Ride: A Bad Boy Romance

by Roxie Noir

  “Don’t watch,” he laughs. “There’s sexier things that getting pants off over a cast.”

  I walk over, kneel on the floor in front of him and help pull his jeans off. Underneath he’s got a cast over his lower leg and a metal brace on his knee. Higher up, by his hip, there’s a thick pink scar a few inches long where he had surgery, and I run my fingers over it as I press my lips gently to his knee.

  He exhales softly and put his hand on my head, stroking my hair.

  “Thanks,” he says, quietly. “I know all the hardware probably didn’t feature in your fantasies.”

  “I’m actually a little disappointed,” I say, pressing my lips to the top of his thigh. “All my research on having sex in wheelchairs went to waste.”

  I wrap my hand around the base of his cock and Jackson exhales, hard.

  “What did your research say?” he asks. He’s still got his hand on my head, and he’s leaning back on the other one.

  “Mostly to make sure you set the brakes,” I say, and stroke his cock once, slowly.

  Jackson groans, and the sound sends a river of heat coursing through me. I lick the head of his cock and then slide my mouth over it, and I meant to go slow but before I know it he’s hit the back of my mouth and I’m sliding my lips back along the shaft and Jackson’s breathing hard.

  I look up at him, the tip still in my mouth, and I swirl my tongue around it.

  “I fucking love watching this,” he says, and I push my lips back down and listen to him moan, sucking him and swirling my tongue around the tip.

  He stiffens even more in my mouth. I think my juices are starting to run down the inside of my thigh, I’m so turned on, but I ignore it and keep going.

  Finally he grabs me gently but firmly by the hair and pulls me off.

  “I’m gonna come if you don’t stop,” he gasps, and lets me go.

  I stand and kiss him, pushing my tongue into his mouth and he kisses me back ravenously.

  “You like it when I taste like your cock,” I say.

  “I like it when you taste like me,” he says, and then pushes me onto the bed and pulls himself further on until he’s alongside me.

  Very gently, I put one leg over him, and he grabs my thigh and pulls me against him.

  “I’m harder to break than you think,” he growls. “You’re not gonna do anything a bull didn’t.”

  “I bet I am,” I say.

  Jackson chuckles, then rolls over onto his back and pulls me with him, and suddenly I’m straddling him on my hands and knees and he’s grinning.

  “Yeah, I never made a bull sit on my face so I could eat it out,” he says.

  Then he pushes me forward. I yelp but then his face is between my thighs, and I swear he’s still laughing as he loops his arms around my thighs and pulls me down onto him. There’s no bed frame, but I put both hands on the wood-paneled wall as he starts licking me urgently, and I moan.

  He squeezes my thighs in response and doesn’t stop, not for a second. I’m so worked up that I already feel like I’m close to exploding, and Jackson knows exactly what he’s doing with his tongue.

  “God, I missed you,” I half-whisper, half-moan.

  He flicks his tongue across my clit a little faster, and my toes curl.

  “Fuck, that feels good, Jackson,” I say. It’s taking everything I’ve got to hold still, more or less, and not just rub myself on his face.

  He keeps going, and god it’s been a long time since he did this, and somehow it's even better than I remembered, the tight knot of white heat inside me quickly expanding and unraveling. I’m losing control fast, my breathing ragged, and he suddenly stops licking my clit and moves his tongue lower, pushing it between my lips and just barely inside me.

  I gasp and it turns into a groan as his tongue moves, and then he’s licking my clit again, furiously.

  “Jackson,” I gasp, “I’m gonna come if you don’t—”

  He licks harder and my words just turn into a moan. His hands tighten again, making sure I stay exactly where I am, and then the ball of white heat inside me just explodes.

  I think I just shout as my whole body tenses and then releases, my fingers curling against the wood paneling.

  “Jesus, Jackson,” I manage to whisper. Another wave bursts through me and I hear myself moan again, panting for breath.

  Jackson keeps going, even as my hands unclench. It sends jolts through my whole body, and I reach down and run a hand through his hair.

  “I came, you can stop,” I say, breathlessly.

  He looks at me. I’m pretty sure he’s laughing, and he takes one hand off my thigh.

  “Do I have to?” he asks, his voice vibrating through me. He’s still holding me firmly in place with his other hand.

  I swallow.

  “No,” I say.

  Suddenly he slides his fingers along my slit and then inside me, and I gasp.

  “Good,” he says.

  He circles my clit once with his tongue, moving his fingers inside me against that perfect spot that makes my back arch.

  “I’ve had to watch you come enough on a screen,” he says.

  His tongue circles my clit again, twice, his fingers stroking my inner wall.

  “I think I’ve earned watching you come in person a couple times,” Jackson growls, and then he moves his fingers and tongue together.

  He starts out slow and lazy. For a minute I wonder if he’s just teasing me, getting me worked up again, but then the slow, bright heat is building inside me again and I feel even more helpless against it than before.

  “Make me come again, Jackson,” I whisper, and his tongue moves faster and harder. He starts flicking it right across my clit and my whole body jerks, and I gasp and laugh all at once.

  I swear I can feel him smile against me.

  “I could sit on your face all day,” I murmur.

  His tongue moves faster and I groan, burying my face in my upper arm. I feel like a rubber band that’s about to snap

  Then he puts his lips around my clit and sucks gently.

  I shatter, all of a sudden, and just shout “Oh fuck!”

  My body feels like it’s unraveling, like I’m totally losing control, shouting and gasping and moaning, and I’m almost certain than Jackson’s just laughing but he keeps going until my whole body jerks with every lick, and then he finally lets me go.

  I roll off to one side, still breathing hard, and slump with my back against the wall, my shins by Jackson’s head, because I don’t trust myself to move just yet.

  Jackson grabs my ankle, next to his head, and grins up at me. His cock is standing straight up, thick and long, so swollen it’s almost shiny. I swallow, still trying to catch my breath.

  He kisses me on the leg, then puts one hand on his cock and strokes it slowly, his hips just barely moving in time with his hand. I don’t know why, but watching him touch myself drives me crazy, every single time.

  “You’re gonna have to come down here,” he says. “I’m an invalid.”

  Then he pulls my ankle and slides me halfway down the bed until I’m nearly level with him.

  Invalid my ass.

  He rolls over onto his side and kisses me. I can taste myself on him, almost like I’ve marked him as mine, and it’s sexy as hell. I take his shaft in my hand, still kissing him deeply, and he pinches one nipple between his fingers, just hard enough to make me moan softly.

  He chuckles and bites my shoulder.

  “You’re a bottomless pit,” he says.

  “That’s not true,” I say.

  “You said it, not me,” he murmurs, his lips against my skin as I stroke his cock with one hand. “Don’t blame me, I make you come as much as I can.”

  He kisses my shoulder.

  “A man can only do so much, Lula-Mae,” he teases.

  “It’s just you I can’t get enough of,” I murmur.

  “So you’re my bottomless pit,” he says, tracing his fingers down to my hip.

  “Right,�
� I say. “This is all your fault, Jackson.”

  He pushes me onto my left side and then pulls me to him. I let go of his cock and feel it press against my lower back.

  “I’m not sorry,” he murmurs in my ear.

  I put my hand on his hip behind me, my palm over the new scar.

  “I don’t want you to be sorry,” I say.

  He moves his erection until it’s right at my entrance, and I can feel myself throbbing again.

  I twist around and put one arm behind his neck.

  “I just want you inside me already,” I whisper.

  He enters me up to the hilt in one stroke, and I moan.

  “I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that,” he growls in my ear. “I fucking love it when you’re dirty, Lula-Mae.”

  I just push back against him, like I’m trying to get him as deep as I can, and he grabs my hips and pulls me back so hard I just grunt.

  “You like it when I hit that spot?” he says in my ear. “The one that makes you make that noise?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, and rock my hips forward, sliding him out a little, and he pulls me back into him again, hard, and I make the noise again.

  “I fucking missed that noise,” he says, and he keeps going, fucking me hard and deep. “I missed how right everything feels when I’m inside you.”

  I reach behind myself, arching my back, and I grab his shoulder just because I want to hold onto him.

  “I need you,” I murmur. “Jackson, I need this, and I need you, and I thought I was going to lose my mind.”

  He pulls me back against him again, hard, and my toes curl as it feels like my whole body lights up.

  “Please,” I murmur.

  He does it again, and again. He growls in my ear and I gasp as he hits that spot.

  “Think you can come one more time?” he asks.

  “If you keep doing that,” I say.

  My vision is starting to blur around the edges and I feel like a slow reaction is taking place, something slowly expanding that’s going to burst soon and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

  “If I keep doing that you’re gonna make me come,” he says.

  I arch and thrust backwards, driving him deep inside again, and he groans.

  “Good,” I say, breathless. “It’s fucking sexy when you come inside me.”

  He goes faster and harder, and I can feel myself tilting toward the edge.

  “Don’t stop,” I say, nearly shouting. “God, please, don’t stop.”

  “I’m gonna come,” he growls against my ear. “Fuck, Lula-Mae, I can’t help myself.”

  Just as he groans, I suddenly feel myself go over the edge and fall.

  “Fuck, Jackson,” I gasp. I dig my nails into his thigh without meaning to, and I can just hear myself whispering his name over and over again.

  I come so hard I barely even realize he’s pulled me against him as hard as he can, his cock throbbing. I just moan wordlessly and Jackson bites my shoulder. I feel almost knocked senseless, even as my orgasm fades and he slides his arm around me and holds me tight against his chest as I’m still panting for breath.

  “I missed you,” he whispers. “I know I said that but I missed you.”

  I turn and kiss his shoulder. There’s a million uncertainties right now, about him, about us, about how the hell this is ever going to work out, but in this moment, I’m totally certain that everything will be okay.

  “I missed you too,” I whisper.

  31

  Jackson

  We’re just lying there, in my bed in my trailer. Through the window above the bed I can see a rectangle full of stars, and I’ve got my face against Mae’s head. I can smell her hair, and I’ve got one hand over her chest and I can feel her heartbeat, too.

  After a minute I point at the window.

  “I think those are the Pleiades,” I say.

  She just laughs.

  “There, we stargazed,” I say.

  Mae wiggles and then turns around in my arms, and I roll onto my back, her head on my chest.

  “Should we go back to the house and pretend like that’s all we were doing?” she asks.

  “Nah,” I say. I run one finger up and down her spine. The bedroom is almost tropically warm because that’s what happens when you run two space heaters on full blast in here, and it feels like Mae is melting into me.

  “Are we just going to stay in the jizz trailer the whole time I’m here?” she teases.

  “Lula-Mae, I swear to God—” I start, but she laughs again.

  I sigh.

  “Is that just what it’s called now?” I ask.

  “Sorry,” she says.

  “Liar,” I say. “You’re not sorry at all.”

  We’re quiet for a moment.

  “They’re not gonna think that we got eaten by wolves and come after us, right?” she finally asks.

  “This is a don’t ask, don’t tell situation,” I say. “They don’t ask why we’re really going on a walk in the direction of a secluded trailer after dark when it’s twenty degrees outside, and I don’t tell them that I’m crawling out of my skin to jump your bones already.”

  “Jump my bones?” Mae asks.

  “It means—”

  “I know what it means,” she teases me. “That’s how my Aunt Bertha refers to sex, too.”

  “Aunt Bertha sounds like a fun gal,” I say.

  “Depends on how much you like gin rummy.”

  Mae’s fingers are tracing a new scar, the one where I had a tube in my chest after I punctured a lung.

  Tell her, I think.

  I almost don’t want to end this perfect, quiet moment, but I hate not telling things to Mae. There were only thirty-six hours between getting out of the wheelchair and her seeing me and finding out, and I just about bit my tongue off.

  “The Vice President of programming at ESPN called me last week,” I say.

  She raises her head and looks up at me.

  “They’re adding rodeo to their main programming lineup next year, and they’re looking for a charming, good-looking, knowledgeable commentator who’s currently unfit to ride,” I say.

  “And what did they want with you?” she teases.

  “They want me to audition in Cheyenne in a couple of weeks at a pre-season exhibition,” I say.

  Mae grins, her blue eyes sparkling.

  “Then what?” she asks.

  “If they like me, I do it for the rest of the season,” I say. “And if I’m charming enough, I assume Hollywood comes calling and I star in a bunch of commercials for pickup trucks.”

  “I’d buy a truck from you,” Mae says.

  “You wouldn’t buy a truck from anyone,” I say.

  She laughs.

  “You’re right,” she says. “I’m never gonna own a pickup truck, I hate driving those things.”

  “You’re the least country Texas girl I’ve ever met,” I say.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  I swallow, and we both go quiet for a moment.

  “I’d have to move if this ESPN thing goes through,” I say.

  “Where to?” she asks, her voice quiet.

  “I’d probably need to stay out west,” I say, and suddenly my heart is thumping. “But I’d need to be a lot closer to a major airport, at least. So a real city.”

  I look down at her, but she’s looking at her hand, tapping her fingers on my chest one by one.

  “But which one might be flexible,” I say.

  Mae rolls off of me and props herself on her elbows, not quite touching me anymore.

  “I talked to my agent about moving away from New York,” she says quietly.

  “Is that a good idea?” I ask.

  “I don’t really like it there,” she says. “I want to, but I don’t. People keep telling me that it’s the center of the photography world, but...”

  She trails off and spreads her hands, staring past my head at the wall.

  “Janice thought I could make it work,�
�� she says.

  “Mae, I already almost tanked your career once,” I say. “I’m not trying to do it again. I don’t even know if I’ll get this ESPN thing.”

  “What are you gonna do if you don’t?” she asks.

  “Well, I’ve gotta finish digitizing the books for my parents’ ranch into Quicken, and that might take another five years,” I say. “There’s six months in nineteen seventy eight where I swear everything is written on napkins from a diner.”

  I pull her back against me and she puts her head back on my chest, her hand flat over my old scar.

  “But after this year,” she asks, slowly. “Are you going back?”

  I stroke the back of her neck with my fingers.

  “I’m not asking you to quit,” she says. “I know you love it, and I would never ask that, Jackson, and I’m here either way, but...”

  She trails off.

  “I just want to know what I’m in for,” she says quietly.

  I’ve studiously avoided thinking about it. I mean, I think about it a lot, but I dance around the question, tell myself things like not this year and then try not to think beyond that. Even if I can ride again, which isn’t certain, who knows if I’ll be competitive.

  “Right after Crash ran me over and they were taking me out, I heard you when I was on the stretcher,” I say.

  “You were conscious?”

  “Barely,” I say. “I was in and out, and all I remember hearing is you shouting I know Jackson, fucking let me in! And I thought, she just told everyone about us, she’s gonna get fired, and it’s my fault. And I felt terrible.”

  “That’s oversimplifying it,” she says.

  “You were in most of my morphine dreams,” I say. “You know how I knew I wasn’t dreaming when you showed up that morning?”

  “You mom called me a stray?”

  “You looked like hell,” I say. “Like you’d been up all night crying.”

  She swallows.

  “Only most of it,” she finally says. “No one would tell me anything for the longest time. I had no idea if you’d made it off the operating table or not, or if you were paralyzed forever, or...”

  She trails off again, and I decide. All at once, I decide.

  “I was really scared that I’d lost you,” Mae whispers.

  “I’m not going back,” I say.