Page 56 of Tame Our Wild

Fulfilling in a way I’ve never experienced.

I could fucking watch this determined look in her eyes all day.

I speed it up, watching her stay centered and move fluidly. When it ramps up to full speed, bucking and spinning out of control, she makes it look effortless.

“Yes!” I cheer, knowing damn well she’s so focused she can’t hear me, but I decide to do it anyway.

I should be focused on her skill—her agility. Should, yet it doesn’t mean I do.

Not when she grinds against the body in a way that has a raging inferno pumping flames across my limbs and to my dick. Her form is near perfect, and yet all I can focus on is the way her hips roll back and forth. My groin throbs, and an onslaught of images rushes me at once.

Harlow’s blonde hair wrapped around my fist as I thrust my hips into her from behind.

Harlow on top of me as I clutch her hips in my hands as she rolls her body, sliding my cock in and out of her tight pussy with the same determination that infects her veins when she rides a bull.

And those lips …

Fuuuck.

She’s probably a perfect little cocksucker because Harlow Hartt doesn’t half-ass anything.

I should’ve known these thoughts would be dangerous in more ways than one. The image of her kneeling and staring up at me with watery baby blues flashes across my vision, and it’s my undoing.

I don’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late. I grunt as my dick pulses in my jeans, my muscles contracting with the shock of euphoria that obliterates my system. My eyes widen as I feel my release coat my stomach and wet my boxers.

It doesn’t help that I haven’t had sex in what feels like forever. I’m a man. Of course, I jack off. But nothing has ever felt quite like that. And I was imagining it.

Goddamn, I am fucking old.

My muscles solidify, forcing my body not to show the signs of my climax as I swallow the groan trying to escape.

Unlike the last time when she was thrown off, she leaps and lands, quickly regaining her balance. When she stands up, her smile is so contagious that I can’t help but laugh at the hold this girl is starting to have on me in a way I never could’ve predicted.

Harlow’s probably thinking about how she’s getting back on track to make a name for herself. While I, on the other hand, am cursing myself for how fucking screwed I am.

TWENTY-THREE | COLSON

Pulling my fingers through my freshly wet hair from my shower, I amble into the kitchen to pull out the casserole I have in the oven. I have an appetite, but I can’t quite tell if it’s for food or for the woman I should not be fucking thinking about in all the ways I have been since I watched her on that mechanical bull yesterday.

I pride myself on blocking out things when I need to.

But this … this is different.

I keep wondering whether the past that ties Harlow and me together is a live wire, meant to spark just to burn us down, or if it could be kindled into something else. I refuse to call it friendship. Even thinking the word makes my fists tighten. However, I know better than anyone that the past doesn’t disappear; it stays with you, smoldering in the depths where the smoke infects everything. It seeps into every part of your life.

As I pull out plates, my eyes keep wandering over to her sprawled out on the couch under a fluffy blanket as the firelight flickers off her soft skin. She has her tablet, clearly scrolling through social media.

Each day that goes by, she looks more at home, infiltrating my life. It’s only normal that I’m reacting to her the way I am, right?

My clear hard-on for her was like an icebreaker between us, and she’s ignoring it like it didn’t happen. I’m as surprised as she is, but instead of wanting to forget about it, I want to push the line with her.

With a career like ours, we’re always testing the edge of control.

“Dinner is ready,” I call out.

Her head perks up above the couch cushion. “Finally.” She tosses the blanket off and stands, stretching out her limbs. “I wanted to sneak a few bites while you were in your room. I’m starving.”

She walks toward me as casually as ever in an oversized T-shirt and sweats with a makeup-free face and a grin that has my heart setting fire in my chest.