Page 71 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

We’ve been non-stop talking. His thumb rubs absent circles against my hip as we do, like he doesn't even realise he's doing it. Wade’s been telling me stories of his bull-riding days, how his dad got him into it by making a bet at some local rodeo. Wade had apparently said it “looked easy,” so his dad dared him to last more than ten seconds on a bull.

“Didn’t even last five,” he admitted. But that made him determined to get better, so he stuck with it. Chasing after trophies and buckles, finding something he really enjoyed. He lights up when he talks about it, and it’s nice to see. The lines around his eyes soften whenever he talks about something he loves. It's subtle, but once I notice it, I can't stop seeing it. The same thing happens when he talks Colt’s childhood. Like he forgets the weight he carries around for a second.

“Until I gave it all up for Colt.” The lightness in his voice disappears, replaced by something quieter. Sadder.

The mention of Wade’s sacrifice and Colt’s name hits me harder than I want to acknowledge. Maybe because I know how much Colt wants his dad's attention, even if he'd never admit it.

I try to push the feeling down, but the weight settles heavy in my chest anyway. Acting as a stark reminder that I could be the final nail in the coffin if this gets out.

I close that train of thought instantly, refusing to let my overthinking brain ruin this moment. Instead, I straddle Wade, forcing my attention entirely onto the gruff, gorgeous cowboy in front of me. Within seconds, I feel him growing hard beneath me, his hands already sliding up my thighs, and suddenly the guilt becomes easier to ignore.

Is this what people call being dickmatised?

“Surely you’re not ready for more already.” I laugh.

His hands slowly glide around to my ass. His grip pulls me up, allowing him the space to tease me with his length again. “Angel, I am weak for you. You are my kryptonite.”

I burst out laughing. An uncontrollable laughter over the fact that the man I have dubbed as Cowboy Batman has basically compared himself to Superman. Completely wrong character, and far from an accurate comparison.

It's not even funny. Objectively, it's barely amusing. But it’s gotten to me, and now I can’t stop.

In a flash, he grabs me and flips our positions, pinning me beneath him with complete confusion written over his face. Which only makes me laugh harder.

“What the hell is so funny?”

“Pass my phone, quick.” I gesture toward the pile of clothes. He retrieves it with a suspicious look, eyebrows furrowed, and hands it over.

I unlock it, quickly getting his contact profile up before shoving the screen in his face.

Cowboy Batman.

He stares at it, clearly recognising his number. “You named me Cowboy Batman?” He stares at the screen, then at me, then back at the screen. “You’re taking the piss, right?”

“I'm really not.” I wipe my eyes, trying to catch my breath. “I've had you saved like that for weeks.”

“And you're laughing because...”

“Because you've given me more orgasms tonight than I've probably had in my lifetime, and my brain has officially short-circuited.” I admit through another giggle. “Kryptonite is Superman's thing, not Batman's. It just tickled me more than it should've.”

He shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. “You're absolutely mental.”

“Probably.” I sit up reluctantly, already mourning the loss of his warmth. “But I should go back to the house.”

He doesn't argue, but I can see the reluctance in his eyes. The same reluctance I'm feeling.

I start gathering my scattered clothes, slowly dressing as I pick up each item. When I finish sliding my slippers on, Wade pulls me into him. Planting a kiss on top of my head.

“This isn't a one-time thing,” he says. Not a question. A statement.

“No,” I agree softly. “It's not.”

“Good.”

I break free from his hold, heading towards the door. I should be terrified right now. Worried about Colt, about getting caught, about all the ways this could blow up in our faces.

But looking back at Wade—his hair a mess, that rare soft expression on his face—I just feel... certain.

This is risky. Reckless, even. But he's worth the risk. I am worth the risk.