Love Complicated (Ex's and Oh's Book 1)

by Shey Stahl

  Now I get it. Can’t say I blame him. “Then what do you suggest?”

  “The floor. . . or your minivan.” Take notice in the way he’s waggling his eyebrows. He wants me to choose that option.

  But that’s perfect because it’s in the garage. . . away from the house and the boys wouldn’t hear us. “That’s actually a good idea.”

  “Really?” He looks surprised, but still eager.

  “Yep.

  “All right then. Go.” He slaps my ass, hard, leading me out the sliding glass door to the garage.

  We sneak through the yard, tiptoeing to the garage like we’re teenagers again. Because we are.

  I open the side door, and Ridge leans in, his hands on the roof examining the inside. “Do the seats fold down?”

  I think I already told him, but apparently, he’s forgotten. “It’s a minivan. Of course they do.”

  I begin flipping levers and folding seats down and Ridge is absolutely no help. He’s watching Cars.

  “Thanks for the help, jerk.”

  “Sorry.” He moves to lay down. “You. . . ow.” He pulls a football cleat out from under him. “Shit. You need a mattress back here.”

  I eye him carefully. “I don’t plan on making a habit out of this—”

  My words are cut off by Ridge biting my shoulder. Hard. He leaves an imprint of his fucking teeth. “I plan on making a habit out of that.”

  “Goddamn you.” I touch the red mark with my fingertips. It’s tender yet strangely numb. “Stop biting me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it hurts.”

  “It gets you off.”

  “Bullshit.”

  His eyes have that spark to them, like he’s accepting a challenge. “I’ll prove it.” He grabs me, grinding his hips into mine as I climb on top of him.

  I giggle at his excitement. “You’re hard already?”

  “You’re on top of me straddling my waist. Of course I’m hard. And you know, Cars always gets me hot.”

  A minivan seems like the perfect place to have sex. Seems being the keyword here. In actuality, there’s knobs, seat buckles and then all the other crap inside the van I pushed aside to get going.

  Also, I’ll point out, the door is open. Not the garage door. That’s locked. The door to the van. Pay attention to that particular detail in about, I don’t know, five minutes?

  Anyway, there we are. . . the van’s a rocking, and I’m enjoying the hell out of it. Aside from the fact that I literally have rug burn on my cheek and my ass is up in the air while Ridge pile drives me from behind.

  I open one eye about the time Ridge shifts his position, his hand on the ceiling and I realize what he’s about to touch.

  “Wait, don’t put your hand up there there’s a. . . .” Notice how my voice trails off?

  That’s because, despite my warning, Ridge pushes the SOS button with his thumb.

  You might also be thinking, Aly, I’ve seen the SOS button in my own minivan. There’s a little clear door you have to open, and then push the button. It’s a safety feature for when you are you know, fucking someone in the back of said minivan and his hand is on the ceiling for support.

  Now. . . sure, the “safety shield” should be there, but guess who has kids?

  Me. Cash ripped that fucker off the first week I had the van.

  Now, back to what’s happening in the van.

  Ridge drops his hand, eyes wide and stares at me. Oh look, something finally made the cocky bastard speechless.

  After a moment, he asks, “Does that call 911?”

  I swallow over what feels like a boulder in my throat. “I’ve never pushed it. I don’t know what it does.”

  I can already see the headlines: Teacher arrested while diddling his students’ mom.

  I’m sure they’d come up with a better headline than me.

  We’re about to find out what the button does because the next thing we know, there’s a voice that comes over my stereo. “This call may be monitored or recorded for quality assurance.” And then, “Toyota assist, this is Frank. How may I assist you?”

  Do you see us there in the van? While it’s more than likely an entertaining sight to see, I’m the one on my hands and knees, and Ridge is the one behind me, dick still in my pussy.

  Entertaining, huh? I’ll tell you what’s more entertaining. The fact that Ridge is having a conversation with Frank.

  Frank’s asking questions like, “Can you give me your exact location?”

  And Ridge answers with, “South, Frank. South.”

  I turn my head to glare at him, which is actually a task in itself because I’m getting to know my dashboard a lot better than I ever have in the past. My left tit is literally teabagging a cup holder. “Stop talking to this dude. Hang up,” I order, trying to pry my face from the radio knob. I also can’t understand why we’re pushed up so far. We have the whole back to maneuver around in, yet he’s got me stuck between the front seats. Probably so I can’t get away from him.

  “Turn over,” he orders, like I’m supposed to listen to his every demand. “Can you stick your legs on the armrests?”

  I try, and I do. It’s certainly more comfortable than having my face pressed into the dash, and I’m a hell of a lot more flexible than I initially thought. But then it’s not comfortable. Not one bit and I think—though I’m not entirely sure—I have a McDonald’s toy making friends with my asshole. I’ll be throwing that away, later. “This—”

  Ridge shakes his head. “No talking.” He removes my hands from the seat and places them on the backs of my knees. “Hold your legs up.” His eyes dip, heavy lids closing when he pushes forward. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

  I hear heavy breathing, and by the way, it’s not coming from us.

  “How’s that?” Ridge grunts, his movements sure and steady. “Do you like that?”

  I toss my head back and break my cup holder off. “Yes... soooo fucking good.”

  “Really good?” He’s always looking for compliments.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s right.” He’s so fucking cocky. “You’re really tight.”

  “What. . . are you two actually having sex?” Frank asks, barely getting the words out. I think Frank might be a virgin.

  Ridge laughs. “What you think, Frank?”

  No answer.

  Ridge continues, pulls back, then pushes forward again, groaning as he does so. And then I notice he’s leaning forward a little too much. “Careful, don’t lean forward that much. We’re going to fall forward.”

  He doesn’t listen.

  I push against his chest, and something catches my eye behind him. Whiskers just joined the party, and he’s watching us fuck. He’s probably jealous. His balls were cut a long time ago and his humping days are over. Swallowing, in pain, and nervous, I attempt again to gain Ridge’s attention. “I’m serious. If you keep pushing me forward, you’re going to fall.” I attempt to balance myself and dig the toy out of my ass. “Just here... move... to the right a little.”

  “No, no... don’t... that....”

  Can you guess what happens next?

  He loses his balance and collapses against me and nails his forehead on the shifter. “Son of a bitch!” he yells, grabbing his forehead.

  “Told you,” I sigh, staring up at the ceiling. This isn’t exactly how I anticipated car sex.

  Growling, he steadies his hands on the armrests. “No more talking unless it’s screaming out my name.”

  His eyes burn into me down the center of my body, between my breasts. His pace quickens, and it’s exactly what I need to come. It helps that he pinches my clit again, the sure movements of his thumb and fingertips the exact combination I need.

  He groans into my ear, and I can tell he’s close by the way he races toward his own release. I feel him shivering and pulsing inside of me, his back arching at the force as he chants my name. Our cries of pleasure fill the minivan.

  It takes a while to be able to move again
and figure out what body part can move in what direction without pulling a muscle or dislocating something. Or worse, end in stitches.

  Ridge falls back against the folded down seats only to have Whiskers rub up against him. And I hate to point this out, but I think Whiskers might be batting for the same team when he starts to make his way toward Ridge’s cock.

  Ridge must sense it and covers himself, his hands cupping his junk. “What’s with all the cats?”

  I shrug, unwilling to share my compulsion to bring in stray animals.

  As Ridge rubs his forehead, we hear, “Excuse me, sir?”

  Oh, goddamn it. You remember Frank, right?

  Guess who’s still on the phone when we’re finished?

  Our buddy Frank. “Dude,” he draws out. “You’re my hero.”

  Ridge rolls his eyes at me, reaching for his shirt and pushing Whiskers out of the van. “I’m gonna have to break up with Frank.”

  “You’re going to the ball on Friday, right?”

  I sigh. I forgot about the ball this coming week. Actually, I didn’t forget. I wanted to forget. But then I think about the fact that all the teachers from LSA have to go, which means Ridge will. Which also means Ridge will be in a tux. Perfect. I’m going. “You’re going, too.”

  Tori smiles like she’s been given a million dollars. “Actually, I am because my lunatic sister is running away, and I’ve forced her to babysit for me that night. If the bitch is sleeping on my couch, she’s watching my kid.”

  “Wait, who’s Tatum running from now?” Tori’s little sister is a fucking disaster, and that’s putting it nicely. She ran away at eighteen, and nobody saw her or heard from her in three years unless she needed money. Or apparently a place to stay now.

  “She got knocked up by some professional football player and she doesn’t want to tell him—because she probably conned his ass—so in Tatum style, she runs away from everything.” Tori shrugs and grabs a bag of hot dogs and begins placing them on the grill behind her.

  I see those hot dogs and guess where my mind goes?

  Cock.

  There’s something wrong with me. I want sex all the time.

  Or is there something wrong? Maybe I’m just a twenty-six-year-old woman with two kids and am horny. That’s actually pretty normal, right?

  It’s Saturday night, and I barely make it through the evening without finding Ridge and sneaking off to his trailer in the pits. The only thing stopping me is the boys because they’re working the concession stand with me.

  Austin picks the boys up shortly before the main events start because it’s his weekend and he claims he didn’t have time to get them after school. I’m kind of glad he didn’t because it gave me a few more hours with them.

  When the race is over, it’s about twenty minutes before Ridge finds me locking up the concession stand.

  My heart thuds, my body tingly with his close proximity when he presses his chest against my back. “Miss me?”

  He smells like dirt and gas. “I did.” I smile, turning to face him. “Would you like to come over? The boys are with Austin.”

  He steps back. “Nah. . . I can’t. I need to finish up some things in the office. How about you come by my trailer around eleven?”

  “Okay.”

  He nods.

  We stand, staring at one another before he shrugs and closes the space between us with a long step pushing us against the door to the concession stand. “Fuck this shit. I miss these lips.” His hands cup my cheeks, and he kisses me, desperately, his mouth assaulting mine in the most beautiful way.

  I can’t get enough of his taste. His need for me consumes me, and I claw at his clothes, his body, it’s like I’ve lost my mind and I’m trying to rip him to pieces.

  But he pulls away with a chuckle. “I really do have to go. I won’t be long.”

  I nod and step back, breathing heavily. “If you must.”

  It looks to me—and I can’t be entirely sure because he hides his emotions so well—he’s just as worked up as I am.

  He leaves without another word, probably because words aren’t what he wants to give me at the moment.

  I RUN HOME and change out of my clothes that smell like fried food and beer and then at eleven fifteenish, I arrive at his trailer, and believe me when I say that was the longest couple hours of my life.

  He yanks his trailer door open I knock, twice, frowning. “You said eleven. It’s eleven fifteen.”

  And now my hearts pounding in my ears. “Sorry, I had to change.”

  He roughly yanks me into his trailer. “Bend over the table.”

  Okay, so we’re doing this now. Nice. I hate wasting time. I don’t even like foreplay for that reason.

  I bend over the table without even thinking.

  Exposing my bare ass underneath my dress, I wait for Ridge to realize I’m not wearing any panties. All by design.

  He does. Immediately. “No panties?”

  Looking over my shoulder at him, I give him a grin. “Easier than you ripping them off.”

  His fingertips run over the cheeks of my ass. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  I turn to look back at him. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Raising his hand, he turns my head so I’m not looking at him. “You naked in front of me is hardly a disappointment.” His hand meets my hip, sliding over my ass cheeks again before his fingers clutch my pussy from behind. “Someone missed me.” He rubs my clit, then pinches it between his thumb and forefinger. Fucking pinches it!

  He breaths out deeply. “Aly?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think so far I’ve been fairly easy on you,” he warns. “This time, I’m marking you as mine.”

  Gulp. I’m not sure what to make of his words, hell, his promise. I think back to everything that happened the first few times we had sex and if that was easy, what the fuck does he have in mind now?

  His left hand comes up and over my hands on the edge of the table in the dinette booth. “You better hold on.”

  He frees himself from his shorts, the swollen head of his cock finding my slippery folds—I know, it’s the worst word—of my pussy, and I shake in anticipation, lifting on my tiptoes to gain height for him, and balance.

  “Did you miss me?” He bites the nape of my neck from behind, but he doesn’t enter me. It’s agony, having him there, but just inches out of reach.

  “What do you think?” My voice trembles with need.

  “That’s my dirty girl,” he whispers, licking the spot he just bit. Tearing the condom wrapper with his teeth, he doesn’t stop teasing my entrance with the head of his cock. “Now tell me how bad you want it.”

  “So bad.” I’m not going to tell him this, but I’d been thinking about this all day. “Just put your fucking dick in already, Ridge.”

  He laughs. When he has the condom on, he eases inside of me, just the tip, slowly. . . painfully slow. My forehead hits the table and I cry out against the cool wood, both in pleasure and frustration. It’s torture, pure torture, but I love every minute of it.

  “Please,” I whisper breathlessly, squirming my ass to get him to go deeper. “Don’t tease.”

  Does he listen? What the fuck do you think? He pulls out, waits, chuckles and waits another moment before taking the head of his cock teasing my booty hole.

  I whip my head around. “Nope.”

  His shoulders shake with his laughter. “Why not?”

  “Because.” I bite my lower lip. “I want you inside my pussy, and I want you to fuck me like you mean it. What happened to all this talk about fucking the memory of my husband out of me?”

  “We’re talking about me fucking your ass sometime. For now. . . you need to fucking act like you want it,” he growls, grazing my shoulder with his teeth.

  He slips in—the right hole—just an inch.

  I exhale. “I do want it.”

  Another inch. “You do?”

  Another inch. “So bad! Fuck me.”

  “You’
re hot when you beg,” he murmurs, thrusting himself all the way in and making my legs weaken. He’s trouble. Ridge Lucas is like Kryptonite or in my case, chocolate. A weakness I can never give up. I knew it from the beginning, the control he had on me, but now I’m sure of it. I’m screwed if I think I can ever stop whatever this is we’re doing.

  Ridge gathers my hair in his fist and jerks my head upward against his chest. “Tell me again.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “How bad you want it.”

  He’s so annoying. Tempted to punch him, I grip the table harder. “No. I’m not saying it again. You’re starting to really piss me off.”

  I can’t believe I’m playing this game with him, but it’s apparently what he wants because he fucks me. Hard and fast, just like he loves while whispering, “I love it when you get pissed off.”

  I’m on fire, all over, inside and out.

  “If you want me to stop, just tell me.” Amusement touches his lips when I begin to squirm, and I think he’s referring to more than just us having sex.

  “Don’t fucking stop,” is my only reply, my fingers gripping his hands, which were placed securely on my hips.

  Ridge tosses his head back. Peeking over my shoulder, I watch his heaving chest, straining as he moves.

  The sensations are heightened further when his face contorts in pleasure, and I crash too, his own release following. Only he doesn’t come inside me. Instead, he pulls out, rips the condom off and finishes on my back.

  Barely able to draw a breath, I have no words. All I have are shortened gasps, trying everything I can do to keep myself from hyperventilating. It’s the best sex of my life. I’m not lying. I want to cry with how good that felt, how badly I needed it.

  Ridge moves away, hands me a towel and then flops himself on the bed in the back of the trailer. I follow him after I clean my back off and he brings me flush against his chest, his lips lingering on my shoulder. I find so excitement in the fact that he’s still trying to catch his breath.

  “That was fun,” I breathe, swallowing and then letting out another forced gasp.

  He kisses me again, grinning against my lips. When he draws back, his knuckles brush over my cheek gently, his eyes fluttering closed.