This is the first time I’ve seen him look like a true rodeo cowboy in person, and it’s got my hands itching to get closer and touch him.What would he look like in those chaps… and nothing else?The way they manage to cup his groin—accentuate his bulge—so perfectly is downright sinful. Somehow, I’m able to redirect my thoughts, not allowing myself to go intothatterritory right now, just in time to hear the world champ winner for saddle bronc riding.
My chest tightens, heart thudding as Cope’s name is announced. The entire arena erupts into a deafening roar, my feet leaving the ground as I jump up, Shooter’s arms punching toward the sky at the same time. We turn to face each other, the pride on his face nearly knocking me over as we collide into one another in a short celebratory hug. Returning my gaze to the center of the arena, Cope’s grinning ear-to-ear as he rips his hat off his head, tossing it in the air. He lets out a triumphed,“Woooo!”before running half around the arena until he comes to a stop in front of us.
“That’s what I’m fucking talking about!” Shooter bellows beside me, the volume and the excitement causing laughter to erupt out of me as my gaze connects with Cope’s. His chocolate brown eyes glint underneath the lights of the arena, his cheeks flushed, and the child-like giddiness present in his features makes me want to jump down and kiss him.
Shooter shakes me, with his hands planted on my shoulders, but I barely notice. Cope’s got me locked in this bubble with him, the pride so thick swelling inside of me as I take him in has me feeling like I may burst at the seams.
“You did it!” I shout over the noise from the crowd. “You fucking did it!”
“Yeah, you fucking did, big boy,” Shooter cuts in, causing Cope to throw his head back and laugh. His laugh is contagious, both of us barking out one of our own.
By the time he leaves us to go do interviews or whatever the hell he has to do, my cheeks ache from smiling so much. Watching him work so hard tonight, knowing how hard he worked all season, and seeing him take that title, was extraordinary. I’m so happy I was able to come and watch this in person. I’ve gained a new level of respect for Cope, and all of his friends, seeing this with my own two eyes.
He's incredible, and I can’t wait to show him that tonight if he lets me.
19
COPE MURPHY
The narrow corridor is no less than a hundred and five degrees as we make our way across the tan and maroon designed carpet. At least, that’s what it feels like as the sweat beads above my brow, scaling across the nape of my neck, and dripping down into my shirt. It doesn’t help that two hours ago, I was wrangling a bronc in a less than air-conditioned arena and haven’t had a chance to shower yet, so I probably reek, the new sweat just adding to the already dry and marinated perspiration clung to my body.
My hands have a slight tremor to them, and my legs act like they don’t want to work, like my knees could buckle at any moment. And I don’t think it has anything to do with the exhaustion from bronc riding earlier and everything to do with the too-beautiful-for-his-own-good man walking beside me, his curly black hair flopping over his forehead and his icy blue eyes that heated with a flame that matched my own burning need before we left the bar a little bit ago.
Huge, world champion win aside, watching him has been my favorite part of the evening. The way he flirted more and his cheeks flushed a deep pink with every beer he tossed back. Theway he so effortlessly blended in with my friends. The way they so quickly took a liking to him—way before us coming to Vegas. The way he teased me when we played pool and I couldn’t sink a ball to save my life because I was far too enamored with him. But most importantly, the way he leaned in real close to me near the jukebox, a playfulness dancing in his gaze as he said low enough for my ears only, “Take me back to your hotel room, cowboy.”
Those eight words carried the sultriest lilt that shot straight to my core, and I knew I’d do anything he asked if only he spoke to me like that.
So, here we are, walking side by side, wordlessly, down the never-ending, overheated hallway at the ritzy hotel I’m staying in for the week. Our arms hang by our sides as we go, close enough to brush occasionally, but not enough to full on touch. The electricity is still there, though, even from the small amount of contact. Every sweep against him sends shock waves through my body, a rich rush of anticipation for what’s to come once we’re behind closed doors.
I’ve thought about this for a while now. Thought of what doing more than kissing with Xander would be like, what it would feel like. And not even necessarily because he’s a man—although, it probably is a little about that too, only because it’s something I’ve never done before—but because of this strong, intense connection we seem to share. Intimacy for me has never been earth-shattering. It’s never been something I felt like Ineeded, much less wanted. There’s never been a time when it felt like I needed to experience what someone’s body felt like against mine, when I craved tasting them, consuming them, on a deeper, filthier level. Sex has always been about a mix between expectation and release.
This need for Xander feels like neither of those things. It’s carnal and deep and pure. It’s about desire instead of obligation. A desire so strong, I’m choking on it. A need so thick, I can’t seearound it, and I don’t want to. It’s a blinding fog that I’ll gladly welcome. I don’t fully understand it, but I don’t think I need to yet. I can learn as I go.
We stop in front of room 437, and with a shaky hand, I slip the key into the slot, waiting until it shines green before opening it up. My stomach leaps into my throat as that freshly cleaned hotel room smell hits us, the reality of where we’re at crashing into me at full force, the jitters cranking up a couple dozen meters. Xander walks in before me, flicking the light on, and I follow, shutting and locking the door behind me, pressing my back up against the hard surface.
Xander turns, facing me, the bottle of liquor we took from the bar after slipping the bartender a fifty hanging from his grip. He looks sheepish. Even a little boyish as he peers at me through his long dark lashes. Neither of us makes any move, at least not right away. Our gazes locked, we revel in this moment. We drink it in. Let ourselves feel the gravity of it. After tonight, everything changes. There will be no more tiptoeing around this thing between us, no denying it’s there—not that I’ve wanted to do much of that anyway.
With barely a glance to the side, he sets the bottle on the dresser before slowly taking a step forward. And then another. He’s right in front of me, his lids hooded, his cheeks still splashed with color. “You look nervous,” he states huskily.
Deciding to go with honesty, I give him a small grin. “I am.”
His hand comes up, cupping the side of my neck, thumb brushing along my jawline, and a shiver rolls through me at the gentle but sure touch. “Is this your first time with a man?”
Breathing a laugh through my nose, I ask, “Am I that obvious?”
He shakes his head. “Not obvious, but in the few times we’ve spoken about partners, it’s always been women you’ve referenced, and I didn’t want to assume.”
Bringing my hands to his hips, I pull him into me, my mouth finding his, whatever nerves I was feeling a moment ago gone the second his lips part and my tongue slips inside. It rolls against his before licking my way around, savoring the way he tastes. The hand he has anchored to the side of my neck wraps around until his fingers are fisting in the hair at my nape. He tugs enough to add a bite of pain as he presses his hard body into mine.
Xander isn’t as big or as muscular as I am, but even with my eyes closed, there’s no mistaking that it’s a man’s body flush with mine. No mistaking it’s a man’s mouth I’m exploring, his scratchy five o’clock shadow rubbing against mine, and I can’t deny how unbelievably hot it makes me. And again, not even because it’s a man instead of a woman, but because it’shim. Because it’sXanderI’m tasting. Xander’s the reason my heart is hammering, and why my dick is thickening.
Not a man, not a woman. Xander.
With there being zero breathing room between us, I can feel his erection as it rubs against my own, taunting me, and my pulse kicks up in speed, the blood roaring in my ears. I want to strip him naked and discover every inch of him, all night long. But first—“Wait,” I blurt out, ripping my lips from his.
His hot breath fans my lips as confusion crosses through his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Before we go any further, I need to shower.”
