Wild Ride: A Bad Boy Romance

by Roxeanne Rolling

  Wild Ride: A Bad Boy Romance

  Roxeanne Rolling

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Wild Ride

  1. Katy

  2. Colton

  3. Katy

  4. Colton

  5. Katy

  6. Colton

  7. Katy

  8. Katy

  9. Colton

  10. Katy

  11. Colton

  12. Katy

  13. Colton

  14. Katy

  15. Colton

  16. Katy

  17. Colton

  18. Katy

  19. Colton

  20. Katy

  21. Colton

  22. Katy

  23. Colton

  24. Katy

  25. Colton

  26. Katy

  27. Colton

  28. Katy

  29. Colton

  30. Katy

  Mailing List Sign Up

  Alaskan Love

  1. Flash Forward

  2. Prints & The College

  3. Archeologist in Alaska

  4. Herbert's Apartment

  5. Alaskan Relaxation

  6. Changes & Danger

  7. Sylvan Donohue

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY AUTHOR

  Copyright © 2016 Roxeanne Rolling

  This is a work of fiction.

  All characters appearing in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead is not intended and is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, re-sold, or transmitted electronically or otherwise, without express written permission from the other.

  1. KATY

  I was a wedding planner.

  Here I was at another wedding. I didn’t even want to be here. I had loved weddings at one point. That’s why I had gotten into the business after all. I had loved the pageantry, seeing the bride and groom. I had loved the flowers, the food, the guests, the fancy clothing. I had simply loved everything about weddings.

  Now I hated them with my whole being. I absolutely loathed them.

  I was at my second wedding this week. It was a Saturday wedding. They were becoming more and more common. Everyone was trying to cut costs, which wasn’t exactly good for my line of work, being a wedding planner and all.

  “You may now kiss the bride,” said the Buddhist monk at the front of the wedding. He was wearing some fancy beads and robes that looked like a dress, with tassels all over it.

  I was also just horrendously bored. I could barely keep my eyes on the bride and groom.

  Another thing was that I was intensely jealous.

  I watched with disinterest and jealousy as the hot bride kissed the hot groom. They looked like two perfect porcelain figures. They looked exactly like Barbie dolls…just too perfect. Her breasts were perfect, just large enough…but not too large.

  The groom looked like he had stepped out of a magazine photo shoot. There wasn’t a blemish on his face. His stubble was just right. His pants were just tight enough…so was his suit…showing off his hunky body.

  They kissed…for too long, I thought. Have a little class, I thought to myself.

  If you’d been there, you would have liked it. It was a perfect wedding…everything was exactly as it should have been. After all, I had planned the wedding myself, and I was one of the absolute best in the business. People from all over paid me big money to plan and arrange their weddings, down to the last flower, down to the placements of the salad forks.

  But I was bitter.

  I wanted my own wedding.

  Maybe that’s why I had gotten into the business in the first place.

  I had started out bright eyed and enthusiastic. But slowly over the last five years I had gotten more and more disinterested. My disinterest had recently turned to downright disgust.

  “Whooo whooo,” shouted the parents of the groom. They stood up.

  Everyone was standing up.

  Everyone was cheering, as the bride and groom ran down the aisle, giggling.

  This wasn’t exactly a traditional wedding. It would be fair to say that.

  A hip-hop song immediately began blaring…that was my handy work too, in a tangential way. I had hired the monk. I had hired the caterers. I had hired the DJ, who specialized in hip-hop dance music.

  The bride and groom had met dancing…it was important to them to have music at their wedding. They broke out in a dance.

  The crowd went wild. They were cheering.

  Soon everyone had gotten out of his or her chairs. The chairs were all disorganized…many of them falling to the ground in a clatter. Great, I thought, I’d probably be the one who’d have to clean them up later.

  Everyone was dancing…wildly. The whole place had become a dance floor, with hip-hop blaring…its beat exciting everyone. Even the oldest and the sickest were dancing. Even the most disgruntled, the most bitter. Everyone except me.

  I got out of my seat and moved to the back so I could watch what was happening.

  I stood in the back corner, my arms crossed in front of my breasts. I tried to change my face, contorting it unnaturally to look happier. I didn’t want to be spotted looking miserable or glaring at everyone. But that’s the way I felt. It wouldn’t look good, however, to have the wedding planner looking so miserable, so grumpy.

  In a way, I felt comfortable there in the back. I was used to it.

  I had gone to my own high school prom alone. Stag, the guys called it. But there wasn’t a good word for it when a girl went alone. I had spent the entire night standing on the sidelines. No one had asked me to dance. No one had given me a second look. I was just invisible. I had been a nobody, a nothing. That’s exactly who I was now…that’s how I felt now…even though I was responsible for the whole wedding.

  It had been just the same in high school. I had been on the planning committee for the party. When everyone else had been busy making out or taking cigarette breaks I had been the good girl who got everything done. I had raised all the money myself, because everyone else was having too much fun to be bothered with the details, like getting funding or getting the reservation to the hotel or getting the parents onboard with our plan.

  I had hoped I’d get a date that way, by working on the prom planning committee. But no one had asked me. Not a single guy had talked to me the entire time, except maybe to ask me what time it was, or where the bathroom was. In those days, I had had horrible braces, acne, and a completely flat chest.

  I had blossomed in the intervening years. I was in my late twenties now. I looked a little older, perhaps in my early to mid thirties. But I was quite beautiful…or so people told me…my Mother being the worst offender.

  I didn‘t have much reason to believe my Mother and the others, though. Sure, there had been some guys interested in me over the last ten years. But they’d just been interested in sex.

  Even the guys who seemed to want to date me had just seemed to want a girlfriend…a companion…someone to fuck…someone to be around them. No one wanted to start a family with me it seemed.

  No one wanted to marry me.

  And that’s desperately what I wanted.

  I wanted to be someone’s wife. I wanted a man. I wanted a husband. I wanted children. I wanted to be loved, and to give love.

  I just needed an opportunity. I was sure I’d make a great and diligent and strong and loving wife. But no one was giving me the chance.

  Instead, I was stuck planning wedding after wedding for everyone under the sun…everyone but me.

  Most of my friends had all paired off already. They were all married, all comfortable. I had even planned the weddings for most of them.

  “You don’t look too happy
there,” said a handsome man.

  “I’m fine,” I said, giving him a stare that should have told him to back off.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he said, smiling at me.

  I gave him a look, sweeping my eyes up and down.

  He was pretty handsome. He was good looking. He had on a nice tan suit. He was a member of the wedding party. Now I recognize him as one of the cousins of the groom.

  “If you’re trying to get laid at this wedding, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” I said. I was so grumpy I practically snarled the words at him.

  “Don’t take it the wrong way,” he said, giving me a special smile. “But yeah, that’s what I was trying to do. I just don’t normally see a woman as beautiful as you standing off to the side of the a wedding like this where everyone else is having such a good time.”

  “So you are just trying to help me? You’re just acting out of good will?”

  “Pretty much,” he said. “And of course selfish interest…looking out for myself, too.” He gave me a big wink.

  “You’re looking after the interests of your cock,” I said. I thought it was pretty witty.

  “Well someone’s got to,” he said, laughing. “I’m John. Would you like to see my hotel room?”

  “You just don’t give up easily, do you, John?” I said.

  “No, I don’t. I’m a stubborn bastard. More than a few people have told me that about myself.”

  I had to admire his self-confidence. That was always sexy to me.

  I sighed.

  I was still annoyed. But he was starting to crack my armor…just a little.

  Plus, I didn’t know if I could stand this wedding.

  And it would be nice to have some companionship….

  “Fine,” I said. “Show me your room.”

  “Great,” he said, beaming. I could tell he was very excited. He eyed me up and down, and I could tell he liked what he saw.

  He took my hand and led me away from the wedding towards the hotel.

  2. COLTON

  Colton woke up hung over as usual. He was startled as he woke up.

  “Shit,” he said. “What the hell’s going on?”

  He moved wildly, trying to look around, trying to figure out where he was.

  The room swam into his sleepy vision. It looked like a hotel room…just an ordinary hotel room.

  He had apparently passed out with the TV on.

  The TV was still on, blaring the news.

  “And we’re bombing the Middle East tomorrow,” said the spokesman for the news channel. “We’re going to show them you don’t mess around with us.”

  “Damn newscasters,” snarled Colton. “Always trying to…” But he didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t know what he’d been trying to say. Let alone what he wanted to say.

  He made an attempt to get to his feet.

  But he was still a little drunk.

  He got to his feet briefly.

  But he only succeeded in knocking over a whiskey bottle before falling back onto the chair.

  The little whiskey that was still in the bottle started draining onto the floor. Soon Colton’s socks were soaked in whiskey.

  “Great,” he said, feeling the wetness on his feet. It was an unpleasant sensation. But most of Colton’s life was just a series of unpleasant situations.

  This wasn’t anything new.

  Waking up hung over wasn’t anything new to him.

  He did it practically every day.

  He finally got up and managed to find the TV remote.

  “Turn off and stay off,” snarled Colton at the TV, as if it could hear him, or cared what he had to say.

  The hotel phone rang.

  “Shit,” said Colton. “Not already.”

  “What was that?” said someone from somewhere inside the hotel room.

  What was going on? Had Colton brought someone home and forgotten about her?

  “Who’s there?” said Colton, grabbing the now-empty whiskey bottle and holding it in his hand like a weapon. He always had to be on guard. After all, there were always fans trying to sneak into his hotel rooms…some of them just wanted to sleep with him. But many of them were downright deranged…he was right to be scared of them sometimes…but it was just something he had to live with. Something he had to get used to. Rodeo fans were a weird bunch.

  “It’s me honey…” said a woman in the bed, slowly pulling the covers off to reveal her buxom and naked body sprawled out.

  There was another empty whiskey bottle next to her.

  “Who the hell are you?” said Colton, lowering his whiskey bottle weapon. The woman didn’t look like much of a threat. But he didn’t remember her at all.

  “You don’t remember me at all, honey, do you?” said the woman.

  “Well…seems like I had a lot to drink last night,” said Colton. He looked down at his body for the first time since waking up. He noticed now that he wasn’t wearing any clothes. He didn’t even have any underwear on.

  His strong muscular legs were bare. His muscular chest was heaving a little with the effort of waking up so hung over.

  “Why don’t you get in the bed with me, and I can remind you who I am, baby,” said the woman.

  Colton hesitated for a moment.

  Then he eyed the woman again, up and down, savoring her body. He shrugged his shoulders, and crawled slowly into bed with her. Maybe this would help his hangover, he thought to himself.

  3. KATY

  Up in the hotel room my heart was beating. This wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want to be with strangers in their hotel rooms. But this was what was happening. I wanted to be settled down, with a husband and kids. I wanted to love and to be loved.

  But I was filling this gaping hole with just sex.

  At least it was hot sex.

  And it wasn’t a bad way to fill a need…as remedies went it wasn’t a particularly unenjoyably one. But there was something missing. Something important that just wasn’t here.

  “You look so sexy,” said the man. I had already forgotten his name.

  “So do you,” I said. I meant it. But in a way, I was just going through the motions. I didn’t really care what he looked like. He was hot enough, and that was enough for me.

  “Show me who’s in charge,” I said. This was a fun little game I played. In place of being loved, I wanted to be dominated. I wanted to be shown my place…in a way…

  “What do you mean?” he said, a little taken aback.

  “Show me my place,” I said. “I’m a bad girl, aren’t I? Don’t you want something from me?”

  “I don’t know…” he said, his eyes down cast, a strange expression creeping over his face.

  “Come on,” I said. “I’m just looking to have some fun. “You know what I mean, don’t you?”

  “I know what you mean, but I don’t think I feel comfortable with that.”

  “Fine, whatever,” I said. “Let’s just get it over with then.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you,” said the guy. John, I think it was. Yeah, his name had been John. Not that it mattered. In another moment, I would forget it.

  “Don’t worry, baby,” I said. “Don’t you want me to make you feel good?”

  He nodded his head.

  “Take off those pants, then,” I said. Instead of being submissive, I would have to take charge…it wasn’t my favorite thing, but I didn’t mind it. Although what I really wished for was a man who could take charge…a man who would love me…who would show me that I needed him…a man who could tell me what to do.

  My life was so confusing. It was all getting so muddled. It was so hard making all my own decisions. And making everyone else’s decisions, too. I literally was making a thousand teeny tiny decisions for other people every day…that was my job, to make the wedding decisions that were too stressful or minor for others to make.

  And I was sick of it.

  I wanted someone to make the decisions f
or me. I wanted to feel safe and secure. I wanted someone to hold me and tell me exactly what I needed to do for everything to be OK.

  Instead I was making the calls. At the weddings. And in my sex life.

  “What do you want me to do next?” said the man in a servile tone. Why couldn’t he take charge? Why couldn’t men these days be men? Why did they have to act so subservient to us?

  I just didn’t get it.

  “Kiss me,” I said.

  He came over. He had strong arms, but he held me delicately. Too delicately.

  “Act strong,” I said. “You’re strong. Hold me strong.”

  Instead of showing me his force in a gentle way, he just squeezed me tighter. Too tight. But whatever…I guess at least he was trying.

  He kissed me on the mouth. It was a nice kiss. It was sexy enough. Nothing mind blowing…that’s what I wanted I guessed…something mind blowing. Was it even possible to find that? At that point in my life, I was convinced that this kind of encounter was all I deserved. I didn’t deserve mind-blowing sex…I didn’t deserve a real man…I didn’t deserve what I wanted.

  “Take off my clothes,” I said, pulling my mouth away from his.

  He did so, but he did it too delicately.

  Whatever, there wasn’t any point in trying to get what I wanted. This was what was available.

  Why would such a hot guy act so servile? Why did he need me to tell him exactly what he needed me to do?

  I pushed him towards the bed. He fell backwards.

  I got onto the bed, pushing myself on top of him.

  I kissed his neck. He kissed mine.

  I ran my hands across his bulky muscular chest, through his chest hair…that’s one thing I did like about this guy. I couldn’t stand guys who had no chest hair…maybe I was old fashioned in that way. I understood that it wasn’t in style anymore.

  My underwear was still on. I reached down and slipped it off me.

  I positioned my powerful legs so that I was straddling him. I lowered myself carefully onto him.

  I received him inside me. His manhood was big and hard. It felt good inside of me.