Chute Yeah (The Valentine Boys 3)

“Can you grab me my shirt?” he asked as he stood.

I started looking around for his shirt and found it next to his discarded boots.

When I bent down to retrieve it, Banks turned to grab his pants, and all of a sudden, I had his hard cock—that was sadly still covered by his underwear—in my face.

It jumped at my closeness, and I licked my lips.

“Shit,” he said, backing away.

I went forward and grabbed for the shirt, tossing it to him.

He caught it and put it over his head as I did the same with his pants moments later.

I licked my lips again and Banks started to laugh.

“You make it incredibly hard to be good,” he said gruffly.

The problem was, I didn’t want him to be good.

I wanted him to be bad.

I wanted to be bad with him.

I swallowed hard and sat on my ass, watching him finish getting dressed.

My eyes strayed to the quickly bruising section of his thigh before he’d pulled his pants up all the way, and I blinked at him.

“Ready?” he asked as he slipped his feet into his boots.

I nodded my head, my hand clenched on the tube of ointment, and wondered if I was, truly, ready.

I’d gone to plenty of counselors to speak about what had happened to me.

I wasn’t scared any longer to be by myself.

I also was more than capable of sleeping with a man—I’d done so since my rape twice.

So yes, I was ready.

There was no doubt in my mind.

I’d been ready for Banks Valentine all my life.

We walked slowly through the lit-up rodeo grounds as we made our way back to the trailer.

Banks nodded his head at a few people, but never slowed long enough to invite any conversations.

By the time we made it back to the trailer, and after I scattered a few women that seemed to be quite close to Banks’ door, we made our way inside and locked the door.

He walked to the bedroom and said, “I’m gonna take a shower.”

Instead of saying anything to that, I took a seat on the chair and wondered if what I was about to do would come back and bite me in the ass.

But there was no denying it any longer.

I wanted Banks Valentine, and I intended to have him.Chapter 15Website: we use cookies to increase performance. Me: Same.

-Banks to Candy

Banks

My stomach was filled with knots as I made my way into the shower.

My head was definitely in the clouds, and I wasn’t sure if what Check gave me was something that should make me feel quite like I was feeling.

Then again, I knew what it was.

Candy had given me the green light.

The green light to take her.

The green light to do with her what I wanted.

I aggressively turned the knobs for the shower, not bothering with the hot, and stepped inside, hoping the cool water would calm my libido.

It didn’t.

I was in there for all of five minutes, trying to talk myself out of what I knew was about to happen the moment I stepped out, when my resolve crumbled.

And that all had to do with the beautiful, long-legged woman who walked into the tiny bathroom and stared at me through the clear glass partition.

“Banks…” she hesitated. “I want this.”

I squeezed my eyes closed.

“I’m not breakable,” she promised.

Wasn’t she, though?

She’d had a terrible first initiation into sex, and peripherally, I’d played a part in that.

It was a terrible pill to swallow, and I hated the fact that I’d done a stupid thing that night and stood her up.

I wished to God that I hadn’t.

Yet I couldn’t take that back.

I also couldn’t take back the life I’d lived afterward.

I’d been a whore.

Well, not necessarily a whore as much as very indiscriminate about who I’d taken to my bed.

Most of the women had been fast and easy.

I wasn’t proud of the man that I’d become after what had happened with my parents. Wasn’t happy about how I’d refused to see that I was worth more than what I’d allowed myself when I’d been in my rebellious teenage years, followed shortly by the ‘I’m hot shit and a soldier’ years.

Honestly, the man I’d been since I’d come home was the man that I’d always wanted to be.

I hadn’t been completely good, but I’d definitely kept my bedroom escapades to a minimum.

But, in the back of every single sexual encounter that I’d ever had, Candy had always been at the forefront of my mind.

And now, with her standing there, looking at me with her heart in her eyes, I was too scared to reach out and take what it really was that I wanted.

“I’m okay,” she promised.

Then she started stripping, and with each article of clothing that came off her, my body got more and more taut with expectation.

When her panties hit the floor—her final article of clothing—I was already backing up into the shower.