Grant grabs my hand and pulls me along the back path that leads behind the competitor barns, ducking between a row of unused tack rooms where it's quiet, shaded, and most importantly, private. My laugh trails behind him, breathless and I know he’s not bringing me here to give me a tour of the barns.
The noise of the rodeo still hums behind us, muffled by the closed tack room door, but my head is a swirl of Grant. Grant in the arena, Grant tipping that damn hat and his glorious smile to the crowd, Grant looking like he’d just conquered the entire state of Texas with one ride.
And now Grant with his mouth on my neck like he’s starving and I’m the only thing that can satisfy him.
As soon as the door shuts behind us, he presses me up against it, crowding into my space like he can’t get close enough, his hands everywhere—hip, waist, thigh, like he can’t decide what part of me he wants first.
“God, you smell like sweat and hay,” I murmur against his lips.
“And you’re still kissing me back. That’s devotion.”
My lips curve into a smirk just as he slams his mouth onto mine. It's fast and hungry, all lips and tongue, as if this kiss has been simmering all night and just hit its boiling point. I curl my fingers into his shirt, dragging him closer, and he wraps his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me closer, like maybe he needs this just as much as I do.
“Grant,” I breathe.
I tug at the buttons and growl in frustration. “Why do your shirts have so many damn buttons?”
He grin against my mouth. “Because snaps are for quitters.”
I manage to undo just enough before I push it off his impressively large shoulders, my hands skimming over his chest, my palms dragging over his overheated skin.
His fingers tease along the waistband of my jeans. I think he's going to unbutton them, but no—the bastard moves slower, dragging his knuckles just underneath, brushing skin and sparking nerves I didn’t know could fire that hard.
He sinks to his knees in front of me like he’s worshipping, but that filthy smirk on his lips says this ain’t holy.
“You know what I want, Mia. That shaky little whimper you make right before you fall apart for me. The one that tells me I’ve got you. That I’m the only one who’s ever touched you like this.”
I arch toward him without thinking, breath caught somewhere in my chest. I want to give him everything. My body, my heart, my damn common sense—take it, cowboy.
But before he can lower his mouth to me, I reach forward, slow and deliberate, and lift his hat from his head.
His eyes flash up to mine, pupils blown wide as I place the worn brim over my own wild hair. “Thought I’d borrow this,” I murmur.
The effect is instant.
Grant freezes for half a heartbeat, his mouth parted, breath hitching. Then a low, reverent growl escapes him—one that curls heat low in my belly.
“Fuck, Mia,” he rasps, voice thick. “You wear my hat and expect me to behave?”
I smirk, tilting it just enough to cast a shadow over one eye. “Guess I was hoping for the opposite.”
His gaze darkens further, pure lust sharpening the lines of his jaw as his hands slide up the back of my thighs. “You in my hat, lookin’ like a fantasy I’ve been too damn scared to dream out loud…”
His palms grip me firmer, voice dropping lower. “You’ve got no idea what that does to me.
Before I can respond, he moves me towards a work bench where he drags my jeans and panties down and parts me with his fingers, sliding two fingers into me. A ragged moan leaving my body.
“Fuck angel, you're soaked,” he groans deep, and lifts his hand just enough to prove it.
I manage a strangled breath. “Yeah, well, you know what to do with that mouth cowboy, and it’s not talking.” I say between ragged panting.
He trails a kiss along the inside of my thigh. “Oh, I’m gonna do more than talk, Princess. I’m gonna make you scream.”
And then he does. One teasing lick, then another, then he's relentless, pulling every sound from me like he knows my body's playlist by heart and he’s hit repeat on the dirtiest track.
I want to stay composed. I want to pretend I’m not about to come undone in a tack room while the rodeo roars outside.
But Grant Taylor has never played fair.
