You have no fuckin’ idea.” He gives a nod, that same confident nod. When he presses forward, his mouth finds mine again. “Hang on.”

  Sweet Jesus.

  He’s not waiting any longer, his patience gone as he enters me. There’s no easing into it, no hesitating, and I love that he doesn’t wait. We both gasp when he’s in, breathing escaping me entirely, but all I can do is inhale a much-needed breath that I need to stay alive this close to him.

  Grayer doesn’t move right away, his eyes on mine when he does, a slow movement as if he’s wanting this to last, or waiting to torture me. Could certainly be both.

  Lowering his lips to my throat, he moves a little faster, but still, he’s not rushing. It may be torture, but it’s the sweetest torture.

  “There’s so much more to sex if you feel it,” he tells me, keeping his eyes locked on mine. “Let yourself feel it.”

  I am. For the first time.

  Within in a minute, I realize he has a way that he moves. A swagger that only he can pull off. And he knows he’s that good. He’s confident he’s going to make me experience sex like never before. Heat builds and I’m gasping and whimpering into the curve of his neck, against his lips, everywhere my mouth touches his warm skin.

  He nips at my shoulder, his hands on my ass forcing me into every move he’s making. Drawing back, he positions himself on his hands, flat against the hay bale so he can see me laid out before him.

  With eagerness, his hand drifts lower to between my legs. “Come for me, again. Just one more,” he begs in a low raspy voice that makes me shiver, rattles my bones and pleads for more. “Give me one more.”

  It’s not his movements that do it—though they’re enough—it’s his voice and the words he’s whispering to me, “You’re beautiful when you finally let go,” and even, “I can’t get enough of you.” I thought before I liked that he didn’t say much when we were in his truck, but now, I crave these words and his uncontrolled touch.

  With each movement, each thrust, I’m closer and closer to what he wants from me. My body arches, curving around him, my hips angling just enough that nothing remains of my control. I’m gone completely.

  He groans, low, deep within his chest as if this sight is too much to bear for him.

  My body trembles as I release a soft moan, arching my body against the hay bale. A brash grin forms and he knows I came. His diamond-cut eyes travel up my body laid out before him as his strong, confident hands splay over my stomach and then go lower. He squeezes my hips, bringing me into each one of his determined thrusts.

  “Goddamn. . . .” Bending forward, he groans, touching his forehead to mine. His lips part, and I think he’s going to say something else, but he doesn’t and then they’re on mine, kissing me with an intensity I’ve never experienced before. Our mouths are colliding, tongues tangling and breathing heavy. Breathless words fall from his lips, but I can’t hear them, all I can focus on is pleasure. It shoots through me, blinds me, makes me only see him and experience what it’s like to fuck a bull rider. I never thought sex could be like this, so intense, so truly, deeply, overwhelmingly beautiful.

  His thrusts come a little faster, and I know what’s coming. A thrill of anticipation shoots through me at the idea of driving him to the very edge of pleasure.

  Breathing hard, his chest heaves, drawing in a ragged breath, every muscle tensed as he hovers above me. He looks at me, a quick glance, then his eyes dip low. He slams into me two more times, squeezing his eyes shut.

  I grind my hips and grip the back of his neck, sliding over damp skin, his name falling from my lips in a whisper as he rides through his orgasm.

  A moment later, he lets out a heavy breath, his chest shaking. “Holy shit,” he pants, slumping forward, but still supported by his trembling arms.

  My lips curve into a smile when his brush mine, his knuckles on my cheek. “Was it an eight-second ride?”

  He lets out a chuckle, his voice vibrating my entire body when he whispers against the shell of my ear, “I’ll never qualify when it comes to you.”

  Be careful, heart. He’s leaving in the morning.

  A bull on the PBR tour.

  Just as the night sky releases its hold, the sunrise dancing over the flatlands, my mind is doing circles with it. It’s a dance the two know very well. It starts with a burst of orange, clouds parting to reveal the beauty as if they’re forced to. There’s fog rolling off the pasture as it usually does in the mornings and that burst of orange makes it glow like it’s smoke rising. When I look up at the sky, half is deep shades of blue, hanging on, while the other moves between purple, pink and orange. It’s absolutely beautiful, and I smile.

  With The Eagles on the radio singing “The Best of My Love,” I sit there with Grayer, the barn doors open to the pasture, us wrapped in a blanket. He’s that burst of orange for me. A beginning, a notion for something better. And he’s leaving today. My hands are restless, twisting and twirling the braids intertwined with feathers.

  Grayer’s thumb runs over the tarnished metal of the angel wing on my necklace. “This hold meaning for you?”

  I nod, unsure if my voice will crack when I tell him the story behind the beads and stones laced on the strands. “My grandpa used to collect beads and stones. Every year on Christmas and my birthday, he’d give me a handful. When he passed away, I made a necklace of them. The fabric’s from my grandma’s wedding dress.”

  “And the feather?”

  I turn it over, showing him what’s written on the back. “Mom gave me that when Grandpa died.”

  He touches it, pulling it a little closer to read the saying on the back. Cowgirls are God’s wildest angels. “They are.”

  Our voices fade and there’s no sound around us. Nothing. No birds, no animals, just pure silence. It’s as if the world has stopped and it’s just the two of us, wrapped in a moment.

  This contentment, like there’s no place else I wanna be, I want to believe it’s real. You can experience this, can’t you? Is that possible? For so long, if I were with a guy, I had the urge to run, to recoil and withdraw from him. Until now. Now . . . I need more. I want time to stop.

  I laugh, thinking I’m funny when I ask, “Did you ever think you’d be fucking around with the rancher’s daughter?” I don’t mean for it to sound dirty, but it totally does.

  Grayer’s body tenses and his hand moves to my mouth, covering it. “Don’t talk that way.” His voice is harsh when he growls in my ear, “I’m not fucking around with you.”

  My heart skips. “I know.” But do I?

  “You sore?” he asks, pressing his lips to my temple, his hand slipping off my mouth.

  “Not from Hammer.” I smile, leaning into his touch. “But from you? Yeah.”

  I don’t know too much about Grayer, other than him being a badass bull rider and loyal. And incredibly moody. But as we sit wrapped together, I want to know a little more. I’ve never wanted to get to know anyone for fear of getting hurt. I want to know Grayer. “What’s it like being on the pro
rodeo circuit?”

  He laughs lightly, my body shaking in the process. “You mean bull riding? There’s a difference.”

  “Oh, well yeah. What’s it like? I bet it gets lonely.” I’m not even sure what I’m hinting at, but he finds it entertaining.

  “Yeah, it gets lonely sometimes. Lots of travel and it’s so damn hard on your body.” He picks up a piece of straw off the blanket, tossing it aside. “It’s rewarding too.”

  “Do you get hurt a lot?”

  He nods against my shoulder. His arms wrap around my chest, his kiss pressing tenderly into my skin. “Every time. Some aren’t as bad as others, but then there’s sometimes where I’m laid up for a few weeks.”

  “Are you ever scared it’ll be your last ride?”

  “No. I mean, you can’t think about that. You know it’s true, but you can’t let your mind go there. Having confidence is key. It’s man versus beast. You gotta learn how to make moves in response to the bull and stay on. There’s always gonna be a certain amount of fear, but there’s adrenaline there too, and you gotta know that nothing you expect to happen is gonna happen.”

  “Are you crazy? I guess you kinda have to be to bull ride,” I say, speaking from experience now.

  He chuckles. “You gotta have passion, right?”

  With a deep inhale, I breathe in fresh morning air that makes me smile and snuggle closer. “So Reid and Ty . . . they’re pro riders too?”

  “No, just Reid and me. Ty just turned eighteen two months ago and got his permit but once you apply for your pro card, you gotta win twenty-five hundred before they’ll grant your license. Boy can’t seem to stay on a bull long enough this season to win any good amount of money.”

  I’m getting to know him and it’s all so strange and different from what I’ve done in the past with guys, or even with Grayer and him ignoring me. Grayer doesn’t seem too interested in moving either. He’s slow touching and soft breathing. A gentle kiss only to wrap his arms around me a little tighter. I can’t ever remember being held by a boy for this long, and never by a man. I hadn’t realized it, but it’s exactly what I want and need. The cool crisp morning shivering my sinning soul, it’s like never before.