Page 33 of Tame Our Wild

Her attitude quirks my mouth. “Rough flight?” I drop the tailgate and reach for the nicer bag.

She slides her sunglasses onto her head and rubs an eye as if it will clear the exhaustion pulling at her features. “You could say that. The old man beside me played Candy Crush with his phone sound on the entire flight.”

I can’t withhold the chuckle that leaves my throat as I toss the suitcase into the back of the truck.

When I reach for the battered one that looks like it’s been through a war, she tugs it away. “I can get this one.”

Harlow grasps onto the handle and crouches, trying to get a good grip on the suitcase. When she finally does, she struggles to lift it to meet the height of my truck bed. I’d help her, but I’ve learned that Harlow doesn’t often accept help unless she wants to. She’s stubborn like that.

It only takes about a second before she loses her balance with the massive bag cradled in her arms. I instantly reach out to catch it, but it’s too late. It falls from her arms, bursting like a grenade the moment it contacts the concrete. Her clothes and contents spill out onto the road at our feet.

“Shit,” she curses under her breath.

We both crouch, frantically gathering everything into our arms. I start tossing her clothes into the truck bed carelessly, my skin prickling in annoyance, knowing that cars will start getting impatient if we don’t move, since there’s a fresh flood of new people who have arrived and are waiting to pick up their passengers.

Harlow, on the other hand, is trying to shove stuff back in the bag like we have all the time in the world.

My tone is sharp. “That bag is done for. We need to get moving before we start getting honked at or security comes.”

She grumbles in frustration, shoving a flannel inside aggressively. “I’m going to have to rewash all my clothes if I let you throw them all in the back of your truck.”

“Scared of a little dirt, dust bunny? You ride bulls for a fucking living.”

I don’t have to see her eye roll—it grates against my skin like microscopic blades. As I crouch back down to gather more things, a flash of purple catches my attention. I reach for it absentmindedly, but the second I feel the smooth texture of silicone against my skin, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I can’t help but glance down.

Fuck. Me.

My heart thunders as I take in the large purple vibrator searing through my flesh.

This could be worse, right?

It could be a large silicone dick I’m grasping in my hand. Still, no matter how hard I try to get a hold of myself, I can’t create a barrier to block out the unstoppable rush of questions and images assaulting my imagination.

What does Harlow look like when she uses this?

Where does her mind go when she holds the vibrator between those toned thighs?

What sounds escape those plush lips when she comes?

My cock thickens in my jeans, those visions of her having me in a chokehold.

I don’t know how long I’ve been gripping the toy, but it’s long enough for a hand to whizz out and snatch it from me.

“Ugh!” I can’t tell whether Harlow’s disgust is at me for touching a very personal item or at the situation itself.

Probably both.

“Goddammit,” she snaps, and my attention shifts to the flush of mortification spreading across her smooth skin.

I raise my hands in self-defense. “Hey, I didn’t know what it was when I grabbed it.”

“Right,” she mutters incredulously. She shoves it back in her bag and picks up the suitcase, haphazardly tossing the entire thing into the bed, giving up on keeping things orderly.

I close the tailgate as she picks up her purse, marches to the passenger side, and climbs in.

Bracing my hands on my hips, I shake my head. “Lord help me.”

After seeing Paisley in that hospital bed, clinging to life, I was sure I’d never make it into heaven. Hell has found me early, and the devil is punishing me in the form of a blonde, bull-riding beauty with a tongue as sharp as her tenacity.