Page 104 of Tame Our Wild

In a flash, he’s gripping the back of my neck with his wet hand. He flips us, my ass pressing into the counter as the front of his body becomes flush with mine. Suds drip off his hand and down the valley of my spine, the cool water doing nothing to calm my heated skin.

“What I want is you on top of me. Under me. I want your taste on my tongue—your scent clinging to my skin and tangled through my sheets. I want you invading my fucking head like you have been since you moved in. I want you here. I want you on this property with me, and we’ll figure it out day by day.”

My ribs grind together at his admission.

Colson’s hand tips my head to the side, his mouth sealing to the slope of my neck. His tongue lashing against my skin makes a whimper leave my lips. “I want you to admit you want me as badly as I want you,” he whispers into my skin.

I reach up to grasp his forearms as his mouth shakes my world, and I contemplate what that future would look like. What it would look like if Colson kept coaching me. What it would look like living here with him. What life would look like if he were my partner, because this man has threaded himself through parts of my soul that I’ll never untangle.

But the reality is, scrubbing myself of him now, before we give a name to what we are and how we feel about each other, would be easier than diving deeper and drowning.

The truth about how I feel about Colson is on the tip of my tongue.

As I slam my eyes shut, I know there are still so many questions we don’t have answers to. But the only way to get those answers is to bring whatever we are into the light and make it public.

My brain and my heart are at war.

My heart tells me there is so much we could gain if we come forward, but my brain is fighting for dominance, reminding me of all the things we could inevitably lose.

FORTY-FOUR | HARLOW

Music blares in one ear while information from Kent, our director, is fed into the other. I should probably be paying attention, but I’m trying to focus on the beat that is better at keeping my nerves settled than the same spiel he gives at most events that I know by heart. I’ll start paying attention when our judges start going over score expectations and rules.

To anyone else, it may look like I’m paying attention to what Kent is saying as he shares the timeline for today’s event. However, I’m already getting in the zone, preparing myself for the battle I’ll have tonight, since Gunpowder & Lead was the bull I was drawn. A bull that I know several of the other riders would’ve killed for, considering he is one of the higher-scoring bulls. If you can stick the eight on him, there’s a good possibility you will outscore your competitors.

He gets my fine ass tonight.

This first-round ride is going to be one hell of a fight, and my head has to be fully in it. Which is already difficult enough, considering Colson is standing next to me. His scent wrapping around me is almost as soothing as Brantley Gilbert’s “Off the Rails” playing in my one headphone, which is hidden behind my hair.

There are over fifty riders and crew members crammed into this hallway, their nerves and anticipation as high as mine to get on with the event.

Sometimes, I’ll tip my head up and peer at Colson from beneath the brim of my hat, his eyes instantly finding mine from where he is leaning against the wall with his hands tucked into his pockets. Matt is beside him in his usual bullfighting attire: a yellow-and-black jersey with sponsor logos that stand out. Like always, Colson’s button-down is rolled up his thick forearms, my eyes always snagging on the ripple of muscles and tendons whenever he shifts in the slightest way.

Last night at the bar, we hung out casually while we were around our competitors. We are nearing the end of this arrangement, and I can’t help but feel like we are both seeking out more time to be around each other before this season ends, even if it means standing near each other at the bars or behind the chutes, talking instead of bickering like everyone is used to.

“And for the love of God, please keep track of your shit. There was gear left all over the place last week.” Kent leisurely looks around at all the athletes. “Now, Synthia has a few things she wants to go over.”

I fail to hold back my eye roll and decide that I can tune out this, too. Her high-pitched preppy voice still sinks into my ears even though I try to block it out. It’s the kind of voice that can set an entire room on edge.

She pushes her bleached blonde hair behind her shoulder. “Getting the pacing for tonight’s intro is crucial, as we will be creating a montage for breaks at finals. This also means that tonight, more of you will be pulled for interview opportunities, so even after you come off the dirt, stick near the chute and keep the adrenaline high.”

Like we don’t already? That’s a high that can take hours to come down from. To bull riders, getting on the back of a raging beast is like taking a hit of a drug. That adrenaline is and always will be a potent toxin flooding through our veins.

Synthia’s eyes flick over to me, but I know I’m not the one she’s acknowledging; it’s the man behind me.

Swallowing, I try to suppress the unwelcome sting of possessiveness that twists around my rib cage. I know she and Colson have a history from the things she has shared on Instagram. I wasn’t here last season, but I know he would take her back to his hotel after events.

“I don’t want to have to track your asses down,” she finishes.

Synthia keeps talking as a warm breath glides across the shell of my ear. “You’d think she would’ve learned by now not to wear fucking six-inch heels in cowboy territory.” Colson’s whisper is husky and too sexy for this moment.

I eye Synthia up and down, taking in the number she chose for tonight: a floral-print wrap dress with stiletto-heeled brown boots.

Glancing over my shoulder at Colson, propped against the wall, I smirk, keeping my voice low. “Says the man who had those six-inch heels on his floor a few times last season. Or were you being a gentleman, letting her rest her feet in your bed?”

His lips tilt, the cocky look spreading liquid warmth between my thighs. “Are you jealous?”

“Absolutely not.”