Dynomite: A Stepbrother Cowboy Romance (16 page)

By then, Sequoia had released the flank strap, and Kemp and another player were barreling into the arena to capture the bronc. Sequoia couldn’t raise Lawson, who just lay there like a seafood appetizer. Finally Sequoia dismounted and squatted next to Lawson.

“Something’s wrong.” I stated the obvious.

“Sure enough,” agreed Dyno, but he didn’t budge either.

Finally it was a couple of my fellow cheer squad mates who clambered down and ran over to Lawson, inspecting him gingerly like a specimen under glass. It was sad and theatrical at the same time. Sequoia had only turned on three spotlights on the arena floor and Lawson lay smack in the middle of one of them. It was a panorama of a three-ring circus with the football players leading the bronc away, and three people peering down at a motionless rider.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” I suggested. I was supposed to be Lawson’s girlfriend, yet it was my idea to bail on the scene. “You’re going to be the one held liable if anything’s wrong with him. We’re not even supposed to be here, so their insurance won’t cover us.”

“That’s true.” Dyno spoke thoughtfully as more of Lawson’s friends poured onto the arena floor and surrounded him. Dyno didn’t seem in a hurry, though. I felt the need to instill urgency in him.

I shook his arm. “We’d best go. How’s your concussion? Can you ride your bike? Let’s get out of here.”

But he was chewing on a piece of straw, keeping an eagle eye on Lawson’s fallen form. “Wait. I need to get a report. Much as I loathe the guy, don’t want to see anyone down like that. It’s a professional courtesy we extend to everyone in the field.
Sequoia!
”

Since a few of Lawson’s friends were now carrying him offstage, Sequoia trotted over to do his master’s bidding. His eyes were spooked. “Dyno! He’s blacked out, but I think I’ve seen this before. You saw when the horse stomped on his chest?”

Dyno nodded. “Compression injury.”

“Exactly. I told those morons to immobilize him, like on a board, and get him a CT scan stat. I don’t know how they’re going to explain it in the ER, maybe claim it happened at his dad’s ranch, but I do know we’ve got to get the fuck out of here.”

“Fuck,” Dyno agreed, finally moving. “He could have a spinal cord injury. Broken ribs.”

“Like Alan Mack,” I pointed out.

For some weird reason, Dyno smiled crookedly at me. I’ll never forget how he looked that night. Concussed with his straw-colored hair poking every which way and smears of dust decorating his face like newfangled war paint. I wasn’t even sure if he was in his right mind at that point. I couldn’t be sure that any decisions he made from then on in would be rational thanks to his brain injury.

Now he looked directly at me and spoke as though there were no other option. He was
that
sure of himself. I liked that about him.

“Get on the back of my bike. We’re going for a ride.”

DYNO

I
didn’t really
have all my wits together, if you know what I mean. The saying “if brains were dynamite, I couldn’t blow my nose” kept ringing in my head.

April showed her allegiance to me. When Willard was thrown in the ring and she failed to rush out there and find out what was wrong, I knew I had her. I’d been noticing signs between them lately, anyway. He rarely came around the ranch house anymore. I never saw his stupid car. And he was going off to university. He would be G.U.—geographically undesirable.

We tore out of there just as they were loading Lawson’s carcass into someone’s truck. Someone said he was unconscious, his ribs at least definitely broken. I felt nothing, to be honest. I felt sorry for Sequoia, who had taken on the entire burden and had to stick around to turn off lights and lock up. I didn’t like to leave him twisting in the wind, but he was a fighter, a scrapper. And those boneheads were too preoccupied with Willard to call him a John Redcorn.

It was a hot night as usual in July in the Mojave Desert. I was protected in my rodeo rig, but April wore only a top made from a bandanna and a short-fringed cowgirl skirt. As she rode on my pussy pad, she smashed her boobs against my back. I wished I wasn’t wearing the thick-yoked shirt so I could feel those tits more clearly. But her bare thighs were pinned smack and smooth against mine, and her hot cunt was plastered to my tailbone. I let her wear the helmet, of course.

April didn’t question where we were heading as I wound past ghostly silhouettes of Joshua trees standing like pop-ups in a shooting gallery. The sky was deep purple, the desert lit by the moon’s spotlight. My Panhead cleaved that road like a knife. Maybe it was my fuzzy brain, but it seemed to purr between my legs, vibrating the girl behind me, exciting us both. Clumps of cholla cacti blurred past us, furry and indistinct.

As furry as I was, I knew where I was headed. I’d been to the top of this spaceship-shaped hill often, to smoke weed and take a break from the herd. A rocky cave here even protected me a couple of times from sudden downpours. It would be the perfect place for us.

It might sound like I was trying to take advantage of Miss Squarepants in her moment of stress and sorrow. Truth was, she didn’t even run out into the arena when Willard took a spill. I knew in that moment she had left that lifestyle, the rah-rah blind obedience to whatever shit pile her dad shoveled her. She wouldn’t obey the straight and narrow road anymore. Her eyes were open to wider vistas such as the one I presented to her. She wasn’t mortified to be seen on the back of a Harley anymore, for instance. She had a free and easy vibe about her. I was becoming so confident, I could even imagine taking her on the road. That’s how ridiculous I was getting.

But it worked, for that one magical night, as they cornily say. April had a bottle of wine she’d taken from Hardscrabble’s wine cellar, and I unbuckled my chaps, spreading them out to serve as a blanket. We had no glasses of course, so we swigged like bums from the bottle. I was feeling so corny, I even pointed out Betelgeuse in the constellation of Orion as we sappily sat back on our hands.

But I wanted more than stargazing. Her eyes were blurry and unfocused when I took her little face in my hand and kissed her. This time there was no resistance. She didn’t bring up the fact that my mother had married her dad. I was relieved to think that was all behind us now. She let me slide my hand up and cup that bare boob, creamy, lush, and full in my palm. She jumped when I thumbed her erect nipple, and suddenly I wanted more.

I wanted more than her obedience. I wanted more than her exhausted, uncaring, burnt out submission. I wanted her to be an active, aware participant. Most girls banged me because I was a bad boy biker, or I was a bad boy cowboy, or I was just a bad boy, period. I wanted something more. So I pulled back and sort of murmured against her cheek.

“Tell me. Why do you like me?”

She stilled. “But I
don’t
like you.”

Boy, did the blood run cold in my veins then.

I knew we’d had our moments, our ups and downs. She didn’t like the Ben Gay on her toothbrush or the pizza delivery guys at her office door. Fact, she’d often screamed that she hated me. I hated her too, sometimes. But
now
?
Now
when we were making out on top of a starry hill?

Luckily, she explained. “I
more
than like you. I’m
in
like with you. Does that make sense? I’m sort of obsessed with you. Hate to admit it. But it’s true.”

Now I was in more familiar waters. My dick could stop shrinking in horror. I slung her thigh halfway over my lap and kissed her some more. “I’m in like with you too, you fucking Ice Queen. Let’s figure this out. Let’s see where it goes. What do you say?”

She smiled against my mouth. “I say okay, you outlaw.”

“You gonna give up that goon Willard?”

“Done and done. But what’re we going to say to our parents?”

Uh-oh. I hadn’t wanted to discuss this. There was no easy way out. If her father found out, I ran the risk of him firing me. He didn’t want his precious saintly daughter dating a fucking outlaw cowboy. The son of a rancher, now, that was Cliff Pleasure’s speed. He probably already had a guy picked out, waiting in line for when Willard shipped off to Harvard.

“We’ll figure that out,” I said vaguely. In cases like this, I always whipped off my shirt, and that’s what I did now. It distracted the girl. It worked. April straddled me so she could help, and when she slid her hands over my bare chest, my cock twitched up a storm. She’d plastered her pussy directly over it and was doing a sort of lap dance thing where she rocked her hips back and forth like riding a mechanical bull.

It inspired me, this vision. I lifted her upside-down bandanna, tucking the ends into her neckline so her tits swung full and naked. I got a bit carried away. None of the usual details worried me, like would I be able to be faithful to this girl? Because she definitely expected it of me. And Cliff would do more than fire me if I wasn’t faithful. He’d have my dick and balls in a vise, with maybe even a Kombucha enema for good luck.

None of that shit entered my mind as I slurped the luscious tips of her nipples into my mouth. I only wished we had those fucking handcuffs, but who rides around to competitions with handcuffs? I’d gotten them as a joke—Sequoia had them in his house for some reason—and I thought it’d be another good, but sexy, practical joke to remind her of the way we met. I would whip those cuffs out and surprise the hell out of her by cuffing her to a…a rock?

Well, the fantasy needed some refining, and now I was sliding one hand down her waist, itching to plunge my fingers into her slick sex.

She sighed like the winds through a sail. “I thought you hated me,” she breathed.

It was hard to talk with my mouth full. “I hated you,” I admitted. “Still do, sometimes. You’re frustrating. Not your average gal. You’re hooky. Handy with your horns.”

“Oo. And
you’re
handy with
your
horn, too.”

She referred to my giant boner, which she was currently sliding back and forth on. I finally got to wind my fingers around the curve of her ass, tickling the slimy outer lips of her pussy. When a finger swiped her button underneath the strip of her panties, she gasped and jumped nearly a mile. This gave me some room to let my cock out of its prison. It stood tall and proud like the fucking Empire State Building. When April eventually came down to earth, she’d land right on it.

Or not. Apparently she didn’t know I’d whipped it out. When she went to squat on my lap again she banged right up against it. She took a backward leap, like going out the back door of a bucking bronc. She wound up sitting on my thighs, me holding her hands so she wouldn’t topple.

“Sorry.” I tried to laugh. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

I could tell she was putting on a falsely casual face. “No big. Or,” she giggled, “I should say
yes
big. Very big. Just wasn’t prepared.”

“That’s okay. Look, I don’t want to be like every other guy who’s ever tried to bag you. I really don’t. Didn’t mean to whip out the ol’ miracle meat while you wasn’t looking. Here. I’ll put it back. You can sit—”

“
No!
”

Suddenly she was practically frantic. Her eyes got all wild and bug-eyed. She looked especially alien there in the moonlight with her boobs swaying so enticingly, her eyes rolling deliriously in their sockets. She wrapped her paw around my erection. Precum had already slid down the shaft, and she expertly used it to jack me, full and complete, from balls to tip.

I was a goner. I just leaned back on my palms and reveled in the sensation. I had to keep peeking, to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. This cheerleader was sitting on my legs, my erect dick just inches from her wet pussy, and she was jacking me. I’d died and gone to heaven.

And she talked. She talked dirty while she flogged my hog. It was beyond my wildest expectations.

“I want you, Dyno Drummond. You’ve been driving me insane ever since you arrived in town. Yes, I want your bad boy ways. That turns me on, knowing how dirty, twisted, and bad to the bone you are. I don’t care how many drugs you do, how many things you steal, how many bar brawls you get into.” Actually, I’d only done drugs for a few months. Then the need to get my shit together had taken over when my dad told me I needed to move to California. But I wasn’t about to argue with a beautiful girl who had my dick in her hands. If she wanted to think I was some deviant, let her. “Why do you think I always run out of the room when you’re there? I need to switch on my vibrator, Dyno. I swear, hormones have taken over my brain. I’ve wanted you so heavily, Dyno Drummond, I sometimes feared I’d break some internal organ climaxing with you on my mind.”

That did it. I sputtered, “Girl. Unless you want a squirt in the eye, you’d best unhand me.”

She seemed surprised. She let go, my dick bobbing in the night air. She seemed unsure what to do for a split second.

But sudden determination got a grip on her face. Getting to her knees, she straddled me like a right proper cowgirl. She fisted my big dick and rubbed it against her outer cunt, like I’d done to her lips the time she’d blown me to completion. In the foggy moonlight, my cock was a blur between her thighs. I gasped, gripping her by the hips to slow her down.