He dropped my gear on the floor at our feet, unbuttoning my shirt quickly.
“I forgot the strapping,” he groaned, but damn if he wasn’t persistent. He nipped my earlobe, his tongue running over my salty, sweat soaked skin. Had to be gross, but he hummed like he was tasting ambrosia. Finally, he’d released my breasts from their prison and when he’d finally divested me of all my top half, he gazed at my breasts like he’d discovered the meaning of life. When he wrapped his full lips around one of my nipples, I thought perhaps he had, because holy shit.
“Frankie,” I moaned and his body shuddered.
He looked up at me, his dark eyes full of lust and something more tender. “I swear, I am going to try every day for the rest of my life to make you say my name like that again.”
He scraped his teeth against my nipple again, and I couldn’t have stopped the moan if I tried. I pushed at his shirt, unbuttoning what I could, and then tearing the rest open. His tanned chest made my mouth water. I wanted to lick every ridge of his long, lean body.
My head fell back against a box as he switched nipples. Sweet Jesus. He swirled his tongue and my body curled towards his.
“Frankie please,” I groaned, pulling his head back to mine so I could capture his lips. I needed so much more. “Please,” I whimpered.
“Tess, Querida, I swear this wasn’t what I planned. When I thought about making love to you, there was a bed and candles and I buried myself between your thighs for hours before I finally had you, but…”
Yeah, but. This was perfect. I wanted him now. Hell, we had waited long enough. “This is perfect, now get your pants off, Frankie.”
He laughed, shedding his clothes and mine at the same time, the multitasking bastard. I fumbled with my belt until Frankie took over. I knew when my talents were needed elsewhere so I scraped my nails over his chest, smirking at his hiss when I lightly pinched his nipples. “Tessa,” he growled and I was a goner. I threw the last of my clothes off, and slammed my body into Frankie’s.
His hand slipped between us, and he let out another growl at the wetness between my thighs. He murmured things in Portuguese that I was way too revved up to try and translate, but it sounded like an ode to how damn beautiful I was.
He slid his fingers inside me, and I gasped out a whimpering sigh. Yes. This was perfect. Why hadn’t we done this before? Frankie and I were made for each other. When he slid a second finger in, I didn’t think anymore, I just moved. I curled against his fingers, my hands gripping his shoulders as he stroked my g-spot like it was his damn pet. My first orgasm washed over my body and I moaned loudly.
Frankie chuckled against my neck. “Hush, Gatinha. I don’t want anyone to interrupt us or we’ll have to stop.” Then he kissed me and replaced his fingers with the straining length of his cock. I pulled back, needing to look. We both watched as his hard cock entered me, our twin moans not quiet in the least. Jesus, I hope no one was back here, but when he was finally buried, I threw back my head and closed my eyes. The stretch was perfect. He was perfect. So I told him so.
The look he gave me was filled with so much emotion I wanted to run away from how it made me feel. But he didn’t put any of it into words, because he knew me as well as I knew myself. He slid back and slammed home, and I slapped a hand over my mouth to stifle my moans. We found a hot, sweaty rhythm, our skin sheening with sweat as we made love.
That's what it was, even if it was in a storage room at a rodeo. When his head dipped down to take my nipple in his mouth at the same time as his cock hit the perfect spot, black dots danced in my vision. Holy hell.
“Frankie,” I moaned again, and he slammed into me harder until we were wild and I could barely hold on, my orgasm rolling over me like a thousand pound bull, and I bit his chest, making him roar loudly, burying himself in me so hard his balls slapped against my ass. He filled me, our bodies one being, his hips making jerky motions as he came. I rode my orgasm and his, panting like I’d run a marathon. He collapsed forward, and I hoped the boxes behind my ass could hold our combined weight because there was no way I could let him go. I wrapped my arms and legs around his body, trying to keep us as one person for as long as I could.
Finally, he straightened and kissed me with so much emotion it threatened to make me cry. He cupped my cheek, just staring at me like the sun rose and set in my eyes. “You are perfect, Tessa May Everett.” The other three words hung in the air around us, but he didn’t say them.
I didn’t know if I was relieved or sad he stilled his tongue.
And that scared the shit out of me.
12
Frankie helped me get dressed, and we snuck back to the chutes like naughty teenagers. I couldn’t keep the grin off my face, or stop touching him. I looked at the leaderboard, and saw that Branch got bucked off in 4 seconds, which would be hurting him. I hadn’t missed Dylan though, so I headed over to the rails to watch. Frankie stayed out back, saying he needed to catch up with one of the reserve bullfighters.
I stayed out of sight so I didn’t screw with his process. He pulled the rankest bull in the comp, known for being a chaser. Honestly, his bull scared the shit out of me, not that I’d ever admit that to anyone.
Dylan looked cool as he settled onto the bull and I envied his calm. He joked with his rope man, petted his rank-ass bull on the neck, slapped down his hat hard onto his head and nodded to the gate man.
He was fucking beautiful to watch. Showy but so damn good that it didn’t matter. The women screamed and the men hollered and it was glorious.
He rode that bull for eight, just like I knew he would as soon as he burst from the gate. I held my breath as the bull did a quick direction change as Dylan was slipping his hand out. The bullfighters rushed in when they saw the same thing I did. It happened in the space of a heartbeat, but when you were standing there, it was in slow motion.
Dylan flipped forward over the bulls head, his face smashing into the bull's skull, and his body went lax. He was hung up and unconscious, and that bull was flinging his body around like it was a rag doll. The bullfighters were there in moments, one going for Dylan’s rope, the other two keeping the bull distracted as Dylan’s body hit the dirt hard.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. The medics ran in, stretcher in hand. “No. Get up, Dylan. Get the fuck up,” I whispered, and someone gripped my hand. I looked over to see a white-faced Branch. I wanted to rush out there. To make him speak to me.
“He’ll be okay,” Branch murmured, but I didn’t know if he was talking to me or himself. They braced his neck, and slipped him onto the stretcher. I saw Beau’s pale face amongst the people carrying him out of the arena, and he gave us a nod. He was awake.
My knees shook and Branch’s arms slipped around my waist, keeping me upright. Frankie ran up from out the back, his face pale. “Is he okay?”
Branch shrugged. “Beau said he’s awake, so that's good.” He looked around at the riders, their faces all concerned. Dylan was well loved, not just by the fans but by the other riders. We were a close knit bunch and when one of us was injured bad, we all felt it. This was a sport where you were bound to get hurt, where you can watch your friends die. We knew that. But it still shook us all when it happened.
Branch guided me from the rails. “Come on. I’m done for the night. They’ll send him to the hospital for that one. We’ll meet them there.”