Page 80 of For Fillies and Monsters

“Yeah, and how would I run a horse rescue on my own in a town where such a thing would probably be as close to an unforgivable sin as committing murder?”

He shrugs. “I’ll help you, of course. Take what I’ve been through and all that.” I just stare at him. He’s not serious, he’s not staying long enough for something like that to happen. He’s a wanderer, a nomad. I have to change the subject, or I know myself well enough: I will say just that—open a can of worms that will expose just how vulnerable I am.

“Think you’ll know anyone riding?” I ask him, my lips around my third beer. He shrugs, the motion jostling my beer-holding hand. I wave the bottle in the air between us. “Hello, trying to drink a beer here.” I tip the bottle to my mouth again, and his fingers flick out, causing beer to spill across my chest, the liquid funneling between my breasts. I watch the amber liquid disappear with a mix of annoyance and confusion.

Gus leans toward me, his lips pressed against my ear, and I close my eyes. “Oops. I can help you with that if you want.” Shivering, I shake my head.

“Augustus, you are such a shameless flirt.” He freezes, his lips still pressed to my ear. “What?”

“You’ve never said my full name.” I smile at that, and take another sip of my beer, not caring this time as some of it spills past my lips and dribbles off my chin. He hisses in my ear and then swipes his finger through the droplets. I watch as he licks his fingers, eyes impossibly dark as they watch me back. It’s pornographic.

The crowd erupts in applause, pulling both of our gazes back to the arena, and the guy jostling atop an especially large black horse. As he jumps from the horse’s back, throwing a black hat into the sky, I look back toward Dale with a smile. She’s smiling back, but it’s far too knowing for comfort.

“Where’s Mateo tonight?” I ask, hoping to deflect some of her attention. Her face falters, only a second, before she buries it behind a glass of her own.

Shrugging, she says, “I don’t know, we aren’t that close. Besides, I don’t think he’d come to something like this. Not high-end enough.” I nod, letting it go for now; she’s too distracted, peeling at the label on her bottle, to tease me anymore. But I can’t help but think she’s wrong. I believe this would be exactly the kind of thing he would come to if only to spend time with her. I don’t say that, of course. I don’t want to rock the boat too much.

Not tonight, anyway.

THIRTY-FIVE

STETSON

May 31st, 2024

“I gotta pee.”I point toward the back of the tent where a blue port-a-potty sits next to the back side of a set of bleachers. Dale nods and turns to talk to someone standing next to her. I look up at Gus, pushing at his arm, but he flexes, keeping his bicep firmly in place across my collarbone.

“You coming to hold my hand in there?” I cock an eyebrow at him. He doesn’t smile and starts pushing us in the way of the bathroom.

“Only if you ask nicely.” His voice is gruff. I push again at his arm, only for him to squeeze tighter.

“Seriously? I don’t need you to come with me. I will be right back. We’re not close enough friends for this.” As I say the word ‘friends’, he huffs, his arm now pressed against my throat in a loose chokehold. We walk to the blue hut like this, and only when we get directly in front of it does he release his hold on me, slowly dropping his arm.

“I’ll be right here if you need me.” He leans against a bar of the bleaches, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Narrowing my eyes on him, I hiss, “What are you doing?”

“Just keeping my not-date safe.”

“Protective, much?” I huff, slamming the flimsy door behind me.

“You have no idea.”

His words send a rush of desire to bolt through me, effectively burning through the last of my flimsy restraint.

When I step out of the bathroom, Gus is still standing in the same spot, his jaw shadowed in a thin layer of scruff, black curls swaying over his dark eyes. I don’t know what comes over me—I’ll blame it on the alcohol in the morning—but I walk up to him and run my fingers through the long curls, brushing them from his face. Touching him, being with him, no longer sounds like the worst thing in the world. We’ve gone all night without killing each other, even going as far as having fun, and I crave that.I crave it, with him.

His eyes watch my every movement, wide and hungry, and he sucks in shallow, small breaths. I watch, entranced, as my fingers glide through the midnight tresses, my fingers so pale in comparison—darkness swallowing the light. Just like everything else about Gus.

His fingers snap out, wrapping tightly around my wrist. “Don’t be touching me like that if you expect me not to kiss you.”

I smile shyly, then lift my eyes to meet his. The memory of his kiss on me boils my blood, making my fears and frustrations scuttle into the darkest recess of my mind.Out of sight, out of mind.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

The words are barely whispered past my lips before he’s crushing his mouth against mine. I moan into his savage assault, my fingers tightening in the curls to pull his face closer. I want to swallow him, devour him for myself. I bite at his lips, tugging and pulling them between my teeth until the taste of copperblooms between us, and he groans, spurring me further into my dark spiral.

I’m completely out of control, and God, I love it.

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