Ride 'Em (A Giddyup Novel) Read online

  “Oh, that’s it. You’re gonna take all of it.” His voice was roughening as he started to pump faster. “Take all of my cock, and then take all my come, like a good little—hmm.”

  She probably wouldn’t have minded whatever he was about to call her, but since they hadn’t talked about it beforehand, it was probably just as well. Mindy’s knees ached, her lips felt bruised from the rough treatment, and her throat felt tight and scratchy every time Logan thrust deep. Hot need bloomed between her thighs, an ache so keen she didn’t know how long she could stand it. But within a few more seconds, Logan’s grip tightened in her hair; he forced his cock deeper than ever, and came with a gasp. Spurts of heat bathed the back of Mindy’s tongue, and she swallowed desperately, not wanting to miss a single drop.

  When he finally slid his cock free, she ducked her head to follow it, but he thwarted her with the fist still in her hair. “No.”

  Rats.

  He tucked himself back in, shaking his leg and grimacing. His damp cock seemed reluctant to settle into place behind clothes. Mindy had little sympathy.

  “Okay, up.”

  She grumbled as she stood, unable to stop herself. Already sore, stiffening, and then made to kneel on stone. It would have been a buzzkill if she hadn’t been so primed to begin with.

  Oh, who am I kidding? The whole thing is unspeakably hot.

  It was. And it got unbelievably hotter when Logan chose that moment to re-roll one of his shirtsleeves that had come loose during their exertions. She stared at his hands and forearms, the cords of muscle running up from his wrists, the blunt tips of his fingers. She remembered what his hands had looked like when he wrapped the leather rein around her wrist to bind it. She wanted to take off all her clothes and fling herself at him, but he didn’t give her the chance.

  Stepping back in, he shoved his knee between her thighs again, and gave her ass a slap. “Do it. Rub off on me. If you want it, you have to do the work this time.”

  This time. Oh, she wanted the next time already. She wanted all the times, she wanted to come with his cock inside her, she wanted him to force her to orgasm, she wanted to ride him into oblivion like a wild, wild mustang. But this time would do. She shifted her hips, pressing her clit against him, rocking at a tempo she knew would get her there fast.

  Logan apparently thought she needed to get there faster. He tucked her shirt up more firmly, tugging the hem up through her collar then running his fingers along the strained edges of her bra cups. He brushed one nipple, softly at first then harder, tucking his forefinger into his thumb then flicking until Mindy cried out.

  “More?”

  She nodded, nearly frantic. She was close, so close. “Yes, please. Sir. Please . . . ohhh.”

  He’d lowered his head and taken the already taut, stinging nipple between his teeth. Just a nip, but enough to make that half of her body vibrate with a sudden, jangling awareness. More was good. What he did next was better. Not content with a nibble, he grazed his lips lower to a spot an inch or so below her nipple, winding his arms around her waist and hitching her closer. And then he bit down. Gently at first. Then harder. Then hard, so hard she moaned as she tried to breathe through the pain.

  It threw her off for a second, as she processed it. Her hips hitched in their pace. Then Logan released her skin, and pressed the tenderest kiss to her nipple again, and she came all at once, pushing against him violently, following each nerve impulse until she had run down every last ounce of pleasure.

  Exhausted, spent, she let herself slump against Logan. Soaked in the heat from his body, reveled in the closeness while the endorphins still ruled her. But as her head cleared, the truth sank in. This was basically no better than a one-off scene.

  Sure, it was likely to be a few nights . . . and days, apparently. And she already knew Logan. But it was still just like the club, just like scening with any new Dom. Her usual rules needed to apply. Don’t assume a great scene means there’s a relationship beyond kink. Don’t confuse aftercare with love. And the easiest way to avoid that confusion was to avoid a lot of affectionate aftercare.

  Logan could glare at her, whip her with a switch, make her carry rocks, make her kneel on the hard stone of this serial killer’s playground of a shed while she sucked him off. Those things were fairly straightforward. If she needed it, she might accept water, a warm blanket, even a cup of tea or a snack. But it just wasn’t smart to be letting him cuddle her.

  Chapter Eight

  Mindy shivered against him, her body relaxing slowly until she was nestled against his chest. Logan wasn’t sure how that had happened, when exactly he’d taken his mouth off her breast and started . . . snuggling.

  It felt great, though. He was in no hurry for that to be over. Even though he had about a million things to do, details to check on, guests to take care of. Numbers to run. He also did really need to look at the stone wall behind the old shelves. Not that he hadn’t fully planned to take advantage of the current situation first. It was madness, really. Not the smart way to spend the inaugural weekend of his fledgling business venture. But he just couldn’t bring himself to stop. She felt too good, fit too perfectly against him. The whole crazy scene had been that way. Effortless. So damn effortless, like they’d been reading each other’s minds.

  Mindy pushed away, lifting her head and shaking her hair from her face. “Um.”

  “Yeah.”

  She stepped back a pace, her hands the last thing to leave him. One moment pressed flat against his chest, the next dropping to her sides, then crossing awkwardly in front of her. She plucked at her clothes, finally seemed to recall they were askew, and fumbled to pull them back into place.

  He called it like he saw it. “You look like you could use a little more snuggling.” Yes, good. His body was all in on that plan. Letting her go had been an unexpected loss.

  “I’m good. That was awesome. Thank you.”

  Her tone was polite, but that was all, and Logan had no idea what to do with that. He’d been startled by how good the mini-scene was, and wanted to pursue that further. She’d been so into it when they started. What the hell had happened?

  Mindy seemed to recognize that more explanation was needed. She forced her arms down, propping her hands on her hips and rocking up onto her toes a few times. “I mean, it was a good scene, that’s all. It was unexpected but fun.”

  “Okay.” It really wasn’t okay, but she wasn’t wrong, either. It had been a good scene. “Right.”

  “It wasn’t that heavy, so . . . I’m good. And I like to maintain some boundaries.”

  “Sure. As long as you don’t need anything more, after a scene—”

  “Well, not after that. That was like thirty percent scene, seventy percent ill-advised beej and dry humping.”

  Ouch. Still probably not wrong, but she didn’t sound like she believed herself. She sounded more like she was afraid he was going to be a dick about things. Like she was protecting herself. He couldn’t say that wasn’t smart, given the circumstances. There had also been kind of a hate-fucking undertone happening, if he was being honest with himself, so the distance afterward probably made sense objectively. He didn’t love that, he’d preferred the snuggling, but it might be all Mindy wanted.

  What was he supposed to do? Urge her to accept a hug when she said she didn’t want one? She’d already let him switch her until they were both literally panting with need, then sucked him off, then put on an incredible show and gotten him half-hard again. Asking for more right now seemed like it would be more needy than commanding.

  And he really did have a lot of shit to do.

  He clapped his hands, ready for a subject change. “Okay then. So, uh . . . I need to move this shelf and look at the stones. If you want to help, that would be great.”

  Her confused look was pretty adorable. But Logan was clearly at the stage where he’d find anything Mindy did adorable. And not just because of the great blow job. It had started before that. The smiles. The way her hair smelle
d. The way she hooked her thumbs through her belt loops. The way she sometimes nodded like she was doing the cheerleader head-bob. Ready? Okay!

  They only had a week. Less than that, because it was already Sunday and she’d be gone on Thursday. It didn’t seem like long enough. Not nearly.

  “I thought that was just an excuse to get me in here. And possibly add me to your murder list.” She grabbed the other side of the rickety shelf and helped him lift it away from the wall.

  “Murder list? No, Diego really did want me to check out the mortar.” Which, he could clearly see, was flaking away so badly in this spot he was surprised daylight wasn’t gleaming through. Shit. One more expense.

  “Yeah, this shack or whatever looks like, you know . . . the murder hut. The big house looks so normal, and nobody suspects, but then the cops stumble across this and realize you’ve been wallpapering it all along with cutout pictures of your victims and maybe some—ooh, that’s a big spider—maybe some beautiful mind equations or something. Don’t kill it!”

  “Don’t kill it?”

  “It’s probably just an orb weaver. Like Moose!”

  “Moose . . . ?”

  Mindy looked abashed. “He’s my cabinmate. But it’s okay. He isn’t hurting anything.”

  The spider scuttled between two stones, and Logan crouched down to scope its escape route. “Daylight. Dammit.”

  “Do you have to get a stone mason? Are there still stone masons?”

  “Here, let’s put this shelf back in case Diego decides to use this. Then head back to the house. Yeah, there are still stone masons. Not right in town, but there are a few folks pretty close by. Might have to get somebody from Fredericksburg or somewhere.”

  “Is it expensive?”

  And he remembered why that mattered to her, and he glanced across the shelf at her as they fitted it back against the wall. He had been stupid to let his guard down even for a second. “Do I need to cut another switch?”

  She had the grace to look sheepish. “Can’t blame a girl for trying. Seriously, though, how are you affording the renovations? I know how much I paid for this trip, I can count the guests and the employees and do the math. My job aside, I do have to wonder.”

  Logan dusted his hands off on his thighs and crossed to the door, opening it to a flood of unexpectedly bright sunshine. They must have been in the toolshed longer than he’d realized. “After you.”

  “Oh.” She brushed her hands off, echoing his action, then raised them to her face, her hair, as she stepped past him. “Do I look like . . .”

  Her lips were rosy and her cheeks flushed. Her hair looked less artfully tousled than it had at the beginning of the day. Nothing she couldn’t blame on the sun and wind from the hike. “You look great. How about me?”

  “Totes freshly fucked.”

  He snorted, his moment of irritation vanishing. “That’s my aesthetic. And to answer your question, it’s part ‘using up all my savings and getting help from Ethan and our cousin Chet,’ and part ‘I have no clue where the rest will come from.’ But this week was only ever meant to be a test run. Once the rest of the cabins are fixed up again, and the guest rooms in the main house, we’ll be able to take bigger crowds.” If they still had any capital left by then, after sinking so much into the money pit the ranch was turning out to be. “The idea is to offer some weekend packages, have different deals for on-and off-season. Start partnering with some local restaurants, maybe try to work with the biker conventions twice a year. And there’s also a camping ground, vehicle-accessible. It’s on the other side of the hill from where we ate lunch today. Chet thinks we should do RV hookups out there, maybe do some cabin tents, something like that. Also have primitive camping, because he’s insane.”

  “Primitive camping close to a hunting lease seems like an accident waiting to happen.”

  “Exactly what Ethan and I keep telling him. But he says if people can’t obey clearly posted warning signs, they have no business stepping outside their homes.”

  She chuckled. “Sounds like an interesting guy.”

  “Yeah. He’s . . . well. He’s one of us.”

  She gave him that puzzled look, then she got it and nodded. “Must be tough, in Bolero.”

  Logan shrugged. “It’s tough everywhere.”

  Which was why they were doing this, wasn’t it? Sneaking in a beating when nobody was looking. Ducking into hiding spots for some furtive domination and orgasms. Because it was tough to find somebody into kink at all, tougher still to find somebody who seemed to match up perfectly.

  And nearly impossible to find the gold standard, the trifecta: somebody who lived close enough for regular scenes, whose kinks aligned with yours, and with whom you wanted to spend time outside the kink world.

  As they ambled down the trail toward the main house, Logan stole a glance at Mindy. At her messy mop of hair, at her possibly stubble-burned face. He wanted to hold her hand. Instead, he reminded himself that even if they were kink soul mates, she was kind of the devil in disguise.

  * * *

  Clouds were building in the sky as Mindy wound down the road into Bolero Monday morning. In theory, there was a 50 percent chance of thunderstorms. In Central Texas, that could mean anything. The actual weather didn’t care about statistics. It might rain none of the time; the clouds would threaten and possibly throw some lightning. It might rain 50 percent of the time, off and on. Or 50 percent of the places, in stripes, one yard left dry while the neighbor’s was inundated.

  Or it could be an out-and-out deluge. When she’d headed for her car, Lamar had warned of that. Dire and grim, based on his aching knees and overall experience. Mindy figured she’d take her chances. After yesterday’s bizarre impromptu toolshed make-out, she needed at least a few hours away from Hilltop Ranch, from Logan, from thinking about her job and how badly she was doing it. The incident had taken the edge off for both of them. Logan had been handling issues with guests the rest of the day yesterday, and had left early that morning with a hunting group, allowing for a cooldown period. Just enough time for doubt to put down some new roots. Mindy needed a distraction, so after lunch she’d set out to see if Bolero could offer her any.

  The town looked about like it ever had. Nothing on the outskirts but scattered houses on overgrown acreage. Then a few streets of quarter-acre lots—some with houses, some with trailers, some with businesses. And finally, town proper, a grid of a dozen streets in either direction with a semi-major highway running up the middle. Three traffic-light intersections, up from two back in Mindy’s day. The new one was because somebody had died, which was usually what it took to shake the town council on that kind of expenditure. The history was clear from the bright white cross in the grass on the corner. Unnaturally vivid plastic flowers were wired around the horizontal piece and draped around the base. Cheerful colors to mark an awful event.

  She stopped into her favorite diner near one end of Main Street. At four in the afternoon it was almost empty, just one old man with a newspaper sitting at the counter and two teenaged boys in the booth farthest from the door. A George Strait song from the eighties was playing, adding to the throwback sensation. The redheaded waitress looked familiar, and turned out to be the younger sister of a girl Mindy had graduated with. The menu looked familiar, too, the same laminated card stock over fading photos of burgers and chicken-fried steak. Mindy ordered a slice of pecan pie and some coffee, and watched the gathering storm through the slightly grubby window as she ate.

  She couldn’t have counted the number of times she’d sat at this booth at Minnie’s Diner, eaten this same pecan pie or a burger, sipped on coffee or a shake, and stared out the window at the clouds. She’d done homework at this table. She’d been on dates here. Broken up with a boyfriend here. Laughed with her friends. Pretended not to cry when she found out about her parents’ divorce.

  Moving to Dallas had let her reinvent herself. A whole new Mindy, with a new life, a new purpose. She was so much bigger than Bolero; she’d spen
t years telling herself that, like an affirmation. If you’re nothing else, you’re bigger than the Podunk town you came from. You’ve come so far. But five minutes sitting on the crackling old red vinyl of a dingy diner booth was all it took to remind her that she hadn’t actually changed. She hadn’t really gone anywhere at all, because the minute she’d sat down she’d felt like she’d come home. That old girl was still here in spirit, which meant a part of her had never left Bolero at all. She could add all the fancy trappings she liked, but she would still be this person. If she didn’t know who this was, she would never know who she was at all.

  Dallas was the dream. Dallas was the fantasy she’d had as a teenager, and she’d made it come to life. But this—this slice of pie at Minnie’s Diner, the window overlooking the street and the empty lot between the feed store and the gas station, this gentle, honky-tonk soundtrack—was reality.

  Mindy had rejected this reality a long time ago. She might feel authentic sitting in Minnie’s and washing her pie down with oversweetened coffee, watching the storm build over the gas station roof, but she had invested a lot of time and effort into the fantasy. An old, broken-in pair of cowboy boots might feel like heaven after a long day, but everybody knew the real value was in the Louboutins you put on so you’d look expensive and people would take you seriously. Even if you’d gotten them on eBay for a hundred fifty dollars, and had to get a cobbler to fix a broken heel before you could wear them.

  She should never have come back here. Never put her old boots back on, literally or figuratively. And overlapping kink with what should have been purely about work was the worst decision of all. Risk-seeking behavior, a psychologist might call it. Mindy remembered the term from college psych classes but had never been that type herself. She liked her life in tidy boxes, her danger in easily manageable doses. Authentic felt a lot like everything mashed together, the good with the bad, the safe with the risky. She didn’t want that.