Dynomite: A Stepbrother Cowboy Romance (11 page)

Leaping to my feet, my eyes darted around looking for my panties. I didn’t see them, and this panicked me even more. “What were you thinking? What made you think I wanted you to do that?”

He frowned. “Uh, the way you was squirming against me?” I normally worshiped the way he lapsed into an even thicker Texas accent when riled. Now, I just wanted to slap him.

“I was squirming for you to let me
go
! I was squirming to get out of your clutches!”

Dyno stood, brushing dead grass from his knees. His impressive hard-on still stood out in sharp relief, the cotton of his jeans faded, leaving an imprint of the big phallus. Normally, I would worship that, too. I should be asking what the hell was wrong with
me!
Hormones! It was all hormones!

He growled, “What’s gotten into you? I give you a mind-blowing orgasm and you stand there
screaming
at me?” He asked the question I’d been wondering. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me! I let a down-low and dirty outlaw put his face between my legs”—Dyno grinned a little at that—“and I’ve never regretted anything so much in my fucking
life
! Let’s just wipe that off the slate of history, shall we? Can we just pretend that never happened? I can’t be with you!”

He frowned again. “Who said anything about ‘being with you’? I was just fixing to have some fun, a nice roll in the hay.” And he brushed more hay off his butt.

I was tossing handfuls of dead grass around looking for my panties. “Oh, that makes it even
better
! You just wanted a screw. My father’ll appreciate
that
. ‘Oh, who took your daughter’s virginity, sir? Some lowdown cowpoke who smelled like cow shit?’ Yes, that’ll go over
real
well!”

Dyno muttered, “I wasn’t aiming to take your virginity…”

When I realized I’d just admitted I was a virgin, I freaked out even more heavily. I gave up looking for my panties and jammed my hands onto my hips. “What were you
thinking
?” I shouted, echoing the phrase my father had often used on me. “Do you do that all the time, run around seducing the daughters of your boss? Well, I’d believe it! You’d seduce a
lamppost
. You’re just a typical horny guy, so horny you’d hump a doorknob!”

I’ll never forget his face. The only word I can think of to describe it is
appalled
. He was speechless for once while I went on my tirade. But as I flounced away—I’d like to think with a shred of dignity, although I was panty-less—I distinctly heard him mutter,

“Well. If that ain’t the pot calling the kettle black. You just did it with
me
.”

Of course I had to stamp my way home, and that worked off a lot of my anger and frustration. The sun had set by the time I got there, and Dad had several guests in the living room sipping cocktails. I recognized a couple of them as being on the board of directors for the CCPRA, and I slipped away down the hallway before anyone could stop me. Maybe Dad wanted to introduce them to the newly well-mannered Dyno, smelling of cunt and full of shit.

I allowed my anger to mask the deeply ingrained suspicion that perhaps I was doing the wrong thing, pushing Dyno away. What the fuck had he done, after all? The whole time he was lapping away at my pussy, hadn’t I been thinking
Wow, what a great guy
?
Wow, he’s only interested in my well-being. He wants me to feel good. And he’s damned good at it, too.

Why had I suddenly lashed out at him? True, we could never be a couple. We could never be seen in public. We were stepsiblings, after all. That was gross, unnatural, and plain old wrong. Not to mention, I was a well-known rancher’s daughter. He was, well,
no one
. Not in California, anyway. His father in Paducah only had two thousand acres to our fifty thousand, and only five hundred head. That was small potatoes. No wonder he had to get rid of his drug-addicted son. He couldn’t afford to pay him a salary.

I mixed some gin I’d hidden in my closet with some sparkling water and got a light buzz on. In this mood, I texted Olivia.

Me:
The stepbrother from hell moved in tonight.

Olivia:
Oh, goody. He’s a whackamole.

Me:
I thought you liked him?

Olivia:
Not anymore. He’s too moody fr me. Plus, he’s short. Isn’t he shrot? I tink he’s short. And has a face like ferret.

Me:
Well that’s a big change in opinion. Yesterday you wanted to suck his dick.

Olivia:
Eras that! Delete, delete! I never said tht.

Me:
Oh, yes you did.

Olivia:
I think he’s gay.

It went on like that, you can fucking imagine. I tried, to no avail, to get Olivia to tell me the real reason she suddenly disliked Dyno. All I could figure out was he had somehow rebuffed her, insulted her.

Around eleven, when the cocktail glasses in the next wing were tinkling at a fever pitch and I ran out of my own gin, I gathered stuff to take a shower with. But as I got closer to my bathroom, I had to stop dead in my tracks. Someone was already showering in there.

Letting my robe slither out of my fingers and to the floor, I craned my neck to listen more closely. Was Marcus in there, being completely disgusting? His bedroom was down the hall and around a corner, pretty much in a different wing altogether. There were two bathrooms with showers in between our rooms. There’d be no excuse for him to be showering in this one, unless…

I had to find out. There was only one reason he’d be showering here, and it was too gruesome to imagine. I would have to move to one of the stand-alone units on the property, one of the in-law units where guests often stayed. I had to protect myself. I had to find out—

I poked only my eyes past the edge of the door, and gasped.

Steam obscured the vision through the sliding shower door, already opaquely patterned. But this was no disgusting Marcus. Of course it was Dyno who stood with his back to the spray, his beautifully tanned arms and torso creating a stunning display. I didn’t think he heard my idiotic gasp over the sound of running water, so I stuck my entire head through the door, barely daring to breathe.

White, blurry swaths of soap decorated his chest. When the spray hit the sliding door I could see momentary, clear views of his hairy chest, matted with soap as he socked the sponge into his underarms. I went weak in the knees again when he raised his arm to soap it. I’d never seen his bare torso before and it was a sight to behold. All those months, years of riding with the herd had done wonders for his physique. He was set to model some workout equipment, saddle, or cordless grease gun.

He looked so poised, blurry and idealistic behind the cloudy door, just like a romance novel book cover. It almost looked to my amorous eyes as though he moved in slow motion. He rubbed his well-built chest, leaving trails of bubbles. He swiped the sponge down the center of his six-pack, taking special care to soap up his trim bush.

I swear, at that point I was literally drooling. I was dumbfounded with stupid lust.
That man just had his face between my thighs
. And I was watching him smooth his hand down over his pubic bone to grasp his fat, heavy boner.

Oh, dear Lord.
Is all that for me?
I just knew he’d been erect ever since going down on me earlier. It had turned him on to wolf away at me, and now he was so hot and bothered he had to put aside the sponge to fondle his hefty, engorged ball sac.

One hand cradled his testicles, lathering them up one at a time. He let one pop through his slick fingers, then he’d massage it against his thigh. As for his towering dick, he could barely wrap his fingers around it as he choked the life from it. Even through the soapy partition, I could see the effect this had on him. He tossed his head back, displaying his full throat, his bobbing Adam’s apple as he gulped, his nipples tiny erotic nubs, his giant tool in dark relief against the tan shower tiles.

He squeezed his erection as though afraid to come too fast. Afraid if he pumped it for dear life he’d shoot against the tiles, but that’s what I wanted to see. I wanted to call out, “Do it! Do it, Dyno! Pump that giant dick! Shoot against the shower wall!” I wanted to see his load splatter like the water pump into a drinking trough. My only regret was I couldn’t be there to lick it up—to let it wash my own face.

Maybe he heard my heavy breathing. Maybe he caught sight of me from the corner of his eye, or in the mirror. Whichever, he wasn’t letting on that he saw me, but his kneading and squeezing sped up. Now he stroked his cock overhand, letting his fingers splay over the breadth of it, then throttling the mushroom glans, allowing his thumb to slick across his slit.

Sometimes he looked down, as though admiring his handiwork. I knew I was. I was sliding down the door jam, sort of not caring anymore if I was spotted. Half my entire body was in the room, my arms trailing on the floor tiles like limp appendages. Still, he pretended not to see me and pumped his dick more energetically, head tilted back, the shower spray running down his beautifully sloped back.

When he shot, I had to close my eyes. It was too, too much.

When I looked next, every muscle in his body had tensed him into a gorgeous statue of some Greek god. And my mind was shot. Completely, thoroughly shot.

That vision was permanently engrained in my memory banks.

Like the survivor of a blood battle, I inched myself up the door jam. It was a major struggle of every lazy, sleeping ligament and tendon in my being to wrest myself off that damned floor, to stagger down the fucking hallway, stumbling over my own bathrobe that had become a massive mountain in the past ten minutes.

I made it by the skin of my teeth to my bedroom, my sanctuary, my salvation. I swiped at my phone as I fell into the safety of my bed. The last thing I remember was seeing Olivia’s final text.

I’m totally sure he’s gay. Someone else told me they tried to kiss him, and he just pushed her away. That, or he’s got major sexual dysfunction.

DYNO

T
hat had been
one of the weirdest days of my life, hands down.

First, April flinging herself at me. Who was I to say no? Then, after I’d gone pearl diving between her sweet legs, she turned on me. All I could figure was, she realized she’d made a giant mistake, regretted having commanded me to kiss her, and wished she’d never laid eyes on me. I liked being called an outlaw—an outlaw was a horse that couldn’t be broken or ridden—but not coming from April Pleasure’s lips. From her it was a massive insult, made to make me feel disgusting, lowdown, a piece of vermin.

I was an option for her, not a priority—and maybe not even an option on account of how lowdown I was. She was going to ride with that Lawson Willard buttfuck until he went away to his snob school, then she’d latch onto some other rancher’s son.

She was the first girl I’d ever tongue-fucked, and it was a fresh, hot treat. She tasted like sweet cream with a slight tang. Had I done it wrong? Had I injured her? I was pretty sure I knew how juicy a woman flowed when she came. How she squirted into my mouth, how her toes curled up, how she stiffened and shuddered and acted like a maniac undergoing a lobotomy.

Most women—all?—purred like kittens afterward. Not this one. She was so feisty, so full of piss and vinegar, she couldn’t just say thanks for the mind-blowing orgasm. No, she got all up in my face about it like it was a giant mistake, although later that night she snuck into my bathroom and spied on me draining the monster in the shower. Yep, she stood there for a whole five minutes with her mouth half-open while I gave her a one-man show. I even played it up, acted all lust-filled and theatrical like a porn star, to give her a little extra for her effort.

I figured I’d show her what she missed out on, having her little conniption fit, pushing me away like that. I’d been named Dynomite by a former girlfriend in Paducah due to my penchant for hitting the ceiling with my jet of jizz. Believe me, it wasn’t hard to spout off like that with April Pleasure sliding down the wall eight feet away. I tried not to let her know that I saw her. Either way, it wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t be getting any fucking sleep that night. I’m hung like a bull moose and women go crazy for my dick. It’s aesthetically pleasing, one girl told me. Some women are afraid of it. But as a visual treat, I knew it couldn’t be beat. Or, ha ha,
I
could beat it. I was an expert.

But I was still pissed. Women did
not
slap me in the face like that, especially not after a ginormous orgasm. She was the first and only girl I’ve ever given a skull job, and her rebuff was a major slap in the face.

The end of school came and went. I just barely squeaked by. Funny thing was, I was killer at math, even when distracted by April’s curves, her pouty lips, her ice queen ways. But I pretty much always cut PE, not wanting to subject myself to the taunts of the jocks, the Willards, the Hemps, the assholes who bullied Sequoia. For instance, someone had posted a photo of me on Facebook with my mouth open when I was eating potato chips with a witty comment along the lines of “what a moron.” Lately Willard and his crowd had been making gay cracks about me and Sequoia, too. Sequoia showed me a Facebook posting where he’d tied his sweatshirt around his waist by the sleeves. The comment declared it was a skirt. It was all so fucking infantile.