Page 30 of Ride the Sky

My response is to palm her breast and squeeze.Fuck.The full weight of her in my hands has me trembling.

A few beats pass. Then Fallon steps into me. Her body presses against mine, and everything empties from my brain.

The word no.

The promise I made to her father.

The fact that I already know one time isn’t enough.

I lean in.

“Remember the rules,” she orders as my mouth hovers inches from hers. Twin spots of pink have appeared on her cheeks.

“Fucking fine,” I growl. My mouth leaves hers, traveling down to her breast. I lick the peak, and she shivers. Then I snare her waist and move her back toward the bed.

Taking control. Like I always do.

“Wyatt,” she breathes, moving to unzip my jeans. Reaching in to fondle my cock. I groan at the sensation. At the goddamn thought.

How in the hell did a cowgirl like her ever look my way?

I yank my jeans down and pull out my cock. Already, precum drips off its head. She doesn’t want romance; we’ll get straight to point.

At the sight of my cock, Fallon’s eyes widen. Not gonna lie, it makes me feel pretty damn good. Then she bares her teeth and grins. Slips off the bed to her knees.

A guttural groan erupts from my chest as she takes me in her mouth.

I thrust a hand into all that gorgeous, caramel hair and hold tight as she sucks me off with her perfect pumps. Sweat breaks on my forehead. No chance I last longer than a minute with this girl.

This fucking girl.

Fallon McGraw is beautiful. Dangerous. Deadly.

And she’ll never know how much I goddamn want her.

This is Wyatt. He used to be my…trainer.

The sentence packs a punch.

No doubt its intended effect. No doubt Fallon’s way of telling me I’m not needed.

If I wasn’t pissed off before, I am now.

“I’ll get drinks,” Fallon says as our group settles around a sticky high-top. She barely looks at me as she makes a quick exit.

That dark thundercloud that’s been hanging over me ever since she left rumbles.

“New bar,” Ford observes, settling on a stool.

“Not our bar,” Charlie grunts.

Rolling out the tension in my shoulders, I clap my brother on the back. “Just knock a couple drinks back, and you’ll be right at home.”

The Copper Queen is a honky-tonk set out in the Arizona desert. Dusty and hot. Pool tables and a jukebox that blasts Waylon Jennings. But it has cold beer, so my brothers can’t complain.

The scene in the crowded bar is one I’m familiar with. Buckle bunnies hovering in the wings. A dozen cowboys hold court, playing pool, boasting about tomorrow’s ride. There are cameras everywhere, documenting the new competition, which adds tothe chaos. I don’t recognize any of the other riders. A year ago, they’d be familiar, but turnover’s quick in rodeo.

My gaze drifts.

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