We hop out and he bounds to the back of the Jeep while I survey the mountainous landscape.
“You’re going to love this,” he says, slinging a backpack over his shoulder.
“Hopefully,” I say with a smile.
He does the most wonderful thing—he offers me his hand, palm up. According to statistics, this means you’re deeply attracted to someone. Swoon.
—-
Seems I lost my positive attitude somewhere between the uphill two-mile hike and quicksand riverbed. This blows. I was tired before we reached the boulders and now, watching him scale and stand astride a large rock, I’m exhausted.
And gassy. Like shifting these rocks into a new tectonic plate formation kind of gassy. Ugh. Why did I eat all those eggs? Seriously, could my dating capabilities be any worse? There’s no way I’m getting up there and putting my butt in his face.
Luckily, I’ve learned the art of flattering appreciation can replace an awful lot of actual doing on my part.
“I think I want to watch you do it a few more times before I try,” I call up to him, wishing it weren’t so quiet here among the pines, so I could release some of this excess air from my body. “You’re a master at this stuff.”
He gives me a thumbs-up. It’s truly impressive what he’s doing. Kind of like games of pool at a biker picnic, I never realized how mathematical rock climbing is. But I failed high school geometry twice, and therefore neither activity is for me.
After conquering yet another boulder foe, he yells, “Rocks are a little tricky to grasp today. I think you should just watch.”
“Fantastic idea. I enjoy watching.”
One thing I learned from SuperExBoyfriend at least, was not to kill myself being someone I’m not, so I focus on the two things I am qualified for: putting chalk on my Boulder boulder-er’s hands, and taking surreptitious pics of his ass for Charlotte.
Four
My bad boy has a boo-boo. Blood oozes from Jesus, plopping a drop of scarlet onto the boulder by my feet, and I’m going to hell. I ask Tattoo Jesus to forgive my selfishness, because I should feel sorrier for Dune, but honestly, it gets me out of doing anything that could cause a far worse boo-boo.
“I think you might need stitches.” A bunch of them.
“It’s just a scratch,” he says. “A flesh wound.”
“It is not a flesh wound. This is some Black Knight Monty Python shit right here.”
“I can’t even feel it.” The look on his face says otherwise.
“Well, I don’t like seeing it.” Woozy, I point to the ground. “Come down here.”
“What’s the magic word?”
“Please.”
He smirks, but to my relief, obeys. “Now what?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur. “Hospital?”
“No way,” he says. “You need to chill.”
Jesus is weeping blood, and what I need is either a tourniquet, or an old priest and a young priest. Our dirt-stained shirts, from scooting around on boulders, are potential germ factories, so I reach inside my tank and sacrifice my bra. Ugh, it’s my good one, but Jesus made far greater sacrifices than a fifty-dollar La Perla bra. “Want to see some real magic? Watch this.” Like a magician, I unhook and slip the delicate fabric out of the armholes without having to remove my top.
“Ta-da.” This isn’t how I envisioned him seeing it when I put it on this morning, but a gaping wound trumps seduction.
“Damn,” he says. “Virginal white. Girls think white is boring, but it’s so fucking hot.”
“Cover your ears, Jesus,” I say as I wrap my bra around his arm. Hopefully Dune is too delirious to notice the padding that gave my breasts extra oomph.
Once it’s secured, I’m impressed with my handiwork. “Hopefully the titty tourniquet stops the bleeding.”
He laughs, and this is no time to laugh. “You’re funny,” he says.
What I am is scared...and still gassy. I could blow us back to the Jeep. TMI, I know.
“Let’s go,” I direct him.
Adrenaline powers my feet back to the miles-away vehicle.
“I’ll drive,” I say when we reach the Jeep. “Just in case you feel faint.”
“I’m really okay,” he says, but gets in on the passenger side and hands me the keys.
I peel out of the loose gravel as he sets the GPS on his phone to guide me.
“If you won’t go to the emergency room, I’ll take you to my place and bandage it. My roommate is a chef and has these special butterfly Band-Aids for when he slices himself. He says they’re as good as stitches.”
His pale face whips to me. “Your roommate is a guy?”
“Yeah. I just moved in a few months ago.” There’s an odd tension in the air that I feel the need to dispel. “He has a girlfriend.”
“Ah, okay.” He relaxes back against the seat and closes his eyes. Traffic is light and I make it to my house in under an hour. To my dismay, Austin and Lucy’s cars are in the drive. Bright side, my gas is gone. There is always something to be thankful for, as Granny Mae says.
Dune follows me up the cobblestone path and inside where Austin and Lucy are nowhere to be seen. Probably napping together.
“Let’s go to my room.” I make a pit stop at the hallway bathroom to collect peroxide, cotton balls, and the special bandages, and hurry him to my bedroom before Lucy and Austin appear to make criminal accusations.
“Have a seat.” I close the door.
“Cute room,” he says, taking in the colorful pottery arranged on a shelf draped in twinkle lights behind the bed.
“We can tour later. Sit.”
“You’re sexy taking care of me,” he says, plopping on the edge of the bed.
I toss my supplies beside him. “You’re always sexy.”
“Yeah?” He traces a finger along the hem of my shorts.
“So sexy,” I whisper.
But this is not the time to flirt. He’s bleeding to death. “Let me wash my hands.” I disappear into the en-suite bathroom for a quick scrub and a toot and fly back. “Okay, your nurse is here and ready to mend you.” I step between his spread legs. “Be a good patient.”
“I see your nipples,” he rasps. “You have great tits. Full and bouncy.” He palms them. “Are you a naughty nurse?”
“Yeah,” someone that is not me screams out. “Oh, yeah. Yes. Yes. Yesssssssss.”
Dune releases my breasts. No way. Rapid squeaking confirms what I hoped wasn’t happening is happening.
Austin and Lucy are banging across the hall.
Horrified, my wide eyes lock with Dune’s as I untie the blood-stained bra. “Looks like it stopped bleeding. Does it hurt?”
A husky groan assaults my ears, followed by a high-pitched squeal. “Yesss. Yesss. Ooo. Uh-huh. Yessss.”
Weird doesn’t describe that we can hear them, or that it seems Lucy is answering my questions, but I roll with it and dab at the drying blood with a peroxide-soaked cotton ball.
“To answer your question, it doesn’t hurt,” Dune says.
“Good. I’m trying to be gentle.” Unlike Austin, who is banging the headboard against the wall like he’s trying to renovate the house.
This is the first experience I’ve had of their sex shenanigans since I moved in, and I don’t like it. Explicit audio isn’t a reality I was prepared to hear. I want to stuff these cotton balls in my ears. Logically, I know it’s taking place between them since they’re a couple, but out of sight, out of mind. An image of a naked Austin, thrusting into Lucy, replaces the damage to Jesus I’m trying to repair. Judging by the increase of squeaking, he’s thrusting like a maniac.
“I think a squeal is coming soon,” says Dune.
On cue, Lucy yelps. I giggle. She lets out another yelp of pleasure and unwanted jealousy sparks.
With gentle fingers, I cover Jesus with an oversized butterfly Band-Aid so he can’t see the sinful fire of envy blazing throughout my body. “All done.”
Dune fists the hem of my tank an
d tugs me toward him. Nose to nose, he says, “We’ve gotta go to my place next time.”
“What would we do at your place?” I ask, hoping to instigate a one-upping contest by banging Dune.
“Not that.” He flips me onto the bed and braces on his good arm. “He’s doing it all wrong. You’d come much faster than she will.”
“Well, that’s a mighty big statement.”
“So is this.” He grinds into me and one-upping vanishes from my mind. “I need to kiss you.”
“Then kiss me,” I urge. Not under the best of circumstances, but I want it now. With the luck I’ve had so far, date three may never happen.
Anticipation is a gut-twisting emotion. Is he going to do it or not? Blood rushes in my ears, drowning out the sounds coming from across the hall. Briefly.
“Please,” more porn star moans, “do it, you wild animal,” Lucy yells amidst the creaks. “Do it.” Long groan that borders on exaggerated. “Do ittttttt.”
“God, could he just do it already? Her dirty talk is fucking boring,” Dune says, catapulting into keeper status.
“Back to that kiss,” I remind him so I can forget what’s happening in Austin’s bedroom.
He wets his lips and hovers his mouth over mine before finally giving me a taste of his lip ring. Unf. It’s a soul-searing kiss that erases my mind of anything except the way our tongues circle in a head-spinning tangle.
Within minutes, it escalates into no-turning-back territory when he tears his lips from mine to suck a path down my neck and across my collarbone. “I need to be inside you.”
Date two was not the planned time for this. I don’t even have the good undies on. But this is my authentic self, dammit, in mismatched cotton and lace. The internet gurus will disown and ban me from the inter webs for having sex so soon. There must be some caveat when it involves a bad boy. Everyone knows bad boys cause rash decisions and are irresistible. It’s the law of the universe, therefore, excusable.
His fingers find their way inside my panties to tease my seam, while Lucy hoots and hollers about a sexy beast.
“Seriously, I couldn’t handle that,” he says, working me into a frenzy with his hand. “How is he okay with that?”
“You like dirty talk?”
“Oh, yeah.” He rocks into me, hard and thick. “Why don’t you give me some.”
I’ll do anything to drown out Lucy. I attempt it, although I’m not sure how, “Oh yeah, you like that big dude? Big boy,” I say louder than necessary. That seemed pretty good. “Big boy! Do you like that, big boy?”
He halts his fingers. Oh God. He’s not impressed.
“Yeah, um, my mom calls me that. You’re going to have to stop that immediately.”
His directness is goals.
I make another attempt. “Maybe I need a spreadsheet filled with dirty talk words.” I’m onto something, because his dark eyes flare. “I’d make a column just for your cock.”
“That’s it, dirty girl. You’d need eight rows to fit me.” He groans, circling my clit. “Insert a column for your pussy.”
I’m still processing the eight inches, but this is hotter than expected. Lucy’s theatrics can’t stop me.
“I’d add another column for how fast you make me come. A column full of numbers.” I suck his earlobe into my mouth. “What do you think the first number will be?” He moans when I whisper, “Three?”
In a flash, Dune stands and removes my shorts. “Maximum three minutes to make you come.” His chest rises and falls at a rapid pace, while he retrieves a condom from his wallet. “Bet me.”
“You’re on.” Brazen, I discard my shirt.
He leans down and sucks on one nipple, and then the other. “You’re going to lose this bet.”
“Well, wait. What are we betting?”
“Mystery prize,” he says. “When I win, I’ll think of what I want. Right now, I’m too fucking horny.”
Same, bad boy, same. I prop on my elbows as he undresses, so I miss nothing. Lean muscles ripple as he tosses clothing aside, piece by piece. A wolf stares at me from his left pec, and I wrench my gaze from its silvery eyes and black fur to admire the chiseled abs and etched v leading straight to…a pierced cock.
“Whoa, what’s that?” I ask about the silver barbell protruding from the head of his penis.
“Prince Albert.” He glides his hand up and down the thick length. “You’ll still feel it with the condom but one day I want to fuck you bare.”
“I’m almost there,” Lucy screams. “You’re a king.”
Praise be. Never thought I’d ever wish Austin would make her orgasm. Who cares if he’s a king? I’m about to experience Prince Albert.
“You realize three minutes is only one-hundred eighty seconds,” I taunt.
With hooded eyes, he captures my bottom lip with his teeth. “Your dirty talk is killing me,” he growls.
No more dirty talk takes place because he devours my mouth, and slides the tip of his cock in, so slowly I might die before he reaches full capacity.
“Your pussy is so hot.” He stills and his dick twitches inside me. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
And then it’s on. He pumps, grinds, rams, working his piercing against my g-spot and it’s all too much. Too good. Every electrified nerve tingles and when he rakes his teeth over the lip ring, the warmth building low in my belly explodes all the way to my nipples.
“Holy Sweet Tattoo Jesus,” I cry out.
“Yeah, keep coming,” he says. “I feel you coming.”
There are no squealing yelps or exaggerated moans, just exquisite feels. All the feels as he thrusts through my orgasm until his body shudders and he releases with a gorgeous arc of his body.
“Damn, Chloe. That was…” He pants. “That was amazing. I think I broke my dick coming.”
That’s how I roll. Who’s boring? Not this girl.
Five
Goat yoga with Charlotte is as ridiculous as I thought it would be, and thrice as smelly. Animal odors from the vast farm waft into the barn where miniature goats trounce their little hooves amongst the women snapping photos.
“This is the easiest workout I’ve ever attempted,” Charlotte says, extending a long leg behind her, “but let’s never do it again.”
I laugh. “You don’t enjoy having your fingers chomped on?”
Her chocolate eyes slide over to me. “By Mr. Charlotte-to-be, yes. Furry animals, no.”
Heather, our laid-back instructor, leads us into a downward dog position. “Keep awareness of your center,” she says. “Breathe in positivity, and release negative energy into the outer realms of the universe.”
Easy for her to say, difficult for me to do. Carl, my salt and pepper sort-of friend, has taken a shine to me in a passive-aggressive way. Bounding up to nuzzle my arm before kicking me. Goat shenanigans won’t deter me, because I need to release as much lingering negativity from the sex fiasco as possible. My lungs fill with air and I let it out in a long exhale.
“Focus on your third eye,” Heather says. “Let your baby goat put you in a cheerful place.”
As I envision myself a cyclops, Carl climbs onto my back and lovingly deposits a turd before vaulting off to nip my nose.
“Thanks, Carl,” I mutter. Just like a man, it’s hard to stay annoyed when he’s so darn cute. That thinking will be my downfall.
“Oops. Sorry, let me get that off of you.” A smiling employee, in charge of keeping the area sanitized, promptly reaches in to remove the unexpected gift and offers me a free T-shirt.
“To think, you were on the waitlist a month for that,” Charlotte says. “Next time, yoga with cats.”
“It’s not that bad,” Positive Me says.
We muddle through a few more poses, but no one here is interested in the physical and that’s a good thing because concentrating is an impossible feat thanks to Carl’s shrill bleat—an uncanny impression of Lucy’s sex sounds.
All week, I’ve done my best to forget the traumatic incident
by avoiding Lucy and Austin, and this is not helping. Since everyone is snapping pictures, I take one of me and Carl and send it over to Dune.
That goat looks like he wants to kill you, is his reply. A few seconds later, he sends another message. My brothers think they should call you Kid.
Carl shrieks and I agree with his assessment. I don’t want to offend the brotherhood, but no?
He then sends me a list of better names.
Things To Call Chloe Besides Kid:
Wild Pussy
Sweet Pussy
My Pussy
Nosy Carl bites my fingers as I type back, I like yours much better. I’ll put them in my...spreadsheet.
Mm, can’t wait to see the data. Gotta ride.
“You’re blushing,” Charlotte says as I stash my phone into the provided container so Carl can’t eat it. “When are you seeing Dune again?”
“He’s out of town at a motorcycle rally. Maybe when he gets back?”
I’ll admit, I can’t wait to see him again. He’s like having one chip; you just can’t. If he can do that in three minutes with a bad arm, I can only imagine what it will be like with two good ones. We haven’t made any future plans, and I unburden my worries about Lucy’s claim that we’re an odd couple while a tan goat licks Charlotte’s caramel skin like candy.
Carl ambles closer and shrieks an inch from my face. “Please stop. You’re reminding me of Lucy.”
Charlotte’s head whips to me. “Lucy? Spill the tea.”
Big brown baby goat eyes judge me as I move into a plank position.
“So, confession,” I say as another goat wanders up to nibble Charlotte’s curls. “Dune and I, ya know, kinda heard Austin and Lucy.”
“That’s the vaguest confession in the history of confessions,” she says, resting her elbows on the mat.
Everyone in the barn is preoccupied with baby goat photo ops, so I whisper the details of what happened in my room.
Charlotte beams. “Wow. A piercing? I did good, huh?”
“You did. The attraction is powerful.”
“That’s not surprising. Just remember, you may need to be okay with no-strings-attached sex. And that’s fine. This is your daring phase.”
Summer Rebound (Dating Season Book 2) Page 3
