by Joya Ryan
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Tempt
Joya Ryan
Copyright © 2017, Joya Ryan
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Every damn summer my small town of Mojave puts on a fireworks show. Actually, the Air Force base forty miles up the road puts it on. But the good people of this desert town schlep their blankets and chairs to the middle of the dusty, wide open desert and watch. The thing about a desert, though, it’s fuckin’ dark.
No streetlights, no sunset, when it’s night, it’s night as shit.
And with someone already throwing a hissy at Waylon, the grocery store clerk, to turn off the floodlights on his truck, I’m already losing patience with the town I love and the people in it. Seems a little stupid to think about how we’re all out here, in the dark, in the desert, watching lights burst in the sky. Only getting a brief moment of light, then back to seeing jack shit.
But those brief moments are enough. Because it’s in those seconds that I see my twin brother, Trade, and his fiancée, Quinn. Hell, Quinn’s blonde head could be her own fuckin’ beacon of light. I like her, and I love my brother. Trade would say I’m the “calm” and “noble” one. Whatever the hell that means. I just look for a good time and try to keep things light. Today, I’m in a shitty mood, though, and I’m not interested in watching Trade and Quinn make out. No matter how brief the fireworks are.
Another burst of light. A flash of red. Popping boom sound.
Mic, my sister, is just beyond Trade and Quinn near the edge of the sea of people. Alone. She usually was. Mic’s a tough chick, though. Runs her own bar and doesn’t ever look twice at a man. Mostly because she knows all the men in town. We all grew up together. I can’t blame her for not being interested. We have some good guys, but we also have fuck ups. Like my cousin and the gang of druggie losers he ran with. Most of them are in prison now.
When it comes to knowing who’s who, I have the corner on the woman market. I knew all the women. Fucked most of them. I’m not proud of that, but I’m not ashamed either. I have plenty of other things to be ashamed for. Mostly my addiction to coke, pills, and whatever else I got my hands on back then. I kicked all habits a couple years ago. Staying sober is a bitch and women helped pass the time. So did racing. Which is what I love. Why I’m still here. For now. Every race gets me closer to a better living. A few good winnings keep me in the competitive field and if I can land another sponsor after this next big race, I’ll be set. Sure, it’s a dirt track and a stock car I’ve put together in pieces over the years. But it’s what I love. I’ll never be NASCAR and that’s fine with me. I will be a racer, though. Forever.
In one month, I have the chance to qualify for the Las Vegas Invitational. And who knows where that could take me after. Maybe their amateur circuit? Maybe I can race in the desert until I die.
Either way, toward the end of summer, Mojave’s dirt oval track will be filled with spectators to watch me win against four other guys who probably want it just as bad as I do.
Another pop, boom, “Ooh and ah,” from the crowd. Another flash of red. Only this time, it’s not the fireworks…
It’s you.
What the hell are you doing here, Shay? And what the hell are you doing here looking like that? Your long red hair put that last firework to shame. Thick and curly, and if it’s half as soft as it looks, I’m going to wrap my fingers in it while your pink mouth wraps around my dick.
No. No, I won’t do that because I’ll never touch you, Shay.
The light fades and thank Christ another firework hits right after. The silver waterfall kind that allows the light to linger so I can stare at you.
You’re young. I’ve known this. All too well since it was your brother that got me hooked on coke. You were a kid then. You’re not a kid now. You never come out, so why now? It’s like you know that your eighteenth birthday a few weeks ago meant something and now you’re on the prowl. Or on the market. Or both.
Either way, I need you to go home. Your skin is creamy. Perfect. Spotless. Jesus, get some goddamn sun, Shay.
No, don’t.
You look pure. Untouched. My arms are scarred and bruised and torn up from years of working on cars and racing cars in the desert sun. I’ve also run my body into the ground. Even now that I’m healthy, strong, and take care of myself, I wonder how much damage I’ve done to the man beneath this skin.
But you’re not damaged. You are a doll. A pristine porcelain doll.
And God almighty, I want to play with you.
Your blue eyes lock on mine—
Then darkness.
Fuck. What I’d give to have you look at me again. You shouldn’t. And I shouldn’t care either way. But I do. Not just because you’re one of the few women in this town I haven’t fucked. Somehow, that makes it better. I haven’t gotten my dirty hands all over that perfect skin of yours. I want to. God damn it, do I want to.
But I won’t.
Because you’re a good girl.
Better than me.
Better than that shit brother of yours currently in lockup with my cousin for pushing smack. They’re getting into harder drugs. And it took them down. I took them down. And I’m not sorry. Don’t ever touch what they sell. I know you haven’t. You’re too clean for that. You’re also too smart. Rumor is you’re some kind of genius even. Or maybe you had to grow up fast and have been an adult since you were a child. Life is rough on some of us, and I know it’s been rough on you.
You’re still young, though.
Young, but now legal.
“Staring is considered rude,” you say against my ear. It’s still dark and I don’t jump. But I’m surprised. Your lips are right there, and I had no idea you were this close to me. Another firework lights up the sky. Turing my head to face you, I almost get your lips to graze across my jaw. But they don’t.
“I wasn’t staring at anything.”
I lie. Quite often actually. You should know that about me. Probably do. Since you’ve known me forever.
You smile. You know I’m lying. Good girl.
“I think you were staring at me.”
“Lot of shiny, flashing things are out tonight, little girl, you know my attention wanders.”
The fireworks fade and the dark hits again. I take the opportunity to leave you. Because we’re done here, Shay. Better I leave now. I refuse to tell you that I’ve been counting the days until your eighteenth birthday. And now, I could touch you. You’re right there. I could just reach out and actually feel your skin. But I won’t. Because it’s still fucked up. Me wanting you is fucked up. And don’t think I don’t know why. Don’t think I haven’t pieced together the irony that you’re the one clean thing in my dirty damaged past.
I walk away faster. Weaving through the crowd. I don’t care who I just stepped on. I keep walking. I need to get away. Towards the outskirts of the cluster of people. My truck is up ahead. I may not be able to see it right now, but I know my way around a dark desert.
The air clears up. The smell of people fades as I get further and further from the crowd. Thank God. I can’t handle too many people. Not at once. Not with you next to me. It’s better I leave. You sh
ould go home too, Shay. I’ve been able to avoid you for this long. Hell, I didn’t start noticing you until last year when your tits took on weight and your hips curved out. You were seventeen then. And for a damn year, I stayed away from you and your new curves. Now, stay away from me.
“Are you running away from me?” you ask.
Yes.
“No,” I say. “I have places to be and—”
“People to do?” you finish. Clever girl. I can hear your smile even though I can’t see it. I open my truck door, reach in, and start it up. The lights turn on. You’re there. At the front of my truck looking like an angel. Ray of light beaming over you, red fire haloing…
No. My shitty truck lights and your own hair is not a damn halo. This is no time for me to get romantic ideals. Go back to the fireworks.
That’s what I should tell you. Instead, I repeat what you said to me. “People to do?”
I can see your face—your perfect milky face. Your smile widens, showing off bright white teeth. I can also see your body. A silhouette of curves and lean muscle. Your tank top is tight and riding up just enough to see your tight stomach. I want to grip your waist while you ride me. Bounce you up and down on my aching dick and watch those perfect tits bounce high and hard.
“You’re popular,” you say, your smile fading a little. We both know what you’re getting at.
“I’ve fucked a lot of women,” I say, in case you need clarity. Maybe now you’ll leave. You know better than this, Shay. I don’t know the extent of your experiences with boys, which are just that, boys. But you know my past—including the women and the drugs. Let’s not color that with a fancy word like popular.
“Is that what you’re going to do?” you ask, sticking your chin in the air. “Make love to some woman?”
Your voice is soft, but your tone is hard. I laugh. I can’t help it, Shay. You’re way, way too cute in this moment. Cute and sexy and did you just say, “Make love?”
“Making love is a concept for adults,” I tell you. You don’t like that. Because your sweet face turns angry and you glare hard.
“I’m an adult, Coe Anders. More than you realize.”
“Oh, I’ve realized,” I assure you. Every damn man in this town has also realized this and I’m not the only who’s noticed or counted the days. You’re legal and that’s no secret. “And, no, I’m not going to make love. I don’t make love, period.”
“Of course,” you say with your own hint of mockery. “You fuck, right? Isn’t that what Coe Anders does?”
“Yes.” I won’t lie to you about this. Because, one, I’ll never touch you, although it’s all I can fucking think about right now. And, two, there’s no reason to paint a different picture than what I am. My brother, Trade, may look the part of the “bad brother,” with his tattoos and greasy clothes working at the auto shop, but he’s a better man than me. He’s also settled down. I love that dirty mutt more than myself and would do anything for him, but the day he met Quinn, everything changed. Trade isn’t haunted with a past. He isn’t an addict. He’s pulled me back from the brink and he’s just plain better than me.
“Fuck and race,” you say.
Ah, the racing. “Two things that keep me out of trouble.”
You nod, some of your long red hair skimming over your shoulder. Jesus, it looks like a flame of fire licking across your neck. I want to touch it, pull it. Smell it. I bet you smell like sweet burning vanilla. I bet I could get high off your scent.
“Do you miss it?” you ask softly. I know what you’re asking me…and I hate—love—that you’re so savvy. You’re also observant. You also know my demons. You know what kind of trouble I’m talking about.
“Do I miss getting high?”
You nod.
Fuck, yes, I do. I want to get high right now. Only not on the shit your bother used to peddle to me. I want you.
My blood is heavier in my veins, my skin is sticky, and the damn air out here is getting caught in my lungs. It’s the same damn itch I get before wanting fix. Only you’re the fix. And God damn it, I want you. Badly.
I take a step closer.
You move my way.
Another step, then two more. The scrape of the desert under your feet rasps. You’re coming toward me. I want to make you come…more.
You’re out of the truck light. In the shadows only two feet from me.
“Coe,” you whisper. The way you say my name heats my skin. You take another step. Your hair smells like flowers. Clean shampoo.
“Yes.” I barely recognize my own voice. I’m gritting my teeth. “I want to get high.” I grab your waist and yank you into me and wrap my other hand in your hair. You gasp and I breathe it in. Your mouth is right there, your lips against mine. I’m not gentle.
“You want to, but you don’t,” you whisper. “I’m proud of you.”
That word, proud, isn’t reserved for a man like me. “There’s nothing to be proud of, Shay.”
“I’ve seen you struggle. I know…I know it’s not easy, but you’re clean. You’re strong. Strongest man I’ve ever seen.”
You sound like a damn girl with a crush. You also sound sincere. It’s the latter that’s making my throat tight. Because I know exactly what you’ve seen. You’ve seen me at my worst. Strung out, days without sleep, disgusting and jonesing for another fix. You’ve seen me and your piece of shit brother so fucked up we couldn’t talk. Couldn’t move.
And you say you’re proud?
“Go home, Shay.” I push myself away from you.
“No.” You grab my T-shirt. Your fingers scrape along my abs. It feels good. Your hands are on me and I want to feel them against my skin. Feel you wrapped around me. But I’ll settle for your little claws clinging to my shirt. For now.
“No?” I raise my brow. I don’t know if you can see my face. There are shadows that mask us. No one can see us within our little makeshift cave behind my headlights.
Just us.
And you’re telling me no.
Bad move, Shay.
“Shouldn’t talk back, little girl. Especially when you have no idea what’s good for you.”
“I’m not a little girl and I know what I want.”
“It’s not me,” I assure you.
Your blue eyes are bright. The only color I see outside of your red hair in the dim light.
“Prove it,” you challenge.
“I’m trying to,” I say honestly. You have no fucking clue how much I’m trying to prove to you, and to me, that I can walk away. Rather, push you away. But you’re stubborn. So am I. Your innocence is too sweet a thing to take. I may not be a good guy, but I can personify that illusion. My own damn brother thinks I’m some kind of calm, even-keeled, do-gooder.
I’m not.
Can you read my mind? Because you just moved closer. Your hips press into me. My dick is hard. Can you feel it against your tight little stomach? Do you have any idea what I’d do to a sweet thing like you?
“I’d make you cry,” I say against your mouth, which somehow has come against mine. Christ, are you wearing cherry lip gloss?
“Good,” you say.
What the fuck has happened to me? I can’t even think through that thought because your bottom lip is between my teeth.
And you taste better than I ever imagined.
“Please,” you say.
Begging now, beautiful girl?
I can’t deny you. All the reasons why I should aren’t getting to my damn brain because all I can think of is your smell and cherry taste.
Your little fist tightens in my shirt and I grab your ass and yank you against my dick. It’s for you, Shay. You know that? My chest is tight and my muscles are tense. I want to bite you, eat you alive, crush you against me. Do you have any idea what I’m fighting right now?
I shove my tongue in your mouth. Hard and hot and you open for me. A thunk hits my ears and it’s the sound of your ass against the truck door. I’ve spun you, have you pinned between my truck and me. You like t
hat? You must because your little claws are coming out now. Under my shirt. Soft and roaming. Your mouth is trembling, slowly opening and trying to keep up with the assault.
I can’t hold back. I already am too much. Trying. Fuck, I’m trying. You’re new to this. You have to be. You’ve kissed boys, I’m sure. Maybe they’ve awkwardly tried feeling you up or fucking you meekly and fumbling around your body.
Not the case tonight, Shay.
I warned you.
“You still want me now?” I asked, one hand grabbing your ass hard and lifting your leg so you can feel my cock against your clit. My jeans are between us, but I don’t care. Your skirt is bunched at your hips and I know you feel me. I tug your hair in my other hand and your chin lifts, lips against mine, gazing up at me.
“Yes. So much,” you say. Your hands are soft and slow as they skim up the flanks of my abs, then down to my belt. The single flap of leather is loosened by your delicate fingers. You move your hips just enough and I feel your body. Ready for mine. Wanting mine. I believe you. I believe you want me so much. But nowhere near as much as I want you.
You kiss me back. Try to. Soft and sweet.
The shadows are thick and I wish I could see you more. But I’m glad you can’t see me. I’m sure I look like a demon sent from hell to defile you. That’s what I feel like. And yet, I don’t stop. You keep telling me yes. Keep saying my name. Plus, all those sweet sounds you’re moaning are enough to make me crazy. You push your hips out, seeking mine. You’re hot, your skin warm, your lips like two ripe grapes and I want to eat every part of you.
But how hot are you, Shay? Hot enough for me? Ready for me? I already know the answer; still, I tell you what I think.
“You’re in over your head, little girl,” I say, then delve deep into your mouth, taking a long taste of you. I get another soft moan and so I do it again. Again, I’m rewarded. Do you have any idea what those sounds do to me?
“I’m not. I want you. Don’t leave just to find someone else. I’m here. It’s my turn.”
Your turn?
You have this thought that I just find women and fuck them? Slake everything I am on them just for a few brief moments of trying to forget the shitbag I really am?
