Chapter 25 Bad Habit
Bad Habit
Quinn
I feel like I owe you for the cookie.
Casanova
You don’t owe me anything. Seeing your smile was payment enough.
Soooooo… you don’t want my kinky bucket list?
Quinn.
Send it.
My top five, then.
1) Sex somewhere we could get caught
2) Cum play, food play, anything messy
3) Pop my anal cherry
4) Experiment with toys
5) Get myself off while you watch
Fuck, Quinn. I'm right next to your brother. You can't text me this filth when he's droning on about feed prices.
Should I keep going? I have a whole notes folder with ideas.
If you value my sanity or these jeans, you won't. I already ruined those swim trunks.
Rain falls in heavy sheets as we pull up the driveway, my wipers thumping back and forth against the windshield. I throw my car into park and grab the umbrella out of my back seat just as Wes and Tripp pull up behind us in Sawyer’s truck.
A streak of lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating the yard in an eerie glow. Thunder rolls in behind it, low and grumbling.
Sawyer glances at the sky with a grimace. “The damn storm couldn’t wait ten more minutes to hit?”
I mutter a curse under my breath in agreement. The gravel’s already turning into a flooded mess of mud. I push open my door and snap the umbrella open before stepping out into the downpour.
The passenger door of Sawyer’s truck swings open and Tripp climbs out of the back seat, rain immediately plastering his T-shirt to his chest.
“Hold your horses. I’m gonna help you out,” he says as he moves to the front passenger seat.
“I don’t need no help,” comes the gruff reply.
I stifle a sigh. Pops is already trying to prove he can do things on his own.
I pick my way through the puddle-filled driveway, the cold rain nearly drowning out the sound of their arguing.
“Pops, just wait. I’ve got an umbrella,” I call, trying not to fall on my ass in the slick mud.
“Careful,” Wes mutters to Pops. “The mud is slippery.”
“I’m not an invalid,” Pops gripes as I try to angle the umbrella over his head.
Sawyer sidles up behind me. “This is going so well already,” she mumbles, rolling her eyes.
Another flash lights up the sky, followed by a crash of thunder.
We’re halfway to the porch when a streak of gray charges toward the driveway at full speed, ears flapping and tail twitching back and forth.
“Winston!” I cry. “What are you doing out here?”
He barrels through a giant puddle, sending muddy water flying in every direction.
I squeal as it drenches my jeans, and Sawyer shoots me an amused grin.
“Quinn!” Wes hollers. “Did you forget to latch the stall?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then how the hell did he get out?”
I wince. “I don’t know. Maybe he figured out how to unlatch the gate.”
He gives me a disbelieving look as Pops just chuckles.
“Pigs are smart, Wes. He probably got bored in the stall and figured out he could reach the latch.”
“Would you just get him put back before he destroys the garden?”
I hand the umbrella off to Sawyer and make a kissing noise. “Winston, you want a treat, big boy?”
The rain soaks through my shirt in five seconds, and I glance down in instant regret as I realize I didn’t wear a bra under my gray T-shirt. There’s no hiding that fact now.
Tripp catches my eye and gives me a devilish smirk that makes my cheeks heat.
Winston picks that exact moment to waddle straight for the garden I‘ve spent my free time fixing up for Pops’ return.
“Winston, don’t you dare!” I holler.
He snorts and keeps going, completely unbothered by the rain as he makes a beeline for the freshly planted flowers.
“Come on, buddy,” I croon as I slog after him, mud squelching around my boots. “We need to get you back in the barn before Wes turns you into bacon.”
He trots faster, little hooves flicking mud up behind him.
I lunge and miss, nearly faceplanting. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.
Everyone else has already made it to the porch, watching with varying degrees of amusement. Pops’ mustache twitches as I glare up at them.
“Are y’all gonna stand there and stare or is someone gonna help me get this pig back in its pen?”
“The doctor told me I’m not allowed to do any strenuous activity,” Pops says, bending down to sit in the rocker on the porch like he’s settling in to watch the show.
I shoot him a look. “I wasn’t talking about you, Pops.”
Wes shrugs. “He’s your pig.”
Sawyer smacks his arm. “I’ll, uh, grab you some food to lure him with.”
Tripp steps off the porch, adjusting his hat as the rain pelts him.
He carefully sneaks up on Winston while thunder rolls in the distance. The pig trots a few feet ahead, snorting like this is a game. Tripp's boots squelch in the mud as he creeps closer, waiting for the right moment.
The air crackles and there's a chaotic burst of movement as he dives for the pig. Winston lets out a startled oink, squirming out of his hands, and Tripp goes down. Belly first. Right into a puddle of mud.
Wes and Pops snicker from the porch, and I can’t help myself. I burst out laughing too.
He shoots me an unimpressed look. “You think this is funny, Quinnie?”
I roll my lips together and shake my head, trying—and failing—to suppress my grin.
He pushes up onto his elbows with a scowl. “You should be nicer. I might not be so inclined to help a friend out in the future if all she does is laugh at me.”
Was that a threat to stop giving me orgasms?
My smile falters, and he gives me a knowing grin. “That’s what I thought.”
Winston snorts again, taking off toward the side of the house.
“Quinn,” Sawyer calls from the porch. “Catch.”
She tosses me an apple, and I snag it from the air before it falls in the mud.
I jog around the side of the house and call in my sweetest voice. “Winnie, I’ve got a treat for you.”
Winston’s ears perk, and he snorts happily as he shuffles toward me, his little tail ticking back and forth excitedly.
Tripp circles behind him, moving slowly, eyes locked on the pig.
I crouch and extend the apple to him. “That’s it, buddy. Come here.”
He lets out a happy little grunt and starts nibbling at it with enthusiastic chomps.
Tripp edges closer. Closer.
Winston’s little tail slows, like he can sense the trap closing.
Then he lunges, scooping up Winston in one swift movement. Winston immediately lets out an ear-piercing squeal, shrill enough to make my teeth ache.
Tripp winces. “Jesus Christ.”
Winston kicks and squirms as Tripp hauls him back to the barn, and I follow behind.
I swing open the stall gate, and Winston lets out one more squeal as Tripp sets him down. Once he’s on the ground, he bolts into the corner to root around in the straw like none of this just happened.
Tripp shuts and latches the gate, cleaning off his muddy hands on his jeans before removing his hat to wipe the mixture of sweat and rain from his brow.
“Thank you,” I say as I double-check the latch.
He nods, his eyes skating down my wet T-shirt where my nipples are pebbled from the cold rain. “You know, for such a good girl, you‘ve got a bad habit of going without undergarments.”
I smirk, giving him a slow perusal in return. He’s dripping wet and covered in mud, and still somehow the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. The way his shirt clings to his skin makes my mouth go dry.
“Had I known I’d be out in the storm chasing a pig, I would’ve worn a bra.”
He clucks his tongue and steps toward me, voice low and rough. “I like you this way, Quinnie,” he rasps, fingers sliding beneath the hem of my shirt to trace over my waist. “Dirty. Messy. A little undone.”
My breath hitches as his hand slowly ghosts over my ribs.
My skin pebbles and my heart takes off in my chest. His touch lights me up like the sun lights the sky.
I revel in the way his steadfast reverence makes me feel, like he’d spend every spare second tracing the map of my body just to memorize each inch.
“You’re so damn pretty like this.”
His thumb brushes the small curve of my breast, slow and teasing, and I arch into him without a second thought. I don’t care that we’re in the barn, don’t care that anyone could come in here. It only adds to the rush, making it feel dangerous. Forbidden.
“Somebody could walk in,” I whisper, my fingers tangling in his shirt.
He shoots me a crooked grin. “Which is why your nipples got even harder. You like it, don’t you? The risk of being caught, of someone stumbling in and finding us out.”
My pulse thunders in my ears as he backs me into the gate. My legs shake, and I let out a breathless laugh. “I give you my list, and now you think you have me all figured out, huh?”
He cocks his head to the side and slides his thumb over my nipple. The delicious scrape of his callouses on my sensitive skin drags a gasp from my throat.
“Not completely.”
“You know enough to be dangerous.”
I grab his shirt and pull him toward me, capturing his lips in a kiss that makes the ache between my thighs impossible to ignore.
I want to be consumed by him, filled by him. To feel every inch of him pressed against me. With Tripp—I’m always hungry for more.
He palms my breast under my shirt, hands slick and hot on my skin. He smells like rain and leather and something undeniably him. His teeth nip at my lower lip, and I moan, my fingers curling into his side.
My thumb falls to the button of his jeans just as he slides his hand down the back of mine. He grips my ass, groaning into my mouth, just as desperate and greedy as I am. I can feel the hard press of him through soaked denim.
His hips roll into mine, fingers skimming the waistband of my underwear.
“Hey, did y’all get him back in?” Wes’ voice cuts through the barn.
Tripp jolts away from me like he’s been burned, and my heart goes into my throat.
“Yeah,” Tripp croaks. “We got him.”
Wes walks in, holding a short metal chain that clinks in his hands. “Here. You can use this to lock him in so he doesn’t get out again.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, unable to meet his eyes.
Tripp grabs the chain and loops it around the gate, locking it in place.
“Sawyer’s got supper going,” Wes adds. “You should clean up a bit. You’re both filthy.”
I swipe at my mouth with the back of my hand, suddenly too aware of how flushed and disheveled I must look.
Tripp glances at me, his lips twitching with barely contained amusement.
“Sure,” he says, voice low. “We’ll do that.”
If only Wes knew how filthy we really were.