Love Complicated (Ex's and Oh's Book 1)

by Shey Stahl

  My luck it’d get leaked out to the PTA or some shit, and my kids will be taken away from me, so that’s not going to happen, but I can at least tease him with it.

  I can’t concentrate. I’m sure you can understand why?

  All I fucking think about is Aly and what she said to me the other night. She gets herself off thinking about me. Of course I’m going to be focused on that and only that until I’m the one doing it for her.

  My assessment Friday after last weekend’s races? I know nothing about running a track on my own. Never paid any mind to it when I was younger and now I’m drowning. And Glen thinks this shit is funny.

  I’m not one to back down to a challenge.

  “How do you do it?”

  Jameson shrugs. “A good wife?” And then he laughs and reaches for his water bottle on the seat of the four-wheeler. “My situation was similar to yours, you know.”

  “With Grays Harbor Raceway?”

  He nods. “My wife’s dad died and left the track to me. I had no clue what to do nor did I have time for it. I race full time in the Cup Series and at the time was running two teams with the Outlaws.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I ended up hiring a general manager to keep things running. Just make sure you have a good promoter to draw in the crowds. Do that and you should be fine. You got a good head on your shoulders.”

  He clearly doesn’t know me well. Why would he? The last time I saw him I was nine years old.

  A promoter? General manager? Immediately I think of Aly and wonder if she’d be interested in doing that?

  The action starts quickly that night with Jameson and Tyler on the front row for the feature. I watch from the pit stands as Jameson comes on strong and has three cars passed by the time lap five rolls around, but his car has nothing on Tyler’s at his home track. If anyone knows every groove here, it’s Tyler Sprague.

  He pulls out a two and four car lead over Jameson and stays there through the all-green feature event. The track dries out halfway through, leaving one line and a cushion that seems bitter and shreds tires like a monster.

  I make my way down to the concessions afterward where I’m hoping to find Aly. She’s there, cleaning up and watchful of everyone around her, like she’s waiting for someone. I like to think I know who she’s waiting for.

  I approach her with a grin, one I can’t hold back when I’m around her. “Where are the boys?”

  She looks past me for a moment, then to me. “With my parents. They’re staying the night with them.” And then her words trail off. They’re meant to because she’s leaving it open for me to make my own assumptions.

  And I do.

  I lean into the concession stand and wink. I make it look like I’m going to kiss her, but instead, I whisper, “I have a proposition for you.”

  “And that would be?”

  Wanting to tease her, I take a straw in my hand and stoke it. “Actually, it’s more of a request.”

  “What?”

  “Come by my trailer later.”

  Her eyes widen, a smile ghosting across her lips.

  My dick jerks to life. God, I fucking want her so bad.

  She swallows, shaky words follow. “Okay.”

  “Come by my trailer later.”

  That was a demand, wasn’t it?

  Do you see me there? I’m the one nervously approaching the trailer in one of those walks that screams indecisive.

  Aly, don’t go up to that trailer. You know exactly what’s going to happen if you walk in there. He’s going to invite you in and lock the door, and soon you’ll be spreading your legs. Then he’ll tell you to leave.

  Is there anything wrong with that? I’ve slept with one man—the wrong man—maybe my feet are leading me in the direction I always should have gone.

  As I’m standing near the rear of the trailer backed up to the fence line in the pits, I notice his bumper sticker. You’re curious now, aren’t you?

  Take a look. Right on the bumper of his grey and black motorhome is: Cash, grass, or ass, nobody rides for free.

  Classy, huh?

  What am I thinking? This is stupid. I should just go home.

  I chew on my thumbnail, and I bite down on my bottom lip, trying to ease my rapidly overactive “I’m about to have sex again” heart. I taste blood, having bit down too much.

  I wipe my fingertips to my lip. “Damn.”

  “Do it!” someone yells from the pits, and I’m not surprised to see it’s Jameson, barely able to stand up, screaming at me as he holds a beer in the air.

  Crap. They saw me.

  So there I am, ducking, because I’m dumb and can’t make up my mind, when guess what happens next?

  No, really, just take a wild fucking guess because you can’t make this shit up.

  I’ll wait. . . . Go ahead, tell me what you think.

  If by chance you guessed Ridge opened the door, you’d be right.

  “What are you doing on the ground?” he asks, one hand on the door handle, the other on the trailer as he hangs out of it.

  I stand, brushing my hands down the front of my jeans. “I. . . uh. . . my shoe came off.”

  He stares at me, almost sternly. “Get in here.”

  So I do. And then he closes the door but doesn’t lock it. I look at it, biting my already bleeding lip. “Are you sure that doesn’t lock?”

  Do you see the smile on his face? It’s sexy as hell. What about the look of lust in his eyes? Do you see that too? Do you remember when I said I like plans and everything to be ordinarily?

  I don’t know what I’m doing in here or what to expect, and it’s set my nerves into glitch mode.

  The smile fades, and Ridge’s brow draws together like he doesn’t understand why I’m asking about a lock, or maybe he’s annoyed I’m asking about it. “Why does it matter if it locks or not?” He steps toward me, grabbing my hand. “Ain’t nobody coming in here but you.”

  Is that supposed to make me feel better? It doesn’t.

  My hand reaches for the counter, and I steady myself. “I uh. . . maybe I should go.”

  Christ, why’d I say that? You know I don’t want to go. Glitch. It’s the glitch.

  Ridge grabs my face between his palms, his eyes wild. “You’re not leaving.” His voice shakes as he speaks, vulnerable, making sure I know how tonight is going to go. “Not this time.”

  I breathe against his lips, unable to argue with his demand. The shift in his demeanor reminds me of who he is to me. A man who constantly pushes my boundaries and makes me forget the predicted, the planned, the rules. . . .

  My mind scrambles and I keep thinking, one, what if someone comes in? And two, where are we going to do it? The couch? The dinette? The bed?

  I kinda want something naughty and unpredicted. Maybe the floor?

  Ridge’s breathing comes faster now, and he creates distance between us and reaches for the hem of my shirt, ripping it over my head. “I’m not having sex with you.”

  Did he just say that? You heard, right? My cheeks burn like he’s denied me. “But—”

  Ridge shakes his head, our eyes locked on one another in the dim lighting of his trailer. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t fuckin’ walk. Something I’m sure your husband has never done.”

  Oh. Shit.

  Good God, is he real? He can’t be. They don’t make guys like this. He’s probably like those men in the erotica novels I read. Mythical creatures who women like me never find.

  But look at him, he’s fucking real.

  “I. . . .” I swallow unable to comprehend what he’s saying to me. “Uh. . . .”

  “You don’t need someone to make love to you.” He dips his head until our stare doesn’t waver. “You need a man to own you. You need a man to ruin your pussy for every other man who comes after him.”

  Yep. That’s exactly what I need.

  His hands move to his belt, fumbling with the buckle, but I don’t look. I can’t stop staring at the man who�
��s claiming to ruin me for every other man.

  My stomach jumps, knowing this is happening. Ridge and I are finally going to have sex, or eh, in his terms. . . fuck. Letting go of his belt, his sure palms cup my cheeks, kissing me so deeply I’m drowning in him, and I never want to surface from this.

  He takes my body in his hands, a slow descent to the floor of his trailer. “Just so we’re clear, Aly,”—his words hit my neck, his harsh breathing amplifying its meaning—“no man will ever be inside your pussy again. Only me.”

  Yes, Master. What. The. Fuck?

  He lays me down and then kneels before me. I watch the muscles in his stomach and arms, flexing with each movement. His knees spread once he’s on the ground, sliding against the laminate floor. His hands are on me, rough and wild, yet steady and patient like he’s memorizing a beautiful canvas before him.

  His fingers move to the band of my jeans, sliding across my exposed skin to meet in the middle of the button. His touch burns, ignites my every nerve. My heart races, my eyes drift closed. “So goddamn beautiful.”

  I pry my lids open, but he’s not looking at me; he’s watching my body curve around his as if that’s exactly what he’s been wanting, to see and feel me like this. His jeans are still on—as mine are—when he grinds his hips into mine, and I feel his arousal, hard and straining against his jeans.

  His mouth finds mine; it’s eager but controlled in the sense that I can tell he’s not just some overeager kid anymore.

  He gets the button of my jeans undone with one hand.

  Although I feel like everything is happening so fast, he’s not rushing. He moves both hands from my waist and lower to the backs of my knees, hooking his hands around them. He brings both my legs to rest on his left shoulder. His head moves to the side pressing my calf against his hot ear. With a smile, he takes his shirt off next with his right hand and puts it over my face, chuckling.

  It smells like him. Dirt and methanol from the cars, but there’s that distinct Ridge smell that melts me on the inhale. It’s everything I want to remember.

  I remove the shirt to see him staring at me. There’s a slight grin that hasn’t faded, but it’s more the intensity in his eyes that makes me nervous.

  Taking the shirt in my hand, I place it on my chest covering my tits. Ridge smiles, knocking it away and then puts his hands back on my hips, dipping his fingers inside the waistband of my jeans. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”

  He gives me a wink, and I lift my hips for him. Slowly, he pulls them down and up over my thighs as his knuckles graze my skin. When they’re at my ankles, he tosses them near his shirt on the floor.

  I’m not sure what he’s going to do next, but his mouth is lingering on my skin.

  “When was the last time you got off?” he asks, still looking at my calf and then giving it one more kiss.

  I bend my knees, sliding my feet down his bare chest. “Last night. Thinking of you.”

  He stops, grabbing my ankles and spreading my legs for him, biting at my leg. “Did you get yourself off, or were you with someone else?”

  Instinctively, I squirm under the pressure of his teeth. “Myself.”

  “You’re never to touch yourself again,” he orders when my legs are spread, and my lower half is now completely bare for him. “That’s my job from now on.”

  “Okay. . . .” My words are a whisper, but I know he hears it. What the fuck am I even saying? I’m already agreeing to be his? How’d that happen?

  Ridge’s mouth twists, a half grin that fades quickly as his eyes drop, his fingertips moving and squeezing my upper thighs as he groans, a low, throaty sound I want more of.

  When his hands fall away, he leans in, supporting his weight with his arms beside my head. His cock—still unfortunately confined in his jeans—presses against me when he does this. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

  My heart thuds in my ears, my breath panting. “So bad.”

  Moving his right hand, he slides my hips toward his, both hands now on my hips as he lifts and drags. “That’s my girl.”

  Like how he emphasized my girl? Yeah, me too. My hearts swells, along with his need.

  He grinds into me, again, the friction of our jeans so right, so good, but I want more.

  Ridge pauses, watching my reaction proudly.

  My hands move to his chest and then his hair, wanting to fist that beautiful black hair between my fingers.

  He lets me pull at his hair, trying to make him come forward, but then he stops, taking my wrists and pinning them down on the floor. “You’re not running this show, I am.”

  Pressing forward, his cock grinds into me again.

  “You like that?” he asks against my lips, his breath blowing over me.

  I can’t even respond because while he asks this, he doesn’t stop moving his hips against mine.

  Writhing under his hands, I swivel my hips on my own will without his direction. When Ridge comes forward, his chest is heaving with labored breaths, granting me another angle. I kiss his rough and tensed cheek, his jaw, and then his lips, anywhere I can access.

  “That’s it. . . come for me, baby,” he grunts, plunging his tongue into my mouth.

  The warmth starts low, and it’s sudden, first a slow burn and then it intensifies, like the pop of a firecracker.

  Nothing about this compares to what I’ve experienced before. It’s crazy to me that Ridge has nothing on Austin, and he hasn’t even entered me yet.

  Ridge’s eyes are low, watching his dick rubbing against me. When I shake against him, my heels dig into his ass, begging him to come closer, harder, anything to make this last longer.

  He does, oh God, does he.

  His breath comes out in short gasps—much like mine—when he sees me falling apart for him. I squirm, I shift, anything to get just the right angle and then it happens.

  Ridge Lucas gives me an orgasm.

  Look at me there on the floor. A woman denied something for so long, and now she’s looking like she’s having a seizure. But a good tingly, body arching seizure with a happy ending.

  “Oh God!” My eyes squeeze shut, and I throw my arms around his tensed shoulders hanging onto him and clawing at his skin.

  “That’s it.” His rough voice is low and tense as he whispers to me. “There you go. . . fall apart for me.”

  One hand moves from beside me, wrapping around the back of my neck and bringing his eager kiss to mine. He’s excited, and his kiss shows me, wild tongue and frantic gasps telling me how beautiful the sight before him is.

  My attention goes to the clanking of his buckle and then the faint sounds of his zipper.

  Oh God, he’s taking them off.

  I gulp, still panting. He smiles at me—dirty and sinful—when he notices I’m watching him. “You want me to take these off, right?”

  I nod, immediately knowing that me having an orgasm from dry humping must have gotten to him more than he’s willing to admit. It takes him longer than I would like for him to get his jeans off and then he’s searching for the condom in his wallet.

  “That was fucking hot,” he pants, barely able to get the words out as he rolls the condom on. I watch, carefully. He’s beautiful. Everywhere.

  I’m still trying to catch my breath, but I can’t wait for him to get that condom on because I want more. So much more.

  When he has sheathed himself, he’s back between my legs, his hardness right where I want him. He slides forward but doesn’t slip in. I move slightly, but he holds me in place. “Stop moving.”

  “Why?”

  His fingers trace my cheekbone.

  He gives me a long stare, searching for any regret. “Have you been fucked before?”

  How do I even respond to that one? I want to say so many snarky things, but nothing comes to mind.

  “I d-don’t know,” I stutter. My heart hammers, the coolness of the floor radiating through me, heated only by his breath. I flinch when his palm finds my bare breast, his thumb brushing over my
nipple.

  “You’d know if you had been,” he says again, sucking my nipple into his warm mouth. The feel of his soft tongue lapping at my breasts makes me shiver in his arms, unable to control my body around him. “I’m gonna go ahead and assume that’s a no.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to fuck me.” Oh, hey, look at that confident response.

  His eyes rise to mine, his jaw ticks. “You should have let me.”

  “You scared me, back then.” My legs wrap around his waist a little tighter. “Show me what I’ve been missing.”

  As with anything, Ridge doesn’t respond when you want him to. Everything is on his terms. His lifts his dark eyes and scans his trailer. I’m not sure, but it must dawn on him right then that we’re on the floor and we might want something a little more comfortable. None of that matters to me. I don’t need a bed or anything else. I just need him. “Should we go to the bed?”

  “I thought you were going to show me how a man fucks?” I raise an eyebrow, lifting on my elbows. “Or was that all talk?”

  Oh, look at that glare I got. The muscles in his body tense, his right hand splaying over my chest as he pushes me back down on the floor. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Okay, I know what you’re thinking. . . don’t let him talk to you that way, Aly. But you’re wrong. And here’s why.

  It’s.

  Fucking.

  Hot.

  And I need to be talked to like that. I want someone to own me, control me, take me in a way that will erase every other man’s touch.

  Ridge does that for me.

  He’s not waiting any longer, his patience gone as he enters me in one swift action.

  We both gasp when he’s in—breathing escaping me entirely—but all I can do is inhale a much-needed breath that I need to stay alive this close to him.

  Ridge doesn’t move right away, his eyes on mine when he does, a slow movement as if he’s wanting this to last, or waiting to torture me. Probably the latter. This is Ridge we’re talking about.

  He yanks on my hair, making me arch, beg, scream. . . my shoulders meeting his torso and he bites at the tip of my ear. “Beg for more.” He kicks my legs open further, pounding into me. He thrusts cruelly, making me squirm, every bone in my body screaming to get away from his harsh touch but he’s right; it’s what I crave.