#outer range smut

“There's my pretty girl,” Rhett mumbled, finding you alone in the Abbott’s old barn opposite Red, an appaloosa, who was greatly enjoying the attention as you reached your hand over the stall door, rubbing between his chestnut coloured ears. You shouldn't have favourites, but this old charmer was definitely yours.

He takes you all in, sweeping his eyes over the pale yellow sundress, with straps tied flimsy around your neck Rhett was sure would come undone with one quick tug, and down to your worn in cowboy boots. Something about the dirt on them had the corners of his lips ticking higher. It was a reminder that your years in the city hadn't changed you completely. Inside your heart, you were still the girl who spent your summers cooling off in the lake, following Rhett and your brother through fields with grass stains on your knees, and sat in the stands at Rhett's first ever rodeo, hands covering your eyes so you wouldn't see him hit the ground after only being on the bull for five seconds.

“Foods nearly ready,” Rhett says, and you turned your head to flash him a smile, his heart skipping a beat every time you did. He was so lucky to have you and he didn't take that luck for granted. “Mom's tried making that salad you like.”

“With the strawberries in it?”

He nodded. “That's the one.” You gave Red one last stroke and turned to Rhett, who was already wrapping his arms around your waist. “Still not sure about that, by the way,” he says, pulling you closer.

You tip the brim of his hat back, uncovering his eyes and all the beauty within them. “That's because all you eat is meat and potatoes.”

“Hasn't done me any harm yet.”

“Yet,” you repeat back to him. “Even cowboys have to eat their greens.” Rhett chuckles, soft and light. “Did you get the fence fixed?” You wrap your arms around his neck, locking your fingers together.

“Nearly,” he grunts, his jaw ticking. The Tillersons would lie and say they had nothing to do with the snipped wire and damaged fencing, but Rhett knew it was them. “Dad wants Perry and me to go out and replace a few of the posts. Better they be done now before winter inevitably comes.”

“I can ask Ford to see if he can lend you a hand?”

Rhett shakes his head. “Your brother's got enough on his plate. When's Lilly due?”

Your eyes light up. “In six weeks.”

“Excited?” The question was unnecessary, Rhett could see it hanging off every feature, and he'd be lying if the smile you bore wasn't infectious. It tugs on the side of his mouth, forming a half-smile.

“Weren't you when Amy was born?”

“I was happy for Perry, but I sure as shit didn't know how to be an uncle.” His thumb strokes along your jaw and you tilt your head, melting into his soft touch. “Still trying to figure it out.”

Your lips brush lightly against his stubble jaw. “I'd say you're doing a perfectly good job at it. Amy loves you.” You go to step away from him, but his hands remain firmly on your hips, face scrunched up and mumbling something under his breath about not wanting to leave yet. “Rhett,” you giggle, shaking your head. “Come on, your mom probably needs some help with dinner.”

“Amy's helping her and Perry and Dad are grilling the steaks,” Rhett protests, walking you one stumbled step after another, moving you both further backwards into the barn. You squeal, laughing as you tighten your arms around his neck, nearly tripping onto your ass. And the barn stall feels hard behind your back as you finally make contact. “I haven't seen you all day,” he speaks in a low voice.

You shrug, nonchalantly. “I've been busy.”

“So I've heard. Guitar lessons?”

“Just the basic stuff.”

“You know she's going to hound Perry nonstop for a guitar, right?”

“I still have my first guitar,” you mumble, “she can have that.”

“They don't give awards out to nannies, you know?” Rhett teases, stroking his thumbs in slow circles up and down your sides.

“But I'd win them all if they did.”

Rhett chuckles. “Damn right, you would.”

His hand curls around the back of your neck, holding you still. His eyes are trained on you, with the briefest of smiles hugging at the edges of his lips. Nothing around you matters when he looks at you like this. And damnit was it too easy for you to get lost in those blue eyes.

They spoke a language you had been trying to learn your whole life.

“No one up at the house needs us right now,” Rhett says, lowering his voice to a tone that sends a shiver down your spine, your arms freckled with goosebumps. His hands slip down to grip your waist. “It's just you and me-”

“-and Red,” your smart mouth adds.

“Yes,” Rhett turns to the horse, who had turned away from you, no longer interested in who was in the barn if he wasn't receiving attention, “and Red.”

“Your mom will send someone looking for us, if we're not back in time to eat with everyone else.”

“I'll be done with you before that happens.”

Your hands slide down to his chest, your throat bobbing as you swallow hard. “Oh.”

He licks his lips, the thin upper lip parting from the bottom as he cracks a faint smile. “Oh,” he echoes you, adding a short chuckle to the end. He leans down, and his mouth finds yours. “Wanted to do that all fuckin’ day, doll,” he confesses, breaking the kiss just as quickly as it began.

He guides the tip of his nose down the column of your throat, his dick stirring in his wranglers as he breathes in cherry notes of your perfume. And you knock his hat off, tugging hard on his long hair, whimpering out into the barn as he greets your collarbone with a soft bite.

You go with a squeak, Rhett's hands gripping your hips harder and turning you to face the stall. The corners of your lips tick higher, hugged by a grin that knew exactly what was to come next.

This wasn't your first rodeo, and the risk of getting caught always made this hotter.

“Such a pretty dress,” Rhett drawls, nose buried into your neck, “on a pretty girl that I'm about to ruin.”

Taking a fistful of your dress, he hikes the hemline up, exposing the backs of your thighs to the elements of the barn.

He lifts his eyebrows. “Panties today?” Rhett only asks because the last time you wore this dress, you had simply ‘forgotten’ to wear them.

“You don't like them?”

“Oh, I like them, baby,” he replies, licking his lips with greed. His thumb traces over the white cotton and lace. “She always does look so pretty when you dress her up for me.”

He kicks your feet apart, widening your legs, and you submit fully to his control. You were going to do everything he tells you to, even if that did go against that fierce independence that's been a part of you for as long as you could remember. He bends your body and you turn your head so your cheek is pressing against the wood, straining your eyes so you can watch behind you.

Your breathing comes out choppy as he hooks his free hand into your panties, dragging them down just low enough to give him enough room. “Rhett,” you whimper, feeling him slide a couple of fingers between your legs. They leave an ache as he retracts his hands to give his fingers a quick clean.

“Already wet,” Rhett groans, his breath fanning across your neck. “Dirty girl. I haven't even started and you're dripping f'me.”

“Please, Rhett.”

He unbuckles his belt. “What do you want?”

“Anything,” you beg, “please, do something!”

“Gonna need you to be specific, princess.” Rhett moves his hand back between your legs, rubbing your clit in slow circles. He teases out faint whimpers and you almost forget his original questions. “What will it be? My fingers? Maybe my tongue?” He withdraws his hand again and you whine at the feeling of him gone. “Or could it be that you're desperate for my cock?”

A moan falls past your lips feeling the blunt end of his cock pressing against your pussy. “Yes. Fuck, yes. That, Rhett.”

“Say it,” he demands, continuing to guide his tip up and down the seam, your body jerking as it hits the little bundle of nerves. Wetness collects on the head and he jerks it down his shaft. “Say, I want your cock.”

“I want your cock,” you reply instantly, cheeks burning with warmth at how desperate you sounded.

“A little louder.”

“Rhett, please!” A whine rips from your throat. “I already said it!”

“I know,” Rhett chuckles, pushing into you with one hard thrust. The intrusion takes your breath, and you gasp and moan at the familiarity you feel as you stretch around him. It’s addictive. “I just like to hear you beg,” he says, speaking against the shell of your ear, “you always sound so pretty when you beg for it, doll.”

He draws back, hands on your hips to hold you steady, and he groans at the wet sheen left behind on his shaft. He slips back in, going in harder this time, slamming himself forward. Your hands shoot out, slapping against the wall, as he does it again, over and over, getting lost in all that was you.

“Rhett,” you moan. His name rolls so easily off your tongue. It was the sexiest thing he had ever heard.

“Doin’ so good for me,” he grunts, grabbing your chin and pulling you back to face him.

His mouth crashes down on yours, his tongue rolling across yours in dominance. You couldn't help but clench around him every time he took your mouth like this.

“And when you do that?” He breaks away, a guttural groan forcing its way past as his eyes roll back.

Quickly, your mind had become mush, and there wasn't much you could say other than “yes,” and “Rhett.”

“You gonna come, baby?” You nod, sobbing what was close enough to answer.

Satisfaction rolls through him, knowing he could turn someone who was so beautiful and smart into a sobbing mess. A pretty, sobbing mess. He grips your hips harder and picks up the pace, his cock repeatedly hitting the sweet spot that twisted and tightened the coil inside you.

“Touch yourself,” Rhett grunts, sliding one hand up your back and over the back of your neck. His hand curls, fingers moulding to the shape as he grabs at your throat, holding you in place. “Come with me.”

Your hand leaves the wall, getting lost between your thighs, as the other is trying to grasp at the wood. “Fuck,” you breathe out, your clit slick and swollen beneath your fingertips, rubbing it in fast circles, until the dam finally breaks. “Oh, my god…”

Rhett follows you, his body unable to hold off any longer as your pussy clenches his cock. He spills into you, your name floating off his lips like a prayer. “This is heaven,” he mumbles, heading falling forward, pressing into your neck as the last of him empties. “It has to be.”

You'd agree, but you were too breathless to find your voice.

He fixes himself back into his jeans and leans down, pulling your panties back up and smoothing your dress out. “How we doing this?” He asks, spinning you around to face him. “I'll distract my family and you sneak upstairs?”

“Not the most romantic aftercare I've received,” you laugh, “make sure to save me some of those rolls, though?”

He kisses your cheek. “If Perry hasn't already eaten them all.”

"Now's not a good time." "It's always a good time, Rhetty." "Don't call me that." He finally turned to face you, his arms crossing. You stepped closer to him, reciprocating the same body language - crossing your arms. "Your attempts at intimidating me are as good as your bull-riding skills, so that's not sayin' much." You flicked back his hat as you spoke. He grabbed your arm, "Don't fuckin' test me right now, sweetheart." You faltered a bit, his grip strong."You were starin' at me from across the field, did I make you mess up?" "In what world?" "Do I make you nervous, Rhett?" You'd step closer. "Quite the opposite." "Mhm, I bet." A smirk was plastered onto your face. You'd pull your wrist away from him, "Careful now, cowboy."

You'd step away, moving to walk off - feeling Rhett's eyes on you. When he suddenly wrapped an arm around your waist, practically pulling you back to him. You let out a noise of surprise as he kissed you.

You soon melted into the kiss, Rhett pushing you up against the side of his truck. Rhett forced his tongue into your mouth, tilting your head up to accommodate for the height difference between the two of you. The kiss was all teeth, tongue and spit. Pent up frustration coming through.

Rhett broke the kiss before opening the door to his truck, "Get in." "What?--" "I said get in, sweetheart. Need to fuck this out of my system." You'd settle into the truck without another word, watching as Rhett crawled in after you - closing the door behind him from any prying eyes.

He'd pull you into his lap, hands moving up the sides of you - you giggled a bit, taking off his hat. "Need to blow off some steam huh?" "Yeah and put you in y'r goddamn place, got quite a mouth on ya." "Want me to use that mouth?" "I want you to shut the hell up." Rhett wove a hand into your hair, tugging you into another kiss. Teeth clashing against each other, as he made work on your jeans as you shrugged off your jacket.

His mouth moved down to your neck, as he shoved down your jeans to your thighs. He bit into your neck, running his tongue over the bites as a silent apology. His calloused hand dragged down your body, slipping underneath your panties - thick fingers finding your clit.

He pulled back from your neck, resting his head back against the head rest as he watched your reactions eagerly. "There you go, bunny. Already so wet for me." He'd murmur, pushing two fingers into you with ease. He'd make work of you, moans spilling from your mouth as Rhett found that spot inside you almost immediately, fuck. "Yeah, right there? That feel good, doesn't it?" He tilted his head at you, the teasing evident in his voice. You couldn't voice your pleasure, so you just nodded - moans leaving you. Of course he'd be experienced, you wanted to feel his fingers inside you all the time if you could. Hips bucking against his hand as you rested your head against his shoulder, fucking his fingers into you as you practically rode his hand there in the backseat of his truck.

"I hate you." You let out a soft moan. "Yeah?" His palm was now grinding into your clit, your hand immediately going to his shoulder to stabilise you. Your orgasm found you quickly, he placed a hand around your waist - coaching you through it. Moans spilling from your mouth, Rhett moved to cover your mouth. "Shh, bunny.. you dont want people hearin' now?" As you came down from your high, Rhett pulled you closer, "You still got some more in ya?" "Can't leave you pent up now can I, cowboy?" Your hands made quick work of his belt, hands shaking slightly from your previous orgasm.

Rhett's hands covered yours, "I've got it." He chuckled, unbuckling his belt - tossing it somewhere else in the car. Unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down his thighs.

You'd notice the very obvious tent in his boxers, he was big. Bigger than you thought. You wondered if he'd let you suck it, atleast once - if this thing you were doing was going to continue. "You still with me?" "Mm-- mhm." You'd nod, fingers dragging down his abdomen to the bulge. You'd toy with the waistband, just for a few seconds - just to confirm that this is actually happening. Then your hand dipped beneath it, pulling down his boxers down to his knees.

His cock bobbed against his stomach, the tip already leaking pre-cum, a bit of it landing on his stomach. The tip swollen, red and angry.

"Condoms in the glovebox." Rhett murmured, a hand resuming it's spot on your waist as you turned around on his lap, your back now facing his front. Leaning over in the car into the front seat - adjusting yourself to open the glovebox, practically on your knees.

"You really need to clean out your glovebox." You mumbled fishing around it before finally finding a condom. You settled back into Rhett's lap, turning around so you were now facing him. He took the condom from you, ripping it before placing it onto his hard cock. "I didn't force you into my truck for you to complain more." A smirk on his face, as he placed his hands back to your hips. "All good?" You'd nod, "Gonna have to give me words, baby. Or did I make you cum that hard?" Another tilt of his head. "Yes-- god yes." "There we go.." He'd muttered.

Rhett's hands moved to the button up shirt you were wearing. You'd swat his hands away. "C'mon, not even a peak?" "Gonna have to pay extra for that." He'd simply pout, "I bring you into my very comfortable truck and I let you cum on my hand and you wont even let me have the pleasure of seeing your tits? Plain criminal." Rhett placed a hand to your cheek, his thumb dragging down your bottom lip. "C'mon, sweetheart... I'll make you feel so good." You let out a breath at his promise, "Fine. I'll hold you to that though." Then, a smirk, "Thank you," Rhett placed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, hands working at the buttons on your shirt - pushing it off your shoulders with your help. His hands expertly unclasping your bra, slowly pulling the straps off you. Placing kisses to your neck and collarbone as a thanks. He looked down at you, "Fuckin' gorgeous.." He'd mutter more to himself, cupping one of your tits - a cold thumb slipping over the perked nipple, earning a soft whimper from you. He took your nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling against the hard skin. You placed a hand into his hair, egging him on - pulling at the soft curls.

You could only imagine how his tongue would work between your thighs, you could only imagine a lot of things with his man who previously hated you sitting in front of you now sucking on your tits.

Rhett pulled back a string of saliva connecting his mouth to your tit, he looked up at you - a lopsided smirk on his face. "If I don't fuck you now, I am going to lose my mind." He placed his hands to your ass, pushing you further onto his lap. The tip of his cock grazing your soaked core, learning a groan from the both of you. "That makes two of us." You leaned forward, capturing him in another heated kiss as his strong hands directed your hips for you to sit down directly on his cock, feeling unbelievable full. The moan you let out soaked up by the kiss as he smirked against your lips. "Th're you go, bunny.. s' good, doing s' good just for me." Rhett muttered against your lips. You pulled back a bit, looking down at where you two were connected, Christ he was big. "You alright, baby?" Rhett placed a hand under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. He looked concerned, not a look you commonly saw on Rhett Abbott's face. "Y-Yeah.. you're just, it's big." You wanted to smack that egotistical smirk off his face, "Big, yeah?" He tilted his head. "Don't be a dick." "Well you're riding mine." You felt him twitch inside of you, earning a small whimper from you.

You took a moment to collect yourself, get used to the sensation of your enemy's cock buried to the hilt inside of you. "O--Okay, I'm gonna start moving." "Be my guest." Rhett leaned back as you started to move your hips, moving forward and back first - building the pace. "Jesus-- you're so tight.." He looked down to where the two of you were connected. You started to move your hips upward, Rhett's hands moving to wrap around your waist - hoisting him up for the two of you to be chest to chest, his own hips bucking up now meeting your rhythm.

"I hate you." You said between high pitched moans. "Hate you too, baby." You felt that sensation deep in your belly again, overstimulating yet soothing. Rhett knew that too by the way you were clenching around him. "Y' close, sweet girl?" His hand snaked between your two hot bodies to have his thick fingers work in circles against your clit. You could only nod with this new pleasure, head resting against his shoulder. His other hand moved to weave into your hair, tugging gently as he tsked. "Nah, bunny. Look at me when you cum, I wanna see it." Because of course he did, he wanted to see the girl that he argued with for years cum like it was her first time, because of him. Just needed that ego booster. Your mind was completely turned off at this point, your thoughts just filled to the brim with Rhett - in more ways than one. The way his dark blue eyes watched you, his thick fingers working against your swollen nub, and his cock pushing into you and filling you ever so deeper. Your mouth open as moans and whimpers poured out, if people didn't hear you before. They sure as hell did now. "C'mon, cum on my cock." That deep southern growl in his voice was the last thing you needed to tip over the edge, hands gripping as his chest as you came around him, earning a groan from him as you tightened. As you came down from your high, Rhetts hands caught you from falling into him, then you realised Rhett still hadn't cum yet. That fire still in his eyes, your cunt was overstimulated but a front row seat to Rhett Abbott being ruined by your pussy was too good to give up. He tightened his hands around your waist, switching your position for you to be laying down on the carseat. Rhett overtop of you as he fucked his cock into you, his face planted in his neck - peppering kisses there. You whined from overstimulation. "I know-- god, I know baby.. just.. give me a minute, okay?" His words muffled by your neck, you then weaved your fingers into his hair - deciding to give him a taste of his own medicine. Pulling his head back as you looked into his eyes, you saw the smallest amount of drool in the corner of his mouth, his eyes wide as his hips didn't let up, in fact fucking into you faster - but his hips soon faltered, with one last thrust he came into the condom.

Rhett has grown into himself in a way that feels almost unfair, like time decided to be generous with him, slow and deliberate, polishing rather than eroding. It pressed in gently rather than dragging its nails.

The grey that once felt incidental and scattered now feels deliberate and lived in, threaded through his hair at the temples and carried into his beard like a punctuation mark; it’s claimed its place, silver streaks cutting clean lines through the brunet, mirrored in the beard he keeps neatly trimmed.

His shoulders are broader now—not showy about it, just solid, like a man who has learned how to carry weight without complaint. His face tells stories without ever asking to be read; fine lines crease at the corners of his eyes when he smiles—an easy, knowing smile, practised through his years. There’s something grounding about the way he stands: feet planted, spine relaxed, like he’s comfortable occupying space. His hands look different too—bigger than you remember, calloused in a way that speaks of real work, real repetition; hands that have fixed things, steadied things, held onto moments and let others go.

What makes him devastating isn’t just his physicality, it’s also the confidence that hums just beneath the surface. He fills the room without trying to. He doesn’t rush his words—he listens. When he looks at you, it’s direct, unflinching, not hungry but curious, like he’s fully present in his own skin. It’s impossible not to feel how powerfully that pull tugs at you now.

And then there’s you.

You left this place at seventeen with your mom, half-formed and restless, all sharp edges and longing. You come back at twenty-two carrying yourself differently—your body no longer tentative, your presence no longer asking permission. You’ve grown into your own gravity. You notice it in the way people do a double take, in how the town feels smaller around you, but you really notice it when Rhett looks at you.

It’s not the polite glance adults give to kids they’ve known forever, but a pause; it’s just a second too long. His eyes linger, flick briefly away, then return as if he’s recalibrating, updating an old mental picture that no longer fits. There’s something unreadable in his expression—surprise, maybe, recognition layered with restraint. You catch him watching you when he thinks you won’t notice, his gaze thoughtful and assessing, but undeniably aware, as though he’s registering that you’re no longer a memory tied to this town, no longer someone’s kid who left with her mom.

The air shifts in those moments. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but real. You stand taller without meaning to. He straightens too, rolls his shoulders back, runs a hand through that salt-and-pepper hair like he’s suddenly conscious of it. Older looks impossibly good on him—has given him depth, gravity, heat—but what sends a quiet thrill through you is realising that he sees you differently now, too. Not as the girl you were when you left, but as the woman you’ve become.

And here you are: thrown in the mix of a late summer BBQ, the sun sitting lower but no less insistent, heavy and gold as it presses itself into everything it touches. It’s the kind of heat that doesn’t blaze so much as linger—soaks into skin, into fabric, into the slow rhythm of the afternoon. The light feels thicker now, syrupy, clinging to shoulders and collarbones, catching on glass bottles and the edge of the garden fence. The air hums with it. Warm grass underfoot, and the hiss, pop and crackle of charcoal still alive on the grill, flames licking up around food that’s halfway ready, smoke curling into the sky. Cicadas buzz somewhere unseen, their sound stretching time until each second feels unhurried, indulgent. Sweat beads at the nape of your neck, slides lazily down your spine, and you don’t bother wiping it away; the heat makes everything feel a little softer, a little more permissive.

The garden is loud with late afternoon life—the clatter of plates, your dad laughing too hard at something someone’s said. You drift through it all in your yellow floral sundress, the fabric light and familiar against your thighs, the lace at the hem catching when the breeze moves through. The back dips low, daringly so, the sun warm against bare skin you’re suddenly very aware of.

You watch the way Rhett moves—the easy roll of his shoulders, the sure grip of his hand around a beer bottle, the way his thumb rubs absently at the condensation. You see him watching you, too; quick glances that linger just past polite, a tightening of his mouth when you laugh, and slow, deliberate sweeps of his eyes when he thinks you aren’t looking.

Rhett is there before you realise he’s moved.

“Food’s ready,” he says, close enough that his voice feels meant only for you, and then his hand finds your back—not possessive, not rushed. Just a skim, a guiding pressure along the line of exposed skin, fingers warm where they settle, where they stay. The contact is casual in intent, devastating in effect. Your breath catches anyway, sharp and traitorous, as though your body has recognised him before your mind has caught up.

You walk because he guides you to, because the world hasn’t stopped even if it feels like it has. His hand doesn’t move away. If anything, it lingers, the heel of his palm resting just above your waist, thumb brushing ever so slightly as you step forward. You feel seen in a way that has nothing to do with the crowd and everything to do with him.

You turn your head. Catch his eyes.

The sunlight hits just right, glinting off the silver threaded through his hair, warming the brown of his gaze. Your lashes flutter, instinctive, and something shifts. He steps forward then, subtle and sure, placing himself between you and the glare of the afternoon. The noise dulls. The space tightens. His hand is still there, grounding, deliberate.

For a suspended moment, it’s only the two of you.

You stare at him; he stares back. No rush, no words. Just the shared understanding of standing too close, of time folding in on itself. The BBQ goes on behind you—plates clinking, voices rising—but right now, it feels like you’re the only people in the world, held in that narrow strip of shade he’s made just for you.

For a beat longer than it should last, neither of you moves.

Then something in him tightens—jaw, shoulders, resolve—and he finally pulls his hand away, the sudden absence almost louder than the noise of the garden. You notice the way he shifts his weight, the way his jeans sit differently now, strained in a way that makes heat rush low in your belly before you can stop it. His reaction is unmistakable even without being named; it’s there in the careful distance he puts between you, in the control he’s forcing back into place.

Rhett drags a hand down his face, palm scraping over beard and mouth like he’s trying to wipe the moment away. He keeps looking at you while he does it—eyes dark, conflicted, held on yours as if turning away might be harder than staying. When he finally does break the stare, it’s abrupt and deliberate.

He turns and walks off without a word.

You watch him cross the garden, shoulders set, disappearing through the back door like he needs walls around him, like he needs to be anywhere you are not. A second later you see him at the foot of the stairs through the open doorway, taking them two at a time toward the bathroom at the top.

No one else notices. They’re too busy crowding the table now, laughing, reaching for plates, relief blooming that the food is finally ready. The moment swallows the distraction whole. You slip away just as easily, unnoticed, following the same path he took—heart hammering, sundress brushing your knees—quiet as you pass through the back door and into the house, where the air feels tighter, charged, like it knows exactly what you’re doing.

The key hooks by the stairs are a collection of heavy, forgotten iron. You don’t hesitate. Your fingers find the small brass key for the spare bathroom, the one that hasn’t turned in years. The metal is cool, a shock against your fevered palm.

The stairs are a gauntlet. Each step groans under your weight, a betrayal of your stealth. At the top, the narrow hallway feels narrower. The afternoon light from the window at the far end barely reaches here, leaving the air dim and close. The door to the main bathroom is shut.

You press your back against the wall beside it. Silence at first, then not.

A low, stifled sound. A choked off groan, the kind a man makes when he’s trying to keep the world from hearing. It’s followed by a hiss, sharp and pained with pleasure. Then the sound of skin on skin, a rhythmic, wet, slick noise—faster now, urgent. A sound you know, a sound that pulls an answering heat low and liquid inside you.

And then your name. Not spoken, not called, called, but a snarl, torn from the throat, raw and frustrated and full of a want so potent it vibrates through the wood of the door.

It solidifies everything—your resolve, your curiosity, the reckless momentum that’s carried you up here—and the key slides into the lock with a quiet and quiet noise. You turn it, push the door open, and slip inside in one fluid motion.

The bathroom is small, all white tile and chrome. The window is cracked, letting in a thin ribbon of golden air and the distant hum of the party. Rhett is braced against the sink, one broad hand flat on the porcelain, the other wrapped around himself.

He’s big. Thick. The shaft is a flushed, ruddy curve in his fist, the head a swollen, darker crest, glistening. Veins stand in stark relief under the skin. His knuckles are white where he grips himself. He’s fully dressed, jeans and belt open, pushed down just enough.

He freezes.

His eyes, wide and shocked, lock onto yours in the mirror. For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. He looks exactly like a man caught in headlights, every muscle locked, his face a mask of naked shock and something else—shame, maybe, but beneath it, a flare of something hotter.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, the words ragged. His hand doesn’t move from himself. He just stares at your reflection, his chest rising and falling too fast.

You don’t leave. You push the door shut behind you. The click of the latch is deafening in the small space.

“I heard ya,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel.

He closes his eyes, a long, slow blink, as if trying to reset the scene. When they open again, the shock is receding, burned away by a darker, more controlled heat. His gaze drops from your face in the mirror, travels down the reflection of your body in the yellow sundress, then back up. The hunger in his look is no longer hidden; it’s laid bare, acknowledged.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he says, but his voice is gravel, lacking any real force. His thumb moves, an involuntary stroke over the slick head of his cock. A drop of fluid pearls, clings, then falls. You watch its path.

“Y’said my name.”

He lets out a rough breath that’s almost a laugh. “Yeah.” He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t look away.

The air in the room is thick, humid with his scent—soap, clean sweat, and something muskier, sharper. Your own breathing feels shallow. You take a step forward. The tile is cool under your bare feet.

“Why did y’run?”

“Y’know why.” His jaw works. His fist tightens, then relaxes, a slow pump that makes your stomach clench. “Look at ya. Look at… this.” He gestures weakly with his chin, at himself, at the space between you. “I’m twenty years older than ya, kid. I used to fix y’bike.”

“I’m not a kid on a bike anymore.”

“No.” The word is heavy, final. His eyes drink you in again, and this time, they don’t shy away from the low cut of your dress, the way the fabric drapes over your hips. “Y’really not.”

Another step. You’re close enough now to feel the heat radiating from him, to see the fine tremor in the arm braced against the sink. You reach out, not for him, but for the faucet. You turn it on, let cool water run over your fingers. The mundane sound is absurd, electric.

“What were ya thinking ‘bout?” You ask, watching the water spiral down the drain.

He’s silent for so long you think he won’t answer. Then, his voice is low, stripped raw. “Y’back. That dress. The way the sun caught on y’skin where my hand was. The sound y’made when I touched ya. Like a—like a gasp y’were tryin’ to swallow.” His hand moves again, a long, slow pull from base to tip. “I was thinkin’ ‘bout how y’skin would feel under my mouth right there… how you’d taste. How you’d arch into it.”

Every word is a physical touch. Your knees feel weak. You turn off the water and face him, leaning your hip against the sink counter, mirroring his stance. The space between you is maybe two feet. It feels like nothing. It feels like a canyon.

“And what else?”

His eyes blaze. “Y’want the whole fantasy?”

“Yes.”

He leans closer, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I was thinking ‘bout turnin’ you round right there in the garden. Pushin’ that pretty yellow dress up ‘round your waist, seein’ if you were as bare and smooth as you looked. Holdin’ you still while I… while I just looked. While I touched. Until you were shakin’.”

A shudder runs through you, undeniable. Your nipples tighten against the thin cotton of your dress. He sees it. His nostrils flare.

“Y’killin’ me,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. He starts to move his hand again, a slow, torturous rhythm. “Y’should go back to the party.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know, kid.” He sounds resigned, agonised. “That’s the problem.”

You watch the motion of his hand, the way his foreskin slides, the wet gleam of his arousal. Your own body is responding, a throbbing ache building between your legs, a slick heat you can feel gathering. You want to touch him. You want him to touch you.

“Let me,” you say, the words out before you can stop them.

His rhythm stutters. “Let you what?”

“Help.”

He shakes his head, a sharp, pained movement. “No. This is—this is bad enough. You seein’ this. Me bein’… like this because of ya.”

“Because of me,” you repeat, and it’s not a question—it’s a claiming. You move then, closing the last of the distance. You don’t reach for his cock. Instead, you place your hand over his on the sink. His skin is hot, the bones of his knuckles prominent under your palm. You lean in, your lips beside his ear. “Then let me be part of it.”

You feel the full body tremor that goes through him. A low groan rumbles in his chest. His free hand comes up, cups the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. Not pushing you away. Holding you there.

“Look at me,” he rasps.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. The blue is almost black, his pupils blown wide. The silver in his beard glints in the low light. There’s no more conflict there, just a desperate, burning want.

“Y’sure?” The question is gritted out, each word strained.

In answer, you guide his hand from the sink, bringing it between you. You press his palm flat against your lower belly, over the soft yellow cotton. His hand is huge, warm, heavy. You hold it there, letting him feel the heat of you, the quick rise and fall of your breath.

A sound escapes him—part surrender, part triumph. His other hand, the one still wrapped around himself, goes still. He releases himself, and his now-free hand comes up to frame your face. His thumb strokes your cheekbone, a touch so tender it makes your throat tighten.

“Okay,” he breathes, and it’s the only permission you need.

He kisses you.

It’s not gentle. It’s a collision. His mouth is hot and demanding, his beard a rough, delicious friction against your skin. He tastes of beer and summer and a darker, more essential flavour that is just him. You open for him immediately, a moan trapped in your throat as his tongue slides against yours. The kiss is deep, consuming, a claiming that’s been pent up for years. One of his hands stays tangled in your hair, angling your head to take more of him, while the other slides from your belly to your lower back, pulling you flush against him.

You feel the hard, hot length of him press against your stomach, separated only by thin layers of fabric. The shock of it—the reality of his size, his arousal—sends a fresh wave of liquid heat pooling low in your belly. You whimper into his mouth, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders. The cotton of his shirt is soft under your fingers, but the muscle beneath is iron-hard.

He breaks the kiss, breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours. “Fuck,” he whispers, the word ragged. “I’ve thought about that. So many times.”

“Me too,” you gasp.

His hands move to the thin straps of your sundress. He hooks a finger under one, then the other, and slides them down your arms. The top of the dress loosens, the bodice gaping. He doesn’t pull it down, not yet. He just looks, his gaze dropping to the swells of your breasts above the line of your dress, to the hint of lace from your bra.

“Pretty li’l thing,” he murmurs. He leans down, his mouth finding the hollow of your throat. He kisses the spot, then licks a slow, hot path up the column of your neck. Your head falls back, giving him better access. His teeth graze your pulse point, and you cry out, a short, sharp sound.

“Shh,” he soothes against your skin, but there’s no real caution in it. He’s unravelling you, and he knows it.

His hands find the zipper at the side of your dress. He pulls it down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room. The fabric loosens. He pushes it down over your shoulders, letting it pool at your waist, held up by your hips. You’re standing in your bra and panties now, the afternoon light from the high window painting your skin in gold.

He just looks. His gaze is a physical weight, travelling over every inch of you—the curve of your breasts in the lace cup, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips. His expression is one of pure, reverent hunger.

“Jesus,” he breathes again. He reaches out, his calloused fingers tracing the lace edge of your bra. He doesn’t unhook it. He just strokes the satin trim, his touch feather light, making your skin prickle with goosebumps.

Then his hands settle on your hips, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just above the line of your panties. “These are a problem,” he says, his voice thick.

“They are?”

“They’re in my way.”

He hooks his thumbs into the lace waistband. He doesn’t pull them down. He just holds them, his gaze locked on yours, asking a silent question. You nod, a quick, desperate movement.

Slowly, so slowly, he slides the lace down your hips, over your thighs, letting them fall to the floor around your ankles. The cool air of the bathroom kisses your exposed skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his look.

He steps back, just half a step, his eyes drinking in the sight of you completely bare from the waist down. His breath leaves him in a rush. “Look at ya,” he says, almost to himself.

You feel exposed, vulnerable, and utterly aroused. A flush spreads across your chest, climbs your neck. You want to cover yourself, but you also want him to look forever.

He drops to his knees.

The sight is almost too much. Rhett, this solid, steady man, on his knees on the white bathroom tile in front of you. He places his hands on your bare hips, his touch firm, anchoring. He leans forward, and for one heart-stopping moment, you think he’s going to put his mouth on you. But he doesn’t. He presses his forehead against your lower belly, right above the neat thatch of hair. He just stays there, breathing you in, his warm breath fanning over your most sensitive skin.

A helpless sound escapes you. Your hands come down to his head, your fingers sinking into the thick, silver-streaked hair. It’s softer than you imagined.

“Rhett,” you whisper.

He lifts his head. His eyes are glazed, his lips parted. “I want to taste ya,” he says, the words raw and honest. “I want to feel ya come on my tongue. But if I start, I ain’t gonna stop…”

The denial is a physical ache. You nod, understanding, even as your body screams in protest.

“Then touch me,” you plead. “Please.”

A groan rips from him. He nods, once. He leans in again, but this time, he turns his head, nuzzling the inside of your thigh. His beard is a rough, incredible scratch against the tender skin. He places an open-mouthed kiss high on your inner thigh, his lips hot. Then another, closer. His breath is so close to where you need him.

One of his hands leaves your hip. You feel his fingers brush through your curls, a gentle, exploring touch. Then a single, broad fingertip strokes down your centre, through your slick folds.

You jolt, a gasp tearing from your throat. You’re soaked, drenched for him, and the proof is on his finger. He brings it to his lips, his eyes holding yours, and sucks it clean. His eyes flutter closed for a second, a look of pure pleasure crossing his face.

“Sweet,” he murmurs. “So fuckin’ sweet f’me.”

He returns his hand to you, this time with purpose. He parts you with two fingers, exposing the swollen, needy flesh beneath. You can feel the cool air on your most intimate parts, a shocking contrast to the heat building inside. He just looks, his gaze intense, studying you.

“So pretty here,” he says, his voice rough with wonder. “All pink and swollen f’me.” His thumb finds your clit, circling the hard, sensitive nub once, lightly. A bolt of pure pleasure shoots through you, making your legs buckle. His hands on your hips steady you.

“Easy, girl,” he says, but there’s a smile in his voice now, a dark, possessive pleasure.

He begins to touch you in earnest then, his touch both expert and reverent. His thumb rubs slow, firm circles over your clit, while two fingers of his other hand slide through your slickness, gathering your arousal, spreading it, teasing your entrance. He doesn’t push inside. He just plays, exploring the shape of you, the give of your outer lips, the flutter of your inner ones, the hard pearl of your clit under his thumb.

“Y’so responsive,” he murmurs, watching your face. “Every little touch… I can see it on ya.”

You can’t speak. Your world has narrowed to the points of contact: his hands on you, the tile cold under your feet, the ragged sound of both your breathing. Your hips begin to move of their own accord, rocking into his touch, seeking more pressure, more friction.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice a low rumble. “Take what y’need from me.”

His fingers slide lower, through your slick heat, and press against your perineum, the sensitive patch of skin between your entrance and your back hole. The pressure there, combined with the relentless circles on your clit, sends sparks shooting up your spine. Your moans are coming freely now, little broken sounds you don’t try to stifle.

“I can feel y’getting tighter,” he says, his own breathing growing ragged. “Are y’close? Come on, baby. Let me feel it. Let me see y’come.”

The endearment, the rough command in his voice, is what pushes you over. The coil in your belly snaps. Pleasure erupts, not in a wave but in a sharp, stunning burst, radiating out from your core, turning your limbs to liquid fire. You cry out, your hands clenching in his hair, your back arching as the sensations rip through you.

He keeps his thumb moving, gentling the pressure as you pulse around nothing, your inner muscles clenching and releasing in empty, aching waves. He guides you through it, his touch unwavering, until the last shudder passes and you sag, boneless, against the sink counter.

He stands up slowly, his knees cracking. He’s still painfully hard, his cock hanging out in the sweat-slick air, ruddy and leaking at the tip. He pulls you against him, your bare skin meeting the rough denim of his jeans. He holds you as you tremble, his face buried in your hair.

“Okay?” He asks, his voice muffled.

You can only nod against his chest.

He holds you for a long moment, both of you breathing heavily in the quiet bathroom. The sounds of the BBQ are still a distant murmur. Finally, he pulls back, his hands cupping your face. He kisses you again, softer this time, a slow, dragging kiss that tastes of you and him and shared secrets.

Your hand, which had been resting on his shoulder, slides down his chest, over the hard plane of his stomach covered by his thin white t-shirt. You don't look away from his eyes as your fingers trail lower through the coarse hair until you find the thick, hot length of him. You wrap your hand around his cock, your fingers not quite meeting around his girth, and he stands perfectly still, a sharp inhale hissing through his teeth. His eyes lock on yours, dark and blazing. The skin is like hot velvet over steel, the prominent vein along the underside pulsing against your palm. You give him an experimental pump, your hand sliding easily through the slickness already gathered there.

“Christ,” he groans, his head dropping forward to rest against yours.

You tilt your hips forward, letting the swollen, slick head of his cock slide against your sensitive, swollen clit. The contact is immediate and overwhelming—a jolt of sensation that is almost too much after the intensity of your release. You let out a quick, choked moan at the slight overstimulation.

Rhett grits his teeth and hisses low between them, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, the word strained. “That’s it. Touch my cock, y’sweet li’l thing.”

You pump him, your fist moving in a slow, tight rhythm. His pre-cum is already a steady stream, coating your hand, making your movements slick and loud. It drips from your knuckles onto the white tile floor, some trickling onto the laced hem of your skirt. You watch his face as you work him—the clench of his jaw, the flutter of his eyelids, the way his mouth falls open on ragged breaths.

His hands, which had been resting on your hips, slip under your thighs. In one smooth, effortless motion, he hikes you up onto the edge of the sink counter. The porcelain is cold against your bare skin. He fits himself between your spread thighs, his body crowding you back against the mirror.

Now he’s pressed up against you, his cock sliding easily through your drenched folds, the broad, smooth head catching and dragging over you with every slight shift of his hips. The tip of him bumps against your entrance—not pushing, just teasing; a maddening, perfect pressure.

You buck your hips forward, seeking more, and he slips in.

Just the tip. Just that first, thick, stretching inch. But it was enough—enough to make you cry out, a sound of shock and sheer, overwhelming sensation. It’s a deep, filling pressure you didn’t even known you needed. You flutter wildly around the head of his cock, trying to sick him in. Rhett freezes, and a low, guttural sound tears from his chest. His hands tighten on your thighs, his fingers biting into your flesh. His eyes are squeezed shut, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding still.

“Jesus, kid,” he huffs out, the words shattered. “Y’feel… God, y’feel…”

He doesn’t finish; he doesn’t have to. You can see it on his face—the agonizing pleasure, the battle for control. You’re stretched around him, so full already from the tip; you can feel the throb of his heartbeat in the part of him buried inside you.

Slowly, so slowly it’s torture, he pulls back, the slick length of him dragging against your inner walls. The head of his cock pops free, and you both gasp at the loss. He presses forward again, just that same inch, seating himself once more inside of you.

“Just—just there,” he pants, his forehead damp with sweat. “Christ, just like that.”

He begins a shallow, rocking motion, sliding that first thick inch in and out of you. Each tiny retreat is a sweet loss; each return is a shock of filling pressure. Your hands scrabble at his shoulders, clutching the fabric of his shirt. Your hips rise to meet each minuscule thrust, your body begging for more even as your mind swims with how delirious Rhett is making you.

The air in the small room is thick with the scent of sex—your arousal, his musk, the clean, sharp smell of his sweat. The only sounds are the wet, slick slide of his cock against your folds, the ragged symphony of your breathing, and the soft, helpless sounds you can barely hold back.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice rough.

You force your eyes open, meeting his burning gaze, feral and possessive. He holds it as he rocks into you, that shallow, maddening rhythm never speeding up, never deepening.

“This is mine,” he growls, each word punctuated by a soft, slick push. “This heat. This tight, sweet li’l—fuck—this is all f’me. Isn’t it?”

You can’t speak. You can only nod, your vision blurring at the edges.

“Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasp out, “all yours, Rhett.”

He lets out a quiet, disappointed noise, tutting at you. “That ain’t what y’call me at night, ain’t it?” A slightly deeper thrust has you arching your back so sharply that you hit the back of your head against the mirror. “When y’got those fingers in this tight cunt, thinkin’ ‘bout me when y’come—what do y’call me, sweet thing?”

Your eyes roll back, jaw dropping open, a shudder running through your body. You clench tight around his cock, your slick dripping onto the counter below, the sounds obscene as Rhett starts pushing deeper and deeper inside you.

“Daddy—” You’re cut off as Rhett bottoms out, pressed in to the hilt inside of you, his balls slick against your ass and his thick, coarse hair catching on your clit. “All yours, daddy. It’s all yours. Ain’t nobody else I want in me.”

A ragged groan is his only answer. The shallow, teasing rocks are gone. Now, he pulls back, almost all the way out, until just the flared head remains, stretching your entrance. Then he pushes back in, a slow, relentless piston.

Each thrust is a deliberate, measured conquest. He sinks into you with a force that punches the air from your lungs, replacing it with a whip sharp whine you don’t recognise as your own voice. Your back is pressed against the mirror, your hands flat against the cool glass for purchase that isn’t there. Your breasts, still confined in your summer dress, bounce with the heavy, rhythmic impact of his body against yours.

There is no gentleness in this; it’s a claiming. Each drive of his hips grinds the hard plane of his pelvis against your clit, sending shock waves of blunt, building pleasure radiating outwards. You can feel every inch of him—the slight upward curve of his shaft rubbing a blissful, internal path, the swollen crown nudging a deep, sweet spot that makes you see stars. Your inner walls cling to him, gripping and releasing with each retreat, as if trying to keep him buried inside you forever.

“That’s it,” he grunts, his voice strained, sweat now plastering his shirt to the broad expanse of his back. “Take it. Take all of it. F’me.”

You’re babbling, a stream of broken pleas and affirmations. “Daddy, yes… please, more…” The words mean nothing and everything. Your legs, hooked around his hips, your heels digging into the muscle of his thighs, begin to shake. A coil of unbearable tension winds tighter and tighter in your core, a spring compressed to its breaking point. The visual of it is seared into your mind—the way his powerful hips work, the flex of his ass under denim, the glimpse of your joined bodies, slick and moving as one.

The orgasm doesn’t crest; it detonates.

It starts as a deep, internal clench, a ripple that becomes a quake. Your vision bleaches out, pure white static. A choked scream is locked in your throat as your body bows, taut like a bowline, held only by his iron grip on you. You feel a warm, sudden gush—not much, just a hint of release that slicks his next thrust—mixing with the wetness already there.

Your legs are trembling violently, your entire body twitching with the aftershocks. You go limp, your forehead dropping to his sweat damp shoulder, your breaths coming in ragged, wet sobs against his neck. You are boneless, spent, floating in a haze of shattered sensation.

Rhett pumps into you two, three more times, his rhythm faltering, his control utterly gone. On the fourth, he pushes in until the tip of him is pressed so deep inside you that you lose the boundary between your bodies; you don’t know where you end and he begins. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, a raw, animal sound tearing from him, teeth at the hinge of your jaw.

You feel it, the hot, sudden pulse deep inside, a thick spurt of heat that makes you gasp against his skin. His cock jerks and twitches within you, each violent throb accompanied by another scalding rush. It goes on and on, until you feel impossibly full, until the combined juices of your orgasm and his own begin to seep around his thick cock still buried within you, a warm trickle down your sensitive flesh onto the counter beneath you.

For a long moment he stays there, lodged inside you, his weight heavy and comforting, his breaths hot and ragged against your throat. The only sound is the drip of the faucet and the slowing hammer of his heart against your chest.

Then, with infinite care, he pulls out.

The sensation is a slow and slick, an empty drag that leaves you feeling hollowed out and profoundly used. You whimper at the loss, at the cool air hitting your overheated, soaked skin.

Rhett doesn’t pull away. Instead, he sinks back down, his knees hitting the tile floor with a soft thud. His hands, still rough but impossibly gentle now, spread your thighs wider where they dangle off the counter. His eyes, dark and sated but still blazing with a possessive fire, lock onto the mess he’s made of you.

You can’t look away. You watch, mesmerised, as he lowers his head.

His tongue, broad and hot, swipes through the mingled fluids leaking from you. A low, appreciative hum vibrates against you. He licks with a focused, thorough intensity, cleaning the streaks from your inner thighs, lapping up the combined taste of you and him from your swollen, puffy lips. Each pass of his tongue is both soothing and shockingly erotic, a tender reverence that contrasts violently with the pounding possession of moments before. He nudges his tongue against your still throbbing entrance, drinking deeply, until you’re quivering again, until you’re slick only with his spit.

He pulls back, his chin glistening. His gaze meets yours, and a slow, utterly satisfied smile touches his lips—a rare, unguarded expression that makes your heart clench.

“Mine,” he says again, his voice a hoarse whisper, as if tasting the truth of it.

“Yeah. All yours.” You breathe out, skin flushed with heat and sweat. Slowly, the noise and bustle of the BBQ outside trickles back in, and Rhett stands once more. He leans in to kiss you. It’s short and sweet, somewhat shy where he wasn’t not even a minute ago.

When he breaks the kiss, his expression is serious, conflicted again. “We can’t stay in here.”

You know he’s right. The world is right outside the door. You nod, stepping back shakily. You bend to retrieve your panties, your movements clumsy. He watches you dress, his eyes dark, his own need a palpable presence in the small room.

You straighten your dress, your fingers fumbling with the zipper. He reaches out and does it for you, his hands steady and sure, his knuckles brushing your spine. The touch sends a fresh shiver through you.

He tucks himself back into his jeans, doing up the fly with a wince. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to restore some order.

You look at each other in the mirror. You’re both flushed, dishevelled, marked by what just happened. The woman staring back at you looks different—softer around the edges, her eyes brighter, her lips swollen.

Rhett reaches past you, turns on the cold water, and splashes his face. He grabs a hand towel, dries off, then offers it to you. You press the cool cloth to your own heated skin.

“We go out separate,” he says, his voice back to its normal, low timbre, though it’s still rough around the edges. “Y’go first. I’ll clean up here, then I’ll come on down.”

You nod. It feels clandestine, dangerous. Exciting.

He steps close to you one last time, his hand on your arm. “This ain’t over,” he says, and it’s not a question. It’s a promise.

You believe him. You turn, your hand on the doorknob, and look back. He’s leaning against the sink again, but now he looks more in control, the storm inside him banked for now. His eyes meet yours.

ever since you’ve been hired rhett has driven you insane. like the time you and amy got ice cream with rhett on the rare occasion he came home early.

“you’ve got a little-“ you looked over at rhett, the gloss of licking ice cream on your lips. rhett nearly lost it at that sight. he proceeded to wipe off some remnants of ice cream by your lips, taking his thumb and then swiping the ice cream across your lips. you then licked your lips, slightly catching his thumb in the process.

or the time it was blazing outside so when rhett came back from ranch duties he found you, in jean cut offs and what was to him, the tiniest shirt ever in his kitchen.

you stood on your tiptoes struggling to put back the cereal from amy’s breakfast. “shit!” you almost fell over. “you need help with that?” you huffed in annoyance before rhett came behind you. close. the feeling of rhett pressing on you from behind made your heart beat quicken. rhett easily put the cereal back and bent down and whispered into your ear, “cute outfit.”

but as much as rhett drove you crazy, you drove rhett just as insane. it all started when rhett came home late, bruised and bloodied from yet another bar fight.

two rapid knocks awoke you from your nap on the couch. “hellooo?” you didn’t even notice rhett who was hunched over in the darkness, the sight of him made you jump back. “jesus rhett what happened? we gotta get you cleaned up perry’s gonna be back soon.”

which led to your predicament now. rhett sat at the dining table, black eye forming, gashes on his knuckles, while you rummaged in the pantry looking for the first aid kit.

“found it! now tell me what happened abbott.”

“nothin— just being stupid like usual.” his southern drawl even more prominent in his tiredness.

“yeah and embarrassing. pretty embarrassing to be cleaned by your nieces babysitter if you ask me.”

“not so embarrassing when she’s the prettiest thing you’ve seen.” you ignored his words, no idea with how to respond.

you bent down slightly, cleaning rhett’s face with an alcohol pad and blowing on the wounds when the sting got too sharp to rhett. the entire time rhett’s eyes followed you, and you tried not to burn up at the thought of being close to rhett like this.

“damn— you got a nasty one on your chin.” you struggled to find the right angle to clean it properly. finding yourself slightly dangling over rhett’s lap.

“yknow you can just sit down? it’s okay, you’re just helping me out.”

hesitantly, you straddled his lap, legs on either side of his muscular thighs. as you bandaged his wounds the tension between you two grew. your breathing becoming more erratic, your heart beating faster. what seemed like hours passed as you cleaned the blood off rhett’s face.

“okay all done now abbott. anything else?”

“kiss it better?” a silence ensued, you eyeing rhett curiosly.

“look im just joking sorry-“ before rhett could finish his sentence though you softly pressed your lips against his. rhett took the opportunity to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

it was a soft kiss, one that was meant to tease for all the times he’s driven you insane. it was now rhett’s turn to go crazy. your fingers found solace in rhett’s locks, pulling gently. you relished in the small grunts that left rhett’s mouth. then you pulled away from rhett, a small smile on your face.

“i think you’re all better now cowboy.” you pulled yourself off his lap, patting his shoulder. gathering your stuff and heading out the door and sending a message to perry that rhett was home and you were heading out for the night.

“so you kissed him and left? you didn’t fuck him? way better then me because if i was on rhett abbott’s lap-“

“okay shh stop!” you giggled at laila’s antics.

you and laila typically went drinking at the outskirts of wabang, where no one would recognize you and even knew that you were currently underage. no one questioned your fake id, or who you were.

you were a couple drinks in when the door swung open. it was rhett abbott. why wasn’t he at his usual bars? why on earth was he here at the same time as you?

“holy shit is that-“

“fuck we gotta hide laila!”

“we? girl it’s just you.”

you hid your face from the door, looking the other way. but rhett came your way and stood right next to you huddled over.

“a beer please.” rhett spoke to the bartender. rhett’s eyes traveled around the bar, where he then spotted you. well at least looked like you.

“is that…?” rhett let out a low chuckle. your head rose in embarrassment, and you turned around where you met his gaze.

“oh hey rhett… didn’t think i’d see you here.”

“didn’t think i’d see the eighteen year old here either.” you smiled awkwardly in response to rhett.

“don’t tell perry or cecila… please?” you slightly pouted at him. rhett laughed at you once more.

“i won’t. but i can’t have a pretty thing like you out at the bar like this. after this beer i’m takin you back home.”

you sighed. “fine abbott.”

laila giggled loudly next to you, before you hit her arm.

before you knew it rhett had finished his beer and was dragging you out of the bar. laila drove you here, and unlike you was of legal age to drink. she mouthed a “see you later!” as rhett walked you out the bar with his hand on your wrist. as you giggled a goodbye she made a lewd gesture, one that had you laughing in shock.

“you’re so lame abbott.”

“me? yknow what’s lame?”

“what’s lame?”

rhett bent down again to whisper in your ear. “kissing me and leaving.”

you blushed hard.

“it was just payback.” you struggled to meet his eyes.

“sure okay then.” he smiled lightly at you, getting into the truck.

the ride to your home wasn’t quiet as you thought it would be. you and rhett laughed about how you got here, and your fake id.

“you got a fake id? in wabang?”

you giggled heartily. “yep! mr. roy is quite the law breaker.”

rhett pulled up to your house.

“your folks home?”

“nah, they’re out. they’ll be gone for a couple days.” you gave it a thought before saying “wanna come in? my dad has an eight pack in the fridge.”

rhett chucked. “sure.”

you and rhett lounged on the tattered couch of your living room. beer’s in hand as you heartily laughed about rhett’s most recent encounter with the tillersons.

“stuck up cowboys— scum of the earth i tell you.” rhett seethed.

“they’re bad with girls too. luke tried kissing me one time, it was horrible.” you laughed recalling the awkward moment.

“oh really? would you say i’m the better kisser?” rhett scooted closer to you, impossibly close to your face.

“no idea, gonna need to kiss you again for that one.” you leaned in, giving rhett a small peck and pulling away. rhett whined in response, chasing your lips with such a hunger that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“sorry abbott. i gotta change first.” you got up from the couch, heading towards your bedroom. stripping off your shirt in the process and throwing it towards rhett.

rhett, like a lost puppy followed you to your room, quickly plucking you off the ground and locking your lips with his.

“can’t-“ he kissed your lips, “-keep” smooch “doing-“ smooch “this-“ he leaned his forehead against yours. smooch “to-“ smooch “me.”

“you drive me insane you know that right?”

“then show me abbott im right here.”

and like that he connected your lips harshly, making quick work to remove your bra and slide your skirt down. quickly he lifted you off the ground gently placing you on the bed.

“let me taste you baby cmon.” you moaned in response as he dragged you down the bed and spread your legs wide. with no warning he dove straight in, tongue flicking against your hole as he sucked on your clit.

“holy- rhett yes just like that!” his tongue was too good, too good to even think coherently. all you could think of was rhett and how good he was making you feel.

rhett slipped his hands down to the globes of your ass, squeezing it as he sucked hard. in response you whined louder, quickly feeling your high approach.

“cum- cumming fuck!” and with a shakey moan you let go, your legs tightening around rhett’s head like a vice. you rode out your high on rhett’s face, holding his head in place. the entire rhett groaned loudly, loving seeing you let go for him.

rhett rose from between your legs, face glistening with your cum. he quickly connected your lips.

“rhett— off— take your clothes off. please.”

“shh- of course baby.” he threw his shirt off and slid down his pants with ease. his cock sprung out and your mouth couldn’t help but water.

“fuck keep looking at me like that and i’m gonna cum untouched.”

“rhett hurry please. condoms are in my drawer.”

rhett quickly made light work of slipping a condom on then settling between your legs.

“wait—“

“what? what is it?”

“let me— let me ride you abbott. gonna show you how much i need you.”

rhett chuckled in response heading up the bed and leaning against the wall. he patted his lap.

“cmon just like yesterday baby. ride me like the cowgirl you are.”

“save a horse ride a cowboy eh?” you giggled. you lifted yourself up and slowly slid yourself down rhett’s cock. both of you moaning as you did so.

“cmon baby. i got you just ride.” and like that you quickened your pace. rhett’s tip hit your g spot just right as you sunk down each time. your tits jumped with each rise of your hips.

“fuck, can i suck on them baby?”

“yes-please rhett.” rhett brought you closer to him, and as you rode him he took a nipple in his mouth. with every suck from rhett you thrusted yourself down.

“yes rhett. keep doing that please— im so close.” you picked up the pace and rhett groaned loudly as you did so. when his hands wrapped around your ass, giving it a smack you moaned louder.

“again rhett! please!” he smacked again. you went impossibly faster. with another smack of his hand, you gushed around rhett. rhett came after, sucking on your nipples still. you pulled him off to meet his lips as both of you rode out your orgasms.

“fuck.” rhett said. you giggled in response.

“we should do this more abbott.” you left a kiss on rhett’s nose.

“mhmmm.”

————————

a/n: this smut scene made me 😵‍💫😵‍💫

hoped u like it! don’t forget to like and reblog if u did so. see u next time,

"You doin' alright?" he asked, softer in his curiosity while raising one hand to rest behind his head while you continued to rock diligently against the swell of his bulge. The wet patch on his jeans could have been from either of you, or perhaps both. It didn't matter anymore. He let you decide the pace, allowing the frantic grinding motion that was somehow still too slow and light. It was teasing. A taste. But the sight of your panties blooming with a slick wetness was enough to satisfy. "Hey," he tapped your hip when there was no reply except the squeezing grip on his abdomen where your hands were splayed. "C'mon, you alright?" He grasped your jaw with one hand, forcing you to lift your head. He was no doubt ensuring there was no regret with the shy demeanour that anyone would have noticed from the moment he had set his eyes on you. His fingers dug in just a little hard, almost mean. He stares at your face for a moment, his other hand gently caressing one of your thighs before creeping under the waistband of your thong. "Hmmm.... Yeah," you nodded slightly, leaning into his touch with eyebrows furrowed tightly and your lips part just a little while breaths left in short pants. "Fuckin' knees are aching."

A soft pat to your hip has you pressing down eagerly. It felt a little condescending, that connection of his hand upon your skin to get you moving quicker. Somehow it had carefully fed something within you, sleeping into the pit of your belly in a blooming warmth along with a desire to encourage the treatment. "Yeah?" he chuckled, keeping your face close enough that the soft breath was a shared expression. "That's part of the charm. C'mon," he coaxed, voice gaining a slight raspy tilt while his fingers pressed firmly into your hip while his pelvis pressed up against you, seeking out friction. There it was. The thick length of him kept behind a barrier of denim, the shape of it obvious and enough to force an excited thrum throughout your body; a flush of warmth creeping from the depth of your abdomen and all the way up your neck. It caught the next breath that was working it's way down your throat; grasping it cruelly before you could take it in. You wanted more of it. You wanted to feel every twitching inch until you were full. "That's it. Atta girl, keep going."

Your hands were still pressed firmly against his abdomen, feeling the warm muscle as it tensed underneath. His hips jolt occasionally, heightening that perilous sensation that had your pussy soaking the material of your panties. Every shift was a signal of just how much he was enjoying it. The thick bulge beneath denim straining against your and creating the perfect bump to settle upon and grind against with frantic, rolling hips. The crease on his jeans had a delicious rough texture. The slight ridge of his zipper and fly had become a jolting presence, you clit swollen and pulsing with a clenching heartbeat. A warm flush curled up in your chest, squirming and pushing against your organs until it started to rise to your cheeks. The world was electrifying; an invasion of static that rushed through. The tightening in your belly felt like a thousand stars were forming a tornado of bliss. "Rhett," your nails firmly press into his skin, drawing welts as you try to stay upright. The pressure was too sweet, the grinding motion almost slowed down completely for a split moment when it all became too much. Every breath was a short gasp, hips rocking in short, and slow, desperate motions as if to take in the exact feeling of denim beneath. It was almost painful, an overbearing feeling that made you jolt while chasing the growing warmth. It was tipping.

"There we go, that's it," Rhett kept one hand on your hip, a gentle guidance and chuckled at the way your mouth was half-parted with short breathes. "Good girl." He squeezed your jaw lightly, reminding you that he was holding you up with that simple pressure.

Shit. Of course he said that. "Fuck," You tumbled down the rippling sensation that was thrown over your body; the tingling feeling of heat that crawled up your neck until your head was wrapped in a numb state, clit throbbing, hips cantering in a last ditch effort to prolong the euphoria. Your eyes squeezed closed, trying to control your breathing while focusing on it all, as if to grasp it forever for those lonely nights back home.

"Good girl," he repeated, chucking when your hips jolted at the easy praise. The words sounded so sweet, so encouraging. A sharp sting landed on the curve of your ass, a blooming warmth erupting. You gasp sharply at the pull back into reality. "Asshole," You huffed, shifting slightly and sitting up straighter. There was no doubt that his hat was tilted a little too far forward on your head; a ridiculous sight, you were sure, but from the look on his face it seemed a delightful one. "You know what that does to me."

Maybe sometimes you exaggerated in your mannerisms, feigning surprise and disbelief every time a boy flirted with you or you laughed softly, blushing when you heard a dirty joke as if the possibility of imagining that didn't exist in your mind.

Oh you, always so adorable and helpful, you helped feed the animals, collected the eggs and helped in the kitchen, sometimes you even offered to carry the heavy alfalfa and tried to watch over the pigeon nests that were on the tin roof of your house despite your height.

But when you walked by that cowboy, your whole facade fell apart because with just one look, you two knew how naughty you really were. But that was a secret, of course. That cowboy wasn't very popular with many people. He was the kind of man who would take advantage of others, or the kind who always had that "all in control" and sarcastic attitude. And your family wouldn't let you get near him for anything.

Gosh, what would the townspeople say if they heard you screaming Rhett's name at night like an unhinged beast? It would be a calamity. Or seeing you "casually" walk past him in a sinfully short skirt only to have him dragged behind the barn? Oh no, God forbid!

No, no one could imagine that behind that sweet appearance hid an absolutely nasty girl, and that amused Rhett. He enjoyed imagining people's faces if they saw you riding him like a wild beast, uttering the filthiest things in his ear that shot out of your sweet little mouth like snake venom.

They also couldn't tell how you walked by him, savoring a lollipop and looking at him through your thick eyelashes, or how you bent over to pick a daisy to take to your mother, accidentally revealing your butt and your under-dress. Or how Rhett, clenching his jaw to contain himself, suddenly snapped and easily lifted you up to sit on the fence, kissing your neck and behind your ear, and how whenever that happened, you'd slyly ask him to please leave some slightly visible hickeys.

Only he knew the real you. And how many times has he laughed mockingly or rolled his eyes at you performing that absurd pantomime like a play where you played the role of a virgin, pure, and perfect girl.

"Why can't I wear a man's cowboy hat?" you asked, pouting.

Your older brother laughed modestly but sympathetically, shaking his head at his sister. As if she couldn't reason with something like that.

"That's a story for another day...or another life."

And Abbott couldn't help but remember all the times he had you on top of him just because of that hat rule.

His cerulean eyes darted from your tits to your face, unable to focus on one spot. He watched them bounce with each thrust you made on his cock, then looked at you, your proud smile lifting one corner higher than the other and your hand holding the hat on your head. His hat

"You are a very dirty girl, I wonder what others would say if they saw you like this right now, doll" He laughed between grunts as he felt your walls tighten.

You laughed sarcastically. "I don't care if I can keep riding you like this."

Your hips rocked back and forth as if you were riding a mechanical bull, following a controlled rhythm so you wouldn't tire. Rhett threw his head back and dug his fingers into your thighs and butt.

"Ngh Jesus doll, look at you taking me so well. But fffuck what will your family say about this?" he teases you because he knew you really didn't care otherwise you wouldn't be with him.

You leaned your body over him and grabbed the hair on the back of his neck, pulling it back. Rhett let out a guttural moan.

"Shut that pretty fucking mouth of yours unless you use it to eat my pussy, huh?"

Turning twenty-five brought on a wave of homesickness you weren’t expecting.

It had been seven years since you’d left Wabang.

Seven years since you loaded the last of your things in the back of your father’s pickup to head to the airport. Both of your parents were emotional, to no one’s surprise. You were too, just for more reasons than one.

Seven became a number you saw in everything. The University of Montana was seven hours away. Your dorm was housed in building seven. You met seven girls in your program on the first day, leading to several years of friendship. And Rhett Abbott came to see you seven days after he broke your heart.

Just as the tailgate was snapped shut and your bag thrown in the cab, Rhett’s truck rumbled down the long dirt road that led to the house you grew up in. For a moment, your heart skipped, wondering if he was here to tell you that the things he’d said at the graduation party were a mistake. That he didn’t mean any of it, that he wanted to try long distance with you and do whatever he could to make it work, just as you did.

But he said none of those things as he climbed out of the truck, cheeks sunburned, baseball cap pulled low. Your parents knew something had happened between the two of you, but you hadn’t told them the whole story. Even then, they retreated back into the house to do a once over to make sure you weren’t forgetting anything to give you and Rhett a moment alone.

“I didn’t think I’d see you today,” you’d said, arms crossed over your chest, sunglasses pushed on top of your head.

“Yeah,” Rhett mumbled. “I wasn’t plannin’ to come.”

You pressed your lips together, unsure of the right words to say. He was your best friend of thirteen years, your boyfriend of two, the man you shared your first time with. But it felt like a stranger was standing before you.

“Then why are you here?” you asked, checking the time on your phone. This chapter of your life only had a few pages left, and you were spending them trying not to cry.

Rhett shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet. “I guess I just wanted to tell you…”

You watched as he paused, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, the same nervous tell you’d seen in him for years.

“Good luck.”

Your eyes narrowed. “That’s all you wanted to tell me? Good luck?”

He nodded, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Yeah. Good luck.”

Something inside you went still.

You dropped your sunglasses from your hair and shoved them over your eyes before turning away from him to head to the truck. “Goodbye, Rhett.”

You didn’t even wait to see if he said it back. Gravel crunched beneath tires as the truck rolled down the driveway, leaving Rhett where he was. You knew he was watching you leave, but you didn’t look back.

Not even once.

Now, as that same old truck sputtered down Main Street, you saw Wabang through different eyes.

You knew people would ask why you never came home and your parents always traveled to you. You had a laundry list of excuses prepared: your program was intensive, you couldn’t get the time off of work, your family was starting new traditions in Montana. Underneath it all, you knew the real reasons.

Coming home for that first Thanksgiving ran the risk of seeing him at Hank’s or having to answer questions you’d buried in the back of your mind. Christmas meant lights strung up at the Abbott Ranch that you wouldn’t get to see, homemade ornaments from second grade with pictures of the two of you on a field trip to the zoo still hanging on the tree eighteen years later.

The thought of the Fourth of July hurt you the most, imagining fireworks going off in the same pasture where you’d given him everything.

Staying away became easier. Distance hardened things. Tucked them away. But Wabang had a way of drawing you in.

That way came in the form of a text message from your mother two months ago. Saw this and thought of you, she’d written. A job opening in your field. Pays well. Not far from town. Perfect for you if you feel like coming back to Wyoming.

It had been an internal battle, to say the least.

You missed your parents and the Friday movie nights. You missed your old friends, the lake, your faded blue pickup that had belonged to your grandfather. And you missed Rhett, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

Dating in Montana had been less than successful.

There were men who wore cowboy hats to class, who rolled their flannel sleeves while they worked on homework in the library. There were men who came to your apartment smelling like cologne and printer ink, their crisp white shirts tailored to perfection. They took you out on dates, brought you flowers, kissed you like you were breakable. They lacked the kind of fire that came from long days in the sun and dust beneath your boots.

And none of them looked at you the way Rhett did.

You weren’t ready for all the questions: got anyone special waiting for you back in Montana?

No. The answer was always no.

Someone special lived in Wabang and you were almost certain he wasn’t waiting for you.

“Well, here it is: home sweet home,” your dad threw the truck in park and it lurched forward slightly, the all too familiar push leaning you just enough to see the house through the front windshield.

A lot can change in seven years, but you were glad your parents hadn’t gone crazy with home renovations as empty nesters. It was the the same wooden porch, the steps worn, new accent pillows tossed into the matching rocking chairs your great-grandfather had built and given your parents as a wedding gift.

The second-story windows were open to let in the summer breeze, lavender curtains you picked out when you were eleven fluttering in the wind, faded but still beautiful. A bit like you.

“Me and Mom were thinkin’ about going to The Copper Lantern tonight for dinner if you’d like to come,” your dad grunted as he lifted one of your suitcases out of the truck bed. The Copper Lantern was a restaurant one town over, about forty-five minutes from your house. Growing up, it was the special occasion restaurant, a celebration restaurant. You didn’t want to intrude on whatever your parents had planned for their evening.

You grabbed a large duffel from the truck and threw it over your shoulder. “Nah, y’all should enjoy your evening. I’ll probably just head up to the Gambler later. Heard that there’s a group that goes every Friday. Might run in to a few of my old friends.”

“That sounds nice,” your dad held the screen door open for you and you slid through it sideways, keeping the duffel close to your body. “Well, Mom should be home soon. I’ll help you unload the rest of your things.”

He set your suitcase by the stairs and went back outside, letting the door slam behind him. You started up the stairs, the familiar path reminding you of your childhood.

Five years old, scrambling up two at a time and trying to slide down the banister, only to make it halfway and collapse in a fit of giggles. Fourteen years old, setting your first pair of heels on the bottom step while your mother fussed with your hair, waiting for the Abbotts to arrive. Sixteen years old, hanging your smock from Hank’s on the hook leading to the living room so you could grab it every day on your way out. Eighteen years old, learning every step that creaked so you could avoid it when you snuck back in the house after late nights in Rhett’s truck.

Some things never change, but you did.

The Handsome Gambler should have been a place full of memories. You knew it was for most of your graduating class.

This was where they had their first legal drink, their first introduction to a game of pool under dim lights, gray clouds drifting from the smoker’s section.

But tonight was your first night going inside and you weren’t really sure what to expect.

You’d been to bars before, but not hometown ones where you could find your pediatrician and the local mechanic leaning against the jukebox, beer bottles dangling from their hands, faded pictures in wallets of generations past.

Your heart thumped as you pushed open the door.

A few heads turned when you walked in, all faces you recognized.

People you’d gone to high school with, a couple waitresses from the local diner, a few fifty-something-year-old moms sitting around a table discussing a paperback and sharing peanuts.

You stepped up to the bar, leaning a forearm against it. It was sticky in that way that never quite gets cleaned and cool against your skin.

The bartender turned to you and you recognized him from the summer you spent cashiering at Hank’s.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, popping the top off of a beer and setting it in front of you. “Long time no see. Saw your dad at the gas station last week and he said you were movin’ back home.”

You nodded, wrapping your fingers around the neck of the bottle. “Yeah, I start a new job next week.”

“Nice!” The bartender started on someone else’s order. “I know this ain’t Montana, but nice to have you back!”

You gave him a small wave and turned, scanning the bar. It was crowded tonight; people were resting against high tops, standing in groups close to the walls, and hovering around pool tables.

A familiar baseball cap and broad shoulders caught your eye as someone leaned over a pool table to take a shot.

The angle of his shoulders. The way he braced one boot against the leg of the table.

You’d know that posture anywhere.

For a moment, you felt like all the air had been sucked from your lungs.

Rhett Abbott—wearing those same old worn boots, that same old smile that you wrote about in your diary at twelve—was here.

You knew memories of him would be everywhere you turned, but you hadn’t expected to see him on your first night home.

A part of you wanted to run, wanted to slap a few dollar bills on the bar, and just take off, but you were better than that. You took a swig of your beer and turned away, searching for anything—anyone—that could distract you.

“Look who’s back in Wabang!”

The voice came from a table to your left and you turned to find four of your former classmates sitting together. Lauren, the girl who’d noticed you, stood first. She looked the same—albeit a little tired, her long hair flowed freely down her back and a diamond ring sparkled on her finger. You felt a pang in your chest. You’d always wondered if you’d be married by now if things had gone differently.

If he’d fought for you.

“If it ain’t Miss Montana,” Lauren threw her arms around you, wrapping you in the smell of clean laundry and baby lotion. “It’s good to see you back.”

“Good to be back,” you said, looking over at the table. “Y’all look great. And this—“

You grabbed Lauren’s left hand and brought it up to inspect her ring. “This is gorgeous.”

Lauren beamed. “Travis always did have good taste.”

You glanced over at the table to find Travis, no longer the skinny kid who sat next to you in math class, sipping on whiskey. His biceps looked about as big as your head now and he had a thick beard.

You had gotten their wedding announcement in the mail when you were twenty-one. They’d had a small ceremony in their back yard with only God and their parents as witnesses. You’d expected them to marry right out of high school, but Travis had gone straight into an electrical apprenticeship program. They were only engaged for about six months before they got married.

“Sit with us,” Lauren said, taking your beer and setting it on their table. “We’ve got plenty of room.”

Kyle and Emily, who were a grade below you in school, scooted their chairs over so you could pull out the empty one in between them. Up close, you noticed dust on Kyle’s jeans and you wondered if he still worked at the feed store.

Lauren and Travis sat close, his arm thrown around the back of her chair. Emily’s phone lit up with a text and you caught a glimpse of a golden retriever wearing a blue bandana on her screensaver.

Life had moved on here, just as you knew it would.

You were only half-listening to the chatter around you—little league baseball games, leaky faucets, the rodeo next weekend. You nodded along, laughed at all the right places, and tried to ignore the tight feeling in your chest.

And then you felt it.

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end, your ears burning, your head itching to turn and meet the eyes of whoever was looking at you.

But you already knew who it was—because suddenly you didn’t hear his laugh anymore. You heard his buddies calling his name, wondering why he wasn’t taking his turn. But there was no answer.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet that of Rhett Abbott.

He was standing upright, leaning on a cue stick, mouth slightly open in surprise, eyes fixed on you.

For a moment, it was like everything stopped.

Country music still floated from the jukebox, billiard balls clacked against each other, someone shouted about a great shot, but it all sounded miles away.

Seven years was a long time, but Rhett looked at you like he did the day you left.

“I should go,” you said, standing abruptly. You downed the rest of your beer.

“Everything okay?” Lauren asked, leaning towards you. Travis looked back, no doubt realizing why you were leaving.

You nodded, pulling money from your pocket. “Everything’s fine. It was great seeing y’all.”

You set the bills on the table and turned toward the door, weaving through the crowd singing along to something by Johnny Cash.

The bar felt too hot. Too crowded. You craved the dry night air that was waiting for you on the other side of the door. You pushed at the handle, stealing one last look towards the pool tables.

Rhett wasn’t there.

His cue stick stood forgotten, leaning against the table next to a half-empty beer bottle. He was already squeezing through the crowd, a head taller than most, boots thudding across the floor in time with the music.

Your heart lurched as you shoved through the door.

You probably looked ridiculous—practically running across the parking lot to your truck, but you weren’t ready to face him. Not yet.

The universe seemed to think you were though, because you hadn’t even made it halfway when you heard the door slam behind you.

“Hey!”

The sound of his voice sent a jolt straight down your spine.

You didn’t stop.

Water from an afternoon storm splashed under your boots as you hurried across the parking lot, keys jangling in your back pocket.

“Hey—wait!”

He was closer now and your hand shook as you shoved the key into the lock. Just as you yanked the door open and climbed in, a hand caught the edge of the door before you could slam it shut.

Dirty fingernails, calloused skin, long fingers.

You swallowed hard and looked up at him.

Those same blue eyes you used to stare into were now searching your face like he couldn’t quite believe you were actually there in front of him.

“Hey,” he said again, softer this time.

“Hi,” you replied, your tone flat.

His fingers tightened on the door and he reached up to scratch the back of his neck. The slightest bit of stubble sprinkled his jaw, his skin tan and glistening with sweat. His hair curled up under his ball cap, the collar of his t-shirt frayed.

“You—uh, you look great,” he cleared his throat. “How have you been?”

You didn’t respond.

His mouth twitched and he looked down at his feet.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you back here,” he added.

You leaned back against your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. “Well, here I am.”

Rhett huffed out a breath and shifted on his feet. For a moment, it was like he was going to say something.

But the words seemed to die in his throat the same way they always had.

The silence made your chest ache and you sighed, nodding toward the hand still resting on the door. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to head home.”

This was all foreign. Conversations with Rhett had never been this polite or forced. It wasn’t right but it was what the two of you had become.

“Oh—right. Sorry,” he stepped back from the truck, his hand falling to his side.

You pulled it shut, shifting into reverse. The old engine rattled but you were almost certain that wasn’t the reason your hands were shaking.

You wouldn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

As you pulled away, you thought of that day all those years ago. You’d thought the time away would have made things easier.

You were wrong.

It was nearly impossible to avoid someone in a town the size of Wabang for two whole months.

But the good thing about knowing everything there was to know about Rhett was that you also knew when and where to avoid him.

He was a mid-morning grocery shopper, so you only visited Hank’s in the early hours of the day.

You always got gas on your way back to town after work, avoiding the local gas station like the plague.

And you hadn’t been back to The Handsome Gambler since your first night home, even though Lauren and Emily had both invited you more than once.

That was one side of him you didn’t know—the bull-riding, bar-regular version of Rhett. The adult version—so separated from the boy you’d spent thirteen years of your life with that sometimes you weren’t even sure people were talking about the same guy.

He was the hometown hero—a golden boy. You’d hear his name at the diner, the pharmacy, the bank. How he’d almost gotten thrown but held on, how they’d had a hell of a celebration afterwards, how he’d pulled a super hot out-of-towner after a great ride—you’d heard it all.

You weren’t surprised. Rhett had always had an air of confidence about him, a charm that got him into and out of all kinds of situations. It was one of the things you loved about him.

“So, y’all really haven’t talked since that grad party?” Lauren asked one night over the dinner table. Travis had grilled and she’d invited you over after work. You sat next to a high chair, making faces at their son in between bites. He was adorable—cherub-cheeked with dark curls.

“Not since the day I left,” you corrected, taking a bite of your burger. “I didn’t really talk to anyone from Wabang after a while.”

“We know,” Travis said jokingly, dabbing at the baby’s mouth with a cloth.

You grimaced and took a sip of sweet tea. “It wasn’t personal. I was just—“

“Heartbroken,” Lauren finished, cutting her eyes at Travis. “We know. We loved when we heard updates from Montana though. Your parents were always talking about how great you were doing in school.”

“And Rhett never stopped asking about you—ow!” Travis flinched and reached down to rub his foot, glancing at Lauren, who you were almost certain had stomped on his toes.

She shot him a warning look before turning back to you. “Anyway. You know the rodeo’s this Friday?”

You thought back to rodeo nights when you were in high school—floodlights at the fairgrounds, cotton candy, boiled peanuts, and lemonade. Stealing Rhett’s jacket on cooler nights, the sleeves falling over your hands. Sneaking away from the group halfway through to get cozy in his truck—hands and mouths exploring.

“So I’ve heard,” you leaned back in your chair and nodded toward Travis. “You ever ride?”

Travis shrugged. “I gave it a shot. Not really my thing.”

“I’m sure you know Rhett rides,” Lauren said, picking at her potato salad.

You tried to keep your expression neutral. “Yeah. My parents told me he’s really good. Like his dad.”

“He is!” Travis said, taking a large bite of his burger.

Lauren studied you. “We’re goin’ if you want to come. You can ride with us? Or we’ll just save you a seat.”

“I’ll think about it,” you said, even though you knew you had no intention of going.

The invitation weighed heavily on your mind as the week went on.

You never planned to isolate yourself. You wanted to reconnect with your friends, wanted to find your place in your hometown as an adult, but memories of teenage heartbreak consumed you. Rhett wasn’t just your high school boyfriend. He was your first love, the man you thought you’d marry, build a home with, start a family. At eighteen, those dreams felt just within reach.

But now—seeing Lauren and Travis with their son, Emily with her golden retriever, Kyle moving into management—you felt miles behind.

By Thursday afternoon, you’d decided you weren’t going. You couldn’t.

You pulled into the lot at Hank’s, parking in the same spot you always did like it was second nature. You slipped your heels back on and carefully slid out of the truck, adjusting your pencil skirt. You rarely stopped at the store on the way home, but your mother had forgotten potatoes and needed them for dinner that night.

The doors slid open with a creak as you walked in, a bored looking teenager standing behind the register. That was you almost a decade ago, summer days spent stocking shelves and counting money.

You found the potatoes easily, cradling them in your arms like a baby, but got distracted on your way to the register by the pints of ice cream stacked neatly in the freezer.

It seemed like the perfect distraction from the rodeo—ice cream, your favorite film, comfy pajamas—

Footsteps slowed somewhere behind you.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Your eyes squeezed shut for half a second before you turned.

Rhett stood at the end of the aisle, flannel hanging open over a t-shirt, dust clinging to the knees of his jeans, a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm.

“Thought you’d skipped town again,” he said gruffly. “With how much you’ve been avoidin’ me.”

You scoffed, grabbing a pint of chocolate ice cream. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

He leaned against the shelf, resting the beer against his hip. “Your new job keepin’ you that busy then?”

You turned toward him, lifting a brow. “How did you—?”

“Small town,” he shrugged. “And I can’t think of anywhere else you’d be dressed like that.”

His eyes trailed down your body, hovering at your hips, then finally landing on your stilettos. You shifted on your feet. You weren’t uncomfortable but his gaze was heavy, and you weren’t used to it anymore.

The silence stretched for a moment, the cold container biting against your palm.

“I’m ridin’ tomorrow night,” Rhett said finally.

“Oh?” you said, trying to pretend like you didn’t already know.

He adjusted his hat, running a hand through his hair before scratching the back of his neck. “You should come.”

“Why?” you asked, balancing the chocolate ice cream on top of the potatoes and grabbing another from the freezer, just so you’d have something to do with your hands.

Rhett sighed and stepped towards you, towering over you even in heels. He took the pints from your hands and set them on the belt before reaching for the potatoes. You barely heard the beep as the cashier started ringing them up.

“I want you there.”

The words landed heavier than you expected.

For a moment, you just looked at him, almost waiting for him to take it back.

“Won’t half the town be there already?”

He considered this, a cocky look in his eyes. “Probably the whole town.”

You rolled your eyes and the corners of his mouth twitched.

The cashier cleared his throat and you slapped your card on the counter without looking at him. “I’ll think about it.”

You grabbed your bag, sliding your card back into your wallet before turning back to Rhett. He was full on grinning now.

“I’ll see you there, then?”

You didn’t answer.

Instead you turned and walked through the creaky doors, shielding your face from the afternoon sun. You felt his eyes on you the entire time, until you climbed into your truck and tossed the bag in the passenger seat.

You told yourself you wouldn’t go to the rodeo.

You could not go to the rodeo.

There’d be whispers, looks, people pretending to know what happened between the two of you and poking around for information over iced tea and lemonade.

But one thought slipped easily through the crack in your resolve.

He wanted you there.

Your fingers tightened on the steering wheel as you turned onto Main Street, the wind blowing your hair through the cracked window.

You couldn’t believe it—but a small, traitorous part of you wanted to go.

The fairgrounds sat right outside of town and in typical Friday night fashion, the bleachers were already almost full when you pulled up.

You searched for Lauren and Travis, double checking the text she sent you about their seats.

Travis spotted you first, about halfway up. “There she is!”

He and Lauren stood, making room for you.

“Well don’t make a big deal out of it,” you muttered with a chuckle, plopping down next to Lauren.

You kept telling yourself you weren’t here for him, you were here for the experience. You were here to see your friends. But your eyes scanned the gates, trying to catch a glimpse of him.

“You’re just in time, actually,” Lauren said, offering you some popcorn. “He’s next.”

You didn’t bother arguing about your reason for being there as you savored the buttery flavor.

The announcer’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Alright, folks—we have a hometown favorite comin’ up next.”

You sat up a little straighter and tried to ignore Lauren watching you out of the corner of her eye.

“Number twenty is…Rhett Abbott!”

The crowd went wild, standing, stomping, clapping, cheering. Your heart thundered in your chest as you leaned forward, finally catching sight of him in the chute—head down, hat low, jaw tight.

The gate flew open and the bull exploded into motion. You were on your feet before you could stop yourself, nails digging into your palms.

One…two…three…four…

“Get ‘em, Rhett!” someone yelled behind you.

“Eight seconds, eight seconds!” a small group chanted.

The bull bucked hard, twisting this way and that, but Rhett held on, one hand tight around the rope and the other raised high in the air.

Five…six…seven…

The buzzer sounded and you loosed a breath, your shoulders deflating. Lauren and Travis cheered beside you, yelling his name.

“Told ya he was good!” Travis exclaimed and you smiled, clapping along with the crowd.

Rhett was soaking it all in, hands raised in the middle of the arena, eyes scanning the crowd. You figured he was looking for his family, until his eyes landed on you.

He lowered his arms then and just nodded.

He’d known all along that you’d come.

You nodded back as he walked out of the arena, eyes never leaving yours until he was out of sight.

“Well,” Travis said after the crowd died down. “I think that calls for another round.”

He gave Lauren’s knee a squeeze before starting down the bleachers.

“I’ll come too!” you said quickly, scrambling down behind him.

The crowd thinned out after Rhett, there were only a couple more rides before the end of the night, and you could hear the announcer wrapping things up from the concession stand. People still hung around, finishing beers and planning their next stops.

“You want anything?” Travis asked, digging in his back pocket for his wallet.

“I was just gonna get a lemonade,” you replied absently as you looked through the sea of people, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rhett.

Travis smirked. “I’ll get it, be right back.”

He left you there and you shook your head, rubbing your temples. What were you even doing? There was no way this could end well. You turned away from the crowd towards the bleachers.

“Didn’t think you’d come.”

Rhett came around the back, t-shirt clinging to his chest with sweat, his cowboy hat sitting low, a shit-eating grin spread across his face, no doubt brought on by adrenaline.

“Don’t lie,” you warned, crossing your arms over your chest, but there was no bite to your tone.

He hooked a hand in the pocket of his jeans, stepping closer to you. “I’m not.”

“You are,” you almost laughed, glancing back toward the arena to see if anyone was watching. “You, um—you did great out there.”

He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but the heat creeping up his neck betrayed him. “Thanks. My dad told me once he always rode better when my mom was in the stands…never mind.”

For a moment the two of you just stood there, then he jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the parking lot.

“You hungry?”

You knew where this was going—the diner. Safe, neutral, familiar. You should say no.

You really should.

“Sure,” you said.

The walk to his truck was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Country music drifted out over the speakers and engines growled to life, brake lights flashing in long lines of traffic.

“Looks like we’ll have to wait for the traffic to die down a bit,” he said, pulling open your door. He was parked on the outer edge of the lot, away from the lights and crowd.

You climbed in, settling into a seat that felt like it was made for you.

He slid in on the drivers side, cracking the windows with practiced ease. He pulled his hat off and tossed it onto the dash, running a hand through his damp hair.

“I didn’t think you’d avoid me if you ever came home,” he said, his eyes trained on his faded steering wheel.

You looked at him. “Rhett, I already told you. I’m not avoiding you.”

He huffed, his finger tracing a circle on the seat. “You are.”

“You broke my heart, Rhett! Truly, what did you expect?” Your voice came out sharper than you intended and you sat back in your seat, surprised that you’d said anything.

The truck went quiet.

The muscles in his jaw worked as his eyes stayed fixed on the steering wheel, like he was trying to come up with something to say.

You stared at his hat on the dash, then leaned forward to pick it up.

“What’re you doin’?” he mumbled, lifting his eyes to look at you.

You turned his hat over in your hands, fingers tracing a brand on the inner brim: R.A. It smelled like him, sandalwood and sweat, dust and tobacco.

“Huh,” you breathed.

“What?”

“You finally got a hat that doesn’t make you look like you’re a little kid wearin’ their dad’s,” you chuckled slightly, a teasing tone in your voice. It was the only way you knew how to come back from what you’d said.

You put the hat on and it fell low over your eyebrows, sitting awkwardly against your ears. You pulled it off and smoothed your hair. “I never liked the way I looked in these.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You done?”

You pushed onto your knees and leaned over the center console, placing the hat back on his head. You lingered a moment more than necessary, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin. Your eyes met his, half-hooded with pupils blown wide.

You loved his eyes—puppy dog soft, lashes fluttering, depths you weren’t sure you’d ever reach again

“Don’t—don’t look at me like that,” Rhett grumbled, tearing his gaze from yours.

“Like what?”

“Like you used to.” He turned toward you and leaned back against his door, shoulders tense.

You sat back on your heels. “That was a long time ago.”

Rhett’s eyes dropped to your mouth and you sucked in a breath. Maybe you shouldn’t have come tonight. You were too close to him, he smelled too good, he was clouding your judgement.

“We used to always sit in my truck out here. Talking, laughing, enjoying our time together,” he said. “I thought it’d feel like a lifetime ago, but honestly—“

He moved toward you, closer than before. “It doesn’t feel like any time has passed at all.”

Silence filled the cab again: stark, heavy, charged.

You could hear his breathing rattle through his chest, an uneven beat.

Then Rhett’s hand moved to your jaw, and he was kissing you.

It wasn’t hesitant or careful.

Seven years of heartbreak and anger crashed over you the second your lips met.

Seven years of wondering, wishing, wanting him but feeling like he didn’t want you.

Your fingers gripped his t-shirt instinctively as he pulled you closer over the center console. His hands found the back of your neck, guiding your head back so he could deepen the kiss, his fingers curling in your hair.

You pushed yourself up and over the console, climbing into his lap. Your knees fell to either side of his thighs and you settled against him, dragging a kiss down his jaw.

He made a sound low in his throat. “Jesus Christ—“

Without thinking, you shifted against him as you sucked at the spot just below his ear. You remembered moments like these when you were teenagers, sliding your hips against him, leaving marks just under his collar that no one else could see.

His hands landed on your hips, his fingers slipping beneath your belt loops, and you felt it. He was hard, his length pressing against you through his jeans.

“Already?”

Rhett laughed, the sound strained. “You’re literally on top of me.”

You brought your hands to his shoulders and circled your hips, just to watch him struggle.

“Not fair,” he groaned, his head falling back as your lips met his neck again.

His grip on your hips tightened, fingers trailing under your shirt. You pushed them away and he slid them into your back pockets instead, gripping your ass and pulling you against him.

You sucked and bit at his skin as he guided your body, denim against denim, heat against heat. He reached up to adjust his hat as you kissed him, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth and trying not to moan at the sensation building low in your belly. There was no denying that you wanted him too, one touch and you’d melt in his hands.

But you were on a mission and there was only one way to accomplish it.

“Wait—“ Rhett said against your mouth, his eyes barely opened, his hands still buried in your back pockets.

The truck rocked with your movements, back and forth, back and forth. Fog gathered on the windows with every gasp, every moan, and he lifted his hips up to meet yours, his thighs shaking.

You threw your arms around his neck, knocking his hat off and pressing harder, faster, until—

“Oh—fuck!”

He went still beneath you.

You hoped he couldn’t hear your heart pounding as you caught your breath.

His chest rose and fell with sharp pants, his hands still hooked in your back pockets like they belonged there.

“Jesus…” he muttered hoarsely.

Then he looked at you.

Really looked at you.

He dragged a hand down his face, still breathing hard. “Did you just—did we seriously just—“

You slid from his lap, climbing back over the center console into the passenger seat. Your knees were wobbly and you had to take a second to steady yourself.

Rhett’s eyes dropped briefly to his lap and he let out a disbelieving breath at the dark spot blooming near his zipper. “Holy shit…”

You avoided looking at him and reached for the door handle.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, grabbing your wrist before you could open the door. “You’re not actually leavin’?”

You nodded, pushing the door open as he let go of your arm. “Yeah. I have…”

You were trying so hard to be casual and failing. “…some things to take care of.”

There was nothing to take care of, other than the uncomfortable throbbing between your legs.

You hopped out of the truck, noticing his hat in the floorboard. You picked it up, put it on for the second time that night, and pushed the door shut, the night air cool against your flushed skin.

He leaned across the seat, watching you through the half-open window. “Hey—“

You turned back. He looked absolutely wrecked, shirt rumpled, hair sticking up, a pink bruise on his neck that would surely be purple by morning.

“My hat?”

You tapped the brim. “Ride the cowboy, wear the hat, right?”

“Actually, it’s wear the hat, ride the—“