Lelo made a noise and they realized he was still staring slack-jawed at Sutton.
“Lelo, you’re gonna catch flies if you don’t shut your big trap,” Mel drawled.
“Sorry. It’s just…Sutton Grant. Your runs are damn near perfect. That’s why folks call you ‘The Saint’ because you never screw up.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say never. And that’s not the only reason I’ve been called that.” He sent London a conspiratorial wink. “But it doesn’t apply this week, does it darlin’?”
“Stitch is gonna flip his shit when he meets you.”
Ooh, mean-girl London clawed her way to the surface. “Pity then that I’m not invited to Stitch and Paige’s party, isn’t it?”
Lelo’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Then he cleared his throat. “Uh, well, maybe I spoke outta turn. I’m sure Stitch don’t have no hard feelin’s if you don’t, London.”
Sutton sent her an amused look. “Up to you darlin’, what we do tonight. You know if I had my way we’d head to the camper right now and wouldn’t leave until…” His heated head to toe perusal was as powerful as an actual caress. “Until tomorrow. Late tomorrow.”
“Looks like you’re shit outta luck, Lelo,” London said breezily, laughing as Sutton started pulling her away.
Behind Lelo’s back, Mel mouthed, “Call me you lucky bitch.”
“You know where we’ll all be if you change your mind,” Lelo shouted after them.
“That was fun.”
Sutton draped his arm over her shoulder. “How far’s your camper?”
She hip-checked him. “Friends first, then food, remember?”
“Right. And I’ll bet we aren’t skipping Stitch’s party?”
“You bet your sexy ass we’re not. It’s not like we have to stay long, but you do need to put in an appearance for your adoring fans.”
“And rub it in Stitch’s face that you’re no longer pining after him and you’ve moved on with me?”
London stopped, forcing Sutton to stop.
He faced her. “What?”
“I don’t want you to get the wrong impression, Sutton.”
“I’m not.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t know darlin’, maybe you’d better spell it out for me.”
London inhaled a fortifying breath and let it out. “About this deal. After seeing Lelo’s reaction to you—to us—I’m glad that other people who’ve been looking at me with pity will be looking at me in a completely different light when they see us together.”
“But?”
She inched closer and twisted her hand in the front of his shirt. “But my reason for wanting you to fuck me until I can’t walk isn’t for anyone’s benefit but mine.”
“And mine,” he said softly. His eyes searched hers. “So I didn’t misread the situation?”
“That what’s been happening between us in private the past six days is only to make us look like a real couple in public?”
“Yeah.”
“Until I saw you today, I wasn’t sure. No, that’s not true. I wasn’t sure until after you kissed me and told me you’d had to go away because you couldn’t stay away from me. That’s when I knew there’s nothing fake about the heat between us.”
Sutton curled his hand around the side of her face and gave her a considering look.
“What?”
“You have good insurance on that camper? Because we’re gonna set the inside on fire tonight.”
The inferno in his eyes nearly torched her clothes. Right there in front of the white tent proclaiming “Jesus Saves.” Tempting to shout, “Can I get an amen?!” and then crack jokes about her burning bush.
Instead she slipped her arm around Sutton’s waist and pecked those delectable dimples. “Feed me first, bulldogger, then we’ll get naked and test the combustible point of the mattress.”
Chapter Eight
Sutton couldn’t take his eyes off London. He’d catch himself staring at her mouth or those long, reddish-brown curls, or the flex of the muscles in her arm even when she just lifted her fork to eat.
She’d catch him gawking and as a reward, or hell, maybe it was punishment, she’d eye fuck him and run her tongue around her straw until his cock swelled against his zipper.
He leaned forward and grabbed her hand, bringing her knuckles to his mouth for a soft kiss. “You really think we’ll make it through the party and the dance?”
“Who said I wanted to go to the dance?”
“You did. Last weekend. You said you always go.”
“To the Saturday night dances. It’s Friday night.”
He raised his hand to the waitress. “Check, please.”
London laughed. “Down boy.”
“Been a while for me, darlin’, and I’ll need a round or five to build up my stamina.”
“Don’t scare me. I do have to climb on a horse the next two afternoons.”
“Too bad for you. I plan on making you plenty saddle sore.” He smirked. “I’m looking forward to kissing it and making it all better.”
She turned her hand, threading their fingers together. “We need to get our minds off sex at least for a little while. Tell me something about you that’s surprising.”
Besides that I’ve been cleared to ride and I’ve been lying to everyone the past four months?
“No pressure. I’ll rephrase. I’ll go first. I’ve never been pierced. Your turn.”
“Okay. I don’t have any ink tattoos.”
“But you’ve had a few rodeo tattoos.”
“Yep. Your turn.”
“I don’t like anything butterscotch flavored.”
“I do. Bring on the flavored body paint, baby. I’ll lick you clean.”
She groaned. “You are killing me. This was supposed to take our minds off sex.”
“Darlin’, I can’t look at you and not think about all the ways I want to make you come. And if you’d prefer that I smear the body paint on your nipples or between your thighs?”
“Both.” Her eyes heated. “I’m guessing the application would be as pulse-poundingly erotic as the removal.”
“No reason to rush a good thing.” He nibbled on the inside of her wrist. “It’s your turn.”
“My brain is stuck on whether I’d finally start liking the taste of butterscotch if I sucked it off your tongue after you licked it off me.”
“Let’s test that theory.”
“Now?”
“I saw a bottle of butterscotch syrup at the ice cream place. I’ll distract them. You swipe it and shove it in your purse.”
“‘The Saint’ contemplating a heist for a dirty sexual scenario? I’m shocked. And more than a little turned on.”
“Excuse me. Are you Sutton Grant?”
His gaze reluctantly moved from London’s molten bedroom eyes to the guy standing at the end of the table. “That’s me.”
“I thought so, but I knew you were on the injured list for this season, so I was surprised to see you. Especially here at such a small-potatoes rodeo.” He paused. “Are you competing?”
“Nope. I’m here with my girlfriend.” He angled his head at London. “She runs a horse clinic.”
The guy glanced over at London, and she gave him a finger wave.
“Oh. Wow. Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said with zero sincerity. “But as long as I’m here, can I get you to sign this?” He shoved a piece of paper at Sutton.
“Sure. What’s your name?” Sutton made small talk as he scrawled his name and the date across the program. As soon as he finished, he saw there were several more people who’d lined up. He smiled and kept signing. This was part of the gig for a man in his position, with four championship buckles—the very buckle most of these guys would give their left nut to have a shot at.
After they were alone, he stood and threw some bills on the table. Then he offered London his hand. “Come on.”
It’d gotten completely dark. The musical and mechanical sounds from
the midway echoed with distortion and the bright lights sent the entire area aglow. “You wanna hit some of the rides before we crash the party?” He swung their joined hands. “Might be romantic to grope each other at the top of the Ferris wheel.”
“Not romantic at all because I am a puker. No spinning rides for me.”
“Poor deprived girl,” he whispered. Then he tugged her into a darkened corner between two storage sheds, pushing her up against a modular home. “How about if I try and get that pretty head of yours spinning another way.” Sutton kissed her, starting the kiss out at full throttle. Not easing up until she bumped her hips into his, seeking more contact.
God, she made him hard. He’d never wanted a woman this much, this soon. What sparked between them might be fueled by lust but it also went beyond it—which is what’d sent him running.
For now, he’d focus on that lust.
His hands squeezed her hips and then moved north to her breasts. He broke his lips free from hers and dragged an openmouthed kiss down her throat. When the collar of her shirt kept him from sampling more of her skin, he tugged until the metal snaps popped.
No bra. Nothing to get in the way of taking every bit of that sweet flesh into his mouth to be sucked and licked and tasted.
Her breath stuttered when his teeth enclosed her nipple. She knocked his hat to the ground as she clutched the back of his neck, pressing his mouth deeper against her.
Sutton shoved his thigh between hers. Immediately she rocked her hips against that hard muscle.
“Yes. Right there.”
He lost track of all sanity as he nuzzled and suckled her sweet tits, stopping himself from jamming his hand down her pants and feeling her hot and creamy core as he got her off with his fingers. Choosing instead to get her off this way, because fuck, there was something primal about making her come nearly fully clothed.
“Harder.”
London’s head fell back against the building and she softly gasped his name as he gave her what she needed.
She’d clamped her thighs around his leg so tightly he felt the contractions in her cunt pulsing against his quad. He felt the matching pulse beneath his lips as he drew on that taut nipple. Felt her short nails digging into the back of his neck.
Fucking hell this woman tripped all his wires.
When she loosened her grip on him, he planted kisses up her chest, letting his breath drift along her collarbone, smiling when gooseflesh broke out beneath his questing lips.
“You are no saint, Sutton Grant.”
“Nope.” He nuzzled the curve of her throat.
“Mmm. Keep kissing me like that while I fix my shirt.”
“I’m happy you didn’t wear a bra.”
“No need for me to wear one, well, probably ever.”
“Lucky me.”
She rubbed her lips across his ear, raising chills across his skin. “Brace your hands on the building by my head.”
“Why?”
She nipped his earlobe. “Because I wanna kiss you.”
As soon as he complied, he angled his head so she could better reach his lips.
But London dropped to her knees and started working on his belt.
“Sweet Christ, woman. What are you doin’?”
“Giving you a kiss.”
“My mouth is up here.”
“That’s not where I wanna kiss you.”
Any blood left in his head surged to his groin. The one teeny part of his brain that wasn’t giving him mental high-fives managed to eke out, “What if someone comes up behind us?”
“You really care about that?” Pop went the button on his Wranglers. Zip went his zipper. She pulled back the jeans and shifted his boxer-briefs so his dick slid through the opening.
“Fuck, not really. Just giving you an out—holy fucking hell,” he said when her hot mouth closed around his cock.
When she eased back and off him, he actually whimpered.
“Oh, bulldogger, you’re just big all over, aren’t you?”
Before he formed a coherent sentence, she sucked him to the root.
Again.
And again.
And again.
His body throbbed with the need for release. God. It’d been so long.
“London,” he managed, “I’m about to…” That warning tingle in his balls lasted barely a blip before his cock spasmed and unloaded. Each hot spurt jerked his shaft into her teeth.
Her mouth worked him until he was utterly spent. He started to feel lightheaded, realizing he’d held his breath. After gulping in oxygen, the fuzzy sensation faded, but he still felt rocked to his core.
Then London was in his face. “Sutton, you’d better do up your jeans.”
“Sure.” Still in a daze, he pushed off the building. He kept his gaze on hers as he tucked in, zipped up, and buckled. Then he leaned in and kissed her. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
“Fair is fair though, darlin’.”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“I wanna taste you. Undo your jeans.”
“Sutton—”
“Now.”
London’s obedience surprised him as well as pleased him. Excitement tinged with fear danced in her eyes as she loosened her belt and unzipped, peeling the denim back. “I don’t think—”
He slammed his mouth down on hers. Kissing her with a teasing glide of his tongue and soft licks, he pressed his palm over her belly, slowly sliding his hand over the rise of her mound and into her panties. When his middle finger breached the slick heat of her sex, he smiled, breaking their kiss. “You’re wet,” he said, his breath on her lips.
“Yes.”
“It’s so fucking hot that you’re wet after blowing me.” He followed the slit down to her center where all the sweetness pooled. After swirling his fingertips through her cream, he worked his hand out. Then he pushed back so only a few inches separated their faces and brought his hand up, letting her see the wetness glistening there, hyperaware they were close enough she could smell her own arousal.
Sutton slipped his fingers into his mouth and sucked the sweet juices, briefly closing his eyes to savor this first taste of her.
Before he completely pulled his fingers free, London was right there. Licking his fingers, tasting herself on him, sucking on his tongue. The kiss could’ve soared past the combustible stage, then neither of them would’ve been able to stop. But something made him hold back, turn the kiss into a promise of more to come as he dialed down the urgency. Easing back, he let his hands wander, wanting all of her but willing to wait until he could have her the way he needed.
London sensed the shift too. She fastened her jeans and fixed her belt. Her gaze finally hooked his, but he couldn’t read her.
He traced the edge of her jaw. “What?”
“You pack a powerful punch, Sutton Grant.”
“Same could be said about you, Miz Gradsky.” Knowing they needed a break from the intensity, he reached down and grabbed his hat and settled it on his head. “You still wanna hit the party?”
“Of course. Now we’ve got a really good excuse for being fashionably late.”
“So if someone asks where we’ve been?”
“I’ll say we were messing around and lost track of time.” She smoothed her hands over her hair and straightened her clothes. “It’s the truth.”
They returned to tent city hand in hand. The party wasn’t hard to find.
Several guys stopped London to chat, and he had a surge of jealousy even when she introduced him right away. But they both discovered it wasn’t necessary since he knew a lot of the people hanging around. Except the kids in line for the keg all looked younger than eighteen. Seemed like so long ago that he’d been the new kid on the circuit. Back then, seeing guys who were the age he was now had seemed so ancient.
Finally, they reached the spot by the fire where the couple hosting the party held court.
Sutton had only seen the pair last week from a distance
. Stitch was a substantial guy—although Sutton had him by a couple inches—and he appeared to be four or five years younger than London, which is why Sutton didn’t do a double take at seeing his baby-faced girlfriend. She was cute, miniature in stature. But her blonde hair, as big as the state of Texas—a phrase his friend Tanna used to say—added some height. He wondered if someone had warned the young thang about the perils of standing too close to the fire doused with that much hairspray. Or about the fuse-like dangers of the synthetic beauty queen sash she wore loosely draped across her chest.
Besides, Sutton was way more interested in this Stitch guy, the douche-nozzle dumb enough to dump long, lean London for pint-sized Paige.
Like most bulldoggers, Stitch was solid, but he’d gone a step further, bulking up to the point he’d lost his neck. Nothing else about him seemed remarkable, save for the fact the guy was bow-legged. Probably made Sutton an ass to wish the dude was cross-eyed, with buck teeth and nearly bald beneath his cowboy hat too, but there it was. Sometimes he wasn’t a nice guy.
London’s hand tightened in his. “Sutton.”
“What?”
“Stop growling.”
“Sorry.” Not at fucking all. “Just feeling a little territorial, darlin’.”
“I can see that. So can everyone else.”
“Good.”
Lelo elbowed Stitch and his entire body stiffened.
Then Stitch dropped his arm from Paige’s shoulder and skirted the fire pit, heading toward them. He offered his hand first and Sutton automatically followed suit. “I can’t believe the Sutton Grant is here at my campsite. I can’t believe I’m meeting you. Man, I’m such a huge fan! Your run in Vegas was legendary. It was a dream to get to watch history being made.”
“I appreciate you saying so.”
“When Lelo said you were here, I thought he was pulling my leg. He’s such a prankster.”
“Maybe his name oughta be Stitch,” Sutton deadpanned.
Stitch’s eyes clouded for a second. He didn’t get the joke.
Sutton kept his expression cool. As much as he appreciated Stitch’s enthusiasm, it bothered the crap out of him that neither the man nor his girlfriend had acknowledged London.
Paige pushed her way between them and offered her hand, while keeping a proprietary hand on Stitch. “Hi. I’m Paige. We’re happy you could stop by our party.”
Roped In: A Blacktop Cowboys® Novella (1001 Dark Nights) Page 8
