Diary of a Bad Boy(61)
“You know what I mean,” he answers exasperated. “You’re punishing me.”
I pat his chest and give him the sweetest smile I can muster. “And why would I do that, Roark? We’re friends . . . just friends. You made that quite clear this morning. I’m good with that. Now if you’ll excuse me, there are some homemade beans on the stove I want to make sure I’m first in line for. Hurry up and shower; Dad doesn’t like it when people are late for dinner.”
Satisfied, I walk into my room and shut the door, a huge smile plastered across my face. This really is going to be so much fun.
Chapter Fourteen
Dear Satan,
Yeah, Satan, because I’m really hoping somehow this godforsaken diary makes it into his hands.
I’m living in hell. Pure, torturous hell.
What kind of county decides to ban alcohol? I’ll tell you, the kind that was bathed and clothed by the devil himself. There is no other explanation.
Fuck. Really that’s the only way to describe how I’m feeling right now. Just . . . fuck.
It’s bad enough my vices have been stripped from me, leaving me feeling raw and exposed, but having to sleep in a room across from Sutton’s and share a bathroom with her, that’s goddamn torture.
After she got out of the shower and strutted toward me in that white towel, my tongue nearly fell out of my mouth. Freshly wet and sexy with her low-slung towel, I got hard in seconds. And this whole nice act she’s pulling with me? I don’t trust it. There is no way she’s cool with what I did. I know her, and she wears her emotions on her sleeve, so I don’t believe for a second she’s fine.
Which makes this situation even more irritating because I wish she’d get angry at me, yell, scream, do something, but instead she’s strutting around like nothing happened.
And I swear to Christ, your enemy, that she’s hotter in the country. I don’t know if it’s the fresh air, or being back at her childhood home, but she has this intoxicating air about her. It’s different and really fucking hot.
It’s why I spent a good ten minutes jacking off in the shower to her lavender scent that was mixed with the steam of the shower. It was as if Sutton was wrapped around me.
Yeah, I’m fucking losing it, Satan. Please, for the love of God, end my misery and take me to your dungeon. Do weird shit to me, I don’t care, but just take me away from this purgatory. I won’t last another thirteen days.
Roark
ROARK
“Isn’t she wonderful to watch?” Foster asks, standing next to me as we both lean on the split-rail fence of the round pen.
After two hours of shoveling shit and chasing chickens—don’t even ask—I now have the pleasure of watching Sutton exercise the horses with Josh.
Who’s Josh? Oh, the horse trainer Sutton seems to be very chummy with. Every time he grants her a compliment, she gives him a blistering beautiful smile under her perfectly white hat. Josh is about to get his neck wrung by yours truly if he shouts she looks good one more time.
Because she does look good, damn good.
Foster is watching like a proud father, his steed galloping along the ring, his daughter expertly trained and encouraging the horse with soothing tones.
Josh is standing in the middle of the pen, offering occasional guidance, a stupid black hat on his head, and a plaid shirt that looks doofy on him.
And I’m over here, a pathetic motherfucker, eyes fixated on two things: the way Sutton’s tits bounce up and down in her black T-shirt, and the way her hips rock up and down on the horse.
Cock fully erect, I lean against the fence, practically drooling. Who knew exercising a horse could be so hot? I swear to Satan himself, every time she glances my way, she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. Tormenting with her hips, puffing her chest out, that laugh, that smile. It’s like a goddamn dagger to my stomach, twisting and turning it.
“She’s very astute,” I answer, not knowing what else to say to Foster that won’t get me into trouble. Because I’m pretty sure saying something like “I’m hoping your daughter’s tits spill out of that shirt at some point” isn’t really appropriate.
We spent the morning working around the ranch, setting up some things for the camp, such as the cabins and the obstacles, and now, after lunch, we’re getting ready to go on a long ride with the horses. It’s supposed to be beautiful along the “range” but all I can think about is how I’m going to have to mount one of those beasts and not look like a fool in front of Sutton while doing it.
Foster’s large hand grabs my shoulder and gives it a little shake. “You look nervous. No need to worry about the ride. It’s going to be fun.”
Nervous, yeah. Hard-up, most definitely. Desperate for a drink and a smoke, one hundred percent.
“Never ridden a horse. Not really nervous, but I don’t want to look like a dick, ya know?”
Foster laughs. “Yeah, we have that pride we have to hold on to.”
“Always.” I expected Foster to rip me a new asshole for how I arrived yesterday, but he didn’t. And I feel so pathetic and shamed regardless.
“Don’t worry, I’m setting you up with my calmest, sweetest mare. Her name is Grammy, and she’ll take good care of you.”