Rough Ride: A Small Town Bad Boy Romance

by Cass Kincaid

  She feels even better than I remember, if that’s possible. I thrust into her, watching in fascination as her eyes squint each time I dive in, and her breath lets go each time I pull back. She’s so tight, so wet...so fucking perfect.

  “Jesus,” I huff, raising one hand against the wall above her head to steady myself, the other still gripping her hip firmly, guiding her to me. Izzy meets each thrust of my hips with a roll of her own, and I quicken my pace.

  She’s mine. The words tumble around in my head on a continuous loop as I pound into her, one deep thrust after another. She’s fucking mine. And right now, she is. I own her, every creamy, sweat-glistened inch of her. I fill her completely, unfazed by the rhythmic knocking sound as I slam her back against the wall, or the sinful, muffled whimpers falling from her lips with the pleasure and pain of it all.

  I lean forward, using my nose to push her shirt out of the way again, finding her breast with my mouth and sucking hard on her nipple.

  “Oh!”

  I pull my head back, not once breaking the rhythm as my hips crash against hers.

  My eyes are locked on hers. “I told you...not to talk.” I can barely speak with the exertion of my movements, but she knows she’s made a grave mistake.

  I don’t hold back, fucking Izzy harder and faster, a relentless, rhythmic bid for release. Hers and my own.

  Izzy’s bottom lip is secured between her teeth, each sound she makes trapped on her tongue. But her eyes are widening. She can feel my cock twitching within her, my body reaching its breaking point. The tight clenching of her muscles and the biting sting of her fingernails, even through my t-shirt, tells me everything I need to know.

  “Izzy.” The command in my voice is clear. Her eyes are fluttering and heavy-lidded as she meets my intense gaze again. “Izzy, come with me, baby.”

  A few more powerful thrusts and both Isabelle and I crash together like a relentless storm, thunder and lightning scorching us from the inside out, our hearts pounding so hard and so fast I can feel hers against my own chest. “Fuck, Izzy, I love you.” The words tumble from my lips, against her ear in a fevered sigh as I slow my movements, planting soft kisses against the damp skin just below her ear.

  Chapter Three

  Isabelle

  I’m still breathing hard, trying to calm myself. The color in my cheeks burns, and not just from the inferno Jace has ignited inside me.

  He lowers me down onto my feet, refusing to let go until I’m steady enough to stand on my own. I’m shaky and fatigued, but fuck, by the looks of it, that makes two of us.

  “Izzy, you—”

  “Don’t.” The word comes out harsh, and it should. Because I mean it. The weight of what I’ve just done, with Jace, is collapsing the walls around me, and I suddenly feel trapped and claustrophobic.

  I hate Jace Andrews. And I’ve spent three years building up that hate so that I could blast it at him the first opportune moment I got.

  Yet, within half an hour of seeing his sultry gaze and muscled physique barely contained under his t-shirt, he’s got me half naked, pinned up against my employer’s bathroom wall, and he’s buried so deep inside me I can’t tell where he ends and I begin.

  Jesus Christ, what’s gotten into me?

  “Don’t what?” He looks confused as he pulls his jeans back up, buckling his belt. “You’ve missed me, too, Izzy.”

  I scramble for my clothes, feeling more exposed and vulnerable than I’ve ever felt in my life. “Don’t,” I repeat, doing up my jeans. “Don’t call me Izzy.” I turn to glare at him, my eyes still burning, but no longer with only desire. Anger smolders there, too. Anger at him, but also at myself.

  “C’mon, Izzy—” He reaches out to touch my face as I pull my shirt and bra back in place, but I bat him away.

  “I said don’t!” I hiss, fighting for the wherewithal to keep my voice down. “Don’t call me that! Don’t touch me! And don’t say...that!” I can’t even bring myself to repeat what he whispered to me only moments before.

  Damn him!

  Jace has his hands up in the air now, feigning surrender. “Isabelle,” he says evenly, enunciating each syllable. “We need to talk about—”

  “We need to do nothing.” My tone is clipped. I can barely look him in the eye, smoothing my hair out. “This was a mistake. It never should’ve happened.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “You would,” I grit out, finally bringing my gaze up to meet his. “You shouldn’t have come here, Jace. You should’ve never come back.”

  He’s still standing there as though I’ve slapped him when I unlock the door and slip silently from the room.

  Emily is blowing up my phone. She has been for the past two hours. I haven't been able to bring myself to answer her calls or texts. She's already asked about Jace in three of her five texts, and I know that the moment she hears even the slightest waver in my voice, she'll know damn well something happened between us. I'm just not mentally prepared to admit the truth yet.

  Not to her, and not to myself.

  I just had sex with my ex-boyfriend in the bathroom of my workplace. Mind-blowing, intense sex. It doesn’t seem real.

  And it sure as hell isn’t right. The biggest problem is that it’s not even the amazing sex that’s bothering me now.

  Fuck, Izzy, I love you. The words had come from his lips with so much conviction, like he had the fucking right to speak them. I can still hear his voice as it caresses my ears, just as I can still feel the ghost of his touch on my skin.

  Showering, standing under the hottest water I could handle and scrubbing my body until it stung, hadn’t helped.

  “Damn you,” I mutter to no one. The house I rent from old Addie Phillips is empty except for me and Lucy, my black cat. Lucy glances at me with narrowed eyes from across the room, where she’s perched on the back of the couch, basking in the sunlight streaming through the window, glaring at me like I’ve just interrupted her by speaking out loud.

  “Sorry,” I say to the cat. I turn back toward the kitchen, intent on brewing a pot of coffee. One quick glance at the clock reminds me that it’s almost four o’clock.

  To hell with this.

  I pull the fridge open and grab a beer instead. “It’s fucking five o’clock somewhere,” I mumble as I twist the top off, casting a quick glance back toward Lucy. Sure enough, she’s glaring at me.

  “Oh, stop it. I own you, you don’t own me,” I remind her. We both know how untrue that statement is.

  My phone suddenly lights up on the counter, and I roll my eyes as I take a long pull from the bottle. I know it’s Emily again before I even see her name on the display. “You’re persistent, if nothing else,” I greet her.

  “You can’t hide from me,” she replies. “If it went to voicemail, I was coming over there. I have a key, remember?”

  “Remind me to take that away from you.”

  “Remind me to hide the fucking thing before you get the chance,” she chuckles. “Now, why are you avoiding me?”

  “I’m not. I’m just tired.”

  “Bullshit,” she replies simply. “What happened? You two get into a scrap? You know if you don’t tell me, all I have to do is go into Edna’s and someone will tell me what went on. There’s always an audience here in Brooksville.”

  Oh God, I hope not. “Did you get your car back?” I ask.

  “Yes, and I’ll drive it over there in two seconds if you don’t spill whatever it is you’re trying to avoid saying. Christ, it’s not like you did him on the countertop or something.”

  Fuck. “Close enough,” I admit with a defeated sigh.

  “Pardon?” That’s got her interest piqued.

  “I had sex with him, Em—”

  “Jesus! Where?”

  “Ladies’ bathroom?” I reply weakly, like I’m not sure it really happened. But, it did. It really happened.

  There’s a pause of silence on the other end. “Holy shit,” she says finally. “You and Jace...in the public
bathroom at Edna’s? Holy fucking shit, Izzy. That’s bold, even for you.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the alcohol to flood my veins faster. “I really don’t want to talk—”

  “I thought you hated him?” Emily blurts out.

  “I do,” I snap, feeling suddenly cornered. “Believe me, I do. But he started saying these things, and then he touched me...I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Damn, girl.” I can practically hear her smiling. “That’s pretty hot, you know.”

  “It was pretty something. Not to mention a big freaking mistake.”

  “Amazing?” she asks. “Tell me it was at least amazing. Got to be worth the inner turmoil I can hear in your voice now.”

  “It was incredible,” I say, far too quickly.

  “Damn.” Emily sounds like she’s living vicariously through me. That’s not weird at all.

  “Yeah.” I clear my throat, downing another mouthful of beer. “So, did you call just for the juicy details, or was there something you actually had to say?”

  “Oh, I haven’t even begun to ask for details, Izzy.” Again, she’s grinning; I know it. “But you can tell me in a couple hours.”

  “What’s in a couple hours?”

  “I’m picking you up in my car—you know, the one that’s no longer howling like a goddamn banshee—and we’re going to Tonk’s. Live band, cheap beer.”

  “No way.” I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “I’ve got a beer in my hand now, and I just want to stay here where it’s quiet. Besides, this house is pure organized chaos.” I glance around the room again, sighing. At least, I'm telling myself it's organized. Maybe it's just fucking chaos. “I'm staying home tonight, Em.”

  “So you can replay sexy time with Jace in your head over and over all night? I’m not letting you torture yourself like that. Get your ass into some tight jeans and wear that low-cut purple halter top you bought last time we went into the city. We’re going to dance and drink away the mere thought of Jace fucking Andrews, Izzy.”

  “Sounds like you’re telling me, not asking.”

  “See, you’re such a smart girl. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  “Em, I don’t—”

  Too late. She’s already ended the call. I stare at the bottle in my hand. Well, it looks like this isn’t the only one of these I’ll be having tonight.

  Chapter Four

  Jace

  In a town as small as Brooksville, there’s only two things that are certain. The first is that almost everyone knows everyone else’s business. The second thing is that, whatever they don’t know, they make up.

  Even though Izzy’s been unwilling to talk to me for the three years I’ve been away, I’ve managed to keep tabs on her, hearing tidbits of information and gossip from my parents and the people from town who’d travelled to different rodeo events to watch me compete. I always asked about her, to make sure she was doing okay, but also in hopes that she’d find out I was still interested. I wanted her to know I still cared about her, even if she didn’t care about me.

  That also opened me up to hearing the stories and gossip that involved her, true or not. That's how I found out about her relationship with Chad Easton. I had been too cowardly to ask how serious the relationship was, but if the arched eyebrows and inability to meet my eyes were any indication, according to the people I talked to, it must have been pretty serious, especially for everyone to know about it. Not that word wouldn't have gotten around if it was merely a fling, but for it to have been brought up as many times as it was to me, Isabelle and Chad must have been a thing for a while. The last I heard of it was well over a year ago though, and I'd been sure to find out from Blake and Rodney when I got back into town that Izzy wasn't with anyone anymore.

  Which meant she was fair game, and that I still had a chance.

  And, damn it, I'd taken that chance earlier today. I won't lie, it wasn't my intention when I walked into that diner to send my friends away and get her alone in that bathroom. To say that it was a less-than-ideal spot to have her the way I did is an understatement. But, when I walked in and her eyes locked with mine, I knew I wasn't going to be able to wait. I'd craved Isabelle Thompson for far too long, and seeing her—Christ, she hadn't changed a bit. She was just as gorgeous as I remembered, if not even prettier than my mind had pictured her. She was still beautiful, still fiery, and still passionate as hell in everything she did.

  And if the passion and fury between us in that shabby-looking bathroom was any indication, she’d been craving me just as desperately as I've been craving her.

  Or had been, at least.

  Now, I'm not sure what to think. Isabelle wanted me in that moment just as badly as I wanted her. And though I don't think she'll even admit it to herself at this point, let alone to me or anyone else, I think that wanting that’s been smoldering within her for so long and finally ignited when we came together, that unbridled need that undid her at the slightest sensation of my touch...I think it scared the hell out of her.

  She hadn't been expecting it, having chosen to bury it deep within her and ignore it. And for the first time since she'd chosen to ignore it, to ignore how much she needed me, she'd been forced to face that desire, and she succumbed to it, too quickly and too completely.

  Now, she needs time. I know that, and I understand that, but it doesn't make it any easier when the only thing I want to do right now is drive over to that little house that Addie Phillips rented to her last year—Blake told me about it—and remind her once more just how fucking perfect we are together. There's so much we need to talk about, so damn much I need to tell her.

  But I can't overwhelm her anymore than I already have. Izzy is one of the strongest women I've ever known, and anyone else in this Podunk town will back me up on it. But she's also stubborn as hell, something that I've always loved about her, and she won't be forced into anything. That truth alone gives me hope that the fact that she gave herself to me so willingly earlier today means that there's a fighting chance of me winning her back.

  But Isabelle Thompson isn't someone who will be won unless she damn well wants to be.

  So, for now, all I can do is do what any self-respecting guy in his twenties does on a Friday night in this sleepy little town.

  Tonight, we drink.

  I don't plan on getting too rowdy or making a fool of myself like I once might have under the influence of one too many tequila shots, but the thought of chilling out at Tonk’s with the guys and listening to the country-rock band that Rodney was going on about today sounds like a pretty decent way to pass the time Izzy needs to come to the same conclusion I've already come to—that we're still meant to be together.

  So, I picked up Blake and Rodney and drove to Tonk’s bar, telling myself I'd only have one and I’d make sure that the rest of my buddies got home safe. I haven't been around in a long while, so it's the least I can do to let them have a night out and let loose knowing they'd have a ride home when the music ends and last call is unannounced.

  The band is good, I'll give them that. Anyone who can cover a Jason Aldean song that well is okay in my books. I've even managed to nurse the same Budweiser for the last hour without anyone giving me a hard time about needing another one. I've kept my ass plunked in this chair, pulled up to one of the tables in the far corner where I can watch the band play and amuse myself by watching everybody else get wasted while still being able to shoot the shit with the guys.

  And I’ve been having a pretty good time, too.

  Then, two things happen. First, I see Emily saunter through the door, followed closely by a very sexy-looking, very unsteady-on-her-feet Isabelle. The second thing that happens is I see Chad Easton on the other side of the room. I also see his eyebrows shoot up at the sight of Izzy, and a mischievous grin tugs at his mouth.

  I could ignore it. Hell, I should ignore it. Isabelle isn't mine.

  But she damn well isn't his, either.

  Which is exactly why I keep my eye on both of the
m, watching as both girls get themselves a beer at the bar and find their way onto the dance floor. I also watch as Chad pushes and excuses his way through the throngs of people toward her, his eyes set firmly on his target.

  I can tell immediately that the conversation between him and Isabelle isn't a welcomed one. At least, not to Izzy. She's drunk, a blind man could see that, but she's still adamantly trying to turn away from him, focusing her attention on Emily and the beer in her hand. Chad, however, seems to be either too buzzed to get the hint, or he's sober and just doesn't give a shit.

  Either way, I'm up and out of my chair the moment I see him reach out and grab her by the arm, whirling her around to face him. Izzy's pissed by this point, but her feeble attempt to push him away only results in her intoxicated body swaying dangerously, and Chad uses it to his benefit to pull her closer to him. Isabelle's slurred demand for him to let her go hits my ears just as I push by the last person standing in my way.

  “I said get your hands off me, Chad.” Izzy's voice is loud, and the people standing close by turn to stare, but I'm disgusted to see that nobody else steps up to help her out.

  “I think you’d better listen to the lady,” I pipe up. I don't reach out to pull Izzy toward me, but it's a damn strong urge I have coursing through my veins.

  Isabelle's eyes grow wide as she takes me in—she obviously hadn’t known I was here—but she doesn't say anything. Probably because she doesn't get the chance.

  Chad has already turned toward me, a wicked grin on his face as he recognizes me. “Well, well, well, if it isn't the fucking golden boy himself.” He might be in the mood to fight me, but at least he's wisely taken his hand off Izzy's arm.

  “I don't know about that,” I say through clenched teeth. “But I'm pretty sure Isabelle asked you to leave her be. I think you need to respect that.”

  “You do, do you?” Chad lets out a scornful laugh, looking around as though the other folks around us might find this idea as funny as he seems to. Thankfully, the crowd that's begun to huddle around us isn't seeing the humor, either. “That's the thing, he adds with a sneer. “I really don't give a shit what you think.”