Hustled

Hustled - Part 2

W/C: 10.3k (yes... you read that right lmao)

Warnings: PHEW. Tbh, I don't really even know what to warn against lmao smut. just like... PURE smut. basically all of it. So don't read if you're a minor or if you aren't a fan of rough-ish sex and a teeny bit of degradation and praise :) otherwise... buckle up bestie.

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

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It'd been a week.

One fucking long ass week.

One week of picturing Chris in your mind while your hands slid under your panties. One week of the most underwhelming orgasms of your entire life.

If Chris didn't make his move tonight, you were sleeping with Heath. Whether it was to make a point or to alleviate the throbbing between your thighs, you didn't know. What you did know, is that you were dying and if Chris didn't use his dick to breathe some life into you tonight, you were just going to have to find it somewhere else.

The bar was quiet, the music a low hum through the speakers while you and Monica prepared for the night. It was nearing ten, Mr. Sanderson was still posted up at the bar with a whiskey neat, and judging by the way Monica just smiled at her phone, the Bluebird cowboys were on their way.

You weren't exactly sure what you were going to do when you saw Chris. Part of you wanted to pull him to the bathroom and ride him like you did Bessie last week: hard, fast, and hanging on for dear life. A slightly larger part of you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck and strangle him for leaving you high and dry last week.

Your fingers tapped against the wooden bar while your eyes scanned for something to keep you busy. Literally anything.

Monica cleared her throat, resting her hip against the bar. "Antsy?"

"No," You snapped, sighing and scrubbing a hand over your face. "Yes."

She grinned, rolling her eyes. "Just fuck him already!"

"I tried to! Last weekend!"

"Nooo," She drawled, her eyebrows snapping toward her hairline. "You wagered a bet– one you knew you would win, by the way. And he followed through." Monica knew you would never admit that she was right. "And now you're suffering the consequences. When we told you to be the badass we knew you were, we meant like... Maybe see if he would crawl to you or something. You all but threw the ball into his court by setting up that bet."

Mr. Sanderson's eyes bounced between you and Monica for a minute while he followed your conversation. His cheeks flushed a deep pink, his eyes widening. "I think this is my cue, ladies." He slapped a twenty on the bar and all but begged you to keep the change as he scrambled out of his seat.

"Great, you scared away Mr. Sanderson." You gestured to the old man as he hobbled his way toward the door.

Mon rolled her eyes. "He'll be back next week, just like he is every week. Shit, he might even be back tomorrow."

She was right. Like she was in most situations... It annoyed the living shit out of you.

The saloon doors swung open, loud voices and laughter immediately filling the space. Tanner took that as his cue to crank the music up and you kept your back to the door, refusing to turn around.

For the fifteenth time tonight, Monica's eyes rolled. "Girl, it's Sanderson's ranch. Chill out."

Your shoulders fell with relief as you turned around, but you froze when you saw the signature navy blue t-shirt with the white logo on the right breast. It wasn't fucking Sanderson's Ranch. It was Bluebird cowboys making their way into the bar with their one-size-too-small t-shirts and worn denim jeans.