Then his hands slipped between my thighs, and I shuddered as they brushed along my lace covered pussy. Damn. It had been so long. When was the last time I’d had sex, let alone sex with anyone as pretty as Dylan. Months?
I deepened the kiss again, fucking his mouth with mine, until we were both panting. Tongues twisting, I ground my wet core against his cock, making us both moan. He pulled back, his breathing coming in short gasps. “One second.”
I grinned. “You can have eight, cowboy.”
He grabbed his wallet and pulled out a condom. I raised an eyebrow but I shimmied back so he could drag his tight boxers down his thighs. His cock sprung free, hard and angry looking, leaking precum already. He was a good fucking size and my core clenched in anticipation. I reached out and gave him a few hard strokes and he shuddered, grabbing my wrist. “Baby Girl, you do that again, I’m not gonna get to be inside you. And I want that more than I want my damn next breath.”
He slid the condom on in one well-practiced stroke. Then he grabbed my hips and pulled me up his body. He kissed me hard again, his cock notched against my entrance. He held my hips, pulling back again.
“Ready?”
I searched his face, and the pure earnestness in his eyes surprised me. He looked like if I said no right now, he’d pull up his Wranglers and climb out of my truck, no harm, no foul. So instead of answering him, I sank down on his cock until he was buried balls deep in me.
I moaned and rested my forehead on his shoulder.
“Fuck,” he whispered, just pressing my hips down, not moving, letting the feel of our bodies meld together.
I clenched my muscles around him and he shuddered again. Then he was moving my hips and slamming them back down and I was riding him in a primal movement that was ingrained in my brain.
He pushed down the cups of my bra and took my nipple in his mouth and I let out a gasp and rode him harder. Damn, this was going to be hard and fast, and when he bit my nipple, I squealed.
“Oh god,” I whimpered. My orgasm was there, building low as pleasure raced over my body. “I’m so fucking close,” I moaned, my hands spread over his shoulders, my nails digging into the muscles at his back.
He slid his hand between us and rubbed my clit with the perfect amount of pressure. Holy smokes! The sounds of my orgasm echoed around the cab of my truck and I ground down hard, my head thrown back. Yes!
Dylan gave me a second, riding my orgasm with me. Then he doubled down his damn efforts, setting a fast grinding pace as he licked and sucked at my nipples and I swear to god my toes cramped inside my boots from pleasure. My second orgasm was riding me as Dylan came with a low, rumbling moan, his thrusts ragged and sweat making his skin shine in the moonlight. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me against his chest, nuzzling his face in my neck.
“Damn, Baby Girl. You really are something and then some.”
I chuckled against his soft hair. “Right back at ya.”
“Is this the part where you eat my head?” he joked and I tugged on his hair, laughing.
He tilted his head back to look at me, his eyes sparkling in the flashing neon sign from the front of the bar. He was really, really pretty. Heartbreakingly pretty.
Junior had called him Montaigne. Dylan Montaigne. Why did that sound familiar… “Holy shit, Dylan Montaigne. You came out of nowhere last year and won down in Rocksprings.”
He grinned. “At your service, Ma’am.”
I scoffed at him calling me ma’am. “Good for you. It was a good ride.” I leaned down and captured his lips, giving him one last kiss. That was it. He was now off limits. “Now get the hell outta my truck,” I joked, climbing off his lap, both of us a little breathless as his still semi-hard dick slid from me.
“Just gonna love me and leave me like that?” he teased back, but there was something in his eyes that I didn’t want to look at closely. Looked a lot like regret.
I ran my hand down his cheek, his stubble just a little abrasive. I was going to have a beard rash on my breasts tomorrow. “Sorry, Cowboy. I don’t date bull riders.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”
I slid my jean shorts back over my legs, shimmying them up my thighs. “Because you are all cocky assholes with commitment issues.”
Dylan threw back his head, his laughter just as sexy as everything else about him. “I can’t argue with that, Baby Girl. But I sure can be disappointed. I can’t convince you to come back to my hotel for round two?”
I hesitated, but shook off the begging of my hungry vagina. “Sorry, Dylan.”
He leaned over and kissed me, and I wavered again. Gah.
Finally, he shimmied back into his own jeans, doing up his belt buckle and plopping his hat back on his head.
We talked about general things as we dressed, riding and rodeo, country music songs. Between every topic he’d lean over and kiss me, and I was woman enough to say I was wavering. Finally, we were all dressed, and the silence hung between us.
“I guess I should go,” he sighed. I nodded, not trusting my voice in case I told him to stay. “This was fun. What's your last name, Tessa?”
I shook my head, a small smile on my lips. “Don’t matter, Dylan.” I leaned forward and sucked his bottom lip into my mouth making him groan. Then I leaned around him and opened the back door of my truck. He slid out and I jumped out after him. “I’ll be watching your career, though. Ride hard.”
Dylan winked and tipped his hat. “You too, Baby Girl.”
Then he turned and walked to the other side of the parking lot rather than back into the bar. I walked around to the driver’s door and climbed in. I checked my phone. Frankie had gone home with the girl, so I had the place to myself for the night.
I pulled into a convenience store, bought a gallon of ice cream and went back to the hotel. I sat up in bed and watched infomercials, eating ice cream until my eyes refused to stay open. Then I dreamed of handsome cowboys and whispered promises.
2
One Year Later
“But how would it look if she got hurt, Burt?”
Burt rolled his eyes, and I resisted the urge to do the same. Instead, I bit the inside of my cheek so I didn’t mouth off.
“I don’t know, Stan, probably the same way it would look if any of them got hurt. Like she knew what was going to happen when she walked out onto that dirt like everyone else.”
Fuck yeah, Burt. Give it to him.
“But she’s a woman, it ain’t the same at all and you know it. If she gets hurt, it looks bad on us for letting her out there in the first place,” Stan Wilfred Senior was just as much of a bitch as his son. He wasn’t worried about my health despite his ‘What about the little lady?’ lip flapping. He was worried about how it would look if they let a woman into the ‘Toughest Sport on Dirt’.
Burt was a big guy, current president of the WBRP. His wife was a former barrel racing pro and he happened to be a friend of my father's way back when. He’d sent flowers when he died, apparently.
He looked at me like he owed me something, which he didn’t, but I was grasping this opportunity with both hands. He turned away from me and back at Stan Senior. “There's nothing in the rules that says she can’t ride. She has the points. No one is saying we whack her on stage in Nevada, Stan. She has to earn her way there, just like she worked her way here, like most other riders have.”