“You’re going to the ball on Friday, right?”
I sigh. I forgot about the ball this coming week. Actually, I didn’t forget. I wanted to forget. But then I think about the fact that all the teachers from LSA have to go, which means Ridge will. Which also means Ridge will be in a tux. Perfect. I’m going. “You’re going, too.”
Tori smiles like she’s been given a million dollars. “Actually, I am because my lunatic sister is running away, and I’ve forced her to babysit for me that night. If the bitch is sleeping on my couch, she’s watching my kid.”
“Wait, who’s Tatum running from now?” Tori’s little sister is a fucking disaster, and that’s putting it nicely. She ran away at eighteen, and nobody saw her or heard from her in three years unless she needed money. Or apparently a place to stay now.
“She got knocked up by some professional football player and she doesn’t want to tell him—because she probably conned his ass—so in Tatum style, she runs away from everything.” Tori shrugs and grabs a bag of hot dogs and begins placing them on the grill behind her.
I see those hot dogs and guess where my mind goes?
Cock.
There’s something wrong with me. I want sex all the time.
Or is there something wrong? Maybe I’m just a twenty-six-year-old woman with two kids and am horny. That’s actually pretty normal, right?
It’s Saturday night, and I barely make it through the evening without finding Ridge and sneaking off to his trailer in the pits. The only thing stopping me is the boys because they’re working the concession stand with me.
Austin picks the boys up shortly before the main events start because it’s his weekend and he claims he didn’t have time to get them after school. I’m kind of glad he didn’t because it gave me a few more hours with them.
When the race is over, it’s about twenty minutes before Ridge finds me locking up the concession stand.
My heart thuds, my body tingly with his close proximity when he presses his chest against my back. “Miss me?”
He smells like dirt and gas. “I did.” I smile, turning to face him. “Would you like to come over? The boys are with Austin.”
He steps back. “Nah. . . I can’t. I need to finish up some things in the office. How about you come by my trailer around eleven?”
“Okay.”
He nods.
We stand, staring at one another before he shrugs and closes the space between us with a long step pushing us against the door to the concession stand. “Fuck this shit. I miss these lips.” His hands cup my cheeks, and he kisses me, desperately, his mouth assaulting mine in the most beautiful way.
I can’t get enough of his taste. His need for me consumes me, and I claw at his clothes, his body, it’s like I’ve lost my mind and I’m trying to rip him to pieces.
But he pulls away with a chuckle. “I really do have to go. I won’t be long.”
I nod and step back, breathing heavily. “If you must.”
It looks to me—and I can’t be entirely sure because he hides his emotions so well—he’s just as worked up as I am.
He leaves without another word, probably because words aren’t what he wants to give me at the moment.
I RUN HOME and change out of my clothes that smell like fried food and beer and then at eleven fifteenish, I arrive at his trailer, and believe me when I say that was the longest couple hours of my life.
He yanks his trailer door open I knock, twice, frowning. “You said eleven. It’s eleven fifteen.”
And now my hearts pounding in my ears. “Sorry, I had to change.”
He roughly yanks me into his trailer. “Bend over the table.”
Okay, so we’re doing this now. Nice. I hate wasting time. I don’t even like foreplay for that reason.
I bend over the table without even thinking.
Exposing my bare ass underneath my dress, I wait for Ridge to realize I’m not wearing any panties. All by design.
He does. Immediately. “No panties?”
Looking over my shoulder at him, I give him a grin. “Easier than you ripping them off.”
His fingertips run over the cheeks of my ass. “Where’s the fun in that?”
I turn to look back at him. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Raising his hand, he turns my head so I’m not looking at him. “You naked in front of me is hardly a disappointment.” His hand meets my hip, sliding over my ass cheeks again before his fingers clutch my pussy from behind. “Someone missed me.” He rubs my clit, then pinches it between his thumb and forefinger. Fucking pinches it!
He breaths out deeply. “Aly?”
“Yeah?”
“I think so far I’ve been fairly easy on you,” he warns. “This time, I’m marking you as mine.”
Gulp. I’m not sure what to make of his words, hell, his promise. I think back to everything that happened the first few times we had sex and if that was easy, what the fuck does he have in mind now?
His left hand comes up and over my hands on the edge of the table in the dinette booth. “You better hold on.”
He frees himself from his shorts, the swollen head of his cock finding my slippery folds—I know, it’s the worst word—of my pussy, and I shake in anticipation, lifting on my tiptoes to gain height for him, and balance.
“Did you miss me?” He bites the nape of my neck from behind, but he doesn’t enter me. It’s agony, having him there, but just inches out of reach.
“What do you think?” My voice trembles with need.
“That’s my dirty girl,” he whispers, licking the spot he just bit. Tearing the condom wrapper with his teeth, he doesn’t stop teasing my entrance with the head of his cock. “Now tell me how bad you want it.”
“So bad.” I’m not going to tell him this, but I’d been thinking about this all day. “Just put your fucking dick in already, Ridge.”
He laughs. When he has the condom on, he eases inside of me, just the tip, slowly. . . painfully slow. My forehead hits the table and I cry out against the cool wood, both in pleasure and frustration. It’s torture, pure torture, but I love every minute of it.
“Please,” I whisper breathlessly, squirming my ass to get him to go deeper. “Don’t tease.”
Does he listen? What the fuck do you think? He pulls out, waits, chuckles and waits another moment before taking the head of his cock teasing my booty hole.
I whip my head around. “Nope.”
His shoulders shake with his laughter. “Why not?”
“Because.” I bite my lower lip. “I want you inside my pussy, and I want you to fuck me like you mean it. What happened to all this talk about fucking the memory of my husband out of me?”
“We’re talking about me fucking your ass sometime. For now. . . you need to fucking act like you want it,” he growls, grazing my shoulder with his teeth.
He slips in—the right hole—just an inch.
I exhale. “I do want it.”
Another inch. “You do?”
Another inch. “So bad! Fuck me.”
“You’re hot when you beg,” he murmurs, thrusting himself all the way in and making my legs weaken. He’s trouble. Ridge Lucas is like Kryptonite or in my case, chocolate. A weakness I can never give up. I knew it from the beginning, the control he had on me, but now I’m sure of it. I’m screwed if I think I can ever stop whatever this is we’re doing.
Ridge gathers my hair in his fist and jerks my head upward against his chest. “Tell me again.”
“Tell you what?”
“How bad you want it.”
He’s so annoying. Tempted to punch him, I grip the table harder. “No. I’m not saying it again. You’re starting to really piss me off.”
I can’t believe I’m playing this game with him, but it’s apparently what he wants because he fucks me. Hard and fast, just like he loves while whispering, “I love it when you get pissed off.”
I’m on fire, all over, inside and out.
“If you want me to stop, just tell me.” Amusement touches his lips when I begin to squirm, and I think he’s referring to more than just us having sex.
“Don’t fucking stop,” is my only reply, my fingers gripping his hands, which were placed securely on my hips.
Ridge tosses his head back. Peeking over my shoulder, I watch his heaving chest, straining as he moves.
The sensations are heightened further when his face contorts in pleasure, and I crash too, his own release following. Only he doesn’t come inside me. Instead, he pulls out, rips the condom off and finishes on my back.
Barely able to draw a breath, I have no words. All I have are shortened gasps, trying everything I can do to keep myself from hyperventilating. It’s the best sex of my life. I’m not lying. I want to cry with how good that felt, how badly I needed it.
Ridge moves away, hands me a towel and then flops himself on the bed in the back of the trailer. I follow him after I clean my back off and he brings me flush against his chest, his lips lingering on my shoulder. I find so excitement in the fact that he’s still trying to catch his breath.
“That was fun,” I breathe, swallowing and then letting out another forced gasp.
He kisses me again, grinning against my lips. When he draws back, his knuckles brush over my cheek gently, his eyes fluttering closed.
When I look over at him, his eyes remain closed. Maybe he’s still awake, but his features seem relaxed, as if he’s already asleep or just getting there.
Like a creep, I watch him sleep.
I don’t know why, maybe it’s because my already broken heart’s swelling at the thought of feeling something more than hate since Austin, but it makes me anxious. And I can honestly say anxiety isn’t a feeling I enjoy. It makes my nauseous. My heart has suffered enough the past few months. What if this doesn’t work out? Can I really survive another broken heart?
I don’t want it to be. I don’t want to share his heat. I don’t want another woman to experience the intensity of this burn he gives me.