Page 112 of Bucked Hard

Rage rips through me, engulfed by a sense of doom. She’s about to pass where I’m standing. I jerk my head around and see a long, broken branch laying on the ground and lunge toward it.

I snatch it up, hefting it as I try to keep hold of the rope at the same time, then slap the wood down into the river just before she floats by.

“Grab on, Mary Beth!”

Her body pushes against the branch, and the pressure of the water and her weight is loosening my grip.

The thought hits me that I can’t imagine going to my grave without having her by my side.

That’s how far I’ve come in just two days.

As panic closes my throat, her arms fly upward, her body twists and she’s on top of the branch, the rope intertwined with them both. She must be half frozen. She’s barely holding on. I dig my heels into the soft dirt and pull until the veins in my forehead feel like they will pop.

As she comes closer, her head bobs up and she lays it solidly on the branch. Next, her arms find purpose, and she tightens around the wood and rope. I keep pulling until I’ve got her a few feet from the bank. The water is shallower there, and her legs start to drag on the bottom, slowing her to a near stop.

With my heart racing, I’m down the bank and in the water, scooping her up against me. Her drenched body is limp, but she looks up, her eyes link to mine and—to my shock—she smiles.

Adrenaline surges through my veins as I look down and see a sparkle in her bright, green eyes. Blood pounds in my ears as I get her safely up onto solid ground and lay her down, bolting up to grab the blanket off the back of my saddle and shaking it out onto the damp ground.

“Let’s get you over here.” I help her shift from the grass onto the blanket as she coughs. Her hands come up to rub over her face, pushing the water from her eyes, smoothing back her hair as I take her cheeks in my hands.

I realize if she hadn’t grabbed onto the branch, I would have thrown myself out into the current with her. I would not let her face whatever fate had in store alone.

I would have died for her. I would have died with her.

“You breathing okay?” Guilt rakes through me looking at her lips, thinking about how I want to put mine there. How many times in the last couple days have I imagined those sweet, full, pink lips wrapped around my cock?

I’m a horrible man. She could have died, and I’m still thinking with my fucking dick.

“Yes,” she sputters, those amazing lips still turned up into a half smile. “That wascrazy. Is that ride in the brochure?”

Her hands come up and wrap around my forearms, the contact hitting me like a sonic boom in my chest. I reach into my back pocket and pull out a faded red bandana, pressing it against the spot of blood on her forehead.

“Hold that there,” I command, and she brings one hand up to comply.

I strip my shirt and wrap it around her shoulders, imagining how it would feel to have myself wrapped around her.

Have her wrapped around me.

I’m suddenly engulfed in anger. At what, I’m not sure. At the river maybe. At me for not seeing her putting herself in danger sooner as she stepped back to take my fucking picture.

Her cheeks turn toward pink again as I take the bandana from her forehead, stuffing it back in my pocket, the blood gone but the reminder gathering more fury at the knowledge she was hurt by my poor judgment.

Her safety is my responsibility now. Her care is my responsibility now. Everything it takes to make her happy…

Is my responsibility now.

“Well, you promised me an interesting day. You have not disappointed…” Her good humor at a time like this is almost incomprehensible. Part of me wants her to yell and scream about how I failed to keep her safe, but another part is drawn to that warmth.

I’m kneeling in front of her, my eyes fighting the urge to look down where her white t-shirt is plastered against her skin. The thin fabric of her bra is doing nothing to hide the hard peaks that are pressing through, making my cock drive upward in its fight to get to her.

I force a smile. “That I did. Only, I had something else in mind.”

There’s a beat of silence as her eyes connect to mine. I see her chest rise and hold.

But the moment is broken as we both turn in the direction of the sound of hoof beats. Dorian looks up as well from where he’s grazing to see Rooster, Mary Beth’s mount, galloping toward us. He slows, snorting, looking at us on the blanket, seems to sense all is calm, then settles next to Dorian to nibble the grass.

“What exactly did you have in mind?” Her voice is barely above the sound of the water as she bites into her bottom lip, driving me close to the edge of madness.

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