Diary of a Bad Boy(65)

Like Sutton.

I want her, but not only physically. I want her brain, her heart, her soul. I want to know what it’s like to stay up all night and talk to her about nothing. I want to know what it’s like to comfort her when she’s upset. I want to feel her tears on my fingers, knowing I’m the only person in the world who can console her. I want to know what it feels like to be completely addicted to someone to the point that when we part in the morning, I miss her ten seconds later. I want all of that, the good, the bad, and the ugly that comes with being in love.

And I think, no . . . I know Sutton can be that girl.

But what if, fuck, what if she dives into a relationship and realizes, just like my parents, that I’m worthless? That’s not a chance I can take. I’m already on the verge of falling off the face of the earth any second, I don’t need the extra push. Because if Sutton loved me and I eventually lost her love . . . I can’t.

Sighing, my forehead pressed against the wood molding of the wall, I grip the doorknob and prepare myself for another day of brutal chores, more camp setup, and watching Sutton be her beautiful self.

I swing the door open just as Sutton opens hers as well. I pause mid-stride when I take her in. Decked out in the tiniest cut-off shorts I’ve ever seen, her trusty boots and . . . oh fuck no.

“What is that?” I ask, pointing at her chest.

She glances down and then back at me. “My shirt.”

My brow soars. “You call that a shirt? It’s cut off. I can see your entire midriff.” I bend a little. “Are you wearing a bra?”

She points down the hall. “I left it in the bathroom. I was going to get it.”

Perky and perfect, her breasts tempt me once again and even if she was wearing a bra, I’d be able to see it. There’s no way she’s wearing that shirt outside with all the ranch hands swarming the property.

Nope, not going to happen.

Before she can make her way to the bathroom, I push her through her bedroom door and shut it behind me. For a second, I observe her modest childhood bedroom: tan walls, floral bedspread, a poster of a horse above her bed. It’s fucking cute.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, hands on her hips, her shirt riding high.

“You’re not going out there like that. I can see your nipples.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m going to wear a bra. And honestly, this is none of your business, Roark.”

I pull on my hair and turn away, frustrated with this entire situation. She’s driving me completely nuts, and I don’t know what to do about it. She’s right, it isn’t any of my business how she dresses, and even though I want her to wear a turtleneck and slacks, I know I can’t ask her to do that.

“Fuck,” I mutter. Hand still in my hair, I say, “If you’re going to wear that, please stay away from me.”

There is a softness in her voice as she presses her hand to my back. “Is everything okay, Roark?’

I shake my head, my body tingling from how close she is. “No. I’m struggling, Sutton.”

She comes up to my side and tries to look me in the eyes but I don’t turn my head. “You can talk to me, you know.”

“I can’t.”

“Roark—”

I pin her against the wall next to her door in one swift movement, catching her off guard. Her eyes are a little wild, her chest rises and falls against mine as she asks, “Wh-what are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” I answer, my hands pinned at her waist, itching to move up. When I take an inch, her breath catches in her chest, so I move my hand up even higher until the underside of her breast is rubbing against my finger.

“Roark,” she breathes out. Heavily.

I lean forward and press my mouth to her ear and nip at her lobe. Her head lulls to the side and even though she’s been nothing but a giant temptress the last few days, I feel the need she has for me in the way her hands fall to my shoulders and then up my neck to weave through my hair.

I move in closer, pressing my hips against hers while I cup her breast at the same time.

“You’re driving me crazy, Sutton.” My lips work up and down her neck. “You think this is easy for me? Being here, my room across from yours, watching you talk to other guys? It’s killing me.”

“Then do something about it.”

“What do you want me to do?” I ask while lowering my head to her breast, lifting her shirt up and sucking her nipple into my mouth.

“Yes,” she says on a sigh. “That feels so good, Roark.” Her encouragement spurs me on and breaks something inside me. I lift her up by the waist and carry her to the bed where I lay her down gently. I press my hips against hers, letting her know how much she affects me.

I bring her shirt up and over her head, exposing her breasts. She’s so beautiful it’s almost painful. I lower my mouth back to them as I rock my hips into her, my erection finding small relief in the friction. But I want more.

She must read my mind, because her hand reaches between us and falls under the hemline of my jeans where her fingers pass over my bulge.

I lift up, head lowered, and hiss out a long breath, giving her more access. My muscles tighten, my eyes fall shut, and her little hand curls around my cock, my briefs the only barrier.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Sutton . . . I.” Her hand slides inside my briefs, and I swear I’m seconds from coming from her touch alone.