Rough Edge

by Landish, Lauren

  Erica lifts off with a pop of finality this time and scoots her knees down the bed to kneel over my cock with her hands on my shins. I stand it up at the right angle, and with a lift of her hips, she impales herself on me.

  Heaven. Absolute, utter heaven.

  We stopped using condoms after the fire, but I will never not have a moment of pure gratefulness to feel this woman from the inside, raw and bare. It’s a vulnerability neither of us gives easily, except it feels completely natural to give it to each other now.

  She rides me, tiny ass bouncing on me as I thrust from beneath her. I grab ahold of her hips, pulling her down hard. We buck and fight together to reach the peak that’s looming so close.

  “Touch yourself. Get there. Come with me,” I grit out.

  I feel her fingers dip into the wetness we’ve made and then move up to her clit. She lets me take over the rhythm, and though I’m overwhelmingly tempted to continue pounding her hard and fast, I don’t.

  I slow down, staying deep and giving her shallow thrusts. I grab a handful of the dark hair that’s hanging down her back, tilting her head to the ceiling. “That’s it—rub that clit, feel me inside you. When you come, your cunt’s gonna make me come, I’m that close. You want that?”

  She nods, pulling her hair slightly but not seeming to mind.

  “Do it, Erica. Take us both there.” She cries out, hovering on the edge, and I stroke into her a little more forcefully.

  “Yes,” she hisses, going wild. She lifts and drops her hips, setting a new frantic pace, and I can feel her fingers swiping madly across her clit. “Now . . .” she groans, but I don’t need her to tell me because her pussy wraps around me like a vice, pulsing waves pulling my orgasm from me too. It’s more powerful than usual, built up from her edging me, and I feel like I’m floating, with only her to keep me grounded to the bed.

  I grunt, trying to match her pace and drawing as much pleasure out of both our orgasms as I can.

  She sags, her head falling forward as I melt into the bed a bit more. “Shit, Lil Bit. If that’s your idea of punishment, get used to being thrown over my shoulder.”

  There’s no answer as she turns around and lies down by my side, her head on my chest and my arm wrapped around her shoulder. “Oh, there’s more.” Her innocent tone should be a warning, but I’m too fuzzy to catch it until it’s too late. She teases at the line between my pecs, wandering over to my nipple, before pinching and twisting.

  “Ow, fuck!” I shout, cringing away.

  She laughs as I rub at my nipple, soothing it. I can’t help but want more of that sassy, pleased-with-herself grin. “Still worth it,” I tell her with a shrug.

  She shakes her head, eyes rolling. “Come here and let me make it better.” She acts like she’s going to kiss it.

  “Why do I feel like this is a trick?” I tease.

  It is a trick, but I don’t mind in the least because when we finally collapse after round two, both covered in hickeys and exhausted from using each other’s body, it’s comfortable and natural.

  “You and Mama Louise looked like that was an important conversation tonight.” Not a question, not pressing me for details, but I want to share them all with her.

  “She told me she’s holding the farm for me, ready to sell it back whenever I’m ready.” My fingers trace patterns on Erica’s skin, connecting the freckles even though I can’t see them in the dim light of the reading lamp on the nightstand.

  “Are you ready?”

  So much in three little words. She’s asking about a lot more than the farm, and that she will be vulnerable with me this way now speaks to how far we’ve come.

  “I’m ready for a lot . . . with you, with the Bennetts, and eventually, with the farm. But I like how things are now. Never thought I’d say that, but I feel like I’m right where I’m supposed to be and with whom I’m supposed to be.”

  She snuggles in closer, not saying a word, but I feel the smile as her cheek moves against my chest.

  “Even if she is a wrench-wielding badass who can take my head off.”

  She swats at my chest, laughing. “Asshole.”

  I pull her back to my side, both of us settling to go to sleep. “Love you, Lil Bit.”

  “Love you too, Cowboy.” She’s quiet for one heartbeat before popping off again, “You’re gonna make pancakes in the morning, right?”

  Epilogue

  Erica

  I should not be nervous. There’s no reason to be, none at all. I’ve raced Foxy a million times before. Okay, not a million, but hundreds of times for sure.

  And each of those times, I sat behind the wheel calm, cool, and collected. Ready to race down the track and let those numbers flash, every time hoping for a new personal record.

  Today is no different. Except it is.

  Everyone is here. Mom and Dad, Emily and Dan, all the Tannens, all the Bennetts, and all the track guys. Hell, even Todd’s back, though he’s not racing. The doctor says he still has a few months of physical therapy and maybe even another skin graft before he can drive. But his Challenger is ready when he is, with a properly installed and verified nitrous system, thank you very much.

  The crowd is why today feels different. Especially Dad. I know he’s proud of me. He’s told me flat-out that he is, but there’s something inside me that wants to show him just how good I am. Like he won’t really believe it until he sees it himself.

  I do my burnout and pull up to the staging line. It’s me versus Clint, which is going to be a tough race because I’ve already installed his custom carburetor. But I can still win. I have to—for Dad.

  The tree lights up, and I’m gone in less time than it takes to blink. Foxy roars down the track, vibrating beneath me with power. When I cross the finish, I’m in front of Clint.

  “You taking it easy on me?” I yell through our open windows over the deafening engines as we take our helmets off.

  He smiles easily, teeth flashing through his beard, which is ponytailed up to fit in his helmet. “Nah, just got me today. I’ll getcha next time.” He’s being way too good-natured about losing, which is answer enough.

  “Don’t take it easy on me because Dad’s here. We want to earn those bragging rights.” I pat Foxy’s dashboard.

  He nods respectfully. “You earned every one of them, Rix. But I’ll let bracket two know to give it all they’ve got.”

  I nod back, satisfied that we’re gonna have a good day of racing.

  Brody

  If it’s one thing country folks know how to do, it’s tailgate. We’ve got trucks backed up along the grassy area Ed deems ‘the safe zone’ and we’re sitting in truck beds and camping chairs. Cooper has big earmuffs on, his eyes and smile huge even though Allyson is hovering about while Brutal keeps telling her to ‘leave him be.’ Marla took Cindy Lou for the day, so the gang’s all here.

  They all came out for Erica. For me.

  Because like it or not, we are one big, happy family.

  Mama Louise and Janice sit talking like old friends, and I wonder what they’re up to again. But I don’t really care.

  Because we’re all good.

  Hell, even Reed and Manuel came. Manuel’s wife sits next to him, holding his hand and looking excited. I think she’d get behind the wheel of one of these monstrous machines if she could. Reed is alone, but I’ve seen him texting a lot lately at the shop and Manuel says he’s joined some dating sites.

  I’m glad. He’s a good guy, and deserves to be happy.

  We watch as Erica races again and again, winning in her bracket of gas-powered cars until she’s up for the main drag.

  Keith stands. His eyes are laser-locked on Erica, tense but powerful. I get up and go stand next to him. “She’s something else.”

  It’s praise for Erica, but it’s just as much for Keith. He helped her grow into the powerhouse that she is.

  “She is,” he nods, agreeing. “What’re you gonna do about it?” He’s acting casual, eyes never leaving his priority,
but I know the weight in the question.

  “Gonna marry her one day,” I say without hesitation.

  He chuckles. “If that was your asking permission for her hand, it sucked.”

  “If you think I’ll be asking you, then you don’t know your daughter at all,” I tell him quietly but intensely. “We’ll know when the time’s right.”

  I look back to Erica, who’s staging.

  “If you don’t, I’m sure she’ll let you know.”

  I chuckle, knowing he’s right.

  We’re silent as the lights change and she roars away down the track. Every single time she gets the green, my heart still stutters and stops, my breath locks in my lungs, and I don’t blink until I see the red of her taillights and know she’s slowing down and safe.

  “Best time of the day,” Keith says proudly.

  I grunt, knowing the best time is still to come.

  And when Erica pulls around, getting out with her helmet held high in celebration, I know she’s it for me. For however long I get on this Earth, I want every single moment with her, and I’m going to do my damnedest to make them amazing.

  She deserves it.

  I deserve it.

  With everyone cheering for her loudly, Erica only has eyes for me. She runs my way, and I catch her easily, hands under her ass as her legs wrap around me and her steel-toed boots lock behind my back. “Best ever!”

  Yeah, she is.

  Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed Brody & Erica’s story. You’ll see them again in Bobby’s book, but don’t say goodbye to them just yet. Get the free extended epilogue here.

  Rough Country (Bobby’s book!) is already up for preorder and you can read the blurb here. Continue on for a preview of my book Beauty and the Billionaire, book 1 of my Dirty Fairy Tales series!

  Preview: Beauty and the Billionaire

  Mia

  The darkness is complete, wrapping around me like an ebony velvet blanket, cool and textural on my naked skin. I can feel it on my goosebumps, the air adding to my trembling.

  My body, exhausted from the last ordeal, still quivers as I try to find the strength to move. It’s so difficult, the waters of sleep still tugging at me even as instinct tells me there’s something in the darkness.

  A soft shuffle of feet on the carpet, and I can sense him. He’s here, watching me, invisible, but his aura reaches out, awakening my body like a warm featherlight touch on the pleasure centers of my brain.

  Arousal ripples up my thighs, fresh heat shimmering with the memories of last time. I’ve never felt anything like him before, my body used and taken, battered and driven insane . . . and completely, thoroughly pleasured in a way that I didn’t think possible.

  It was so much that I don’t even remember coming down, just an explosion of ecstasy that drove me into unconsciousness . . . but now my senses have returned and I know he’s still there, measuring me, hunting me, desiring me.

  How can he have strength left? How, when every muscle from my neck to my toes has already been taken past the limit?

  How can he still want more?

  My nostrils flare, and I can smell him. Rich, masculine . . . feral. A man’s man who could tear me apart without a second’s effort. His breath, soft but shuddering, sipping at the air, savoring the conquest to come.

  Another whisper in the darkness, and the fear melts away, replaced by a heightened sense of things.

  The moonlight, dim now in the post-midnight morning, when the night’s as deep as it will ever be.

  The sweat on my skin and the fresh moisture gathering at the juncture between my thighs.

  He steps forward, still cloaked in shadow, a shape from the depths of night, ready for a new kind of embrace.

  He reaches for my calf, and at his touch, I start to tremble. I should resist, I should say I can’t take any more. He’s already had his fill. What more can he want?

  He inhales, his nose taking in my scent, and the knowledge comes to me, a revelation that I’ve chosen to ignore.

  He wants me to be his. Not just his bedmate, not simply a conquest to have and to discard. He wants to possess me fully, to own me, body and soul.

  But can I?

  Can I give myself to such a man, a being whose very presence inspires fear and dread?

  Can I risk the fury that I’ve seen directed at others turned back upon me?

  His tongue flicks out, touching that spot he’s discovered behind my right knee that I wasn’t even aware of before him, my left leg falling aside on its own as my hunger betrays me.

  My mind is troubled, my heart races . . . but my body knows what it wants.

  He chuckles, a rumble that tickles my soft inner thighs as he pauses, his breath warm over my pussy. He scoops his hands under my buttocks, and I feel him adjust himself on the mattress, preparing for his feast.

  “Delicious,” he growls, and then his tongue touches me . . . and I’m gone.

  Mia

  The electronic drumbeats thud through the air so hard that I can actually feel my chest vibrate as I look at my screen, my head bobbing as I let the pattern come to me.

  I’ve had a lot of people ask me how I can work the way I do, but this is when the magic happens. I’ve got three computer screens, each of them split into halves with data flowing in each one. I’m finishing up my evaluations, I’ve done the grind, and now I’m bringing it all together.

  For that, though, I need tunes, and nothing gets my brain working on the right frequency as well as good techno does.

  I can hear the door to my office vibrate in its frame, and I’m glad I’ve got my own little paradise down here in the basement of the Goldstone Building.

  Sure, my methods are weird, and I’m sort of isolated considering that I’m in a corner office with two file rooms on either side of me, but that’s because I need this to make the magic happen.

  Frankly, I wasn’t too sure if I’d be able to keep this job, considering the number of complaints I got my first six months working here.

  Part of it, of course, is my occasional outbursts—to myself, mind you, and more often than not in gutter Russian so no one can understand me.

  That, with the random singing along with my tunes, meant I was labeled as ‘distracting’ and ‘difficult to work next to.’

  But the powers that be saw the value that I bring with my data analysis.

  So, as an experimental last gasp, I was sent down here, where the walls are thick, the neighbors are paper, and nobody minds that my singing voice is terrible.

  It works for them, but more importantly, it works for me.

  And here I’ve remained for almost six years, working metadata analysis and market trends, making people with money even more money.

  Not that the company’s treated me poorly. I’ve gotten a bonus for seven quarters straight, and I’ve always managed my own investments.

  For a girl who still has a few years until she hits thirty, I’m doing well on the ol’ nest egg.

  But I’m pigeonholed. Other than dropping off files from time to time, I almost never see anyone in my day to day work, which I guess is okay with me. I’ve never been someone who likes the social scene of an office.

  On the other hand, I can wear my pink and blue streaks in my hair and not have to see people’s judging glares. And I don’t have to explain what my lyrics mean when I decide to sing along.

  “Another one for the Motherland!” I exclaim as I see what I’ve been looking for. This isn’t a hard assignment, merely an optimization analysis for some of Goldstone’s transport subsidiaries. But I prefer to celebrate each victory, no matter how small or large, with glee.

  I swipe all the data to my side monitors and bring up a document in the center and start typing. I’ve already included most of the boilerplate that the executives and VPs want to see, the ‘check the box’ sort of things that my father would understand with his background.

  After all, he is Russian. He knows about bureaucracy.

  Finally, just as
the Elf Clock above my door dings noon, I save my file and fire it off to my supervisor.

  “In Russia . . . report finishes you.”

  Okay, so it’s not my best one-liner, but it’s another quirk of mine. While I’m as American as apple pie, I pay homage to my roots, especially at work, for some reason. It seems to help, so I’m sticking to it.

  Heading to the elevator, I go upstairs before punching out for lunch and jumping into my little Chevy to drive to my ‘spot’, a diner called The Gravy Train. An honest to goodness old-fashioned diner, it’s got some of the best food in town, including a fried chicken sandwich that’s to kill for.

  As I drive, I look around my hometown, still surprised at how big it seems these days. The main reason, of course, is tied to the dark tower on the north side of town, Blackwell Industries.

  Thirty years ago, Mr. Blackwell located his headquarters here in the sleepy town of Roseboro and proclaimed it to be the bridge between Portland and Seattle. A lot of people scoffed, but he was right, and Roseboro’s been the beneficiary of his foresight.

  I’ve been lucky, watching a city literally grow with me. Roseboro is big enough now that some people even call this a Tri-Cities area, lumping us in with Portland and Seattle.

  I get to The Gravy Train just in time to see the other reason that I come to this place so frequently for lunch wave from the window. Isabella “Izzy” Turner has been my best friend since first grade, and I love her like she’s my own flesh and blood.

  As I enter, I see her untie the apron on her uniform and slump down into one of the booths. Her normally rich brown hair looks limp and stringy today, and the bags under her eyes are so big she could be carrying her after work clothes in them.

  “Hey, babe, you look exhausted,” I say in greeting, giving her a hug from the side as I slide in next to her. “Please don’t tell me you’re still working double shifts?”

  “Have to,” Izzy says as she leans into me and hugs back. “Gotta keep the bills paid, and doing double shifts gives me a chance to maybe get a little ahead. I’ll need it once classes start up again.”