Long Hard Ride (Rough Riders #1)(26)

Yeah, she’d been furious with him for getting pissed off at her for something that wasn’t her fault. Then demanding her obedience. After he’d had her submission and had spanked her ass, licked her sex like a starving man, consequently turning her into a trembling pile of f*ck-me-now pleading whimpers, he’d walked away. Walked away!


True, he hadn’t exactly left her high and dry. Trevor had f*cked her thoroughly, making sure she came twice before he gave into his own needs. But it’d been just plain weird to give Edgard a blowjob. First off, he wasn’t circumcised. Second, he didn’t come in her mouth, but in his own hand. She got the feeling he was disappointed in her performance.


Like he expected…better. Like he couldn’t wait for it to be over.


Yeah. That’d give a girl a complex.


Oh sure, he’d whispered sweet nothings in her ear in that sexy Portuguese accent while Trevor nailed her from behind. But Edgard hadn’t kissed her. Or touched her body anywhere besides her face. Nor did he make a big deal about her breasts—most men went crazy kissing and fondling, sucking and biting her nipples. Since her hands had been bound, why hadn’t he helped Trevor get her off faster by rubbing her clit?


She knew if Colby had been in the room, his hands, his mouth, his cock—his undivided attention would’ve been all over her.


The rest of the interlude had scarcely lasted twenty minutes. Yeah, she’d enjoyed herself, and Trevor was a caring lover. But the truth was, she’d missed Colby.


What kind of idiot did that make her? They’d only been together two days and she’d already attached herself to him like one of those pesky sticky burrs that get caught up in horse’s tails.


And yet, she knew in her heart Colby had been mortified by his own behavior. Not the little whipping he’d given her, but letting her sit alone.


Not knowing that she hadn’t known any better and blaming himself.


The man was unbelievably sweet when he wasn’t being a pain in the ass.


The two loads spun and she tossed them in the dryer along with a perfumed dryer sheet. As she sat at the chipped Formica table, the words on the paper changed from angry to speculative—instead of writing about herself, she wrote about him. Them. The folks she’d come across in her travels, salt-of-the-earth types, so far removed from the salty-tongued people she’d grown up around.


Her mind drifted to a series of vignettes she’d tucked away in her subconscious. An older couple she’d seen in the beer line sneaking foamy kisses. A cowgirl hiding her tears as she currycombed and talked to her horse. The bruises on a youngster’s arm as he practiced bulldogging on his border collie. The broken look on a young cowboy’s face as he looked longingly at the steel gate separating the contestants from the wannabes.


Real life. Real people. Channing realized this sabbatical wasn’t about getting away from her parent’s expectations, acting the rebel, hiding for a time and then (grudgingly) accepting her destiny. This trip would be the defining point in her life.


The dryer buzzed, jarring her from her reverie. She looked around and smiled. Never in a million years would she have believed she’d experience a catharsis in a dingy laundry room in Colorado.


She folded her clothes and repacked them in her small rolling suitcase and dragged it back to the empty room. Ten minutes later she was still bored. No one told her she had to sit and wait for the trio to return. She was perfectly capable of finding her own entertainment.


After a quick fix of her hair and makeup, Channing ventured into the warm night. Traffic whooshed by. Instead of the heavy fumes of exhaust, she smelled pine. Muffled children’s shrieks ricocheted from the outdoor pool behind the motel office. Up the road on the left she spied a couple of fast food places…and the neon sign of a bucking bronc boasting an honest-to-God, Western honky-tonk.



Yee-haw. No brainer which direction she headed.


George Strait blared from the speakers. Pitchers of beer were refilled almost as quickly as they’d emptied. The bar was elbow to elbow with cowboys of all ages, shapes, and sizes. Hats of all colors. The cowgirls weren’t as plentiful, so Channing had spent a goodly amount of time fending off advances. She began to question the wisdom in coming here alone.


She’d managed to choke down a burger—no fries—in between sips of a Fat Tire beer. The music was good, people were dancing up a storm and she probably would’ve been having a great time if she’d known a single soul. Instead, she was an outsider.


Alone again.


Channing crumpled her bar napkin and decided to call it a night. She spun her barstool around, right into Cash Big Crow.


His mouth creased into a grin that lit up his whole face. “Channing. I wondered if that was you. Where are the guys?”


“I don’t know. They dumped me off at the room. When I became bored waiting for them I went looking for food and fun.”


“Don’t imagine Colby’s gonna be too thrilled when he finds out you’ve been here alone.”


She leaned forward and whispered, “So don’t tell him.”


Cash chuckled. “No comment, but I ain’t got a death wish for keepin’


something from him that he’s got a right to know.”