Loving a Bad Boy (Bad Boys Western Romance Book 4)

by Susan Arden

  “Christ,” he bit out in a harsh and elongated stream. “I want you so much, riding my cock.”

  He couldn’t hold back and thrust his finger into Sommer. She clenched around him warm, tight, and wet. He pumped his hand, fucking her with his finger. The muscles all over his body went rigid as he gave her what she needed and simultaneously refused to give into his own hunger. So near to breaking, when he knew it was what they both desired.

  She lifted her shirt, revealing she was again braless, and pushed her tits together, plucking her nipple rings, and all too easily reminding him of what he done earlier. His cock strained the front of his jeans. Shit, he was going to unload. She was almost there. He captured her tit, pinching her nipple and finger-fucked her faster, deeper.

  Her body bowed against him, her muscles trembled. A primal part of him relished that he could do this to her. He circled his finger around her clit as his cock turned harder than stone. Her arousal scented the air, and her voice punctuated his trained focus. When Sommer licked her swollen lips, he felt like she’d run her tongue around his cock. He grunted, driving his finger into her and grazing the spot that made her pussy soaking wet.

  “Rory. Please.” The heat and pleading in her eyes made him pump his finger rougher and go deeper. Her golden gaze consumed him as he commanded her body.

  “Get there,” he growled so close to the edge himself. He craved her and his hunger began to override his thoughts with the enticing scent of her tight wet pussy wrapped around his finger. He hungered for more. Inhaling more of her scent, he wanted her with every fiber of his body. Soul deep he was possessed, craving to be soaked, skin-on-skin by her juices.

  Her body tensed as he spread her wider, pounded into her pussy harder. Her silk heat, tight and slick quivered against his hand. Sommer open and begging, wet and tremoring tempted him to sink his cock root deep into her as he unloaded. The erotic fantasy of seeing her pussy filled with his release, threatened to blast apart his spank bank.

  “Please, just this once,” Sommer pleaded in a sexy voice, begging to be fucked as every cell in his body demanded that he thrust his dick into her.

  He bit back a growl of frustration as his balls were well past blue. The walls of his restraint were crumbling. Sommer’s soft whimpers beckoned him to claim her.

  But it wouldn’t happen only once. He’d fuck her for hours if he got the chance. All night. And every single day afterwards.

  “Baby, we’ll come together.” He stopped finger fucking her and her amber eyes widened, her pillow-soft lips parted. Before she could say a word, he lowered his zipper and freed his cock. He stroked his shaft from root to tip in a tight fist as he rubbed the pad of his thumb against her wet and erect clit.

  She took his hand, lacing her fingers around his wrist, and pumped herself up and down as he thrust his finger into her. He stroked his cock in the same rhythm. She let him own her pussy. They moved together, and he savored her moans and whimpers as she drenched his hand.

  “Babe!” she cried out, clamping around his finger. Over and over, he pumped in and out of her. He didn’t stop finger fucking her. Not until she came hard.

  Again she cried out, her voice turning ragged and her body tightening around his finger “Rory. Oh god.”

  She writhed under his hand and he joined her, racing over the edge. His release hit him hard. From his engorged crown, he jetted a hot stream that struck the ground.

  For a beat, he stiffened as a tremor tore through him. Wrecked, he lowered Sommer’s legs and leaned over her quavering body. His ass bared, his jeans down around his ankles, and their hearts hammering, chest to chest. God, how she got to him; under his skin and in his blood.

  In a day, he and Sommer had flown together in scalding sex without the ultimate penetration. Tonight, he’d come close, too close to claiming her. What would happen if they didn’t slow it down? In another day or next week. He’d better invest in a box of condoms, or figure out something fast.

  With Sommer curled up next to him, together they remained inside his cab until their breathing returned to normal. Little-by-little she began to share the details, relaying the shit going down with Jen and the news of Ivy getting married. Triangles of girls had a way of coming undone, and when they did, the outnumbered girl always got the worst of it.

  Stroking his hand along her leg, he listened letting her unburden her worry. He tried to keep from offering to intervene when deep down it burnt him that Sommer had to deal with this nonsense. Wasn’t the first time Jen had lost it over a guy in a band. She’d thrown herself at the locals in waterholes since high school and had even stalked Haden Sinclair until he threatened to file a restraining order. Apparently, this was more than a rift between friends. It was the making of a catfight firestorm. Typical for a small town where everyone was privy to everyone’s business. Sides were drawn and egging on each girl.

  By the time he and Sommer returned to the table, the members of Diehard were lined up and strapping on guitars, as Hellhound finished their number.

  “Feeling better?” Jill said to Sommer.

  Her fingers dug into his arm, when he began to pull her against him and a growl rumbled low in his chest.

  “Yep. Much. Better,” she replied, trading a blistering look with him that another man might veer away from. Not him. He wanted any and all of what she had to give. She leaned against him—without a stitch on under her skirt—and he itched to drag her back to his truck. His cock lengthened in his jeans at the thought of her red torn panties in his glove compartment.

  “Haden stopped by. Said he has a T-shirt for you. Wanna go say ‘Hi’ before they go on? He’s playing at the Barely Back, and they’re splitting from there right after their set. So it’s now or when he comes back to town. Unless you’re going to the BB.”

  “You going?” Sommer asked.

  “Not tonight. We’ve got to get back to Chelsea. I’m about to start dripping like a faucet.” Jillian offered an apologetic glance over at him. “Sorry. Girl talk.”

  “Naw. I’ve had the pleasure of being exposed to all sorts of conversations over the years coming from the family kitchen. Thank you very much for not including me this time around,” he joked. Growing up around a cluster of women, he’d faced the dangers of getting an impromptu lesson on a whole heap of female issues. Every man knew the hazards of entering his mother’s kitchen during a family get together. As the youngest, he’d been rooked, if not downright forced to brave the bevy of women ensconced in the kitchen whenever one of his brothers or father had wanted a snack or a drink or for him to deliver a message.

  “Lord have mercy if one of you McLemore men hears something that doesn’t have to do with ranching or rides. You don’t fool me, Rory.” Jillian winked and tugged on Sommer. “I’m borrowing her.”

  “And here I thought I’d covered my tracks.” He ran his hand down Sommer’s arm, and dipped his mouth to her ear. “Be good. Remember you ain’t got a thing on under that skirt.”

  An ‘O’ formed on her lips, and she nodded. “Yep. Roger that.”

  “Let’s go,” Jillian huffed, not that his brother didn’t have his arms around her also.

  “So, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.” Stephen handed him a beer. “Things are changing.”

  “Some things.” He opened the beer and sipped. “Going to get the trailer set up and move out there. Would like to get settled by the end of the month.”

  Stephen gazed over to him with his customary manner of issuing a semi-silent long stare with a few words, parceled here and there. “What’s the hurry?”

  “It isn’t anything you’re probably attributing,” he supplied.

  “You taking Sommer ring shopping?”

  Rory sucked in some air with his beer and nearly choked. Stephen wasn’t one to skirt around a subject. That sure hadn’t changed in the last day.

  He shook his head. “Not yet. Not my choice.”

  “Pushing
has a way of pushing things farther…not closer.”

  “I—”

  “Hey Rory,” a woman’s voice interrupted their conversation.

  He lifted his hand, prepared to wave and continue talking with Stephen. Rory dropped his hand and leveled his attention to Jen’s face, focusing on what to say that didn’t border on an insult. “How can I help you?”

  “Stephen.” Jen nodded to his brother without taking her eyes off Rory’s face.

  He set his beer down, weighing if he should get up or hope she moved away from the area. Mike came up behind her, and nodded to him. “Here ya go,” he said. “What I owe you. You got my I.O.U.”

  “Not on me. We can square up tomorrow.”

  “Naw. Take it.” Mike held out the money.

  “Must have done nicely on a friendly game of toss,” Rory commented, pocketing the cash without counting it.

  “You could say that,” Mike replied, his hands on Jen’s shoulders and waggling his eyebrows. “Got some other lines…action. You in?”

  Rory cocked his head. This wasn’t Mike’s usual course to openly discuss whatever lines he had going. Not in front of those who didn’t bet. Stephen wasn’t the type to deal with a bookie. No, his brother had gambled his way through bars, face-to-face and sometimes fist to face. “Not tonight,” he said and went to turn around.

  “Wait, Rory. Not so fast.” Jen reached out to him.

  He eyed her hand on his shoulder, his muscles tightening and a slow burn roiled in his gut. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to refrain from prying her fingers off him. “Go on,” he said, waiting to see if she might have a message—an apology to Sommer. As ass-backward as it would be to deliver it to him in lieu of talking with Sommer, but it was better than nothing.

  “How about some action as in the bedroom?” she asked and leaned lower, trying to give him an ample view down her shirt.

  That did it. He rose and raised his hands, flinging her fingers off his shoulder. “No thanks. Now, if that’s all. I’m talking here.”

  Mike shrugged. “If you change your mind, call me.”

  Call him? He growled, “Why in the hell would I reach out to you?”

  “You’re the new line of action,” Mike replied with a chuckle. “Stud.” He poked his finger—or tried to—but Rory caught his hand and prevented him from delivering a jab to his chest.

  Stephen stood up. For being the same height, his brother outgunned Rory by a good twenty pounds of restrained grappling skills. He hadn’t seen…hadn’t heard of Stephen getting into it with anyone since the summer he’d gotten engaged to Jillian and ran a Hollywood production crew out of town. “You some sick SOB?” Stephen growled. “Twice over.”

  Mike grinned like a jackass. “Just because you’re a born again whatever, don’t mean that fun died when you retired. Heard you put Annona on the map with threesomes. Ever considered that your younger brother might be into them? Instead of two to one girls, the offer is one girl. First time worries? Don’t. She’ll take care of you with Drew in the room. Might help in learning the ropes.” Mike jerked his chin over to the stage. “He’s really interested in seeing you in action.”

  “Are you all three demented?” Rory glared, curling his fingers in fists. He wasn’t going to coldcock this sack of shit while he was on his ranch payroll. The ultimate payday for a man always lookin’ for a way to make a buck. Wouldn’t surprise Rory if Mike had laid odds whether he’d take a swing, which hand, or how many times. Fucker laid odds on everything.

  “Man, I’m just looking to help you out, is all,” Mike jeered. “So are you in?”

  “Here’s your news flash: you’re fucking fired,” Rory snarled in a low voice. “Come by the ranch, pick up your shit, and get your last paycheck. You’re done. Now back the hell away or we can take this out to the field.”

  “You can’t fire me.” Mike’s face grew serious.

  “Rethink that one,” Stephen growled. “Rory can, and he just did. Now step the fuck away. Since you’re no longer an Evermore employee, I’ll pound some sense into you with one more unwelcomed word.”

  “Better make it a good one,” Rory said, keeping himself in check, until Jen laid her palm on the side of his ribcage. Without thinking twice, he removed her hand. “Don’t do that.”

  “I get more than a word, don’t I boys?” Jen snickered. “For the record, I’d love to take both of you on. McLemore brothers. Call me, if either one of you finds a pair of stones.”

  Chapter 17

  “Man, when did you grow up?” Haden asked Sommer, right before he pulled her into a hug. “Turn around and everyone in this town is moving or married. What’s going on in your world?”

  Sommer was engulfed in a tight bear hug from Haden. They were standing next to one of the stage speakers as a troupe of roadies carried equipment and completed sound checks. From within Haden’s hug, she watched as Drew disappeared into the crowd. She didn’t focus on him, but did notice that Ivy had Vince hanging on her before he kissed her, then shook hands with those around him. When Haden released her, she stumbled back until Jillian steadied her.

  Sommer replied, “A short story. Not much. Trying to figure out what to do besides tattoos.”

  Haden cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled toward a man pumping a foot pedal. “Kyle, toss me a shirt.”

  “Here,” Haden said, plucking a wad of black material as it sailed through the air and handed her the T-shirt. “Jill tells me you can take a shirt and really make something out of it. Like what you’re wearing?”

  “Yup. Well, kinda. I do that when I’m not busy,” she said. “And you? Your band is rocketing up the charts. Your songs are played all over. What’s that like?”

  “Hell. Crazy. Not that I’m complaining,” Haden said, and coughed. “The AC in the bus is the hardest. Cold as a mother. And then there’s the food, but those things are minor. We got gigs, so it’s all good.” He smiled over to Jillian and ruffled his sister’s hair. “And I’m an uncle now.”

  “When are you coming to see your niece?” Jill asked, turning serious. “You won’t be back for a long while.”

  “Tomorrow morning too soon?” He laughed, throwing his arm around his sister’s shoulder. “Got a gift for Chelsea.”

  “Really?” Jill asked.

  “Playing it tonight,” he said. “Our newest song. Chelsea. Final song of the set.”

  “Aww, Haden!” Jill cried out.

  Sommer grinned and glanced back over at Rory. Jen was over there, laughing, and had her hands on Rory. Suddenly that warm and cozy feeling fled the vicinity of Sommer’s brain, leaving a very bad taste in her mouth.

  What the hell was going on? The hairs all over Sommer’s body stood up like sentries alerted to danger. A buzzing rush assaulted her bloodstream, and she fought the urge to storm across the grass and forcefully remove Jen’s hands from Rory’s body.

  The conversation between Jillian and Haden receded, as did the movement and people around her. She stared at Rory, tilted her head and couldn’t tell if Stephen was around—but there was Mike. What a cozy little group.

  “Sommer, what’s wrong?” Jillian was speaking to her.

  She forced herself to stop jeering across the lawn at Jen. Forced her mind to stop swinging like a wrecking ball in need of a target. She had to contain the flames of anger, threatening to back draft up her throat and out her mouth.

  Clenching her jaw, she shifted her gaze back to Haden and Jill, “Sorry. It was really great seeing you, and thanks for the shirt.” Robotically, she waved a goodbye to Haden.

  He laughed and slanted over with one of his arms outstretched, giving her a hug. “Take a photograph of what you do with it and IM me. We’ll post your fashion creation on our band’s page.”

  “Sounds awesome. I will.” Stepping back, she smiled tightly and clutched the T-shirt in her hand rather than spin around and check out if Jen was still standing next to Rory.

  “Just a secon
d, Sis,” Haden grabbed hold on Jillian’s arm. He tapped her shoulder. “When did you get that?”

  “Last summer, but I didn’t exactly publicize it.” Jillian laughed, tracing her fingers along the edge of her tattoo of Terpsichore, spanning the back of her bicep.

  “This your work?” Haden asked her.

  Batting away the end of her ponytail that felt as if it were strangling her neck, she nodded with a shrug. “Yeah. But Jill helped by supplying part of the design.”

  “I told you she’s really good,” Jill added.

  He stroked his ringed fingers over his goatee, flicking his eyes from his sister’s shoulder to her. “Serious stuff. Definitely keep in touch, Sommer.”

  “Haden, two minutes.” One of the roadies called out.

  “Gotta go,” he exhaled, leaning over and pulling Jill into a bear hug. “Later, Sis.”

  She and Jillian started to walk away from the stage. “You look like you’re ready to murder someone,” Jill remarked.

  She huffed. “I am. A backstabbing friend.”

  “Sommer. Hold up!” Ivy called out.

  She turned, about to spew fire if Jen was there. But thank goodness only Ivy skittered over. “You comin’ to watch Diehard?”

  “Can’t. We’re leaving really early tomorrow, but I’ll be back. Soon, I mean. A couple of weeks after touring with Hellhound. No way to refuse Vince.”

  “I guess not. You two look super happy together,” Sommer replied, silencing her mental rant of wanting to slap some sense into Jen. Diehard’s music surrounded them, making it hard to hear. Harder to think.

  “So cool,” Jill gasped. “So you’ll be touring with Haden.”

  “Just picking up and leaving for LA early tomorrow. Wherever Vince goes,” Ivy said. “What the heck? I never expected this, but that’s not a reason to go after what’s mine.”

  “Hard to believe this is happening so fast, but I’m thrilled for you. We can still talk and text. Let me know how things go. What it’s like out west. Oh Christ.” Tears welled in Sommer’s eyes. She stepped closer to Ivy, throwing open her arms. “Take care of yourself.”