When I wake up with Sheila in my arms in the warm, crisp sheets of the motel bed, I resist the urge to pinch myself and make sure this is real. Part of me worried that last night must have been a dream—it was too perfect. The way she felt, the way she cried out my name when she came, the way she looked all tousled and sex-spent on the grass when we’d finished… Not to mention the way she accepted my little grass ring with that sassy smirk of hers.

Little does she know, I wasn’t joking about that. I eye her left hand now, the blade still knotted around her tiny index finger. Tomorrow, I’m going to the nearest store and buying a real ring. She deserves it.

A woman like her deserves everything I have to give and more. And I intend to give that to her.

I finally get it, Dad, I think. I finally understand what he meant about finding a real woman, a family, and how that means more than anything else in this world. Watching Sheila shift in her sleep, rolling onto her back, one arm still flung across my chest like she can’t bear to not be touching me, I feel like the luckiest man alive. Like I could face the entire world in a rodeo competition right now and come out on top without even trying.

That’s how she makes me feel.

I shift in bed too. My cock is hard, still remembering the dream I had just before I woke—a dream of us back in the meadow, but her on top of me now, breasts hanging in my face as she bucked on top of me, letting me touch and feel every inch of her lithe little body. My cock throbs, just remembering that fantasy, and it gives me an idea.

Moving slowly, so as not to wake her too soon, I slip under the covers. Travel down to the foot of the bed, and shift over until I’m between her spread legs. I trace my hands along her thighs as I slide up her body, unable to help myself. At her waist, I lean down to softly kiss the shaved mound of her tight little pussy. A pussy that I loved fucking last night, but that I still have yet to taste.

I can’t wait any longer.

I trail my tongue up her inner thigh, running it along the crease where her hip meets her leg. Then I shift over and trail it along the other side next, wet and warm under the covers. She shifts and moans a little in her sleep. I grin to myself, and gently peel her legs a little wider apart, until my face fits between them.

I lick her pussy lips, one after the other. Trace my tongue over the soft, sweet edges. Then, gently, I press my tongue between the folds of her lips. A rush of flavors run across my tongue—sweet and salty and all her, and fuck does she taste amazing. I swirl my tongue along her slit, trace back and forth, and grin to myself as I catch beads of gathering wetness on the tip of my tongue. She’s getting wet for me, and I fucking love it.

I slide one hand under her ass to grip her cheek, lift her hips a little toward my mouth.

Above me somewhere, I hear a gasp. Then a low moan, as Sheila realizes what she’s awakened to. She pulls the covers back, and I glance up with a wicked grin before I press my tongue at her entrance, easing the tip into her slowly, slowly.

“Ruckus…” she manages to say before her head falls back, and another faint gasp escapes her throat.

I press my tongue farther into her, curl it to lick my way along each of her walls in turn, coating my tongue in her juices, loving the way she tastes.

Her hips buck up against me, and I use that momentum to start to thrust my tongue in and out of her, slowly at first. She rocks with me, and soon I get a rhythm going, plunging my tongue deep into her pussy each time, until she’s breathing hard, and her hands reach down to fist in my hair.

“Don’t stop. Ah, God, don’t stop…” she gasps between hard breaths. I know she’s close.

I draw my tongue out and slide it up quickly, to flick across her clit before I delve back into her. Her cries grow louder, especially when I repeat that move, again and again, flattening my tongue to run the plane of it over her pussy, her clit, back again.

“I’m so close,” she moans through tight teeth. I glance up to watch her as I continue tonguing her, savoring the way her body twists above me. The view from down here is fucking incredible.

“Please, oh, please…” she manages.

Finally, I press my tongue hard against her clit, lick over and over until both her hands fist hard in my hair and her thighs clamp around either side of my head and she screams, her whole body shaking, her pussy twitching underneath me as I continue to tongue her through the orgasm.

When she’s still trembling from that, I pull my hand out from under her ass and slide my index finger into her pussy. It slips in easily, wet as she is now, and I keep my tongue circling her clit as I finger her at that same increasing pace, the tip of my finger curled so I hit her G-spot every time.

She screams again, unable to even form words with this climax, and I keep going. I lose track of how many times I hear her cry out before I finally draw back, my chin soaked from her juices, and kiss my way up to her hips, her belly, her chest, pausing to swirl my tongue around her nipples before I lick and kiss and nip at her neck, her jawline, and finally, I catch her mouth in mine.

When we part, she’s breathless, eyes glazed with desire. “Ruckus…” she murmurs.

I grin. “You like this?” I lean down to kiss her again, and slip my tongue between her lips to dance with hers. When I pull away again, my heart races with the sensation. The feel of her lithe little body pressed against mine. “You like tasting yourself on my lips?”

“Mm…” She wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me into another slow kiss. “Love it,” she whispers. Then she half-laughs, grinning up at me. “I almost thought that was a dream at first. Until I realized it was really you under those covers…”

“You must have some damn good dreams,” I point out with a smirk.

“Never that good,” she counters. Then she glances down, seeming to notice now the hard press of my cock against her thigh, rock solid now from eating her out. Nothing gets me harder than seeing her come. She hesitates, but slides a hand down my thigh until she can wrap it around the base of my shaft. Then she tightens her grip, and smiles. “My turn next.”

“If you insist,” I reply with a wink, as I flip over onto my back.

She straddles me, and it’s all I can do not to grab her hips and guide her down to my cock right now. I want her. But like she said, it’s her turn now. So I lean back and let her take the wheel.

She slides down my body, her tongue flicking across my chest, down my abs to circle my bellybutton, before she kisses and nips her way lower. She kneels between my thighs, then and pauses to run her hands along my shaft, as though she’s sizing me up.

“Have you ever sucked a man’s cock before?” I ask her, curious.

She smirks up at me, all mischief. “No, but I’m pretty sure I can figure it out.” She runs both hands down my shaft and cups my balls with one hand, then leans down to lick the base of my shaft. She draws her tongue all the way up my length, leaving a glistening shine, and I inhale sharply through my nose as I watch her do it. The sight alone drives me wild, the way she laps at me like she’s hungry for me.

She keeps doing that, licking along the length of my cock, making sure to wet all sides, all while she slides her hands between my legs to gently run her fingers across my balls.

“Just like that,” I murmur, reaching down to run my hands through her hair.

Then she positions her lips and my tip and slowly, slowly, presses down, until my tip slides between her lips into her mouth. She keeps the pressure up, lips clamped tight around my shaft, and it’s almost enough to make me wild just feeling her hot, wet little mouth tight around me.

“God, you have the hottest fucking mouth, Sheila,” I murmur through my teeth.

She grins at that, and swirls her tongue along the underside of my cock, still taking me deeper, deeper…

Then she stops, hesitant, eyes wide. I’m as far into her mouth as I can go before her throat, I realize. “Relax,” I tell her, voice soft. “Just trust me and relax.”

She nods as much as she can and lets her muscles relax all around me. I grip her head with both hands, my fists tight in her hair, and pull her down farther. Until the tip of my cock hits the back of her throat, when I inhale a sharp hiss of air, unable to stop myself. She moans a little in response, and the vibrations around my cock drive me wild.

“Just like that, baby,” I tell her, and thrust a little deeper, just until my tip slides an inch down her throat. Fuck. This woman is incredible. I pull back then, guiding her by the hair, and she sucks in a deep breath before she presses her tongue against me again, at it once more.

We move like that, slow at first, letting her get used to taking my whole cock into her pert little mouth. Then, as she loosens up, she starts to rock faster, and I arch my hips to accommodate it, thrusting up into her mouth again and again as we move in sync. Before long, I’m thrusting into her, fucking her face with abandon as we both groan, and every moan she makes just sends my pleasure rocketing higher, building until—

A phone goes off.

Not the normal buzz of a phone call but the harsh, jarring bell sound, like an urgent alarm.

“Fuck!” Sheila pulls back, slides off me, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she lunges for the phone.

“What’s going on?” I ask, trying not to let my disappointment show, ignoring the aching throb in my cock from the unfulfilled moment.

“That’s the emergency alarm I set. I forgot I snoozed the first three earlier. Dammit!” She flies off the bed and flings herself across the motel room, throwing open the closet and digging inside.

I lean up on one elbow and eye the clock beside the bed. Then my eyes widen too. Shit. It’s nearly 1pm. We were supposed to be on the road by 10am, 11:30 at the latest. “We’re late?” I ask, belated, pushing myself off the bed and forcing myself to ignore the painful throb in my between my legs.

“Really fucking late. Dammit, how could I let this happen?” She grimaces and yanks our suitcases out of the closet, then starts to toss everything in sight into hers, without rhyme or reason.

“Hey. Hey. Sheila.” I finally catch her with both hands and pin her into place for a second. “It’ll be fine. It’s just a show.” I know what’s important now. Where my priorities lie.

But her eyes are still wide and wild with panic. “We’re not going to make warm-ups. We’ll be lucky if they even let you compete. Argh. I’ll have to call from the road, see if we can work you into a later time slot.” She twists out of my arms and finishes tossing things into the suitcase, then wades into the bathroom. I hear cabinets slamming in there. “Get dressed, Ruckus,” she calls from the bathroom, and I recognize that voice.

Sheila my lover has taken a vacation. Sheila my hard-assed manager is back.

I cross the room and grab my jeans, still in a crumpled pile at the base of the bed. I yank those on, and root around in the half-packed suitcase for a T-shirt to drag on after. “Don’t panic,” I remind her a second time.

My response is just a frustrated growl. “Just make some coffee, would you?”

* * *

We arrive at the rodeo with not a minute to spare. We leave all our junk in the car for now and head straight in to the show, where luckily the stable hands have managed to saddle my horse and get him ready and waiting. I jump onto his back just in time to hear them announce my name, and I paste on a confident grin as I ride out into the arena.

It’s not hard to fake my confidence this time. All I have to do is remember Sheila’s body spread out under me on the bed, or the way she smiles at me, and I know I can do just about any damn thing.

I catch her eye in the stands halfway through the first performance and take a second to mouth See?

She narrows her eyes, then rolls them, but I know she understands what I mean. See, there was no need to panic. Still, it takes another two performances for her to finally relax in her front row seat and begin to enjoy the show with the rest of the audience.

The first couple rounds are easy pickings, and I’m tied with another show-runner for the lead, when the third round rolls around. Barrel racing, something my horse and I do all the time in practice. Should be easy. We line up with the rest of the competitors and I watch a couple guys wipe out on the first row of the course. Tough luck, partners.

Then it’s our turn.

“We got this, boy,” I tell him, patting his neck as we line up to go. When the gun goes off, we jolt forward, racing around the first barrel. But on the second turn, his hooves skid, and it takes all my balance just to keep upright and steer him back into motion. We fling far wide of the barrels we’re meant to be tightly weaving around, and it takes a whole other barrel for us to get that momentum back. We finish okay, but it’s not great. Sloppy, technically poor.

Not like me at all.

In the stands, I catch a glimpse of Sheila. Her mouth is pressed in a tight line, her eyes almost as wide as the time I took a face-plant off the bull. Shit. Still, it could be worse. I force a smile, wave a little to catch her eye as I join the row of competitors waiting for the next round.

She grimaces and turns away without waving back.

I’ll tell her after. Explain how this isn’t a big deal. The rodeo is just my day job. And this was just one little flub. It’s not the end of the world. Just like our being late today—things happen.

By the end of the show, the scores are up. I’m in third. Not the worst, but not my usual first place by a landslide either, I have to admit.

But when I finish brushing down my horse, showering off the dust and mud and sweat from the ring, and finally emerge from the stadium lights, it’s to find Sheila waiting for me at the entrance, arms crossed, and a set look in her jaw that I recognize. Her I mean business look.

“Should I be worried?” I greet her with a smile, and lean in for the kiss I’ve been hungering for ever since we parted this morning.

She leans away, and I notice something flash across her eyes before she turns them downward. Something that looks an awful lot like pain. “We need to talk.”

The four worst words in the history of mankind. “What happened?” I ask.

“What happened?” She finally looks up again, and this time, I can tell she’s conjured anger to replace the pain I spotted. But she doesn’t seem angry at me. She’s directing most of her scowl inward, clamping her arms tighter around herself, pursing her mouth like she hates it. “What happened was I broke my rules. I broke them, and your performance is suffering for it. I should’ve known this would happen. It was a mistake from the beginning.”

“Sheila, what we did was far from a mistake.” I reach for her, but she twists away. She barely even registers I’m here. I can tell her attention is way too focused on herself. Blaming herself for everything that’s happened.

“The rules exist for a reason. They keep things in order. Prevent distractions.” She lifts her chin, and her eyes shine a little too brightly in the stadium lights, damp with the tears she’s holding back. “We have to stop.”

“There’s no way I’m quitting you, Sheila,” I say.

But she’s already backing away from me, toward the truck. “My decision is final, Ruckus. We need you back at the top of your game. Which means we’re done.”

“Fuck my game. Fuck the rodeo. Sheila!” I call out, but she slams the door over that last word. Revs the engine and reverses away from the stadium before I can get another word in. I chase her for half the driveway before I finally skid to a halt, panting, and watch her taillights fade down the road.

Fuck.

She’s all I ever wanted. My everything. And she’s leaving me in the dust.

* * *

The anonymous little dive bar I hole up in is familiar. Dim lights, a sticky floor and the smell of stale beer and old sick clinging to every surface. It’s the kind of place I’m used to. The place a guy like me belongs.

But as I toss back my fourth—or was it fifth?—whiskey since I stumbled into the place, a sense of wrongness settles over me. None of this feels right anymore. None of this sates the monster inside the way it used to. I look around me and all I can see are other washed up old men like me drinking their pains away, or rather, temporarily staving them off until tomorrow morning, when those pains will return tenfold, with a hangover to boot.

I watch them, and I stare into the amber liquid in my glass, and I feel wrong.

I don’t belong here. I don’t belong with them, with these other guys who have agreed to give up, to settle, to surrender their lives.

I belong with her.

So go and chase her, son. I can practically hear my father’s voice. The exact, exasperated tone in which he’d say those words. I shove out of my seat and grab my jacket, turning to head for the door.

That’s when a pair of hands shove my chest. Make me stumble back against the table where I’d been sitting.

“You Rudolph Ruckus?” A guy about three times my size scowls down at me. He’s off-balance, listing from a little too much drink. I could probably take him, despite his size.

“Yeah. What’s it to you?” I lift my chin, look him square in the eye.

“Heard you caused a mess back in San Antonio,” he says.

Shit. The town one of the guys who is currently in the process of suing me is from. Suing me, all because I threw a lucky punch and shattered his nose, after he’d thrown the first punch, I might add. “Maybe,” I reply, half an eye on the door.

“Well, that was a mess you started with one of my friends.” The man lifts his chin. Glowers at me. “I aim to even the score.”

I think about Sheila. About her rules. I’ve broken two already. No fucking, no drinking. Why not go for the hat trick?

But something inside me stills. I think about the disappointment on her face. I think about all her self-anger when she met me outside the stadium. I think about how much more she’ll blame herself—and me—if I break this one last rule. So then, thinking of her, I do something I have never done in my life before.

I drop my coat, spread my arms wide, and close my eyes. “Go for it,” I say.

After a beat, I hear only silence. I open my eyes again to find the guy scowling at me, suspicion written all over his face. “What’re you talking about?” he finally growls.

“You want to even the score, go for it. Hit me. I won’t fight back. You’re right; I made a mess back in San Antonio. Least I can do is let you make one here, if you’re so determined.”

His beady eyes narrow. He huffs out a breath through his curved nose, and for a second, I think he might make good. Throw that punch. I brace myself for it, and already, explanations run through my mind. How I can explain a black eye to Sheila.

Then, to my shock, he lowers his fists. Steps back, not by much, but enough I can walk past him. “Just get out of my damn bar,” he spits.

“Gladly,” I reply, grabbing my coat. Though I do pause to toss back the last of my whiskey before I go. I ain’t a saint.

The walk from that dive isn’t far to the motel where we’d been planning to stay. We’d talked about getting one room. I wonder now if Sheila reserved two for us. I don’t want to think about that. I sway along the street, practicing walking straight until I get to the check-in counter. When I ask for the keys to the Greyson room, the clerk hands them over without even checking my I.D. I gotta have a word with them about that tomorrow, when I’m in better shape.

Then I head to Sheila’s room. Make it to the doorstep before I try and slick back my hair, regain some semblance of normalcy. Fuck. The motel is spinning.

I overdid it on the drink, but still. I can explain this all. I can make her see sense. I put the key in the lock, and I turn it.