Running Wild (Second Shot 0.50)

“Well, it’s water. I haven’t touched the beer tonight.” She lifted her free hand and ran her index finger around the rim of her cup. “And I’m leaving for college in a few weeks. I doubt my father will bother driving up to Portland to ground me.”

“Would you listen if he did?”

“Probably not.”

“So . . .” Shit, he was acting like he’d never spoken to a woman before. And this was Josie.

Because it was Josie, he had to ask. “Has Travis left you alone?”

She nodded and her smiled faded. “He hasn’t called, texted, or emailed. And I don’t miss him.”

“Glad you’re not heartbroken.” Because I’m dying to take you into the barn and watch you ride that damn bull in your little, white dress.

“Not even close. I’m more upset about the fact that you’re leaving tomorrow. Not just you, I mean. Dominic too.”

She turned her gaze to the grass at her feet. It was green, which was unusual for this time of year. The fact that they’d had some rain and were still free and clear from forest fire danger had allowed them to build the bonfire.

“Nice boots,” he said, ready to slam the door on words like “Travis” and “leaving.”

She lifted her chin. And the look in her green eyes? It spelled mischief. “You mentioned something about riding . . .”

“The bull.” He nodded to the barn. “It’s in there. Follow me.” And make my fantasy come true.

He was one beer into the night, so he knew it wasn’t alcohol driving him. He wanted Josie. On the bull, on the cushions surrounding the machine—it didn’t matter as long as she was in his arms.

“Sure there won’t be a line?” she asked, walking at his side through the darkness to the mostly empty pole barn that at one time, when his grandfather was alive, had housed cows, goats, and even a llama.

He shook his head. “I locked it up for the night. I didn’t want a bunch of drunken idiots taking rides and getting hurt. Plus, my dad would be pissed if someone broke it.”

“You’ll start it off slow so I won’t get hurt?” she asked, her voice low.

“Yeah,” he said, withdrawing the key from his jeans and slipping it into the locked side door. But he wasn’t sure they were talking about the bull anymore.

He led the way inside and flipped the light switch. The fluorescent strips overhead illuminated a dusty dirt floor. His grandfather had talked about pouring concrete one day, but they’d never had the money. A collection of boxes and old furniture stood at the far end. The black bull stood in the center of a padded section that filled one corner of the barn. At one point in time, the pads had been red, white, and blue, but they’d faded, losing their all-American look.

“It has horns.” Josie moved past him and stepped up onto a firm greyish-white cushion. “And a face.”

“That’s real cowhide,” he said, keeping his boots planted in the dirt. If he joined her up there, he’d reach for her. And he wanted to see her ride first. His dick was hard at the thought. Having a hard-on around Josie should have sent him running toward a cold shower. But not tonight.

One more night. . .

He watched as she ran her hand over the black hide, down the bull’s neck to the leather strap that ran down the machine’s side. At the base of the bull’s neck, the strap connected to a handle. Some of the fancy models included a mock saddle. But Big Buck’s bull looked like the real deal. His dad used to brag that this was what cowboys used for training.

She placed one hand on the handle and the other on the smooth surface covering the machine’s back. Glancing over her shoulder, she raised an eyebrow. “Can I take it for a ride now?”

Oh hell yeah.

“Sure.” He headed for the controls, keeping an eye on Josie. She gripped the handle and pulled herself up. It wasn’t a graceful mounting, not even close. But the way her sundress rode up her legs, flashing her white cotton panties beneath—he was eight seconds away from pulling her off the damn thing before he hit go.

Turning away, he focused on the controls. He set the speed to slow and then called, “Ready?”

“Think so,” she said. “Does this look like a good position?”

He looked up and let out a low groan. Her bare legs held tight to the cowhide, leaving her dress bunched around her hips. And she gripped the handle with both hands. “Yeah,” he managed as he hit the big green button. “You’re good.”

The machine hummed to life, sounding nothing like the animals the real cowboys risked life and limb to ride. Slowly, it began to pitch forward and back, all the while spinning in a gentle circle. It looked like a bull on tranquilizers—or a machine designed to seduce.

Josie slid down to the neck. She took one hand off the handle and reached for the horns. Her upper body pitched forward. The machine tipped back and her panty-covered bottom glided a few inches in the other direction.