an GUYS SORRY IVE BEEN GONE FOR AGES… I made this as long as possible as an apology.
You were sat in a booth at the back of yet another bar one of many you’d wandered into that night. Your friends were long gone, scattered across the room dancing with some guys that had caught their attention earlier in the night. Shots were being poured, bodies pressed close on the dancefloor, but none of it appealed for you at the momenbt because that’s all you’ve been doing for the past 4 hours.
You sipped your drink instead, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, just passing time, letting the low hum of music and chatter buzz around you.
Finally you looked up. And there it was the only thing remotely intriguing in the room.
A mechanical bull sat in the far corner, surrounded by padded flooring and a flimsy looking metal fence. It looked stupid, honestly. Ridiculous. Like something you’d never even pay attention to if you were sober.
But it was also the only thing that didn’t involve swiping or small talk.
You found yourself staring a little longer than expected. Watching a guy get thrown off it with dramatic speed His friends howling. Then the operator reset it. The bull stilled. And for the first time you looked at the operator although he was turned you could almost feel he was attractive. The style,the curls the faalling effortless on his mullet. Although you’ve never rode he was the only courage you needed to walk over there. So that’s exactly what you did you strut over luckily no one was riding the bull at the moment so you went straight up to the instructor “Still open?,” you said, voice smooth with alcohol-induced confidence.
The guy turned at the sound of your voice, and yep you were right. Attractive was an understatement. He had that annoyingly magnetic look about him. Tanned skin, blue eyes, a faint smirk already pulling at the corner of his mouth. And the hair looked even better close up.
“Yea we’re still open.” He says still looking down at his operating table. He turns for the first time facing you his eyes met yours and stayed there.
“You ever been on one of these?” he asked, tilting his chin toward the bull.
You smirked, shaking your head. “Not once.”
“Perfect,” he said, stepping aside to let you through the little gate. “Means you won’t know how bad it’s about to go.”
That earned a soft laugh from you. You kicked off your heels and climbed up, trying to look more confident than you felt.
“Name?” he asked, fingers already on the controls.
“Do you need it for the ride or is this just a way to flirt?” you teased, gripping the knob of the bull in front of you. But of course you still said your name.
He grinned without even think he says . “Both. And my names George.”
You bit back your own smile, bracing yourself as the bull gave a mechanical jerk under you.
“Ready?” he asked, eyes locked on you now.
“Not at all.”
“Good.”
And with that, the bull lurched into motion slow at first, like it was testing you. Like he was testing you. He stood at the controls, watching every movement, hand on the joystick like some kind of chaos conductor. The music faded into the background. All you could hear was the thud of your heartbeat and the low whirring of the machine.
You lasted longer than you thought you would. Maybe because you were laughing. Maybe because he slowed it down every time it looked like you were slipping. Maybe because he wanted you on it long.
You leaned forward slightly, still gripping the bull with both hands. “Going easy on me, are we?”
He bit back a smirk. “You’re the only customer,I figured I’d give you your money’s worth.” And then, without warning, he cranked it up.
The bull bucked violently and you were off the thing within seconds, landing on the mat with a surprised yelp and a laugh. You lay there for a second, your breath catching somewhere between amusement and embarrassment.
But he was already walking toward you, hand outstretched.
“You alright?” he asked, eyes sparkling under the dim bar lights.
“Yeah,” you breathed, letting him pull you up. His hand lingered around yours. Warm. Steady.
“How ’bout I turn it to automode,” he said, voice lower now, almost conspiratorial, “and give you some lessons?”
You raised a brow. “Lessons, huh?”
He shrugged, half grinning. “Only if you’d like.”
You laughed softly, brushing your hair from your face and nodded as he waked over to the controls and pressed the button making the bull start up.
“Here,” he murmured. “Let me help you up.”
You nod.
His grip was firmconfident but slow, letting his fingers rest just long enough to make you acutely aware of every point of contact. You climbed on, guided by his hands, your skin tingling where he touched you. Once you were seated again, he adjusted your posture slightly with both hands on your hips, tilting you forward.
“You’re sitting too stiff. You want to flow with it. Not brace against it.”
“Flow with it,” you repeated, trying not to sound breathless. “Right.”
He didn’t move away. In fact, if anything, he was closer now. Standing right beside the bull, one hand still lightly resting on your hip. The heat of it seeped through the thin fabric of your dress.
“is gonna start it slow at first.” He said quietly, eyes locked on yours. “But this time, I want you to lean into it. Trust your body. You’ll know what to do.”
You gave a small nod, lips parting just slightly. “Okay.”
The bull started to move. Slow rotations, a gentle tilt back and forth. You shifted with it, doing your best to follow the motion, but your focus was split your body was reacting to the movement, but your brain was caught on the feeling of his hand sliding up from your hip to your lower back. Steadying you. Guiding you. Staying there a little too long.
“You’re getting it,” he said, low, right next to your ear. His voice vibrated down your spine. You swallowed, holding tighter to the knob in front of you. “You’re kinda close, y’know.” He smiled. You felt it without even looking at him.
Now you could feel the heat building in the stomach the way he was not so subtly flirting with you.
“You want me to back off?” he asked, voice still a hum, still as intimate as ever.
You hesitated just long enough for it to be an answer.
“No,” you said finally, eyes forward, heart thudding.
The bull shifted again, a sharper jolt this time, and your balance teetered. You gasped and instinctively leaned back right into him.
Without hesitation, both his hands caught your waist again, fingers curling into your sides as he steadied you. You stayed like that for a second, his chest brushing against your back, the heat of him practically wrapped around you now.
His voice was deeper this time. “Told you to trust your body.”
ou let out a shaky laugh. “I’m trying.”
“You’re doing better than most first timers,” he said, his hands still on your waist. “You’ve got natural rhythm.”
“Hmm do I?”
You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes and yeah, that tension was no longer subtle. It was thick between you, buzzing like static. Like something was about to snap.
The bull rocked again, but you barely noticed it.
His hand slid slightly higher, fingers splayed just beneath your ribs now.
“I could stop the bull,” he murmured. “If you wanted.”
You didn’t answer. You just looked at him. Your eyes did all the talking. Then slowly you let out a nod.
So he did just that reaching past you, hit the control panel, and the bull came to a smooth, steady stop.
The room around you was still spinning, though. Because neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.
You were still straddling the saddle. And that heat was still thick between you impossible to ignore now.
He stepped a little closer. “Lesson two,” he said softly, voice rough around the edges. “Sometimes it’s not about how long you can hold on…”
His hand slid to your thigh light, tentative, but not uncertain.
“It’s about knowing when to give in.”
You exhaled, heart pounding against your ribs.
And right then, you weren’t thinking about the bar. Or your friends. Or even the damn bull. Just him.
George walked over to the front of the bar, grabbed the little plastic sign hanging from the metal fence inclosing the bull, and flipped it from open to closed. Then he looked at you really looked. The playful charm was still there, but something deeper had settled in behind his eyes now. Intention. Heat. A question waiting for your answer.
“You here with people?” he asked, voice lower now, less teasing. His gaze locked on yours, slow and steady like it had weight.
You nodded. “Yeah,” then gave a slight smirk. “But they’ll understand.”
That did something to him. His jaw flexed. His tongue flicked across his bottom lip like he was thinking about everything he shouldn’t do and deciding to do it anyway.
He stepped toward you. “Come on,” he said simply.
You followed him out the side door, your hand brushing his for half a second before he caught it completely, fingers lacing with yours. His truck was parked in a dimly lit corner of the lot, far enough from the street to feel like it’s safe enough.
He opened the passenger door for you. “Climb in.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You giving me a ride, cowboy?”
That grin was back. But darker now. Hungrier.
“Oh, I’m giving you a ride alright.”
You rolled your eyes with a laugh but slipped into the seat anyway, the scent of leather and cologge surrounding you the moment you did. Familiar. Him.
He rounded the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat, shutting the door behind him with a quiet finality. For a moment, the truck was silent. Just the faint hum of the cooling engine and your breathing, both of you suddenly very aware of how close this space really was.
He looked at you, eyes dragging slowly from your face to your thighs still bare from your ride, your dress riding up from all the movement.
“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” he said, voice low and raw now.
“Yeah?” you said, just above a whisper, tilting your head slightly.
“Yeah,” he breathed, already leaning in. “From the second you walked over. The confidence. The mouth. That laugh.”
Your reply was lost in the heat of the moment because he kissed you before you could give it.
And God it wasn’t soft.
His mouth crashed against yours with the same force that bull had bucked you off with, but this time, you didn’t want to hold on. You wanted to fall into it. His hand tangled in your hair instantly, the other gripping your thigh, pulling you across the seat without hesitation.
You climbed into his lap without thinking, straddling him now in the tight space of the truck’s cab, the gear shift digging into your thigh, but you didn’t care. You could barely breathe with how deep he was kissing you, his hands exploring the curve of your hips, your waist, your back, like he was trying to memorize every inch.
You gasped when his lips moved to your jaw, your throat, dragging a trail of heat down to your collarbone.
“You sure about this?” he murmured against your skin, fingers hooked just under the hem of your dress now.
You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Bull instructor, George.” you said, voice breathless, “Teach me how to ride.”
He groaned, low and guttural, and that was all it took.
Clothes didn’t come off they couldn’t. Underwear below the dress was tugged aside, hIs shirt shoved up, pants unzipped in a rush of fumbling hands. Opened just enough to get what you needed. The windows fogged almost instantly, the cold air outside clashing with the heat building inside. His hands were everywhere, rough in the best way, like he couldn’t get enough of touching you
You shifted in his lap, grinding down just slightly, and felt the way his breath hitched against your neck. His hands tightened on your hips like he was barely holding himself back and maybe he was. Maybe you both were.
You reached between your bodies, fingers toying with the waistband of his jeans, your eyes never leaving his. His lips were parted, his chest rising and falling with a sharp rhythm, eyes heavy and dark now.
“Let me?” you whispered questioning lightly.
He nodded, silent, barely breathing as you unbuttoned his pants, your knuckles brushing against him through the fabric. He was already hard and leaking so ready it made your stomach tighten.
You tugged his boxers and pants down just enough to see.
Fuck.
Your lips parted slightly, breath caught in your throat for a beat, and the way he watched you head tilted back slightly, jaw tight, eyes locked on your face only made it worse.
“Yeah?” he rasped, voice low and thick. “Want it?”
You smiled, dangerous and deep. “Something like that.”
He growled under his breath, pulling you tighter into him, like the space between you wasn’t small enough already. The truck rocked slightly with the movement, the windows already fogged beyond visibility.
You kissed him again, deeper this time, with your hips rolling forward as you settled on him ready for him. His hands gripped your thighs, then your ass, guiding you into place with a kind of desperation that matched your own.
And when you finally sank down onto him, it was hot and explosive, full of breathless gasps and clumsy rhythm. You moved together like you had all night,like you weren’t in the parking lot of his job.
The truck creaked with each thrust, each grind, your hands gripping his shoulders, his hands roaming like he couldn’t decide what part of you he wanted most.
The motions started slow teasing, torturous. The kind that made your body ache in the best way. You dug your fingers into his shoulders, pressing your forehead against his as your breaths tangled between you. Every movement felt like you never wanted to stop your hips rolling in time with his hands gripping you tighter, guiding, grounding, losing all control.
The truck still roccking faintly with every shift of your bodies, the only light spilling in from the hazy glow of a streetlamp outside, painting you both in this soft, golden hue. You could barely see, barely think everything was touch and breath and the heat building between you.
He kissed down your neck, dragging his mouth across your skin like he was memorizing it. “You feel,” he groaned, voice hot against your collarbone, “so fucking good.”
You whimpered at that, not caring how wrecked you sounded. You were too far gone. The way he filled you, the way his hands roamed like he couldn’t get enough like he’d been waiting for this all night. And maybe he had. Maybe that first look across the bar was all it took.
“You were watching me all night,” you gasped, rolling your hips harder against him.
He chuckled darkly, breath stuttering. “You had me the second you smirked at that bull.”
Your nails dug into his back, and that earned a groan from deep in his throat, rough and needy. His hands slid up under your top, thumbs brushing the underside of your chest, and when he leaned in to kiss you again, it was messy, desperate, perfect.
It was heat and pressure and that sharp, dizzying edge.
He angled his hips up, hitting deeper, and your mouth fell open, a gasp slipping out before you could even stop it.
“Fuck—George-”
That pulled something out of him. His mouth found yours again, swallowing every sound, every shaky breath, and his pace grew faster, more erratic. The tension between you snapped tighter with every second, building toward something inevitable.
“Gonna—fuck—gonna come,” you gasped, your voice breaking on the moan.
George nodded, jaw clenched tight as he angled his hips just right, hitting that perfect spot with unrelenting thrusts.
And that was it.
Your release crashed over you like a wave, stealing your breath as your forehead dropped to his shoulder, your entire body trembling against his.
A few more thrusts and George followed with a groan, hips stuttering as he came, his grip on your waist tightening as he spilled into you, breath hot against your neck.
“Fuck I must be an incredible instructor.” He says smuggly smiling at you.
“Definitely deserve a raise.” You smirk back at him.
