Ride: A Bad Boy Romance (11 page)

His hands are under my shirt now, sliding up, and I arch my back and take my shirt off.

“I was looking for, ‘Let’s do it, Jackson.’”

“I’m not eighteen or drunk,” I say.

“So you can say better than ‘do it,’” he says, reaching under me and getting my bra off.

He takes one nipple between his fingers and rolls it softly, holding himself up on one elbow as I moan softly, his eyes intent on me, drinking this in.

“I jerked off thinking about that night for years,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl.

“Romantic,” I say, and he smiles.

“I didn’t say it was,” he says, pressing his lips to the hollow of my throat. “When I thought about it, I wasn’t thinking about taking you to dinner and a movie.”

He closes his lips over my nipple and swirls his tongue around it fast, and I move my hips against his, his clothed cock sliding against me with delicious friction.

“What did you think about, then?” I ask.

He takes his mouth off me.

“Doin’ it with you,” he says, and kisses the spot between my breasts.

“That’s my line,” I say.

He kisses the spot above my belly button and looks up at me, smiling, his hazel eyes practically glowing with lust.

“Well, sometimes I thought about getting those shorts off of you and eating you out until you came so hard you screamed,” he says.

Even though I’m half naked, my nipples hard as diamonds, I blush.

“Sometimes I thought about what your mouth might have felt like on my cock,” he says, kissing the spot below my bellybutton.

He unbuttons and unzips my jeans, then hooks his fingers under the waist. My body is raging with pure desire, and I arch my hips up so he can get my jeans and panties off.

“And sometimes I thought about taking you up on your offer and barebacking you right there in my truck,” he says.

Jackson pushes my thighs apart and slides his thumb over my slit.

“Still wet as hell,” he says.

Then he flicks his tongue over my clit, and my whole body jerks.

“Oh!” I say, then clap a hand over my mouth.

Jackson laughs, but he doesn’t stop. He swirls his tongue around my clit over and over, lapping at it with such perfect precision that in no time at all I’m curling my toes and grabbing fistfuls of the comforter, forcing myself not to grab his head.

Jesus
it feels good, almost mind-blowing. I’ve still got one hand over my mouth and I’m doing my best not to make funny strangled noises, but with every flick of his tongue I feel like another bolt of pleasure shoots through me, sending me sky-high. I moan through my hand, gasping, my back arching.

Jackson chuckles, his breath hot against me, and then his tongue slows.

“You can’t shout if we’re gonna keep this a secret,” he murmurs, his lips just barely grazing me as he speaks.

“Don’t stop,” I command.

“Don’t shout,” he says, and runs a finger along my slit. “Think you can handle that?”

No
.

I open my eyes, look around desperately, and grab a pillow. Jackson laughs, and I push it down over my face with both hands just as he pushes two fingers inside of me and crooks them.

“Oh
God
,” I shout into the pillow, just as he starts flicking his tongue across my clit again, drawing circles and shapes. Lazy then hurried, slow and then fast until my whole body is shaking like a dam about to burst.

His fingers move against that spot inside of me in time with his tongue, and every single time I moan out loud, the sound muffled. I want to look down and watch him, but there’s no way I’m taking this pillow off my face.

“
Yes
,” I moan, right on the brink of coming. I press the pillow into my face harder.

He’s got one hand wrapped around my hip and it tightens now, his tongue flicking faster and faster, and then finally I go over the edge like I’ve been hit by a lightning bolt.

I shout into the pillow. My toes curl and my body goes rigid, but Jackson just keeps going until my whole body jolts with every lick and I reach down to push him off.

I’m still breathing hard, but I shove the pillow off my face and then he’s on top of me again. I can smell myself on his face and then taste myself as he kisses me slow and hard, and it’s actually kind of sexy. He presses himself to me, his cock right between my legs, and I’m still aching.

“I didn’t imagine you’d be so noisy,” he murmurs between kisses.

I’m not, usually,
I think.

“I didn’t imagine we’d be doing it in a motel with paper-thin walls,” I say back, winding my legs around him again.

“What
did
you imagine?” he asks.

I blush.

“I imagined you’d take your clothes off, for starters,” I say.

He laughs and pushes himself up, kneeling on the bed, and tears off his shirt revealing a taut, muscled torso, abs for
days
, a thick scar right over his breastbone, and a horseshoe tattoo that says
lucky
inside it. Seconds later he’s got his pants off, he’s naked, and there’s something in his hand as he’s on top of me again.

I reach down and grab his cock, but when I touch it I raise my eyebrows just a hair. For years I’d assumed I mis-remembered how big it was.

I didn’t.

Jackson laughs and the laugh turns into a groan as I tighten my fist around him.

“Don’t look so worried, Lula-Mae,” he says.

“I’m not worried,” I say.

I’m a little worried.

“I’ll make sure you’ve gotta scream into a pillow again,” he whispers. “That was sexy as hell. I could eat you out all day.”

His cock hardens in my fist, and I can feel my own body respond, aching, almost
desperate
, my legs locked around him.

“Or we could move on,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. I
want
to say something sexy, but I have no idea what and I feel incapable of forming new thoughts.

“To what?” he asks.

“Sex?” I say, still blushing.

He laughs.

“You’re saying you want my cock inside you,” he says against my neck.

My face is burning, and I just nod.

“And you want me to fuck you until you come so hard you’ve gotta scream into a pillow,” he says.

“Yes,” I whisper.

One of his hands drifts down between my legs and strokes me there, making my back arch. A whimper escapes my throat.

“And you’re also saying,” he goes on in his low, rumbling twang, “that you’re so wet for me you can barely stand it anymore.”

“Right,” I gasp.

“Good,” he says. “Glad we cleared that up, because I wanna feel what it’s like when you come with me inside you.”

This is way,
way
dirtier than anyone’s ever talked to me, but
god
it’s hot.

He unwraps the condom in his hand and unrolls it over himself. Then he’s on top of me, kissing me hard, his tongue in my mouth, and the tip of his cock eases into my entrance.

I make a noise, and Jackson bites my lip and chuckles.

“Tell me if you need that pillow,” he says, but his eyes have gone half-closed and his breathing speeds up.

He slides out and pushes in, a little further, and this time I bite my lip but I moan anyway and his fingers dig into my side so hard it almost hurts. He does it again and again, easing inside me by degrees, like I’m delicate and he’s afraid of hurting me.

“You feel
good
, Lula-Mae,” he whispers, just before he slides out and thrusts one more time until he’s all the way inside me.

“Oh
hell
,” I whisper. I think I’m trembling, because this feels good in a way I had no idea something could feel, and Jackson is biting my ear and I think he might be laughing, just a little.

“Your dirty talk could use some work,” he says, as he thrusts again, slow and hard.

This time I just grunt and bite my lip, trying my best to keep quiet even if it’s not working very well. He keeps going and I sink my nails into his shoulders, totally lost to pleasure when suddenly he pulls out. I raise my head but he’s already off the bed, standing and pulling me toward him by the legs as I yelp.

“What are you—” I start, but as soon as I’m at the edge of the bed he sinks himself into me again and I just moan out loud.

Jackson leans over, grinning, and slings one of my knees over his shoulder, pushing himself deeper. I gasp.

“You have
got
to be quiet,” he says.

“I’m trying,” I whisper.

He thrusts again and then again and I clench my jaw and squeeze my eyes shut, determined not to make any noise, but he’s pressing every pleasure button I’ve got and my mind’s not in control anymore. Jackson speeds up and thrusts harder and I arch my back and inhale sharply, then bite my lip.

“Let me see you come,” he growls.

I’m unraveling and he keeps speeding up, the edges of my vision going white even as I reach for him, his torso barely in reach of my fingertips.

“Jackson, I’m gonna come,” I say in a strangled whisper.

“Good,” he says. “Because I can’t hold out much longer.”

Then he reaches down and pinches my clit lightly between two fingers and I
explode
. Jackson claps his rough hand over my mouth as every muscle in my body jerks at once, the dam inside me breaking in long, shuddering wave after wave. Jackson’s still inside me and he’s still hard and then his forehead’s on my collarbone and he’s growling through his teeth, his cock pulsing inside me.

I grab him by the back of his head and push his face against my chest even as I fight not to scream, my whole body shaking. Gradually, it’s over and we’re both gasping for air.

He takes his hand off my mouth and I release his head. He’s still inside me as he turns his face to the side and starts laughing, his voice low and husky. After a second I join in, even though I have no idea why we’re laughing.

After a minute he stands and pulls out. He tosses the condom into the bathroom trash and then comes back and flops on his back on my bed, and the force of it makes every spring squeak.

“Hush,” I say.

“You do
not
get to tell me to hush,” he says without even opening his eyes. “God
damn
, Lula-Mae.”

S
he scoots
up beside me on the bed, her head on my arm as she curls up a little on her side, facing me. I bend my elbow and stroke her shoulder with my fingertips, feeling lazy and warm and sated.

“You can’t stay,” she says, her voice quiet again.

“Are you kicking me out of your bed?” I ask, drawing circles on her with my fingers.

“Not yet,” she says. “But don’t fall asleep.”

I knew all along I couldn’t sleep with her, but I feel an odd twinge of disappointment as she says it. I usually fall asleep in whatever bed I’m in and it’s fine, but I think I
want
to sleep here, next to her.

“You’ve gotta learn to relax, Lula-Mae,” I say.

“Don’t get into the habit of calling me that, either,” she says. She slides one hand over my chest, her fingers warm and slightly ticklish. “People might start asking questions.”

I put my hand over hers and turn to face her.

“You sure do have a lot of requirements for a girl who just woke up the whole state of Oklahoma with her screaming,” I tease.

She blushes hard, her fair skin going pink.

“Sorry,” she said.

“
I
didn’t mind,” I say. “I took it as a compliment.”

She gets redder, and I laugh.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll sneak out before anyone catches on.”

If they haven’t already
, I think, and my heart skips a beat. With every passing minute, I care less and less what Wayne and Darlene think, but I know Mae is serious, so for her I’ll keep my mouth shut.

Her fingers are moving on my chest, and I can feel them trace the shape of the scar. Well, one of the scars. The big one.

“You can ask about it if you want,” I say.

Pretty much every girl I sleep with either asks about the scar or already knows what happened. I’ve worked out the perfect two-sentence explanation: angry bull threw me, then gored me. Protective vest saved my life when he only shattered my breastbone instead of skewering me straight through.

She taps it.

“Do I want to know?” she asks.

I almost say
most women do
but swallow the words.

“I bet you can guess,” I say.

“How many bones have you broken?” she asks.

I curl my fingers around her shoulder, suddenly cautious. This isn’t how this conversation usually goes. Usually the girl says
how’d you get that scar
and I tell her and she goes
ooooh
and her eyes light up, but Mae seems worried, almost concerned.

“That depends on how you define a bone,” I say.

She looks at me, then narrows her eyes.

“You didn’t break your dick,” she says with certainty, and I laugh out loud.

“I’ve never broken a
boner
,” I say as she giggles. “Thank God.”

“How many?” she asks again.

I exhale, staring at the ceiling.

“No idea,” I say. “But I’ve got enough pins in me to set off every metal detector in a five-mile radius.”

She grimaces. I raise my left arm and show her a long scar that runs almost the length of my forearm.

“Compound fracture,” I say. “That’s when the bone sticks through the skin. Now it’s got a metal plate.”

I think she turns green.

“You got that riding?” she says, like she already knows the answer.

“Yeah,” I say. “I only broke one bone not riding. My elbow when I was twelve and jumped off the roof of the barn.”

I expect her to gasp, but instead she laughs.

“I broke my wrist jumping off the chicken coop when I was eight,” she says. “My older brother convinced me that if I ate enough dandelion seeds I could fly.”

“I don’t remember what I thought,” I say. “Just that I regretted it afterward.”

She taps the scar on my chest with her fingers, looking thoughtful for a moment.

“I won’t tell you if you don’t want to know,” I say.

She narrows her eyes, thinking. Then she swallows.

“No, tell me,” she says.

“A couple years ago, I was in Reno, at their Gold Rush festival,” I say. “I drew this bull named Daffodil, and he was the meanest motherfucker I’ve ever been on.”

“Daffodil?” she asks.

“Hand to god,” I say. “He wasn’t all that difficult to ride, but the second you were off he’d come
after
you. Asshole wanted vengeance. Old Testament style.”

I think she’s holding her breath.

“He threw me, and I landed okay, but I was in a rush to get out of there. I moved a little too fast, stumbled, and he got me right here.”

I tap her hand against the scar.

“I was wearing a vest, so he only shattered my breastbone and tore me open, didn’t kill me,” I say.

I’ve told this story a thousand times, relived it a thousand times. Hell, I’ve watched the footage of it over and over again, and after a certain point, I just think
that poor bastard
.

“At the hospital, they told me a quarter of an inch left or right and I’d be a goner,” I say. “I punctured a lung, my diaphragm, broke pretty much all my ribs. It was real dicey for a couple days there.”

“Jesus,” she whispers.

I shrug.

“I don’t remember it all that well,” I say. “I was under, and then they gave me plenty of morphine, so by the time I really knew what had happened I was okay. My parents took it pretty hard, though.”

“I can imagine,” she says.

“I got the tattoo after,” I say. “Felt like I should commemorate it somehow, since I got lucky.”

Mae’s quiet for a long time, and I almost wonder if she’s fallen asleep.

“But you’re still doing it,” she says. “Even though it almost killed you.”

“Because there’s days like today,” I say. “When I ride real good and there’s a pretty girl watching me.”

“I think you like the bad days too,” she says, ignoring my
pretty girl
comment.

“I like everything but the worst days,” I say. “There ain’t nothing like it in the world.”

She doesn’t answer me, and we both just lay there, half-tangled together. I don’t fall asleep but Mae drifts off and my arm goes numb. I don’t move it.

I stare at the popcorn ceiling and think about how I’m going to get out of her room. I think about my ride tomorrow. I think about whether we’re going to do this again, even though I know that every time I even
speak
to her the ice we’re skating on gets thinner.

Suddenly she jerks awake and sits up halfway, blinking at me.

“It’s not morning,” I say, flexing my hand to wake it up.

She runs a hand through her hair, her legs under her, still buck naked and gorgeous as hell, and I stop looking at her and sit up before I get an erection.

“I should go,” I say, so she can’t say it first.

Mae nods.

We stand and pull our clothes back on. I’m careful to tuck my shirt in and smooth my hair down so it doesn’t look like I’ve been up to no good, and Mae goes to the window and looks out at the parking lot through a crack in the curtains. I hit the lights in the room so the open door won’t attract attention.

“Coast clear?” I say, putting my hat back on.

“Looks like you got a straight shot,” she says, and turns to me. She puts one finger under my belt and pulls me closer, her eyes big in the dark. It’s enough to get me hard again, but I try to ignore it.

“Anything else?” I ask, my hand on her waist.

“Try not to break anything,” she says.

“Especially my dick?” I murmur.

She laughs, her finger tightening under my belt.

“Anything,” she says again. “And good luck, in case I don’t see you before you ride.”

I kiss her again, slow and lazy like we’ve got all the time in the world. I let my lips explore hers until her mouth opens against mine, our tongues entwining, her body pressed against mine. I’m rock hard again, and I want to pick her up, throw her on the bed and take her at exactly this speed, so slow and sensual I think I might pop.

Instead the kiss ends, and I know I have to leave while I’ve got the chance. I tip my hat at her.

“Goodnight, Miss Guthrie,” I say.

She rolls her eyes but smiles.

“Good night, Jackson,” she says.

I step out into the dark parking lot and walk for my truck, then pretend I’m searching the cab for something. After a while, I pretend to give up and head back into my own room, nerves still jangling.