Breaking A Bad Boy Page 13

  A mixture of jealousy and resentment twisted Jen’s face into an ugly smirk. “You think you’re so special. Just because you married the easiest lay in the county, and now have his kid. Wow, what an accomplishment. Ever wonder how many other kids he’s got out there?”

  Sommer’s whole body felt torched from her rocketing anger. Her emotions burst into an unchecked flame, a billowing heat wave that raced up her neck, riling her worse than if her nerves and skin were short-circuiting. She shoved Jen, then followed her forward and shoved her again. Sommer leaned over, getting well into Jen’s face. “Get the hell away from us or I swear…I swear I’ll kick your ass.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “I GOT YOU,” Rory held Sommer up against him. Her stiff body refused to relax, and she still hadn’t said word number one. Anger clung to her along with her unique floral fragrance as her body continued trembling from unspent rage.

  “Baby, simmer down,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her middle to keep her immobilized until she softened to him.

  Quivering, she nodded mutely, and he looked over at Gill and Stephen. “Are you okay? What happened?” Rory asked Gillian.

  “Yeah. Better come clean. You okay?” Stephen scowled, tipping Gillian’s face upward as a muscle pulsed along his jaw. Not the usual for his brother, unless something was up with his wife or child. “What in the heck just went down?” his brother demanded softly.

  Gill glanced over to Sommer, in some silent communication he’d seen a million times between girls before any of them answered. “It’s over. Just a case of too much to drink and not enough brain cells on duty and working,” Gillian retorted.

  “Don’t know if that’s entirely the full story. If it weren’t for your brother playing, I’d say let’s pack this in and head home,” Stephen said.

  “You said it,” Gill replied before she kissed her husband.

  “Baby,” Stephen murmured low and wound his arm around Gill before turning to him and Sommer. “Never seen you spitting mad, Somm. You all right?”

  “Better,” she answered in a husky voice.

  Rory rubbed his fingers along the taut muscles over Sommer’s stomach, mindful to keep from grinding against her ass as she pressed up to him. Tonight, she’d unleashed a side of herself—his brother was right—none of them had seen.

  Glancing back to the stage, Rory watched Hellhound set up, and caught sight of Jen and Ivy standing at the side in the shadows, but staring over here. He looked away in frustration, wondering how this rapidly widening rift between friends would impact Sommer. Two against one had to be shit to deal with. The last time Sommer had a load of heavy problems at home including their relationship, she’d taken off. If he didn’t find a way to reach past the stress coming at Sommer from all sides—with her unique pressure cooker method in how she dealt with life—this boiling mess would soon explode.

  Fuck. And him adding his own fuel to her fire wasn’t helping. He needed to stop being one more issue on her plate. He wasn’t about to fuck her without her being his wife, but he couldn’t very well keep harping on his desire to marry her, either. Not with this storm brewing.

  “You want that drink?” He rubbed his chin along her shoulder, a click away from openly nuzzling her neck, with an attitude of who the fuck cared.

  “Sure,” she said, running her hands along his arms, rocking her perfect ass against his cock, and squeezing the breath from his lungs. His rod instantaneously stood up, pulsations rippling from his core, an electrical arc ready to pop off his tip.

  He kept one arm flexed around her waist, trying to act cool and calm, not ready to toss Sommer over his shoulder like a Texas caveman and do what his cock demanded. Leaning over, he took hold of the can of Budweiser from the table, denting the aluminum between his fingers as the muscles of his arm contracted into spasms. I’m borderline insane.

  The droplets of sweat on the can slid down his fingers and he shifted on his feet, his arms enclosing Sommer as he tilted the can away from her and popped the tab. The spray shot upward and didn’t hit anyone, but still Sommer flinched. God, if Stephen and Gill weren’t here, he’d take her back to his truck, lay her down on the seat, and give her some relief from her tightly pulled nerves.

  He held the can up to her lips. “Drink,” he commanded, struggling to maintain a perimeter of open space between her bottom and his painfully throbbing erection. Fully tenting his jeans—not going to happen. But seriously, this close to Sommer, maybe he was the one who needed relief. ASAP.

  When she’d finished her sip, he brought the can up to his mouth and happened to shift his gaze back toward the stage, half paying attention, until a waving hand belonging to Jen snagged his focus. Jen blew a kiss over, not one but a few, and he wasn’t sure if the gesture was aimed at Sommer or someone else. There were several people sitting on folding chairs around the tables set up, other people were leaning against the trees, and so far Sommer didn’t seem to respond.

  “Take a walk with me,” he whispered, impatient to get her away for a few minutes until the music started.

  “Where to?” she asked.

  “Not far.” He shot a look over to Stephen and said, “Save our spots.”

  “You got it,” his brother retorted. “Everything okay?”

  Gill leaned over. “You guys don’t have to stay.”

  “We want to…Haden’s playing,” Sommer said. “I’m a diehard Diehard fan.”

  Gillian flashed her eyes up to him and then back to Sommer, nodding. “Yep, you truly are a Diehard fan.”

  He led her to the parking lot and wordlessly to his truck. Opening up the door, he glanced around the lot, and patted the seat. “Get in and lie down. Spread your legs for me, and I’ll make you feel better.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you need someone to take care of you. Right now. Baby, let me.”

  She nodded, turning and placing her hands on his biceps. “I don’t know if I’m good company…”

  “We’re not here to have a conversation…not with words anyway,” he growled, curling his fingers over her hips and lifting her up the front of him. Feeling her move along his length had him convinced this was the right idea. Not the perfect place, but for what she needed and what he could deliver, it would work. With the blowout attendance and the Diamond being so overcrowded, they were parked across the street, in an open field. Quiet. No one around. Hardly any light, but more than enough to enjoy Sommer stretched across his seat, hiking up her skirt, and giving him a view worth staring at when she opened her legs.

  “Now what?” she asked, lifting her leg and hooking her booted ankle on his shoulder.

  “Like these?” he remarked, running his fingers along the flimsy red material hindering his view of her. “I don’t think they can be saved.”

  “No? How come?”

  He wedged his finger underneath the crotch of her panties, across her wet folds, and snapped his wrist. Hard. “That’s how come,” he snarled and pushed aside the frayed edges, hungry to see her beautiful, slick pussy. He opened her lips and the feel of her damp skin, unimpeded to him, sent a burst of electricity through his own body—an amped up arrow that shot right through his dick and landed in his balls. From stiff he went to hard, painfully pulsing with each heartbeat. More than painful as he gazed at where he craved to be…all he had to do was lower his zipper and align his crown to her pussy. Do it! His whole body howled—his self-control shredded by razor sharp need. He throbbed…aching to take her, touch her, fuck her.

  “Baby,” he bit out, 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 finger, fucking her with his hand. 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 fucking hard, 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, reminding him of what he done earlier. His cock strained the front of his jeans. Shit, he was going to release. She was almost there; he could feel her body bowing and tensing, her muscles rippling.

  His heart kicked that he could do this to her.

  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, and he grunted, driving his finger into her.

  “Rory.” The heat and pleading in her eyes made him pump his finger faster 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 delicious pussy wrapped around his finger. Inhaling a serrated breath, he wanted her with every fiber of being—wanted to be soaked, skin-on-skin by her juices.

  “Please, just this once,” Sommer whispered in a sexy voice, pleading to be fucked as every cell in his body demanded that he thrust his cock into her. But it wouldn’t happen only once. He’d fuck her for hours if he got the chance. All fucking night. And probably every single day afterwards…

  “Baby, we’ll come together.” He stopped finger fucking her and her amber eyes widened, her pillow-soft lips parted, but before she could say a word, he lowered his zipper and began stroking himself 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 and jerked his cock in the same rhythm. She let him own her pussy. They moved together, and he savored the moans and whimpers she released as she rode his finger.

  “Babe,” she cried out, her voice hoarse as she shuddered under his pumping hand. 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, and his release hit him hard. He jetted, hot pulsations exited the head of his cock, striking the ground. Holy hell.

  He lowered Sommer’s legs and leaned over her hot body, his ass bared, his jeans down around his ankles, and their hearts hammering, chest to chest. She did this to him. God, how she got to him. Under his skin and in his blood…his breath. All of his thoughts.

  In a day, he and Sommer had flown together in scalding sex without penetration. Tonight, he’d come close…so close to claiming her. What the heck would happen if they didn’t slow it down? In another day or next week. Either he better invest in 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. Man, this was more than a rift between friends; it was the making of an epic storm. Not the first anyone from around here had seen. Triangles of girls had a way of coming undone, and when they did, the outnumbered girl always got the worst of it.

  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?” Gill said to Sommer.

  Her fingers dug into his arm, when he began to laugh. “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 outer layers—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 Barely.”

  “You going?” Sommer asked.

  “Not tonight. We’ve got to get back to Chelsea. I’m about to start dripping like a faucet,” Gillian said and looked 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 cavalcade 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.” Gillian 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 fingers, and lowered 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,” Gillian huffed, not that his brother didn’t have his arms around her also.

  “So,” 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.”

  “What’s the rush?” Stephen gazed over to him. His brother contemplated him in his usual semi-silent manner of long stares and a few words, parceled here and there.

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

  “Ring shopping?”

  Rory choked on his beer. Stephen wasn’t one to skirt around a subject. That sure hadn’t changed in the last day. “Not yet,” he said. “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, but he stopped, dropping his hand, and leveled his attention up 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 his gut churning. He struggled to refrain from prying her fingers off of 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 you? Why in the hell would I call you?” he demanded.

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

  Stephen stood up, and for being the same height, his brother outgunned him 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 met Gillian and ran a Hollywood production crew out of town. “You some sick SOB?” Stephen spat. “Twice over.”

  Mike grinned like a jackass. “Just because you’re a born again whatever, don’t mean that fun died when you retired. 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 what to do.” Mike jerked his chin over the stage. “He’s real interested in seeing you in action.”

  “Are you all three demented?” Rory stared at Mike. Curling his fingers then uncurling them, he itched to lay into this asshole, except there were people all around enjoying the holiday. Hell no. Besides, he reminded himself, he wasn’t going to hit this sack of shit while he was on his ranch payroll.

  “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.”