“Good to know, babydoll,” I murmur, stepping in just close enough for my breath to graze her ear. I don’t miss the subtle shiver that runs down her spine. “Promise to let me test that later?”
She laughs—real, unfiltered, and warm enough to melt every thought I had before she opened her mouth.
With one hand gripping the stable door, she lifts the other and forms a crooked peace sign—ring and middle fingers twisted in front of one eye like a makeshift vow.
“Promise.”
She tugs the stable doors open like muscle memory, and a wave of scent rolls out—fresh hay, sun-warmed leather, cedarwood, and something distinctly animal.
“Jesus,” I cough, swatting at the air. “That is...aggressive.”
Brooke grins as she steps inside, her silhouette lit by the glow slipping in through the slats of wood.
“Welcome to my kingdom,” she announces, sweeping an arm dramatically through the dust-swirled light. “Just don’t breathe too deeply.”
I follow her in, already gagging a little. “Too late,” I manage between coughs, though I’m still smiling.
Brooke whistles low, and from the far stall, a horse steps forward. He’s tall, muscular, and coated in this stunning silver sheen that practically glows under the moonlight. His mane falls like silk, and his eyes are dark and sharp.
“That’s Osy,” she says softly. “And before you ask, no—you can’t ride him unless he lets you. He only listens to me.”
I blink. “He looks like a mythical creature. Like he should be guarding a treasure chest or a cursed sword.”
Brooke chuckles, moving past Osy to grab a saddle from the rack with the kind of practiced ease that makes her look carved from this place. “He’d be terrible at that job. He’s kind of lazy,” she says, throwing the saddle up over the edge of a stall. “But he’s mine.”
Osy lets out a soft, snorting breath and immediately noses her shoulder. She reaches up without even looking and strokes his muzzle. He leans into it like a dog and huffs out a sigh of relief.
“Butyou”—she turns and gestures me forward—“will be riding Josie.”
The horse she leads out next is smaller, older, and coated in a soft dappled gray that fades to near-white around her nose. Her ears flick when she sees me, and her eyes are deep and kind, as she rolls her head.
“She’s an absolute dream,” Brooke says, brushing Josie’s mane with the same affection she gave Osy, but gentler. “She’s slow, stubborn on hills, and obsessed with carrots. But she’ll take care of you.”
I step closer, and Josie noses at my palm like she’s already decided I’m harmless.
“Hi, pretty girl,” I whisper.”I’m sorry I don’t have any carrots.”
“She likes you,” Brooke says with a little smile. “Which means she’ll behave. Probably.”
She lifts a brow, hips cocked to the right, a smirk tugging at the corner of her glossed lips. “Mmm, I don’t know if that’s true.”
I step in behind her just as she finishes securing the saddle on Josie, the leather creaking softly beneath her hands. My palms find her waist like they were made for it, fingers brushing the soft curve of her hips, and she leans back into me like it’s instinct.
My lips ghost over the warm skin of her shoulder, just where the strap of her tank top falls, and I breathe her in—sun-warmed skin, sweat, and something sweet like honey and danger.
“Want me to fact check?” I murmur, the words barely more than breath against her skin.
“After I teach you how to ride,” she says, her voice tighter now, low and full of things unsaid.
Then she bends forward to adjust the stirrup, and her ass grazes against me—justenough to make my breath catch in my throat, and the girl fucking giggles at my demise. She’s doing this on purpose. This girl is trying tokillme.
I eye her, hands still on her waist. “This your idea of foreplay?”
She straightens up, face flushed but grinning. “Only if you behave.”
Then she tosses me a helmet over her shoulder, like the smug tease she is and I snort, securing the helmet onto my head. Brooke immediately helps me mount—her hands at my waist, her body warm against mine for just a second longer than necessary. I steady myself in the saddle.
Surprisingly, I manage to hold my posture. I sit tall, reins in hand, boots snug against the stirrups just like she showed me.
