Another rider joins Emily

The bull hadn't even stopped moving when a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills landed in the donation bucket with a wet slap. "I'll take the next round," announced a deep voice from the crowd—a broad-shouldered rancher type with calloused hands and a Stetson pulled low over his eyes.

Emily's breath hitched as the stranger swung onto the bull behind her, his denim-clad thighs bracketing her bare ones. The moment his chest pressed against her back, she felt it—the unmistakable ridge of his erection straining against his jeans, hot and rigid where her nearly bare ass rocked against him with the bull's movements.

"Easy there, darlin'," he murmured into her hair, his rough hands settling on her hips as the operator cranked the bull back to life. The machine jerked beneath them, sending Emily sliding backward into the stranger's lap with enough **** to make them both gasp. The sequined halter top did nothing to contain her bouncing breasts, and Emily could feel every inch of his arousal pressing against her through the thin fabric of his jeans—and the even thinner fabric of her nonexistent skirt.

The crowd's cheers faded into a buzzing white noise as the bull's rhythm intensified. With each forward thrust of the machine, Emily's pelvis ground against the stranger's clothed cock, the friction sending sparks up her spine. His breath came ragged against her neck, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises as he helped her keep balance—or maybe just held on for dear life.

"Christ," he growled when the bull suddenly bucked upward, slamming Emily down onto his lap with enough **** to make stars burst behind her eyelids. The wetness between her legs wasn't just sweat anymore, and from the choked sound he made, he knew it too. His hips stuttered involuntarily beneath her, chasing the friction as the bull spun them in tight, torturous circles.

Someone in the crowd threw another handful of bills into the donation bucket—Emily heard the crisp flutter of paper—but all she could focus on was the way his cock twitched against her with every movement, the denim rough against her sensitive skin. The operator grinned and cranked the speed higher, clearly enjoying the show.

Emily's breath hitched when the stranger's hands slid higher, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts where the sequined top had ridden up. His wedding band was cold against her overheated skin. "You're ruinin' me," he muttered, his accent thick with want, and Emily realized with dizzying clarity that she was doing this on purpose—arching her back just so, rocking her hips to drag his erection along her slit through the fabric.

The bull jerked violently to the side, and Emily's fingers flew to the stranger's thighs for balance—only to freeze when she felt the hard muscle flex beneath her palms. His low groan vibrated through her whole body, his hips bucking up to meet hers in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the machine anymore. The crowd's whoops and hollers faded into the background as heat pooled low in Emily's belly, her thighs trembling with the effort of not grinding down on him like some wanton—

The bull stopped dead.

Emily blinked, dazed, as the operator's laughter cut through the haze. "Time's up, lovebirds!" he cackled, slapping the control panel. The stranger's grip on her hips tightened briefly before he lifted her off his lap with surprising gentleness—though not before Emily felt the damp spot on his jeans where she'd been riding him.