TWO
BLAIR
I blame the alcohol.
There’s no other plausible excuse for me having the sudden courage to proposition a champion bull rider after waiting outside his truck like some stalker freak for an hour.
I also blame my vagina, which has been especially needy lately.
And Stephanie and Chelsey, of course.
They were horrific influences. After tonight, I don’t think I’ll ever talk to them again. Or rather, after tomorrow, because we have a bit of a drive back to campus and spending it in silence would be awkward.
But in truth, I wasn’t even tipsy anymore, much less drunk.
And I wasn’t ovulating to the best of my knowledge, though my cycle had always been sort of hard to track.
And the girls had really just been trying to help.
Despite it being Stephanie’s birthday celebration, they’d encouraged me to ditch them for a ride on the tattooed bull rider with the dimples.
Chelsey subtly hinted that a good roll in the hay may be just the thing to make me forget about the crappy grade I’d gotten on my Marketing Analytics paper.
Doubtful .
Regardless, our trip to the boy zoo had transformed into a solo trip to an incredibly messy motel room.
“I’m sorry,” Colt says, bending down to snatch several pieces of clothes off the floor and toss them in a corner. “I left in a rush earlier.”
He has more clothes than I do, I think. Though that wasn’t really hard to accomplish. I was bad about just donating half of my belongings every time I moved.
“Have you been staying here long? I thought you rodeo guys… toured.”
Colt’s lips quirk as he looks up, pushing his curls off of his forehead. “We do. Got here Thursday. Head out on Monday.”
It’s Saturday. This much mess in just three days is surprising, but I have a feeling this is one of those things that’s only shocking to me because I grew up living out of suitcases and not letting myself get comfortable in one place for too long, so I just purse my lips and nod.
His grin only grows. “Clean freak?”
“Something like that.”
“A bull rider’s probably not your best option for a one-night stand then, darlin’,” he quips, walking closer.
He’s right, of course, but not for the reasons he’s thinking.
I’m not really a clean freak, but a tattooed, dimpled playboy of a man isn’t my typical type either.
His cockiness reminds me too much of a boy who lived in one of the many foster homes I’d passed through.
I try not to ever think about Kyle, so sleeping with a man that reminds me of him probably isn’t the best idea.
I’ve decided we’re going to blame it on his dimples.
“What’s got your head running a mile a minute?” he asks quietly, finally close enough to push a strand of my hair behind my ear.
“I don’t usually do this,” I blurt out and then bite my lip to keep the words inside way too late.
His brow rises. “Judge a man for the cleanliness of his motel room? ”
“No,” I huff, rolling my eyes. “This,” I say, gesturing around the room as though that will give him any clarity. “Sleeping with random men. I usually at least know the guy first.”
“Okay… Just to be clear, though, I wouldn’t judge you if you did. I definitely sleep around. And I rarely know the person first.”
It’s my turn to raise a brow, surprised he’d admitted that. Didn’t most men lie about that sort of thing? Didn’t they usually try to make the girl they want to sleep with feel special and unique so they could talk her out of her clothes?
“Do you want to do this, Blair? No hard feelings if you don’t. You can still crash here or I can take you back to your friends.”
The floor is an awfully interesting thing to look at all of a sudden.
“I do.”
“Then what’s the problem, pretty girl?”
His hands frame my face and tilt my head up until my eyes are on his.
I have never once felt that melty feeling I’ve read about in romance novels when looking at a man, but my stomach flips as I stare into his brown eyes.
His hands are massive against my cheeks, and I try very hard not to dwell on that too much.
“Nothing,” I say quietly. “I just wanted you to know. And I’m on birth control, but I’d still prefer that you wear a condom, please. I’m all good though, I swear. I can show you my last test results on my phone.”
Colt thumbs my bottom lip again.
“I believe you.” I swallow hard, stomach flipping again but this time, it’s not a good sort of flip. “I’m going to kiss you now, darlin’. If you don’t want that, you’d better speak up.”
“I want that.”
His lips quirk again. “Good,” he mumbles against mine, using his hold on my face to pull me closer.
My hands grip his tattooed forearms for only a second before I’m on my tiptoes, winding my arms up around his neck instead.
He doesn’t let me strain my calves for long, gripping my thighs and hoisting me up.
The journey from him standing with my legs around his waist to me being naked and underneath him on the bed passes in a blur.
I don’t think I’ve ever kissed someone this much, even during sex.
My head—and let’s face it, my vagina—is usually much more impatient for the main event, but Colt kisses like it’s gonna make him millions.
I almost whine when his lips leave mine to trail down my neck, but I manage to stop myself…
until they wrap around my nipple, that is.
My breasts are on the smaller side and I’ve always been a bit insecure about them, but right now, I can’t remember why.
Not when Colt’s hand completely engulfs one, squeezing it gently while his tongue does wonderful things to my other nipple.
I don’t think I have a size kink… at least, I’ve never noticed having one, but the hand-to-tit ratio and the way it’s making me squirm needily against this questionably clean motel bed says otherwise.
“Colt,” I breathe out, ready to tell him to leave my tits alone and focus on the ache between my legs, but he slips his hand down right where I need it like he can read my mind.
“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re so wet for me already.”
I nod against the pillow. “So we can skip the foreplay, cowboy.”
Colt chuckles, pulling away from my chest and shimmying down the bed.
“I never skip foreplay. Besides, I’m starving.”
It’s the only warning I get before he’s gripping my thighs and tossing my legs over his shoulders. I squeal in surprise, which would be embarrassing enough on its own, if it weren’t for the fact the squeal turns into a moan pretty quickly.
“Oh, god.” His curls are perfect to hold onto.
A long lick up my center, and then he pulls away just enough to say, “I usually go by Colt, but I’m down for a good roleplay every now and then. ”
I snort out a laugh, but it’s cut short as he gets to work.
Colton Whittaker is a certified munch. The way he grips my thighs, pressing his face between them like he’s scared I’m going to try and back away, only adds to the appeal.
A few minutes later when my orgasm hits, it becomes clear his grip is more about keeping me still so I don’t somehow break his nose with my pelvis.
One of my hands clenches around the bed sheets and the other grips his hair.
I try to buck against his face, too overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through me, but he pins me to the bed, forcing me to lie there and feel every second of pleasure.
“Colt,” I whimper when the suck-and-lick combo he’s treating my clit to becomes too much.
“Sorry,” he mumbles against me, which is unfairly sexy. He presses a kiss to my mound and then to my thigh before coming to hover over me again. “Let me see those gorgeous green eyes, pretty girl.”
I blink them open slowly, still panting from the aftershocks of pleasure that hit every few seconds. His cocky, dimpled grin stares back at me.
“Think you got more in you?”
“Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a big ego?” I ask him with a snort.
“Among other things.” He pulls back and I’m already prepping an apology for offending him when I realize he’s just undressing.
I prop myself up on my elbows to watch as he tugs his shirt over his head.
I’d seen the bull head tattooed on his throat at the rodeo, but his chest and sides bear more tattoos.
Born to ride runs up his left side, which feels like a wild thing to get tattooed on you since it can be taken in so many different ways, but who am I to judge his tattoos?
The others are smaller, so they’re more difficult to see in the dim light of the motel room, but there’s what looks like a burn on his chest in the shape of a W and an R.
It’s not my plan to feed that ego, but when his jeans fall and I see his cock bulging the front of his boxer briefs, my jaw drops a bit. I’m never going to beat the size queen allegations.
He palms it through the material. “Now you see why I’m such a big fan of foreplay.”
He shucks off his briefs and in the little bit of light the motel lamp offers, his cock… glints.
“It’s pierced?!”
“Yep,” he says proudly, like taking needles to your genitals isn’t a really wild decision to make.
I flounder for a response.
“Should I just go down the list of frequently asked questions? Yes, it’ll fit. Yes, I have a condom big enough. No, the piercings won’t break the condom because I purchase extra-thick ones. Yes, they’ll make you feel really good. No, they don’t hurt… anymore.”
“Wasn’t going to ask any of those questions, actually.” Though I’m definitely glad he answered them because at least two of them were concerns I probably should’ve had if I wasn’t so dickmatized.
“Sure, darlin’,” he says, putting a knee back up on the bed and leaning forward until we are practically nose to nose. “Still up for it?”