Ride: A Bad Boy Romance

by Roxie Noir

  One week. In a week, I get to see her.

  I abandon the tractor and go make some plans.

  She calls me that night. I’m lying in my bed reading a book, but I keep having to read the same paragraph over and over again. I practically throw it across the trailer when my phone goes off with a video chat.

  I grin. I like our video chats.

  She’s sitting at her desk, using her laptop, wearing an oversized t-shirt. I hold mine over my head.

  “Hey,” she says.

  “You awake now?” I ask.

  “Finally, yeah,” she says. “Sorry I was out of it this morning.”

  “You’re coming to Vegas, though,” I say.

  “For work,” she says. Her blue eyes look steadily into the camera on her phone. She swallows. “I think we should figure something out.”

  “Like getting a suite at the Mandalay Bay?” I ask, grinning up at my phone.

  She frowns.

  “Sports Weekly put us at the Wynn,” she says.

  “Most of the cowboys are staying by the convention center,” I say. “Mandalay Bay is clear at the opposite end of the strip.”

  Comprehension breaks over her face slowly, and then she laughs.

  “So we’re not gonna run into anyone,” she says, her eyes sparkling.

  “No one at all,” I say. “I can even go full incognito and ditch the hat and the boots if I have to.”

  “What a sacrifice,” she teases.

  “I’ll barely know who I am anymore,” I say.

  “Do you even own regular shoes?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say.

  I think I do. If I don’t, I’ll get some.

  “With no boots, no hats, and a plaid shirt you’ll just look like some hipster,” Mae teases. “You’re a dime a dozen in Brooklyn.”

  “I know that’s not true,” I say.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t even bother going to Vegas,” she says, leaning forward in her chair.

  “I promise to make it worth your while,” I say. “The suite’s got a view of the strip. I splurged.”

  “That’s what you got a suite for?” she asks.

  Now she’s grinning wickedly and I’m getting hard, fast. She’s been working so much that I haven’t even spoken with her in four days and we haven’t had phone sex for longer than that.

  “The view of the city is a bonus,” I say. “It’s mostly so you can scream as loud as you want.”

  I stand up and move to my kitchen table. No, it’s not the ideal spot for jerking off, but it’s got the best video chat setup. I already said this trailer wasn’t fit for women.

  “I only scream as loud as you make me,” she says.

  Mae leans back and I can see her nipples poking at her t-shirt.

  “Then you’re gonna be screaming a lot,” I say.

  Her eyes slide to one side, and she pulls one leg onto her chair.

  “I know I said thanks for the gift,” she says slyly. “But I haven’t thanked you properly.”

  “What gift is that?” I ask.

  “The postcard,” she says. “So here goes: thank you for the postcard.”

  “Tease,” I say.

  “It’s a very nice postcard,” she says.

  Then she leans forward.

  “My roommates went out tonight,” she says.

  “So you’re alone there?” I ask.

  She nods, then blushes.

  “They kind of found out that we’re... having a thing, actually,” she says.

  “You told them?” I ask.

  “Well, we text each other fifty times a day,” Mae says. “Oh, and you mailed me a vibrator without telling me, and I opened it in front of them.”

  That honestly hadn’t occurred to me.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  “Well, now they know why I won’t give them the hot cowboy’s phone number,” she says.

  “Am I the hot cowboy?” I ask.

  She laughs.

  “Of course,” she says, laughing. “I had to listen to my friends talk about how hard they’d bang you when your article came out.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “The consensus was ‘pretty hard,’” she says.

  “They can get in line,” I say. I lean back against the wall of my gross trailer. “You like the present?”

  “I haven’t tried it yet,” she says. “It seemed impolite to send it on its maiden voyage by myself.”

  “I think maiden is the wrong term,” I say, and Mae giggles.

  She holds it up in front of the camera. It’s silicone, long and thick, phallic but not exactly shaped like a dick. Toward the base it’s got a branch that sticks out at an angle.

  The branch is for the clit. The reviews assured me it was very effective.

  “This is stupid,” I say. “But I’m a little jealous of that thing right now.”

  She lifts her eyebrows. The picture on the camera shakes a little, and then the view is her bed. In another second she’s on it, sideways, naked.

  “It gets to make you come tonight and I don’t,” I say.

  She rolls onto her side.

  “I don’t get wet riding the subway and thinking about the things I want to do to the vibrator,” she says, her voice low and confessional.

  I grin.

  “What do you think about when you ride the subway?” I ask.

  “Partly about work,” she says. “And partly about how much I miss wrapping my legs around you.”

  “I miss you wrapping your legs around me too,” I say. “And the noise you make when I kiss your neck.”

  “Take your shirt off,” she murmurs. “You’re sexy and I want to look at you.”

  I do it, and she smiles.

  “Do you want to know a secret?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “I had a dream about giving you a blowjob, and when I woke up I was so turned on I had to masturbate before I could go back to sleep,” she says.

  My cock strains at my pants, and for a moment I’m worried about the zipper. I slide my palm against my erection, breathing deep, trying to control myself.

  “I also had a dream about the next time I see you,” she says. “When I know I won’t be able to control myself for long, so I wear a skirt with no panties.”

  “And?” I ask.

  I undo my pants, breathing hard. I can see her look at it, and she rolls onto her back and takes her nipples in both hands.

  “And the second we’re alone, I get on top of you and ride your cock,” she says. “Wait, no. That’s not a dream, that’s a fantasy.”

  I grab the base of my cock and pull it out, then adjust the camera to make sure she can see it. I’m rock hard, practically on the verge of exploding. It doesn’t seem to matter how much I jerk off these days. I’m so frustrated that thirty minutes later, I’m hard again.

  Mae looks at it and smiles, and I give it one slow, hard stroke. Her eyes light up.

  “Do it again,” she says, and she slides a hand down her belly, over her hips, to her mound, her eyes still on me.

  God, I love how much she likes watching me.

  I stroke my cock again and groan. Her hand moves further down and starts moving. She sighs, tilting her head back and closing her eyes.

  It’s insanely sexy, and it’s almost physically painful that I’m not there. More than anything, I want her body beneath mine, writhing. Saying my name.

  She opens her eyes and looks at me.

  “I wish you were here,” she says, her fingers still circling her clit.

  “I wish I was there too,” I say. “You feel a whole lot better than my hand.”

  She moves and then the vibrator is in her hand. She turns it on and flicks her eyes to the screen, then moves it down her body touches it to one nipple.

  Mae squeals and then starts giggling.

  “Sorry,” she says. “That actually just tickles.”

  Then she moves it between her legs. She holds her breath and bites her lip, and touches i
t very carefully to herself. After a few seconds, she exhales, half-moaning as she circles her clit with the tip of the vibrator.

  “I haven’t had one of these in a while,” she says. “I forgot how fun they are.”

  “Now I am jealous,” I say.

  “Maybe you should be,” she says, rolling her hips again. “You don’t vibrate.”

  She bends one knee and tilts her body so she’s facing the camera just a little more, and then she looks at me through half-closed eyes.

  “What now?” she asks. “Your present, your show.”

  I take a deep breath and take my hand off my cock as my balls clench. I’m within seconds of firing.

  “Oh, come on,” Mae says, her voice low and breathy. “You’re getting to watch something good.”

  Goddamn.

  “Turn the vibration off,” I say.

  “You’re no fun.”

  “I thought it was my show,” I tell her.

  I grab the side of my kitchen table so I don’t put my hand back on my cock. Mae clicks the vibration off, but keeps sliding it along her clit in a circle.

  “Still feels good,” she says. Then she smiles and looks at me confessionally. “Jackson, I’m so horny everything feels good.”

  “Put it against your pussy and turn it on low,” I say. “Don’t touch your clit.”

  She does. I watch her toes curl as she moans, her hips rolling.

  “Don’t put it in,” I say.

  “Are you torturing me?” she asks.

  “Just a little,” I say.

  I’m leaking pre-cum like a faucet, and I just watch her, breathing hard as she rubs herself.

  “Do I ever get to put it in?” she finally asks.

  “Turn it off first,” I say. “And go slow.”

  She turns it off but plunges it halfway inside her with a long, loud moan.

  “I said slow,” I say.

  “I tried,” she gasps, as she pulls it out. “I can’t have you, I can’t have your vibrator...”

  This time she takes the whole thing, and as she does she arches her back again and groans, a long, low animal sound from somewhere deep in her throat.

  I put my hand on my cock again and swallow, hard, watching as she fucks herself. Her face is flushed bright red and her eyes are half-closed and watching me, on the screen.

  It takes a second before I realize she’s matching her rhythm to mine.

  “You’re pretending I’m fucking you,” I say.

  “What else am I gonna do with this?” she murmurs. “Of course I’m pretending it’s you. I’m pretending you’re here and you’ve got my knees over your shoulders like you did that first night.”

  “The night my cock made you nervous?”

  She laughs.

  “I got over that,” she says.

  She’s still fucking herself with the vibrator in the same rhythm I’m stroking my dick, and it’s a terrible substitute for actually getting to fuck her but it’s probably the second best thing.

  “Turn it on,” I say.

  She does.

  Her back arches and she squeezes her eyes shut, her other hand grabbing the bedspread in a fist.

  “Oh shit,” she gasps. “God, Jackson, I’m gonna come.”

  Now I’m matching my strokes to hers instead of the other way around as she works the vibrator, her whole body a vision of ecstasy. She’s moaning loud enough to wake up her neighbors for sure.

  “Jackson,” she gasps.

  I’m right on the brink, my entire cock pulsing as I watch her fuck herself. Thinking I’d give anything to be that vibrator right now.

  “I wish it was you inside me,” she whispers.

  I reach for the box of tissues on the table but it’s too late because I explode, every muscle contracting so hard I get jizz on the ceiling, and it just keeps coming.

  On my phone, Mae shouts, “God yes!” and then I can see the orgasm wracking through her body as her eyes slide shut. She arches her back and turns onto her side, her hand disappearing between her legs as she writhes, turning her face into her bedspread.

  “Oh my God, Jackson,” I hear her moan. Her whole body tenses one more time, and even though I’m finished I just watch her, enrapt.

  She finally turns to look at the camera, and I think she’s about to say something when she comes again, bringing her knees to her chest and then arching her back.

  It’s hot beyond words. I want to keep watching her come forever.

  Finally she’s on her side, panting for breath, and she takes the vibrator out, turns it off, and tosses it to the other side of her bed.

  I try to subtly clean up with a tissue. I feel like I’m thirteen again, because that’s the last time I made this big of a mess. I’m twenty-five, and I should probably be able to control myself.

  “I think I like the gift,” she says. She’s still lying on her side, legs half-curled in front of her, and now she’s pulled a pillow under her head.

  I walk across the trailer back to my bed, tucking myself back into my pants as I go.

  “I’m glad you like it,” I tease. “You’re not the one who’s got a complex now about being inferior to something with batteries.”

  “You’re impossible,” she says. “You made me come from two thousand miles away and you’re upset about it.”

  I flop onto my bed, turn onto my side, and grin.

  “I’m less upset now,” I say.

  I like talking to her like this, curled in our beds. In some tiny, stupid way it feels like we’re together, having pillow talk. For a few moments, we just lay there quietly, together, thousands of miles apart.

  “There’s something I didn’t tell you,” she says, suddenly.

  Anxiety wraps around my chest.

  She has a boyfriend. She’s married. She’s got cancer and has six months to live.

  “What is it?” I say, trying to sound as calm as possible.

  She reaches her hand out and taps a finger on her bedspread a few times before she finally speaks again.

  “I’ve been on the pill this whole time,” she says.

  Mae drops her eyes to her finger. It’s kind of adorable how awkward she is talking about sex except for when she’s talking dirty to me.

  I grin. Of course she’s been on the pill, because Mae’s nothing if not cautious.

  “You still want to ride me bareback,” I tease. I’m glad I just came, because otherwise I’d be rock-hard already.

  “I just wanted to discuss the possibility,” she says, her face slightly pink. “See how you felt about it, and talk about... logistics.”

  “I feel like I’d love to fuck you skin-to-skin,” I say. “And Lula-Mae, of all people, when you say you’re on the pill, I believe you.”

  “So you don’t think I’m trying to ensnare you with a secret baby so I can get your rodeo money,” she teases.

  “I don’t think you need a baby to snare me,” I say.

  Her fingers stop tapping. She looks at the camera, and suddenly my heart’s pounding in my chest.

  We text all day, we talk half the night, we send each other stupid postcards, and I want her so bad I can taste it, but I’ve never actually said anything to her. For starters, I have no idea what to say.

  There’s a long pause.

  “Good, because I don’t think that works all that well anyway,” she says.

  “You’d also be disappointed with rodeo money,” I tease.

  “Yeah, if I’m gonna have a baby to get someone’s money, I think I want a hockey player at least,” she says. “Or maybe soccer?”

  “We don’t have to talk about whose baby you’re going to have,” I offer.

  I try to sound light, but the thought of Mae with anyone else, even someone who doesn’t even exist, is unbearable.

  She laughs, and I frown.

  “First you’re jealous of a sex toy, and now you’re jealous of a hypothetical situation that’s not gonna happen,” she says.

  “I am not,” I say.

&n
bsp; “You’re making your jealous face,” she says.

  I have a jealous face?

  “Why would I be jealous?” I ask. “You didn’t just ask any of them if they’d bareback you.”

  “Well, technically, the vibrator already—”

  “I’m throwing that thing out a window,” I mock-growl.

  Mae laughs again.

  “If I get to see you in person I’m okay with that,” she says. “But look, there’s one more thing.”

  “You want me to get tested,” I say.

  “I think we should both get tested,” Mae says.

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “This isn’t my first rodeo,” she says. Then she grins. “Pun intended.”

  “I should demand to wear condoms just for that,” I say. “Puns are contagious.”

  She sticks out her tongue at me, and I laugh.

  “I’ll get tested, Lula-Mae,” I say. “They can stick a hundred needles in my dick if that’s what it takes.”

  “You’re sweet, but I don’t think that’s gonna be necessary,” she says.

  21

  Mae

  The week before going to Las Vegas is brutal. No matter how busy I try to stay, each day crawls by slower than the one before it.

  Jackson goes a couple days early so he can get a feel for everything, practice a little, all that. The night before he drives down, we establish some basic rules for public behavior.

  Well, I suggest them and Jackson agrees.

  No texting, in case someone else can see our phones.

  He must change my name in his phone to “Mae Sports Weekly Photographer,” like he needs help remembering who I am. We are to call only for professional reasons.

  Handshakes only.

  No staring.

  No winking.

  No flirting.

  No calling me Lula-Mae, or Miss Guthrie, or darlin’, or anything that suggests our relationship might be anything other than purely professional.

  The night before I leave, as I’m packing, Sasha comes into my room and holds up a pair of cowboy boots.

  “You want to borrow these?” she asks.

  “Where did you get those?” I ask. “And when?”

  She laughs.

  “I’m actually not sure,” she says. “I think I borrowed them from someone for Halloween one year, but when I went to give them back they told me to keep them.”