Wild Hearts

Chapter Ten

⚠️Advisory: This chapter features adult themes and passionate scenes that may not be suitable for all readers. Discretion is advised.⚠️

The barn feels like it is holding its breath after the storm, just like me. The rain has softened to a gentle patter, and outside, the wind is still heavy with the weight of everything it tore apart. Inside, it is quieter—just me, Preston, and the animals. My heart has not slowed down since the chaos hit, and the way Preston looks at me now does not help. It is as if the storm left more than just broken branches and muddy puddles in its wake.

The barn door swings open, and my dad steps in, shaking off the rain like he has just been through a battle of his own. His face is serious, but relief softens his eyes. "You two alright?" he asks, his voice heavy with concern.

"Yeah, Dad. We're fine." I straighten up, wiping the damp hay from my hands onto my jeans, even though it feels like there is no end to the mess. "We got the animals settled."

Preston stands next to me, close enough that I can feel his presence—too close, maybe. I catch a glimpse of his jawline, still damp with rain, the faint stubble there catching the dim light from the barn. His shoulders look broader in his soaked shirt, fabric clinging to his toned chest, and his hair is tousled, still dripping from the storm.

"Good. You should both come inside soon, before the rain picks up again," Dad says, though his gaze lingers on me a little too long, like he is trying to figure out something I am not ready to talk about.

"We just need to clean up here," Preston adds, his tone respectful as always with my dad, but today there is something else in it—something more relaxed, more confident. I wonder if my dad hears it too.

Dad nods, but his eyes narrow just slightly. "Alright. Don't be too long."

He leaves, and the moment the door closes, I exhale sharply. Preston chuckles softly, but I cannot even smile. There is too much swirling inside me—my dad's protective gaze, the warmth I feel from Preston standing close, and the cold reminder that I do not belong here. Not really.

The barn smells of wet hay and earth, the air thick with the lingering aftermath of the storm. Preston is only a few feet away, his back to me as he works to straighten a stack of tools. I should be focusing on cleaning, on clearing the scattered hay and debris from the storm, but all I can think about is him—how his shirt clings to his body, damp with sweat, the way his muscles flex as he moves. My pulse hammers in my ears, each beat louder than the soft patter of rain against the barn roof, pulling tight at my stomach.

I glance over at him again, and my breath catches in my throat when I see him looking back at me. His eyes are intense, dark and unwavering, holding mine with an almost possessive edge. The flecks of amber in his gaze are sharp against the shadows, and I feel myself drawn in, as if his gaze alone could pull me closer. The space between us feels electric, the air thrumming with anticipation that tightens my chest. We do not say anything; we don't have to. His eyes lock onto mine, dark and smoldering with something I can no longer ignore.

He steps closer, his boots crunching softly against the straw-laden floor. His movements are slow, deliberate, the way a predator might close in on its prey. Heat radiating off him, close enough that the air between us seems to throb, and every step he takes makes my pulse race faster. I lean back against a small stack of hay, trying to be calm, but my whole body is on edge, hyperaware of him as he closes the distance. A part of me screams to stop, to pull away and remember that this is not my life. But with him this close, that voice grows faint, drowned out by the heat thrumming between us. The moment feels too fragile, too alive, for anything but silence.

Then he is in front of me, his hand reaching out, fingers grazing the bare skin at my waist, just under the hem of my shirt. A shiver races down my spine, my skin prickling where his fingertips brush my waist. Heat blooms under his touch, pooling low in my belly, arousing every nerve. It feels like he is branding me, his hand warm and grounding against the cool barn air. My fingers twitch against his shoulders, a reflex to push him back, but they freeze, betraying me. My mouth opens, but the words catch. Instead, I lean into him, letting the fire between us ignite.