Dynomite: A Stepbrother Cowboy Romance, page 4
Shit. It was time for me to face my nemesis, that rank arm-jerker waiting for me in the chute.
I stepped closer to April. I needed to impress upon her the importance of not telling her daddy anything. I reached under her saucy little cowgirl hat and grabbed a handful of her lush, silken hair. It shocked me, really, how silken her hair was. Like a handful of, well, silk. I think her closeness shocked me. All ideas about what I wanted to do went out the window. Again, I wound up sounding stupid. She must think I’m a real prize.
“Listen, bitch. You tell your daddy about that Texas incident, I’ll make you regret your birth.”
April leaned back with both hands gripping the edge of a bench. Again, her wide eyes were either filled with fear or loathing or both, and it occurred to me she might spit in my face again.
But then a weird thing happened.
Without me noticing, I’d shoved her forward and my crotch was pinning her crotch to the bleachers, too. And I was hard. At least, my cock was lengthening inside my jeans, expanding, filling with twisted, lusty blood.
While pressed against my stepsister’s cunt.
It was a fucking delicious thrill that raced through my balls, filling them with jizz in preparation for shooting all over her fucking lap. And she didn’t do a damned thing about it, just looked at me with those deer-in-the-headlights eyes, so I jabbed her with my tool. Just to let her know that I knew. And I was hard for a reason.
It wasn’t lust, it was power. Control. Domination.
I had a handful of her hair, so she couldn’t move her head. Now I was pinning her with my hips. And after years of wrangling calves to brand, I was nothing but a sheer, sinewy machine. She could not wriggle one tendon or twitch one muscle. Not while under my power.
“Oh yeah?” she said weakly. “What you gonna do? My daddy already knows about my arrest. He’s the one who got me off. Did you get it wiped from your record? I didn’t think so.”
No, I hadn’t. Luckily for me the California rodeo circuit turned a blind eye to shit like that. If they rejected every entrant who had an arrest record, there would be about three guys riding in events.
I rolled my cock slowly, salaciously. Breathing hard against her face, as though it’d taken me a huge effort to pin her. I rolled from one hip to the other, giving her the thrilling benefit of the entire length of my hard-on, from stem to stern. I rocked the head against her pubic bone, hard underneath her little jean skirt. I slid the entire shaft up the cleft between her pussy lips. I knew I was massaging her clit this way.
And I was nearly coming myself.
Her boobs were mashed against my chest. She wore a push-up bra anyway, and made no bones about displaying her titties between her knotted, checkered shirt. I spoke low and menacing. “Lawson Willard doesn’t know about your arrest, does he?”
A tough look came into her eyes. While she’d seemed almost complacent with my forced seduction, a shadow flitted over her eyes now.
She kneed me in the balls.
“I don’t want to see you anywhere around Hardscrabble, do you hear?” She hissed as I hopped from one foot to the other, zig-zagging between the bleachers.
Then she must’ve sprinted off like a gazelle, because next thing I knew two clowns were helping me to stand upright. Two idiots who normally wore enormous barrel pants and painted on gap-toothed grins were helping me.
Yeah. Things can change in the twinkling of an eye.
CHAPTER FIVE
APRIL
The nerve of that twisted fucker.
There I was, trying to tell him to back off from my boyfriend, to stop getting into it with him, to stop goading him. It was pretty easy to goad Lawson Willard, though, truth be told. He’d been known to throw me around from time to time, usually while drinking heavily.
Suddenly Dyno was practically assaulting me through my fucking clothes!
What kind of twisted pervert was he? For one, we were stepsiblings! My father had married his wasted mother, for better or worse, although I wondered if “Dyno” knew about the prenup agreement she’d signed. Yeah, I’d seen it in the ranch office where I worked. Seems my dad didn’t trust Miss Skyy Vodka and her ability to move easily from rancher to rancher, apparently sucking really good dick the whole way.
There’d been a lot more drinking since Mrs. Grey Goose had moved her trashy redneck ass in. My dad had never been a big drinker, but suddenly he was sending his man out to Costco for those big bottles of vodka. And he was drinking the drinks himself. Vodka mixed with OJ, cranberry, Sierra Mist, you name it. It was almost embarrassing to think Lawson saw the empties around the back of the house when he picked me up, overflowing the recycling bin.
And maybe I contributed a little bit to the trash, too. When stressed or PMSing, I took a few fingers’ worth of vodka from their bottles. It was just to tide me over until I could properly mourn my mother without some lush moving into my house. I was going to knock it off the second I got accepted into one of the schools I’d been waitlisted at.
Dyno or whatever he called himself, he could imagine he was better than me, and he had me by the short hairs when it came to telling Lawson about my arrest. Lawson might be a good ol’ boy, but he liked his women pure as the Arctic snow. A typical male hypocrite.
I was actually surprised when Dyno admitted to the heroin thing. It was just a vague rumor I’d heard. I didn’t know any details about it. A fluttery thrill had gripped me when he pinned me to the wooden seat with the power of his pelvis. I don’t know if that was his intention when he grabbed me by the hair. But he slid an enormously long and fat penis directly against my mound, and suddenly I knew what Olivia meant when she pretended to know why he was called “Dynomite.”
That fucking Olivia. She loved taunting me with stories of Dyno’s prowess. He was definitely hitting on her. I’d even heard him tell her suggestively, “Sit on my lap and move your hips.” Of course, she hadn’t. We were in Spanish class, for Christ sake. But he’d said it in Spanish—Sientate en mis piernas y mueve tus caderas, I will never forget that sentence as long as I live—and while he said it to Olivia, I swear his eyes were flickering over mine.
Anyway, that’s what I meant when I said Olivia was a slut. Flirting with the newest bad boy in school while Kemp was a few rows away! And she was the one who started the whole rivalry between Dyno and Lawson by ogling Dyno in the backseat that day when Lawson picked me up for school.
Yeah, I’d noticed. It wasn’t until Olivia made those predatory remarks that Lawson got all agitated and competitive. Oh, some new guy was smoking hot? Lawson would see about that. And I was jealous because here was a rivalry that had nothing to do with me. Lawson wasn’t jealous because Dyno was hitting on me. He was jealous because Olivia thought Dyno was hot.
Why did this asshole rile me up so heavily? Here he was, pressing his long and thick tool against the very core of me, while my boyfriend lay possibly with a broken neck literally in a pile of shit!
So I kneed him, of course I did.
It was a hugely satisfying direct hit to the ol’ ball sac.
He even went “oomph” and doubled over as all the air was sucked from his lungs. I would’ve laughed if I’d had time to. He’d called me a bitch, he’d threatened my safety and reputation, and probably worst of all, he thought women were interchangeable snatches! As if one second he could eye-fuck Olivia even though she had a damned boyfriend, then the next second he could be pressing his throbbing hard-on against me!
I’d show him a thing or two.
“I don’t want to see you anywhere around Hardscrabble!” I shrieked, before sprinting off to my friends.
The last thing I saw was the hilarious sight of Mr. Asshole “Dynomite” Drummond clutching his balls, his giant erection fading fast, punctured like a basketball. He had a sour look on his face, like he was sucking on a lemon. I was pleased.
I found Lawson stalking around the alleyways behind the bleachers. He had a clod of horse shit smashed to the back of his head and various pieces of hay clung to his elbows and ass. He glared at me.
“Where you been? I been sitting here dangled like a marionette at the hands of that blitzed John Redcorn and you’re nowhere to be found!”
The truth was, I’d been extremely turned on by my encounter with my stepbrother behind the bleachers. Even as Lawson yelled at me, my pussy lips bloomed with desire. Yes, desire, plain and simple! I tingled all over, up and down my spine. It stiffened my nipples, sending a wave of goose flesh across the surface of my ass. I was on fire, and it wasn’t for this clod, that was for sure. Dyno “Dynomite” Drummond had done his best work on me. And I was ashamed I was falling for it.
I had to brush it off. “I’m sorry, Lawson. I had to pee.”
But I wasn’t his chief concern. He kept glancing over to the parking lot, sort of looking over his shoulder behind some stables. Were they doing something to poor Sequoia Crooks? I frowned.
“What are you up to, Lawson? Where’s Sequoia?”
Lawson grinned sheepishly. “Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head over that ol’ buffalo jockey. He’ll be fine.”
Olivia came trotting up. “April! Where’d you go with that hellafine piece of man candy? He’s about to ride that nasty chute fighter! See?”
We rushed back to the bleachers nearest the bucking chute. “I told you,” I said breathlessly, “he’s my fucking stepbrother, Olivia. I don’t want to hear any grossness coming from your mouth, like that.”
“Oh, man.” With arms crossed under her shelf of boobs, Olivia admired the way the rag doll that was Dyno held onto the bareback rigging. “He’s one tough customer.”
The plank of wood we stood on thundered with each buck of that bronc. The gate hadn’t even been opened yet, and it was a fearsome sight to behold. The sheer power of the gelding. Knowing it could just kick out a section of fence at the drop of a hat. One mighty kick in the head and it was all over. The pickup man, the clowns, the hazers actually had the most frightening jobs of all. Actually, the bareback bronc rider was undeniably the most admirable athlete in all of rodeo.
Some people liked the steer wrestlers, the bulldoggers. That’s okay. It takes a lot of muscle mass and pure strength to drag that big thing to the ground, and a lot of risk for the cowboy. But I’m telling you, there’s nothing to beat sheer manliness as bronc riding, especially the bareback variety. This was the sport that had made me a buckle bunny to begin with.
And Dyno was out of the chute like a shot!
I don’t remember what I was screaming. I was just glad that Lawson wasn’t within earshot. I definitely recall hearing Olivia shriek, “Go, Dyno! Stay with ’im! Ride ’im hard!”
Dyno was in fine form. Both his spurs were touching the gelding’s shoulders, and his free hand flailed almost gracefully. He thrashed like a jackhammer, taking the brunt of the abuse on his arms and back. Bareback bronc was the most physically demanding “rough stock” event in all of rodeo, and the danger added to the thrill.
I shrieked so loudly it gave me a sore throat.
It was the most exciting fifteen seconds in all of rodeo. I was vaguely aware that Lawson, Kemp and the others had hit the fence to our left. Of course they were bawling stupid shit like, “Bail! Bail out!” and the ever-witty “Fag!”
The fringes of Dyno’s chaps whipped to and fro. His hat bounced off his head around the six-second mark, but he stayed on him. The pro riders I knew vaguely from last year were whipping their hats around and yee-hawing, and even the rodeo queen was jumping up and down.
Eight seconds! He kept riding! Olivia and I clung to each other’s leatherette sleeves. We saw daylight, of course, between his ass and the horse. This gelding was a real rank animal, snorting like mad but sort of trashy, with no predictable pattern of behavior.
That made it even more miraculous that Dyno stayed on as long as he did. When he finally swung out the back door over the horse’s hindquarters and landed on his feet, he shook off the pickup man’s assistance with pride. He stalked with head held high back through the gate, and Olivia and I raced to be the first to greet him. Dyno already had fans, some wannabe buckle bunnies, and we had to get there first.
“I am so going to bang that cowboy,” Olivia panted, practically clawing me out of her way to get down the three stairs.
“You are so not,” I snapped back. I won the upper hand, squeezing between Olivia and a rail, and I hurtled ahead like I was the one leaving the bucking chute.
“Why do you care?” was the last thing I heard Olivia say.
I was just in time to catch Dyno as he breezed past me. “Wait!” I called, lamely.
“Why?” he shot back. He even brushed off the bareback director, who presumably wanted to congratulate him on the ride, probably even offer him a starting position in the annual roundup.
“I don’t like how we left things,” I tried to say, but Dyno wasn’t interested.
He kept sailing straight ahead, not even stopping to take off his spurs. He didn’t look at me but held up a hand of protest against me. “You won’t see me around Hardscrabble, guaran-fucking-teed.”
“But—oh God!”
We were out in the parking lot by now. As though he’d known what was occurring outside, Dyno had made a beeline directly for the fight. As I’d suspected, Lawson, Kemp, and their band were out there causing shit. Luckily Sequoia was nowhere to be found—I later found out Dyno had hidden him in the arena office until he could drive him home—but they were throwing rocks at Dyno’s Harley. Big rocks, too. Big enough to leave dents in the gas tank and fender.
Honestly? Lawson was eighteen years old and he was throwing rocks at someone’s ride?
I slapped my hands against my thighs. “Lawson! For God’s sake! I need you to—”
But my words caught in my throat as Dyno strode directly over to Lawson, the tallest football player. Before Dyno even reached him he had his hand up in a U-shaped vise, and he jammed it around Lawson’s throat.
I didn’t blame him. Lawson had pretty much goaded him to the point of intolerance.
But Dyno had no one to back him up, and I’d seen these idiots fight before. They fought unfairly, using implements, tools, whatever they happened to find lying around. And they ganged up, they sucker-punched, they piled on. Dyno had no one on his team.
The ball players spread out quickly like ants when Dyno attacked Lawson. Lawson even seemed kind of unprepared for it. He made an exaggerated face of shock that would have been funny under other circumstances. He clutched at Dyno’s horseshoe-like hand as Dyno ploughed him backward, up against a muscle car.
“Oh, wow,” marveled Olivia. “Fight, fight! Are they fighting over me?”
“Sort of,” I said. I actually liked to think they were fighting over me.
As Dyno pinioned Lawson against the car, it looked like he was saying something to him. What I would’ve paid to be a fly on that wall! But it was too dangerous to climb into the ring, especially since Kemp was now running toward the men hefting a bronc saddle over his head.
Shaping my hand into a funnel, I bellowed, “Dyno! Move!”
Quick as a whip, Dyno twirled around, saw the menace, and deflected him. He held Lawson up as a shield, my boyfriend taking the brunt of the blow directly to the face. Saddle straps went flying, and it looked like a buckle smacked Lawson dead on the nose. A gusher of blood spewed forth under the fluorescent parking lot lights, splashing the saddle’s seat. Dyno leaped to one side unharmed, and I was glad.
Whose side was I on, anyway? I was extremely conflicted. I was glad that my hateful stepbrother had escaped unharmed?
And it was definitely unfair when Dyno twirled right around with some kind of flashy kickboxing move and belted Lawson in the jaw with the heel of his boot, maybe even his spur. Hell, Lawson was already at a disadvantage. His best friend had just brained him with a saddle.
Lawson got Dyno in a chokehold, and they fell to their knees as one unit. Kemp kicked Dyno with his pointy-toed boots while the other players huddled around like they were on the playing field.
“Oh God!” cried Olivia. “Dyno needs help!”
“That’s your boyfriend kicking him,” I reminded her, just as much as I was reminding myself.
With every kick, Dyno’s entire head snapped back against the Mustang’s tire. All I could think of was the injuries sustained by bronc riders. They often got whiplash or spinal flexion-extension injuries. There was scuttlebutt that some of them even suffered brain injury, like combat vets did, but without the medical insurance to diagnose it.
“Well, isn’t it unfair?” Olivia snapped at me.
She was right. Especially when I saw the team’s fullback Troy rushing at the knot of guys with what looked like a hoof rasp. A hoof rasp is a heavy-duty metal file. This particular one had a point at the end, and Troy hefted it overhead as he ran with gnashing teeth. This was not going to end well.
“What the fuck!” I found myself screaming, and I barreled even faster than Troy toward the melee.
I was totally uncaring about my own safety. I’d witnessed plenty of rumbles with these overgrown boys I hung out with. They were constantly picking fights with weaker or lesser boys. I’d always sat back and laughed, verbally encouraging them. Suddenly I was defending the loser? I barely knew myself anymore. Who had I become?
It was all a blur as I rushed at Kemp, tearing him away from the Mustang. My next task was to kick my own boyfriend a dozen times in the ribs and thighs—I believe I was screaming, “Stop it! Leave him alone, you fucking bully!”
By the time Troy reached us, I was acting as a shield for Dyno. Lawson was on his feet yelling “What the fuck, April!” and Kemp and Olivia were having it out, too. Troy stabbed the air over my shoulders in his attempts to get at Dyno, and I was shouting, “Dyno! Get the fuck out of here! I’ll take care of Sequoia!”
Dyno did, probably realizing the imbalance of power in the fight, because he didn’t strike me as a coward. But he raced off to his dented Harley with spurs jangling, sort of cripping along as though injured, holding a hand to his head.
