Ride: A Bad Boy Romance

by Roxie Noir

  Another cowboy mounts a bull, nods, and rides out. I take pictures. Five seconds and he’s been tossed off into the sand and scampers off.

  Slowly, my heart stops feeling like it might explode.

  After the riding is over, I finally head behind the scenes. I need pictures of this, of handlers leading bulls out of their pens, of the madness and exhilaration and bandages that happen at a rodeo.

  I’m there for a long time and I don’t see Jackson. For once, I’m relieved, because I’m so keyed up by his stupid wink that I’m a little afraid of what I’m going to do. Instead, I shoot a cowboy getting his ribs taped up. I shoot a twelve-year-old kid leading a bull out like it’s no big deal. I shoot two cowboys drinking out of a paper bag and sitting on the curb and laughing.

  As I watch, one of the other cowboys start arguing with someone who seems to either be his wife or his girlfriend. She’s got a pink cowboy hat on, cowboy boots, cutoff shorts, but she’s giving him hell about something I can’t quite understand. I feel a little sleazy standing there and snapping their photo, but I do my best to fade into a wall as they yell at each other.

  It’s part of the rodeo, after all. I’m supposed to be getting this from all sides.

  “Are you snooping, Miss Guthrie?” a voice says, and my finger slips awkwardly off the shutter. The picture’s blurry.

  “Don’t give me away, for God’s sake,” I murmur without even looking at Jackson.

  “Last night, she caught him drunk with a girl on his lap, and today he didn’t make it three seconds before he fell off,” Jackson says, keeping his voice low. “That’s why he’s in a pile of trouble.”

  A few people walk by and block our view of the fighting couple for a moment.

  “Would it be different if he’d stayed on the bull?” I ask.

  Jackson shrugs.

  “Probably,” he says. “Women feel different about winners.”

  I don’t look at him. I’m afraid he might wink at me again, or tip his hat, or just look at me and I’ll just dissolve right here.

  “You’d know,” I say.

  “I don’t claim to know a thing about women,” he says, and I swear I can hear that cocky grin in his voice. “Just about winning.”

  I roll my eyes. A family passes us: cowboy dad, regular-looking mom. Toddler perched on the dad’s shoulders. It’s slowly emptying out back here, enough that there’s no one really around us right now.

  “When am I coming over?” he asks. He’s still leaning against a post a few feet away, looking casual as all get out, but his voice changes. Now it’s low and intense, something barely restrained about it.

  My stomach twists. My heart leaps. Every muscle in my body tenses, and I force myself to act normal.

  “Presumptuous,” I tease, even as fire pools between my legs.

  “You even use ten-cent words to tell me off?” he asks, still laughing.

  “It means—”

  “I know what presumptuous means, Lula-Mae,” Jackson says. “And I was presuming that making you come twice last night might get me invited back to your bed.”

  I widen my eyes and shoot him a very clear don’t say that in public glare, but he’s not looking around. He’s just looking at me, his hazel eyes burning, and I feel like flames are unfurling through my whole body. Spreading like wildfire.

  I force myself to look back at the camera and take another picture. I still need to wait until this area clears out completely, and then I need to fuss with the lighting so I can shoot this maze of chutes and cages and bars properly. Give it the treatment it really deserves.

  I’m tempted to take Jackson back to my room right now and then return to the arena later, but I’ve got the feeling I’m not going to be in the mood afterwards.

  “I’ve got a while before I finish up here,” I say, taking a deep breath and gathering every ounce of self-control I’ve got. “I want to get a few shots of everything when it’s empty, you know, the arena after everyone’s gone home kind of thing.”

  He looks like he’s about to say something, but then he stops. He nods.

  “Gotcha,” he says, then stands up straight. “I’ll get outta your hair.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “I just need to finish this now, so...”

  He waves a hand and grins.

  “I’ll live for a couple hours,” he says. “Just don’t you be too long, Miss Guthrie.”

  Two kids walk by, followed by a middle-aged man.

  “Sounds good,” I say, too loudly. “Nice working with you!”

  Jackson chuckles, then leans in for a moment.

  “Jesus, Lula-Mae, you trying to tell everyone about our torrid affair?” he asks, his voice low and soft and dangerous. It sends a shiver down my back.

  Then he winks and walks off.

  Apparently this is an affair and it’s torrid. My palms are sweaty.

  I wipe them on my jeans and try like hell to focus.

  16

  Jackson

  I don’t want to walk away. I want to grab her and push her up against the bars of a bull pen, her mouth under mine. I want to pull her into the bucking chute and push her clothes off, taste her again, take her on the sandy floor of the arena until she shouts loud enough that they hear it down in Texas.

  But that’s no good. She’s at work. I pull anything like that and she’s out of a job, maybe forever.

  I go eat a late dinner. A group of sixteen-year-old boys comes up to me and tells me I rode real good, and it turns out some of them ride so we get to talking. I know that it’ll take a year before most of them are back on their parents’ farms, because rodeo doesn’t work out for most people, but I don’t tell them that.

  I tell them it’s the best goddamn thing there is, because it’s true. Their eyes light up even as they try to act cool.

  I walk through the motel parking lot. Mae’s light isn’t on yet. I watch fifteen minutes of TV and glance out my window again. Her light still isn’t on.

  This ain’t you, I think. You ought to be out drinking at Betty’s, two bunnies on your lap.

  I check again. Her light’s still not on. I cut off the TV and take a walk over to the fairgrounds, where I buy a funnel cake because I can. The girl who sells it to me blushes as I order, and I tip my hat at her as I leave, because I’m a gentleman.

  Sometimes.

  I walk past the arena on the way back to the motel. I glance over at Mae’s room. The light still isn’t on.

  Fuck it, I think.

  The gate to the arena’s still open, and I walk through it, then behind the barrier to the staging area, all the bull pens where they keep the animals until it’s time to ride. It’s quiet back here and lit only in spots, the bare bulbs throwing odd shadows all over the place. Smells like livestock, but it’s the kind of smell you get used to in a minute.

  If I didn’t know it so well, I might be jumpy. Instead I walk through the shadowy pens and eat funnel cake, leaving a trail of powdered sugar behind me, looking for Mae.

  Finally I come around a bend and there she is, camera facing down a long row of pens on one side and chutes on the other, pointed at me. Mae pops her head over the camera.

  “That impatient?” she says, a smile creasing her eyes.

  “It’s been two and a half hours,” I say. I crunch another tube of the funnel cake, walking down the long hallway toward me.

  I hear her click the shutter.

  “I don’t remember agreeing to have my picture taken,” I tease her.

  “I’m sure you signed a release,” she says.

  “I’ve got an image to maintain, Miss Guthrie,” I say. “And eating funnel cake while I’m waiting on the photographer to finish so I can have my way with her ain’t it.”

  “Funnel cake’s not so bad,” she says. “You’ve barely got any powdered sugar around your mouth.”

  She doesn’t even look around. I raise my eyebrows.

  “You alone in here?” I ask.

  “Not anymore,” she says.

&nb
sp; I walk up to her and she grabs a piece of funnel cake. She chews it and then licks the powdered sugar off her fingers. When she’s finished, she looks up at me, her blue eyes half-lit in the weird darkness.

  “What?” she says, and then smiles. “It’s fried sugar. It’s delicious.”

  She takes another piece and eats it.

  “You done here or what?” I growl.

  She licks her fingers again. God almighty I’m hard, and I’m certain she can tell.

  “I’m done,” she says. “Let me pack this up and—”

  I kiss her. It takes her by surprise and her teeth scrape against my lip, but I don’t let her go. I slide my hand around the back of Mae’s neck and I hold her to me as she kisses back fiercely. We both taste a little like funnel cake as she opens her mouth and lets me in, swirling her tongue around mine.

  When we pull apart she bites my lip just hard enough and then laughs.

  “That’s for winking at me,” she says.

  “If that’s what a wink gets me tomorrow I ought to blow you a kiss,” I say.

  I kiss the side of her neck, the skin there soft and warm, her hair tickling at my nose. It takes everything I’ve got not to rip her clothes off right this minute.

  “Jackson, don’t you dare,” she says.

  “If I can ride a bull I can blow you a kiss,” I say.

  “Come on,” she says, her eyes suddenly serious.

  I grab her hips and slide my thumbs up under her shirt. She sucks in a breath, but her face doesn’t change, and slowly, I walk her back against a wall.

  “I won’t,” I say, my voice barely above a low whisper. I kiss her neck again, the cords in it standing out, and I run my hands up her torso to the sensitive skin just under her bra. “I know I’m your dirty secret.”

  “You don’t have to say it like that,” she protests, but her eyes slide shut, and that breathy tone comes into her voice.

  “Say it like what?” I go on. “Which part isn’t true?”

  Under her shirt, I unhook her bra. She makes a sound in her throat and closes her hands around my belt, pulling me in closer.

  “This is a secret,” I say.

  I push her bra up and run the pads of my thumbs over her nipples. She flexes her jaw and turns her head to one side, like she’s trying hard not to make noise.

  I lean in, my mouth next to her ear.

  “And I am dirty, Lula-Mae,” I whisper.

  She slides one hand over my clothed erection slowly, from root to tip, and a shudder runs through me, a million tiny explosions on my skin, all at once.

  “Found something you want?” I say. I run my hands over her breasts, my rough callouses against her sensitive skin, and she gasps and arches her back, squeezing my cock again.

  “I think it found me,” she says, and squeezes it again.

  I swear my toes tingle, but she pulls on my belt again and my mouth is on hers, my hands up her shirt. I pinch her nipples hard this time and she moans into my mouth, the vibrations running the length of my body. I growl back at her, pushing my rock-hard cock against her.

  “We’re not gonna make it to my room, are we?” she asks.

  “Nope,” I say.

  She looks at me for a moment, then slides out of my embrace and grabs the front of my shirt, grinning. Mae pulls me into the deep shadow of the bucking chute.

  The walls are about six feet high and aluminum except for the gate that looks out onto the dark arena. I can just barely see over the top, but Mae pushes me against the aluminum wall with a bang, and I let her.

  “For all the noise you make I’d swear you wanted us to get caught,” I say.

  She’s furiously unbuttoning my shirt and she nips at my collarbone before she slides her hands along my sides. Her touch is almost electric, and for the moment, I let her be in control as she pulls me against her.

  Mae drags her lips along my chest, softly kissing the scar. Her hands undo my belt and unbutton my pants, and I think all the blood left in my body surges to my cock as she grabs it, shoving my pants down just enough to get it out.

  I groan.

  “Who’s loud now?” she asks, her lips in the hollow above my bellybutton. I’m rigid, because I think I know what’s coming and I can barely breathe with anticipation.

  Now she’s kneeling, her hand slowly stroking my cock right in front of her face. She’s looking up at me, her eyes absolutely devilish in the dark.

  “You looking for the go-ahead?” I say. I’m trying to tease her, but I’m desperate for her to put her mouth on me, as hard as I’ve ever been in my life.

  “I don’t need permission,” she says. “I can’t take a minute and appreciate?”

  I laugh, but it turns into a groan, and I press myself into the cold metal of the bucking chute, glad that there’s something behind me.

  “Appreciate all you like, Lula-Mae,” I said. “You get me so fucking hard that you can do whatever you want. I’d crawl through a meat grinder if I thought your lips might touch my cock.”

  Her hand strokes again, and she laughs.

  “Gross,” she says.

  “It’s true,” I say.

  “Jackson, shut up,” she says.

  Before I can respond her mouth is hot and wet on the head of my cock, and I hear myself groan. I reach up behind myself and grab the top of the chute wall, because I feel like I need something to hang onto right now.

  Mae pulls her head back slowly, sucking hard, and at the end she swirls her tongue around the head once before sliding her lips down again, this time just past the head, her tongue rigid against the underside. She pulls back again, sucking hard, her tongue swirling.

  With every stroke she goes a little further until I can feel the tip of my cock against the back of her mouth, tight and wet and warm.

  “Fucking hell, Lula-Mae,” I whisper.

  She keeps going, but she goes slow, driving me absolutely crazy. My toes are curling and there’s a tightness in my lower belly that feels like it might never let go, not if she keeps this up.

  I look down just as she takes me her mouth again. She looks up at me as she pulls back, then keeps the head of my cock in her mouth an extra second, swirling her tongue around it. I swear to God she’s smiling at me, and it’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.

  “I’m gonna come if you don’t stop,” I say, but she engulfs me again, and I fight like hell to keep control until she pulls back and looks up at me.

  “And?” she asks.

  “And I’d rather come fucking you,” I say.

  Mae blushes and opens her mouth to say something, but I reach into my pocket and pull out the condom I grabbed from my room earlier.

  She laughs, but I think her eyes light up.

  “Do you just carry those everywhere with you?” she asks. Her hand’s still on my cock, and it’s a little hard to concentrate.

  “Just when I’m gonna be around a hot girl who’s too responsible to bareback,” I tease.

  She snatches it from my hand and tears it open, and then she’s rolling it down my cock with firm, hard strokes. I pull her up so she’s standing, her mostly clothed and me mostly undone. I can taste myself on her lips as she kisses me voraciously, and it’s sexy.

  Everything she does is sexy.

  I undo her jeans and slide my hand into the warmth between her legs. My fingers get slick with her juices instantly and she makes a noise into my mouth.

  “Did sucking my cock get you this wet?” I murmur. I draw a circle around her clit with two fingers, and I can feel all her muscles tense.

  Mae scrunches her nose a little when I say that, and I chuckle even though I’m breathing hard.

  I take my hand out and spin her around. I push her against the gate that leads to the arena, and she closes her hands around the bars. I reach between her legs again, my head on her shoulder, my body pressed hard against her back.

  “Sorry, Miss Guthrie,” I growl. “I meant to say, did performing fellatio on my erect penis cause you to
be so aroused? I know you like those ten-cent words.”

  She turns her head toward me and shoots me a look, even though she’s breathing hard.

  “Shut up, Jackson,” she says, but she’s smiling.

  “I can’t talk dirty to you even if I say it fancy?” I ask.

  “Especially not then,” she says.

  I push her jeans down with my other hand and move those fingers along her slit, and she arches her back, pressing herself against me. It’s an obvious plea, and there’s nothing I want to do more than take her up on it and slide inside her perfect, tight channel.

  “That’s fine,” I say. “Seems like I thought all day about fucking you works just fine.”

  I slide my cock between her thighs, already slippery with her juices. Mae gasps as I rub the head against her clit.

  “I know you won’t say it, but I think you did too,” I say. “I think that’s why I can’t wink at you anymore, because the next time you might just tear your clothes off and come running.”

  She laughs, her voice throaty.

  “I’ve got more self-control than that,” she says, even as she presses herself against me, sliding my cock against her.

  “Do you?” I ask.

  “Not much more,” she says.

  I bend and kiss the nape of her neck, fine blond hairs sticking to my lips. Mae looks over her shoulder at me, her lips curving up into the wickedest smile.

  “Come on, Jackson,” she says. “Don’t tease me.”

  Suddenly, my dick feels like it might pop. I need to be inside her, a need stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. I slide the head of my cock until it’s against her opening and take a deep breath. I force myself to slide inside her slowly, since I’m still a little afraid of hurting her.

  But the moment the head of my cock is in her, Mae arches her back and pushes her hips toward me. In one motion, I’m buried up to the hilt.

  My vision goes white. She moans, and I’m left breathless.

  She pulls forward slowly and I can feel her pulsing around me, and there’s a moment when I’m afraid I’m just going to lose control completely, right here on the first thrust. Her pussy feels like a fist gripping my cock, except this is ten times better than the world’s best handjob.