by Meg Ripley
He doesn’t heed my mental advice, and he falls off the horse as quickly as I fell off that mechanical bull the night we met. I stand and rush to the railing. Luckily, Jesse is able to get up and make his way out of the arena.
I rush out of the audience, ignoring the glares of the people whose laps I’m climbing over. I head over to what I can only think of as the “backstage” area—what’s that called in the rodeo? A cowboy-hatted man stops me. “You need a pass to come any farther, ma’am.”
I see Jesse talking to a few other cowboys and wave. He walks over, looking at the ground. “Hey, Annabelle.”
“Hi!” I greet him with forced brightness. “I’m pretty sure you deserve a beer. Let me buy you one.”
“I’m not really in the mood.”
This is a Jesse I don’t recognize—cold and distant. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth. The cowboy/rodeo bouncer looks at us with interest. Jesse takes my arm and leads me to where there are less people, behind a hot dog cart.
“Are you really fine?” I ask. He doesn’t seem to be walking weird or anything.
“Physically, yeah.”
“What does that mean?”
He looks around us at the crowd. “You know what? I will take you up on that beer. Not here, though.”
Jesse drives us to Cowboy South, the bar where we met. If possible, it’s even gaudier during the day. There are a lot more day-drinkers than usual, but it’s still blissfully empty inside compared to the rodeo. We sit down and I order a beer while Jesse ends up ordering a double whiskey.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” I ask. “I know losing is rough, but—”
“No, you don’t know,” he snaps. Then he takes a deep breath and his face softens. “This rodeo is worth a lot more than just winning or losing to me. You see … what you just saw wasn’t exactly unusual. I’ve been riding broncs and bulls since I was a kid. Made real good money at it too, for the first few years. But lately, things haven’t been going so well.”
“But I’ve seen you ride at the stables,” I say. “You’re incredible.”
“Out there with old Colt? Sure. But when I get in the arena, I freeze up.”
I reach out to take his hand. “What changed?”
He shrugs. “My mama passed on a few years back. That took my mind out of the game for a while. And once I fell enough times, I just couldn’t relax out there. The last few months have been better, but I still haven’t been winning enough money to get by. This rodeo has the biggest prizes out there. The rider who wins the bull-riding championship wins $100,000. If I even place, I should be able to get by for a while on that money.”
“And if you don’t?”
His face hardens. “Then I have to go work on my dad’s dairy farm back in Slocomb.”
“Well… milk is good, right?”
He doesn’t smile. “I hated it, Annabelle. My dad just ran me and my brothers ragged—he didn’t care what we wanted. I was up at dawn and working til sundown. He treats his cows like trash. He treated the horses even worse before he sold ‘em all off.”
“He sold Peanut?”
His eyes darken. “No. Peanut broke her leg, so he shot her instead of taking her to the vet.”
We sit in silence for a few moments. “Well, it sounds to me like you need to relax,” I finally say. I down the rest of my beer. “Do you think I might be able to… help out with that?”
****
Within ten minutes, we are out of the bar and on the way to Jesse’s hotel. We’re kissing before he’s even able to fit his key card into the lock on his door. He blindly gets the door open and we stumble inside.
Jesse pulls off my t-shirt and unhooks my bra with stunning accuracy. He kisses me again with an urgency that hasn’t been there the many other times we’ve kissed these last few weeks. I unbutton his shirt and pull off the white t-shirt underneath so we can be skin-to-skin. I love the feeling of my soft, full breasts pushing up against his rock-hard bare chest.
He pulls back and teases my nipples a little roughly, but not in a bad way. In fact, it’s rough in a very, very good way indeed. He bites them lightly as I feel them turn into stiff peaks in his mouth.
He moves back up to my lips and I push him back toward the bed, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them and his boxers down. He’s almost completely hard already; I take him in my mouth and he moans.
“Oh, Annabelle,” he says and runs his fingers through my hair.
I take him deep in my mouth and look up so I can meet his eyes with my half-lidded gaze. Then I surround his cock with my D-cup breasts, pressing them together, moving them up and down his length.
After a few minutes, he reaches down to pull me on top of him. He guides the head of his engorged cock into my entrance and I moan as I begin to ride him hard, my clit rubbing against his pelvis. Jesse cups my breasts, biting my nipples again and I shudder. He rubs my clit with his other hand and I pick up speed, riding him harder and harder.
Suddenly he rolls me over. “Get on your hands and knees,” he orders.
I quickly obey and he stands at the edge of the bed behind me. After a few seconds, I move my hips back and forth in his direction.
He bends over to whisper in my ear, his cock sliding up and down my drenched folds, but agonizingly not going any further. “What do you want, Annabelle?” he asks.
“I want…” I trail off and push back against his cock again, but he backs away.
“I want to hear you say it,” he says.
“Oh, fuck me,” I say in rush. “Just please fuck me.”
“Is that what you want?” he asks, the tip of his dick teasing me.
“YES!” I scream. “FUCK ME, JESSE!!”
He thrusts his whole length into me and, for a second, my vision goes black. He pumps his dick into me from behind and I bounce up and down on him in the same rhythm. When his fingers go back to my clit, I can barely even stand it. But he keeps going, faster and faster, as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. His cock gets even harder and I know he’s about to come. “Annabelle, I love you,” he calls out in a rush as his hot release shoots deep into me.
I come at the same time, my inner walls clamping rhythmically along his length. I lie still on the bed for a moment, letting the last jolts of my orgasm ripple through me.
He comes to lie on the bed and I rest my head on his deeply muscled chest, now covered with beads of sweat. “Has that ever happened to you before?” I ask, my fingers tracing the pronounced V of his pelvic muscles.
“What?” he asks, trying to catch his breath.
“Coming at the same time.”
He thinks for a moment. “No. I don’t think it has.”
“Me neither.” I pause. “So, did you really mean…?”
He rolls over so we’re face to face. “I meant what I said, Annabelle.” He cups the side of my face with his hand. “I’m in love with you.”
“I love you too, Jesse.” We kiss, but soon I feel a dropping feeling in my stomach and pull away.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“It’s just … I love you, and you love me, and that’s wonderful and all. But you’re leaving in four days. You don’t even have a permanent address!”
“Well, I do. My dad’s house, for taxes. But I know what you mean.” He pauses. “Well, what if you came out on the road with me?”
“What? …Could I even do that?”
He nods. “Sure. A lot of guys bring their wives. A buddy of mine even brings his little boy along.”
“I…” I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Three weeks ago, we didn’t even know each other. Now I’m considering “going on the road” with him indefinitely?
The word “wives” keeps coming back to mind. “Are you asking me to…?” I ask him.
His brow furrows then he laughs. He has dimples, I realize. I am considering running away with a man whose dimples I didn’t even know about until tw
o seconds ago. “Not necessarily, though we should talk about that. I just know that I love you, and I want to keep spending time with you.”
“I have to think about this,” I say slowly. I touch his cheek. “Thank you for asking me.”
He pulls me to him. “Meeting you, getting to know you—it’s the best I’ve felt in a long time. So, thank you, Annabelle.”
I look at the clock. “You don’t have another event until tomorrow, right?”
“Nope,” he agrees.
We don’t leave the bed until morning.
****
When we get back to the rodeo, Jesse races off toward the arena to avoid being late.
I meet up with Sherry, whose husband and mother have combined babysitting forces at home so I won’t have to watch another event alone. “Aren’t those the same clothes you wore yesterday?” she asks.
“Shut up,” I reply, but can’t keep from smiling. He loves me! a happy little voice inside keeps screaming. He loves me!
We make our way into the stands and take our seats to watch the saddle bronc riding competition. I hate the idea of Jesse falling again. It sounds like his mother’s death hit him pretty hard; I wonder if they were close, unlike he and his father.
His offer to come on the road with him pops up in my brain. “Sherry?” I ask.
“Yeah?”
“When did you know that John was the one?”
She looks thoughtful. “I’m not sure I think there is a one. I think you meet someone, you fall in love, and you commit to a lifetime of working on your relationship.” She looks at me. “Are you falling for the cowboy?”
“I think I already fell,” I confess. A smile creeps onto my face. “He told me that he loves me.”
She squeals as only a best friend can upon learning such news. “And you said it back?”
I nod. “Then he asked me to go on the road with him.”
She wrinkles her nose. “What does that even mean?”
“I’m not sure. I think it means I go with him to rodeos all over the country until … I don’t know.”
“But you hate the rodeo!”
I look around the arena. Just the sight of a cowboy hat used to fill me with contempt, but now I have much more positive associations with it.
“It’s not so bad,” I say. “And I can freelance from anywhere.”
“You’re really considering this, aren’t you?”
“I might be.” I grab her hand. “I’d miss you, though.”
She squeezes my hand. “I’d miss you, too.” She looks down into the arena where Jesse’s due to appear. “Jesse’s good people, though. And he’s crazy about you.”
“You think?” I ask.
She scoffs. “Are you kidding? His whole face lights up when you walk into a room.”
The event begins and we lean forward to watch the cowboys in action. One man falls and has to be helped out of the arena. My stomach lurches as I imagine a similar fate befalling Jesse.
When he rides out, though, Jesse doesn’t look like the same rider as yesterday. Instead he looks more like he did back at the stables: loose, but confident and in control. He looks over in my direction, waving his hat wildly, grinning ear to ear. I jump from my seat, waving and cheering, “You’ve got this, Jesse!”
He rides wonderfully and ends up placing! Sherry and I both give him a standing ovation as he receives his medal. Doing well in this event is nice, but I know it’s the bull-riding championship that really matters. If he doesn’t win money in bull riding, then his offer to come on the road with him will become moot. He’ll be stuck back in Alabama milking cows while his domineering father cracks the whip.
Some “relaxing” time seemed to help him loosen up before this event. Luckily, we’ve got time for a lot more of that before the bull-riding championship begins tomorrow night.
****
It’s the last night of the bull-riding finals, and I’m right in the front row with Sherry and her family. My stomach is full of butterflies. Jesse’s done well so far—I’ve gotten so used to seeing him on horses that it’s strange seeing him atop a big, hulking animal like a bull. But he manages these beasts with seemingly effortless grace. His stiffness has completely left him now.
I like to think I had a little something to do with that.
I still haven’t given him an answer about going out on the road. And he leaves tomorrow morning. I try to put these thoughts out of my mind and focus on the rodeo.
The stands are twice as packed as they’ve been for any other event. All the other events have taken place during the day, while for the past two nights, lights have lit up the arena for the bull-riding championship. Jesse’s explained how bull-riding works but I still need John, Sherry’s husband, to point out which cowboys are doing well.
We watch the third cowboy in a row get bucked off his bull almost as soon as they enter the arena. “Are the bulls in a feistier mood today than yesterday?” I ask.
“Don’t you worry about Jesse,” John says. “Your man is some kind of animal,” he says in an admiring tone. “He may be in line to win this thing.”
I raise my eyebrows. $100,000. That would put any worries about having to go back home to the dairy farm out of Jesse’s mind.
Jesse comes out for his last ride on the bull. At first, he looks a bit off-balance and my heart leaps into my throat. The audience gasps, and then sighs in relief as Jesse rights himself. He’s become a crowd favorite during the last two days of the championship—not that I’m surprised.
From there, Jesse performs magnificently. I thought he was good on a horse, but I can see that bull riding is truly Jesse’s event. I don’t even need to ask John to explain. Jesse’s told me before that the points are out of 100 in bull riding, and that an 80 is a terrific score. Getting above a 90 is nearly unheard of.
Jesse gets a 95.
And when the champion is announced, they call Jesse’s name.
Outside the arena, I run into Jesse’s waiting arms. “You were so good, Jesse,” I tell him. “I’m so proud of you.”
He hugs me back hard. “It was all thanks to you.” He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I just kept thinking if I don’t win this thing, I might not ever get to see you again.” He looks down. “Not that I…”
“Yes,” I say quickly.
“What?”
“Yes, I’ll go with you,” I tell him. “I can do my work from anywhere, and Sherry’s already given me her blessing.”
Jesse’s face splits into that crooked smile I’ve come to love so much. “I love you, Annabelle.”
“I love you, too … Cowboy.”
He pulls off his cowboy hat and settles it on my head. “You’re a cowgirl now.”
My old biases against the rodeo start to rise up in my chest, but they settle back down as I look into Jesse’s star-studded blue eyes. If getting to be with Jesse means being a cowgirl, then sign me up for some spurs and a pistol.
THE END
Drilled By The Billionaire Cowboy
Brooke Jordan swore softly as she stubbed her toe against a loose piece of rock lying beside her car. This was an assignment from hell and if she hadn’t talked smart to her boss last week, she knew she wouldn’t now be traipsing through some backwater ranch in six-inch heels and city clothes that stood out like a sore thumb amidst the vast collection of jeans, cowboy hats and boots milling around.
She couldn’t help it though; Henry Collins rubbed her the wrong way. He was the new editor-in-chief at De Luxe Magazine and he seemed to think he was God’s gift to women. If the rumors were true, he had already slept his way through half the bullpen staff in less than two weeks which was quite a feat when one considered that there had to be at least thirty women in the bullpen of the large office in New York.
He had never made any overture to her--which was too damn bad because she would have slammed him with a sexual harassment suit so fast it would make his ancestors dizzy--but he had shown a decided penchant for verbally f
illeting her in front of her colleagues instead. She had borne his unfair put-downs as long as she could until one day when she had decided she’d had enough; she informed him, in full view of everyone, that she thought he was a ‘chauvinistic Neanderthal who didn’t have the good taste to appreciate talent.’
Henry had been cool to the point of being almost arctic when he had calmly informed her that she had just bought herself two weeks on a farm as appreciation of all her ‘talent’. She had called his bluff and now here she was! She was supposed to interview Tyler Harding and also stick close to the man for a minimum of two weeks to make certain she had gotten enough materials to complete the article De Luxe Magazine was doing on “Twenty Rich and Famous Bachelors of 2015”.
Brooke whistled now, low and long under her breath as she took in the opulence of her surroundings. She had known Tyler Harding was one of the few billionaires around but she hadn’t really appreciated how rich he was until she was looking at the evidence of his wealth up close and personal. The ‘ranch’ had to be the size of at least 50 golf courses with a huge sprawling mansion sitting at the end of the drive. Tyler was the debonair head of the ‘Oil Hardings’, a family known for owning just about half of Texas. They were so wealthy, it was rumored their wealth rivaled that of one-third of the world’s countries put together. Orchids and some very expensive looking flowers lined the driveway, circled the fountain and ended up inches from the door.
Wealth screamed from every inch of the mansion and the surrounding premises; cowboys strode in and out of out-buildings which she assumed were stables or something.
“Mr. Harding?” she said, grabbing the arm of one surly-looking cowboy as he strode past her.
“Best check the stables,” he grunted shortly before continuing on his way.
Brooke blinked. He hadn’t even exchanged pleasantries; so much for Southern hospitality, she thought. She pursed her lips as she walked. At five-eight she was considered tall for a lady. She had ash-blonde hair that someone once said made her look like a porcelain doll with large green eyes and full red lips. She was beautiful, with an hour-glass figure that made her the recipient of many a male's attention--like now. But perhaps she should not have worn the six inch heels currently digging into every inch of loamy soil spread around the stables.