Loving a Bad Boy (Bad Boys Western Romance Book 4)

by Susan Arden

Every muscle in his body had gone on full alert. His cock pulsed. Craving more and deeper had hijacked his brain. His alpha male primal instinct howled. Thrusting fully into Sommer had a chokehold on him, so much he’d almost broken his vow in wanting to commandeer her. How could wanting to protect her end up with him almost hurting her?

  Burying his face in the crook of her neck, he held onto her tiny waist, keeping their bodies apart. His heart hammered, leaving his pulse somewhere up in the stratosphere. Every ounce of his self-control and concentration he willed into existence. Not helping that a physical part of him demanded action. Nearing caveman mode, the need to hump made thinking an act of immense discipline. Two hundred twenty-five million years of evolution shot through him. A supreme effort to refrain from driving his dick further. He fought instinct and a shitload of lust—reverberating in his bones, his blood, his brain to claim her. Fuck Sommer, and finally make her his.

  Not gonna happen without a wedding.

  Kissing her shoulder, and inhaling her incomparable flowery fragrance, Rory forced his restraint into the foreground of his existence. Holding Sommer’s hips in place, he withdrew his cock from her tight body. The feeling of her squeezing and slick, the perfect friction on the back of his crown and ridge had him groaning in pleasure.

  A shiver shot under his skin. He must’ve spewed a gallon of pre cum. An exercise in motherfucking control to move past what his body demanded. He wasn’t going to do this to Sommer. So wound up to own her, he’d almost taken her like some porn version of rough pounding anal. Not when he was so close to proving he wasn’t a foregone conclusion and she was worth the wait.

  No way in hell was he about to become one more McLemore with a past. Sommer was his present. His future.

  She turned in his arms, moving her thigh upward until she hooked her leg over his hip. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound off like that.”

  “Don’t apologize. I’m the one who should,” he spoke low, his cock still diamond-hard and pulsating with each of his heartbeats.

  “Nothing to apologize for, babe,” she whispered, threading his fingers with hers and pulling his hand low on her belly. “Maybe we could watch a video together.”

  If she rubbed his fingers on her pussy, he’d lose it. Completely. He reacted by moving her leg down as he rose and pushed her back against the pillows. Taking hold of her wrists, lifting them above her head, he kept her arms so she couldn’t move.

  “Darlin’, I got your number. Marry me, Sommer. We’ll go get your engagement ring today and tonight I’ll meet you half-way.”

  She tried to twist free. “That sounds like a set-up.”

  “No set-up. It’s a commitment.”

  “Sounds the same in my book.”

  “Dammit, girl, I love you. Always have. I always will. Let’s stop all this and do what we both want. Halfway and if you admit instead of fighting me tooth and nail, you’d come clean. Last night we proved that we’re better than good in a little outercourse. How can you doubt we fit perfectly in bed? We aren’t just two puzzle pieces. Baby, we’re two hemispheres that make up a world. ”

  Taking a deep breath, her fiery golden gaze became troubled. She glanced down and shook her head. “Please, don’t put strings on us getting engaged. When we do, we’ll do it without anything between us. No questions—or not plaguing ones. Don’t you see that’s the way it should be? Us knowing for sure.”

  He closed his eyes, releasing her arms. “That’s not how I view it.”

  Didn’t seem like anything he thought of would solve their deadlock and without a solution, he had to maintain control. As long as his cock stayed clear of any place below her waist, he hoped to hell that he wouldn’t cross the line. But as long as he didn’t cross the Rubicon, she fully intended on holding a hard-line.

  “Don’t you want to do more of what we did last night?” She stroked her hand across his cheek.

  He flicked his gaze down her body. “That’s not a question. You’re torturing me.”

  “We can do some pretty outrageous things, and you’ll forget all about this crazy idea of needing to get married. Why get saddled with the cow if you can drink the milk whenever you want?”

  “Is that how you feel?” he asked, not liking the sound of her analogy. “Because I don’t feel saddled at the prospect of getting hitched with you.”

  She raked a set of fingers through her blond waves. “Not in exact terms. But we’re young. We don’t even have a place of our own. Neither one of us has ever lived away from our families as fully functioning adults. But you want to dive into the pool of ultimate decisions. Marriage yet we’re still living at home. What’s the rush? I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

  Living at home. He couldn’t pretend to be surprised. It concerned him. If he’d thought it a dozen times, he’d thought it a thousand. He twirled a long blond strand of Sommer’s silk around his finger, rubbing its softness against his skin. “You’re right. So if we were living more like adults, you’d agree?”

  “Rory, please.” She traced her hands along his arms, melding her warm supple body against him. “Let’s enjoy today. What we did last night was amazing. I’ve never felt like that before.”

  Sommer gazed across at him with her amber eyes, pocketing his breath and the thoughts right out of his head. Releasing her hair, he scooped her within his arms, pulling her to his chest.

  “Baby,” he groaned, kissing the side of her head, and watching the shadows on the wall sway as the curtains moved in the breeze from the open window. He murmured, “Yeah. What we did was worth the wait.”

  “Call me,” Rory said as he parked his truck outside Sommer’s home. “I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to the barbecue together.”

  “Possessive much?” Smirking like a she-devil, Sommer leaned over and pressed her lip-glossed mouth to his.

  If she only knew. “Where you’re concerned, I am. So sue me,” he whispered against her mouth.

  After kissing his baby, he walked around to her side of the truck and opened her door, lifting her down from the cab. She slid along his legs, her boots in her hand, her long hair flowing, everything about Sommer teased him for another taste. Not about to let her go, he lifted her back up. “Give me some sugar, darlin’.”

  Dropping her boots, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her tits against his chest. “Rory,” she murmured, spilling a sip of her sweet breath.

  Seeing her lips part, her pink wet tongue and the light in her eyes, his pulse raced. Crushing his mouth on hers, he thrust his tongue between her puffy lips. Groaning into her mouth as she melded to him, he encircled her tighter within his arms as she wrapped her legs around his waist. In broad daylight even though it was still early, he re-boarded the crazy train.

  From what he could tell, she wasn’t far behind. He sucked her bottom lip, his hard-line unraveling the stiffer he got in his jeans. Harder still as he recalled the way she sucked his cock with her amazing mouth last night.

  When she straightened in his arms, he clenched his jaw, rubbing his hands down to her ass cheeks for one last squeeze.

  Lowering her legs, he grunted, “I’ll see you later.” He wasn’t ready to release her. The feeling of having his chest ripped open with a spoon couldn’t have been worse when she stepped back from him.

  “Later, baby.” She blew him a kiss, pushing open the gate of the white picket fence that ran across the front of her mom’s house, separating the sidewalk from a large colorful garden.

  The Kincaids had lived there for as long as he’d known Sommer. He could find his way here blindfolded. Or on horseback in the dark. Lingering by the fence, he rubbed his thumb along the top of the rail as she walked under an arbor entwined in blooming red roses. Bees buzzed, hovering over the sunflowers as birds chirped, flying amongst the feeders in the maple and oak trees. The yard wasn’t groomed as it had been in the past. It ran wild and willful in colors, scents, movement like Sommer.

  Years back,
her dad divorced her mom. Frank Kincaid remarried and lived over in Clarkesville now, with his new wife and her kids. From what Sommer relayed and what he observed, she didn’t get to see her dad often. Seemed like the man left and closed the door on his past and it was a point of contention to Rory, one he didn’t speculate on aloud.

  His baby waved when she got to her front door and he nodded, tipping his hat. What he’d give to marry her. Instead of the inking on his arm, he should’ve had her tattoo that sentiment on his skin.

  Inside his truck, he pulled away from the curb and reached for his cell phone, pressing the auto dial for his dad. “Any chance, you got a second?” he asked when his father answered.

  “Where are you at?”

  “I’m on my way back now.” Before his dad could say another word, he added, “I want to talk to you and Momma.”

  “Son, anything happen last night that I should know about? You didn’t make it back home from what I saw.”

  “Nothing except that I’m ready to discuss what I need to do to acquire my share of Evermore.”

  Silence on the other end, then his dad spoke up, “Yep. I guess this day has been a long time coming. I’ll see what your momma’s up to this morning. I think she’s out in the garden with Miss Louisa. You come on home and we’ll talk.”

  Before going home, he returned to Brandon’s house and stripped the bedding off the mattress, and loaded them in the washer. He’d come back and make up the bed later. Not that he was aiming to hide the fact he’d spent the night there. Just didn’t want his brother or Mia to be put out.

  By the time he pulled into a parking spot next to the barn, the crews were already there. A cattle drive was underway, or had been since last week. Now came the time to vaccinate and decide which head were to be sold off and which were going to be bred. Fall breeding wasn’t as busy as the spring, but still it wasn’t a point for slacking off.

  Arriving back at the ranch after seven in the morning got him noticed, starting with the unwavering stare of his older brother.

  “Morning.” Rory pulled on his leather gloves, ready to deal with his horse from hell. Rebellion had brought in some hefty stud fees, but in the beginning that stallion had nearabout kicked the shit out of him. More often than not, Rebellion sported a foul mood, mirroring his own. It had taken countless falls, bites, and a fuckton of patience, but Rory had gotten an education. It was never about breaking a horse, it was about building trust.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Stephen said, coming out of the barn with a coil of rope looped over his shoulder.

  “I had an errand to run. But brother, you aren’t my keeper.”

  “Nor would I want to be.” Stephen grinned.

  “Toss me the rope and I’ll tend to Rebellion. You’re free to find someone else to ride for a change.”

  Stephen heaved the coil in his direction. “You late to deal with Rebellion have anything to do you with you being over at Brandon’s? All of last night?”

  With a grunt, he caught the rope and clenched his jaw. “Don’t start on me.”

  Stephen peered over the rim of his sunglasses. “It’s my job. Just do right by Sommer, you hear? No screwing around on her.”

  “I wouldn’t ever do that to her,” he replied curtly, readjusting the coil of rope on his shoulder. “In case you forgot, I’m not a two-timing prick.”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything.” His brother’s eyebrows shot up. A moment of silence expanded between them and Stephen appeared to be weighing his words. “You need to talk ’bout anything?”

  Rebellion was out in the pen, not inside within a stall thanks to his brother. Few people opted to exercise a horse from hell. Stephen was actually covering him.

  “Maybe.” With less bite, he added, “But it isn’t about what you’re probably thinking.”

  “Then what?” Stephen walked over to the pen where Rebellion stomped and snorted.

  Not exactly the epitome of a prized stallion this morning. He reared up, impatient to be exercised and attended. Shaking his silvery mane, Rebellion pranced along the fence rail. If a horse could deliver a dirty look, the expression Rebel wore came close. Unlike Tribute, his first quarter horse except in color.

  “What’d you have to do to get your piece of land? Anything special?”

  “Whoa.” Stephen laughed low, drawing his sunglasses lower on the bridge of his nose. “You wanting to move out and get your own place?”

  “Either here. Or in town until I can work out the logistics.”

  “You’re of age, so I doubt there will be an argument. Mom and Dad will just want to talk. The parcel is already decided. Sometimes, there are options. Not for Matt or me. Brandon got a choice because of the ranch acquiring more land. Miller also got a choice because he had no intention of building. There’s no test. You’re in by virtue of being a McLemore.

  “That’s it?” he asked, knotting the end of the rope.

  “Yep. Looks like another McLemore is ready to stake his claim.”

  “I’m more than ready.” He bumped his brother’s fist and ended up getting a hard thump on his shoulder.

  Stephen chuckled heartily. “When are you figuring on talking to the folks?”

  “I’ll see to this ornery horse then I need a few minutes to speak with Dad and Mom. Can you cover me?”

  “Never a question. Besides, today isn’t going to be crazy. The cattle are being vaccinated by Matt with Carolina acting as ranch vet from the safety of their home. Brandon is going to be here in a few minutes.”

  Rory exhaled, “Shit.”

  “Something happen?”

  “I’ve got some laundry in the washer over at his place.”

  “Laundry?” Stephen repeated like the concept was farfetched.

  “Bedding,” he said.

  “Simmer down. Dad’s already been by once. Better that he get a load of you here. I’ll go and deal with it. And for Pete’s sake, don’t disregard what I said earlier ‘bout Ms. Kincaid.”

  Opening the side door to the only home Rory had ever known, the sensation was slightly stifling, as though the walls were closing in.

  Inside the mudroom, he removed his dirt-caked boots. Instead of changing shoes, he peeled off his muddy jeans and shirt, then headed up the backstairs. He showered rapidly, then dressed in clean work clothes. No time to shave. On a day like today that included sweating buckets from a blazing sun overhead, it was easier to keep the scruff rather than deal with razor burn.

  Rory was back downstairs in less than ten minutes, and approached the beehive of the house: the kitchen. Sure enough, Momma and Miss Louisa were inside, already working on lunch. He’d thought that his brother and Mia would spend the Labor Day in Dallas. They must be headed back home for the cookout his parents were hosting tonight. It was more for the married folks, family and friends who would join his parents. His unmarried cousins and his single uncle ventured into town, or over to Clarkesville or Paris for the night.

  “Morning Momma. Miss Louisa,” he said, coming into the kitchen and snagging a biscuit.

  “Rory, you want some breakfast?” Miss Louisa inquired.

  “No, ma’am,” he answered and meandered to the counter as his mother looked up over her glasses from a recipe card. He asked her, “What are you all making?”

  “More like arguing,” she huffed. His mom and Miss Louisa ran the kitchen and frequently tussled over whose recipe won out.

  “Only ‘cause your Momma is stubborn,” Miss Louisa quipped with a smile. “Since we have all the ingredients for my peach cobbler, we should just make my version.”

  “Son, which one do you prefer,” his mom asked with a sly grin.

  Miss Louisa opened up a cabinet then headed for the stove. She started up the burner, placing an iron skillet on the flame. His mother was already at the refrigerator, bringing out a wire basket of eggs.

  They were up to their usual tricks, soliciting support that would shame a poli
tician. With years of experience, he’d acquired watching his father in a similar predicament, he offered, “I like both versions.” Turning his back on both of their expectant expressions, he poured a cup of coffee and hid his smirk. He’d miss their banter, but it was time. He turned around just as his mother cracked an egg into a bowl and Miss Louisa poured a glass of juice. “Why not settle this with a coin toss? Or a compromise.” He shrugged, sipping his coffee, and hoped they had better luck than he’d had lately.

  “C’mon. Your breakfast is almost ready,” Miss Louisa remarked.

  “But—” he started to say.

  “Hush, Rory,” his mom replied and turned to Miss Louisa. “A compromise. Your cobbler and my lima bean casserole.”

  “Sarah, you drive a hard bargain.”

  “Likewise, Louisa.”

  The side door slammed and he heard the distinctive sound of his father’s footsteps traveling down the hall. Dad cleared the doorway, his face turned toward his mom. Her cheeks slightly colored and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. He’d seen that look all of his life.

  He wanted to see that same look overtake Sommer’s features when he entered the kitchen—in his and Sommer’s house.

  Dad nodded to him and went over to the table, a folder in his hand. His father sat down and Momma joined him, rubbing her knuckle against his shoulder as she sat. Usually she held court at one end of the table, but right now it was just the four of them here. Rory took a seat across from his parents at the table.

  Miss Louisa set a plate in front of him loaded with eggs, toast, and hash browns. “No bacon. Bad for cholesterol.”

  “This is more than I’d bargained for. Thank you,” he said, picking up his fork. Yeah, things were changing around here, and no way to stall time.

  His dad removed a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and opened the folder. A folder Rory noticed was labeled with his name. Inside were neat stacks of papers. Legal documents. The first stack resembled a will from the looks of the top page. His father flipped through the stacks below, then stopped and removed a folded document.