Page 76 of Reckless Hearts

He’s fucking jerking off.

And I’m fucking watching him.

I can’t look away. It’s like I’ve been physically tied to this place.

My heart is thundering in my chest, bashing into my ribs, which heave with each of my shattering breaths.

I feel it then, the sharp stab of something primal and unwanted, and it hits hard, sending a jolt lancing down my spine.

Maverick’s muscles contract, spine arching, chin tipping to the ceiling.

His low, guttural groan rips out of him, shattering the haze that’s kept me chained here, replacing it with horror.

I stagger out.

The door closes behind me with a soft click as I sag into the wall, feeling it cold and unyielding against my skin, but inside…inside, I am molten and reeling.

The house I built in my mind. The one that keeps everything securely in its place threatens to ignite and burn to ash as I process what I just saw.

Each breath is ragged and unsteady, and my body, fuck, my body is reacting in ways I never saw coming.

There’s an overpowering need coursing through me, my abs flexing so tight they hurt.

This cannot be happening right now.

I am not turned on by that asshole.

I am not turned on by that asshole.

I am not turned on by that asshole.

I look down and an unrecognizable sound breaks from my lips and I thank God no one’s here to hear it.

My cock’s hard, the head pointed directly at me.

Precum pools at my tip, a visceral, humiliating confirmation that leaves me shaken.

All my walls, all my defenses, obliterated in an instant of naked, unwanted truth.

I’m fucked.

Utterly, completely fucked.

Chapter 23

Maverick

Livestock haulers kick updust as they approach the venue where we’ll be riding tomorrow night. Being first to see the bulls is a ritual I’ve kept up since I was a kid. Colt and I used to hang out for hours behind buildings, the smell of cow shit seeping into our jeans, just to get a glimpse at what riders would be up against. Callie never understood. She’d spent plenty of time dealing with ornery animals already and teased us mercilessly. She never got it. Not like Colt did.

The first truck pulls in, gravel crunching under its eight tires as the driver fluidly backs it into place. I whistle under my breath, impressed at how it lines up with the venue doors on the first try.

Grunts and kicks echo from inside, less than five feet from me. Not sure what they’re pissed about. The NBRA’s come a long way in making sure the bulls are comfortable. One of these beasts is going to try to kill me tomorrow, and it’s traveling in better conditions than I am.

A small crowd gathers as the crew sets up rails leading from the truck to the stalls. I’m not the only one with this idea.Wranglers keep the crowd at a distance while they get ready to unload.

Sweat runs down my neck, pooling between my shoulder blades. I pull my hat lower and lean against the cool metal of the arena, watching as more trucks pull in like clockwork, lining up in a neat row. Spurs jingle on concrete as riders drift over to scope out the scene. They’re not doing much different from what I’m doing, hanging around, seeing if they can guess the temperament of a bull before it’s out of the chute. Some of them will get it right; some of them will end up in the hospital. Makes no difference to the bulls.

“Mr. Kane!” A high-pitched shout comes from across the parking lot. A boy who can’t be older than ten races toward me at full tilt. His smile is taking over, bright and shining, when he skids to a halt.

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