She couldn’t keep her attention on the third rider as the horse Liam would ride was loaded into the chute.
She shifted Noah on her lap to watch his daddy, but didn’t think she breathed as Liam mounted, secured his grip and gave a brisk nod.
The chute sprang open and Liam’s horse, a sorrel, bounded out. The animal leaped toward the side of the ring, clearly intending to brush Liam off against the rail, but somehow Liam guided him toward the center, rocking back and forth, hand arced over his head, his other hand wrapped around a frayed nylon rope. She refused to think about what would happen if he fell and got caught beneath the horse’s hooves. Instead, she admired the roll of his body, the straightness of his back.
Before she knew it, the buzzer sounded. His eight seconds were up. Two other cowboys rode up beside him to calm his horse and release the binding beneath the horse’s belly. Liam shifted onto the back of the horse on his left, unbuckled his helmet, then slid to the ground, waving his helmet at the crowd. He crossed the arena to the rail in front of Grace and Noah, and turned to look up at the score.
An eighty-two. Pride swelled in her chest, and he turned to grin up at her, then beckoned to her. She hesitated, pulling Noah closer, but Liam beckoned again. She gathered her son up, hurried down the few steps as Liam launched himself onto the concourse. Eyes bright with his success, he cupped his hand around the back of her neck and kissed her, long and hard, in front of everyone. He smelled of horse and sweat, and she pressed closer, until Noah protested on her hip. Liam broke away to kiss his son’s head, then vaulted back into the arena and circled back to the chutes, leaving Grace dazed on the side.
***
Grace’s pulse pounded as Liam carried Noah into the fifth wheel. He hadn’t asked if she wanted to come home with him, just steered her in the direction of the RV park. In the light from over the stove, she watched him make a bed out of the couch, one-handed, and place her son—their son—on it. He reached into a cabinet overhead, pulled down a blanket and tucked it around the boy. Liam pressed a kiss to his temple, and turned to catch Grace’s hand. He led her toward the bedroom, prodding her up the two steps ahead of him, his hands on her ass, before he crowded her against the wall and slammed his mouth down on hers.
Her nipples grew instantly hard as he filled her with his taste, as he glided his hands down her side, gripping her ass, pulling her close. She wriggled against him, against the hard-on that had to hurt in those tight jeans. Inching her hands between them, she tugged his shirt free of the jeans and slid her hands beneath, over hot, smooth skin, hard abs. He groaned into her mouth and captured her hands, spinning her at the same time, turning her so her face was to the wall and his cock rubbed against her ass, his hands on her breasts, pinching her nipples through the knit of her shirt. With a flick of his wrist, he had her jeans open, and his hand down the front, stroking the strip of hair on her mons, probing deeper until he found her clit, hot and swollen.
She leaned into him, hooking her arm around his neck, rubbing her ass against his fly as he played his finger over her, circling, pressing. He pumped his hips against her butt, his breathing ragged in her ear, before he withdrew his hand and pivoted her again. He pulled her shirt and bra down below her breasts in one smooth movement. For just a second, she lamented the ruin of her blouse before he dipped his head to claim her nipple.
Oh . She bucked her hips into his as the sensation washed over her, the pure lust of being possessed. He closed his teeth over the tip and tugged, before turning his head to her other breast, dragging his stubbled cheek over the tender flesh before sucking hard. Her knees sagged, and he circled her toward the bed.
She braced her hand against his chest before he could lower her to it.
She shifted Noah on her lap to watch his daddy, but didn’t think she breathed as Liam mounted, secured his grip and gave a brisk nod.
The chute sprang open and Liam’s horse, a sorrel, bounded out. The animal leaped toward the side of the ring, clearly intending to brush Liam off against the rail, but somehow Liam guided him toward the center, rocking back and forth, hand arced over his head, his other hand wrapped around a frayed nylon rope. She refused to think about what would happen if he fell and got caught beneath the horse’s hooves. Instead, she admired the roll of his body, the straightness of his back.
Before she knew it, the buzzer sounded. His eight seconds were up. Two other cowboys rode up beside him to calm his horse and release the binding beneath the horse’s belly. Liam shifted onto the back of the horse on his left, unbuckled his helmet, then slid to the ground, waving his helmet at the crowd. He crossed the arena to the rail in front of Grace and Noah, and turned to look up at the score.
An eighty-two. Pride swelled in her chest, and he turned to grin up at her, then beckoned to her. She hesitated, pulling Noah closer, but Liam beckoned again. She gathered her son up, hurried down the few steps as Liam launched himself onto the concourse. Eyes bright with his success, he cupped his hand around the back of her neck and kissed her, long and hard, in front of everyone. He smelled of horse and sweat, and she pressed closer, until Noah protested on her hip. Liam broke away to kiss his son’s head, then vaulted back into the arena and circled back to the chutes, leaving Grace dazed on the side.
***
Grace’s pulse pounded as Liam carried Noah into the fifth wheel. He hadn’t asked if she wanted to come home with him, just steered her in the direction of the RV park. In the light from over the stove, she watched him make a bed out of the couch, one-handed, and place her son—their son—on it. He reached into a cabinet overhead, pulled down a blanket and tucked it around the boy. Liam pressed a kiss to his temple, and turned to catch Grace’s hand. He led her toward the bedroom, prodding her up the two steps ahead of him, his hands on her ass, before he crowded her against the wall and slammed his mouth down on hers.
Her nipples grew instantly hard as he filled her with his taste, as he glided his hands down her side, gripping her ass, pulling her close. She wriggled against him, against the hard-on that had to hurt in those tight jeans. Inching her hands between them, she tugged his shirt free of the jeans and slid her hands beneath, over hot, smooth skin, hard abs. He groaned into her mouth and captured her hands, spinning her at the same time, turning her so her face was to the wall and his cock rubbed against her ass, his hands on her breasts, pinching her nipples through the knit of her shirt. With a flick of his wrist, he had her jeans open, and his hand down the front, stroking the strip of hair on her mons, probing deeper until he found her clit, hot and swollen.
She leaned into him, hooking her arm around his neck, rubbing her ass against his fly as he played his finger over her, circling, pressing. He pumped his hips against her butt, his breathing ragged in her ear, before he withdrew his hand and pivoted her again. He pulled her shirt and bra down below her breasts in one smooth movement. For just a second, she lamented the ruin of her blouse before he dipped his head to claim her nipple.
Oh . She bucked her hips into his as the sensation washed over her, the pure lust of being possessed. He closed his teeth over the tip and tugged, before turning his head to her other breast, dragging his stubbled cheek over the tender flesh before sucking hard. Her knees sagged, and he circled her toward the bed.
She braced her hand against his chest before he could lower her to it.
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