Rugged(10)

“I would,” he says, his voice going low, his gaze locking onto mine.

Suddenly it’s not about the show anymore. It’s not about my career, or that jackass Tyler, or whether this trip was all for nothing. It’s about me getting what I want in this moment—right here, right now. And what I want is Flint McKay.

It’s like a jump cut to the narrow alleyway behind the bar, because suddenly I’m pressed back against the brick wall with Flint’s strong, firm hands roaming over my shoulders, my waist, squeezing my hips, cupping my ass. His lips are locked onto mine and I moan into his mouth, so turned on I can barely stand. I don’t know how this happened, but it’s like my fairy godmother came down and waved her wand and now I get to stick my hand down Flint McKay’s pants and—oh, holy hell. Either I’m passed out drunk in my hotel room and this is all a dream, or I just won the dick lottery.

I pull back from the kiss, trying not to smirk, enjoying the groan that escapes his mouth as I squeeze his thick, hard cock in my hand.

“We should stop,” he growls, thrusting in my grip.

“Do you want me to stop?” I tease, circling the tip of his dick with the soft pad of my thumb.

“God, no,” he says, his breath catching.

That settles it. I haven’t hooked up with anyone since Tyler, and I can’t imagine a more delightful rebound than this chiseled god standing in front of me. I need this.

I get one knee on the asphalt before Flint says, “Wait,” and tugs me back up. Then he shrugs out of his jacket and spreads it on the ground for me to kneel on.

“A true gentleman,” I tease, but I’m getting impatient. I quickly tug his jeans down and open my mouth, letting him slide in between my wet lips. My tongue traces his head, the length of his shaft, down and back up, circling again, and then I hold him steady with one hand and take him all the way into the back of my throat, sucking with everything I’ve got, eliciting a groan. His cock is perfect.

I look up at him and when our eyes meet and hold, Flint curses under his breath. Behind his head all I see is a sky full of stars. I go back to sucking, losing myself in the task, relishing the taste of him mixed with the sweet smoky hint of scotch in my mouth.

“I’m getting close,” he warns, his hands tangling in my hair, guiding my head back and forth, thrusting against my tongue in a steady rhythm.

“Mmmm,” I reply, knowing the vibration of my moan will push him even closer.

I alternate soft suction with deep, hard sucks, stroking with my tongue the whole time. I feel him tense up, grow impossibly hard, and suddenly he’s jerking faster and deeper, his breath coming in short gasps, until finally he groans and the heat of him spills into my mouth. As he holds out his hand to help me up, I can’t get the grin off my face.

“I win,” I tell him. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.

He laughs. “Does that make me the loser? Because I don’t feel like one.”

“First runner-up,” I say.

“Ah. Then maybe we’re due a celebratory dinner?”

I tilt my head, pretending I actually need to think it over. “I accept.”



We end up at a cutesy local diner down the street. I’m probably still over the legal driving limit after all those drinks at the bar, and I haven’t eaten a square meal since breakfast, but more than either of those things I can’t resist one last opportunity to convince Flint that this renovation show could be a truly great idea.

I mentioned the terrier thing, right? That terrier’s now in full force.

I order coffee and a cheeseburger with the works, opting for sweet potato fries so I can pretend I’m eating my vegetables. Flint follows my lead. I like a man who can take direction. After our coffees are poured, I lean forward and clear my throat.

“Uh oh,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Are you about to tell me you have even more surprises up your sleeve?”

I sip my coffee and smile, calculating my next move. I’m still a little light-headed from the tryst in the alley, but instead of feeling awkward around Flint, it’s like the ice has broken between us. Alright, Laurel. You can still win this battle. All you have to do is fight Flint’s icy coolness with the flames of your conviction.

“Well for starters, I surprised myself when I got on a plane and flew three thousand miles to chase after a man who I thought showed promise on his audition tape. I haven’t done anything that ridiculous since my junior prom.” When my date and I got caught skinny dipping by some Jehovah’s Witnesses, but I keep those details quiet. Some memories you prefer not to discuss.

“I may have overreacted when you showed up,” he admits, stirring a packet of raw sugar into his cup. Point, Team Laurel. But I don’t gloat.

“From your perspective it was probably creepy,” I offer generously. “I mean, what would I have thought if you just showed up at my door?” Besides ‘come in and take your clothes off, yay’? I take another sip of coffee but I’m still buzzed, my body all warm and tingly. Then again, maybe it’s the afterglow of the rendezvous behind the bar.

Flint grins. “More ballsy than creepy. I appreciate balls on a woman.” He pauses. “Not the best word choice, but you know what I mean.” He looks over at me again. “Honestly, I thought your phone call was a joke at first. But then I asked Callie, and she told me she sent the video in to some reality production company. I didn’t realize anyone was ever going to see it.” He sighs and runs a hand through his (glossy, flawless) hair.