Page 133 of Knot my First Rodeo

"Nothin'."

I study her for another second before letting it go for now.

We decide it’s time to head out, and make our way outside. She's wearing my jacket over the romper, and arguing with Tripp about whether her eight seconds on the mechanical bull qualifies her for a belt buckle.

I shake my head and pull our room key from my pocket. Behind us, Briggs stops outside the room next door. For a second, nobody says anything, then his gaze lands on Autumn briefly.

"Night." The word is simple.

Idiot is actively making himself miserable.

"Night," Autumn says.

Briggs nods before disappearing into his room, and the door closes behind him.

"So."

I already know where this is going.

"Don't."

Autumn laughs and bumps her shoulder against mine while we head inside. The door clicks shut, and I barely get the deadbolt thrown before Tripp doubles over, a laugh tearing out of him.

"Belt buckle," Tripp wheezes, wiping his eyes. "She wants a belt buckle. For eight seconds on a mechanical bull. I’ll give you a belt buckle for eight seconds on me, omega."

Autumn stands between us, arms crossed, watching him with that raised eyebrow she does so well.

"Y'all done?"

"Probably not," I tell her.

Autumn rolls her eyes and bends to pull off her boots.

The movement drags my attention lower before I can stop it.

Fuck.

I chuckle, but my eyes are already dragging down her body. My jacket's hanging off her shoulders, making her look small and fucking edible. Her black cherry and almond scent is thickening, cutting through the stale carpet and bleach. She's already slicking, I can smell it.

Tripp's laughter fades into something darker. He steps closer, crowding her space. His key lime scent spikes, mixing with my coffee and vanilla until the room feels like it's breathing with us.

"Take the jacket off," I say, voice low.

Autumn shrugs it off, and lets it fall to the floor. The romper's got thin straps, and the neckline plunges between her tits. She's not wearing a bra. Her nipples are hard, pressing against the fabric.

"On the bed," Tripp growls. "Now."

She walks backward, never breaking eye contact with him, until her knees hit the mattress and she falls back, bouncing once. Her blonde hair fans out on the cheap floral comforter, gray eyes dark and hungry.

I move in from the left, Tripp from the right. He grabs her ankles, spreads her legs wide, and the romper rides up, exposing the soaked crotch. The denim is dark with her slick, the fabric clinging to her pussy like a second skin.

"Fuck, look at you," I mutter, kneeling on the bed beside her. "Soaking through your goddamn shorts, and we haven't even touched you, yet."

"Been waiting all night," she breathes. "Smelling you two, dancing, watching Briggs stare at me like a kicked puppy. I need you inside me. Both of you."

Tripp's laughing again, but it's edged with hunger. "Patience, Sweetheart. We gotta get this off, first."

He slides the straps down her arms, then hooks his fingers into the top and yanks. The romper peels away from her body, revealing her bare cunt, slick and wet and pink. She's not wearing panties.