The lights over the stage come on in a burst of color. Standing with their instruments, and one member sitting behind his drums, are the members of Saltwater Creek, the band I used to play in. I glance over at Trick. He’s howling happily, his arms raised into the air. He used to play with us, too. He looks at me and smiles. I know this probably makes his night that much better. I return his smile then look back to the stage.
“Something’s still missing,” Jenna yells. “Oh, I know what it is. We’re gonna need more bass.”
Heads start turning toward me and I finally look up at Jenna where she’s sitting atop the bull. She’s looking right at me, grinning. She tips her head toward the stage and I look back in that direction. Everyone in the band is watching me, smiling, and Sam, the bass guitar player, is taking the strap of his guitar off his shoulder. He walks to the front of the stage and holds it out to me.
Quitting the band was a tough decision, but it was the right one. Business at the garage started picking up and it was a matter of growing up and facing my responsibilities, laying the groundwork for my future, or playing with the boys.
Adulthood won out.
But getting a chance to get back up on stage still holds a special lure. And Jenna knows that.
I can’t hide my smile as I hop up on the platform and take the guitar. Sam nods at me and I nod back, slipping the leather strap over my shoulder and taking the pick from his outstretched hand. I lay my palm against the body of the guitar and curl my fingers around the neck, settling in to the feel of the cool metal against my skin.
I look out at Jenna and her eyes tell me she knows I’m on top of the world right now. It reminds me of all the things that I love about her that have nothing to do with her body, but with her heart and her soul. She winks and calls out a question that doubles as a song request.
“Who feels like makin’ love?”
A rowdy bunch, pretty much everyone in the bar yells out in agreement, so I close my eyes and reach back in my memory for the chords to the song. For a few seconds, everyone quiets and the world fades away as they all wait for me to start picking out the notes. With the first one, I remember how much I love the feel of the strings under my fingertips.
After eight beats, the rest of the band jumps in. I open my eyes and look back out at Jenna. She takes her hat off and gives her head a shake, her dark hair shimmering down her slender back. When she puts it back on her head, her eyes find mine and she winks at me from under the brim. I could easily drop my guitar, jump off the stage and spread her out on that bull and eat her like dessert. But before I can really finish the thought, she reaches down for the leather strap and nods for the bull operator to wind it up.
The rotation starts out slow, like the operator is trying to match the beat of the song. Jenna’s body moves in perfect time with it. It’s like everything between us and around us is in sync.
It’s almost painful to watch her ride that damn bull. Her back arches with each buck of the machine and her hips swivel fluidly, like she’s connected to it. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips are parted just a little and I can see the tip of her tongue grazing her teeth. I hope she’s thinking what I’m thinking—that the only thing better than this would be if it was
The operator increases the speed and Jenna’s body shifts and sways in time with it. All too clearly, I can imagine us in front of a mirror with her moving just like that on top of me. Up and down on my cock, her thighs clamped around my sides, her creamy body squeezing me.
My jeans get tight. Real tight. As the song winds down and the operator slows the bull again, Jenna glances up at me. The look she gives me says she knows what I’m thinking. And I mutter again, “Holy shit, it’s gonna be a long night!”
CHAPTER NINE- Jenna
After getting so turned-on by Rusty watching me ride the bull, it’s all I can do to keep my composure for the rest of the night. I want him so bad I ache with it.
But stay composed I do. Somehow, I manage to keep it together while cranking up the heat. It’s my mission to make the want as painful for Rusty as it is for me. And every time I look at him, I know it’s working a little more. The crotch of his jeans is probably extended to the tensile limit of denim. I can’t stop the satisfied smirk that comes to my lips as I think of it.
I glance over at Rusty as he watches another girl ride the bull. As if sensing my eyes and my thoughts on him, he turns those bright-blues on me. I wink sassily at him and he raises one eyebrow.
I make myself turn away after that. I’m tempted to go order another shot when I hear the bartender ring the bell that signals last call. I resist the urge because part of my deal with Daryl in him letting us “borrow” Lucky’s tonight was that I’d lock up after closing and then come back bright and early in the morning to meet the truck when it comes to collect the mechanical bull. The last thing I need is to be shitfaced while trying to secure a bar that isn’t mine.
Less than an hour later, the house lights flash three times in a row and the lights over the stage shut off, my signal to start shooing people out the door. Luckily, the band stopped playing about an hour ago, so no one cares about the stage anymore.
When the bar is empty, but for the little old man who operates the mechanical bull, I give him a fifty dollar tip and push him out into the lot, too, flipping the lock behind him so I can make my way around, cutting off lights before I go home.
I find OFF switches for every light in the place except the one over the dance floor, the dance floor that, for tonight, was occupied by a mechanical bull. I walk behind the bar, searching for a hidden switch. I look through the small storage and break room in back. Still no luck. The only thing I find back there is the radio, which is clearly labeled LEAVE ON, but no other light switches. I decide to check the other side of the building, somewhere near the stage, hoping I can find the controls there.
As I round the corner back out into the bar, I come to a sudden stop, a gasp bubbling up in my chest. There’s someone sitting on top of the bull.
I’m only startled for a few seconds, though. My pulse speeds up for an entirely different reason when I recognize the figure straddling the machine.
It’s Rusty. And he’s watching me.
My feet move me slowly across the room toward him. My heart thumps wildly against my ribs. My mouth goes completely dry as I take him in.
The wide brim of his cowboy hat casts a shadow over his face. But even so, I can feel Rusty’s glittering blue eyes fixed on me. The light pouring down on his shoulders accentuates every ripple of muscle in his arms and bathes his perfectly defined abs in a soft, golden glow. His big hands are resting on his thighs, motionless. Chills spread down my arms when I look at those long fingers, remembering all too clearly the pleasure they can bring.
I take a deep breath. “Bar’s closed, mister,” I say casually as I approach him.
He doesn’t respond immediately. When he does, I feel a hot flush move through my core.
“Thought I’d grab a slow ride before you locked up. I missed my chance earlier.”
My stomach twitches at his insinuation. He’s asking me. Outright. And he’s perfectly still as he waits for my reply.
Adjusting my trajectory, I veer to the right and walk to the podium that houses the bull controls. I look down at the console I watched the little old man working earlier. I glance back at Rusty, knowing that if I turn it on, I’m giving him my answer.
My pause is barely that of a heartbeat before I reach up and flip the red switch up to the ON position. To hell with resisting him! I’m not the one getting married.
“How slow do you want it?” I ask provocatively, the sultry music from the radio only adding to the intensity of the moment.
“As slow as you can make it,” he replies, a wicked grin twisting his lips.
I ease the lever up the tiniest bit, just enough that I can barely hear the whir of the machine’s motor turning. With a groan, the bull moves slightly forward and down, making a leisurely turn on its post. Rusty doesn’t
