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Nate kisses me again, but only once, before he lowers down and tucks his face into my neck the way he sometimes likes to do. The gesture makes a wave of emotion surge through my chest, and when he tunnels forward, my moan is caught midway to a whimper.

One hand cradling the back of my head, he has both elbows on the bed to keep himself lowered fully on top of me. I relax a little bit, letting his bigger body do the work of keeping my legs pressed open and back as he begins to move.

Puffs of warm breath dance across my skin as he starts to pick up speed.

I’ve never had sex bare before, and perhaps it’s only my imagination, but I feel as though I can feel every part of him inside me.

Like the connection we’ve always had is just a little bit stronger.

My back bows as much as possible beneath the heavy weight of him, and my skin zaps with electricity.

The heat in my abdomen is almost too much.

We’re too close for me to even think about getting a hand on my dick, so I have no choice but to ride the wave.

I groan every time he hits my prostate, noises falling uncontrolled from my mouth.

He makes a needful sound in the back of his throat, and lifts his head to kiss me hard enough that I can’t breathe.

I come first, nearly sobbing with relief as the pleasure crests and diffuses.

When Nate follows a minute later, I can feel the heat of his release inside me and hold him close to kiss him through it.

The almost frantic energy in the room dissipates as he slowly continues to rock.

When he slows to a stop, he tucks his face back into my neck.

I can feel the slow relaxation of every muscle as he carefully rests on top of me, and I put my arms around him to hold him there.

Nate is a cuddler and a sleeper post-orgasm, and usually I can only manage to help one of those desires come true. Tonight, I’m making both happen. Tonight, I’m going to silently say to him what I’m not brave enough to voice yet. I stroke my fingertips down his spine, and he shivers.

“Too much?” he asks, misreading the gesture as a silent request for him to get off me.

“No.”

He moves his hips, rotating just enough that I can feel the motion inside me.

Slowly, he lifts up and sits back. The incredible fullness from before has simmered down, and I miss it immediately when he carefully pulls out.

Because he’s watching, I bear down again until I feel his release trickle down my skin.

Nate looks up at my face, green eyes meeting mine and snapping with heat.

Crawling back over me, he holds my chin still and kisses me.

“You’re mine now,” he whispers.

I prepare a bottle for Tuna, nodding a greeting to one of the ranch hands that comes into the tack room behind me.

When I approach the stall, Shrimp pushes her nose against my chest and huffs.

Obligingly, I scratch her neck a few times before pushing her firmly back the way Nate showed me.

Tuna, correctly reading my presence to mean food, whinnies shrilly and races around the small space.

“All right,” I tell him. “I’m coming.”

Slipping into the stall, I grunt as he throws his little body against me. He’s already stronger than he knows, and still doesn’t quite have the awareness needed to not be a danger to himself and others. It’s lucky he’s so damn cute.

Tuna gulps his breakfast down, milk dripping down his fuzzy, tan cheeks. Taking a hand off the bottle, I brush my fingers up his face.

“Slow down,” I tell him gently, and to absolutely no effect.

The soft click of hooves against the concrete floor notifies me of Nate’s presence in the barn.

My main job this summer has been taking care of Shrimp and Tuna, while he handles the others.

I turn my head so I can watch him walk by, smiling at me as he leads one of the horses out the door.

I scratch gently at Tuna’s neck and rub a hand down his back as he finishes eating.

I had no idea horses were so fucking soft.

“You ready to go outside?” I ask them, snagging the lead rope from where Nate had draped it over the stall door for me.

Shrimp moves closer, and waits patiently as I make sure it’s snapped on correctly.

As always, I get a little nervous when bringing them out, worried that Tuna won’t follow and I won’t be able to catch him should he run off.

He ambles along beside us as he usually does, though, and immediately starts nibbling on the grass in the round pen as though he didn’t just eat a full meal.

Nate comes to lean against the railing next to me, hand on my lower back.

This time of day—when the sun is bright and high in the sky—his eyes practically glow against the deep tan of his skin.

Every day he’s here, he becomes more striking.

By the end of the summer, I won’t be able to look directly at him for fear of bursting into flames.

“Ready?” he asks me. Inhaling as deeply as I can, I let it out slow.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

I follow Nate around the north side of the barn where a black horse with three white socks is waiting, already saddled and with the reins looped loosely around a post. They’re not even tied, because according to Nate, I’ll be learning to ride on the best-behaved horse they have.

The horse in question waits patiently, tail swishing against her side as she shoos flies away.

“Nate, I don’t know,” I say, looking at it. That saddle seems really fucking high off the ground.

“I promise it’ll be okay.”

I look at him, and immediately realize my mistake. I can’t deny him anything when he smiles at me like that.

“Okay,” I agree with no small amount of trepidation. “Okay. What do I do?”

He talks me through the steps of getting into the saddle, patiently demonstrating as he goes. The horse, Friday, doesn’t move at all, other than to plant her feet to accommodate Nate’s weight. She does seem remarkably placid. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

“Obviously I’ll hand them to you if you drop them, but I want you to practice keeping hold of the reins when you swing up.

Hold them in the same hand you’ve got on the horn, okay?

” Reins in his left hand, Nate puts the corresponding foot in the stirrup, grabs the horn and swings his right leg over.

“You don’t want to get up here and not have a way to control the horse—don’t drop the reins. ”

“Got it.” I nod. Nate hops back down but remains near Friday’s shoulder. Holding his hand out, he beckons me closer.

“Ready to try?”

“I know she’s just standing there, but you’ll still hold her, right?” I clarify, rubbing a hand over Friday’s warm flank in what I hope is a friendly way.

“I promise.”

Stretching my left leg up, it takes me an embarrassing amount of time to get my booted foot in the stirrup.

I can feel the stretch in my groin, which goes to show just how fucking tall this monster animal really is.

Nate puts his palm on my calf and smiles encouragingly.

His other hand is looped into Friday’s bridle, holding her steady as promised.

As instructed, I hold the reins in my hand and reach for the saddle horn. One foot on the ground still, I stop and try to figure out the mechanics of getting that leg over the top of the horse.

“Uhm,” I start.

“The saddle won’t move, you can put your full weight on it,” he tells me. “Friday won’t move either. She knows how to stand to keep her weight evenly distributed, even with you hanging off one side.”

“Okay.”

Trusting the advice, I haul myself up and fling my right leg over. It’s sloppy and I feel ungainly as hell as I do it, but I’m up. Immediately, I clench both hands around the saddle horn, half expecting the horse to start bucking. Nate moves his hand to my thigh and looks up at me.

“Good? ”

“How tall is this horse?”

He laughs. “One of the shorter ones, actually. But falling off hurts no matter the distance—let’s plan on keeping you in the saddle, yeah?”

Nate lets go of Friday’s bridle, and reaches over her neck to show me how to hold the reins properly. Her tail flicks against my leg.

“We break our horses Western-style, so you mainly steer with your weight and legs, as well as her neck,” he continues, one hand on Friday’s shoulder and the other back on my thigh.

“Western riders don’t rely quite as heavily on the reins as English riders do, so our horses aren’t used to people pulling on their mouths. ”

“Okay,” I reply nervously, glancing down at the leather looped tightly through my fingers. Friday’s ears twitch and she snorts, head bobbing.

“She’s very responsive to your legs, though, so you won’t even need to yank her head around.

If you want her to speed up, you squeeze both legs.

If you want her to turn right, you use your leg to put pressure on her left side, while holding the reins forward over her neck and moving them to the right. ”

Without me having to ask, he loops his fingers over my wrist and directs my arm to show me how it’s done.

“You don’t have to be too forceful about it. She’ll go exactly where you tell her, I promise.”

“Okay.”

“To stop, release the pressure of your legs and pull back on the reins. If you want her to walk backward, you keep pulling. But again, not too hard. We don’t want to hurt them.”

I shake my head. I won’t be doing that. Backward sounds like a terrible idea .

“I’m going to walk next to you. If I go in front of her, she’ll just follow where I lead, and I want you to get the hang of steering a little bit, okay? We’ll just mosey around.”