The Wicked Horse Series Box Set - Sawyer Bennett

THE WICKED HORSE SERIES By Sawyer Bennett

All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2017 by Sawyer Bennett Kindle Edition Published by Big Dog Books This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review. Find Sawyer on the web! www.sawyerbennett.com www.twitter.com/bennettbooks www.facebook.com/bennettbooks

Box Set Contents

Wicked Fall

Wicked Lust

Wicked Need

Wicked Ride

Wicked Bond

WICKED FALL (The Wicked Horse Series) By Sawyer Bennett

Prologue

Woolf I TROT UP the porch steps, my boots clunking loudly as heels meet wood. It looks like I’m walking into an ordinary log cabin home—one story, knotty white pine weathered to a burnished mocha color. It is, in fact, my home office. And by home office, I mean the place where I conduct my business as I sit on top of a dynasty built upon the backs of cattle and fueled larger by oil sucked from the ground. My office looks like a home because it used to be one. More specifically, this used to be my greatgrandfather Jared Jennings’ modest log cabin. He built it upon the initial acres of the Double J ranch, which he founded upon just a measly ten-thousand acres at the base of the Teton Mountains in Wyoming. And yes, ten thousand acres is measly when you consider that JennCo—the parent corporation that holds the cattle and oil businesses—now owns just over three hundred thousand acres between Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho. It’s no wonder my shoulders always seem to sag under the weight of the monstrosity I manage. My father, Jake Jennings, died almost eighteen months ago and since my mother had passed a long time ago, the burden of JennCo fell to me and my brother, Tenn. At thirty-four, Tenn is older than me by two years and should rightly be JennCo’s CEO, but he doesn’t want any part of it. He’s happy living his quiet existence clear across the country with his wife, Casey, their three-month-old daughter, Bree and his daughter by another marriage, Zoe. While Tenn spent the first year after my father’s death helping me transition into the driver’s seat, he’s been gradually backing away from the business end of it. I can’t say I blame him. He just doesn’t have the passion that’s needed to run this empire, and he’d rather tinker with the motorcycles in his custom shop. Not only do I not blame him, I’m actually a bit envious. Everyone turned their eyes to me the minute Jake Jennings bit the dust after taking a fall off his horse and an errant hoof to the center of his chest. While I watched Lucky, one of my father’s longtime ranch hands, perform CPR on him, I felt the keen loss of my most influential mentor. I also immediately felt the weight of responsibility press down up on me, because Tenn had already made his break away from the family. I knew that I would be expected to take up the reins and lead JennCo forward. And that is the last thing in the world I wanted. People would be surprised to hear that because I never ventured forth from the ranch. Minus the four years I spent at the University of Wyoming, my life has been here at the Double J. I’ve been working cattle since I was old enough to ride a horse, and I love it. I mean, I absolutely love the work. I just didn’t want it to be my whole life. Like Tenn… I had other desires. Unlike Tenn… mine are a bit darker. A bit more lecherous. They are altogether nasty at times. I unlock the door and step into the converted log cabin. It’s been modernized and upgraded over the years, once serving as one of the homes offered to the foremen before becoming an office. This cabin became obsolete as a family home once my grandfather, Louis Jennings, took over the Double J. It was his

vision that catapulted the modest ranch into JennCo and put us on the Forbes list. And of course, you can’t rub money elbows with other tycoons and not have a western-styled palace to show off. Said palace would be just to the west of us… the home where I was raised and now live. Fifteen thousand feet of treated lumber, slate stone, and glass that is built on top of a large butte. It looks like a long, sprawling cabin from the front, but the house practically dribbles down the back for three stories. It’s a behemoth, but it’s also what I’ve called home for my entire life. I flip on the lights as I walk through what used to be the living room but has now been converted into a secretarial office. I currently do not have a secretary because I can’t seem to keep one employed for longer than a few weeks at a time. I don’t think I’m a hard taskmaster even though I might wield a riding crop quite well on a woman. But I am a hard worker who has always gone balls to the wall from sunup to sundown most of my life, and while I never expect the staff to keep pace with me, I do expect them to have a work ethic. It seems like every woman, and even the one man, that I put into the position of my administrative assistant was more interested in posting selfies on Instagram than doing the fucking work I assign them. At least now, I’ve vowed to myself to use a temp agency and let them vet out the candidates because I just don’t have time for this shit. I walk down a hallway and back to what was the largest bedroom in the house. It was my father’s office, and it’s now mine as evidenced by the wooden plaque on the door that says Woolf Jennings. My mother was a lover of literature, a high school English teacher by trade. Even though she married into immense wealth, she loved to teach. And she loved Lord Alfred Tennyson and Virginia Woolf the most, so goes the story of how Tenn and I were named. Pushing the door open, I flip the light switch, taking off my Stetson and hanging it on the peg beside the door. The office is richly appointed with lustrous, reclaimed wood flooring, heavy pine furniture in a Native American design, and cowhide-covered chairs recycled from some of our own cattle. It’s masculine and still bears the faint odor of my father’s cigars in the air. The unmistakable, heavy boot steps of Bridger echo down the hallway, and I can smell the coffee in his hands before I see him. He steps through my office door, which is almost a squeeze for him as the guy is massively built at six-foot-six inches of honed muscle and tattoos. On the quickest of glances, he looks like he belongs on a cattle ranch. Thick denim jeans, plaid western shirt, appropriate shiny belt buckle, and brown Stetson. His face is tanned from riding range on hot summer days and his hands are roughly calloused from roping cattle or mending torn fences. He’s a true cowboy in every sense. Except he’s not. Look closer and you see a man that, like me, entertains the thought of living another type of life. “This is the last time I’m bringing you coffee,” Bridger mutters as he hands a tall thermos to me. “Buy a fucking coffee pot for this office. It’s not like you don’t have the money.” I accept the container, pop the top, and take a quick sip. “True enough. But what I don’t have is an assistant to go out and buy a fucking coffee pot. You think I have time to drive the thirty miles to town to do that?” “Pansy-assed whiner,” Bridger says affectionately as he takes his own hat off and hangs it on the peg beside mine. Bridger is the only one that would ever get away with calling me that, and that’s because he’s closer to me than anyone. Even my brother, Tenn. We met our freshman year in college, pledging for the same fraternity. We survived Hell Week and made it through together. We bonded first as fraternity brothers and classmates. Later, the bond grew a bit deeper when we fortuitously found out we shared some common interests of an indelicate nature.

I set the thermos down on my desk and walk over to a set of rolled building plans on one of the builtin pine shelves. “I got the final renderings,” I say as I unroll them out on my desk, securing each of the curling corners with a stapler, my coffee, my cell phone, and my right hand at the corner that rests near my hip. Bridger steps up next to me, sipping at his brew. We both stare down silently at the plans, our eyes roving over the blue lines with tiny descriptions and measurements etched in. In the upper right corner, in deep blue ink—The Wicked Horse. Next to it, the brand I developed. A round circle with an inner circle and eight spokes dividing the outer ring into seven sections. It’s simple and to the casual observer, it sort of looks like a wheel. “So take me through it,” Bridger commands. I point down at the large structure on the top sheet. “This is the main club area. I don’t have the specs on the exterior plans yet, but just envision a weathered barn.” “Like it could be any old building on the Double J,” Bridger says with a satisfied grin. “Exactly.” I slide my finger along the lines. “Main bar here… stage for weekly bands… dance floor. I figure this area here can hold at least thirty tables. We’ll put another bar back here, a small built-in store to sell merchandise, and this area back here will all be storage.” “And this?” Bridger asks as he points to a large room. “Our office.” Bridger moves his finger to an exit door. “And this is how you get to The Silo?” “Yup,” I say as I pull the top sheet of the plans off. I lay it on the floor, and I don’t give it another thought. Because the truth is, it’s really not that important. What I just showed Bridger is nothing but a front. A facade. It’s a lie called The Wicked Horse. A western-styled nightclub sitting on the very border of the Double J ranch that is closest to the town of Jackson. It’s sure to be a big hit with the tourists that flock to this area year round for the abundance of summer and winter activities. I glide my fingertips over the next sheet of plans, because this is actually what’s really important. This is what I envisioned when I came up with the concept of The Wicked Horse and asked Bridger if he wanted to go in on it with me. We have no interest in running a nightclub. They’re a dime a dozen. As I said… the barn-styled club is nothing but an image for people to believe that what I do is respectable. Because there is much more to The Wicked Horse than just meets the casual observer’s eye. “It’s amazing,” Bridger says in a low voice as he takes in all that encompasses The Silo. It’s a separate building that sits behind the main club. It looks like a common variety silo that would store silage for the cattle. Except it’s enormous in size, at least one-hundred and fifty feet in diameter and constructed of concrete staves. It has the classic white-domed top and even has an authentic-looking grain elevator that isn’t really an elevator. Purely aesthetical, of course. The Silo is really what it’s all about. It’s round… it’s a hub. It’s the center of everything that The Wicked Horse really is. It’s where our fantasy sex club will start. “They’re ready to start construction next week,” I tell Bridger. “It’s a fucking brilliant design,” he says with admiration. And I couldn’t agree more as I look at the architectural drawings. The outer perimeter of the silo will be seven rooms. Four on one side and three on the other. Concrete walls will keep the rooms separated,

with an outer hall that runs behind them around the entire perimeter. There is one large, floor-to-ceiling glass wall that is open to the interior of the round building. No curtains. No blinds. No way to hide anything that happens inside one of those rooms. That’s because this building was designed in mind to meet the needs of those people—like Bridger and I—who enjoy the kinkier side of sex. This building will serve all of those people that like to be exhibitionists and voyeurs. The watcher and the watched. The exact center of The Silo will be anchored by a round bar. The decor will not be western like the night club area, but I envision sleek chrome, black leather, and red velvet. It has to be upscale, because frankly… only the wealthiest of people, and those they choose to bring with them, will ever see the interior of this building. “These three rooms will be the bondage rooms,” I tell him as I point to the drawing. “That’s your area of expertise, so I’ll need you to start thinking about how you want to outfit them.” “I’m thinking lots of leather,” Bridger says in a low voice, which weirdly causes a shiver to run up my spine. Fear? Excitement? Maybe both. Bridger really got into the BDSM scene while we were in college. I personally don’t like it, although I’ll play around with a riding crop. I don’t like doling out that type of pain, and I like my women to look me in the eye while they’re sucking my cock. I do, however, like to watch Bridger work a submissive hard before he fucks her—or him. Bridger doesn’t discriminate. Before we start drooling over the plans, I pull that sheet off and set it on the ground. The final elements to our fantasy sex club are the private buildings. Ten log cabins intimately appointed and designed to fulfill any number of fantasies that someone could imagine. We’ll spare no expense in decking them out, because I can afford to. Besides, the types of clientele that will seek memberships are going to expect only the best. We study the cabin design, which is fairly simple in comparison but no less thrilling to add into the business plan. Turning my head to look at Bridger, I say with a grin, “And that, my friend, is The Wicked Horse on paper.” “Fucking fantastic,” he says with a return grin. Our dream is coming to life. This time next year, we’ll be deep in the business of fulfilling sexual fantasies for all kinds of people from sweetly seductive to downright depraved. Want to have a romantic seduction by a stranger? I’ll make it happen. Want to get fucked by three well-hung cowboys? I’ll make that happen too. Want to do it all while being watched? Easy as fucking pie. Almost any fantasy imaginable—except forced sex or bestiality—and I’ll make it come to life. I know enough people just like me to staff this place well. And while I won’t be handing out the fantasies, because after all… I am the proprietor and only have so much time available… it doesn’t mean I won’t indulge. Call it a perk. Why in the world would I ever want to open up a sex fantasy club, you might ask? Especially when I’m sitting on a massive fortune? Well, let’s just say that I’m a lot like my brother. I have my own dreams and goals, and I was raised by parents that taught Tenn and me that we could accomplish anything we set our minds too. And while I love everything that my father created with JennCo, it isn’t my passion. It’s more of an obligation. No, I don’t want to nibble at life. I want to take a big fucking bite, suck down its juiciness, and swallow it hard with a moan. And in my experience, the best way to do that is through sex. There is

nothing more gratifying… nothing that feels as good. It’s intimate, carnal, and liberating. It’s the ultimate high. Add in some kink. Let people explore their fantasies. Indulge in your nastiest desire. Yeah, that’s the shit that turns the ultimate high into infinite euphoria. And I’m going to give people the ability to achieve that. Bridger whistles low as he looks at the beauty laying before us. “So we’re really going to do this?” “We’re really going to do this,” I murmur. I get a fucking hard-on just thinking about it.

Chapter 1

Woolf One year later…

THE MINUTE I open my office door, the sounds and smells assault me. Luke Bryan’s Country Girl is blaring, and dozens of boots hitting the wooden floor in a line dance reverberate. Drunken laughs and voices rise from those trying to talk above the loud music. I smell spilled beer and sawdust on the floor with a tinge of cheap cologne in the air. Ahhhh. It’s exactly as I imagined The Wicked Horse would be. Pulling my office door shut behind me, I turn around and set the alarm panel in the wall beside it. Only Bridger and I know the password to get in. Walking up to the main bar, I lift the pass-through bridge and step past several bartenders trying to appease the clamoring crowd. I sidestep past my female bartenders, who are wearing tight black t-shirts with The Wicked Horse brand on the front and denim shorts that show the rounded curve of their ass just peeking out at the bottom. I’ve actually seen a lot more than just the hint of some of these girls’ asses. The male bartenders also wear tight black t-shirts and yes, most of them are hired for their bodies rather than their brains. This is because I know women appreciate ogling as much as men do, so I aim to please. Everyone behind the bar wears a pair of custom-made black cowboy boots with the signature neon-blue reflective spurs on the back. When they all get up on the bar to dance—and yes, I got that from Coyote Ugly—it makes quite the spectacle. I walk up to Ted, my senior bartender, and hand him the stapled sheaf of documents in my hand. “Here’s the new price list from our beer distributor. Toss out the old one. You’ll see there’s a price drop once we order more than ten cases of any brand, so go ahead and make sure we order at least ten for every inventory restock.” “But we don’t have the room here to hold that much beer,” he says as he takes the documents. “I know,” I respond as I pull my Stetson off and sift my fingers through my hair briefly before putting it back on. “Use The Silo’s storage room for the excess.” “Sure thing, boss,” Ted says, and I give him a nod before turning to leave. Ted is one of the few employees in the main nightclub area that knows about the fantasy sex club portion of The Wicked Horse. That’s because he’s one of my “fantasy makers”. In addition to pouring a mean drink, he has an eight-inch cock that the women just love. He’s the star of the fantasy I’ve entitled, “My husband’s penis is too small and I want to know what it feels like to be with a real man”. I always have to withhold my eye roll when I get these requests because any man worth his fucking salt in the bedroom can make a woman come long and hard, regardless of how big his dick is. While I happen to be blessed with a long, thick cock that makes most women scream upon entry, I do some of my best work with my mouth. My eyes stray out to the dance floor, which is packed with partiers. Most of the crowd leans young, mid-to-late twenties, and that’s more a by-product of tourism. It’s early summer and probably fifty percent of the people here tonight are either tourists or part-time residents that migrate here to accommodate the tourists like fishing guides, white-water rafting instructors, and the like. The other half are locals,

although local in Wyoming means living within at least an hour’s drive to this place. This part of the ranch doesn’t sit far off the main highway that heads east out of Jackson, but it’s a good forty-minute drive from my house that sits in the middle of Double J property. “That’s right,” I hear Angel’s sexy, husky voice come over the sound system. I hired our resident DJ over a year ago because of that voice. I swear it has the ability to make men come. “Step right up and get a front-row seat, fellas. Because our nightly wet t-shirt contest is getting ready to start. But let’s meet our contestants first.” My eyes give a brief flick at the bar on the back wall of the club. Seven women are standing on top, all wearing tight, white t-shirts that I know from personal experience are super thin because I bought them. Nothing like a wet t-shirt contest to get people in the mood. As I step back out from behind the bar, a pair of delicate, warm hands grab onto my hips from behind. I angle my head over my shoulder and my lips curve up. Carlie Payton grins back up at me with full, red lips, long, golden-blonde hair, and a shirt cut so low I’m in danger of falling in and drowning in her cleavage. She steps around my side and comes to my front, keeping one hand on my hip and the other tugging playfully on my belt buckle. Her thumb grazes over the top of the engraved, pewter design, which is unique but not uncommonly so. Round circle with another circle in the middle. Eight spokes. Seven compartments. The Silo. Where all your fantasies will come true. All members of the sex club part of The Wicked Horse bear this design in some way. It may be a belt buckle, a piece of jewelry, or some of our more devoted members even have the brand tattooed on their bodies. It’s a way that members of the club can identify themselves to each other when socializing out here in the nightclub area. It makes for easier hookups if a naughty couple wants to venture back to The Silo or one of the private cabins. Carlie has on a pair of silver earrings with The Silo brand dangling from each ear and she’s a very active member, getting fucked or doing some sucking most nights. I first met her over at a sex club I used to visit over in Driggs, Idaho and well… she followed me over to the Wyoming side of the Tetons and has been here ever since. She’s a favorite of mine for sure. “Hey, sugar,” she drawls, and then dips the tips of her fingers underneath the edge of my belt. “Want to play?” Hmmmm. Let’s see. My work is done for the night, I haven’t been laid in four days because I’ve been busy as shit between my duties at JennCo and The Wicked Horse, and Carlie sucks cock like a Hoover vacuum cleaner. I start to get hard just thinking about it. I vaguely hear Angel asking each woman to introduce themselves to the crowd, which is now pressing in on the back bar to get a gander of wet breasts and puckered nipples. My hand comes up to circle Carlie’s slender throat, and I press my thumb just under her chin. Her eyes go cloudy with lust because she’s into choking. That isn’t my cup of tea, but I know someone who can fulfill that fantasy for her. I nod over her head at Bridger, who is leaning casually up against the far wall. He’s so tall I have no problem spotting him even with a crowded dance floor in between us. He’s only got about two inches on me but fuck… he still looks like a goddamn giant. “Want Bridger to play with us?” I ask her, giving a slight squeeze to her neck. She moans in response, but I can’t hear it over the music. Rather, I feel it rumble through her against my palm circling her throat. I take that as assent. Bridger just seems to know he’s being talked about because his eyes slide over to mine. His gaze flicks briefly to Carlie standing in front of me, and his smile curves wickedly. I knew he’d be all in. As Bridger pushes off the wall and starts to wind his way through the throng of dancers, I lean down

to place my lips near Carlie’s ear. “Bridger had it last time. I’m getting your ass tonight.” She fucking shudders over the thought. Carlie loves her some DP, but then again… so do I. I’m wicked that way. When Bridger reaches us, he walks right up behind Carlie and presses into her. I know my friend well enough to know that he’s already getting hard thinking about us taking her at the same time. I couldn’t begin to count the number of times since college we’ve done that with a woman and I can honestly say, it never gets old. Carlie is much shorter so Bridger and I can stare eye to eye as we iron out the details. “Silo?” he asks. “Nah. Let’s just go to our office,” I say simply. Because that’s closer and besides… a few weeks ago, Bridger and I tag teamed the new waitress, Stephanie, in there. Bridger just sat his naked ass on the edge of our desk, his long, powerful legs easily supporting himself. I did nothing more than place Stephanie in a straddle on his lap and stepped in behind. It was the perfect fucking angle. No pun intended. Bridger nods and grabs Carlie’s hand, pulling her from me and toward the short hall that leads to our office. Carlie, in turn, takes my hand and I start to follow the train back. “And how about you, honey?” Angel’s smoky voice reverberates over the speakers, and I can just imagine her standing up on the bar with her fiery red hair that comes down to her ass, microphone pressed under the contestant’s mouth. I’ve often thought about fucking Angel, but she’s a dominatrix and I’m sorry… but I have to be the one in control. I don’t submit to anyone, so it’s never happened. I’ve sure enjoyed watching her play over at The Silo though. Just as Bridger enters the hallway, the hair rises up on the back of my head when I hear the sweetest voice I’ve never been able to forget and that still intermittently haunts my dreams. “Hi. My name’s Callie. I just turned twenty-nine and oh, gosh… I’m nervous as hell, but I’m drunk enough to overcome it. Let’s do this!” I hear the resounding chorus of a hundred drunken men shout in agreement. I drop Carlie’s hand and whirl around, my gaze lasering onto the woman standing next to Angel on the bar. Tall and willowy with chocolate-brown hair that appears to be braided down her back. It used to be really long, but I can’t tell much about it right now. Even in the darkened atmosphere of the bar, I can still see the radiance of her light green eyes as she looks out over the crowd with her hands tucked nervously in the pockets of a tiny, denim skirt. I can’t see them, but I can imagine the dusting of freckles I know graces that perfectly shaped nose and her high cheekbones. It’s been forever since I’ve seen her and I didn’t think it would be possible, but fuck… she’s even more gorgeous than I remembered. I don’t even think. Instead, I start barreling toward Callie, cutting straight across the dance floor toward the back bar. It’s easy enough to make my way through the dancers, but I have to get a little rougher as I push my way past the thick wall of men all staring up expectantly. And that exact minute, Callie nervously looks out over the crowd… her eyes passing over me and then slamming back in shock. Those full lips part in surprise, and my anger boils. When I hit the edge of the bar, I hold my hand up, glaring at her… demanding she get down. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I’m surprised when her hand comes out of her pocket and tentatively reaches toward me. But then she reconsiders, a hard glint in her eye. Instead, she reaches up and takes the bottom of the t-shirt in her hands,

pulling it up in between her breasts, looping it into the collar, and then reaching underneath to pull it down, effectively creating a halter-like top. It plumps up her breasts and showcases a breathtakingly gorgeous view of her flat stomach and gently curved hips to where the denim of her skirt hangs dangerously low. My fury rages at the same time the blood in my groin does, causing me to get shockingly hard. Christ… I don’t think I’ve reacted that way to a woman since I was in my teens. She smirks down at me at the same time I hear Angel say, “Alright, men. Let those girls have it.” Champagne and beer starts spraying up at the girls, and given my position at the edge of the bar, I get a hefty dosing too. My fucking hat is going to be ruined, but I never take my eyes off Callie as she gets sprayed right in the chest. Instantly it seems like the thin, white fabric disappears, and all I can focus on is her perfectly rounded breasts with pebbled nipples. I tear my eyes off her chest and look up to see her looking out over the crowd and grinning. She looks to her right at the other girls, who are now dancing to Miranda Lambert’s Somethin’ Bad, and she fucking starts to do the same. Those amazing tits are now bouncing around, and I swear a thin, red film of rage filters over my sight. When a man—clearly a tourist—next to me reaches up to grasp Callie’s cowgirl boot, I give him a rough shove away. He looks like he wants to come barreling back at me, but one look at the thunderous look of murder on my face and he holds his hands up in supplication. I slide my eyes up to see Callie staring down at me. For just a moment, she looks at me the same exact way she did all those years ago when she offered up her innocence to me. “Fuck,” I mutter, and my hands go up to clasp her behind her knees. I give a hard pull, and her body flies forward. My hand goes up, steadying her fall with a grip to her ass, and I have her resting in a fireman’s hold over my shoulder. I turn fast and I think her boots catch someone in the head, but I don’t give a shit. I march right back through the dance floor, people scurrying to get out of my way. Callie makes feeble attempts to hammer her fists against my back, so I answer her with a resounding slap to her ass. That gets her to calm down, and by the time I reach my office door and I’m punching in the password, she’s gone still over my shoulder. Pushing the door open, I step in and immediately see Bridger getting his cock sucked by Carlie. He shoots me a surprised look when he sees I’m carrying a woman, but I’m already backing out and pulling the door closed. Fuck. What a mess. I bend over and gently lower Callie to the floor. When her boots hit the wood, she tips her face up at me, her eyes blazing with anger. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, Woolf Jennings?” Grabbing her hand, I don’t respond. I merely pull her behind me through the club toward the front doors. She makes the mistake of trying to pull free of my grasp, but I just clamp down on her harder. When we hit the gravel parking lot, I turn to the right and head toward my Range Rover that’s parked in one of two reserved spots on the side of the building. The other one is reserved for Bridger and his shiny, red Corvette. My strides are long, and Callie is running to keep up with me. “Let. Me. Go,” Callie all but screams and she pulls on her hand so hard, she rips free of my hold. I turn around to face her, and she has both hands on her hips. “Just why do you think you have the right to pull me off that bar?” she demands. God, she’s so fucking beautiful. My eyes drop lazily down to her breasts that are for all intents and purposes naked under the wet material that leaves nothing to the imagination. Licking my lower lip in appreciation, I imagine what it would be like to suck one of those nipples gently into my mouth right now. I make sure she sees this move on my part, and I hope she takes good stock of the lecherous glint in my

gaze as I look back up at her. She’s definitely not mistaking my look if the way her lips are parted slightly and her eyelids a bit heavy are any indication. “Because,” I tell her slowly as I step forward, “I don’t think that Governor Hayes’ daughter should be showing her naked tits to the entire state of Wyoming.”

Chapter 2

Callie MY HANDS IMMEDIATELY come up to cover my breasts. I can feel how hard my nipples are against my palms, and my skin feels prickly with awareness at the way Woolf is watching me. He’s like a real wolf. Predatory and dangerous. It’s the way he’s always been. Or so it’s always seemed. He’s a large man, but that’s always excited me rather than scared me. And even though he’s wearing nothing more than a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, and a dark plaid shirt over it that’s casually unbuttoned, he would put any model on the catwalks of Paris to shame. “You have no say over what I do,” I tell him, hoping my voice sounds calm enough. “That’s my bar back there, and I have every right to throw you out,” he says darkly as he throws a thumb over his shoulder at the building behind him. My eyes flick past his shoulder, back to the front of the bar, right to the white neon sign in the shape of an oval with the words “Wicked Horse” written diagonally across in blue. I turn a narrow-eyed gaze back to him. “Your bar?” “Mine,” he growls at me, then he has my elbow and he’s propelling me toward a black Range Rover. “And it’s now my official policy that the governor’s daughter can’t come in my bar. You better hope to God this doesn’t get back to him.” I dig my boot heels down into the gravel and try to jerk my arm from him again, but he’s got a firm hold. That doesn’t stop my resistance or my skepticism. “Why in the fuck would a Jennings be wasting his time with a lowly honky tonk in the middle of nowhere?” Woolf stops abruptly and spins on me. “Since when do you say words like ‘fuck,’ Callie? You used to slap me if I even said the word ‘damn’ when we were growing up.” He pulls his Stetson off with his free hand and slaps it against his leg in frustration, and wow. Just wow. I had almost forgotten that Woolf Jennings has a face that can stop reality. My gaze flicks first over that strong jawline with midnight black stubble. I had first recognized him by that jaw alone when he started stalking across the dance floor toward me just a bit ago, the top of his face having been shadowed by his hat. I’d recognize his jaw anywhere, no matter how much time has passed since I’ve seen him. And just seeing him stalk toward me in there… knowing he was coming toward me and was probably madder than hell… God help me, but it sort of turned me on. And now, as he stares at me with bright blue eyes that seem even bluer in the glow of the neon sign, and black eyelashes that are impossibly thick, I feel my pulse hammer hard the way it always did whenever I was around Woolf. “I’m not the same girl you grew up with,” I tell him hotly. Well, at least I don’t want to be the same girl he grew up with. That Callie Hayes has spent years of her life being quiet and well mannered, leading a peacefully dull existence up until now. “So I see,” Woolf says as his eyes flick down briefly to my hands covering my breasts. “You put on quite a show back there. What would your fiancé think?” I tilt my chin upward. “Would have been a better show if you hadn’t stopped me. And I’m not engaged

anymore.” Woolf blinks at me in surprise. “Since when?” “Since about seventy-two hours ago,” I tell him. With a hard jerk of my arm, I’m free again. I spin around, intent on heading back into the bar. “And you just ruined what I’m betting was going to be a very good night.” “You’re not going back in there,” Woolf says as he makes another grab at me, but I twist my body out of his reach. But then I reconsider and stop, turning quickly, and Woolf almost barrels right over me. He catches himself, his hands coming to my shoulders to steady both of us. And damn… his hands on me feel just as solid, and warm, and secure as they did so very long ago. I swallow hard, take a deep breath, and say, “Look… I’m going to go back in there because my bra and purse are in there, so I’d like to get both and then head home.” Woolf slams his hat back on his head and gives a resigned sigh. Shrugging out of the plaid over shirt he has on, he holds it out and says, “Fine. Put this on though.” I gratefully accept the shirt because even though phase one of the New Callie was having fun on top of that bar, I’ve sort of lost the thrill of dozens of men staring at my breasts. I’m still just as buzzed, but the lure of enticing men to notice me has lost the appeal at this point. Placing his hand at the back of my neck, he turns me toward the front door of The Wicked Horse and guides me back to it. “Get your stuff and meet me back at the front door. You’ve got five minutes. I’ve got to go find my partner to let him know I’m taking you home.” “You don’t need to do that,” I tell him hastily. “I’ve got my own car here.” “You’re drunk.” His hand tightens on the back of my neck, and for some weird reason, it makes me want to drop to my knees in front of him. “I’m buzzed,” I argue. “Big difference.” “Sorry, babe,” he says, and oh, geez… why does Woolf calling me babe make me want to curl into him and purr? “But the Callie Hayes I know needed several drinks to get on top of that bar tonight, so you’re not driving home.” Woolf opens the door, and we’re greeted with some old-school Dixie Chicks. “Five minutes,” he grumbles in warning and releases me. “Don’t make me come find you.” I turn to give him a glare, but he’s already pushing through the crowd and I lose sight of him fast. I don’t waste any time because while I know I couldn’t be in safer hands with Woolf Jennings, I don’t want to test him. So I cut across the dance floor toward the DJ booth where the red-haired woman who had me sign up for the contest said I could stash my purse. When I approach her, she gives me a smile and nods toward the floor. I see my purse and bend over to pick it up. “Thanks for watching this.” “No problem,” she says, her voice rising above the music. “And sorry Woolf took you out of the running for the contest. In my opinion, you had the nicest tits up there.” My cheeks turn a little pink from her compliment and I awkwardly turn away from her, only to run into a hard, male body. “Callie Hayes… lookin’ good,” I hear drawled out. Tilting my gaze up, I see a face from my past and instantly relax. “Hey, Colton.” Colton Stokes is still ruggedly handsome, and I’m betting still just as cocky. We dated in high school but broke up after he left for college. He was a year older than me, and I’m guessing didn’t want a girlfriend tying him down. Especially one that wasn’t willing to put out for him. Leaning down, he places a kiss on my cheek. “You look fantastic.” I know this is a lie because my hair is sticky from beer, and I’m betting even my eye makeup is

running. “You too,” I tell him, and that isn’t a lie. Colton is damn good looking with his caramel-colored hair highlighted naturally from the sun and dark brown eyes. He’s dressed like most others here tonight with jeans, a western-styled shirt, and large belt buckle, but Colton was always one of those guys that stood out in a crowd. Colton runs his gaze down me and with a smirk, says, “I see someone lent you a shirt.” I wince. Damn, he must have seen me up on the bar. Double damn… he’s seen my breasts. I wait for shame to overcome me, but it never does and I find that a good sign because if I’m going to shed the vestiges of the old Callie Hayes, I can’t afford to be mired in guilt over it. Stepping in closer to me and leaning down again, he says, “For what it’s worth… you would have totally won that contest.” “Um… thanks,” I say as I nervously brush some strands of sticky hair that came loose from my braid away from my face. “Listen… let me buy you a drink and we can reconnect,” Colton says, and his smile seems genial enough. I’m guessing, however, he’s thinking I might be an easy score tonight since I was just on the bar a bit ago flashing my boobs all around. “She’s going home,” I hear Woolf bark above the music so he can be heard clearly, and my elbow is once again in his hand. I turn my head slightly to see Woolf glaring at Colton. “Well, then,” Colton says as his eyes slide slowly from Woolf back down to me. “In that case, seems like you’re in good hands tonight. Hope to see you around, Callie.” Woolf doesn’t even let me reply, just turns me around and starts pushing me hastily back through the crowd. In no time at all, he has his SUV door opened and he’s helping me to climb in with liberal use of his running board. All is silent as Woolf makes his way out to Highway 191 and turns north instead of south. “Where are we going?” I ask in confusion, as my house is back in Jackson. “I know damn well your father is in town and I can’t take you home like this, Callie,” Woolf says in exasperation. “Reggie would have a heart attack if he saw you looking and smelling like that.” “I can make it to my room without him seeing me,” I grumble but secretly… I’m a bit pleased. I’m just not ready to go home yet. I’m even more excited by the fact that I know we’re headed to Woolf’s house on the Double J, which means some more alone time with him. That thought shouldn’t bring me such a rush of giddiness, but it does all the same. I knew I’d see Woolf at some point when I returned home from Connecticut. His father and my father were very good friends. His father was a huge contributor to my father’s political campaigns, and we all ran in the same social circles our entire life. Woolf is three years older than me and up until my sophomore year in high school, we attended the same schools in Jackson from elementary school onward. But then my father won the gubernatorial race and we moved to the state capital of Cheyenne, which is less than an hour away from Laramie where Woolf was attending his freshman year at the University of Wyoming. Even though we were family friends and were within spitting distance of each other, I saw very little of Woolf while he was in college. This was due, I expect, to the fact that my older brother Richard was attending Harvard back east. He and Woolf were close friends, and without Richard around, Woolf just didn’t come to visit that much. That came about even less after Richard died at the start of his senior year at Harvard from pneumonia. Richard was asthmatic and stubborn as hell. By the time he broke down, went to the emergency room, and got admitted, his lungs were so full of fluid he suffocated to death. My eyes prick

with tears at the thought of his death, which will hit the eleven-year anniversary mark in a few months. I wonder if Woolf still grieves for him the way I do. “What happened to your fiancé?” Woolf asks, and I blink my eyes hard to dispel the moisture. “What was his name? Bill?” “Will,” I correct him woodenly. He and Woolf had met once, just last year when Will came home with me for Christmas. “So what happened?” he prompts me. I gaze out the side window but it’s so dark outside on this lonely stretch of highway, I can’t really see anything. Ironic, since even thinking about Will, I don’t really feel anything. Even my anger has sort of fizzled. “I caught him in bed with another woman,” I say softly. It was actually a bit more than that. I left work sick one day where I worked as an event planner, having given up on the fight against the overwhelming nausea I was experiencing. I was panicked, thinking that perhaps I was pregnant, and I wasn’t ready to be. I mean… physically and mentally, yeah… I could totally be down with having a baby, but I was having so many doubts about marrying Will that the thought of having a child with him caused me to feel overwhelming dread rather than happiness. Stopping at the drugstore on the way home, I grabbed a twelve pack of ginger ale and a pregnancy test. I made it to our house in the burbs outside of New Haven, Connecticut and wasn’t all that surprised to see Will’s car at the house. His law firm was only about five minutes away and he often ate at home. I was surprised, however, when I walked back into our bedroom, pulling the pregnancy test out of the bag, and stumbled right upon the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m not sure it even bears repeating the full details, but suffice to say that Will was naked except for a leather headpiece over his head with a ball gag in his mouth. He was in the middle of our bed on his hands and knees while The Honorable Jennifer P. Lane, one of the local circuit judges, whipped him with a riding crop. She was dressed head to toe in black, shiny vinyl and growling at him, “I sustain your objection, Counsel.” I thought I was in a dream… nay, a nightmare. My eyes dropped to the bed where a gavel rested near one of Will’s knees, and I shuddered to think where she was going to stick that thing. But for the tiny gasp that came out of my mouth, I doubt either one of them would have known I was there. It would have been my preference to have backed out of the room quietly, sight unseen, but Jennifer’s head turned my way and rather than being horrified, she actually smirked at me. Will, on the other hand, promptly started freaking and was trying to rip the headpiece off while I think he was trying to scream apologies around the ball gag. I didn’t wait around to find out. Stuffing the pregnancy test back in the bag, I ran out to my car. I got in, drove to the airport, and booked the first flight back home. While I waited for boarding to begin, I went into the bathroom, peed on the stick, and found out I wasn’t pregnant. Ironically, I wasn’t nauseated anymore, and I’m wondering if I was just feeling a generalized anxiety because of my doubts over Will. Regardless, something clicked in my mind as I sat in the airport terminal and considered my past and my future. I had to turn my phone off because Will was burning it up with calls and texts. I imagined him out riding the roads, looking for me. The cocky son of a bitch was just self-centered enough to think that I’d never leave him. That he’d be able to smooth this over and keep me pinned to his side. He would have never thought his little fiancée, Callie Hayes, was at the airport and getting ready to leave Connecticut for what I hoped was forever. I bet he sure as shit never thought I would enter a wet t-shirt contest, nor would I be in a man’s vehicle heading to his house late at night. I turn my head and look at Woolf. The silhouette of his face shows lines of stubbornness, brilliance,

and command. He’s always been that way. I can also see the glow of his eyes from the dashboard lights. He knows I’m looking at him, and his face turns to give me a short glance. “I’m sorry,” is all he says over my revelation that I found my fiancé cheating on me. “I’m not,” I tell him. “And I’m staying at your place tonight so the mighty Governor Hayes doesn’t see me like this.”

Chapter 3

Woolf “IT LOOKS FANTASTIC,” I tell Bridger as I walk through the newest cabin we had just finished constructing a few weeks ago. While our original plans called for ten cabins, they were getting overbooked so we added on as needed. This makes cabin number thirteen. This Wicked Horse building has no interior walls except for restrooms because privacy isn’t needed. The Silo has four group sex rooms for viewing, but those are filled to capacity almost every night so we built this new cabin. Thick, soft carpeting done in a pale blue sets more of an elegant atmosphere. Dark gold silk wallpaper with subtle geometric designs, and several ottomans done in a soft, vinyl material in a dark cream color complete the decor in this eleven-hundred-square-foot cabin. There are two powder rooms on the back wall, and a tiny, self-serve bar on the adjacent wall. “I’m naming it Bacchanalia,” Bridger says with a wicked grin. “Appropriate.” Bacchus, the Greco-Roman god of intoxication and ecstasy, and propagator of the much-revered orgy would be proud. “Participants don’t have to wear togas, do they?” Bridger laughs good-naturedly as we walk out of the cabin. “I think clothing sort of defeats the purpose of this cabin, don’t you think?” I don’t bother answering because that was rhetorical. Instead, we both trot down the cabin stairs and climb into my work truck. The cabins sit only a couple of hundred yards away from The Silo and nightclub, but the dirt road in between isn’t very friendly on Bridger’s Corvette. We had to take my truck so we could stock the cabin bar with a few cases of liquor and mixers. “Did everything go okay last night?” Bridger asks as he pulls his hat off, scratches at his hair, and then plops it back on his head. He tends to wear it longer these days, but next week, he’ll probably shave it all off. Bridger changes more than the seasons. “Yeah,” I say as we bounce down the road toward The Silo. It’s a gorgeous June day outside, perfect for outdoor work with the sun riding high and the temps hovering in the low sixties. I think I might even gear up and ride range today just so I’m not cooped up in the office. “Dude… I need details,” Bridger says, turning slightly in his seat to face me. “Who was that woman? It’s not every day I see Woolf Jennings carting a woman out of The Wicked Horse and away from The Silo. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it.” I pull into my parking spot beside Bridger’s car and cut the ignition. “That woman was Callie Hayes.” Bridger’s eyes spring wide, and he shakes his head with an amused grin. “That was Callie Hayes? The girl that got away from the mighty Woolf Jennings?” “She didn’t get away,” I snap at him. “I let her go. Big difference.” Chuckling, Bridger exits my truck and I do the same. He meets me at the front and leans an elbow on the hood. His face is a bit more serious now. “So what happened last night?” Leaning back onto the front grill of my truck, I cross my arms over my chest. I could use Bridger’s advice. He knows all about Callie as I got a little mouthy one night after a party during college, and we exchanged relationship failure stories while we continued to drink in the room we shared at the frat house. Her name has come up on another occasion or two—or three or—when I’m lamenting in my beer glass while some sappy country-western song plays in the background.

“Nothing happened. I brought her home, let her get cleaned up, and we talked a bit.” Bridger just stares at me. He knows me too well to ever accept that as the full story. He can tell by my tight lips that there’s more, because I don’t keep anything from Bridger and he keeps nothing from me. That’s the way of it as best friends and two men who have seen each other doing very depraved things. Hell, we’ve done some of those depraved things together. I give a heavy sigh. “She broke off her engagement and moved back home permanently. Or so she says.” “What are you going to do about it?” he asks me quietly. He knows this is some damn serious business to me. Grimacing, I give him a hard look. “I’m not going to do a fucking thing. Nothing has changed.” “You asshole,” Bridger says affectionately. “Everything’s changed. She’s not the young innocent anymore. She’s a woman.” “She may be a woman, but she’s still far too innocent to get caught up with someone like me. She’d freak the fuck out if she knew what really went on at The Wicked Horse.” I know that to be true because last night after Callie had a shower and dressed in one of my t-shirts and a pair of workout shorts that swallowed her up, we sat down in the Great Room and shared some whiskey. She told me the gory details of how she caught her fiancé in some fem-dom situation. If it weren’t for the disgust in her voice, I would have laughed at the scenario I imagined, but it was too sobering of a tale when she candidly admitted she had come home to take a pregnancy test. For some reason, I wanted to stand up and dance when she told me she was relieved she wasn’t pregnant, and that she’s actually relieved the engagement is off. Regardless, she reacted badly to that so I couldn’t even begin to imagine how disgusted she would be at The Silo. Hell, several times a week, you can find Angel pegging some dude up the ass in one of the glass-walled rooms. I push off from the front of my truck and step up onto the wooden boardwalk that spans the entire front of The Wicked Horse. Bridger follows me in. The entire club is empty as it’s late morning, but the staff will start trickling in soon. While we don’t open until four PM, there’s still a tremendous amount to do to get ready for the evening rush. “You’re really not going to hook up with her?” Bridger asks as we wind our way through the tables toward the office. I roll my eyes at him. “Man… this isn’t high school.” “Fine, then. You’re not going to fuck her?” “No, I’m not going to fuck her,” I grit out as I punch in the alarm code to the office. But damn, I want to fuck her so bad. Last night as she sipped at the whiskey with her feet tucked up underneath of her on the couch, I had to almost physically restrain myself from touching her. I listened to her talk about Will and her life over the last several years. I truly heard her bemoan that she hated living back East, hated her job as an event planner, and hated living in the suburbs where she had dinner on the table every night at six PM sharp for Will, and she wore pencil skirts, flats, cardigans, and headbands because she was trying to be the proper fiancée for a hotshot attorney in a conservatively dull community. Yes, I heard all of that, but it didn’t stop me from studying her beauty while she talked. Her hair was the color of dark mahogany and worn shorter than she used to… just a few inches past the edge of her shoulders. And the way her green eyes seemed to shine like miniature galaxies of green and gold. Those freckles… doing nothing but serving to remind me of her innocent ways, and even though my shirt on her was baggy, I could still vividly imagine those perfect tits I knew resided under the soft cotton material.

Sitting right there on the opposite end of the couch from me. That right there was the reason I only gravitate toward blonde women. Those ladies of the sunnycolored hair. It’s because they are the exact opposite of Callie Hayes and everything I would truly desire as a man. But then again… do I really desire her for anything more than some of the dirtiest, hottest fucking I could ever imagine? Hell, even plain old vanilla on flannel sheets with Callie would be hotter than anything I’ve ever done. I just know it. The real problem, if I just want to lay it out on the line, is that Callie and I would never be compatible long term. I’m not sure I’m built for monogamy. Never tried it, really, and although Callie is the only woman I could ever imagine committing myself too, I’m not sure I’m ready to give up variety. Besides… Callie would never understand my need to have kink in my life, and I would never expose her to it. Bridger leaves the subject alone thankfully and sits down at his side of the desk. Our office is huge, furnished with a double-sided desk that we can work at if we’re both here at the same time. That’s a rare occasion though as I have my office back on The Double J and since most of my paperwork still revolves around JennCo, I just don’t use this space a lot. Hell, I actually use it more for fucking women if I’m too lazy to walk over to The Silo, and that is the reason why we have a huge, leather couch against one wall. Logging onto my laptop, I check my emails. I respond to a few before logging back off. Standing up, I tell Bridger, “I’m going to go grab a late breakfast. Want to come?” “Nah, man,” he says without looking up from the computer. “I’m going over last month’s reconciliations the CPA sent me.” “Alright. I’m out.” Just as I reach the door, Bridger stops me. “Hey… we’re going to be christening Bacchanalia tomorrow night. I think you should be there as a show of support to the patron members.” Normally, the thought of breaking in a new cabin would excite me, especially one built for group sex and swinging. It’s probably the thing that excites me the most… fucking amidst the masses who are fucking. Skin slapping, the air filled with moans and musky scents. Wet dream come true. But for some reason, immediate refusal to participate comes to mind, and I think to myself, What the fuck? “Maybe,” I hedge as I pull the door open. “We’ll see.” Bridger laughs hard behind my back and when I turn to look at him over my shoulder, he’s smirking at me. “Dude… you need to go for it with Callie.” “What in the fuck does one thing have to do with the other?” I ask him, irritated beyond belief. And there is no doubt in my mind he’s taking my reticence to participate tomorrow night as being directly related to Callie’s return. “I’m just saying… you might be passing up something amazing, and since when do you ever back down from a challenge?” “She’s not some stupid challenge, man. You, out of everyone, should know that,” I growl at him and then I stomp out of the office, slamming the door shut behind me so I can drown out his taunting laugh. She’s not a fucking challenge, I repeat over and over again in my mind as I get in my truck and turn it toward Jackson. Callie is many things, but she is not a challenge. Callie is warm and sweet. Innocent. Endearing. She’s kind and beautiful and sheltered. She is every fucking reason in the book why someone like me could never be good enough for someone like her. I know that.

Hell, even she knows that. I told her as much almost eleven years ago when I came just a hair’s breadth away from taking her virginity. I had been drinking and mourning the loss of Callie’s brother, Richard. We had lowered him into the ground the day before, and the day after I found myself at a party where I ran into Callie. Drunk. Bitter. Angry at the world. It was not a good recipe in normal circumstances, but it was a complete disaster when I found myself alone with Callie. She had just turned eighteen two weeks before. She was only a few months into her freshman year at Duke University when we came together again at Richard’s funeral. I hadn’t seen her in almost a year… the prior Christmas, in fact. And there she was the next night at a party, tipsy from a few beers with big, glistening tears in her eyes. I hugged her and she hugged me back, and I remembered feeling shame that I would think she felt so good in my arms just a day after her brother was buried. Not comforting good, but sensually good. She was willowy angles and soft curves, innocent freckled face seeking solace in my arms. I wanted to fuck her. Bad. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought that about my friend’s little sister. It was only about the hundredth time. I started noticing her when she was about fifteen. I mean, Callie was always around while we were growing up, but soon she stopped being the pesky little sister of Richard and started filling out in all the right places. And say all you want about her beauty and budding breasts, what started me thinking about fucking her was the way in which she would look at me sometimes. Even at the age of fifteen, she knew she was a woman with desirous feelings. She aimed them at me sometimes with quick peeks from under veiled eyes that would get my dick hard. God, Richard would have killed me in the most vicious of ways if he knew the way I looked at Callie sometimes. Even in college, as I was fucking my way through the years, immersing myself in kink and debauchery, I often though of Callie. Sometimes… even while fucking a woman, I’d picture Callie as I came. It was obsessive behavior for sure, but I couldn’t help myself. And the irony isn’t lost on me that I’m a man who likes my sex down and dirty, rough and kinky, and yet I obsess about a woman who is built for soft touches and gentle words. Everything changed that night when I thought just to hug her, and she looked up at me with tears slipping out of her eyes and asked me to kiss her. I was drunk, I was horny for the woman in my arms, and yet… I still knew better. I told her “no.” She pressed in tight to me and said, “Please.” She begged me to kiss her. And so I did. I went ahead, gave in to my fantasy, and I let myself get swallowed up by Callie Hayes. I kissed her like I had never kissed another woman before. I kissed her with something that bordered on almost holy reverence for that woman and when she pushed her pelvis against me, my cock responded mightily. It took over… held my brain and common sense hostage, and demanded I do whatever it took to let it get inside of her sweet heat. I grabbed Callie’s hand, and we made our way upstairs. We were at a mutual friend’s house… and, of course, in our circles, most of our friends lived in thousands of square feet. Just like the Wyoming range, our class of people didn’t like to be cooped up. I fortuitously found an empty bedroom on the first try. In seconds, I had her on the bed where I was kissing her again. And Christ… the way she moaned and writhed as my tongue worked against hers. On one of the darkest days of my life, Callie tasted like

sunshine and rainbows and sweet cream. I could have almost been satisfied with just kissing her, except she made the mistake of taking my hand and pushing it between her legs. She was wearing jeans that seemed to be painted onto her body, but my fingers tingle right at this very minute as I remember the heat that seemed to radiate from her. Making a command decision, I moved efficiently. I didn’t pause to think. The alcohol made sure I wasn’t going to second-guess my actions. My hands were down the front of her pants and my fingers were on her clit, and when I first felt the bite of her fingernails into my shoulders, I knew I had to make her come hard. And so I did. I got her off with fast and practiced fingers while I kissed her deeply to swallow her cries. I was going to fuck her too, but as I pulled my hands out of her underwear so I could grab a condom, I asked her, “You’ve done this before, right Callie?” She gave me a shy, hesitant look and shook her head. And just like that, my cock went on hiatus. My blood turned cold. A pain shot through the center of my chest as I came to the realization that what I just did with Callie… that was all it would ever be. Getting her off and watching her come was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen, but that was the only taste I would ever have of her. I was not about to take her virginity. She deserved way better than me for that. I don’t know if it shames Callie to remember that night, but it actually shames me. I feel slicing guilt when I remember the way she actually begged me to “make love” to her and I told her simply, “I just can’t.” I don’t know that I’ll ever forget the pain in her eyes that came from my rejection. I try to shake loose the memories of Callie Hayes and all the things she’s meant to me and how she plays at the top of my fantasy list. Sadly, I call it “The Fantasy That Could Never Be”. The minute I pull onto the town square, I see that Zed’s is jam-packed and I have to park a few blocks over. It’s one of the more popular restaurants in Jackson. They have the best buckwheat pancakes, which are what I’m craving right now. If I’m lucky, she’ll find a nice vanilla man to make her happy, and I can get back to the way my life is supposed to be.

Chapter 4

Callie “YOUR ORDER SHOULD be up in just a minute, Callie.” I glance up at Carmen as she tops off my coffee. She’s been serving at Zed’s for as long as I can remember, and yet, she still looks the same. Even when I was a little girl, she had that dark hair liberally streaked with strands of gray, laugh lines around her kind, brown eyes and in the corners of her mouth that bespoke of a woman who enjoyed good humor. “Thanks, Carmen.” I smile at her, reaching for the creamer and sugar. As I doctor up my coffee, I turn on my phone to check my messages. Immediately, my screen is filled with incoming texts from Will. Except I changed his name in contacts from Will Tynnick to “Judge’s Bitch”. Petty, I know, but it does sting slightly the lengths he had to go to have some “excitement” in his sex life. It’s just one more reminder to me how pathetically dull I must have been. More stinging is the fact that we clearly didn’t have the type of relationship where he could have asked me for something spicier if that’s what he wanted. Why he considered me a doormat, I have no clue. Well, wait… yes I do. Because I acted like a fucking doormat. I grimace over that sad realization as I flip through the texts. I’m going out of my mind with worry. Will you please call me and let me know you’re safe? I’m so sorry, honey. Please, please talk to me so I can explain. Callie… I love you. I’m going insane here. Call me.

Nothing all too different than what he’s been sending me for the past three days. I wondered if he was going to call my parents at some point and tell them what happened. Any sane person at this point would do that if someone had been missing going on four days now, but I don’t think he’s prepared to let my mom and dad know exactly what happened. Hell, I’m not prepared for that either. I just told them when I showed up on the doorstep at the Governor’s Mansion in Cheyenne that we had broken off the engagement and I didn’t want to talk about it. They abided by my wishes but then ushered me home to Jackson where my dad’s been working from so he can keep an eye on me. I know he’s worried but I’ve assured him I’m okay, and I expect he’ll head back to Cheyenne soon. I read the last text. If you don’t respond to me before the end of the day, I’m going to the police. I have no clue if you’re dead in a ditch somewhere. I get you’re mad, but now you’re just being selfish by not at least responding so I know you’re okay.

A small tremor of guilt rumbles through me. I know Will is worried. I totally get that from his texts, and I can’t have him calling the police and filing a false report, because I am very much okay. I think for a moment and choose my words carefully. I’m home in Jackson and I’m fine. I’m not ready to talk but hopefully one day. Don’t bother texting or calling me. I’ll call when I’m ready.

I read over it twice and satisfied, I hit send. His response is instantaneous. Please, please just call me right now. I need to talk to you. I set my phone down and ignore it. “Here you go,” I hear, and a plate with eggs, bacon, and home fries clatters in front of me. I look up

and see Kelley Jacobs looking down her nose at me, which is nothing new. Kelley is one of those locals who just can’t seem to get her shit together and thinks all of her woes are to blame on others. She seems to think that I, as the governor’s daughter, have something to do with the fact that she dropped out of college five years ago and now works as a waitress. The bell over the front door to the restaurant jingles, and my eyes flick up at the sound. Kelley’s head turns too, and she even hums approval to herself under her breath. “Mmmmmm. Mmmmm.” Yeah… that would describe the man walking in the door. Woolf steps inside, takes his hat off, and looks around the crowded restaurant. His eyes stop on me, and I give him a cautious wave. I’m feeling a little awkward after last night. He gives me a tight smile and continues to look around for an empty table. His eyes come back to mine, and I make a motion toward the empty chair opposite of me. I don’t miss the subtle grimace and for a moment, I think he may just walk back out the door, but then he looks resigned to sit with me and heads my way. Woolf pulls out the chair, throws his hat on the chair next to it, and gives a beautiful smile to Kelley. “Hey, sugar. Can I have some coffee and a buckwheat stack?” Ugh. He called her sugar… and it sounded all sexy too. Kelley beams at him and gives him a flirty wink. “Anything for you, darlin’.” I clear my throat. “Can I get some hot sauce?” But she’s already spinning away from me. I watch her retreating back for a moment, and then sigh as I turn to face Woolf. “Sugar?” I ask him blandly. “Isn’t she a little young for you?” Woolf throws his head back and laughs, and seriously… were his teeth always that white and straight? I know his lips were always that full, and that must be why I never noticed his teeth. Shaking my head, I pick up my fork and scoop up a tiny piece of scrambled egg. I shouldn’t have indulged in that last whiskey with Woolf last night, which tipped me over the edge from buzzed to drunk. My stomach’s been swimming a bit this morning. As I put the food tentatively in my mouth, he says, “Gotta hangover?” I don’t fail to notice he didn’t address my last question, but seriously… not any of my business. Nope. Doesn’t bother me at all who Woolf is interested in. I learned my lesson a long time ago. It’s never going to be me, so why wish for it? “I’m feeling a little poorly,” I admit with a smile and then try a bite of bacon. Woolf seems to think that’s good enough opportunity for him to get all brotherly on me. He leans in and murmurs softly but with chastisement. “Seriously, Callie… what were you thinking last night? Getting up on that bar… flashing your shit for everyone to see?” My cheeks start to burn not only from embarrassment, but also from anger. “Who are you to judge me?” I grit out. Woolf pushes back and shoots me a surprised look. “Hey… I’m not judging. It’s just… that’s not you. It’s not the girl I know.” “I’m a woman,” I point out as I turn my attention back to my food. “That you are,” he mutters, but I don’t look back at him, keeping my gaze on my plate. I eat in silence and don’t even bother to look up when Kelley brings Woolf his coffee. They chat for a bit. He asks her if she’ll be coming by The Wicked Horse anytime soon, and she giggles and simpers for a bit, assuring him she’ll be by. Woolf turns on the charm and flirts right back with her, and she giggles some more. Makes me even more nauseous. After Kelley totters off, I just can’t seem to help myself. “So… you and Kelley, huh?” Woolf gives me a knowing grin. The type that knows I might be a little jealous and he finds it amusing.

He places his forearms on the table and kicks his legs out, brushing them against mine under the table. “Come on, Callie… that was just a little bit of harmless flirting.” Hmmmm. That sounds sincere and my shoulders sag a bit, telling myself with brutal honesty that I had been a little on edge over the thought of Woolf with another woman. Which was just utter ridiculousness. He doesn’t think of me like that. He was painfully clear about that after Richard died. And then he knocks away any remaining doubt about that issue. “Besides,” he says as an afterthought as he picks up his coffee cup and looks me square in the eye. “I don’t go out with brunettes.” Kelley is a brunette. But then, so am I. My mouth drops open slightly at the blatant and backhanded slap at me. I mean… I don’t know if that was directed at me intentionally, but it hit me squarely. And my shoulders sag just a bit more as I realize that maybe I am still harboring some feelings for Woolf. Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? I’ve been carrying a torch for this man for as long as I can remember. I think even when he put frogs in my bed at age nine that I loved him then. I know for sure that when he kissed me the night after Richard’s funeral, and then gave me my very first orgasm, I loved him. Yes, it was definitely love, or otherwise, why would I have been so shattered when he wouldn’t have sex with me? I can remember that night with painful and vivid detail. I’ll never forget what I believe was actual disgust on his face when I told him I was a virgin. That night, he not only gave me my first orgasm, he gave me my first broken heart. In fact, it’s been my only broken heart. I nursed it for two years and finally started to let some of it go when I met Will in college at Duke. I gave my virginity to Will instead. I also gave him my love and promised to marry him. I tried to push Woolf Jennings to the back of my dark closet and leave him in there. I not only tried, but I succeeded, because he rarely crossed my mind as I lived out my days as the model bride-to-be beside William F. Tynnick, Esquire. He stayed buried away, popping out on occasion if we ran into each other during holidays, but for the most part… Woolf was nothing more than a family friend. Something he’s just made abundantly clear again. A change in subject is in order. “So what’s the real story about The Wicked Horse?” I ask genially before attacking my home fries. The grease actually seems to be settling my stomach. A brief flicker of anxiety passes over Woolf’s face, and he asks cautiously, “What do you mean, the real story?” “I mean,” I say dryly as I wave my fork at him. “Why is Woolf Jennings, CEO of JennCo, spending his time running a bar? Or for that matter, how in the hell do you have time to even do that?” Woolf seems to relax. “I have a business partner, Bridger Payne. He does most of the work there. I’m more like a silent partner.” “But why?” I press him. Not that I can’t see Woolf doing that, because I can so see him hanging out in just such a place. It seems to fit him. “It’s a nice break from an otherwise dull life,” he says softly. I swallow my food, setting my fork down. “Dull life?” “Come on, Callie,” he says with joking censure. “Can you honestly say you’d ever see me sitting behind a desk my entire life?” I blink at him in surprise. Not at what he just said, but at myself. Because yeah… I know Woolf. He

wouldn’t be happy behind a desk. He’s too rugged and adventurous. Always has been. He’s more at home in the leather of a saddle than a chair. He loves the outdoors too much. He likes thrills and excitement. “I can’t see you sitting behind a desk,” I agree quietly. He stares at me silently, almost with relief in his eyes that I… what? Still know him? Is he relieved that I still know my longtime friend? My brother’s close friend? My failed lover? I smile at him in understanding before pushing my plate away. “Okay, so I get The Wicked Horse… which is a great name by the way. How long have you had it?” “It’s only been open a few months,” he says with pride. “It keeps me sane and makes dealing in a world of suits otherwise bearable.” “Well, I certainly had fun there last night,” I say with a grin. “Too much fun,” he says as his eyes flick briefly down to my chest. My face turns hot just knowing that he’s thinking… in this very moment… about my naked breasts. “Not enough fun,” I assert with challenge. “Someone stopped me.” “I did you a favor, Callie. You’re lucky a picture didn’t end up in today’s paper.” Shrugging my shoulders, I take another sip of coffee. “Well, that didn’t happen so let’s move on.” Carmen is the one that ends up bringing Woolf his breakfast, thank God, as I don’t think I could take any more of Kelley’s flirting. After he pours some syrup on his stack, he starts cutting into it. “Speaking of moving on, what are your plans?” I told Woolf last night all the painful details of what happened with Will. He’s the only other person other than me, Will, and Judge Lane that know the sordid mess. “I’m not sure. My dad will be gearing up for reelection next year. Maybe I’ll stick around and work on his campaign.” “It makes sense,” he says after spearing a few chunks of pancake on his fork. “You of the two poli-sci degrees.” I duck my head to hide my pleased smile. That he remembers what my degrees are in. After graduating from Duke with my political science bachelor’s degree, I went on and completed their master’s program while Will went to law school at Duke. My dream had been to go to DC and work in the Senate or House as an aide, or maybe even try my hand at lobbying, but Will wanted to move back home to Connecticut and go into private practice, and so… I lamely followed him. And you know what the value of poli-sci degrees are in suburbia? About zero dollars. Therefore, I worked thirty-five hours a week as an event planner in a business owned by the wife of one of Will’s partners. Woolf’s phone rings, and he shoots me an apologetic look just before he answers it, “Jennings.” I watch as he pushes his plate away and leans forward. One forearm on the table, the other raised to press the phone to his ear. His eyes roam around the restaurant lazily, not really seeing anything because I can tell he’s carefully listening to whoever is on the other end. Finally, he says, “Yeah… that was supposed to have been mailed out to you week before last. I just assumed you received it.” He listens a bit more, then looks over at me and makes a writing motion with his hand. I immediately dip into my purse, pull out a pen, and push a napkin across the table at him. He scrawls something that’s practically illegible and says, “Okay… got it. I’ll mail it myself as soon as I get back to the Double J.” When Woolf disconnects, he looks flustered as he takes the napkin and tucks it into his shirt pocket. “Sorry about that. I just need to send myself a quick email so I don’t forget about something when I get

back to my office.” “No problem,” I say as I watch him over my coffee cup. I wait for him to send the email and when he looks back up at me, I tilt my head to the side and ask, “Don’t you have a secretary or something to handle that stuff?” Woolf snorts as he lays his phone back down and picks his fork back up. “I have a secretary who works at the main office of JennCo in Cheyenne, but I can’t seem to find a local one to keep me straight. I think I’ve been through five different ones already this year.” “Slave driver,” I tease. “No, seriously… I’m a pretty easygoing boss. I just hire shitty people without a work ethic.” “Well, I’m not doing anything. I’ll help you out if you want.” Woolf freezes with a forkful of buckwheat cakes to his mouth and just stares at me in contemplation. But then he lowers the fork and his eyes right along, and says, “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “Why not?” I press him. “I don’t have anything to do, and I’m a fucking whiz at organization. I’ve kept my father’s schedule straight during his campaigns, and shit Woolf… I was a fucking event planner in Connecticut. I hated it, but I was damn good. I’ve got skills at least.” He blinks at me hard and doesn’t say a word. “What?” I ask defensively. “Just that filthy mouth you’ve developed,” he says softly. “It’s very anti-Callie.” “I’m not the same girl you once knew,” I tell him firmly. Well, I really was, but I aimed to change that. So far I’ve entered a wet t-shirt contest and mastered the word “fuck”. I’m quite proud of myself so far. Woolf scrubs his hand thoughtfully over his stubbled chin. Seriously, did this guy ever shave? It seems he always has just the perfect amount of whiskers to make him look even ten times sexier than normal. “I’ll pay you twenty dollars an hour, thirty hours a week,” he says bluntly. “Oh, and buy a coffee pot for the office when you come in tomorrow.” And just like that… I had a job. Working for Woolf Jennings. Life is good.

Chapter 5

Woolf TWO THINGS ASSAULT ME when I open my main office door at the Double J. They happen almost simultaneously, yet one is just a few seconds before the other. The deliciously deep and rich scent of dark roast coffee brewing. Next, Colton Stokes sitting on the edge of Callie’s desk, one long leg planted firmly on the floor, the other resting perilously close to her arm. He’s gazing down at her in what I know is barely disguised lust, and they’re both laughing at something. I shut the door hard and Callie jumps in her seat, turning her head my way. She gives me a cheeky grin and says, “Geez, Woolf… you about gave me a heart attack.” I don’t smile back at her, and I’m an utter dick when I say, “Not surprised. What with your attentions focused elsewhere.” I say this with a great deal of employer censure, and her face flushes. “Sorry. Colton was just telling me a joke. He’s here for your ten AM meeting.” Nodding curtly at her, I walk over to the coffee pot and pour myself a cup. I silently will myself to get under control, but fuck… that just started my morning off shitty watching them laugh together. Colton wants in her pants, no doubt about that. Not sure what Callie wants, but I seem to remember they dated in high school. I know he doesn’t know her as carnally as I do, but doesn’t mean that he won’t in the future. I risk a quick glance over at them. Colton has stood from her desk and stepped a few feet away. But Callie? Man… fucking more gorgeous today than she was yesterday. When she showed up for her first day of work just three days ago, she was wearing a pair of jeans, cowboy boots, and a white t-shirt that fit her nicely. She had on a heavy denim jacket as the mornings were still quite chilly and her hair was in a ponytail. “Sorry about the attire,” she had said without real apology. “I don’t have much in the way of clothing here. I plan to try to get some shopping done this afternoon when I get off.” I assured her that working on a cattle ranch, regardless of whether it was in the saddle or behind a desk, meant jeans were entirely appropriate. And yet… the very next day, she showed up in a slim, black skirt that came to just above her knees and a silver-colored blouse that dipped low but didn’t reveal anything but shadow. The kicker was a pair of knee-high boots with heels that added a good four inches onto her height and because she’s tall, almost put her eye to eye with me. Her hair was stylishly sleek, she had on makeup, and her lips were glossy. She looked like a movie star, and I think my tongue was hanging out of my head all day. She’s dressed to the nines again today in a form-fitting dress in a dark purple color, and those killer, sexy boots again. As she sits at her desk, I can see a flash of skin above her knees and when I glance back over at Colton, he notices that too. Asshole. “Let’s go, Stokes,” I say brusquely and nod my head toward my office. Colton follows me in, and I shut the door behind us. By the time he takes a seat opposite my desk, I’m already regretting my tone with him. Colton is a long-standing friend. His family ranches cattle too, and

he’s a decent guy. On top of that, I really have no business getting between him and Callie, so I try to lighten the mood for all our sake’s. “Saw your dad in town the other day. He’s looking great,” I say genially. Clinton Stokes had quadruple bypass surgery at the young age of just fifty-two about six months ago. Colton has been pretty much running things since then. Colton smiles and nods his head. “Yeah… he’s a tough old coot. Nothing will keep him down for long.” I laugh and drum my fingers on my desk. “Remember that time he caught us reading his dirty magazines in the bathroom when we were kids? Scared the shit out of me when he chased us around, threatening us with his belt.” With a bark of a laugh, Colton nods his head. “I was more afraid he’d tell my mom what we were doing.” We both chuckle over the memory, and I’m satisfied Colton isn’t giving any thought to my dick attitude just a few minutes ago. I not only don’t want him thinking I have anything going on with Callie—which I do not—but I also do business with the man and I don’t need tensions there. I segue into the real reason I asked Colton to come by. “We’re headed to auction in a few weeks, but I wanted to ask you about the results of your crossbreeding program.” He blinks at me in surprise, because while the Stokes know their cattle, they aren’t on the same playing field as the Jennings. But he’s not giving himself enough credit because I’ve been hearing some good things about his new crossbreed of Red Angus and Hereford cows. Colton gives me a smile and lapses into a long-winded soliloquy of the program. He’s only all too happy to share with me as we sell off our excess cattle to his ranch, and we also use their slaughterhouse from time to time for overflow, so he desperately wants to maintain good business relations with Double J. He tells me about the methods they use to breed and continues on to proudly talk about the beef falling well within Angus certification guidelines. He drones on, and while the information is interesting and completely useful to our operations, my mind drifts. To Callie. She’s been a damn godsend in just the few days she’s been working for me. She has me entirely organized and for the first time in well, forever, I don’t feel as if I’m always in a state of worry that I’ve forgotten to do something important. She’s working with Marta, my secretary at JennCo, and between the two of them, I feel like the weight has been lifted off my shoulders. The downside to her working for me is her presence. It’s maddening. Her scent, her beauty, her voice. Nine times out of ten when I’m looking at her, she’d be surprised to know I’m imagining something filthy I want to do to her. Just yesterday, I imagined eating her out while she was splayed out naked on my desk, and only my phone ringing brought me out of that daydream. Which was, by far, one of my tamest. Callie would never speak to me again if she ever found out what my dirtiest fantasy with her was. Hell, I feel compelled to slap myself on her behalf just for thinking it. Give it up, dude. Not ever going to happen. I force myself to listen to Colton and even write down some notes as he talks. After about half an hour, we make arrangements for me to come over and check out his stock. When we’re finished, I walk with him to my door but before we get there, he says, “You missed a crazy time at the opening of Bacchanalia the other night.” Colton is grinning at me slyly. And yes, Colton is a member of The Wicked Horse’s inner club. He pays a whopping fifty-thousand

dollars for a platinum membership, which pretty much gives him access to everything. Twenty-four-seven access to all the buildings, unlimited food and liquor, and registration in our fantasy database that helps to facilitate hookups by matching people according to their level of kink and desires. Bridger and I have had to carefully construct our sex club so we don’t run afoul of prostitution laws. We employed a team of lawyers to make sure we were legally in compliance of all criminal statutes, and Bridger vets our employees very carefully to make sure they stay in compliance too. The law is really quite simple though and easy enough to skirt around. Prostitution in Wyoming is when a person performs, permits, offers, or agrees to sex in return for money or property. Therefore, we had to make sure the exchange of monies to my company was not in exchange for sex. Rather, it’s more of a rental fee on the facilities to make use of however they want. For his fifty-thousand, Colton gets a membership into a private club that offers him a place to socialize with excellent food and liquor, as well as entertainment. If Colton happens to participate in sex when he shows up, that’s all his choice. He exchanges no money with his partner or partners, nor does said partner or partners get paid. All people engaging in sex are there because of paid memberships that do nothing more than guarantee them entry into the building, top-shelf liquor, and gourmet food. That includes the few employees from the main club that partake of what the club has to offer. So as not to confuse the payment of money for their bartending or waitressing services, as part of their salary, each of those employees also gets a Silver membership to the sex club. It only gives them access two days a week, but otherwise operates the same as a Platinum membership. So, technically, the employees are not paid for their work in The Silo or one of the cabins, but rather enjoy a much higher salary than most bartenders or waitresses would make as well as a Silver membership. The one thing that has caused some troubles for Bridger and me is if a club member is extremely satisfied with the services one of my employees provides and wants to give a tip. We have to shut that shit down fast because that right there is prostitution. No employee of mine can accept monies once they step foot out of the main club, and I will fire them on the spot if I catch it. I give a knowing smile to Colton and lower my voice so I ensure Callie can’t hear us through the door. I’m purposely vague when I say, “I was there when the party kicked off, but I didn’t stay long. Must have missed you.” That’s true enough and if Colton chooses to believe I participated, so be it. But the fact of the matter is I just showed up and gave a little speech about how excited Bridger and I were. I only stayed for about a total of ten minutes, watching Bridger play with a husband and wife who’ve been members since we opened. Normally, observing Bridger put both a man and a woman on their knees before him and making them take turns sucking his dick would turn me the fuck on, but not that night. For some reason, I just wasn’t into it. I felt unsettled and unsure of myself for the first time I can ever remember. I ended up going home and watched a basketball game on TV while I drank a beer. I even wondered what it would be like if Callie were there with me, maybe curled up into my side, reading a book. Shaking my head because I have no fucking business thinking those things, I grab the doorknob and open the door. I hold my hand out, and Colton shakes it. “Thanks for coming by, man. I’ll be out to see you next week as planned.” “Sure thing, Woolf.” Turning my back on him, I force myself not to look at Callie sitting at her desk, and walk back to my own. I flip up my calendar to look at my schedule for the rest of the day, pleased to see that after my lunch meeting, I don’t have anything else. I think I’ll knock off and head over to The Wicked Horse. Stephanie is

on duty I think, and I could get a quick fuck in. I think that all I need is to just get laid. It’s been going on a full week now since I’ve had some pussy, and I’m starting to get grumpy about it. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. My mouth curves into a smile, and I give myself a little fist pump of exuberance. I just need to get reoriented. Shake off all the crazy that came with the return of Callie Hayes. “…this little restaurant they just opened up on the main square,” I hear Colton saying, and my ears perk up hard. “Sounds divine,” Callie says. “Awesome. Saturday then… I’ll pick you up at seven?” Colton says with excitement in his voice. Oh, hell fucking no. I shoot out of my chair and walk out of the office just as Callie says, “It’s a date.” “What’s a date?” I ask casually as I open up the file cabinet behind her desk, rooting around for what the fuck ever. “I’m going to take Callie out to that new restaurant in town on Saturday,” Colton says with a shiteating grin. I turn from the cabinet with a folder in my hand, no clue what I just grabbed, and give first Colton and then Callie an apologetic look. “Sorry… she has to work this weekend.” “Doing what?” Callie demands as Colton’s face falls. “It’s branding weekend on the Double J,” I say smoothly, immensely grateful that it is, in fact, the weekend we’ll be vaccinating, castrating, and branding the spring calves. “It’s going to be a busy day for me, and I’ll need your help.” Colton looks at me dubiously because as an owner of a cattle ranch, he knows I really don’t have much to do. I mean, sure, I’ll participate in some of the branding, but that’s just for fun. In fact, most ranches treat branding day as a festival of sorts. All the ranch hands and their families will be there. After all the work is done, we’ll have events like roping contests and three-legged races for the kids. I’ve got two hundred pounds of Double J barbeque being cooked with enough potato salad, baked beans, and apple pie to feed an army. Hell, I’ve even got a band to play and fireworks set up. Not a damn thing for me to do other than enjoy it, and while I had been struggling this week on whether or not to invite Callie, that decision just got firmly made all so I could prevent her from going out with Colton. I’m such an asshole and yet I can’t find it within me to feel guilty about it. I don’t want her, not in the way I’m sure she wants to be wanted, but I don’t want anyone else to have her. It’s twisted and complex and I should back the fuck off. But I’m not. “Plan on being out at the Double J about mid-morning, okay Callie?” I say as I look at her. I want to gauge how she feels about me breaking up her date with Colton. She gives me a brilliant smile, and I relax. Callie’s always loved this type of stuff. She’s going to have a blast, and that makes me feel good. She then turns that sunny smile to Colton and says, “I’m sorry. Maybe we could go next weekend?” And now Colton is smiling brightly at Callie. It’s all shining white teeth flashing around the room, and it makes me pissy. I frantically search my brain for something I need her to do next weekend, but I come up empty. No matter. I’ll figure something out by then. “Catch you later, Colton,” I say in dismissal and then head back into my office. Colton apparently gets

the hint because I hear the front door open and close seconds later. Thoughts of fucking Stephanie gone, I shut my door and walk over to the shelf where the architectural drawings for The Wicked Horse are still laying. I pull them out from time to time, survey the surrounding land, and figure out how we can grow bigger. But now I look at them with a bit of dread in my stomach. Week after next, Tenn will be coming to visit, and I’m going to have to show him these plans. It’s time he learned his little brother also has plans that exist outside of the family business. It’s important I show him this because I’ve been thinking a lot lately about seeing if there’s a way for me to distance myself from JennCo. We had considered once taking the company public, but our overwhelming sense of familial obligation shot that idea down. Almost two years later, though, and I’m feeling the walls closing in on me. The Wicked Horse will be a shock to Tenn. It’s going to cause some waves. Big, choppy waves. But I have to at least start the communication about it and see where he stands.

Chapter 6

Callie FOR A MAN that insisted I be here at the Double J mid-morning to help him, Woolf sure seems to be relaxing a lot. I look over at him sitting at one of the picnic tables set up on the east lawn beside the main house, lazily drinking a beer with his business partner, Bridger Payne. Woolf introduced me to him not long ago, and he’s an interesting man. He’s big. I mean, bigger than Woolf, and Woolf is like a giant. Huge, muscled arms and a massive chest. It’s clear he works out seriously. He’s a little intimidating because there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t quite set right with me. Not in a dishonest type of way, but it’s more like he knows something about you that maybe even you don’t know yourself. Bridger also looks like the type of man who gets whatever he wants, and if it’s a challenge to get it, he’s going to knock you on your ass while he plows over you for the win. What interests me the most about Bridger is actually my reaction to seeing him with Woolf. It’s clear that they are more than just business partners. You can tell they’re friends. Very close friends. It’s the natural way in which they talk with each other; it’s in the way in which they laugh together. Hell, I can even see it when they just sit there in silence with each other as they watch all the happenings going on around them. I thought their friendship might make me a little bitter, seeing as how my brother used to be Woolf’s closest friend, but I found myself actually filled with a peaceful happiness for Woolf that he found someone in whom he could trust and bond like he had with Richard. I busy myself at one of the many long tables covered with red checkered cloths and laden with food, starting to place some tinfoil over the bowls of side dishes as the first wave of people have gone through. While Woolf is having this party catered, I feel compelled to do actual work since he’s paying me. But so far, he’s not given me much to do so I’m trying to act busy. I sneak another peek over at the picnic table, and both Woolf and Bridger are looking at me, their heads inclined toward each other. It’s clear they’re talking about me and a warm flush creeps up my neck. Never taking his eyes off me, Bridger murmurs something to Woolf and the look in Woolf’s eyes becomes focused with intensity. His eyes seem to be glittering across the way at me, and his jaw sets in a hard line. He even bites down roughly into his lower lip while Bridger continues to talk quietly to him, all while they are both staring at me. I hastily avert my gaze, not able to handle the way Woolf is… eating me up? And what in the hell could Bridger have said to make him look at me like that? It’s like he was encouraging him… saying something to incite Woolf. I grab some napkins and start wiping up spills around the serving bowls, my pulse skipping madly for some reason. The band Woolf hired starts tuning their instruments, causing my gaze to slide over there. I can see down past them to the branding paddock; the ranch hands are working on a few more calves, but most everything is done for the day. Everyone has plates of food and beers in their hands. People are laughing in celebration for a good, hard day’s work and a traditionally important rite of passage for the animals. I can remember coming to the Double J brandings all the time growing up. I’d watch Woolf, Tenn, and Richard help wrestle the calves to the ground, and I wanted to help too but my mother wouldn’t let me. It

didn’t befit a young lady. Or so she said. The party afterward was always so much fun. Chasing fireflies when the sun set, listing to music and eating homemade ice cream until I was sick. Not much has changed, although I don’t intend to overindulge on the ice cream, but I do intend to enjoy the fireworks that will start up probably within the next hour. I sneak one more peek over at the picnic tables, curious if Woolf and Bridger are still watching me. I’m not sure what it says about me that I’m actually disappointed they’re both gone. I scan my eyes around, but I don’t see either of them. Sighing, I decide to go ahead and get a plate of food and a beer. My entire day of non-working has actually been quite tiring, and I’d like to get off my feet for a bit. Some barbeque, a little bit of pie, a little fireworks, then I’m heading home for a nice hot bath and maybe a good book.

* AS THE FIREWORKS start, I loop my purse over my shoulder and make my way toward the makeshift parking area. I drove my father’s truck, because even though he’s the governor, everyone in Wyoming has a truck and it just felt good to drive it. It made me feel like I was truly back home, and fuck the little BMW convertible Will had bought me to drive around in back in Connecticut. Those days were over. I want to make a quick getaway as soon as the show is over, but I can’t resist watching the sparkling lights, so I pull the tailgate down on my truck and hop my ass onto it. Just as I shrug the strap of my purse off my arm, the first rocket goes off. I hear the boom first and then the rocket splits apart into a million fragmented blue and white crystals against the night sky. I can’t help the exhale of pleasure that escapes over the sight. “What are you doing hiding back here?” Woolf says as he hops onto the tailgate beside me. Startled, I jump slightly and cast a quick glance at him, but then pin my eyes back to the sky. I don’t want to miss a thing. “I’m going to head out as soon as the fireworks are over so I figured I’d just sit out here,” I tell him as three more rockets go off. Boom, boom, boom. Three huge flowering displays pulsing outward. Man… these are spectacular and I know Woolf must have paid a fortune for this. We sit in silence for a bit watching the show, and I can’t help but smile as I hear little kids oohing and aahing over the fireworks. I angle my body to look at Woolf, just briefly to see if he’s enjoying this as much as I am, but I’m caught off guard when I find his gaze is settled on me and not the sky. I tilt my head at him with a curious smile. “What?” He smirks at me… reaches out and grabs the end of one of the pigtail braids I have just barely hanging over each shoulder. Giving it a tug, he says, “Wyoming suits you, Callie.” I hold his gaze for just a moment, and then turn my face upward again, causing him to let go of my hair. “I’m really glad to be home.” Woolf bumps his shoulder against mine, vying against the fireworks for my attention. “Are you here to stay?” I shrug my shoulders. “Maybe. I need to figure out who Callie Hayes is first.” “You know who she is,” he tells me in gentle admonishment. I leave the glow of sparkles behind and turn to look at him again. “You’re actually right, Woolf. I do know who she is. What I should have said is that I don’t like who Callie Hayes is… what she’s become. I

need to figure out who I want to be, and I need to make those changes.” I start to incline my face back upward, but I’m stopped by Woolf’s hand grasping my jaw. He holds me in place so I have to look at him. “You don’t need to change a damn thing about yourself.” His voice is soft and soothing, almost as if he’s talking to a child. It pisses me off, and I jerk my face away from him. My words are calm but tinged in ice. “You have no idea what I do or don’t need. You try living in someone’s shadow for years, completely bending and twisting your life to fit his. You try giving up all your dreams to let someone else get theirs. You try to be what everyone expects, even though it tears you up inside. You do all that, Woolf, and tell me you don’t become someone you don’t like.” My voice cracks… falters. Woolf narrows his eyes at me. “I’m so pathetically dull,” I say with a quiet but sure voice, “that my fiancé can only get his rocks off by having another woman gag and whip him. Try being that person and tell me you won’t want to change.” I expect another admonishment from Woolf. Maybe a snort of disbelief. A look of pity. Instead, his hands shoot out and take my face, jerking me toward him. He meets me halfway, putting his lips against mine and giving me a blistering kiss. Tilting his head, he pushes my mouth open with his own and then his tongue becomes a part of me. His fingers grasp me tightly as he kisses me deeply. My head swims in confusion and lust. My hands come up to grasp his wrists to hold him to me, afraid he might pull away. And he does, but only slightly. Only enough to look at me with simmering anger. At me? “If I ever hear you call yourself ‘pathetically dull’ again, I’m going to tan your hide,” he says and then he kisses me again. And holy hell… Woolf Jennings is sitting in the back of my truck with me. Kissing me. With such force that in this moment, I would do whatever he asked of me. I’d give him my soul. Most definitely my body. Woolf kisses me with all the surety of a man who knows what he wants. He nips at my lower lip, swipes hard at my tongue, and growls into my mouth. His kiss alone moves me so greatly, that I can’t help the deep moan I give as my hands snake around his neck. His own hands drop to my waist and with an effortless move, he hauls me across the tailgate right onto his lap. No, correction… after maneuvering my legs, he makes me straddle his lap. This is made easy by fact that first, I have no hesitation in accepting this new position, and second, that I wore a flowerpatterned dress and my cowboy boots to this shindig. The boots clunk down on the truck bed and my skirt rises to mid-thigh, but I don’t care. I only care that Woolf wants to not only kiss me, but kiss me while I’m straddling him. And then, oh my fucking God… his hands go to my thighs and he pushes me down onto his lap, grinding me onto what is an erection so large I can’t even fathom the possibility of it. My breath comes skittering out of my mouth, and I have no control over my body. My hips undulate, causing the most amazing friction between us. The fireworks continue to go off with loud booms, followed by hisses and sizzles that periodically light up Woolf’s face. Sadly, I realize that once the fireworks end, so to shall this kiss. I hope it’s a really long show. Woolf’s hands slide up my thighs, pushing my skirt right along with it. The night air is getting chilly,

and I can feel goose bumps breaking out in the wake of his touch. I continue to rub myself on Woolf while his kiss seems to take on an urgent quality. His breathing is harsh, and I can feel tension vibrating off him in waves. And then… I almost combust just as loud and bright as the fireworks above us as Woolf fingers the edge of my panties just a brief moment before slipping under. I break the kiss because my head falls backward, seemingly unable to support itself. “Oh, God,” I moan as his finger brushes against me, causing a shudder to rip through my entire body. “Someone might see us.” His response? He pushes a finger inside of me, and my head snaps up so I can look at him. His eyes burn into me while he pumps his finger in and out. I know what he’s thinking… he’s thinking about the last time he did this to me. I can see recrimination in his eyes that here we are… once again. If I were a smarter woman, I’d scramble off his lap and run for the hills. While this feels amazing and oh so right, I know I’m probably on a one-way street to abandonment when he’s finished with me. But I think I might rather be selfish instead, so I give a roll of my hips against his hand and a harsh breath hisses out of Woolf. “Fuck yeah,” he murmurs as one finger becomes two inside of me. I put my hands on his shoulders and use leverage to push myself up and down, counter to his own thrusting. I’m stunned to my core when Woolf takes the edge of my dress with his other hand and bunches it up, pulling it to the side. He looks down at what is now an unfettered view of his fingers in my panties… inside of me. “Watch, Callie,” he commands in a hoarse voice. “Look at you riding my fingers.” I don’t want to look. I’m afraid it might be too much. I’d rather look at the top of Woolf’s head, or maybe even sift my fingers through his hair. I rock my hips against him, moving faster and faster. My pulse is hammering madly. But then I decide to look because I just can’t help myself. I don’t want to miss a single thing. Letting my gaze slide down, I see Woolf’s fingers disappearing and reappearing with shiny slickness, I see the thick ridge of his erection pushing against denim just below, and I watch in utter fascination as he skims his thumb right over my clit and presses down on me hard. I scream as my orgasm tears through me, but it’s cut off quickly as Woolf releases my dress and grabs me by the back of my head, pulling my face to his. His mouth covers mine, and he sucks down every bit of vocal gratification that comes rushing out of me. My hips buck in a frenzy against his hand, trying to draw out every single bit of pleasure that I can, even as I vaguely realize the fireworks finale is going on right now with resounding booms and the sky lights up like it never has before. I finally still my movements, feeling utter exhaustion start to overcome me. Woolf pulls his mouth from me as he removes his hand from my panties. He smoothes my dress down but makes no move to push me off. Instead, he takes one finger and just skims it down my throat. It’s wet, and my skin tingles from the touch. Woolf raises his eyes to mine, and he quietly reiterates to me the point of his lesson. “Don’t ever call yourself ‘pathetically dull’ again because that was single-handedly the sexiest, most exciting thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” I swallow hard and because I know he expects me to obey his words, I give him a nod of acceptance. “That’s my girl,” he says. Then he kisses my forehead and lifts me off his lap. When I’m once again seated on my tailgate, Woolf hops off and disappears into the darkness.

Chapter 7

Woolf IT’S MONDAY MORNING, and I’m late getting into the office. Callie’s car is already parked out front of the Double J office, but I expected it would be. She’s never less than punctual. Unlike me this morning. That’s called procrastination on my part, but I can’t put it off any longer. I have to get the confrontation with Callie out of the way so I can get back on track with my life. My gut churns, wondering what will be in her eyes when I walk in that door. Will there be anger over what I did to her? Rejection I didn’t stay? Or even worse, hope in her eyes there will be something more? Fuck… what in the hell had I been thinking? Finger fucking sweet Callie Hayes out in the open where anyone could have seen. Just the thought of it makes my dick twitch, and I mentally sneer at it to stay the fuck down and away from her. And I would have left her alone too had it not been for Bridger and his fucking taunts. I made the mistake of admitting to my best friend in the world who I now could cheerfully kill, that I invited Callie to the branding party to prevent her from going out with Colton. Asshole thought that was hilarious and needled me all day about it. When he sat down at the picnic table with me that evening as dusk was settling, he did what Bridger is best at doing. He incited lust. Pure, white-hot lust within me for Callie. Just a few simple words. Filthy really. “You know what?” he taunted me with a deep, silky voice as we both watched Callie fiddling around at the serving table. “I know you think that girl is too sweet for the likes of you, but I’m telling you, Woolf… look at her spine. It’s all in the backbone… the way she holds herself. That girl is built for some raw and dirty fucking. She wants it, too. No wait… it’s more than that. She needs it. Yeah, that girl needs it, Woolf.” Those words right there started my brain obsessing about Callie. Bridger was definitely trying to get a rise out of me, but I couldn’t dismiss what he was saying. Bridger is a man who can take one look at a man or a woman and tell you what makes them tick sexually. He knows how to draw out a person’s desires. He knows how to break and rebuild. I don’t doubt for a second if he says Callie needs something, she really needs it. But Christ… why did I have to be the one to give it to her? I’ve asked myself that over and over again since Saturday night. I chastised myself only to turn around and pat myself on the back. I cursed my weakness and high-fived my spontaneity. I looked in the mirror and told myself I was nothing but danger to Callie, and then smiled at my reflection and told myself I deserved to have her. I wasn’t lying to her. Callie Hayes riding my fingers, her face flushed, biting at her lower lip and then exploding all over

me was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I didn’t get an orgasm out of the deal, and yet… it may have been the best sexual experience of my life. I know I certainly had no desire to head over to The Silo afterward. Sort of like the way I’ve had no desire for anyone else since Callie rolled back into town. How is that humanly possible? I have fucked so many beautiful women, done so many filthy things, always pushing the envelope of my sexuality. I’ve done and seen it all. My sex life is that of a god’s. And yet… just watching that woman have an orgasm was almost otherworldly to me. I think there’s a chance I could be permanently and irrevocably fucked in the head. Just before opening the door, I take a deep breath. Just act cool and casual. Just another day at the office. I open the door and brace myself, expecting the worst. But Callie isn’t at her desk. I sigh with relief and step inside, shutting the door behind me. I figure she’s in the bathroom, so I hastily pour a cup of coffee and head into my office where I can shut the door and hide. As soon as I enter, I can feel a vibration in the air that tells me something is wrong. There Callie stands, hands planted on my desk, head bent down, looking at The Wicked Horse architectural plans. More importantly, at the one for The Silo which I had left lying there on top when I left on Friday, never once thinking about Callie possibly seeing it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She doesn’t even look up at me, although she knows I’m standing there. I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s seeing. Those plans have morphed over the months since they were first drawn up and have changed from just technical specs to almost a road map of our journey into the business of sex. She’ll see how we named The Silo rooms… BDSM, Fetish, Gang Bang, Ménage, Orgy. She’ll see handwritten notes by Bridger listing out the tools that he bought… cuffs, whips, ball gags, clamps, floggers, canes. This list is endlessly damning. I hold still as a statue as I watch her stare at the plans before her. Her eyes roam all over, once she even takes a finger and taps it against the center. Finally, she looks up at me and I get ready for a full-body cringe over the condemnation I’ll see on her face. Except… it’s not there. In fact, her face looks passively bland. It makes me relax just marginally. “The Silo,” she says softly. Slowly. Carefully choosing her words. “Behind the nightclub. It’s a… sex club?” I swallow hard and give a tentative nod. Afraid to trust my voice. Her gaze lowers to the plans again, and she slides a finger to the top corner… stopping over the words “The Wicked Horse”. “This is your brand?” she asks hesitantly as she taps her finger on the image just below the words. A circle, an inner ring, seven compartments. So obvious. “Yes,” I say softly. “It’s modeled after The Silo?” “Yes.” “Because that’s sort of the cornerstone of your… your…” “Sex club,” I provide politely. She nods with flushed cheeks, but forges ahead since I’m answering her questions. “And what? Do people pay to go in there and… have sex with other people?” Her voice is timidly curious, but I note a

slight tone of censure. Sighing, I take my hat off and toss it on the wall peg. Since she’s standing behind my desk where my chair is, I take one of the guest chairs and sit down, kicking my legs out. This is not how I imagined my run-in with Callie would unfurl. “Bridger and I wanted to open a club where people could live out their deepest fantasies without fear of judgment or condemnation. We wanted a private club where people could… be themselves, so to speak. To explore their sexuality in a safe environment.” I stop right there, let her digest what I’ve said. It’s the simple truth of what’s she seen. It’s not the full truth, but the simple truth and really all she needs to know. “And you practice… um… like BDSM there or something?” she asks fearfully, her eyes holding what I think may be a bit of disgust in them. Of course there would be disgust. I mean… after the way she found her fiancé and that judge. “I don’t practice it,” I tell her swiftly. “I mean… some elements, yes, but I’m not hardcore. I don’t hand out pain.” If I expected her to look relieved over those words, I would have been a fool. She looks overwhelmed with what she’s learned so far. “So… what do you do there? You specifically, I mean,” she asks, her voice so slight and whisper soft, I can barely hear her. It irritates me. The delicacy by which she’s discussing this. I’m pissed I have to sugarcoat things for a sweet girl. I’m pissed she was in my office even though I’ve never forbidden her from being in here, and I’m pissed she knows this about me. “What do you think I do, Callie?” I taunt her in a low growl. I sit forward in my chair, press my elbows to my knees, and stare at her with naked honesty. “Same as anyone else. I fuck.” Callie’s lips are drawn downward, her eyes bleak. It hurts to see her look at me like that, and for the first time in my adult life, I’m ashamed of my proclivities. For a fleeting instant, I feel the urge to call Bridger and tell him I’m selling out. I stand up from my chair, because this is the point I expect Callie to be running out of my office, straight out to her truck to hightail it away from the filthy, pervy Woolf Jennings. Callie’s gaze drops back down to the plans, maybe for one last disgusted look. She takes a deep breath, looks back up, and pins me with clear eyes. “I want to join the club.” My jaw slackens, and my mouth drops open wide. I ignore the tingle in my groin over the thought of Callie in my club, and… Did she just fucking say she wants to join? “Please tell me this is a goddamn joke,” I grit out. Her eyebrows furrow inward, and she keeps her gaze on me with bold challenge. “I’m not joking. I want to be a member.” “No fucking way,” I snarl as I stalk over to the wall and grab my hat off the peg. I need to get the fuck away from this brand of insanity. “At least take me there,” she says firmly to my back. “So I can see.” I ignore her… open my office door. “Take me,” she says ominously. “Or I’ll find someone who will.” I snort and step out of my office. Good fucking luck with that. Bridger and I are the only two she knows associated with the club, and he sure as shit wouldn’t take her. “Colton Stokes,” Callie calls out. I stop dead in my tracks.

My blood turns to ice in my veins, and I pivot slowly to meet her stubborn gaze. “What did you just say?” “Colton. Stokes.” She punctuates both words with relish and even gives me a sly grin. How the fuck did she—? “Colton Stokes is a member, is he not?” she asks sweetly as she walks out from behind my desk toward me. I don’t affirm her suspicion. Because that’s all it is, right? Just a suspicion she has? I stare at her hard, hoping to cow her with my death glare. I can feel an annoyed muscle ticking in my jaw from gritting my teeth so hard. Callie walks up to me, no more than a foot away, and gives me a knowing smile. She primly clasps her hands in front of her and even sways back and forth like a mischievous schoolgirl. “I’m sure Colton would be more than happy to take me.” Deep breath in… calm the fuck down, Jennings. “What makes you think Colton is a member?” I ask neutrally as I lean my shoulder against the doorjamb and tap my hat against my leg. I hope my casual nonchalance doesn’t look too fake. Callie arches an eyebrow at me and then snorts. She walks right past me out of my office, her shoulder brushing up against me. I turn to watch her strut up to her desk where she sits in her chair and picks up her cell phone from the desk. She looks up at me and says, “It wasn’t that hard to figure out. You and Colton wear matching belt buckles. Well, not matching exactly. Different style but the engraving’s the same. A circle with an inner circle, eight lines creating seven spaces around the ring. It’s the same brand that’s on your drawing in there of The Silo. So, what is that… a secret code to get in or something?” I squeeze my eyes shut hard, curse internally for a good ten seconds, and then open them back up. She smiles at me in victory. I attempt to knock it right off her face. “Exactly. And you don’t have one so you can’t get in.” “Bet Colton can take me in,” she says in a singsong voice. “For fuck’s sake, Callie,” I yell at her in frustration. “Why would you ever want to go in a place like that?” She studies me a moment. Almost as if she expects me to come to the answer on my own, but I’m fucking clueless. I have no idea what could possess her to want this. “Come on, Woolf,” she says with a tinkling laugh. “I’m pretty transparent. I want to be different. I want to do something exciting and adventurous. I don’t want to be dull Callie who does what everyone expects anymore. I want to do what I want to do. And besides… it’s good enough for you but not for me?” Christ… she had to lay that at my doorstep. The same exact little poor-me speech that worked very well on me Saturday night, inducing me to kiss her hard and then stick my hand in her panties. I walk up to the edge of her desk and look down at her. In a voice as close to begging as I will ever come for any person, I say, “Callie… please. You don’t belong in a place like that. Trust me on this.” She eyes me almost sympathetically. “You see, Woolf… I think I belong exactly in a place like that.” Then it’s on. We engage in a staring war. Her fern green eyes sparkling with excitement and sass. Mine leveled in a bitter scowl. My will against hers. My ego against hers. “I can call Colton,” she prods me to action, poising her finger over the screen of her phone. “Fuck,” I mutter and slam my hat back on my head. “I’ll take you, but that’s it. It’s just so you can see. Quick in and out.” “We should stay for at least one drink,” she says with a happy grin.

“One drink,” I concede, my brain already spinning fast, trying to figure out all the ways it could go wrong by me bringing the governor’s daughter to a sex club. “Tonight?” she asks with excitement. I shake my head and pin her with serious eyes. “I can’t tonight or tomorrow night. But I’ll take you Wednesday.” She looks like she wants to argue for a moment, but I’m not budging on this. Nope. I need some little victory over her in this battle that she just completely decimated me in. Wednesday happens to be the slowest night at The Silo, and more importantly, I know Colton Stokes will be out of town starting Wednesday. When we made plans to meet so I could look at his stock, we had to choose the weekend since he was going to be gone to a breeder’s conference in Vegas. It’s going to be hard enough to pull this off, and I sure as shit don’t need Colton to see Callie at The Silo. I don’t want that fucker thinking he can have her in any way, and the dude is into her. I know that’s exactly what he’ll think and while I’m pretty confident this is just curiosity on Callie’s part, I don’t want to take any chances that she would ever want to avail herself of The Silo’s decadence. I know I sure as hell won’t indulge her in that way, but I’m not so sure Colton wouldn’t oblige her… and then I’d probably have to kill the man.

Chapter 8

Callie I PUSH MY WAY through the crowd at The Wicked Horse, my nerves jangling and my heart about to slam its way out of my chest. The two shots of vodka I took while I sat in the parking lot haven’t helped yet, and for the millionth time, I question the sanity of what I’m about to do. Woolf had told me to meet him in his club office tonight at eleven PM and he’d take me over. He reiterated that we’d stay for one drink and then we were leaving. I didn’t argue with him about that, mainly because he’s been in a terrible mood the last two days. He’s stayed away from the office for the most part, but the few times I’ve seen him, he’s snapped and barked at me with no provocation. He’s furious that I’ve forced him to do this, but I don’t care. The New Callie is on a mission to figure herself out. So no matter how many times I question my sanity right now, I’m going to keep trying things and testing my boundaries, so I can see just what I have inside of me. I’m not willing to let anyone mold me again, but I have to know exactly what I’m made of so I can mold myself. It doesn’t take Woolf but a moment to open his office door, and bless the great DNA of his parents, he is magnificent. He wears that black hair messily styled, curling over the edges of his ears and just a few inches too long all over. He has on his traditional jeans and boots, but he’s looking beyond amazing in the black, long-sleeved t-shirt that fits his powerful chest and arms like a glove. I’m surprised when he beckons me in. I got a brief glimpse of this place the night Woolf hauled me off the bar onto his shoulder. He brought me here first and no sooner had he opened the door and taken one step in, he was backing right back out again. No clue what made him do that and all I got was a brief, upside down glimpse of an office that was shockingly bare. Now as I take in more detail, I see the same wooden floor as out in the main nightclub, a large desk built for two people to work opposite each other, a leather couch, and a small, electric refrigerator in one corner. Very Spartan, speaking of a place that is meant to do some hard work with no distractions. If I had to guess, I’d say this was more Bridger’s office than Woolf’s. “I need you to read and sign this,” Woolf says in a tight voice as he hands me a document. Glancing down at it, I see the words “Non-Disclosure Agreement” on the top. I look back up at him in question. His lips are in a flat line, which means he’s clearly still displeased to have me here. He nods down at the document. “Everyone that enters The Silo has to sign it.” “I assume it prohibits discussing the club with non-members?” “In a nutshell,” he says tightly. I shrug my shoulders and walk over to his desk, grabbing a pen out of a mug that says, “Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy”. Placing the document down, I lean over to sign it when Woolf grabs my wrist. The contact of his palm to my skin is almost electric, and it makes me realize I’m sexually wound up. My blood immediately quickens, and I feel unsettled and needy. I realize it’s not nerves I’m dealing with at all. It’s a sexual itch I think needs scratched and the prospect of all the naughty things I’m about to see is turning me on. One little touch from Woolf and I want to lie down on the floor and spread my legs for him. Shaking my head to clear it, I look at Woolf. “You’re just going to sign it without reading it?” he asks in disbelief.

“Well, yeah. I mean… who in the hell would I ever talk to this about? My dad? My non-existent best friend because Will didn’t want me to have any friends? Or maybe Will?” “There’s a damages clause in there. If you talk, you agree that the damages are minimally set at onemillion dollars.” “Fine by me,” I say coolly as I pull my hand away from his grasp. I hastily sign my name at the bottom and date it even though I don’t have a million dollars. But I’m not worried because I don’t have one single person I could talk to this about. Placing the pen back in the cup, I hand the agreement to Woolf. He stares at me a moment, still wearing his put-upon scowl before taking the document. He folds it in half, seems to consider what to do with it, and then tosses it back down on the desk again with a sigh of resignation. For a brief moment, I consider alleviating this stress on him by telling him I won’t make him take me. But that trickles away as just the thought of what I might see starts building up excitement within me. “Are you ready?” I ask, almost bouncing on the balls of my feet. I actually may have overdressed a little, but I didn’t know what to expect. Woolf had told me that memberships cost fifty-thousand dollars per year, so I know The Silo will probably be filled with elegantly dressed people. Or maybe naked people, I have no clue. Woolf is dressed super casual, but it doesn’t make me self-conscious of the blue dress I bought yesterday that has one shoulder and arm bare, while the other is covered in a long, tight sleeve. It’s form fitting through my bust, waist, and hips but comes down to my knee with a sexy slit up the back. The material is slightly stretchy with a silvery shimmer, so I paired it with a pair of silver highheeled sandals I also bought. “Look… Callie. Are you prepared for this?” Woolf asks with worry in his eyes. I tilt my head and give him a censuring look. “Woolf… I saw my fiancé with a ball gag in his mouth, getting whipped by a woman in vinyl. I didn’t freak out then, so I think I’m good.” He just stares at me a moment before giving a resigned nod. “Alright then… let’s go.” Woolf takes my hand, which I enjoy very much, and leads me out the back door of The Wicked Horse. There is a path made of slate stone lined with subtle security lights that leads to The Silo, which sits just about twenty yards away. There’s a lone, white door at the base of the massive, concrete structure. We step through it into a short hall that branches left and right, which I assume leads behind the outer ring rooms, and another corridor that leads us out to the center of the building. As we walk out into the middle of The Silo, I’m immediately assaulted with information. I’m overwhelmed, trying to process everything. I hear music, but not so loud as I can’t hear the murmurs of people talking. Sexy, slow-beat music. I don’t recognize it, but I like it. A large, circular bar made of polished chrome, glass, and black lacquer takes up the exact center of the room. A beautiful blonde bartender wearing a low-cut black dress that’s sexy and elegant serves drinks to the members. Several women dressed just like her walk around with trays of finger food, handing them out to hungry patrons. The room could hold a hundred people easily, but I estimate there’s only about thirty or so. Some are dressed up like me, others wearing jeans like Woolf, which tells me there’s no formal dress code. The patrons are all varied in age, and most people are paired off into couples. This surprises me as I sort of expected a bunch of single people coming together for a horny good time. As if reading my mind, Woolf leans down and murmurs, “Most patrons are in monogamous relationships. Probably thirty percent are married.” I quickly take stock of the rest of the decor. Black marbled flooring and contemporary chandeliers in brushed nickel that are dimmed to provide subtle lighting. Other than the bar and the stools surrounding it,

there is no other furniture in the massive room. And then I focus in on what I truly came to see…the outer ring rooms that provide me with a powerful punch as I take in the floor-to-ceiling glass walls providing unfettered viewing inside. I expect that’s why there’s no furniture, so as to encourage the patrons to move around, look inside the various rooms… almost as if they were at an art gallery. And the first room I look into is almost like living art, and my breath catches in my lungs. The room is completely bare except for what looks like a king-sized mattress on a raised dais of black lacquer about a foot off the floor. The mattress is covered in black silk, which seems to melt right into a black platform, which seems to then melt right into the shiny, black marble floor. A naked couple lies on the mattress, their arms and legs intertwined as they kiss. My breath comes out in a wavering gust as I watch the man slide his hand up the woman’s leg, over her hip bone, and reach in between their bodies. Because they are so tightly melded, I can’t actually see what he’s doing to her, but her back arches up off the bed and her eyes squeeze shut as her lips part to let go of what I’m guessing is a moan. A surge of… is that lust… courses through me. I have the urge to press my legs together, and I can feel my nipples start to pucker. Holy shit… I’ve hardly seen anything and yet, I’m immediately turned on. Woolf places his hand against my lower back and tries to direct me toward the bar, but I can’t disconnect my gaze from the couple on the black silk mattress. It’s not what I expected and because I really can’t see much, it makes me crazy to see more. I walk almost trance-like toward the glass wall, intent on trying to get a gander at something more. I feel itchy and needy, my curiosity now completely having shut down any common sense arguments my brain may have still tried to make to remind me I shouldn’t be here. I step up to the glass and in the reflection, I can see Woolf step up behind me. The couple seems completely oblivious as they continue to kiss and fondle each other. I get a flash of his erection and a peek at her boob, but right now, they are still wrapped tight. “Can they see us?” I whisper. “They can,” Woolf says in an almost strained voice. “It’s so… beautiful,” I say reverently, and then I let out a small gasp as the man pushes himself up, revealing himself to me. He’s beautifully lean and tan, and his erection sticks up from his pelvis, wetness shining at the tip. I stare at it in fascination… the second penis I’ve seen in my lifetime, having of course only been privy to Will’s before. The woman spreads her legs and raises her knees. I’ve seen my vagina plenty of times, but hers is completely bald and that fascinates me to no end. I’ve thought about doing that before but then figured… why go through the pain for Will to just pound away for a few moments before rolling off and going to sleep? The man wraps his hand around the base of his shaft and with one arm supporting his weight, he feeds it into her. I hold my breath as I watch it disappear, trying to ignore the twinges I’m feeling between my own legs. I seem to have a hard time with my breathing, actually forgetting to suck in oxygen as I watch his hips start undulating against her, and she starts moving to match his thrusts. It’s a lazy type of sex where neither looks in a rush to get off. They move together perfectly and I see they’re both wearing wedding rings, so they are harmonious in more ways than one. It’s live porn, and I totally underestimated the effect it would have on me. I totally didn’t think it would make me want to drop my hand down my panties and get myself off. “Let’s go get a drink,” Woolf says roughly as he takes my elbow and turns me toward the bar. I almost capitulate. Almost.

But then I make the mistake of looking at what’s going on in the next room, and I gasp in astonishment. Maybe… one, two, three, four, five, six… seven, eight… nine people in there. All naked and having sex. Pulling free of Woolf, I walk up to the glass. I can feel his presence right behind me again… can feel the tension vibrating off him. Looking inside, it’s like nothing I could have ever imagined in my wildest dream. One couple fucking up against the wall, the man driving hard and deep into her while her legs are wrapped around his waist. His ass muscles clench tightly on every inward thrust, and damn… that’s so sexy. Another couple with the woman bent over a large ottoman with the man thrusting in and out of her from behind. Another couple in a chair, him on the bottom, her reverse cowgirl on the top, her breasts bouncing up and down while her head is tilted back in ecstasy. And my breath hitches when I see a woman with two men, and I fully realize how naive and sheltered I’ve been. I didn’t even know such a thing was possible. One man lying on his back on a flat, padded bench. The woman straddling his pelvis, leaning over him and holding perfectly still. He thrusts up into her vagina from below, while at the same exact time, another man is behind her… fucking her in her ass. “Oh, wow,” I whisper as I laser my eyes onto the threesome. I feel a rush of wetness seep out of me, soaking my panties, and I have a sudden, unyielding need to do something… anything. Something dirty. What would happen if I put my hand between my legs? Or took Woolf’s hand and stuck it there? My hands open and close into tight fists while I watch both men pound and hammer at the woman, who is now shrieking in ecstasy. My breath becomes labored, and I shift from foot to foot as I watch. I forget about Woolf behind me and the other people having drinks and making small talk. I forget about the other people having sex all around, and I watch as one woman takes two men at the same time, and I wonder… could I do that? The man on his back sticks a hand in between the woman’s legs, rubbing at her clit. She cries out, her muscles tightening everywhere, and she starts to shake as she has an orgasm. A tiny moan slips out of my lips in response. “Christ,” I hear Woolf curse, and then he’s got my wrist latched into his strong hand and he’s pulling me away from the window. “Hey—” I protest, but he pulls me along roughly behind him. Back down the short hallway and out the door that we originally came in. “Woolf,” I say in anger. “I wasn’t ready to leave.” I expect him to pull me straight back toward The Wicked Horse but instead, as soon as we clear the door and it shuts behind us, his hands are on my shoulders and he pushes me back hard into the concrete wall of The Silo. The only thing that prevents my head from hitting the wall is his hand behind it as he crushes his mouth down on mine. He lets out a deep groan as our tongues meet and his other hand comes to my breast, squeezing it gently through the flimsy material of my dress and then pinching my nipple hard. “Woolf,” I cry out in pleasure as I pull my mouth away from his for a brief moment. His hand falls away from my breast and I think he thinks he hurt me, but it immediately drops down to my dress and he starts to haul it up as he kisses me again. Cool air hits my legs, which nearly buckle as his hand snakes down the front of my panties. He does nothing more than rub two fingers back and forth between my legs, and I’m almost embarrassed at how easy they glide because of how wet I am. Woolf’s face pulls back slightly, and he looks down at me with menacing eyes that glitter with fullblown lust. “I’m going to fuck you, Callie. You’re so wet and ready right now, and I know you need it.

God help me… I fucking need it too.”

Chapter 9

Woolf I’M GOING TO HELL. I’m going to hell. I’m going to hell. I don’t fucking care. I wait just a moment to see if Callie’s going to fight me on this but instead, she ends up tilting her hips against my hand, silently demanding more. Pulling away from her, I immediately start working at my belt buckle. I am frantic with the need to get inside of her, having never felt hornier in my entire life. I’ve seen threesomes more times than I care to count. Hell, participated in them too. And yeah, they’re a turn on, no doubt. But watching Callie watch that ménage? It was the most sensually erotic thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It put everything I’ve ever seen in The Silo to shame. Her breathing became ragged, she clutched her fists tight, and her skin flushed pink. I watched her lick at her bottom lip while her eyes glazed over, and I knew… she was wondering what that would feel like. What it would feel like to have two men possess her. Fill her. Worship her. But little Callie Hayes didn’t just want to know. I’m betting she needs to know. Unfortunately, there’s just me right now but I know I can scratch her itch. I know I should be stopping myself and walking away, but that’s impossible right now. Because even as much as I’d like to think this is an altruistic move for Callie, I’m doing this for myself too. It’s been eleven fucking years I’ve fantasized about this woman. A woman I should not have a problem walking away from. I’ve done it twice already after I fingered her to orgasm, but to her detriment—or benefit, who knows—she ended up crossing a line. The minute she demanded that I take her to The Silo, she became fair game. Because in that moment, my conscience had already decided to accept the fact that Callie may have a little naughty in her and I just needed to stop thinking of her as a virginally sweet innocent. In fact, I think I’ll test my theory right now as my belt swings free of the buckle. “Get your panties off,” I tell her gruffly as I lift my face for a moment. Her eyes are pinned to my hands working at my belt with an eager and expectant look. Fuck… I didn’t think it was possible to get harder, but my cock seems to swell further with a need to show off its size to her. “Callie,” I growl at her. She jumps and her eyes fly to mine. “Panties off. Right now.” She looks left, and then right. It’s dark outside, and there’s no exterior lighting other than the lights along the path between the two buildings. “Someone might see us,” she says in a hesitant voice. I lunge at her and she takes a step back, right into the concrete wall. Dropping to my knees, I push the bottom of her dress up until it’s bunched around her waist. Luckily, the material is stretchy and form fitting, which is something I definitely noticed when the vixen showed up at my office door not ten minutes ago.

Jesus… in ten minutes, I’ve gone from resolve to showing her around to pulling her outside so I can fuck her up against a wall. She’s got on a pair of white lace panties that I’d love to tear off her but that only works in the movies I think and besides… I don’t want to have the material bite into that smooth, delicate skin. Hooking my fingers in the waistband, I pull them swiftly down her legs. I smile when she lifts one foot and I pull the panties free, letting them drop and pool around her opposite ankle. And then I’m staring at her gorgeous pussy, and I can’t help myself. I grab her hips and pull her to my mouth, running my tongue up her center just once. Callie’s hands slam onto my head and grip my hair as she lets out the sweetest cry of stunned pleasure I’ve ever heard. I could sit here and lick this woman for hours to hear that again and again, but we are on borrowed time. Someone’s bound to come out of The Silo sooner or later. Standing up quickly, I dislodge Callie’s hands from my head where they come to rest on my shoulders. I unbutton my fly with a hard tug, and Callie tilts her head down to watch. My cock jumps like a bull getting ready to come out of a rodeo shoot. “Take it out,” I order her gruffly. Her eyes snap up to mine, looking confused. I close my hands over the tops of hers, pushing them off my shoulders and downward. When her fingers brush against the top of the waistband of my boxers, I tell her a little rougher, “Take it out.” She gives a whispering sigh, and her fingers slowly sink under the elastic edge. The first brush of her against me is intense, and I have to suppress a shout of relief and gratitude. She’s not hesitant in the slightest, wrapping one hand around my cock and pushing down at my jeans with the other. I help her out a little, pushing down at the material with my hands until I’m fully exposed and sitting hot and heavy in her grip. I lean forward, placing both of my hands against the concrete wall on either side of her head. Brushing my lips at her temple, I whisper, “Squeeze it, Callie. And don’t be gentle.” Her breath gushes out and she squeezes me, rubbing her thumb over the tip and smearing the pre-cum that’s leaking out. And Christ… such a simple move shouldn’t feel that good. I’m almost afraid of what it’s going to do to me when I’m sunk balls deep inside of her. I move a hand to the back of her head, grab a big chunk of her hair, and pull on it until her head tilts back. Her eyes are clouded with lust, and she licks at her lips again while her breath comes out in short pants. I kiss her softly even though every hormone in my body is demanding I go hard. I kiss her gently so I can hopefully get my racing heart under control. Her hand moves up and down on my dick, and it only takes two strokes and my hips are pumping against her touch, seeking and then demanding more. And while letting Callie Hayes jerk me off is indeed a nice idea, it’s not as great as fucking her. And like I told her just a few moments ago, I do intend to fuck her. Speaking of which… “Hold on,” is all the warning I give her when I reach down and grasp her under her ass, lifting her up. Good girl that she is she doesn’t even let her hold of me go, but she does bring her free hand to my shoulder to steady herself. I lift her up higher, pull her in closer, and then start to let her settle. She instinctively guides the end of my cock right to her hot, wet entrance and at the first touch against that beautiful place of pleasure, I hiss through my teeth. This is going to be a brutal fucking. I can already tell that there will be no holding back. “You’re too big,” she pants out as I push just a fraction of an inch into her. “Damn right I am,” I huff out as I tilt my head and graze my teeth along her neck. “But it’s going to feel good… promise.”

She seems to accept me at face value because she releases her hold on me, brings that hand to my opposite shoulder, and gives a tentative circle of her hips. I slip in just a little further. Callie is so fucking tight, and I’d like to imagine this is how her virginal body would have felt to me eleven years ago. Although my need to invade her swiftly is almost painful, I take tiny stabs into her body. Inch in, inch out. Working my way in increments, letting her body adjust to me. Callie helps me along by undulating and circling against me. My face tilts forward until my forehead is pressed against hers. Our breaths mingle with each other’s, ragged and heavy. My fingers press into the muscles of her ass, and I bite down on my lower lip hard to center myself for a moment. Otherwise, I might slam into her. Callie moans as I work in a little deeper. Her body grips me like a glove. Feels better than any other pussy I’ve ever fucked, and I’m not even all the way in. “Woolf?” Callie says in a hoarse voice. “Mmmmm?” “Please,” she gasps as I push in a bit more. “What do you need?” “I need—” I pull out a few inches, feeling her get wetter and wetter. “I need—” she gasps again as I push back in even further, almost to the hilt. “Tell me, Callie,” I urge her with my lips against her neck as I pull back out again. “I need—” I slam all the way in, breaking past the last of her tightness and she gives a strangled sob, her head falling forward to rest on my shoulder. For a brief moment, I think I’ve hurt her, but then she chuckles as she lifts her head back up. “That’s what I needed,” she says with a sly smile. I can’t fucking help it. I’m not one to be playful and flirty during my fucking, but she draws a smile out of me anyway as I rotate my hips and push her hard into the wall so I can grind against her. She gasps, eyes roll back, and I’m satisfied. Then… I fuck her. Hard. I piston in and out of her with long thrusts, aiming to hit her deep. I know I hit the mark because she cries out at the end of every stroke. She’s amazing. All around me wet and tight and hot. Her nails dig into my shoulders, and our skin makes beautiful music as it slaps against each other. I go faster, desperate to get her off, get me off. Feels so goddamn good that I don’t ever want it to end, and at the same time, I’m dying to orgasm inside of her. Mark her. “Woolf,” Callie gasps, and her nails really bite down into my skin. “I’m going to come.” I bend my knees slightly, giving a better upward angle, and rock into her deeper than I’ve ever been in a woman before… metaphorically. I hold still for just a brief moment, relishing this closeness I have with Callie on such an intimate level. Just a second or two, and it feels almost sacred. Callie doesn’t let me feel it too long though as she swivels her hips again, silently urging me back into the game. I reward her with a steady, deep pace, and we both start racing toward release again. I’m vaguely aware of the door to The Silo opening and the fall of heavy footsteps on the slate paver. Callie’s out of it, her moans cutting through the cool Wyoming air, oblivious to our audience. I personally don’t care because I’ve fucked in all kinds of public places before, and besides… anyone

coming out of The Silo has either watched me fuck or has been fucked by me, so I keep right on hammering inside of sweet Callie Hayes. I do, however, want to protect her identity to some extent, as I know she probably would freak out if she realized we were putting on a show right now. So I kiss her, because I haven’t done that since my cock slammed its way inside, and she melts further around me. Our tongues move slowly against each other, even as my hips continue to drive brutally against her. My breathing is out of control, my skin is prickling, and my balls start to tighten. Without warning, Callie’s hands go to my hair and her entire body stiffens. She jerks hard, causing my scalp to tingle, and bites down on my lower lip. It’s when her body starts shaking that I realize she’s coming. Violently. Her pussy grips my cock hard, squeezing it from every single angle, and when she rasps out, “Oh, God… Woolf… so good,” I fucking lose it. I have the quickest firing of an orgasm I’ve ever had in my life. Normally, there’s always a slow buildup and I work my way methodically toward it, but this release catches me so unaware that my legs begin shaking as I start to unload inside of Callie. I come so hard my balls actually ache from the force, and I can do nothing but hold myself inside of her with my head on her shoulder and let it overtake me. My body quakes as my orgasm thunders through my body, and if I were to die in this moment, that would be just fine with me, because how can life ever be good again after feeling this? I seem to come forever but finally my cock stops twitching and Callie’s body relaxes against me. “That was fucking hot,” I hear from behind me, and I recognize Cain’s voice. He’s my head of security at The Wicked Horse as well as a very active member of The Silo. Callie jerks in my arms and starts to raise her head, but I cup a hand behind her neck and press her face into my shoulder to save her the shame of seeing Cain there. “What do you need?” I ask as I suck in a deep breath, keeping Callie pinned to the building. “Catherine’s organizing a quick gang bang inside. She wants you to come play,” he says casually as I turn to see him leaning up against the door. His request isn’t unusual. Even though he just saw me just fucking Callie, he knows I would ordinarily be up for another round before too long. And Catherine doesn’t come to visit often. She’s from Las Vegas. A young socialite who married a man fifty-two years her senior. He can’t get it up anymore but he wants his wife to be pleased, so he gladly pays her membership here. He sometimes comes to watch, sitting in a wheelchair and sucking down oxygen. Catherine is one of the few “single” members here that can really take a hard gang bang. She loves it getting rough, and she’s never put a limit on the number of men. It’s always a fucking treat to participate in that. So yeah… Cain wouldn’t think twice about coming out here to see if I’m interested. Except I’m not. Not even the slightest… and that doesn’t have a damn thing to do with the annihilating orgasm I just had, but everything to do with the woman in my arms right now who has just gone tense all over from Cain’s invitation. “Offer my regrets. I’m leaving for the night,” I tell Cain, and he knows he’s dismissed. He walks back inside without another word. “Who was that?” Callie asks as she pulls her face back. Her words aren’t given in anger or condemnation. Just mere curiosity. “That’s Cain Bonham. He’s my head of security here.” “You can go back in if you want,” she says confidently. Almost too confidently, but I can see a different story in her eyes. It would actually destroy her if I did that, and I don’t like how that makes me

feel. Callie has no hold over me. What we just did… that was just fucking. I plan to be right back here tomorrow night, and I won’t give her a second thought. Fucking liar, my subconscious pipes up. “Nah,” I say casually. “I’ll walk you to your car and then I’m going to call it a night. I have to be up early tomorrow.” Callie wiggles a little, pushing against my shoulder, and I give into her silent demand to be let down. My half-hard cock slips out of her, and I lower her to the ground where she bends over to pull her panties back up. “Oh, jeez,” Callie says as she gazes down at herself. “What?” I ask as I tuck myself in and button up. “Do you have something to help me clean up?” she says as she looks back up at me with a sheepish grin. “There’s like a gallon of um… well, you know… leaking out of me.” Giving a bark of a laugh, I crouch down in front of her. I lift her foot up, freeing her panties that are hanging there, and use them to clean up the thick stream of my semen running down the insides of her thighs. As I stand up, I tell her, “Sorry. I haven’t had sex in a while. Must have been quite the buildup.” I chuckle over the thought, which explains why my nuts actually hurt as I was coming. But the tone of Callie’s voice has me sobering fast. “Woolf,” Callie says hesitantly as she pushes her dress down over her hips and smoothes it out. “We didn’t use protection.” Fuck. How in the fuck did I—? “Are you on the Pill?” I ask her quickly as I stuff her soaked panties in my back pocket. “Yes, but—” she says. “Then you don’t have anything to worry about,” I tell her with relief. “I swear I’m clean. I never, and I mean never, Callie, have gone without a condom. That was the first time ever.” She winces and chews on her lip for a second before saying, “I appreciate that, but um… I don’t know if I’m clean. Will was the only man I was ever with, but he was cheating on me.” “Christ,” I mutter as I swipe my hand through my hair. I just gave into overwhelming lust, stuck my dick in unknown territory, and who knows what that fucker could have passed on to his unsuspecting fiancée. It never crossed my mind to distrust Callie, and there’s no harm in that. This is Callie. Sweet Callie I’ve known all my life. But it also never crossed my mind to distrust the person she was with, and that’s totally out of character for me. I don’t give trust easily, and I’m usually very protective of myself. It’s just further proof that Callie drives me out of my mind, and that is not a good thing. I reach down and take her hand, give it a short squeeze. “I’m sure it’s fine. And I’m sure he wore protection, but I want you to go to the doctor tomorrow and get tested.” She nods at me as tears prick her eyes. “I’m sorry. I should have done that already, but I never thought this would happen, and I should have stopped you but I swear, Woolf… I wasn’t thinking straight.” I pull her roughly to me and kiss her quiet. When I draw back, I murmur, “Stop. I’m sure it’s fine and give yourself a break. I’ve heard that I’m impossible to resist.” She gives me a shy smile and blinks the tears quickly away from those beautiful eyes. Jesus… what in the fuck am I getting myself into here? Tonight I’ve broken so many rules, I don’t even know who I am anymore. I know one thing for sure though. Even though my common sense is telling me to cut this shit off right now and break ties, I could no more stop with Callie Hayes than I could give up oxygen.

Chapter 10

Callie I GLANCE AT the clock and when I realize it’s half past noon, my stomach gives a loud grumble, reminding me that it hasn’t been fed yet today. I make a command decision to go ahead and take the rest of the day off. This decision comes easy because I don’t have a damn thing to do, and I don’t like twiddling my thumbs. Woolf hasn’t seen fit to direct any work my way, and there’s no sense in me staying here any longer. There’s no telling when, or if, he’ll show up to the office. I log off my computer and reach into my bottom desk drawer for my purse. Just as I start to stand from my chair, the office door opens. A jolt of adrenaline spikes through me as I think that it might be Woolf, but it immediately recedes, leaving my skin tingly when I see Bridger walking in. He’s dressed in the standard western wear, but he’s not wearing a hat. It gives me the opportunity to take in his dark brown hair that he wears a little long like Woolf and golden brown eyes that appear outgoing and friendly. He’s a very good-looking man, if you just take in a quick glance. Pretty face, hard, muscled body, and confident swagger. But when you look closer, he just radiates this weird vibe that’s equally compelling and dangerous. Just when I think I could be comfortable in his presence, I realize I’m not sure I ever will be. He’s got a toothpick sticking out of his mouth that he lazily rolls with his tongue. He gives me a short smile, and I tell him, “Woolf’s not here.” “Know where he is?” “Nope,” I say succinctly as I stand straight from my chair. No fucking clue where he is. Haven’t seen him since night before last when he fucked me up against The Silo while apparently one of his employees watched, and then walked me to my car where he mumbled good-bye to me. When I got into work the next morning, feeling pleasurably sore from his huge dick, I was greeted with a handwritten note that said “Meetings in Cheyenne. Be back Friday.” And that was it. Haven’t heard a damn thing since. No email directing me to do something here at the office. No text to see how I’m doing. No call to say, “Hey, Callie. I fucking loved what we did other night. Want to do it again?” Just… nothing. And I. Am. Pissed. I am totally being blown off, and I’m actually really, really pissed. He knows. That fucker knows that I’ve crushed on him almost my entire life. I offered him my virginity. I let him finger me twice and then leave me. I let him fuck me in public while someone watched. He has got to know that I’ve got some feelings brewing up inside of me that might just need discussed. He knows alright, and that’s why he’s cut out of here. So he doesn’t have to deal with little Callie Hayes’ tender sensibilities. Asshole! “You look like you want to castrate someone right now,” Bridger comments casually as he takes the toothpick from his mouth.

I school my features, try to hide my feelings, and shrug my shoulders. The last person I would talk to about my feelings regarding Woolf is his best friend. I’m not in the mood to listen to him defend his buddy. “Well, it was nice seeing you,” I tell him as I step around my desk and head toward the front door. “If you want to hang around, be my guest. No telling if he’ll show up.” “Actually, he’ll be here in about an hour. Texted me a bit ago,” Bridger says with a smirk. I glare at him. “Then what was with the dumb act when you walked in?” He shrugs, but his eyes are filled with mischief. “Just wanted to see if you knew where he was.” I narrow my eyes at him and reach out toward the door. “You knew when you walked in here I didn’t know where he was, and I don’t appreciate you trying to rub my nose in it.” “Whoa, wait a minute,” he says with raised eyebrows and holding his hands up defensively, the toothpick still gripped between a thumb and forefinger. “I was just trying to get a read on things so I could offer up my expert advice to you.” My hand drops from the doorknob. He’s put the bait out there, and I’m thinking about taking it. “What are you? A relationship expert or something.” Bridger snorts and looks at me like I’m the dumbest person on the face of the earth. “Fuck no. I don’t do relationships.” And he actually shudders in what I think might be revulsion when he says the word “relationships”. “Then why would I want your advice?” I ask caustically. “Because I am a Woolf Jennings expert,” he says with a wink. “I know him better than anyone on this planet, and it’s your lucky day that I feel like sharing.” Turning to face Bridger, I cross my arms over my chest. I look at him skeptically, but he has me hooked. He knows it too, so there’s no sense in dancing around. I take the bait. “Okay, oh wise one. Lay it on me.” Bridger walks over to the secretarial chair I just vacated, considers sitting in it but then reconsiders because there’s no way his frame would fit into that thing, so instead, he chooses to lean back against the wall. “Let me make sure I have the entire story.” He pauses and gives me a confident wink before he says, “You crushed on Woolf your entire life. You wanted him to take your virginity. He refused but did give you your first orgasm. He also broke your heart, but you still retained a part of it for him. Now you’re back and Woolf doesn’t know what to do with you. You’re not the same girl he knew. You’re different. You want more in your life, and the type of “more” you want is exactly the type of “more” that Woolf can give you. The only problem is that now that he’s fucked you… felt that sweet pussy… he’s hooked dangerously on a woman he wants but doesn’t really think he deserves. You, on the flip side, felt that amazing cock inside of you and realized it was the best feeling in the world, but you’re also a woman with feelings and emotions. You want more from Woolf. You want his cock and his heart. And today… well, you’re just pissed he hasn’t called you and reassured you that when he fucked you the other night at The Silo with Cain watching, that was something a bit more intimate than just casual sex.” He finally shuts up. My head is spinning. I blink hard at him. “How in the fuck do you know all that?” I ask in amazement, not even mortified he knows intimate details like that and is throwing around ‘cock’ and ‘pussy’ like it’s nothing. “I mean… okay, clearly, Woolf tells you everything, which is a testament to your friendship. But how do you know me? I mean… how could you possibly know that was my first orgasm? It’s like you read my mind.”

Bridger gives a soft snort of amusement but his eyes are serious. “It’s just something I do. Read people, that is. As to that being your first orgasm, Woolf suspected it and now you just confirmed it for me. Now, do you want my advice?” “Let me guess,” I say lightly. “You’re going to tell me to leave your buddy alone. He doesn’t need the crazy that comes with trying to form a relationship. Or wait… actually, you’ll tell me that Woolf doesn’t do relationships. He’s too closed off. It’s not his thing. He likes fucking around. He thinks monogamy is for fools.” Bridger pushes off from the wall, straightening up his massive frame. In two long strides, he’s in front of me… staring down with an impassive face. I feel like I’ve angered him, and there’s a definite menacing vibe around him, yet his face is a blank slate. I resist the urge to back away. My voice is raspy though when I say, “Isn’t that what you’re going to tell me? To stay away from Woolf?” He stares at me for what seems like forever, but then he says, “No. That’s not what I was going to say.” Bridger then puts the toothpick back in his mouth, turns toward the door and opens it up, steps out onto the wooden porch, and then shuts the door softly behind him. I’m frozen in place for just a moment, and then I’m scrambling out the door right behind him. I hastily lock up and then run down the steps, catching him before he opens the door to his Corvette. “Wait,” I practically shriek at him. He turns to face me with a knowing smile on his face, and I have the grace to blush over my assumptions. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. Will you give me your advice?” He considers my request, making me wait for it. He’s doing that to torture me, but he finally shuts the car door, takes the toothpick back out of his mouth and throws it to the ground, and then places his other hand on the hood of the car to rest. “My advice is simple. Stick with Woolf. He needs what you have more than you can ever imagine.” “I don’t understand,” I say, even though what he told me was indeed simple. “What makes you say that about him?” “Let’s just say that Woolf sort of got sucked into this lifestyle because of me. He followed me in and has had a ball fucking his way through a bevy of beautiful women. He’s never had a serious relationship in his life, and he’ll tell you that’s the way he likes it. But he’s wrong. He’s the type of man built for monogamy, but he’s gotten too sidetracked by me. He sees me and feels a bond toward me, and so he thinks this is the life for him. But it’s not. He may want those things that The Silo offers, but he doesn’t need it. Not like me. The sooner he realizes it and let’s it go, the happier he’ll be. And you, Miss Hayes, are just the woman to do that.” Wow. Just wow. Bridger keeps his gaze on me, giving me an opportunity to digest what he’s said. He wants to make sure I understand, and I do. I give him a nod of my head and a smile, and he gives me a tentative smile back as he opens the Corvette door. Just as he’s lowering himself in, I think of something else. “Wait,” I call out, and he pauses. “Why do you need it?” Bridger’s lips flatten out, and there is no trace of the smile left on his face. “That, Callie Hayes, is none of your business.” He then drops down into the bucket seat of his car and shuts the door. I watch as he fires the engine and pulls away, leaving me with all kinds of confusion even though I clearly understood what he said.

* THE CREDITS TO Iron Man 2 start rolling, and I get up from the couch. Time to start Iron Man 3. I decided when I got home this afternoon that I was going to consider Bridger’s advice. It’s an admitted fact on my part that I’ve carried a torch for Woolf Jennings for years and I have feelings invested. It’s also a fact that he desires me, and well duh… I’m hot for him too. That experience the other night at The Silo, from the moment I walked in until the moment Woolf was stuffing my semen-soaked panties in his back pocket, was the most exhilarating experience of my life. Woolf… inside of me… the most sensuous, erotic, naughty, and sinful thing ever. That one experience almost wiped the slate clean for me. It’s like no other sexual encounter has ever counted. It’s like I was a virgin and he made me new. What I don’t know, though, is whether my heart can take the beating that Woolf would be sure to hand it if he’s really only wanting a sexual relationship. Or even worse yet, that the other night is all there will ever be. I would hope not. The mere fact that Bridger sought me out to tell me that told me something else. It told me that Woolf must have some type of feelings for me or else Bridger wouldn’t be pushing this. That gives me the confidence to sit back and wait. I slide the DVD out and put the next one in. Nothing makes me feel better than some super hero action and it will keep my mind occupied. I hit Play and then walk toward the kitchen to make some popcorn while the opening credits roll. My mom and dad are back in residence in Cheyenne so I have the entire house to myself. It’s not as grand as Woolf’s home, but at six-thousand square feet, it’s more than big enough to hold our family. My mom tried to talk me into coming with them, but I hastily declined. Part of it was because of Woolf, but the other part? Well, Jackson is my home. There’s no finer place in the world to be, and I never felt settled at the Governor’s Mansion. My goal, however, is to find a place of my own, but only after I find a more stable career than working as an assistant for a man that doesn’t bother to show up for work. The doorbell rings just as I hit the kitchen and for a few seconds, I consider ignoring it. But then I think to myself… maybe, just maybe, it’s Woolf. He’s come to apologize. With flowers and to tell me that he misses me. To tell me he wants me. To tell me he needs me. To beg me to make love to him. I snicker to myself as my thoughts turn romantic and sweet, which is ludicrous. Woolf Jennings doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body and he’s about as sweet as a rattlesnake. Still, the prospect that maybe it is him has me walking toward the door, Iron Man and popcorn forgotten. When I open my door, the heavy feeling of disappointment fills me so quickly, I almost buckle under the weight. The black-haired, blue-eyed devil I was angry at but was still hoping to see isn’t standing on the porch. “Hello, Callie,” Will says softly with pleading eyes. Soft, brown eyes I once thought were the answer to my broken heart, now begging me for something. To forgive him? To come back? “What are you doing here?” I ask in surprise. Never in a million years would I think Will would have come here. He’s an incredibly busy and important man at his law firm. We had to plan vacations and trips at least a year in advance, and outside of the ten days he allotted himself every year for a vacation—on which I will point out he still worked—it practically needed a papal decree to get leave approved.

Will Tynnick simply didn’t drop everything and hop a plane to fly across the country. “Can I come in?” he asks politely. I automatically step back to give him entrance. While I didn’t think I was ready to have this conversation, the fact that he’s here and confronting me has sort of changed the game plan. Giving myself a silent pep talk, I shut the door behind him. I walk into the family room, and he follows me. After I pick up the remote control from the table and turn off the TV, I take a seat in one of the single armchairs done in thick blue leather. Will looks around and murmurs, “I still can’t get over the amount of animals hanging in here.” My eyes do a brief sweep of the room, taking in the various mounted heads. Typical western flare, the big, bad hunters showing off their skills. Elk and moose heads dot the walls with a large bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, all mementos of animals killed through the years by my mom and dad. There’s not one stuffed mount up there killed by me, because even though I’m a Wyoming girl to the core and a meat eater to boot, I just can’t harm an animal. I can’t even kill the trout I catch and have to turn my head from my father as he breaks their necks after he takes them off the hook. My father thinks it’s adorable, my mother just shakes her head, I think slightly disappointed I’ve apparently not inherited that caveman strand of DNA that makes our people bring home sustenance. Will takes a seat on the matching blue, leather couch which is overstuffed and cushy. It’s my favorite place to lay and watch TV, which is something I should be doing right this very minute. He’s nervous. His gaze fluttering all around, until he finally gets the nerve up to look at me. Will swallows hard and says, “I’m so sorry, Callie. And I’m embarrassed and humiliated. I don’t even know quite what to say to explain what you saw.” “I think I understood what I saw,” I tell him, not unkindly, but to speed this up. I don’t need a play by play. “I don’t think you did,” he says urgently. “That was only the second time I’d done that and I was just —” “Did you wear protection?” “Yes,” he says quickly. “Of course I did. I would never put you at risk like that.” I’m not surprised by this answer. I had assumed as much and I did, in fact, go see my former OB/GYN yesterday to get tested. The office called me just this morning that the results were all negative, and I almost broke down and cried. I don’t know what I would have done if I had put Woolf at risk. Probably murdered Will, but that’s moot now. Woolf and I were both so stupid the other night. Thinking with those anatomical parts below our waist and not with our heads. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But oh, so damn good. “Callie, I swear that will never happen again. I was doing it out of curiosity, and Judge Lane… she came on to me. You have to believe me, I didn’t initiate that. She came after me.” “Will,” I say carefully… making sure he hears the sincerity in my voice. “I don’t think—” “Please,” he wails and surges off the couch to drop to his knees before me. He takes my hands in his and squeezes them desperately. “I’ll do anything to get you back. I love you so fucking much and I made the biggest mistake of my life, but I swear I’ll make it up to you.” “Will, I can’t—” “Callie,” he almost barks at me hysterically. “I’ll do anything. I’ll even move here to Wyoming if you want. I know you hated Connecticut—” “What?” I ask in astonishment.

“Yeah… I’ll move here. We can make it work.” “Wait. You knew I hated it in Connecticut but weren’t willing to make me happy before, but you are now.” “Well,” he says hesitantly, realizing just how moronic that sounds. “I mean… I’m sure I would have offered to do that before—” I stand up from the couch, pulling my hands from his. “Will, I’m sorry. But I just can’t go back. I can’t unsee that and the trust is broken. I just don’t think I could ever let that go.” Will rises up from the floor and steps up to me. His brown eyes are swimming in misery, and I feel a tiny spear of hurt punch into me. The first time, really, that I’ve felt the loss of what we had. While I may have had all kinds of doubts, clearly, there was some part of me that loved him. And I think I’m feeling the weight of that now. “Can we please just talk about this?” he asks softly. With a sigh, I nod my head. I’ve got years invested with this man. I love him even as I detest what he did. I owe it to him to at least listen to what he has to say. The Old Callie… the one who could easily slip back into a molded lifestyle, is making the decision to hear him out. Or maybe that’s the New Callie who is going to hear him out only because she knows she has the strength to turn him down when it’s all said and done.

Chapter 11

Woolf I DRAIN THE LAST of the bourbon from my glass and set it down on the top of the bar, sliding it toward Stephanie. “Hit me again.” Stephanie arches a lovely eyebrow upward but pours my second shot. “Something must be going on to cause the cool, calm, and collected Woolf Jennings to be sitting at The Wicked Horse and drinking a late lunch.” She pushes the glass toward me and I reach out to take it, but on a whim, I circle my hand around her wrist instead. She gives a soft intake of breath and her eyes sparkle with anticipation. Stephanie likes having her wrists pinned. “You’re due for a break,” I tell her, which I’m sure she’s not since we haven’t even opened yet, but I’m the boss, so whatever. I stroke my thumb over her pulse, feeling it beat hard against my skin. This is what I need. A few shots of liquid encouragement and a quick fuck in the office. That will get me back on track. Purge out the insanely obsessive thoughts of Callie that are holding me hostage. The front door to the club opens, and I recognize Bridger’s frame entering against the haze of bright sunlight. The door closes, and he comes into focus. His eyes cut to the bar—maybe to the glass of bourbon or the way I’m holding Stephanie, who knows—but he scowls when he tips his gaze back to me. “Hey man,” I say in welcome as he approaches us. “Stephanie and I were just about to hit the office for a little fuckfest. Come join us.” Bridger doesn’t even stop his stride but looks over at Stephanie and says, “Sorry, darlin’. Not interested right now.” He doesn’t look back at me as he walks past, but he does say, “I need to talk to you.” Sighing, I let go of Stephanie’s wrist and take the glass of bourbon, shooting it straight down the back of my throat. Hissing out, I slap the glass on the bar. I give her a wink and a devilish grin. “Give me a few minutes and then come on back. It won’t take me that long to get him to change his mind.” She laughs and picks up the glass. “Can’t wait.” I turn from the bar and saunter back to our office. Feeling good. Going to tap some sweet pussy and then I’m going to be back in the saddle so to speak. As soon as I enter the office, I can feel the anger vibrating off Bridger. He looks at me with dark eyes and says, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Huh? “Well, I was getting ready to fuck Stephanie for a little afternoon quickie. Something I’ve done often and with you in attendance. What the hell is wrong with that?” And even as I say it, my stomach cramps at the thought of fucking her, because that’s not who I really want. Not who I want at all. “I want to know why you’re interested in that when you’ve got Callie Hayes.” His voice is hard with a measure of disdain. “Callie Hayes?” I ask, playing dumb. Playing dumb because I’m not about to even give credence to his idea.

“Yeah,” he says with a frustrated grunt. “The beautiful girl who you fucked the other night and told me the next morning it was the best sex you’ve ever had in your life. Remember that?” “Well, yeah… sure I said that,” I admit shamefully. “But that was just post-sex haze talking.” “It was a full twelve hours after you blew a nut, asshole.” I wince, because I know Bridger well and I know without a doubt I’m not going to win this argument. This man knows everything about me. Hell, he knows more about me than I do because the man is the most sentient person I’ve ever met. It also doesn’t help that I tell him practically everything. He knows everything that I do because I never hesitate to divulge. He’s one of those people that I know holds my confidence tightly and has uncanny wisdom which I respect. I tell him everything because I want him to impart that precious wisdom on me. Hell… the minute I saw Bridger walk in the bar, I knew I wanted him to save me from the offer I had just made to Stephanie. I knew that he knew she wasn’t the right course for me to take, and that he would bail me out. Now I need him to give me a push. “I have nothing to offer her,” I tell Bridger with frustration as I sit down heavily on the couch. He leans his ass on our desk, propping his hands by his hips. “You have everything to offer her.” “Great sex?” I say with a colorless laugh. “That’s a damn good start,” Bridger says seriously. “From there, it will develop.” “What will develop?” I demand sarcastically of the all-knowing, all-seeing Bridger Payne. “A relationship? Love? Marriage and kids?” “Possibly,” he says with a careless shrug of his shoulders. “Maybe nothing but great sex, but as I said, it’s a fucking awesome place to start.” Shaking my head in denial, I argue, “That’s not me. I don’t want the responsibility of commitment. I want to do as I please when I want.” Bridger says nothing. Just stares at me patiently, waits for me to make an attempt to work this out on my own. It pisses me off, but gives me the steam to keep talking it through. “She and I are too different,” I point out. “She’s all sunshine and sweet lemonade. I’m like a thunderstorm and will roll right over her, ruining everything she is.” “You’re a fucking poet,” Bridger says drily. “And yeah… that’s a damn good description of the two of you.” “So why would I even attempt to snuff out that sunshine?” I ask in exasperation. “Why would I ever want to do that to her?” Bridger gives a laugh as he pushes off from the desk. He walks over to the door and places his hand on the knob. “Dude… my money is on Callie. I think her sunshine is going to banish your thunderstorm in like a nanosecond.” “What?” I ask in astonishment. “You heard me. It doesn’t need repeating.” Leaning forward on the couch, I scrub my hands over my face and then gaze in contemplation at the tips of my boots. Do I want to be influenced by Callie? I wouldn’t be lying when I say I’m drawn to her light. Everything about her makes me feel good. Always has. “Woolf,” Bridger says softly and I look up at him. “We’re tight, you and me.” I nod. “But I choose this lifestyle because it’s innately who I am. You followed me here, and I love every fucking minute of our journey together. But man, hear me when I say… you cannot stand beside me in my

loneliness forever. It balances me, but partner… it will destroy you one day.” Even as he says those words, I know they’re true. Otherwise, the sharp bite of pain in the middle of my chest wouldn’t feel so exquisitely honest. Maybe I’ve always known there was something more for me, but I was too afraid to ever give it credence. Or maybe I didn’t want to leave Bridger behind because I think he needs me. Now Bridger is making me reconsider. There’s a soft knock on the door, and Bridger turns the knob to open it. He doesn’t even look at Stephanie standing there. He knew it was her. Expected her. Knew that I told her to come back, because he knows me. “Come on in, sugar,” he says while staring at me. “Woolf has something important he needs to do, but I decided I want to play a little.”

* CALLIE’S GOT ME on a nice chase this afternoon. After I left The Wicked Horse, where I’m sure Stephanie and Bridger had a very nice time together, I drove out to The Double J. I assumed Callie would be there working, but her truck wasn’t there and it was locked up tight. I went in regardless to see if she had left a note, but nothing. This concerned me because it wasn’t like Callie. She was too responsible, and it fired dread up within me. Perhaps I’d already run her off for good. I quickly called Bridger, who told me that he’d seen Callie there earlier but that she looked like she was getting ready to leave. Asshole couldn’t have told me that when he was shooing me out the door an hour ago? Now I’m making the forty-five minute drive back to Jackson, hoping she’s at her parents’ house. I use the long drive to sift through my thoughts and try to organize them. I reflect on what Bridger told me today, and I focus on his confidence that Callie is good for me. That I wouldn’t destroy her. His money was on the girl. This time. I’m still not sure what I hope to accomplish by going to her house. She’s a woman, so I’m sure it will involve talking. I guess we have stuff to talk about, but personally, I hope it involves fucking. Lots and lots and lots of fucking. While I’m recharging, we can talk. And that is the dilemma. While I’m confident I can master and captivate her body, I’m not quite sure what to do with her heart. She has a big one. As big as the state of Wyoming, and it’s vulnerable. I’ve hurt it before, I know, and it’s something that’s always weighed on me from time to time. But mostly I’m worried that I’m not truly cut out for a relationship. I don’t know why I think that, but I do. It’s possible because I’ve never had one, I’m afraid of the unknown. What terrifies me even more is that I love my lifestyle so much—an incredible nonstop orgy since college—that I won’t want anything different. That Callie would not be enough to satisfy my appetites for the long term. It shames me to feel this way, and yet I can’t help it. It’s the only thing I know. It’s my comfort. It’s true that I followed Bridger into the lifestyle. Early on in our college years, he found solace in the depravity of meaningless sex and the thrill of pushing the kinkiest of boundaries. I just liked the meaningless sex, but Bridger truly needed it. It’s true… he’s happiest in his loneliness, and I’ve stood there right with him the entire way. Maybe that’s what makes me happy too? But maybe something else will make me happier.

A sudden image bursts into my head, filled with bright, dazzling color. Callie and me… with children… walking along the Snake River with fishing poles in our hand. I shake my head to dispel it, but a lingering warmth remains in my blood. Fucking weird. When I pull into Callie’s driveway, I see her truck sitting outside of the garage and a dark green sedan beside it. It could be any number of people stopping by to visit, so I don’t give it a second thought. As soon as I turn off the ignition, the front door opens and Callie steps out onto the front porch with a man. Instantly, blistering rage rises within me at the thought of her being with someone else. Callie… another man… walking out of her house. But then I recognize the dude. Perfectly styled brown hair, sleek dress pants, and a crisp white dress shirt. Her dull fiancé, Will, who apparently has a kinky side under all that starch. My rage is instantly replaced by fear and jealousy. He’s clearly back here to make amends and get Callie back. This only two days after I fucked her and left her once again, without a fucking peep out of me since. She’s a prime target right now, feeling all used and discarded. I push the door of my truck open and hop out, walking up toward the porch. Neither of them see me as they stand close together talking. As soon as my boot hits the bottom porch step, both of them turn to look at me. I spare a brief glance at Callie, whose eyes flare wide with surprise to see me there. Will doesn’t recognize me, and why should he? We met briefly at a Christmas party last year, and he was three sheets to the wind at the time. He gives me an uncertain smile, and I stalk right up to him. When I’m two feet away, he must take stock of the murderous look on my face and he starts backing up. I keep pounding toward him, backing him all the way up into door. I don’t touch him, my hands hanging loosely by my sides, but then again, I don’t need to. The fact I tower over him by a good five inches and have a solid forty pounds on him, coupled with the menace I’m projecting, has him thoroughly cowed. “Woolf,” Callie barks at me, but I ignore her. I lean forward and get in his face. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Will cuts a nervous glance at Callie, his eyes silently begging her to save him. Fucking pussy. How in the world she ever could have been attracted to this pecker is beyond me? “Woolf,” Callie says in exasperation as she grabs ahold of my arm and attempts to pull me away. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Will actually gasps when Callie drops the “F” bomb, and my opinion of him sinks even lower. “Callie,” Will says in disapproval as he attempts to straighten his body. Only because I’d get no satisfaction out of pounding this twit into the ground, and also because I’m finding it wholly unsatisfying that he’s so scared of me, I back up a step. “Oh, for crying out loud,” Callie says as she lets me go and reaches around me to take Will by the arm. She pulls him away from me, and he looks immensely grateful. “Will… just go get a hotel room and we’ll meet up for breakfast tomorrow like we planned.” He makes an attempt to be a man. Looks at me, and then back at Callie. “Um… do you need me to stay?” She rolls her eyes at Will, shoots me a disgusted glare, and then looks back to him. “No, I’m fine. This is Woolf Jennings. You met him last year at Dad’s Christmas party. Normally, he’s not this much of a jackass.” “That’s right,” I say pleasantly enough. “I’m normally a pretty nice dude except when someone fucks around on one of my friends.”

“Jesus, Callie,” Will snarls at her with a pained look. “Did you have to tell other people?” I take another menacing step toward Will and Callie steps in between us, placing a soft hand on my chest to halt my progress. With her other hand, she pinches the bridge of her nose and rubs at what I’m thinking is a monster headache. Created by Will, no doubt. In a tired voice, Callie says, “Will… just go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Will gives a curt nod of his head and walks down the porch steps. When he clears the last one, her hand falls away from my chest and she watches him get in his car. When he pulls out of the driveway, she gives me a short glare before turning and walking into her house without a word to me. She even attempts to shut the door on me, but I stick a quick leg out and manage to get my boot in between the door and the jamb before it closes. She looks over her shoulder at me in surprise and then turns away, walking into the kitchen. “Go away, Woolf. I’ll see you at work on Monday,” she says in a tired voice. I don’t respond but follow her right into the kitchen. “Are your parents here?” “No,” she says in surprise as she turns to look at me. “Why would that—?” That’s as far as she gets before I’m on her, taking her face in between my roughened palms and kissing the ever-loving fuck out of her. I had planned to talk when I got here, but apparently, I’ve got a new game plan that I’m making up as I go along. The terrible warring sensations of rage, jealousy, guilt, and desire overwhelming me, and because I suck at talking and excel at fucking, I decide to try that angle first. Callie gasps the minute our lips touch, and then a silky moan floats up her throat and settles against my tongue. It tastes better than anything I’ve ever had in my mouth. One hand behind her head, another pressed into her lower back, and I pull her in so I can feel every single beautiful inch of her body flush against me. I take a few steps, walking her backward into the stainless steel refrigerator, and when she’s good and truly trapped, I pull away from her slightly, drawing my one hand from the back of her head to grip her jaw. Her eyes are filled with lust and wariness, which is a hauntingly beautiful look. It makes my cock even harder. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you,” I tell her. “I’m sorry I stayed away from you. Okay?” She nods against the hold I have on her. “We’ll talk about Will and us later, okay?” She nods again. “I’m going to make you come now with my face between your legs, okay?” “Oh, God,” she moans, and I drop to my knees before her.

Chapter 12

Callie I FEEL LIKE I’M in the Twilight Zone. Woolf Jennings kneeling at my feet. Beautifully unattainable Woolf Jennings, who has walked away from me on three prior occasions, now kneeling at my feet. I wonder how fast he’s going to walk away from me this time. Woolf sits back on his haunches and skims his hands slowly up the outside of my denim-clad legs. When they reach my hips, he squeezes and in a low, husky, oh-so-very-sexy voice, he says, “Do you like having your pussy eaten?” My face flushes hot, and I cut my gaze away from him because the naked lust in his eyes is too overwhelming. He squeezes my hips again to get my attention. “Callie?” I slowly look back down at him and whisper, “Um… I don’t know. Will didn’t really like to—” “Fucking, pansy-ass motherfucker,” Woolf mutters as he squeezes a little too hard on my hips. “He never deserved you.” “At least he wanted me,” I say with my chin rising, feeling the need to defend Will, or really, defend my choice of a man. “I always wanted you, Callie,” he says, and I hear truth in his words. “I just didn’t think I should have you. Big difference.” “And now?” “And now I’m not going to fight it. Bridger says I should go for this, so I intend to.” I give a mirthful chuckle. “That Bridger… Mr. Know-It-All.” Woolf’s hands come to the button of my jeans, and he skillfully pops it open. He pinches the zipper and slowly slides it down before peeling the fly open. Leaning in, he places a whisper of a kiss on the skin just above the waistband of my panties. “When I get done with you, you’re going to love having your pussy eaten,” he tells me with quiet confidence. My hands rise up, my fingers sift into his hair, and I gently rub his scalp. He actually tilts his head, pushing into one of my palms with eyes closed and lets out a purr of satisfaction. “Woolf,” I murmur and his eyes open up, gorgeously blue like the Wyoming sky. “I went to the doctor and got tested. I’m all good, and Will assured me he always wore protection.” He gives me a slight nod with a smile, and then leans back from me slightly. His hand taps at one ankle. “Lift your foot.” I do and he removes one of my boots, tossing it over his shoulder, before doing the same to the other leg. Woolf looks up at me and says, “Do me a favor, Cal. Take off your shirt and bra.” Modesty overwhelms me, and I hesitate. Woolf has made me come three times, and he’s never seen me naked. What if my breasts aren’t large enough? Or I have cellulite on my thighs that grosses him out? Fuck… did I shave today? Yes, I think I did. “Callie,” Woolf says gently, and my eyes lock with his. “Let me see those beautiful tits.” I swallow hard and with shaking hands, lift the hem of the lightweight turtleneck I am wearing up and

over my head, pulling it off. Giving a shake of my hair, I drop the shirt to the floor. Woolf’s eyes gaze hungrily at my chest, and he licks his bottom lip. “Bra, too.” I reach to the center front clasp and flick it open, slowly peeling it aside. My breasts are on the small side, or so I think, barely filling my B cup. But at least they’re perky, and I don’t have to look down to know my nipples are contracted into tight buds. “Christ,” Woolf says almost as if in prayer. “So fucking beautiful.” His hands get to work, pushing my jeans and underwear down together, deftly lifting each of my legs to pull the material free right along with my socks. And then I am completely and starkly naked in front of him as he once against leans back on his haunches and devours me with his eyes. Another wave of modesty hits, and my hands come up to cover my breasts. He actually growls at me before they even get halfway there and says in a warning tone, “Your hands can touch your breasts but it only better be to pinch your nipples while I’m tongue fucking you, okay?” “Oh, jeez,” I mutter. Well… that was more of a moan. Woolf grins at me as his hands come back to my hips. “Little Callie Hayes likes her some dirty talk, huh?” My face goes red, but there is one thing I don’t like, and that’s Woolf referencing the Old Callie. He needs to know… I’m a big girl and while I’m fighting through some unease at this completely new experience, I’m also perfectly capable of handling the Big Bad Woolf. Woolf chuckles as he takes in my blush, but I wipe that smile right off his face when I bring my hands all the way up and do exactly as he instructed. I pinch and twist my nipples with my fingers, giving a low moan of appreciation over how damn good that feels. And that smile does indeed disappear and his eyes go dark with something that I can’t describe. It’s carnal and deeply possessive, and in this moment, I know Woolf is going to devour me. With a large hand coming up to my stomach, Woolf gives me a slight push until I lean back against the refrigerator. The cold steel against my back feels amazing against my heated skin. He then gently picks up one leg and places it over his shoulder. My hands freeze their motions and I stare in avid fascination down at him as he stares in frank appreciation at me. Or is that… reverence? A sharp pang of pleasure hits me square between the legs before he even touches me, and I almost become afraid of his touch. As if I won’t be able to handle it. Woolf’s large hands are gentle as they go back to my hips, but only briefly before they are sliding inward. His fingers brush softly against my skin and then they are peeling me wide apart. I have only a brief moment of embarrassment that he has me so exposed and vulnerable standing in my kitchen completely naked, before he brings his mouth to me in what I can only describe as a hot, wet, openmouthed kiss against me. A guttural sound tears loose and my knee buckles, causing strain on my other leg resting on his shoulder. Woolf merely moves one hand in between my legs so he can press his hand to my bare ass to help hold me steady, never once letting his mouth move from me. If I thought Woolf’s fingers and dick were magical, I’d say his tongue is almost divine in nature. It seems to know exactly how to lick and flutter against me, putting the right amount of pressure and stimulation against my clit. He’s in between my legs no more than a minute before I feel myself starting to tighten up. Woolf briefly pulls away and looks up at me. “Hands on your tits, baby.” “Huh?” I ask in a daze as I realize my fingers are sunk deep into his hair, and I’ve got it in a death grip.

“Put those fingers to better use than scalping me and play with your tits,” he says with a smirk, his lips shiny wet from his ministrations. I release his hair and cup my breasts, massaging them as requested. Woolf watches me a moment and when he’s satisfied, he returns his mouth to me. He alternates lazy circular licks with fast flutters and my hips start rotating against him—tilting forward, seeking more of his touch. He groans over my response and pushes against me harder, moving his tongue against me faster. Licking at me roughly, sucking my clit. I look down at his dark head moving back and forth as he eats me alive, and I think to myself… Woolf Jennings has his tongue inside me. Woolf Jennings is eating my pussy. With a sharp slap of his tongue against my clit, I start to come, feeling it carefully break free with an exquisitely sharp burst of power that makes me cry out, just before it travels through my entire body like an unquenchable wave. Woolf presses harder and laps at me fervently, drawing out my orgasm until tears spring up in my eyes because the sensation is just too overwhelming. My hands fall to his head, and I actually shove him away from me. With reluctance, Woolf gives in and lets me push his face back. He swipes his hand across his mouth and grins up at me. Gently lowering my leg to the floor, he says, “You taste so fucking good, Callie. I expect I’m going to be doing that quite a bit to you.” I laugh nervously and suck in a deep breath, trying to calm the racing of my heart even though I feel prickles of pleasure still zinging through me. Woolf sits up straight on his knees, and he deftly opens his belt and jeans. He pushes them down his hips just far enough to pull his cock out, and I get my first really good look at it. While I felt its massive girth and length both with my hand and deep inside of me the other night, it’s quite a different story to see the beauty of it. And it is incredibly beautiful. I never gave much thought to that part of the male anatomy that made sex possible. Will’s wasn’t particularly big, but it wasn’t small. It filled me okay, but it was just… a penis. This, though. This large, solid shaft is utterly magnificent with strong veins running down its length and a wide, flared head that has a bit of clear pre-cum dribbling from the slit. Woolf strokes it lazily with just his forefinger and thumb as he watches me checking out what is most definitely not just a penis. It’s a cock. Woolf holds his other hand out to me and with a wicked grin says, “Come on, darlin’. Climb aboard.” He gives me a tug, and I step forward on shaky legs as he lowers back down until his ass rests on his heels. He pulls on me until I’m standing over his lap and urges me down. My hands balance myself on his shoulders, and I squat down toward that monstrous dick looming upward in anticipation. Woolf uses a hand on my hip and the other at the base of his shaft to guide our union. When the head touches the outer lips of my pussy, Woolf drags it back and forth a few times and even thumps it once on my clit. I gasp and my eyes flare wide in surprise, causing Woolf to chuckle. So many things I’m learning. “Come on, Callie,” he says gruffly. “Sink that gorgeous pussy down on my cock. I want you to ride me, baby.” And oh, God… he’s so sinfully bad. Filthy-talking boy who makes me want to do every dirty thing he commands of me. I slowly push down onto him, feeling my flesh expand. Feeling the nip of pain as he invades me, knowing how good it’s going to feel when he’s all the way in. Woolf groans as I drop down, and he has an almost pained look on his face as he watches his cock disappear into me. He looks up at me, huffs out a pent-up breath, and says, “God, Callie. You just don’t

know how good you feel on me.” My entire body goes almost liquid hearing him say that. It’s not just a generalized statement that pops out of your mouth during the heat of some really good sex. Woolf was saying that I feel good to him. He’s saying it in a way that means I feel better than anything he’s ever felt before, and as I lower myself all the way down on his erection, and he fills me up fuller than I’ve ever been before, I feel my heart start to fall prey to this dangerous wolf. His hands come to my hips and he holds me there just a moment so he can kiss me. A deep, toe-curling kiss that causes me to hunger for something more. His hands slide down to my ass and he urges me to lift up. I keep my feet firmly planted on the slate tile of my mother’s designer kitchen, and I raise myself off his cock. When I get to the end… when I feel the head of his cock stretching me a bit before breaking free, I push back down on him roughly. “Fuck yes,” Woolf hisses as he closes his eyes in rapture, and a thrill of power runs through me that I did that to him. I rise up and fall back down on him, feeling myself getting wetter with every gliding stroke. Woolf holds me steady by my hips, uses his powerful arms to help my movements. I ride him faster and faster until my breasts are bouncing almost painfully. As I start to tire, I merely loop my arms over his shoulders and clasp my hands behind his head. I use his strong upper body to pull myself up and down on him. Woolf starts to take over, needing me to go faster and harder than I am. His hands under my ass grip me hard, and he practically bounces me up and down on his cock. He’s hitting me so deeply, so deliciously, I start to feel another orgasm building. “Christ,” Woolf pants through gritted teeth. His cheek is pressed against mine as I hold onto him tight. “I’m so close but I don’t want to come yet. This feels too good.” I can only grunt in response as he hits my g-spot over and over again, pounding another orgasm into me. It breaks free just as he slams me down and my arms and legs tighten around him so hard, he can’t lift me back up. So instead, he just holds me down on him tightly as I start to shudder and grinds his pelvis up and against mine. I let out a soft curse, a keening moan, and I bite his shoulder hard through the material of his shirt. That’s when I realize I can feel him pulsing inside of me as he groans out his own release. He squeezes me so tight, I can’t breathe, yet I want him to hold me tighter. We both shake, our orgasms mingling with each other to where I can’t tell if the vibrations of pleasure are from him or me. Probably both. Our eruptions were epic and take time to fade. It takes several moments for our breathing to even. Woolf grazes his lips across mine before laying his forehead on my shoulder. He embraces me intimately while we are still melded together. “I think you broke me,” Woolf murmurs lazily. I giggle and my muscles involuntarily contract around him, which causes him to groan. “I think my ovaries exploded,” I tell him as my face presses into his neck and his hand strokes my back. “Let me see if I can walk, and if so, I’m taking you back to your bedroom for round two. Only then will I be able to hear what you have to say about your ex-douche.” I cluck at him in disapproval, pulling my face back to look at him in censure. He gives me a wide-eyed, innocent look. “What?” “Be nice. He’s come crawling into town with his tail between his legs,” I say with admonishment. Woolf snorts. “That’s just the end of the flogger that dom-bitch stuck in his ass.” I gasp over his crude words. “Just stop it. Just don’t.”

“Are you defending him?” Woolf asks me with incredulity. “With my cock still deep inside of you and my cum leaking out, are you defending that asshole?” “No,” I say in exasperation. “But I just don’t want you making this harder. And every time you remind me what a freak he is, it makes me feel foolish all over again.” Immediate apology fills Woolf’s eyes, and his hands come to my face. He kisses me quickly and then pulls back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” “I know,” I say as I place my fingers over his lips to silence him. “Now, I believe you mentioned something about a second round?” The irises around Woolf’s eyes turn the color of cobalt and his pupils constrict slightly. It’s the way I imagine a real wolf’s eyes would change when the thrill of a hunt loomed near. I hate to disappoint him though. If he thinks I’m going to run and give him an exhilarating chase, he’d be wrong about that. I’ve already rolled over and bared my throat to him in submission. I’m his.

Chapter 13

Woolf MY COCK IS all kinds of sore from the amount of fucking we did yesterday afternoon, well into the late night hours, and then again twice this morning before she had to leave for breakfast. I wanted to make it three times—at the very least get her off with my mouth before she left to meet Will in town—but she pushed me away and said, “No more. I’m done.” I can’t help but smirk when I think about that look on her face. It was the look of a woman well used and loving every bit of the sting I left between those perfect legs. It filled me with no small amount of pride to put that sting there, and I hope she feels it when she’s sending that douche on his way. I hope it make her squirm in her seat with a bit of discomfort while she listens to Will beg her to take him back. I stand at the back of my truck, resting my forearms on top of tailgate. Casually chewing on the end of a piece of straw, I watch the door to Zed’s from my vantage point across the street and down one block. Callie’s been in there with Will for going on just over an hour now, laying the hammer down on him. If I’m lucky, he’ll be on an afternoon flight out of here, headed back to suburbia without my woman. And yes… that is exactly what Callie Hayes is. At least for now. True to my word, after I fucked her for the second time yesterday, we lay on her bed and we talked. She told me everything that Will had said when he showed up at her house. I wasn’t interested in his apologies or decrees that he would never let it happen again, but I listened to her relay it all to me. In fact, I had to listen because if there was a snowball’s chance in hell she was thinking about going back to that asshole, I had to be ready with the right words to dissuade her. It turns out, I did have some wisdom to impart. Not going to lie… it put me on edge a bit when Callie said, “I guess I just don’t understand why he would do something so… so…” “Perverted?” I threw out. She shook her head. “No. So outrageous… over the top. I mean, at least for him.” I was instantly relieved she didn’t think what she witnessed was perverted to her senses. Although I know it hurt like a bitch to see him in that position, it seems she understands it’s a valid sexual lifestyle, and that understanding is important to me since that goes on quite a bit within my club. I took a moment to explain to Callie that the illustrious Judge Lane was a fem-dom and that Will was clearly her submissive. She asked me a few questions and I answered as best I could, because I wanted her to understand that if Will wanted that, there was no way in hell Callie was ever going to be equipped to give it to him. She doesn’t have a dominant bone in her body when it comes to sex. She may be stubborn, strong willed, and independent, but she’s not a dominant in the bedroom. More than anything, I wanted her to understand that sometimes people weren’t compatible in their sexual needs and that it was simply a matter of not fitting together right. Ultimately, I told her, “If you want more details, talk to Bridger. He can tell you much more about the lifestyle than I can.” The door to Zed’s opens up and my shoulders tense, then immediately relax when I see ol’ Joe Crane coming out, loosening his belt just a bit. The man has no understanding of the word “moderation” when it comes to food. But then right behind Joe, Callie walks out, followed by Will, and I stand up straight from my perch and throw the piece of straw to the ground.

I laser my eyes onto both of them, trying to glean where they stand in this moment of their relationship. While Callie confided in me last night that it was absolutely over in her mind, I knew damn well that Will would use every trick in his lawyer arsenal to get her to change her mind. I’m here, stalking her at this moment, because if it so much as looks like she’s giving him a second chance, I’m prepared to knock the motherfucker out, grab Callie, and kidnap her until I can talk sense into that beautiful head. When they hit the sidewalk, Callie turns to face Will, who tucks his hands in the pockets of his dress pants while his head hangs low. Seriously? Who fucking wears dress pants in Wyoming on a Saturday? Callie says something to him, he gives a short nod, then says something to her, to which she shakes her head no and says something back to him. I imagine the conversation to have been like this. Callie: You understand that you’re a real turd and a jackass? Will: Yes, I’m a total idiot. But wasn’t I at least good in the sack? Callie: No. I’ve been fucked by Woolf Jennings and nothing could ever compare to that. I snicker to myself but then instantly scowl as she leans in to him, one hand on his chest and her lips heading toward… okay, just a kiss on the cheek. I can handle that. Will hangs his head and then turns to walk away. I watch for a few moments as he heads toward The Wort Hotel, my eyes cutting back to Callie, who stands there and watches him. When he’s out of sight, her shoulders sag and I feel an intense and immediate need to soothe her. I look both ways before trotting across the street. Stepping up onto the sidewalk, I start walking toward her. It takes her only a moment to see me and the sadness in her eyes stabs at me, not only because I don’t like her to be in pain, but mostly because I don’t want her to be sad over another man. That does nothing to stroke my ego. “What are you doing here?” she asks when I’m just a few feet from her. I don’t answer, but instead, I walk right into her where I wrap her up in a hug. One arm around the top of her back, the other around the bottom, pressing her into me. She’s only startled a moment but then her arms come around my waist where she squeezes me back. “Just came to make sure you’re okay,” I tell her before placing a kiss on the top of her head. It’s funny, how easy that sweet intimacy comes to me. I’m not a hugger or a cuddler. I’m a fucker, and I mean that in a complimentary way about myself. I fuck, I give orgasms, I get one, and then I’m gone. But for some reason, I knew Callie needed a hug. I got a rush of some weird type of pleasure when she accepted it, and then it magnified when she returned the gesture. Weird in the way that it felt like my chest was filled with fluffy, warm puppies or something. Fucking really weird, but in a good way. Callie pulls back but before she can get too far away, I lean down and kiss her. I thought it would be sweet, just a quick brush of lips against each other, but then I can’t fucking help myself. Her warm body still in close to me, I go ahead and deepen the kiss. She gives a tiny moan while gripping my shirt with her hands, but she only engages me for a moment before pulling away and taking a step back. “What are you doing?” she asks, looking around with wild eyes. So cute. She’s feeling shy about me kissing her in public. “I don’t understand what the problem is, babe. You didn’t mind me fucking you in front of someone the other night,” I say wickedly, just so I can see that pretty blush. I’m rewarded as I knew I would be, and she hisses at me low, “That’s crude.” “And you love it,” I say with surety. “In fact, I’m betting you’ve thought about that a time or two since that night, right?” She gives a tiny, girlish snarl and spins on her heel, walking away from me. I chuckle and in two strides, I’m caught up to her. I take her hand and lace my fingers with hers, which is a move I’ve never done before, yet it just seemed so right in this moment. She tries to pull away, but I hold tight.

“Where are you going?” I ask amiably. “Home,” she mutters. “Perfect. Get some gear together. You and I are going camping for the rest of the weekend.” She comes to an abrupt halt and turns to me. “What?” “Camping,” I say slowly. “You know… tent, fire, sleeping bags. It’s supposed to get pretty chilly tonight, but I figure we can find ways to stay warm.” That was the truth. Even though we’re approaching the end of June, it’s been known to snow at this time of year, but personally, I like camping in cold weather. Like I said, I expect we’ll be buried in the sleeping bags. “You want to go camping? Right now?” she asks in disbelief. “Why is that so hard to understand?” She chews on her bottom lip a moment before saying, “I don’t know. I guess… I just thought that you and I were only… I mean, you want to go camping?” My hands come to her shoulders. Callie may not understand what’s going through her head, but I do. We didn’t talk about it last night, but I suppose this is a good segue. “I want to spend time with you, Callie. If you’re thinking that you’re just a fuck, you can get that right out of your head.” She still seems confused for just a moment, but then her chin tilts up. “Well, what am I supposed to think, Woolf? You haven’t exactly been receptive to my charms in the past, so it’s a little disconcerting that I have your attention now. And let’s face it… you own a sex club. You have a gazillion women at your disposal. Why in the world would you want to go camping with me this weekend?” I would think that ordinarily, most guys like me would be inclined to clamp down on their feelings. People like me, who have no experience in relationships and what makes them work, would think the safest route is to be non-committal. To keep things close to the vest. But I’ve never been that type of person. I speak what’s on my mind, and I’ve also learned, at least in business, honesty is always the best policy. And let’s face it… relationships are like business. So I try to be as truthful as I can with Callie. I try to at least let her know what’s in my head right now. My fingers massage into her shoulders, and I say, “Callie… I’ve known you most of my life… little sister to my closest childhood friend. I’ve put frogs in your bed. When you were seven, you kicked me in the nuts when Richard and I got into a fight and I pushed him down. You offered me your virginity, and you trusted me with it. The reason I didn’t take it wasn’t because I wasn’t interested. It was because I cared about you and knew that I wasn’t the type of man to be given that gift. I’ve always cared about you, and I’m going to go ahead and lay it on the line… I’ve fucking lusted after you for a very long time. I’m finally giving myself permission to act on it because I can’t fucking help myself. I want you too much, and yes… you and I have done an awful lot of fucking the last few days, but that’s not all there is, okay?” She nods at me, her eyes looking at me in wonder and with a bit of wariness. “So to answer your question,” I continue on. “I want to go camping with you because I like being around you, I love fucking you, and I could use some time away from the grind. Let’s go saddle up our horses, head out to Willow Bend, and let’s just enjoy each other.” I think that was a pretty good speech. I think it was honest and hopefully put her at ease. But I’m a bit stunned when she asks, “But this is just sex. I mean… that’s the ultimate goal, right?” “Um,” I hedge, because damn… now I’m on the spot. “I don’t know if it’s the ultimate goal, but it’s definitely the immediate goal.” “Okay,” she says with confidence, but I see a little bit of hurt in her eyes. She was definitely hoping for something more. “But as long as you’re fucking me, you are not fucking anyone else. I don’t share.” “Agreed,” I say emphatically. I wince a little internally because I hadn’t really thought about that. I

mean, sure… I was going to follow Bridger’s advice and give this a try. He said start with the awesome sex, so that’s what I was doing, and yeah… if it developed into something else, I’d roll with it. But honestly, I really don’t expect it will because I truly can’t see me giving up that lifestyle for good. And Callie said she doesn’t share, so I think at some point down the road, I’ll have to make a choice if my appetites aren’t being satisfied by just one very beautiful but very vanilla woman.

* I LOOK OVER at Callie, and this is the girl I remember from our childhood. Her dark hair in one thick braid and a straw cowboy hat on top of her head to shield her from the sun. Faded jeans that mold to her spectacularly, a cream-colored Henley, and a gray fleece North Face jacket tied around her waist. A beatup pair of boots hug her feet as she sits casually in the saddle atop Crazy Izzy, a feisty quarter horse that requires a sure hand, and I think she may be the most beautiful creature in existence. Like me, Callie’s been riding horses since she was a wee thing. She even raced barrels competitively for a while but gave it up when she was in her early teens when her horse broke its leg coming around the last barrel and had to be put down. It broke her heart so badly, she said she was never going to do that to another horse again. We plod lazily along an overgrown trail about two miles from the main house at The Double J. Willow Bend is a section of a small offshoot of the Snake River that cuts an almost horseshoe-type curve into the land and forms a deep hole where you can swim. We’re not in a rush and why would we ever be in a hurry when we have scenery like this to look at? No matter where you go on the ranch, you can’t ever escape the shadow of the Teton Mountains. The Double J sits on the eastern side of the range—which runs north to south—where there is a distinct lack of foothills to obscure your view. Instead, the slopes of the mountains rise up sharply from the valley in which the Double J sits and with elevations of eleven, twelve, and thirteen thousand feet, there’s still snow sitting atop the peaks throughout the summer months. In my humble opinion, there is no place more spectacular in the world. It’s why even though I’m CEO of a major corporation and really have no business doing it, I still try to ride range at least once a week just so I can soak in the splendor. It’s almost like my Zen place. We make it through a long pasture where there’s a border fence that’s locked. I have to dismount to unlock it and Callie does the same, just to stretch her legs a bit. She looks out over the Tetons with a dreamy smile on her face. “God, I missed this,” she says softly. “I mean, sometimes… I would actually ache with longing for these mountains.” “I know exactly what you mean,” I tell her as I pull the chain loose and swing the gate open. We both walk our horses through and as I secure it, she hops back in the saddle. I try hard not to stare at her ass as she does so. “Does Tenn miss it?” she asks as I walk back over to my horse, Vlad. He’s a biter and he’s not happy unless he draws blood, but for some reason, he’s never tried to take a nip out of me. I think he knows I’d bite him back. “Yeah,” I tell her as I swing up into the saddle. “I mean, he loves living in North Carolina. He and Casey have a great place right on the ocean, but you can see it when he gets back here to visit. First thing he does is hit the stable and saddles up so he can soak it all in.” We’re not too far from Willow Bend and I almost suggest a race to the other side of the field, but she stops me when she says, “What does Tenn think about The Wicked Horse?” A sharp stab of guilt hits me low in my belly as I admit to her, “He doesn’t know.”

She turns to me and levels a scowl. “What?” “It’s my business. Completely separate from JennCo,” I tell her in defense, and her frown doesn’t lessen. “But he’s coming in next weekend and I’ve decided to go ahead and tell him then.” “Why now?” she asks curiously as we walk our horses side by side. Luckily Vlad doesn’t try to bite other horses, just people. “You’ve had this in the works for over a year now and been open several months, right?” I nod, clear my throat, and then say the words that have only been told to one other person so far, and that was Bridger. “I think I want to back away from JennCo a bit. It’s consuming too much of my life, and I want to run the club full time with Bridger.” “You’re kidding,” she says with surprise. “That’s your family’s company. Can you just walk away?” “Tenn did,” I point out, not without a small trace of bitterness in those words. He got out first and left me holding it all. Well, not all. He helps out a bit on the ranch operations, but for the most part, he’s free and clear. Callie doesn’t say anything and we plod along in silence, no sound but the creaking of the saddles and the hoof steps on hard ground. I consider making more of an argument on my behalf. All the reasons why I want out. All the reasons I want more of the club, but then she says, “JennCo isn’t your passion, is it?” “No, it’s not,” I admit softly, and it feels good to say that to someone. “I’ve only had two things in my life I was really passionate about. That’s the Double J—that is the ranch itself—and The Wicked Horse.” “Then you should get out,” she says in affirmation. “Many people aren’t lucky enough to be passionate about their work. If you have the opportunity to be happy like that, you have to take it.” Relief floods my body, knowing that next to Bridger, I have one other person who is going to be supportive of me if I do this. I think in this moment, my heart might be starting a journey toward being lost to Callie Hayes.

Chapter 14

Callie THIS IS ABSOLUTE TORTURE. I thought after an entire weekend with Woolf where we did nothing but have sex, sex, and more sex, I wouldn’t be thinking about it so much today. But here I am back at work on Monday, and I’m at my desk, and he’s in his office, and I can’t stop thinking about him sitting in there. I am no clearer today than I was last week or eleven years ago as to where I stand with Woolf. But this is what I do know, even if it confuses me. Woolf is attracted to me. Woolf likes having sex with me. And… that’s pretty much it. He’s said that Bridger encouraged him to give “us” a shot, but in the next breath alludes that it’s just about sex. So I’m thinking it’s no-strings sex, but we have agreed that we won’t have sex with others. That seems somewhat clear to me. I guess. What makes it more confusing is that although there was lots of sex, it wasn’t just a non-stop orgasm for both of us. We had a great time camping. It’s been years since I’ve been, as camping to Will was having to suffer the second floor of a Holiday Inn. We pitched a small tent, fished Willow Bend, and ate cutthroat trout cooked in a cast iron pan over an open fire. Woolf, of course, had to kill my trout because I couldn’t. He gave me a quick kiss, laughed, and called me a princess, but I didn’t care. He more than made up for it by surprising me with a secret stash of ingredients to make s’mores that he had packed. We talked while we licked gooey marshmallow and chocolate from our fingers, catching up on each other’s lives over the past several years. Woolf and I had fallen out of touch. Not only did we have the incredibly awkward experience of him refusing to take my virginity but being more than happy to finger me to an orgasm, but after Richard died, Woolf just didn’t come around that much. I’d see him maybe at a major holiday, or we’d run into each other in town if I was home visiting, but it was always just a brief hug and we moved on. While I was dying to learn more about The Wicked Horse, Woolf didn’t seem to want to talk about it. Instead, he kept up a steady stream of questions to me, trying to stuff eleven years of history into a weekend. By the time the fire was dying down low, Woolf knew a frightening amount of stuff about me, including things I’m not even sure how they came up in conversation such as when I got my period for the first time. I thought I was dying because my mom “forgot” to have that discussion with me. He howled with laughter over that one. In fact… we laughed a lot this past weekend. Like when he was fucking me that night, trying to contort our bodies into some type of pretzel, and he got a Charlie Horse in his right ass cheek and had to stop. Or rather, I had to massage the muscle to loosen it up and then he played it safe by just fucking me good old missionary style. I couldn’t stop giggling after. And sleeping with him all night, snuggled and buried deep in a double sleeping bag. He kept his arms around me all night and even though I had a crick in my neck when I woke up, it was all very much worth it.

Plus, he more than made up for it the next morning by taking the time to leisurely explore my body before he fucked me. I swear, for over an hour, the man stroked and plucked at my body with his hands, tongue, and lips. He made me come twice before he flipped me over on my stomach, raised my hips up, and took me from behind in a primal storm of lust and frenzied need. When he came, he pulled out and shot all over my back, all while cursing, “Fuck, that’s good. So fucking good.” Just thinking about it… I think he was marking me in some way and that causes a shiver to run up my spine. Leaning back in my office chair, which squeaks horribly, I try to get a peek inside his office. I can only see about half of his desk from this angle and it looks like he has his legs kicked up on it, his booted feet crossed one over the other. So you see, the Old Callie Hayes had her dutiful sex with Will maybe two or three times a week. I actually thought that was quite an active sex life, but now that I’ve been with Woolf, it seems his standard is two to three times a day, and that makes me realize I have really been naive about it all. The old Callie Hayes waited for Will to make the move. Maybe because I was shy and unsure of myself, or maybe because the book I was reading was more interesting than the five minutes it would take Will to get off, but I just never initiated sex. I haven’t done that with Woolf either, only because he’s so insatiable, he’s always one step ahead of me. His hands are always on me before I even think to reach out to touch him. His mouth is on mine first, and I’m the one responding to him. I’ve never been a very forward person in normal circumstances, and I was always content to let my one and only other partner, Will, direct me on what to do. Woolf is very much the same… he dominates and takes control. Sweeps me up and then I’m utterly powerless. I just ride the wave, so very lucky he is always focused first and foremost on my pleasure. Yes, the Old Callie Hayes would sit here demurely at my desk and diligently work the day away, waiting and wondering if this evening Woolf will want me. Maybe we’d go out to dinner, and then back to my house where we’d make love—strike that—fuck, all night long. Yup… just going to sit here and wait. I lean back in my chair again, and his boots are still crossed on the desk. It’s utterly quiet in there, but that’s not unusual. He will often work solidly on his computer for hours, reviewing corporate reports, answering emails, directing others through digital means. Hmmmm… wonder what the New Callie Hayes would do though? She’s the girl I want to become. She’s the one that could imagine herself stripping naked right here, walking into Woolf’s office, laying across his desk with come-hither eyes, and asking him to fuck me. Yeah…. no… I can’t do that. Every single thing that could go wrong flashes before me. He’s not interested. He doesn’t have sex during the work day. He’d think it was inappropriate. He’s turned off by forward women. Another dozen reasons pelt at me, knocking my confidence down even further. I’m not that type of girl. Even if I’d love nothing more than for Woolf Jennings to throw me down and pound the ever-loving breath out of me, I can’t ask for it. I’ll just have to wait. Except… I’m never going to stop being the Old Callie Hayes until I actually start trying to be the New Callie Hayes. Leaning back in my chair, I look once more, completely confounded that I am obsessing about sex so much. I never thought about it constantly the way I am now. Boots still crossed on his desk, complete silence meaning he’s immersed deep into something.

Oh, screw it. I need to take the New Callie out for a spin and see what she can really do. I look down at the fitted but no-nonsense white button-up shirt I’m wearing paired with a simple black pencil skirt and black heels. The only thing sexy about it is the clothing molds to my frame well, but it’s totally unrevealing. So I solve that problem by unbuttoning two more buttons at the top and the material spreads beautifully so you can see my cleavage. My skirt has a small slit on the right side that only travels a few inches above my knee so it doesn’t reveal much when I’m walking. I take my scissors from the cup holder on my desk and use the slender, sharp end to pick at the stitching in the slit. I pop out several and pull the material apart, until it rises another three inches to mid-thigh. Because the material is so snug, if Woolf even bothers to look at me while I walk, he’ll see a good bit of leg now too. Taking a deep breath, I stand up from my desk, run my fingers through my hair to fluff it, and then let all the air out, feeling empowered. When I step into Woolf’s office and get a full view of him, he’s exactly as I imagined from the little bit I could see. He’s got his big leather chair leaned way back with his booted feet still crossed and resting on the edge of his desk. He has his laptop on his lap and his eyes are narrowed at the screen in concentration while he chews on his bottom lip. He doesn’t look up at me so I take a moment to walk over to his credenza on the opposite wall and pick up the stack of folders he had been working on earlier. When he’s finished with stuff that needs to be filed away, he sits it there for me to pick up and handle. And oops… as soon as I pick up the folders, they all seem to clumsily tumble from my hands to the floor. I squat down, keeping my knees primly together and making sure my right leg is facing Woolf. I can feel the air against my skin at just above mid-thigh where my skirt has split apart. After I gather all the folders up, I take a peek over at him and find that he’s watching me. A tiny thrill rushes through my body as his eyes drop down to my leg. I slowly stand up, the folders grasped in one hand, and start walking toward his desk. Woolf’s eyes rise up and spend a few moments checking out the low dip in my blouse as I saunter his way. His lips curve upward in an appreciative smile. When I reach the edge of his desk, I rest a hip against it and hug the folders to my stomach. “What are you working on?” I ask, because while I had all kinds of courage strutting in here, I’m really not sure what to do right now. Normally, I would think the slit in the skirt and the peek of cleavage would have Woolf up and out of his chair, but he just gives me a lazy look. “Just a bunch of boring shit about some oil wells we’re purchasing in Nebraska,” he says as he leans forward slightly and puts the laptop on his desk. He then leans back in his chair again, clasps his hands together, and rests them on his stomach. His boots on the desk haven’t budged an inch. He just stares at me, amusement shining in his eyes. I stare back… unsure of what to do. “Did you need something?” he asks me slyly, his eyes flicking down to my breasts and then back up to me again. I can’t tell whether he’s encouraging me or not. I have no confidence to discern the difference, so I let Old Callie lead the way. “Um… no. I was just going to get your coffee cup and wash it out.” I lean across his desk and grab the cup. Just as my fingers loop into the handle, his hand comes out so he can graze a finger along the back of my hand. My eyes slide over to him, and the amusement is gone. Now he’s looking at me with dead seriousness in his eyes. “You know, Callie… if you ever want anything from me, you never have to be afraid to ask.” I swallow hard. It’s painfully clear now that he’s read me like a damn horny book. He knows why I came in here. He sees right through me, and he also knows I’m a chicken shit when it comes to follow through. Woolf waits me out, giving me no other encouragement. Nibbling on my lower lip, I try to decide what

to do. I truly didn’t have anything planned, figuring my cleavage and bare thigh would induce Woolf up and out of his chair. But it seems that Woolf wants to see how the battle of Old versus New Callie plays out. He’s a patient man. I know he’ll sit here all day. I release my hold on the cup and lay the folders on his desk. As I straighten up, I tap the back of my hand against his boots, encouraging him to put his feet down. He does without hesitation, placing them solidly on the wooden floor and then spreading them slightly. He leans back in his chair and watches me. I gather up every bit of courage I have, tell myself I am one sexy woman and that no matter how awkward I might be, Woolf is going to enjoy anything I hand out to him. Still, I can’t help the bit of nervousness in my voice when I step in between his legs and tell him as I look down at his face, “If it’s okay with you, I want to give you a blow—” My words falter… stop dead in their tracks. Stiffen that spine up, Callie. Go for what you want. “I mean,” I say again with a stronger voice as I drop to my knees in front of him. “I’m going to suck your cock, Woolf Jennings, and I’m going to love every fucking drop you give me.” “Oh, Jesus Christ,” he groans as he sits up straighter in his seat. His hand goes to his crotch, and he gives a slight rub to the bulge that is growing exponentially behind his fly. “That may be the hottest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” I can’t help but snort. “I think any man would think that was the hottest thing ever.” A hand shoots out, and Woolf palms the side of my head, his thumb rubbing against my cheek. “No, that was the hottest thing because it came out of sweet Callie Hayes’ lips and because I’ve been fantasizing about you doing that to me since I was about twenty years old.” “Really?” I ask in amazement, and I can’t help the actual goofy, love-struck tone to my voice. He’s been thinking about me like that for all this time? “Really,” he says and then his other hand comes up behind my head. He reaches under my hair and then grips it in a ponytail to hold it out of the way. “Now what are you waiting for?” All of a sudden, I don’t have a single doubt in my head. Giving head has never been that great of an experience for me, and I know it all boils down to the fact that I just don’t think I really cared if I pleasured Will. Things were so off… so unsure, that I just didn’t have this insane and overwhelming attraction to him. And because he was never focused on pleasuring me, I really didn’t care if I did it to him. The times I did were because we both might have been a bit tipsy and he begged me to do it, but otherwise… I just didn’t like it with him. But with Woolf… I want to do this. I mean really, really want to do this to him. I think of all the ways he’s had his mouth on me, selflessly giving and giving and giving to me. My mouth waters as my hands come out and work at his belt buckle. He lifts his hips enough to let me open the fly and tug the thick denim down a bit, all the while he palms the side of my head with one hand and holds my hair in a ponytail at the back of my head with the other. His cock is thick and hard, standing straight up before me after I release it. Dark and dusky, one perfectly thick vein running straight up the middle but then it veers off at an angle, making me want to cock my head to the side and see where it goes. Instead, I look up at Woolf and he’s watching me with expectant eyes. His jaw is locked tight and his chest is rising and falling rapidly. I open my mouth, bare my teeth slightly, and then scrape them lightly over the tip. A long, deep groan rumbles out of Woolf as his head falls back against the chair and his eyes squeeze shut. Exhilaration and something that feels like victory swells within me that just that one, tiny touch

reduced him to utter helplessness. “You’re going to kill me, Callie,” he whispers as his fist tightens in my hair. He raises his head and looks down at me solemnly. “I’m not going to last long, sweet girl. I want this too fucking much and when you put that mouth on me, you’re getting ready to make all my dirty dreams come true.” I blink at Woolf, processing his words. Here I am… on my knees with a big, thick cock right in front of my face, and he’s telling me I’m a dream for him. I’m getting ready to do something naughty and indecent in the middle of a work day, and yet… it causes something in my heart to shift. I’m truly understanding that perhaps Woolf hasn’t been as indifferent to me all these years as I’ve thought. Maybe all of that was just bad timing before. I smile at him as I grasp him firmly around the base of his erection, leaning up and over him. His fist tightens harder in my hair, stinging at the base of my scalp, and I open my mouth to bring him in. When I descend upon him, he whispers my name with such worship that I’m not sure that there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for this man.

Chapter 15

Woolf YOU’D THINK A MAN that had gotten a five-star blow job from the woman of his dreams less than twentyfour hours ago would be walking around with a glorious smile on his face, but the truth of the matter is, I’m one grumpy son of a bitch right now. And when I say five-star blow job, that really doesn’t do it justice. What Callie Hayes didn’t have in experience, she more than made up for it with exuberant effort. She wanted to devour me. She did devour me. She took every inch of me, enslaved me, made me beg her, and when she let me come, I swear for a moment I heard a choir of angels singing while I watched her throat move up and down as she swallowed every drop. Her eyes were shining with triumph and care, and I knew in that moment if I could get it up again right then and there, she’d do it to me all over again. That’s just how focused she was on pleasuring me. Pleasuring me with no expectation of anything in return. I tried to put her on my desk so I could lick an orgasm out of her, but she pushed me away. She patted at her hair, buttoned her shirt back up, and sashayed out of my office, saying, “That was just for you, Woolf.” The rest of the day, I couldn’t think straight. I just kept playing that perfect cock suck over and over again in my mind, and I walked around with a woody all damn day. When work was over, I merely grabbed her purse in one hand, her elbow in the other, and forced her into my truck. I took her to my house where as soon as we made it to the foyer, I fucked her right there because I seriously couldn’t wait a moment longer. Her laugh was husky and grateful, and she gripped my hair in her hands while I thrust viciously into her. It was a perfect day. Started to be a perfect night. After I pulled her up off the foyer floor, we both took a quick shower together and then we ate a quick meal of some sandwiches and chips in the massive, gourmet kitchen. I sipped on a beer, she on a white wine, and this is where the grumpiness started. Callie took a sip of wine, dabbed at her lips with her napkin, and said, “Woolf… I want to go back to The Silo.” My beer bottle was raised halfway to my mouth. I was standing on one side of the kitchen island and she was sitting on a stool on the other side. I just stared at her in disbelief, not quite believing that’s what she said. But she just held my gaze and I knew she was being serious. “What?” I asked with my voice raised just an octave. “The Silo,” she reaffirmed. “Ever since you took me there… and I saw that woman with two men, and then all the other people watching—” “No,” I cut her off quickly. I provided no explanation for my refusal because I’m not really sure why I was denying her this. She never blinked once, just insisted, “Yes.” We then argued for an hour and a half straight. Her reasons were simple. She was intrigued by the wickedness of public sex. She’d been obsessing about the ménage. She wanted me to fuck her and have an audience. And this is the part that killed me. She said, “I want to be a part of your world.”

It killed me because she isn’t a part of that world. She can’t ever be. She’s Callie Hayes. Sweet Callie Hayes. I don’t want that to mar her, and I don’t want her tarnished by it. She may have all kinds of curiosities, but I know deep down in my heart that this shit is not for her. I know way down in my gut that she will be left with a bitter taste in her mouth after it’s all said and done. My reasons for denying her were stronger. Simply put, I told her I could not have the governor’s daughter participating in an orgy where the citizens of Wyoming or some other state were watching her. I told her through clenched teeth, “Do you have any idea what would happen to your father and his campaign if that got out?” It didn’t dissuade her. She had an answer for everything. “Put a mask on me. Put a bag over my head. Hell, put a wig on me and garish makeup. There are a hundred ways you could disguise me.” And the pisser of it was, she’s right. I could disguise her. No one would think twice if I put a hood over her, because everyone would just think it was part of a kinky fantasy. On top of that, chances of her being outed were nil. In addition to the non-disclosure agreement that everyone signed, no cameras or phones are allowed in The Silo or cabins and very few locals are members, so there could never be any proof that she was there. But I didn’t tell her any of that. I merely continued to try to talk her out of this insane idea. I even carried her off to my bed where I started playing her body like a fiddle. I kept her distracted. Kept her coming over and over again. I fucked her ruthlessly, hoping to bang the idea out of her head. I may have pushed her off course temporarily, but as we lay side by side in my bed, gasping for air after I blew hot and hard into her, she said, “Woolf… please. Don’t shut me away from this part of you. It makes me feel… not good enough for you.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. That right there got me, and I capitulated on the spot. Sort of. I told her she couldn’t go to The Silo but that perhaps I could arrange something in a private cabin. She tried to argue but I held firm, and we finally had an agreement of sorts. Except, I don’t like the fucking agreement. I don’t want Callie anywhere near the depravity of my club. While I can’t figure out why it’s good enough for me but not her, I have to put those worries aside and figure out what kind of fantasy I can give her that won’t destroy her sweet light. That is what is making me grumpy. That is why I’m seeking Bridger’s counsel. I punch in the code to our joint office at The Wicked Horse and walk in. Bridger is seated behind the desk, peering at his laptop. “What’s up?” he says without looking at me. I sigh and sit down in my chair opposite of him. “Callie wants to get fucked in front of people.” Bridger’s head snaps up, and he blinks his eyes in surprise. “She what?” “Yeah, she’s got it in her head that she wants to ‘be a part of my world’,” I say using air quotes and heavy sarcasm. “Seems she was quite taken with a ménage she watched and then threw out the ‘I’m not good enough for you so that’s why you won’t take me’ card.” Bridger chuckles and looks back to the computer. “So give it to her. Our world is kind of fun.” “It’s not that easy,” I tell him in frustration. “I get she’s curious about it, but come on, Bridger… she’s not built for that stuff. You know it as much as I do.” His gaze slides back over to me, and he tilts his head to the side. “What exactly do you think she’s built for?” I shrug my shoulders and drum my fingers on the desk. “She’s too innocent for that shit. Callie is made

for sweet and slow afternoon fucks in the privacy of a bedroom. I know she thinks it would be a rush, but trust me… she wouldn’t be able to share such intimacy with strangers, and you know there’s a lot of sharing in those situations.” “Doesn’t have to be,” Bridger says as he leans back in his chair. “You set the rules.” I’m quiet for a moment, because I know that’s true as well. My brain whirs, trying to really pinpoint what it is about this situation that has me so wigged out. I could take Callie to one of the group sex rooms at The Silo, slap a bag over her face, and fuck her in front of everyone. I could make it just about me and her and the anonymity would protect her. Hopefully minimize the amount of shame that I know she’ll inevitably feel afterward, because even though she acts like she’s supportive of these choices that people make with their sex lives, I do know Callie Hayes better than she knows herself, and it’s not a lifestyle she could ever truly be a part of. Her soul couldn’t handle the moral strain it would inflict. “You know there’s no legitimate reason you have for denying her.” Bridger points out something I already fucking know well. “So I would have to surmise your hesitation stems from something else.” Bridger levels me with one of his wise looks, his eyes swirling with knowledge and sage advice. “Say you get her in the room, and you’re fucking her. And it’s amazing, and Callie’s really into it. And halfway through, the couple next to you who are fucking asks for a switch. What would you do?” My stomach flips over, tightens, and then curls in upon itself. I realize in a nanosecond that I truly don’t want anyone else. I’m not sure if I will always feel this way, but I can honestly say right now that Callie satisfies me on all accounts. The thought of fucking another woman is almost… Abhorrent? And why is that, for fuck’s sake? I love women. All kinds. They all seem to offer up something different. I suppose, if I had to take a guess, perhaps I think Callie doesn’t have the confidence in herself to share me. To know that even if I were to take advantage of just such an offer, she wouldn’t have enough trust within me to separate out an act that is purely physical from an act, such as we do together, that involves feelings. But what about what she wants? What if Callie wants to experiment like that? I can’t say the notion is all that unpleasant to me, because I’ve seen firsthand how couples—and I’m talking about serious, monogamous, in-love couples—will fuck other people within the safe boundaries of The Silo. It doesn’t seem to diminish their feelings for each other, and if anything, I suppose it’s a testament to the strong bonds they have. And the thought of Callie getting pleasured by other men. Okay, back up a second… that’s actually a little unpleasant now that I can envision it. Nameless, faceless men making her gasp and writhe in pleasure. Fucking her. Making her come. What if she likes it better than with me? What if she wants more from someone else? What if she falls in love with someone else? What if I’ve turned into a motherfucking pussy thinking all these thoughts? Christ, I think I have a vagina bigger than my cock. All ludicrous thoughts and they shouldn’t make a damn bit of an impression on me, yet I end up saying to Bridger, “Can’t do it.” Bridger nods at me in understanding. He’s seeing for the first time that Woolf Jennings has just gotten all proprietary with a woman, and he doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest, even while I’m mortified I just said that. “Your heart’s tied up big time, man,” he says sagely. “It would appear so,” I mutter. “So what are you going to tell her?” I shrug. “I don’t know. Any ideas?”

Bridger taps his finger on his chin for a moment. “Give her something. A safe fantasy. Do it in one of the private cabins. Give her something that makes her feel wicked and sinful, and yet doesn’t cross any boundaries that you have.” “Like what?” I ask, because while I can do a variety of naughty things to her, I sort of got the feeling that Callie was interested in The Silo because of the exhibitionism. The wickedness of sharing her sexuality with anonymous strangers, while having the safety and comfort of me there. I know she was sure as shit turned on by the thought of two men pleasuring one woman. I bet she would have perished watching Catherine with a group of five. “Do a ménage,” Bridger throws out. “With me.” It’s funny how just a minute ago the thought of Callie with another man was about as distasteful as eating a bucketful of cow shit, but for some reason, I don’t have that visceral reaction when I think of Bridger playing with us. That is solely due to the fact that I trust Bridger with my life, and I’d trust Callie’s to him as well. I also know for a sound fact that Bridger would never even think to try to move in on Callie. It’s a trust due to the bond we have, but more than that… Bridger is not a man who will ever get involved with a woman. While he loves fucking them and making them feel good, he will never, ever give more than his body to one. And I mean never. “We’ll do it in a bondage cabin,” Bridger says as if he’s planning the details to a party. “That way we can give her a taste of that if you think she can take it. You can blindfold her if you want, or if she gets off on having people watch her like you say, then invite some of our trusted circle. Hood her if you want to protect her identity. There are all kinds of things you can do to give her the dirty fantasy she wants and still protect her at the same time. But keep it small… the more people that see her, the more danger of it getting out that the governor’s daughter has some kink in her giddy-up.” I chuckle at Bridger’s description of Callie. She has less kink in her than a straight arrow. She just thinks she wants it, but she truly doesn’t. I know Callie. She wants to try it, get a taste, and then it will be done. It will satisfy her need to show me she can walk in my world, and it will prevent me from killing a man for looking at her in that way. Bridger exempted, of course, and honestly… the thought of Bridger with her… the things I know he’s oh so good at doing to a woman to make her scream sweetly… makes me hard right now just thinking about it. “Alright,” I tell him as I push up off the couch, adjusting my hard-on to the left just a bit to avoid the bite of my zipper. “Let’s do it day after next. Invite a few people you trust.” “You got it, Hoss,” Bridger says with a nod and then turns to his laptop to pull up the membership roster. He knows these people better than I do, and I know he’ll choose wisely. Still, I’m definitely hooding Callie so no one knows who she is. I can’t even begin to imagine the shit storm that would occur if word got out she was in a place like this.

Chapter 16

Callie THE SOFT, LEATHER HOOD that Woolf put over my head not five minutes ago is constricting, but not in a claustrophobic way. It’s almost as if it was custom made for my face, fitting snugly and with carefully constructed holes for my eyes and mouth. Even the portion over my nose seems to fit the straight angle well, and the holes for the nostrils allow for easy breathing. The last hole was a surprise and that was in the back near the top of my head. Woolf carefully gathered up my long hair in a ponytail and pulled it through the hole, where he then softly combed his fingers through it in a move meant to calm my frantically beating heart. Woolf didn’t tell me much about what to expect tonight, and I think that was calculated on his part to stimulate my nerves. The only thing he would reveal was that it wasn’t going to take place at The Silo but at one of the private cabins. For a moment, I felt keen disappointment that I wouldn’t be getting the full experience I had been fantasizing about since my first trip into Woolf’s kinky world, but then he smirked at me, chucked me under the chin, and said, “Don’t worry, Callie. This will be like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.” I’ll never tell Woolf but before he picked me up at my father’s house, I had taken two shots of bourbon to help steady my nerves. While on the one hand, I was very excited about what I was getting ready to experience with Woolf, I was also nervous—strike that, terrified—about having people watch us. I wanted it, but it made my stomach tighten with anxiety. I felt on edge, and I was afraid that at the first touch from Woolf that I would burst into a million fragments so miniscule that I would never be put back together again. When we got to the cabin, no one was there. Woolf said he wanted to arrive earlier than the others to get me ready. Getting me ready included stripping me naked, giving me a quick but mind-blowing orgasm with his fingers that made my legs feel like jelly, and a white silk robe to put on before the hood. We’re in a large bathroom… the woman’s bathroom to be exact, and as I look in the mirror, I think to my hooded self, Hello New Callie Hayes. If only Will could see you now. I snicker over the thought and Woolf comes up to stand behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders. He towers over me so he’s easily able to hold my gaze in the mirror. “Are you okay?” he asks me softly. It’s a sweet gesture, but I can see it deep in his eyes. He wants me to say “no” so he can whisk me out of here. While the last two days Woolf and I have been ravenous for each other and not holding back, he’s managed to end each encounter with a plea for me to change my mind about going through with this. “I’m fine,” I tell him. “A little nervous about what to expect.” I didn’t think he’d give me details, but I more than expected and was happy to receive a squeeze to my shoulders and an encouraging smile. “If you want to stop at any time, that’s all you have to say and I’ll get you right out of there, okay?” “I’ll be fine,” I assure him, bringing my hands up to lay over the top of his. When our eyes meet and lock in the mirror, I say, “Thank you for doing this for me.” He just nods and says, “Stay here a moment while I make sure everything is ready.” An attack of rabid butterflies start zinging around in my stomach, but I give him my most confident

smile. In just a few minutes, I’m getting ready to change my narrow little world forever.

* WOOLF LEADS ME down the short hall to the main room. I had taken a good moment to study it when we first arrived, and it was empty. Dark burgundy walls, polished mahogany wood floors with fluffy creamcolored rugs, and a variety of furniture scattered about. There is a large, four-poster bed covered in cream-colored silk sheets but no pillows and several gothic, high-backed chairs done with padded, camel-color leather that edge the perimeter of the room. Finally, I see a large, wooden chest and most interestingly, a massive cross mounted to the floor in the shape of an “X”. I don’t know what it is but the padded leather cuffs hanging from an iron ring from each corner tells me all I need to know. I wonder if I’ll be mounted to that “X” before the night is over? The thought has me on the verge of crying… maybe from fear, or maybe excitement, I’m not sure. As Woolf steps out into the main room, I suck in a deep breath as I see several people standing around. I realize at once that I thought an actual audience might be a possibility, what with the hood and all, but seeing them actually there is still a shock to my senses nonetheless. Adrenaline spikes through me as I look at the men and women, about seven as I count them. They’re all dressed casually, sipping on cocktails as they stand around and talk. The minute we enter, they all turn to look at me with carnal interest. One man even reaches down and rubs the bulge in his pants. Woolf nods to them one by one, and I’m so caught up in trying to figure out who these people are and how Woolf chose them to be there, I’m startled when two hands come to my waist and grip me strongly. A glance over my shoulder and I see Bridger standing there. My eyes go wide with surprise. He just stares at me with those whiskey-brown eyes, neither friendly nor aloof but definitely calculating. Perhaps trying to figure out the best way to do things to me. It causes a shiver to run up my spine as I realize that Woolf has invited another man to this party… Bridger, to be exact. Woolf lets go of my hand as Bridger turns me to face him. I can’t help it when my eyes go on a journey without my approval, taking in the large man before me. He has a few inches in height over Woolf and while I always knew he was a large man, the fact that he stands there now with his shirt off has me momentarily stunned. I’m not sure what regimen he follows but however the man works out, it has left him with sleek but brawny muscles seemingly carved out of bronzed marble. My eyes travel quickly down to his right hip, where a pair of black track pants hangs low. I see a flock of tattooed blackbirds taking flight up and over his rib cage, getting progressively larger in size as they reach his pectoral muscle and then turning their flight path inward toward the center of his chest. Then right there, over where his heart would be nestled deep underneath his sternum, one of the black birds seems to have exploded in a puff of black feathers that burst outward, and then start floating in a trickle down the front of his stomach. It’s a stunning piece of artwork, and I know inherently that there is a deep message within that tattoo. I even open my mouth to ask him about it, but I’m stunned when Bridger’s hands go to the knot of silk holding the belt together at my waist. I tense up, but then Woolf is stepping up behind me. He doesn’t touch me but leans in and murmurs near my ear, “Just relax. You’re getting that threesome you wanted.” My entire body stiffens, my legs lock hard, and a bolt of fear goes through me. I pull away from Bridger and turn to Woolf with panicked eyes. His hands come to my waist, and he tilts his head in question. My voice is hoarse and whisper soft. “I’m not ready for… um…” I can’t say the words. I’m too mortified.

“Relax, baby,” Woolf coos as his hands squeeze me. Bridger now is the one behind me, and he presses in close. He does, in fact, touch me with the front of his body, and it feels both sinful and wrong that another man is being so intimate with me. He gives the ponytail hanging from the back of my hood a playful tug before placing his lips near my ear. Bridger bares his teeth and bites my lobe briefly before saying, “You most certainly are not ready to take both of us that way, but there are other ways we can all three play together.” I hadn’t realized I was holding frozen breath in my lungs until Bridger said that, and while his voice always sounds so rough and dangerous, I actually trust this man because I know Woolf trusts him. In fact, I raise my eyes up to Woolf’s and give him a smile that’s filled with a small measure of confidence. “Okay. Let’s do this.” What happens next is a maelstrom of sensations, fears, thrills, and pleasures overwhelming my entire being. Woolf pushes me back into Bridger’s arms, and then lazily walks away from me and up to the bar to pour himself a drink. With his back to us, as if he has not a care in the world that I’m in a pair of arms that are not his, he sips at two fingers of bourbon just as Bridger’s hands once again work at the knot to my belted robe. His body is pouring off a sensuous sort of heat behind me. I can feel the hard muscles of his abdomen and the huge ridge of his erection against my lower back. My gaze darts around the room at the anonymous people watching as Bridger works the robe open and pulls it from my shoulders. I shiver from the cool air and the slide of silk as it falls away. I tremble over the way both men and women are watching me hungrily. But most of all, I start to shudder because Woolf turns around and watches with the eyes of a hawk as Bridger’s large hands come up to palm my breasts, causing me to moan in pleasure. Everything is happening so fast, I don’t even have time to be embarrassed by the fact that I’m putting on a show for these people. I feel guilty as hell that it feels so good and I’m terrified to show any reaction, because this is all-new territory for me. While I was gung-ho just fifteen minutes ago to dip my feet into the ménage pool, now I’m feeling all kinds of awful that I’m letting another man—that is someone other than Woolf Jennings— touch me. I’m not sure if he senses it or he just wants in on the action, but Woolf sucks down the rest of his drink and then stalks toward Bridger and me. His eyes do a cursory glance down my body but remain pinned on Bridger’s hands as they massage my breasts. He steps in close to me. Tilts his face down. Looks me in the eye. “You okay?” he asks so softly, I doubt even Bridger heard it. But what he doesn’t say, and what I see in his eyes, is that it’s okay if another man’s hands feel good on me. Woolf is telling me that in his world… sharing is allowed. I’m not sure how that makes me feel, but because New Callie is determined to go through with this, I put it out of my head. I give him a tentative nod. “Good,” he whispers. Then he shocks the shit out of me when his hand comes up and covers Bridger’s hand that is cupping my left breast. He dips his fingers in between Bridger’s palm and my skin and then pushes Bridger’s hand downward, so that Woolf’s knuckles scrape over my nipple. He pushes Bridger’s hand down slowly. Down. Down. Down.

Right in between my legs. With just a twist of his wrist, Woolf takes Bridger’s hand and has him cupping me, and I most definitely cannot stop the whimper of surprised pleasure that bubbles up out of me. Almost as if it was planned, both Bridger and Woolf press in closer to me, sandwich me in between their big bodies, and the rest of the room is momentarily shut out. Together, both men start moving their fingers against me. I suck in a deep breath, close my eyes, and just savor the sensations. A finger… no two… press into me, and I slowly open my eyes as I look down. My knees go loose as I see Bridger’s finger and Woolf’s finger both sliding into me in tandem. It’s the most sinful thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and my knees buckle. I’m held up only by Bridger’s strong arm around my chest where he still palms my other breast. This is far more wickedly decadent than when I watched that woman take two men at The Silo. It’s so simple… beautiful… richly depraved, that I know I’m on the path to having the quickest orgasm of my life. My eyes start to flutter closed but not before I catch a glimpse of the crowd starting to press in on me. The knowledge that they are eager to get a closer look sends a bolt of sizzling pleasure through me while Bridger and Woolf lazily fuck me with just their index fingers. Every bit of potential shame and inherent modesty sort of fade away as I concentrate solely on what these two men are doing to me. Lips on mine. Woolf. I sigh in pleasure from this sweet intimacy helping to balance out the filthiness of giving my body to two different men. It stabilizes me. Grounds me. I think I’m up for anything. Suddenly, Woolf’s lips are gone, then his body. My eyes fly open, and I see him step back so he can take off his clothes. I only get a brief glimpse of him peeling his shirt over his head before Bridger has me turned around toward him and is pushing me gently down to my knees. My heart skips a beat… maybe two when he pushes his thumbs into the waistband of his track pants and glides them down his hips. They go all the way down to the floor and he’s stepping his bare feet out of them, but I’m only vaguely aware of this as I stare in fascination at his thick erection sticking up proudly before my face. One of Bridger’s hands lift, and unlike Woolf who I know would probably gently palm my face, he wraps my ponytail tightly in his grip. His other hand takes his shaft in hand, and he pulls my head forward. I’m able to take a quick peek upward at him, and his eyes are dark and filled with lust as he looks down at me. I involuntarily lick my lips and his own pull back into a feral smile of appreciation. Then his cock is in my mouth and the only way I know it feels good to him is a harsh huff of breath he lets out as I tighten around him. An anonymous person to my right whispers, “Suck that cock,” and I do exactly that. For a brief moment, I forget about everything but the man—almost a perfect stranger really— who is in my mouth, tasting deliciously salty and all male, and I give him everything I’ve got. Bridger’s hand pulls and pushes at my head roughly as he grips my hair, and I can tell just by these simple movements that he would never be a gentle lover. That thought excites me and I start to throb as I have visions of him reddening my skin, and I wonder what Woolf would think of Bridger doing just that. A wave of guilt hits me, and I immediately start to try to pull completely away from Bridger as I have the overwhelming and sudden need to belong only to Woolf. And yet… I don’t want to give up the man in my mouth. My eyes prick with tears as my body, mind, and heart all start to compete for various pleasures. How can a sweet kiss from Woolf feel just as good as two men’s fingers inside of me? There’s a distinct possibility I’m going insane.

Bridger holds my hair tight as I start to pull away but then Woolf is behind me, down on his knees, and his arms are wrapping around my waist. His naked chest presses into my back, and I feel his erection against me. His lips press a kiss behind my ear and he whispers, “You’re doing great, baby. Watching you suck Bridger’s cock is so fucking hot.” I let out a hard breath through my nose and he must feel the tension start to melt, because he gives me the piece of advice I need to continue on in my quest to become a different woman. “Don’t think, Callie,” he says as one hand drops down between my legs. “Just know that what’s happening right here… right now… it’s nothing but an experience. It doesn’t change the way I feel about you.” He slowly rubs a light circle around my clit, causing my body to jerk and take Bridger a bit deeper into my mouth. I look up at him, and he gives me a smile that almost borders on tenderness. Something I’d expect from Woolf but not Bridger. Woolf’s words. Bridger’s smile. I feel safe. Reaching my hands up, I grasp onto Bridger’s hips and pull him deeper into me. “Fuck yeah,” he praises with a hoarse voice. Woolf sinks two fingers into me, wrapping his other arm around me even tighter, and he causes my heart to almost seize up in euphoria when he says, “That’s my sweet girl. Even with my fingers in you and another man’s cock on your tongue, you’re still the sweetest girl I’ll ever know.” So my first ménage has started, and I’m not sure if it will be my last, so I give it my all. I move up and down on Bridger’s shaft while Woolf’s fingers play between my legs. My blood races, my head spins… all obvious precursors to a monumental— The explosion of pleasure hits me so hard, I almost choke on Bridger’s dick as I suck in air to keep from passing out. I cry out all around his slick shaft stroking along my tongue on a backward stroke and then he’s gone. I sag back into Woolf’s arms as he continues to rub the orgasm to completion between my legs. I’m almost embarrassed at how hard I’m shuddering, hoping I don’t look like I’m having an awkward and completely unsexy seizure because the pleasure is so intense. The sound of ripping foil startles my senses, and I realize Woolf is pulling me backwards as he sits down onto the floor. He kicks his legs outward, causing my own legs to spread, and then Bridger is crawling in between them. His cock is sheathed in a condom and his hands go behind my knees. He raises my legs, spreads me even wider as I lay on top of Woolf’s reclining body, and then Bridger is slamming his way inside of me.

Chapter 17

Woolf I GRIT MY TEETH as I watch the pleasure overtake Bridger’s face when his cock sinks deep into Callie. So fucking hot and yet bittersweet at the same time. Sweet because Callie is getting exactly what she wants, and bitter because I’m feeling jealous. For the first time in my life, I want to deny Bridger, but fuck if that ship hasn’t already sailed. Callie moans and her head falls back onto my shoulder. Bridger spreads her even wider, and then starts fucking her hard. I stare at his face. A face I’ve seen countless times fucking a woman, and it looks no different than any other time. He doesn’t look like this feels any better, and that gives me a small measure of comfort. I glance down at their union, watching his rubber-coated cock tunnel in and out of her wet pussy, and my own cock aches to be inside of her. If she were a different woman, I would have lubed up and set that gorgeous ass on my dick, but Callie is way too sweet for something like that. At least for now. “Woolf?” Callie whispers. It’s a question. A need for validation. That makes me feel even better about what’s going down. “It’s okay, baby,” I tell her softly, and my hand comes up to circle around her throat with the tips of my fingers and thumb gripping onto her jaw. I turn her head to the side, lean around, and kiss her deeply, holding her tightly as Bridger is rocking her body hard against me. She moans into my mouth, and I know in this moment she’s moaning over my kiss and not Bridger’s dick between her legs. I kiss her hard and possessively, my own moans mingling with hers. I can feel her body grinding against me from Bridger’s strokes, and rather than him picking up the pace so he can get them both off, I sense him slowing down. I pull my lips reluctantly away from Callie, and my eyes immediately lock with Bridger’s as he slowly just undulates against the woman in my arms. I know this man so well that I can read the question in his eyes. Even while he’s balls deep inside what I know is the best pussy in the entire world, his focus is on me and my needs right at this moment. I cannot help the pleading look I give him back, and he immediately knows that while I want Callie to experience this beautiful experience, I’m struggling with my possessiveness over her. Bridger immediately pulls out of Callie. She doesn’t even notice because my mouth is back on hers again, and I let my fingers replace his cock for a few moments. I thrust two, and then three in and out of her, feeling her wetness coating me. My eyes are closed, because I succumb to the rapture of this woman, and yet I’m not surprised when I feel Bridger’s hand covering my own, urging the movement of my hand. His cock may not be in her anymore, but he knows he’s still very much welcome to play with us. This man knows me better than I know myself sometimes. Knows exactly the limits I have with Callie. Fuck, he knew them even before I ever really had a clue. I ache to be inside this woman because even though I may have all kinds of proprietary jealousy

rolling through me, I still found it utterly erotic to watch Callie fall prey to this type of debauchery. My cock is hard as a rock and begging for release. Pulling my lips away from her, I look at Bridger and say just one word. “Bed.” He pulls her up and off me, sweeping her up in his arms, and I come up off the floor and follow them over to the four-poster. He lays Callie in the middle of the mattress, and I’m satisfied that her eyes stay pinned on me. I crawl up onto the mattress from the end of the bed, right up between her legs. From my periphery, I see Bridger pull the condom off his cock as he watches us, his hand starting a fluid, lazy stroke on himself. The other people in the room… discreet people who embrace the subtleties of this lifestyle… come in closer to watch the action. I don’t take my eyes off Callie, but I’ve done enough of these to know that every man has a hard-on, every woman is soaking wet, and before long, there’s going to be a whole lot of fucking going on in this room. But only after Callie and I are done. Nudging her legs apart, I come to rest, kneeling between them. I look down at her, her hooded face only showcasing me those gorgeous, fern-colored eyes sizzling with heat and her lips still puffy from sucking on Bridger’s cock. She is beyond beautiful with a lovely red flush to her neck and her nipples budded hard. Without disengaging my eyes from Callie’s, I ask Bridger, “Think she’s ready for me?” Giving a deep chuckle, he steps up to the edge of the bed. He doesn’t need my permission because my question was actually a command to him. Leaning over Callie, he places one hand softly on her stomach and slips a finger into her with his other hand. He slowly moves it in and out, drawing a tiny mewling sound from her. Her eyes are droopy with lust, but she keeps them open and watches as Bridger finger fucks her. “She’s ready,” Bridger says in a dark, filthy voice. He removes his finger from her pussy and puts it into his mouth to suck clean. Callie gasps as she watches him, and that tiny sound makes his eyes cut over to her. He gives her an almost evil grin and says, “Gotta make sure your man’s ready too.” I know what’s coming, because you see… I know this man as well as he knows me. He wants to show Callie that he’s still very much involved at this moment, and he also wants to shock her. He wants to show her that she hasn’t even begun to imagine the way three people can play together. His hand shoots out and wraps around the base of my dick, causing a tiny hiss of pleasure to slip past my lips. He gives me a few hard pulls, and I watch Callie’s mouth form into a tiny “O” of surprise. She watches in fascination as Bridger leans in toward me and licks the moisture from the tip of my cock. For the dramatic effect, Bridger closes his eyes… savors my taste. When he opens them back up again, he turns to Callie and says, “Yeah… he’s definitely ready for you.” I know I’m sure as fuck ready for her so I raise her legs up and split them wider. Bridger gives a few more strokes on my cock with his rough palm and then tugs me forward. My hips lean in, letting him guide me, and as if choreographed, he helps to push me right inside of that hot, sweet pussy. Callie gives a guttural moan when I sink in deep and while I’m not one to normally talk while fucking, I can’t help it. “Christ, that feels good.” Bridger releases his hold on me, and I start thrusting slowly in and out of her. Callie stares at me and while the hood hides the subtle nuances of her facial muscles, I can tell deep within her eyes that she’s almost completely lost in this experience. Bridger sees it too because he cuts me a quick smirk as if to say, “She needs just a small push to tip her all the way over so she knows she’s been well and truly fucked by two men.”

I nod at him, because it’s my cock that’s deep inside of her, claiming her as mine. Bridger leans in again, bracing his hands on either side of Callie’s hips, and presses his lips to her pussy as I tunnel in and out. My pelvis knocks against the side of his head every time, but it doesn’t stop him from putting his tongue against her clit while I fuck her. Callie lets out a sharp cry of pleasure that seems to go on and on before her eyes cloud thickly over with drug-inducing lust. I’m not sure she’ll even understand what’s happening to her, but I’m now getting lost as well. Driving my cock in and out of Callie while Bridger sucks at her clit and people watch us is getting ready to go down as one of the most erotic things I’ve ever done in my life. It’s not the first time I’ve been in this position, but fuck… with Callie underneath us, it turns this into an experience that will never be rivaled again. “Babe,” I say thickly. Her eyes focus a bit on me, and she licks at her lower lip. I push in deep, hold still for a moment, and just let Bridger’s tongue work a bit. “You okay, baby?” She grunts, and I take that as approval. “I want you to come for me and Bridger, okay?” She grunts again, and Bridger sucks on her hard. I pull out and slam back in. Callie’s back arches high up off the mattress as she screams out, and her pussy contracts hard around my cock as she starts coming. Bridger immediately pulls away from us, and I fall on top of her. My hips start a brutal thrusting in and out. Callie groans and cries as her body shakes. I grind my pelvis down against her hard with each push, drawing her orgasm out. My eyes cut over to Bridger, and he’s stroking his cock hard as he watches me fuck her. It’s too much. It’s all too much, and I explode viciously inside of her. I cry her name out so loudly, it reverberates inside the room, and I’m immediately struck with the fact I have no control where she’s concerned. The woman whose identity I was desperately trying to protect tonight just got outed because I couldn’t handle how fucking good that orgasm felt. I collapse on top of her. Her arms and legs wrap around me, holding me close as I shudder violently. My face turns to rest on her shoulder, and I see Bridger has a woman on her knees in front of him, sucking his cock. The other people in the room are disrobing. Kissing, fondling, groping. In moments, there will be fucking. I’m absolutely depleted with a beautiful woman lying beneath me, and I think I may have just tarnished every bit of sweetness that was inside of her. Turning back to Callie, I burrow in against her neck, pressing my lips to her moist skin and whisper her name this time. I say her name in wonder and partly in shame, because I think I may have just led her down a path I’m not sure I want either one of us on.

* AS PEOPLE START to fuck, I pull Callie from the bed. I gather my clothes and her robe, and we sidestep the orgy in progress to head back to the bathroom. As soon as the door is shut behind us, I turn to her and sift my fingers through her hair as it falls from the hole in the back. “Have to leave the hood on until we get out of the cabin.” She nods as she lowers her face, either from embarrassment over some amazing, dirty sex or shame— I’m not sure which—but either thought earns a tilt of her head back up with my fingers under her chin and a soft kiss from me.

When I pull back, I ask her, “Was it what you expected?” “I could never have expected that,” she says softly. “Tell me the first word that comes to mind right now,” I urge her quickly. Callie’s eyes hold me steady as she says, “Guilt.” I nod in understanding. “Because Bridger fucked you?” “Yes,” she whispers, and then drops her gaze again. “And because it felt good.” My arms wrap around her, and I pull her in close. I’m content to just hold her a minute, her cheek pressed against my chest, while I gather my thoughts. I knew this would happen. It was inevitable really, that she would be conflicted. What is surprising is how conflicted I am as well. Finally, I release her and put my hands to her shoulders, pushing her back just a bit so she can see my face. “Callie… what we did in there… that’s either reserved for one of two kinds of people. Either those that are like Bridger who have no emotional ties to anyone, and look upon that as just a way to feel really good. Or there are some people in monogamous relationships that have strong bonds and can handle that type of sharing without guilt or shame.” “And which group do I belong to?” she asks quietly. But she already knows the answer. She’s not surprised when I say, “Neither.” “And where do you belong?” I stare at her a moment, considering if this might be the exact moment I should cut her out of my life. Save her pain and misery down the road which will be inevitable as I struggle against these same insecurities myself. But when I look at her as she is still unashamedly naked and beautiful in front of me, eyes open and clearly looking to make some sense of this all, I know I can’t lie to her just as I know I can’t give her up right yet. “I’m not quite sure where I belong. You sort of complicate things for me.” Luckily, she doesn’t take offense to that. She knows what I mean. “Did something change in there between us?” “No,” I assure her. “Even as complicated as you make things for me, I think the only thing that happened in there was that things got a little clearer.” “Because there are feelings,” she guesses. “There are now feelings,” I affirm. Deep, strong feelings and that means I am no longer like Bridger. I can’t go in and have unemotional sex where Callie is concerned. Even as turned on as I was watching Bridger fuck Callie, I was equally pissed off and even considered punching him. The only thing that held me back was that I knew the only connection Bridger was feeling to Callie was his cock in her pussy, because that’s the only part of his body that is activated during sex. But what I feel for Callie is unclear. I’m not sure I can continue on with this lifestyle and her at the same time. Jealousy can never come into play during a ménage, and I most certainly felt that when Bridger was inside of her. Oddly, I didn’t feel it when he was touching her in other ways, and I’m thinking that might take a slew of psychologists to figure that one out. Regardless, I know one thing for sure. Callie is not cut out for this. I’ve done my duty and I gave her the experience, but that’s as far as that will ever go. From here on out, she’s mine alone until I can decide which life is truly for me. I pull Callie’s clothes from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and hand them to her. We silently get dressed and without a word, she slips her hand into mine as I open the door. Immediately, the

sounds of groans, curses, and slapping skin fill the air. I almost hate for Callie to see this, but it can’t be helped. We have to make our way through the orgy to get to the exit door. Winding us through the coupling bodies, I efficiently guide us to the front of the cabin. A quick glance over my shoulder and I see Callie’s not even watching the action. I take that as a subtle sign that maybe she realizes this isn’t really for her either. That, or she’s just still a bit dazed over the entire experience. The late June air is mildly cool but not chilly as we step out onto the porch. As soon as the door shuts behind us, I unlace the back of the hood and pull it free from her head. She takes her fingertips, scratching at her scalp and fluffing her hair out a bit as we walk over to my Range Rover. Just as I open the door and help her step up into the vehicle, motion from the opposite side of the porch gets my attention. I see Colton jogging up the front steps which are lit by the single, yellow bulbed sconce beside the door. He glances over at me and waves a hand in greeting. I immediately push Callie roughly into the seat and shut the door, praying to God he can’t see her from the darkness of where I’m parked. No clue why that fucker is here, but I raise a hand back to him and he gives me a friendly nod before grabbing ahold of the door to the cabin. I hold my breath with unrivaled anxiety as he steps inside and shuts it behind him. Fuck, that was a close call. And that pretty much settles any remaining indecision I may have had warring inside my head. Callie Hayes is never coming back to The Wicked Horse for as long as she lives.

Chapter 18

Callie I GLANCE AT the clock on the dashboard of my truck and mentally grimace. I knew I shouldn’t have taken the time to stop at Camarina’s, but I just couldn’t help myself. I wanted to wear something sexy for Woolf for the next time we’re together, and the high-end lingerie store was calling out to me. A teddy, three pairs of panties, and two new bras, and I was on my way to pick up some groceries as my parents were coming in for the weekend. This worked out well as Tenn is also flying in this afternoon, although he’ll be staying for a week. I say it works out well, but in fact, it sucks, because I’m not sure when I will get to see Woolf again what with my parents and Tenn visiting. And by “see” Woolf, I absolutely mean “have sex” with Woolf. Whipping into the grocery store parking lot, I find a spot and hop out. As has been par for the course all day, I’m thinking about Woolf. I get goose bumps every time I think about him. I absolutely shudder if I think about what happened last night between Woolf, Bridger, and me. I was in a room with two men having sex with me while others watched. When I think about the mechanics of what happened… the implications… I don’t know whether to be turned on or off. I think turned on, because damn… Woolf… Bridger. Woolf. Really, just Woolf. He made me feel absolutely safe and sheltered during that entire experience. It was the dirtiest, most erotic thing I could ever have imagined happening to me. I felt immense pleasure and tremendous guilt at the same time for what I was doing, and yet when it was all over, Woolf reassured my sensibilities. He drove me home last night, and without my invitation, came inside with me. Because we had pretty much been fucking like rabbits every day, several times a day, for the last week, I expected more of the same when we got inside. Instead, we took a shower together where he did nothing more than gently help me to wash myself before pulling me out and drying me off. He sat on the edge of the bathtub with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist as I blow-dried my hair, flipping through his iPhone to bide his time. When I was done, that is when the oddest thing happened. Woolf stripped our towels off and swept me up in his arms. He deposited me on the bed, crawling in behind me. With his arms securely around me, legs intertwined, he kissed me on my forehead and said, “Talk to me.” It startled me. That simple command. But all of a sudden, I realized… I needed to talk more about what had just happened between us. I needed someone to explain to me and help me make sense of the myriad of emotions coursing through me. I needed to know if what I did was right or if it was wrong. “Bridger,” was all I needed to say to get the conversation rolling, and Woolf told me all I needed to know about the mysterious man. “He’s the only one I would trust to be with you and that’s why I asked him to join us,” he told me in a steady, calm voice. “And even though he’s my best friend in the world… even though I would have never

denied him a woman I was with in the past… it bothered the fuck out of me to see you with him.” I hated that Woolf was feeling conflicted, but I can’t deny… it felt damn good to hear he was jealous. “Is that why he… um… stopped?” I asked uncertainly. “Yeah. He knew it was bothering me.” “He just knew?” I asked with some level of wonder, because when Woolf talks about Bridger, it’s always with a tone that surpasses respect. Maybe deification? “I would trust Bridger with my life,” Woolf said with such conviction, I knew that something had happened to cement that relationship. I knew without him ever telling me another thing, that what my brother had in the way of friendship with Woolf was nothing compared to what existed between Bridger and Woolf. And I wanted to know why, only because I’m fascinated by the connection these two men have. And oddly… maybe even a little jealous of it. “Why do you have such a tight bond with him?” I asked. Woolf chuckled low in his throat and squeezed me. “I’ll tell you, only because you’re one of the few people who have truly seen just how comfortable we are with each other.” My face flamed red because I knew he was talking about the fact that Bridger fisted Woolf’s cock and then licked the tip of it. That right there was so fucking hot, I almost orgasmed just from the sight of it. “Bridger and I became close friends right away in college. Joined the same fraternity, became roommates in the frat house. That sort of stuff. We drank, we got drunk… we talked.” “About me,” I couldn’t help interjecting, because I knew this from Bridger. Woolf snorted. “You were the tamest of some of the subjects we had going on, but yes… we talked. About everything.” “About sex.” “About the kinkiest types of sex,” he clarified. “We had a lot in common, let’s just say, when it came to all the ways in which we liked to get our rocks off.” “Were you two… you know, ever together?” I asked timidly, not really understanding how I was feeling about that particular subject. I mean, it was so hot to watch Bridger actually guide Woolf’s cock into me, but I’m not sure I liked the idea of them having a more intimate type of relationship outside of the best buds status. It definitely made me feel jealous. Woolf chuckled again, completely amused with me. “If you mean have we ever fucked, then the answer is ‘no’. Not really turned on by that, but when we’ve been in threesomes, or group sex parties… Bridger doesn’t discriminate in who he touches. He’s into everything.” “When he touched you… licked you,” I asked with my face burning and thankful he really couldn’t see it as it rested on his chest, “did that turn you on?” “It felt good,” Woolf said matter-of-factly. “But that’s not what turned me on. What turned me on was watching you get turned on by it.” “Really?” I had asked, completely amazed. “Baby,” Woolf said with a deep laugh. “If you had told us that it would have turned you on to have Bridger fuck me, I would have probably let him do it just for you.” “No way,” I exclaimed and pushed up from his chest to look down at him. He grinned back at me. “Yeah, no way. He’s got a huge cock and I bet it would hurt like a motherfucker.” I couldn’t help the giggle that popped out, but then I turned serious when he lifted a hand and touched my cheek. “But seriously… there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for Bridger, and he for me.”

“Tell me why,” I said, taking my own hand and laying it over his. “There’s a story there and it’s important, so tell me.” Woolf had pulled me back down to his chest and I wiggled a bit to get settled in. “Bridger and I did some crazy shit in college. Always trying to push the envelope. Bridger got involved with the BDSM lifestyle and while that really wasn’t my thing, I loved the parties he’d take me too. Next thing I knew… Bridger and I were throwing sex parties. We’d rent a venue, charge a cover, and let people in to do all sorts of crazy fucking.” I know this should stun me, but it truly doesn’t. Not after what I’ve seen in The Silo. Not after what I had just done. Woolf’s voice drops a little and his fingers stroke at my shoulder. “The funny thing is… we didn’t do it for the money. I mean… Bridger needed the money and I gave it all to him because I was rich as shit, but that’s not why we did it. We did it for the thrill… always trying to make that next orgasm bigger and better. We did it for the shock value and before you knew it… we were sort of addicted to that shit.” “Like a drug?” I asked with skepticism. “Maybe,” he said softly. “I just know… when it came to my sexual lifestyle, I liked it kinky and varied, and I was always looking for the next big rush with the sex. I never went back for seconds though.” I couldn’t help the slight sting of jealousy and sadness that hit me. Woolf has been with so many women. Beautiful, gorgeous, sinful women that would do far dirtier things than I ever did with him. But I pushed past it because as I lay in his arms and listened to him tell me all about the importance of Bridger, I realized… he’d come back for far more than seconds with me. Woolf went on to explain that in their senior year at the University of Wyoming, they had thrown a sex party and were stunned to see the dean’s daughter had shown up with her boyfriend. Apparently, they ended up in a threesome with Woolf, which had been recorded by someone that had snuck in a smart phone. Within days, the video had gone viral, but only three things were discernable from the grainy quality. The dean’s daughter’s boyfriend, who was on his back on a mattress and looking unbeknownst right at the camera. The dean’s daughter, who was straddling his cock and had her head tilted to the side, looking unbeknownst right at the camera. And the back of a dark-haired man with a tattoo of a bucking bronco on his right shoulder blade, who was not looking at the camera but was clearly fucking the dean’s daughter up the ass. My head popped back up off Woolf’s chest and I looked down at him in shock, because my lips had traced across that very same tattoo many times this past week. “Oh, my God,” I said in a whisper, and then actually covered my mouth with my hand. “What happened?” “I was on a one-way ticket to getting kicked out of school because I had been identified by that tattoo. Not just for going all anal on the dean’s daughter, but for setting up the sex party to begin with. It sort of outed me to the campus police what we had been doing.” “But you didn’t get kicked out?” I surmised, because I know he graduated with a degree in animal sciences. Bitter sadness filled Woolf’s eyes and he shook his head. “Behind my back, Bridger turned himself into the campus police, who were conducting the investigation before I could even be called in for questioning. Appears the asshole had gone out and gotten a matching tattoo on his back.” “He took the fall for you,” I said in amazement.

“And I’ll never be able to repay him for it,” he concluded with finality. “He got kicked out of school and lost the ability to complete his degree.” I didn’t know what to say. I was mortified at the things Woolf had admitted to doing, and incredibly touched by the lengths that Bridger went to protect his friend. I don’t know about Bridger’s background, but Woolf’s family would have been terribly battered by such a scandal. The Jennings were too public to not have that adversely affect them. I wanted to ask more questions, but in reality, I sensed that Woolf telling me that story was something I should treasure. He never admitted as much, but I think I may be only the third person that truly knows what happened there. As such, I was incredibly humbled he shared it with me and also incredibly turned on by his trust in me. I leaned down and kissed him, letting my hand slide down his stomach to his cock, which started swelling the minute my fingers wrapped around it. I then proceeded to show him with my mouth just how much it meant that he shared that story with me. “Callie… hey, wait up,” I hear from behind me, and instantly, my memories of Woolf and blow jobs fade away. Turning, I see Colton jogging across the parking lot toward me. My muscles lock with anxiety because Woolf had told me Colton had shown up at the cabin last night as he was helping me into the Range Rover. I hadn’t seen him as I had my head bowed down, rooting through my purse for some gum, but I was terrified he had seen me. Woolf wasn’t sure or not, but he said Colton didn’t seem to recognize me, hopefully because it was so dark outside where the truck was parked. “Hey,” I say with as bright a smile as I can muster. “What are you up to?” Colton’s eyes travel down me briefly, and is that my imagination, or did they linger on my breasts? I can’t tell because it was a quick maneuver of his gaze, and then he’s staring at me intently. “Just grabbing a few things for dinner tonight. Interested in joining me?” “Um… thank you, but no. I’ve actually got some work to do tonight.” Colton manages to take another step in toward me, and I’m practically pinned up against the door to my truck. His hand comes out and he grazes a finger down the side of my arm. “Come on, Callie. You need to have a little fun. All work and no play makes Callie a dull girl.” Huh. I bet he wouldn’t think me so dull if he saw me with Bridger and Woolf last night. I shake my head and pull my arm back. “Actually, I can’t. I think I’m going to try to work on patching things up with my fiancé. He was just here in town and we’ve been talking again.” It’s a bald lie. The part about patching things up, that is, but I couldn’t think of any other way to put Colton off. I hold his gaze solidly, hoping the squared set to my shoulders lends more truth to my quavering voice. Colton just stares at me a moment, his eyes flicking back and forth between my own. Finally, he places his forearm on the edge of my truck bed, leaning his face in closer to me. In a soft voice, he says, “That’s a shame to hear.” I release the air I had been holding in my lungs slowly, so he doesn’t understand how relieved that makes me to hear him say that. He nods his head and tips his hat as he takes a step backward. “Have a nice evenin’, Callie.” “You too,” I murmur, but he’s already turned away and walking back across the parking lot. He said all the right words. Acted as if he bought my explanation. And yet, something heavy settles in the pit of my stomach. I think it was because of the slight smile he gave me just before he turned away.

I’m pretty sure it said, “Nice try, Callie Hayes, but I got your number.”

Chapter 19

Woolf I MISS CALLIE and that fucking bothers me. I am utterly obsessed with her, and I can’t seem to concentrate for shit. This bothers me because not only have I never given another woman this much of my attention before, but I’ve never given another person in the entire world this much of my devotion, and that includes Bridger. It scares the piss out of me that all I can seem to think about is her. Tenn arrived by plane at a little after three PM, and of course, I didn’t even see him walk out of the airport because I was thinking of Callie. Or, more specifically, the way I ate her pussy this morning, then fucked her hard doggie style, and almost made myself pass out from the force of the orgasm I had. I think she did pass out for a few seconds. Or the way after dinner tonight, Tenn suggested we get started going over some business matters he came in to discuss, and of course, I was thinking about Callie. Except it wasn’t about sex and Callie, which does indeed take up a lot of my day, but rather about how fucking good it feels to sleep with her all night with my arms wrapped tightly around her and the smell of her gardenia shampoo in my nose. Fucking woman is what I’m turning in to. We just finished making some coffee and started back in on the financials, and even now, as Tenn flips through this quarter’s P&Ls for the various subsidiary companies under JennCo, I tap my pencil on my thigh, which makes me think of spanking Callie. I wonder if she’d get off on it? I bet she would. In fact, I will definitely spank that gorgeous ass next time we’re together while the fingers on my other hand are shoved deep inside her— “Everything looks in order,” Tenn says as he closes the large binder and throws it down on the coffee table, sadly making all thoughts of my palm heating Callie’s ass up splinter and dissolve. We had spread everything out in the Great Room and sipped on coffee while I brought him up to date on everything. After my father died, Tenn promised to stay involved with the company until I felt secure enough for him to walk away for good. Tenn wanted to live his simple life in North Carolina with Casey, Zoe, and Bree. And I’m thinking that time is about now, because while Tenn had planned on staying a week to visit, I’ve managed to update him on everything in just under one evening thanks to some well-organized reports from Marta. He picks up his coffee cup from the table and tilts it until it’s drained. When he sets it down, he leans back on the couch and studies me for a moment. Finally, he says, “Bro… I’m not sure why you need me involved anymore. You’re doing a fucking fantastic job.” I know I should be all aflutter from his praise, but I’m not. I haven’t done anything that amazing, because truthfully, JennCo has an unparalleled Board of Directors, vice presidents, and attorneys that pretty much keep things going for us. Like Tenn, I review a few reports to keep my eye on things, make a few suggestions, but mostly, I let my advisors lead the way. Now granted, I still have a very active hand in managing the Double J, because there’s no denying that the actual practice of ranching is part of my DNA. I do love that aspect of running the business and have never once thought of backing away from that. In truth, I guess I’ve never invested one-hundred percent in to the thought of backing away from

JennCo either. While I’ve always slightly resented that I’ve had to bear the burden of it, particularly when I started The Wicked Horse, the truth of the matter is that I’m not sure I could abandon it. While for a period of time I thought the club might be my true calling in life, when it boils down to it, I’ve managed to run JennCo, the ranch, and The Wicked Horse—with Bridger’s help of course—just fine. And if I can continue to manage all three enterprises as well as let Tenn free to live his life, then there really is no reason for me to even tell him about The Wicked Horse. Right? Because that was my goal on this trip of his back home. To let him in on what really motivates me. To share with him the person I truly am. He loves tinkering with his motorcycles… I love tinkering with kinky sex. Not that much different to my way of thinking. Except, there’s a damn good argument to be made that he should just stay in the dark where The Wicked Horse is concerned. It’s not hurting him or the business. It’s operated on the down low, and I’ve been able to smoothly handle both lives with no problems. “What about Stokes’ Red Angus crossbreeds?” Tenn asked conversationally. “Any good?” I had managed to make it over to Colton’s ranch to check out his stock last week and wasn’t overly impressed. He talked a good game but in my opinion, the musculature on the cattle had the potential to fall short of Angus certification standards. “I took a pass on purchasing from him. They were nice but didn’t overwhelm me, and I don’t want to risk weakening our stock. I’ll take my chances at auction.” Tenn nods. “I heard through the grapevine that after his daddy had that bypass, he’s been having troubles maintaining the ranch.” I blink in surprise. “Really? Colton always made it sound like things were going great.” With a shrug, Tenn pushes up from the couch and grabs his cup. “Who knows? Want another cup of coffee?” “Sure,” I say as I hand him my mug just as the doorbell rings. Tenn nods his head toward the door. “You see who’s here and I’ll get us filled back up.” I push up and off the couch and walk over to the east staircase that leads up to the first level. The front door to the house leads to nothing more than a large foyer that overlooks the interior of the two-story Great Room below, since the house is built into the back of a butte and falls downward from the top floor. The massive Great Room’s southern wall is nothing but floor-to-ceiling panes of glass framed in cedar providing a stunning view of the Teton mountain range. I jog up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and swing the front door open just as the doorbell rings again. Rather insistently, this time. I put on an annoyed face to level at whoever is standing on the other side, but as soon as I see Governor Hayes standing there with a furious look on his face, my annoyance is forgotten. Now I’m filled with gut-wrenching dread. “We need to talk,” he grits out between teeth clenched so tightly, I’m not sure his jaw will ever come unhinged. There’s only one reason he’s standing on my front porch looking like that, so I have to ask him, “Is Callie alright?” “As if you even care,” he hisses as he takes a step toward me. I back up, not out of fear but out of respect. Opening the door wider, I motion him inside, and he storms past me. With a sigh and a brisk rub of my forefinger over the bridge of my nose, I close the door and follow him down the stairs.

Governor Reginald Hayes knows his way around my house well. He and my father were tight friends, having known each other most of their lives, and of course, my father contributed a lot of money to his political campaigns and to the campaigns of his cronies over the years. I’ve not been much of one to follow the political scene, but I’ve instructed my CFO to make appropriate donations to Reggie when he’s needed them, out of familial respect. His son, Richard, was one of my closest friends after all, and I could even say Reggie was somewhat of a father figure to me. But now as he hits the bottom step and rounds on me, looking madder than a rattlesnake, I know that he’s holding not one ounce of affection for me. Callie got her looks from her father, as her mother, Ellen, has fair skin and hair. Now Reggie’s green eyes that he passed on to Callie are almost red with fury as he says, “Just what in the fuck have you gotten my daughter involved in, Woolf?” I hold my hands up in supplication. “Reggie… you need to just calm—” “Don’t you tell me to calm down,” he bellows as he advances on me. I back up but he keeps charging, until I’m stopped by the stone wall that borders the fireplace. His hands come to my t-shirt and grip me tightly. Even though he’s shorter than me by several inches, he has the rage of a protective father coursing through him and he pulls me forward before slamming me back into the wall. And I let him, because fuck… if I had a daughter and some man did to her what I did to Callie… I’d fucking kill him. No doubt. The next thing I know, Reggie is pulled back by Tenn’s strong arms around his stomach and pushed not too gently away. While he too respects Governor Hayes, he’s reacting out of protective instinct of his brother at the moment. “What the hell is going on?” Tenn says in what is a moderately calm voice as he looks between Reggie and me. I pull the edge of my t-shirt down, straightening out the wrinkles left from Reggie’s fists, and try to stall for a good answer. Too late. Reggie points a shaking finger at me while he looks at Tenn. “Your brother is a fucking pervert, and he ruined my daughter.” “Now wait a goddamned second—” I start to say, because that’s not really accurate, but Tenn steps toward Reggie menacingly. In true big brother fashion, he takes my back without even knowing if I’m guilty. “I suggest you tone it down a notch, Reggie, or I’ll be forced to see you out, governor or no governor title to your name.” Reggie isn’t dissuaded but merely comes at me a different way. He turns to face me and almost spits out with disgust, “Tell him. Tell your brother all about your sex club and the orgies you have there. Tell him about bringing Callie there for an orgy.” “What the fuck?” Tenn says incredulously at Reggie, still disbelieving a word he’s saying about his little brother. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and take a deep breath, because I can’t let Tenn keep defending me when Reggie is skirting too close to the truth. “It wasn’t an orgy,” I say tiredly, feeling the weight of my brother’s surprised stare. “It was a private group of people that got together for—” Reggie’s fist comes out of nowhere and catches me solidly on my left jaw. My head rocks hard and I stagger back a step, but I right myself quickly and manage to catch his follow-up punch with one hand. Tenn jumps in and pulls Reggie away again, who is now so red in the face and panting hard, that I’m afraid he’s going to have a heart attack. “Sit down,” Tenn orders Reggie and pushes him into the nearest chair. He then points to me. “Park

your ass on the couch and you better do some fucking fast talk to clear this up.” I refuse to take the couch as my brother orders, because I’m not a child, but I go ahead and lay it all out for him. “A little over a year ago, I started construction on a nightclub called The Wicked Horse. It’s been open a few months now.” “It’s a sex club,” Reggie growls. I hold my hand up to him and give a glare. “It’s a nightclub, but there are buildings behind it that I sell private memberships to. The patrons have access to a secure and private place where they can meet up with people of like minds—” “Perverts,” Reggie huffs. “—who can live out their sexual fantasies safely.” Tenn’s mouth flops opens, and he stares at me as if he didn’t understand a word of what I just said. But then it seems to hit him all at once. “You built this on Double J property?” he asks slowly. “Yes.” “With family money?” “No. With my money,” I tell him without breaking eye contact. “And what the hell does this have to do with Callie?” Tenn asks me and then looks over at Reggie. “I thought she was living back East.” “I wish,” Reggie snarls. “I didn’t like Will much but at least he kept her safe from this… this… debauchery.” I shake my head. Oh, Reggie. If only you knew what kind of shit your daughter’s fiancé was into. Standing from the couch, Reggie turns to Tenn. “Colton Stokes told me that Woolf owns that club and that he took Callie there.” Motherfucking twat. I’m going to kill that fucker. Pointing a shaking finger at me, Reggie’s voice gets high with hysteria. “He said there was an orgy going on and he saw Callie coming out of one of the buildings with Woolf. He brought my little girl to an orgy and took advantage of her.” “Not denying he saw Callie and me together,” I growl, because I’m about sick of this shit. “But that’s all he saw.” “Do you deny that there was an orgy going on in that building you came out of with my sweet Callie?” Reggie practically screams. “I think you need to take a chill pill, old man,” I sneer at him defensively. “Christ,” Tenn mutters as he scrubs his hand through his hair. “Where is Callie?” I ask Reggie, figuring she took her father’s fury first. “She’s at home and you had better stay the fuck away from her,” Reggie says shakily. “Is she okay?” I ask, needing him to at least tell me that. Reggie laughs as he takes a step toward me. Tenn is poised to pounce if necessary, but Reggie’s voice stops him in his tracks. It’s soft and deadly sincere. “You’re a selfish man, Woolf. Did it ever occur to you the people you could be hurting with all of this? Callie’s reputation. My reputation. Do you know what would happen if word got out that the governor’s daughter was at a sex club? What type of turmoil you’d throw this precious state—that you claim to love—in? Did you even think once what this would do to Callie if it became public?” Guilt and shame crush me, because most of that shit never once crossed my mind. Not seriously, anyway. I was too focused on pleasing myself and giving into Callie’s desires, that I never once

considered the repercussions. “I’ll talk to Colton,” I say lamely. “Colton Stokes won’t say a word,” Reggie says with an impatient wave of his hand. “He only wanted me to know so I could put a stop to it for Callie’s sake. He’s an honorable man.” Naive son of a bitch. That same honorable man is a member of my club, you moron. But I don’t say a word. I just let my shoulders go ahead and sag under the weight of recrimination. Tenn falls down into the seat that Reggie just vacated and stares out the window. Reggie turns away from both of us and heads to the staircase that leads up to the foyer. When he reaches the bottom step, he says, “Don’t come around Callie. I’ll shoot you on sight if you do. And as of this moment, the Hayes and the Jennings have no ties to each other. We’re done.” I wince as I watch Reggie walk heavily up the stairs and slide out the front door. I figure my dad and Richard are rolling over in their graves right now, probably sick with disappointment in me, but I can’t think about that right now. Whipping my phone out, I call Callie, but her voice mail picks up. “Callie… I need to see you. Call me and we’ll figure a place we can meet.” I disconnect the phone and shove it back in my pocket. My brain is spinning, and I need to talk to Bridger about this. But first… I need to kill Colton Stokes. No wait… I need to go see Callie. That’s what I need to do first. I can kill Colton later, because that’s about all I can do to him. It’s true enough he signed the same nondisclosure agreement that Callie signed, but there’s no way I can collect on it. That would take a lawsuit. Lawsuits are public record, and Reggie has made it painfully clear how much public knowledge of my club could hurt Callie and their family. “How in the ever-loving fuck could you have done something so stupid?” Tenn asks me quietly and I jolt, having forgotten he was there. I turn to look at him, my face flushed with anger. “It’s a legitimate business. I was going to—” Tenn waves his hand at me. “I don’t give a fuck about your… your… whatever the fuck it is. As long as you aren’t breaking any laws or hurting anyone, I don’t give a shit what you do, but how in the hell could you have gotten Callie involved in that? For Christ’s sake, Woolf… she’s like our little sister.” With a sigh, I cross over to the couch and flop down on it. I stare at Tenn morosely. “I don’t know. It just got out of control with her. She wanted to go, and I couldn’t say no to her.” “Well, you should have tried harder,” Tenn snaps at me. “I know,” I say apologetically, and then again resolutely. “I know.” “Stay away from her,” Tenn warns. “Her family cannot be connected to that shit. You owe that to them out of respect for Dad and Richard.” “I fucking got it,” I snap back and then push up off the couch, grabbing my hat off the table. “Where are you going?” Tenn asks with brotherly concern. Or overbearing concern. Not sure which. “Out,” is all I tell him as I trot up the stairs. I need to talk to Bridger.

Chapter 20

Callie I LIFT THE GLASS of champagne and drain the remainder. It’s my second glass and I’m already slightly tipsy from it, but that’s what the bubbly does to me. A tuxedoed waiter walks by and I replace the empty with another, taking a tentative sip at it. I want to get stinkin’ drunk, but I’m in “good daughter” mode tonight so that’s not possible. I’ve been trying to stay in “good daughter” mode since last Saturday morning when my father called me down to his study and proceeded to light into me about The Wicked Horse. Apparently, Colton had a little talk with my father, and so he was having a little—okay, really fucking big—talk with me. He then left and went straight to Woolf’s house to confront him, and I had hoped Woolf had half a brain and did as I did. Deny, deny, deny. I told my father I had no clue what he was talking about and told him that what I did in my personal time was my business and not his. I refused to admit a thing, and so he basically ranted at me for almost forty-five minutes. When he saw he wasn’t getting any satisfaction from me, he informed me he was going to confront Woolf. Before he left, however, he actually brought me down a peg or two. “Callie,” he said quietly… almost as if he was exhausted over having me as a daughter. “I never thought you could disappoint me like that. I never knew that you had the capacity to hurt me like that. I’m just so ashamed of you.” I had to blink hard and fast to stop the moisture from pooling when he said that, and then I was torn between being defiant and wanting to beg my father’s forgiveness. Ultimately, when he returned back home that afternoon, I decided to beg forgiveness and told him I was so sorry for causing him shame. I never did admit to anything, but I was truly sorry and he felt it from me. He felt it from me because he then asked me for a promise. He said, “Callie… I don’t want you to see Woolf Jennings anymore. I cannot afford to have his name tied to yours if knowledge of that club gets out. It would ruin me politically, so as your father, I’m begging you… please give him up.” I didn’t answer right away. In fact, every cell in my body reared up in defiance of such a notion. But I couldn’t ignore the supreme fact that my father’s political career would be decimated if I was ever found to be affiliated with something like that. Doesn’t matter if it was legal—it was still considered immoral and I didn’t want my father’s legacy to be tarnished with that. Even though I felt my heart constrict painfully, I said, “I’ll give him up.” And I’ve been fucking miserable since. Woolf won’t quit calling or texting me. For the last four days straight, he’s bombarded me with requests to meet. I haven’t responded to a single one, even though I felt a huge stab of pain every time he reached out to me. Eventually, he’d get tired of waiting for me and move on. Back to The Silo where he’d have women lined up to have a crack at him. That thought makes me absolutely sick to my stomach, and the bubbly threatens to come up. Swallowing hard, I spy Colton Stokes down below me from my perch on the second-floor landing of my dad’s house. I can’t believe he has the nerve to show up here, especially after ratting me out. He made the

mistake of looking up at me with a genuine smile, and the death glare I gave him back wiped it right off his face. Since then, he’s not tried to make eye contact with me once. My father throws a massive 4th of July party every year. Sometimes it’s at the Governor’s Mansion, but this year it’s at our family home in Jackson. Right now, most of the folks are making their way outside to the backyard, where my parents spared no expense in the fireworks display that should be starting before too long. It makes me think of the last fireworks show I saw with Woolf in the back of my pickup. Ugh… so not fair. Not fair, not fair, not fair. “Darling… let’s head down to watch the show,” I hear my mother say as her hand comes gently to my shoulder. She’s stayed out of this between my father and me, but the looks she gives me are kind and understanding. She knows me well, and knows that I have feelings for Woolf. Whether she believes I went to a sex club or not, she knows I’d never do that with a man I didn’t trust and care for. “I’ll be down in a minute,” I tell her with a smile. “I’m going to grab a sweater out of my room.” I didn’t need the sweater because it was fairly mild outside, but I didn’t want to be around all those people pretending to have a good time. I wanted to mope, and I figured no one would care if I just slipped away unnoticed. My mom nods and leans in to kiss my cheek. “Chin up, sweetheart. Just give this some time.” She pulls back, and I look at my mom intently. Pale blonde hair, dark brown eyes. She’s classically beautiful… some would say regal… but she’s always just been my mother. “Thanks,” I tell her and watch as she turns to head down the arched stairway to the first floor. With a sigh, I chug the rest of my champagne, almost sneezing from the bubbles that seemed to have drifted into my nose, and turn to set the glass on a small buffet table resting against the wall. I walk to my room, loving the lightheaded feeling and hoping it will help me get a good night’s sleep. I haven’t slept for shit since my father went berserk this past weekend, and that’s due mainly to the fact that I miss Woolf. I miss working in his office at the Double J, and the way he would joke with me. That smile… his easygoing ways. Oh, and sex. I really, really miss sex with him. As I close my bedroom door behind me, I reach behind my neck to undo the delicate, silver-chained necklace that I paired with the yellow strapless summer dress I had worn for the party. I kick off my sandals, which are white and covered with little white and yellow leather daisies along the straps. Throwing my necklace on my vanity stand, I open my wardrobe, intent on hanging my dress back up. When the door swings open, revealing the full-length mirror attached to the inside, I give a tiny scream of fright when I see someone lying behind me on my bed. I spin around, clutching my hands to my chest, and even though my brain recognizes Woolf casually lounging, his back propped up against the headboard and his booted feet crossed over each other, my heart is still galloping away from me like an insane racehorse that’s gone off track. “Jesus,” I rasp out. “You scared the shit out of me.” Woolf surges off the bed, his face grim as he strides up to me. “Maybe if you’d return a fucking phone call, I wouldn’t have had to sneak in here to see you.” “I don’t think it’s—” That’s as far as I get before his hands are in my hair and he’s pulling my face to his. His mouth crushes down against mine, and he instantly reminds me how possessive he can be. He grips me hard, I think maybe intent on hurting me just a little, but his tongue against mine feels too damn good for me to complain. Just as my arms start to involuntarily snake up his chest, he tears free of me and pushes me away.

“Christ… you drive me fucking mad,” he grumbles as he rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. Then he immediately turns soft on me, reaching a hand back out to clasp me around the back of my neck so he can pull me into a tight hug. “Are you okay?” My arms go around his waist because I can’t freaking help myself. He looks too good, smells even better, and my body responds without listening to that small part of my brain that says, You promised your dad you’d stay away from him. Woolf’s arms squeeze me, and then he’s pushing me back to look at my face. “Are you? Okay?” “Yeah… I’m fine.” “Fuck, I’ve been so worried. When you wouldn’t return my calls, I wasn’t sure if your father sent you off to a convent or something.” I can’t help the snort that comes out, followed by a snicker that’s completely fueled by champagne bubbles. “I think I’m a little old for that.” “Then why the hell didn’t you return my calls or texts?” Woolf demands angrily. My gaze immediately falls away from his. “Because I promised my father I wouldn’t.” “Fuck that,” Woolf snarls, and then he’s kissing me again. With a slight bend, he’s got his hands under my ass and he’s lifting me up. A quick spin and he has me on the bed. A short fall of his body on top of mine and he has me pinned. When his lips go to my throat, I manage to whisper, “Woolf—we shouldn’t.” He merely says, “Shut the fuck up, Callie,” and then he’s moving down my body and pushing my dress up. Shouldering his way in between my legs, he nudges them apart and with quick, deft hands does nothing more than jerk my underwear to the side so his mouth can latch onto me. I cry out over the sensation, my hips flying off the bed as my hands slam to his head to press him down harder against me. He fucking laughs against my wet flesh, and the vibration of it along with his tongue already has me soaring high. I guess Woolf is thinking our time may be limited, because he’s working quickly on me. I mean, who knows if my father might come looking for me with his shotgun. And oh, God… I didn’t even lock my door. My only hope is that the fireworks will start soon and drown out any more cries that pop out of me. Regardless, Woolf attacks me hard with his mouth and tongue, working my clit without mercy. He adds fingers, possibly a thumb, I’m not sure because I can’t even bear to look down at his head between my legs. It’s too sinfully sexy, so I stare at my ceiling and rotate my hips counter to his movements. “Come on, baby,” he urges me before fluttering his tongue against me hard. I come in a glorious explosion just as the first rocket explodes outside, lighting up my window in a red glow. Woolf continues to lick at me, growling his approval over the way I continue to buck against him in pleasure. Finally, he rears up and starts tearing at his belt and fly. When his cock is free from his jeans just barely pushed down past his hips, he hastily grabs at my underwear and pulls them down my legs. He’s moving like a man on a mission, and he’s not going to be deterred. Not that I would deter him. “Hurry,” I even whisper at him and his eyes fire hot at me. He falls forward, braces one hand on the mattress, and I hike my legs up, spreading them wide with my sundress bunched all around my waist. With his free hand guiding, Woolf pushes his cock deep into me and with every inch that he covers, a long groan tears free from deep in his chest, until he’s fully seated inside me. His eyes close and he bites down on his bottom lip as he drops the other hand to the mattress. He stays just absolutely still inside of me, seeming to fight for some type of restraint. I hold my breath as I watch him, fascinated and amazed at this man who always seems to be so in

control, looking like he’s on the verge of losing it. He feels so good inside of me. I’m utterly full and truly possessed by him. When his eyes open, they pin me in place with a caring tenderness I had not expected after the frenzy of lust that caused him to make me come and drive deep within me in probably less than three minutes. “God, I missed this,” Woolf murmurs as he gives a hesitant rotation of his hips against me. I moan as he rocks against me, squeezing my legs in tight against his hips. “Me too.” He lowers himself onto me, elbows now supporting his weight on the mattress. He pumps his hips leisurely, and the sensation is exquisite. Woolf drops his face and presses his lips against my neck. “Mmmmmm,” he moans against my skin. After a few more thrusts, he goes still again and raises his head to look down at me. “Christ, Callie… I want to draw this out but I’m having a hard time here, baby.” I give a squeeze of my inner muscles, feeling them press in all around on his huge cock inside me. He groans and huffs out a breath of frustration. “Just fuck me, Woolf,” I say as my hands come to circle around his head. I draw him down because I need his mouth on mine. Just before our lips touch, I tell him, “Fuck me good and hard, okay?” Our eyes touch first and he smiles at me. “Okay.” And then he fucks me hard. The rockets explode and boom outside my window, my headboard bangs against the wall, and I can’t help the cries that come out of my mouth, which are thankfully muffled by Woolf kissing me the entire time he pounds me down into the mattress. He unleashes four days of pent-up passion and lust onto me, and I love every single fucking minute of it. Within moments, I’m orgasming again with such force, tears leak out of my eyes, graze my temples, and tickle at my ears. And still Woolf thrusts into me hard and fast, our bodies coming together so perfectly, I wonder how in the world I could ever give this up. Woolf lifts his mouth from my lips, slams into me deep one last time, and drops his forehead down until it’s resting against mine. He grinds his pelvis against me as he starts to come. “Oh, fuck. Callie… just fuck, fuck… that feels good.” He pulls out, slams back in again, and his body shudders. “Still coming… goddamn, baby.” His curses are like porn for the ears, knowing that my body has drawn out this normally quiet man in his fucking. My hands come to his shoulders and I pet at him through the plaid shirt he’s still wearing. I feel his body trembling, releasing all the frustration over what’s been going on with us. With one last grind of his hips against me, he finally lifts his face up and looks down at me. His forehead is covered in a light sheen of sweat and his breathing is erratic. My own heart is still racing, and I love the feel of him still quite full and heavy inside of me. “You okay?” he pants. I nod with a smile. “You?” He grins at me. “More than okay.” Woolf rolls off me, taking me with him. He comes to rest on his side with me pressed up against him. I can feel him start to soften but he makes no move to pull out, instead preferring to just let nature take its course. After a few moments of silence, Woolf brushes his lips over my forehead and says, “Let’s get some of your stuff packed up. You can come stay with me at my house until things cool down and we figure it all out.” I jerk out of Woolf’s hold which causes his dick to slide free of my body and lean up on my elbow to

look down at him. “What? No, I can’t do that.” “You can and you fucking will,” he growls at me, coming up on his elbow too so we are nose to nose. “Woolf… I promised my father I wouldn’t see you.” “And you’ve broken that promise,” he points out as he looks downward at my pussy with his semen leaking out of me. To punctuate his point, he presses a hand to my mound and then slips a finger inside of me. “I’m not giving this up.” First I groan, but then I push his hand away. I hastily pull my dress down, feeling self-conscious now, and give him a level look. “Woolf… I can’t be with you. While I hate it, and it’s not fair, there’s one thing my father is right about. This will kill his chances of reelection if it ever got out that I was seeing someone who owned a sex club.” “Then we’ll see each other secretly,” he says quickly… hopefully. “I don’t know the why of it, but I fucking need you, Callie. I’ve gone crazy these past few days without you.” Oh, geez. Those words… I think I’ve been waiting most of my life to hear that from Woolf Jennings. So many times I wanted this man. So many times he’s walked away from me. And now, here he is saying he needs me. My little girlie heart just flops over and yells, “Take me. I’m yours.” But luckily, Callie’s big girl head is also in play. “So… what would we do? Just sneak around? Meet for a noon quickie at your office?” “If that’s all I can get, then yes,” he says quickly. “You just tell me when and where. How long you have. I’ll make it work. You know I work fast,” he says with a grin. My gaze lowers, and I pluck at the material of my dress while the fireworks continue to boom outside. “So, we’d just be meeting to hookup for sex?” Woolf blinks at me, and I see the moment when he realizes that no girl wants to be considered just a quickie here and there. “No, that’s not all it would be.” “What more could it be?” I ask him, trying not to sound too bitter. “Not like we could go out in public. Not like I can do a sleepover with you.” Woolf mutters a curse and pushes up and off the bed. He tucks his cock back into his pants and buttons up the fly, relatching the belt. I roll off the opposite side and pull my dress down. I can feel wetness trickling down my leg, and it’s bothersome to me. Every bit of the sexiness has been sucked out of the room by our grim talk. “Listen… you better go. The fireworks will be ending soon,” I tell him softly. He walks up to me and cups my cheek. Leaning in, he gives me a quick kiss and looks at me with earnest eyes. “Will you try to meet me tomorrow? We can talk about this some more.” “I’m not sure,” I say, and then nibble on my lower lip. This screams “bad idea”. “Just think about it,” he urges me as his hand pulls me upward on my tiptoes so he can kiss me again. Just a whisper soft touch of his lips against mine. “Please.” “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

Chapter 21

Woolf I BALANCE THE three cases of empty beer bottles precariously in my hands, trying to hold as much weight on my forearms as possible. “Boss… let me help you with that,” Brian says tentatively. He’s our newest bartender, not a member of the sex club portion of the business, but he has potential. I heard Stephanie fucked him last week and she said he had the biggest dick she’d ever seen. “I’ve got it,” I reply tersely, turning my body so I can back through the swinging door to the storage area. Why I’m here at The Wicked Horse, helping to move empty cases of beer, is beyond me? Okay, that’s not exactly true. I’m here because I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself. Callie doesn’t work for me anymore, so the office plain sucks. Callie won’t speak to me anymore, so my sex life sucks as well. Maybe I’m here because subconsciously, I want to fuck someone brutally hard and bang Callie Hayes out of my mind. Stephanie would actually be a prime candidate except her shift starts in five minutes and she’s nowhere to be seen. Figures. So here I am—President and CEO of JennCo, a Fortune 100 company—moving empty boxes to make room for more boxes because I just don’t know what to fucking do with myself. I’ve been reduced to this pathetic shell of my former self. “Are you sure I can’t help you with that?” Brian asks again, and because I’ve just been a real pissant lately, I let him have it. “For fuck’s sake,” I snarl at him. “I fucking got it, okay?” And just as I say the word “okay,” the top box tips precariously forward and I do a weird swaying motion with my hips and forearms to try to stabilize. In slow motion, I shoot a quick glance at Brian, who’s already starting to wince over the impending disaster, and I go ahead and let out a muttered curse as the top box falls. It hits the floor with a resounding crash and thousands of tiny shards of brown, broken glass litter the floor behind the bar. As I look down at the smashed pieces, knowing exactly how those poor bottles feel, something inside of me just snaps. “Fuck this,” I yell out to no one, even though Brian gets the brunt of it. I throw the other two boxes down, reveling in the smash of more broken glass, and turn to stalk out from behind the bar. I catch Brian scrambling for a broom and while I already feel guilty for taking it out on him, I certainly don’t spare him another glance as I stalk down to the office I share with Bridger. Callie Goddamn Hayes has got me twisted up in knots, and I can’t fucking stand it anymore. When I slunk out of her house after having unrivaled sex with her, I was optimistic we could work things out. Sure, it wasn’t ideal, the amount of sneaking around we’d have to do, but hey… wouldn’t that just make it more exciting? Maybe I could sneak into her room at night and fuck her while Governor Hayes snored just down the hall. That was kinky… right? We could sustain ourselves on stolen moments until we figured out something better. I was sure of it. Callie said she’d think about it, but I’m not stupid, so I wasn’t all that surprised when she called me

two days later and told me she just couldn’t do it. When I demanded to know why not, I could almost recite the reason before she gave it to me. She had softly said, “I’m sorry, Woolf. But what you can offer me isn’t enough. I want more.” I stewed over that for about three days, then I threw caution to the wind and decided to brave her father’s shotgun. I showed up at her house, surprised to find Governor Hayes not in residence, but a very stern housekeeper who wouldn’t let me in the front door. When I threatened not to leave until Callie came down to talk to me, she admitted that Callie had flown back to Connecticut, and I almost went apeshit on the woman. She looked all kinds of frightened and quickly assured me it was to collect her belongings and bring them back to Wyoming. I had to bide my time until she returned and I got another crack at trying to get her to change her mind. My extended grapevine of gossip advised me Callie had flown back a mere two days after that, but it took me almost another five days to stalk her in an appropriate manner so as to have a few precious moments alone with her. I caught her going in her doctor’s office. I merely followed her in and took her elbow, told Janie Mitchell behind the receptionist desk that Callie would be a few minutes late for her appointment, and marched her right back out again. She pulled away from me and growled. Yes, little Callie Hayes dared to growl at the wolf. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, and Christ Almighty… I wanted to throw her up against the side of the building and fuck the hell out of her. “Trying to talk some sense into you,” I threw back at her, admiring the way her cheeks were flushed with anger, her hair was all tangled from when she pulled away and spun on me, and her nipples were budded against her t-shirt. My cock hurt so bad, I almost wept from the frustration. We ended up having a full-blown, yelling argument right there on the sidewalk until Ernie, one of the town deputies, pulled his car over and told us to both move it along… that we were disturbing the peace. I kicked his tire in anger before stalking off, pissed as hell at how stubborn Callie was being. Didn’t she see that what we had was good? No, fucking fantastic. Didn’t she even respect the fact that I gave her monogamy? I mean… that’s a big fucking deal. Why couldn’t she just bend a little and give this a chance? I was sure we could make it work, but still… deep down, there was a part of me screaming at myself that I was being a dick about this. I wanted her to give and I was offering nothing back. I punch in the alarm code to the office and walk in on Bridger and Stephanie fucking. Rolling my eyes, I ignore them, walking right over to my desk where I plop down. I tune out the sound of skin slapping, breathy moans, and deep grunts, and flip on my computer. “Want in on this, bro?” Bridger asks, and my eyes cut over to him. “This ass is tight.” I narrow my gaze on them for a brief moment, and yeah… that’s hot. He’s fucking her hard in her ass and Stephanie is loving every inch of it. My dick twitches but then it lays back down, totally uninterested. It’s pouting as hard as I am that we don’t have Callie. Pulling up my email, I scan through the messages, finding it unbelievably easy to ignore Bridger and Stephanie. There are several from Marta, another from the candidate that will be running against Reggie in the next election (word sure travels fast that I’m no longer one of his supporters), and one from Tenn. A loud crack makes me jump and I see Bridger’s left a deep red handprint on Stephanie’s ass, causing her to screech in pain. That fuels Bridger on and he slams into her a few more times, then pulls out, whips

his condom off, and unloads all over her back. Sadly, Bridger doesn’t know anything of the unmitigated greatness of releasing yourself deep inside some wet pussy, a tight ass or a sweet mouth because he doesn’t come inside of a woman. Ever. He’s not afraid of pregnancy, but rather the intimacy of the act. I believe it’s the only thing that Bridger is afraid of in this world, and just like the tattoos that he wears on his torso, there’s a much deeper story that explains his aversion to that type of closeness with a woman. I know a great deal about Bridger’s horrific past, because he shares with me most everything, just as I share with him. But while I know many things that make up Bridger Payne, I think there’s much I don’t know only because he wants to spare me the pain of listening to what my best friend went through when he was growing up. “Mmmmmmm, that was good,” Bridger praises Stephanie as he swirls a finger through the semen on her back before giving a light slap to her ass. “Better get to work.” I shake my head and look back at Tenn’s email while the two fuckbirds get dressed. What’s up, man? Things cooled down? I hope so. And I’m sorry it went down that way. I know you have feelings for Callie, but trust me on this… sometimes things just don’t align the way we want them too. You spent a lot of time before I left telling me all about what drove you to open up The Wicked Horse. You and I are a lot alike… we have things that impassion us, and my best piece of advice to you is don’t let up on those goals. Do I like that you’re operating a sex club? Not particularly, but little bro… if it makes you happy and fulfilled, you have my support. I’m just really sorry that means you don’t get the girl, but hey… she really didn’t fit into that lifestyle anyway, right? It’s probably all for the best.

I read the rest of the email quickly, getting updates on Casey, Zoe, and Bree, then I focus back on the beginning. Tenn is pretty much telling me that I have his approval to pursue The Wicked Horse. This is something that should make me feel fantastic, but all I can concentrate on are the lines that keep jumping out at me. I’m just really sorry that means you don’t get the girl, but hey… she really didn’t fit into that lifestyle anyway, right? It’s probably all for the best.

Tenn is hitting the nail on the head. My dream is The Wicked Horse. Callie doesn’t belong there. It’s simple fucking math. We just don’t add up. “Later, guys,” Stephanie says as she walks out. Bridger lounges back on the couch and squeezes his package while leering at me lewdly. “Dude… that was some amazing fucking right there. Would have been a shit ton better if you’d gotten in on it with us.” I glance back to the email. “Maybe some other time.” He snorts and pushes up off the couch. “Woolf… buddy. You need to man up.” I look up to him in surprise. “What? Just because I don’t join you in a threesome, you’re suddenly questioning the size of my balls?” “No,” he says with an amused shake of his head. “I’m saying you need to man up and go get your girl. I’m tired of your pissy attitude and so is everyone else to be honest.” My walls start to rise up and slam into place. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. I’m far more interested in Tenn’s advice. It’s probably all for the best. I stare at Tenn’s email, maybe seeking some deeper meaning. Surely that’s not what he really meant. Because fuck it… I don’t want to accept that I can’t have Callie. It’s not for the best, at least not in my mind. Bridger’s large hand comes down on my laptop, and he slams it closed on me. “What the fuck?” I snarl at him.

He calmly rests an ass cheek on the corner of the desk, arms crossed over his chest, and says, “Admit it.” “Have you lost your goddamn mind?” I ask, for the second time in my life wanting to punch Bridger. The first being when he was fucking Callie. “Admit it,” he says again. So very simply, and now with a smirk. “Admit what?” I grit out. He just stares at me, calmly waiting me out. He knows me. He knows how much of myself I know, and he knows good and fucking well the answer to my problems wasn’t in Tenn’s email. “Admit it,” he says again, softly. With a sigh, I lean back in my chair and rub the bridge of my nose. When I look up at him, I grimace and say, “Fine. I love her.” Because yeah… I fucking love Callie Hayes. It’s why she’s driving me mad, why my dick won’t look at another piece of pussy, and why I’m an asshole to everyone around me. Bridger stares at me a moment before pushing up off the desk. “Man up. Get your girl.” “What exactly do you expect me to do?” I ask him, slightly disgruntled that everything just seems so simple in Bridger’s mind. “Should I kidnap her? I’m sure I could shoot her dad before he gets me. And hey… if I do kidnap her, I could just tie her up and bring her to The Silo. Strap her to the St. Andrew’s cross so she can’t get away, and then I can fuck her whenever I want. That sounds like a brilliant fucking plan.” When I finish my rant, Bridger just shakes his head and asks, “Are you done?” “No,” I say in a completely pouty voice, but then I ask seriously, “What the fuck should I do?” “Dude… it’s not that hard of a problem to solve.” I cock an eyebrow at him skeptically, because I’m a pretty smart guy. I should have this shit figured out by now, but since I haven’t, I guess I need someone to walk me through it. “You love her,” he says. “Yes.” “Her dad is the governor,” he presses on. I roll my eyes, but he just waits patiently for me to play his game. “Yes.” “And Callie can’t be affiliated with you because if knowledge of the club came out, it would kill her father’s reelection campaign?” “Yes,” I say with a dramatic sigh. “So what?” “So the only thing blocking you from her is the club.” “Yes.” “Then Woolf,” he says in exasperation while he thumps me on the back of my head. “Back out of the fucking club and get your girl.” “No fucking way,” I say automatically, almost like a robot in fact. “This club is my life.” Bridger gives out a harsh bark of laughter. “This club is your rodent wheel.” I blink at him, confused. “Rodent wheel?” “Yeah… one of those fucking wheels hamsters and shit run on to get exercise. They run and run and run, and go fucking nowhere.” “That’s not what this is,” I say as I wave my hand around this office. “This was my dream.” “This was your way out of a boring job managing a company you don’t have any interest in. It was a way to get lots of pussy and explore your sexuality. It was your way to stay tied to me, because you think you owe me for what I did for you.” “No, that’s not—”

He holds a hand up. “It’s your rodent wheel, man, and I’m here to tell you… if you stay on that wheel, you are going to pass up something that I personally believe is the greatest thing to ever happen to you. A woman that cares for you, will love you, give you beautiful babies, and fuck you like a rock star. Who the fuck wouldn’t want that?” “You,” I point out. “I’m an anomaly,” he counter argues. “Unlike me, you have a heart, and it’s going to take a motherfucking beating if you let her get away.” Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against the chair. I try to picture what it would mean to give this club up. No more wild nights of random, kinky fucking. No more threesomes with Bridger… except, well… maybe Callie would still want to do that. But no more pushing the envelope… not with sweet Callie. I have to consider… what would I be giving up if I let her go? That glorious pussy, her heart of gold, her love. Wait? Does she love me? I’ve done nothing to elicit that. I’ve left her in the dust so many times I can’t remember them. I’ve been trying to convince her the last few weeks to just let me fuck her on the sly without any offer of more stability. I’m a motherfucking prick is what I am, and there’s no way in hell she could ever love me. Giving up this club and going after her would be the biggest risk I’ve ever taken in my life. And I’d be giving up a lot without any guarantee that I’d get the girl in return.

Chapter 22

Callie I PULL OPEN the door to The Wicked Horse and push my way inside. Some type of rock-a-billy music I don’t recognize is playing, and it’s quite packed for a Wednesday night. I push my way through the crowd, craning my neck left and right trying to find Woolf. I still can’t believe I’m here. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for his crazy threat this afternoon. After I’ve been ignoring his steady stream of calls since our fight outside of my doctor’s office, he sent me a text this afternoon that said if I didn’t come and see him and give him at least fifteen minutes of my time so we could talk, he was going to camp out on my front doorstep until I talked to him. He also pointed out that meant he’d probably get shot by my dad, but it was a risk he was willing to take. Unfortunately, I know how serious my father is and I wasn’t willing to take the risk, so I told him I’d come by The Wicked Horse at nine PM, figuring this was safe and neutral territory. No way he could seduce me with his sexy words and skilled fingers. He’d keep that rock star penis away from me in a public setting, and I’d give him his fifteen minutes. It would kill me. Absolutely slay me to have to be in his presence for fifteen minutes, which was going to do nothing more than tear down all the walls I had been building up against him. I’m so damn sad and miserable that we can’t be together, and I’m pissed. I’m pissed that his solution is to keep me in some dark closet like a dirty little secret so he can still fuck me. I know I’m worth more than that, and it feels like my heart has been shredded as I realize that Woolf clearly doesn’t think I’m worth more than that. I also know the consequences if Woolf wanted to give it a real shot with me. That would mean he’d walk away from the club and I didn’t want him to do that either. As angry as I am over the thought that I wouldn’t be the obvious choice for him, I also feel strongly in not taking away something that has brought him a lot of happiness in an otherwise pressure filled and stressful career. So it’s going to hurt something fierce to listen to him try to talk me into an illicit relationship tonight. It’s going to hurt and I’m going to be weak and consider it, because I’m so miserable without him. Sadly, the Old Callie Hayes sometimes thinks even just a small part of Woolf Jennings would be good enough to sustain me. Ugh… I need my head examined for even thinking like that. As I stomp my way through the crowd, looking for a man it hurts to look at sometimes, I get angrier as I consider something. I’ve just never really been good enough for Woolf Jennings. He turned his nose up at me when I offered him my virginity. He walked away from me the night of the branding party. He wants to keep me tucked away right now, only for his use and satisfaction. Fucking asshole, now that I think about it. Just as I break free from the crowd toward the end of the bar, I’ve worked up a good head of steam. And holy shit… the sight that greets me causes my annoyance to turn into blistering rage. Woolf is leaning casually up against the wall, talking to a few people. Nothing unusual about that,

except a tall, blonde woman is standing next to him with her arm casually wrapped around his waist, and his arm is slung over her shoulders. They’re all laughing at something one of the men in the group says. I just stand there, looking at the man who doesn’t seem to want to give me up, and I have to wonder why. He’s clearly got a good and happy life going on right here. Friends to laugh with and a gorgeous woman on his arm to fuck. And man, is she stunning. Long, wavy blonde hair, perfect facial features, and a body that would put any Victoria Secret’s model to shame. She’s wearing a blood red silk camisole with black jeans tucked into black, high-heeled boots. Her nipples are pebbled and poking hard through the silky material of her shirt, and I’m sure Woolf has gotten a good gander at that. God, I’m so stupid. I think about snagging a beer from a nearby patron and chucking it at his head, but then tears start pooling in my eyes and I realize my aim would be way off. I start to turn on my heel just as Woolf raises his eyes and looks at me. I expect him to flush with guilt that I caught him with another woman but instead, he steps away from the blonde and smiles at me brightly in welcome. Yeah, well, fuck you, Woolf. Not interested in that threesome. Spinning around, I push my way back through the crowd. I elbow a few people in the ribs to get them out of my way, but the first tear spills before I even make it to the door. Just as I reach out to push my way to freedom, a hand clamps down on my arm and I’m being spun around to face a very angry Woolf. The minute he sees the silvery streak down my cheek though, his face immediately turns to worry and he asks, “What’s wrong?” What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Is he fucking serious? “Get your goddamn hands off me and just go back to the two-bit floozy who was hanging on your arm,” I shriek at him as I try to jerk away. He blinks at me in confusion but holds me tight. “You mean Jenna?” “Not really interested in her name,” I hiss at him and tug harder. “Well, I want you to meet her,” Woolf says as he starts to pull me back through the crowd. Since I have no chance of breaking free from his hold, I do the only thing I can think of. I kick out with my foot, catching him square in the back of his knee. His leg buckles and he has to release me to catch himself in the fall. I use the opportunity to jet back toward the door and almost make it before I’m being hauled up in the air, and once again, slung over Woolf’s shoulder. Right where it all began. He even swings me around hard and my boots hit someone, but he doesn’t care. He’s marching me straight back toward his office and from my upside-down perch, I push the hair out of my eyes and see Bridger following us in. The minute the office door shuts behind us, Woolf lowers me to the floor and I go supreme Tasmanian devil on him, all of my anger and misery pouring out all at once. I slap his chest hard in a one-two-three combo. “You big bully motherfucker,” I yell at him. “How dare you drag me back here like a fucking caveman? I am not your property.” I slap at his chest again for good measure, knowing I didn’t hurt him in the slightest, and spin for the door. His arms shoot out and wrap around my waist, and I start flailing my arms and kicking my legs in an attempt to get loose. Yes, I know I’m acting like a brat, but I’m absolutely beyond reason right now. I’m so angry at him for just… just… everything, that I think I’m seriously on the verge of flipping my shit and earning me a one-way ticket to the insane asylum. “Jesus Christ,” Woolf mutters and then grunts as my boot catches him in the shin. “Will you calm the

fuck down?” That makes me kick and punch out harder. I manage to catch him on his jaw, which is hard as a rock and hurts my knuckles bad, but he finally relents and thrusts me into Bridger’s arms. “Hold her down,” Woolf says in a steely voice and even though I’m still fighting like a wild cat, something about those words reaches through to me. Right down deep… between my legs. Images of Bridger holding me down while Woolf— Wait! No fucking way. “Let me go,” I hiss at Bridger. “Or I’ll stomp your nuts into the ground.” He chuckles and wraps his arms around me tighter. “Zip your lips, precious, or I’ll stick something in your mouth that will keep it occupied.” And… did my mouth just water at the thought? I shake my head in denial as Bridger carries me over to the couch and dumps me unceremoniously there. He glares down at me, but the little amused tilt to his lip tells me that he’s finding this funny as fuck and only trying to act bad ass. I glare back at him. He points at me. “Keep your ass down, and I won’t have to pull out the ropes. If I have to pull out the ropes, I’ll pull out my flogger too and give your ass a workout. Now, you promised my boy here fifteen minutes and you’re going to give it to him, or I’m going to blister your skin until you’re begging for mercy. Are we clear?” God help me, but that scares the shit out of me and turns me on at the same time. I’m afraid my voice won’t work so I just give him a nod of my head, and then turn to glare at Woolf. He’s standing there with arms crossed over his chest, looking at me in contemplation. He even raises one hand and rubs thoughtfully at his chin. He doesn’t approach me though, and I think that’s a good idea. His nuts will thank me later. “Are you through with your temper tantrum?” he asks me quietly. I grunt at him in response and cross my own arms over my chest in an act of defiance, and a metaphorical pose of defensiveness. Bridger casually leans up against the wall, tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans and watches this all play out with that same amused look on his face. But I see something else in his eyes… I think he wants me to flip out again so he can get his ropes. I suppress the shudder that wants to break free. Woolf drops his arms and walks up to me. He squats down, about an arm’s length away from me, but it brings his gaze more in line with mine. He comes down to my level, and I think he’s treating me like a wounded animal. I bare my teeth at him. Bridger chuckles. Asshole. “Callie,” Woolf says softly, and my eyes cut to him. I brace myself, because his voice sounds just too damn good. “Why did you just run away?” “It doesn’t matter,” I say with a calm voice and a tilt upward of my chin. “We’re over and I’m here to listen to you. Just forget all about how you got me in this office, and just lay it on me so I can get going.” Woolf’s hand shoots out so fast, I can’t even react. He grabs my jaw and stands up, effectively pulling me up from the couch. He’s not hurting me, but he’s holding me the way a mama tiger would grip her cub in her jaws to get respect. He steps in close and leans down until his lips are just a breath away from mine. My heart rate soars and my mistake is in taking a deep breath and smelling all the yummy goodness that is Woolf Jennings. I

start to melt into him and my eyes flutter closed. “Why did you run away from me?” he asks again with a hard edge to his voice. “Because you were standing with your arm around another woman,” I grit out. “Didn’t look like our talk was really needed.” His blue eyes seem to dig in deep to mine. I feel like he’s able to see inside and garner all my secrets from the intensity of his stare. He seems to be… searching for something. “Why would that bother you?” he asks softly. “You’ve been telling me repeatedly that we’re through.” I shrug. “I don’t know.” And I really don’t. I have no explanation for the pain that lanced through me when I saw Woolf with his arm around that blonde. I thought I had my feelings somewhat contained where he was concerned, but apparently not. Woolf releases me abruptly, and I swivel my jaw tentatively. Feels fine. He turns and walks over to the desk, picking up a folder. He holds it out to me and I take it, completely confused. As he sits back against his desk, arms crossed over his chest again, he gives a nod at it. “That woman I had my arm around is a very good friend of mine. We went to college together.” My eyes narrow at him, and he doesn’t even look abashed when he says, “Yes, I fucked her back then, but only in college.” He nods again toward the folder in my hand. “Jenna is also my attorney. She prepared that for me and delivered it just a little bit ago.” Attorney? “I don’t understand,” I mumble as I look from the folder back to Woolf. He doesn’t enlighten me, but rather nods again toward the folder, encouraging me to open it up. His body is tense and his eyes are pinned on me, searching every line and angle of my face for a reaction. He’s watching me very carefully to see how I’ll react to what’s in my hand. I’m dreading what I’ll find in there, but my curiosity is too overwhelming. My hand is slightly shaking with anxiety as I open the folder and stare down at a document that can’t be more than ten pages long. At the top, in all caps and centered: Business Purchase Agreement. I look back up to Woolf, who seems poised to either pounce on me or walk out the door, I’m not sure which, but I think it hinges on my reaction to what I’m holding. I read on, certain words jumping out at me from the haze of legalese. Seller—Woolf Jennings… Buyer—Bridger Payne… The Wicked Horse and all its entities… For the sum of $1.00… My head snaps up and Woolf leans forward a bit, looking at me hungrily. “You’re selling The Wicked Horse to Bridger?” I ask stupefied. “Sold,” he clarifies. “All the documents have been signed already. Bridger already owned fifty percent of it. I just sold my entire portion to him.” “For one dollar?” I ask, still thinking there’s some sort of joke here. Woolf just shrugs noncommittally, apparently not wanting to hash business details with me. “I don’t understand,” I mumble again… for the second time, and I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be smarter than this but it makes no sense to me. “This is your dream. What makes you happy. Why would you ever let it go?”

Woolf doesn’t answer me but instead turns to Bridger. “Mind giving us some privacy?” Bridger pushes away from the wall and gives a fist bump to Woolf. He gives me a pointed look before walking out the door, and I think it was a warning of some type… maybe not to hurt his buddy? “This was my dream,” Woolf says matter-of-factly as he pushes away from the desk and walks up to me. “It’s what made me happy. But you want to know why I’m letting it go?” I nod… words stuck deep in my throat. His hand reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind me ear. His eyes roam over my face and he has a wistful smile on his face. “I’m letting it go because you’re my dream now and you’re what makes me happy. And I can’t have The Wicked Horse and you, so I have to let one go, and here’s what I know for fucking sure… I can’t do without you. It was sort of a no brainer for me.” “Whoa,” is all I can say as I sink back down onto the couch, my legs feeling like jelly. I look down at the agreement one more time before closing the folder and setting it down beside me. When I look back up to Woolf, I say, “I know this is the point in the conversation where I’m supposed to be all altruistic and insist you not give up your dream for me, but fuck if I’m going to do that.” Woolf just blinks at me for a moment, then he throws his head back and laughs. When he looks back down at me, his eyes are shining with relief and happiness. That lasts just a moment before the smile morphs into something that borders on hunger. He leans over me and my heart starts thumping again. In one fluid movement, he places a knee on the couch and pushes me back with a hand on the center of my chest so I lay backward. I flip my legs up onto the leather and he settles on top of me, holding his weight on his elbows. We just stare at each other a moment, taking in all the ramifications of what this means to us. I don’t think either of us are at a loss for words, but perhaps Woolf may be a bit reserved in his emotions at this point, so I decide to lead the way. I touch his lips with my fingertips, and then slide them along his stubbled jaw. “I’ve loved you for a very long time. Ever since I was old enough to see you as a man. It was a different type of love back then… young and foolish, but I loved you then. Always… to some extent since. And I love you now in a deeper way, and I don’t even have words to tell you what this means to me.” Woolf lets out a whooshing breath of relief and his facial features relax. I had not realized how tense he was, and that he obviously needed to hear those words. He drops his forehead to mine and whispers to me. “I love you, Callie. I never thought I would love anyone, and fuck… I fell hard and fast for you. It scares the shit out of me, but it also feels so very fucking right. I would give up every single possession in my world if it meant I could have you.” I can’t help the lovesick sigh that comes out, but Woolf silences it with a kiss. A soft kiss, and then deeper. And deeper. And I fall all the way into him it’s so deep. When he lifts his lips from mine, he says, “I’m aching so bad to be inside you right now, but I think we need to go clear some things up with your father.” “It’s getting kind of late,” I point out. “This is kind of important,” he says simply. And yeah… this is kind of important.

Chapter 23

Woolf THANK FUCK CALLIE’S FATHER was in residence this weekend, otherwise, I would have put her in my Range Rover and we would have driven through the night to the Governor’s Mansion in Cheyenne. I want to hurry up and get this done… get Reggie back on board with me now that I’ve given up The Wicked Horse. I need him to see that I’m good for his daughter, and then once that’s done, I’m taking her back to my house and I’m going to spend all weekend making up for a whole lot of fucking we’ve been missing out on. Goddamn, my heart almost hurts it’s so full right now as I watch Callie unlock her front door and look over her shoulder at me with a wink. I can’t help myself… I grab her face and pull her in for a swift kiss. “I love you,” I murmur against her mouth. “So don’t let your dad shoot me, okay?” She giggles and kisses me. “I love you, too. And I’ve got your back.” Callie takes my hand and leads me toward her father’s den. She assured me he’d probably be up watching basketball and as we get closer, I can see the blue flicker of light through the doorway. She squeezes my hand in unification as we walk through the door. Reggie’s lying on the big leather couch against one wall and sees Callie first. A bright smile lights his face up, and then he sees me. His eyes cut down to us holding hands, and he flies up off the couch and bolts toward his shotgun case mounted on the opposite wall. Callie reacts faster than I do, releasing my hand and darting to intercept her father. She makes it there way before he does and stands in front of the case, her hands on her hips in a defiant stance. “You are not shooting him,” Callie says. “I am,” he growls at her. “You’ll go to jail. Leave this poor state to your gubernatorial opponent,” she says with a taunt. “Okay,” he says with a glare of malice shot my way before he turns to stalk to his desk. “I won’t shoot him, but he has ten seconds to get out of this house or I’m calling the police.” “Then I’m going with him,” Callie says, and I didn’t think my heart could melt any further for this woman. “And I won’t come back.” Reggie’s hand freezes above the phone, and he looks at Callie with his mouth hanging open. “What?” “I love him,” she says simply, and I feel the need to interject. “I love her too,” I say before shooting Callie a wink. She smiles at me with mega wattage and turns back to her dad. “Daddy… just sit down and listen, okay?” Reggie’s eyes cut back and forth between his daughter and me, before he scrubs his hands over his face and sinks down into the chair behind his desk. He looks at Callie in defeat and raises his eyebrows in expectation at her. “He sold The Wicked Horse,” Callie says without preamble. “It was his dream, and he gave it up so he could be with me. He gave it up so my reputation and yours could stay pristine.” Reggie cuts his eyes to me, but he quickly looks back at Callie. “But he took you to that club—” Callie holds her hand up. “I’m a grown woman and it’s none of your business what I do in my private life, but just so you get the idea out of your head that Woolf somehow tarnished me, I asked to go to that club and he refused at first. I kept after him so if you want someone to blame, you lay that on my

doorstep.” “Oh, Christ,” Reggie grumbles and rubs at his face again. “I’m getting too old for this shit.” “Reggie,” I say as I walk across the room to Callie. I take her hand and pull her into my side. “Put the club aside for a moment. You know me… have known me my entire life. I would never do anything to hurt Callie or put you at risk. I love her and I gave up a lot to have her, so I’m not letting her go. You need to find a way to deal with me being in her life.” He doesn’t acknowledge me for a moment, staring down at his hands, which are clasped tightly in his lap. Finally, he lets out a sigh and pushes up out of the chair. His gaze comes to Callie and his face is unreadable, but then he opens his arms and she pulls away from me to step into them. Father and daughter hug in silence, and she accepts his reluctant approval so he doesn’t lose her. When Reggie lets her go, he turns to me and sticks out his hand. “You’re right… I do know you, Woolf, and it takes a big man to have given up something important for love. You better take care of my girl.” I shake his hand. “I will. I promise.” We break apart and he turns back toward his couch, but then he pauses and turns to look at Callie and me. “And do me a favor… no more talk of sex. Your old man can’t handle it.” Callie laughs and takes my hand. “Promise. Now… I’m going to Woolf’s house to um… well, we’re going to…” “Watch a movie,” I say lamely. “Yeah, watch a movie,” Callie says as she pulls me out the door, and then yells over her shoulder, “Night, Daddy.”

* “F-U-U-U-U-C-K,” I GROAN as I drive deep and then roll my hips against Callie. “That feels good.” She whimpers and gasps, but that’s about all she’s been able to do since I contorted her into this position. Not even sure how I got her there, but she’s half on her back, half on her side, with one leg laying straight along the mattress. I’m straddling that leg, and have her other leg pulled up and angled across my chest, so I can drive into her almost like two pairs of scissors mating. And Christ… I want to mate with this woman. Over and over and over again. I want to fill her up with my cock and my semen and never let her out of this bed. Hell, maybe I’ll keep her barefoot and pregnant. The thought of Callie pregnant is a fucking turn on for some reason, and I’m amazed at how fast my brain seems to be leaping forward in what is a very new relationship. Hell, we just exchanged words of love for the first time not five hours ago, and I’m already trying to knock her up. I’m such a caveman, just like she said. “Woolf,” Callie moans as I hit into her deep again. “Yeah, baby,” I murmur as I rock my hips against her. “Will this be enough for you?” I stop… right in mid-thrust, and look down at her in surprise. Her cheeks are flushed, her neck is red because I already made her come twice during this go round, but I see a whole lot of uncertainty in her eyes. I drop her leg down, let her roll fully to her back, and push my cock in deep so I can come to rest in between her legs. Putting my elbows on the mattress, I bring my face close in to hers. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because I’m afraid this won’t be exciting enough for you.” Her gaze cuts away from me in embarrassment. “Hey,” I say softly, and she looks back at me. “Let me ask you something… did you like what we did with Bridger that night?” Her face gets even redder, but she nods hesitantly. “Would you do it again if I asked you to… minus the crowd watching, because that definitely cannot happen again?” “Would you want me to?” she asks shyly. I think about it a moment. There is no doubt there were some moments of that experience that were so erotic, I thought I’d die from the intensity of it. But I also had issues with it. I was jealous when Bridger was inside her, but do I still feel that way? Back then, I’m not sure love was involved. Care and tender feelings, definitely, but not this all-consuming love I feel for her now. Which you would think would make me more jealous, but I actually think it makes me more secure. Knowing how she feels about me. “I don’t know how I feel about it,” I tell her honestly. “I could never let another man touch you. Bridger would be the only one I’d ever trust, and that’s only because sex is just an act to him. There’s no intimacy.” “He’s safe,” she guesses. “Yeah… I don’t feel threatened by him.” “Just so we’re clear though,” she says saucily. “I’m never sharing you with another woman. I will go batshit crazy if one ever touched you.” I laugh and then pull my cock out, slamming it back in. “I can live with that.” Her eyes flutter shut, and she grips me tight. Fuck… that feels so good. It’s never felt this good. “To answer your question,” I say as I pull out. I push back in slowly, relishing her tiny moan. “I can do without it though. You’re enough excitement for me. Always.” Relief shines in her eyes, but she licks at her lips before saying. “But… um… I’d be up for us to try some kinky stuff.” I give a husky laugh and start thrusting in and out of her again. “Of course you would.”

Epilogue

Cain I FOLLOW WOOLF out of his office. No… correction… that would now just be Bridger’s office. I cannot fucking believe Woolf sold out completely to Bridger. I mean… he seemed so invested in this club, and not just monetarily. As head of security and a longtime friend of Woolf and Bridger’s, they wanted me to be the first to know. They apparently signed the purchase documents last week but had to get some other things in order before they wanted to announce it to everyone else. I got the news first, but they’re going to have a staff meeting tomorrow to let everyone else know, and I suppose some type of email would go out to the sex club patrons. Just… damn. Woolf Jennings went all legit and vanilla on us. I watch as he walks over to the bar where he slips his arm around the waist of Callie Hayes. There’s no shame in admitting it… they make a gorgeous fucking couple. I’ve known Woolf a long time. I’ve seen him at what I’ve thought has been his pinnacle of happiness when we opened the doors to The Wicked Horse, but fuck… looking at him right now. The way he looks at Callie with such unfettered love and reverence actually makes my chest constrict a bit with overt happiness for my friend. It’s at this moment that I realize he’s doing the absolute right thing. I smile to myself because ever since I caught Woolf fucking her outside The Silo that night and watched how he tried to protect her so I couldn’t see… well, I just knew then he was a goner. And you know what? Good for him. Everyone deserves a chance at love, I suppose. I mean… if that’s your thing. Woolf catches my gaze and lifts his chin up to me in acknowledgment. I give him another congratulatory smile and watch as he takes Callie by the hand and leads her out of the club. I expect the only time I’ll be seeing him now is on the days that I work out at the Double J. I’ve been working there on and off since high school as it’s a good way to make some extra cash and while Woolf—I mean Bridger, now—pays me well, I’m on a mission to become debt free as quickly as possible. That means I work my ass off and live frugally, because I can’t stand being constricted by financial obligations. Making my way out into the main nightclub, my eyes do a quick sweep around. I have between four to six security men on duty each night to keep everything under control and running smoothly. There’s no mistaking them in their black BDUs and form-fitting black t-shirts with The Wicked Horse logo on the front and the word SECURITY on the back. I want them to be obvious to the crowd so they know I don’t fuck around when it comes to the safety of the patrons here and that I don’t tolerate any shit on my watch. I’ve got my black BDUs on tonight too along with my combat boots—product leftover from my days in the Marine Corps. Instead of my Wicked Horse security shirt though, I’m wearing a long-sleeve, black athletic shirt that fits my skin like a second glove because my job tonight is a little different than the normal security oversight I provide. As I walk through the club to the front door, I continually scan my eyes back and forth. Old habits— those where I’m waiting for an ambush by Taliban insurgents while sweeping the Zabul Province of Afghanistan—die hard, and I suppose that will never go away.

Except, my eyes slam in an abrupt halt on her. This is the third night in a row she’s come in, and I don’t necessarily like how she rattles my focus at work. I wish I could tell you what it was about her that caught my attention, and I’m ashamed that I can’t. It’s a blow to my ego that my intuition and street smarts are failing. She’s pretty, for sure. Not gorgeous, but really pretty. Wavy, blonde hair that comes down halfway in between her chin and shoulders and bright blue, baby doll eyes. On the petite side, but with plenty of curves. This, I’ve noticed, when she dances with her three girlfriends who she comes in with. She only dances with those girls. She’s turned down every man who’s come up to ask her to dance. I’m also ashamed I noticed this because I have better uses of my time than watching a pretty girl get hit on in a bar. I suppose the reason she caught my eye is because it seems she’s been trying to catch it. While she sits at a table, talking and laughing with her friends, her gaze will roam around The Wicked Horse. She’ll watch the dancers or the band if we have one going. She’ll sometimes focus in on other tables of people, but she never rests her gaze in one place very long. Except when it lands on me. Then she’ll hold my stare if I just happen to be watching her, which is often, and sometimes she doesn’t look away for an almost unbearably long time. She’s always the one who breaks eye contact though, and it’s always with a wistful smile. She’s never approached me though, even though women do that all the time despite the scary-as-fuck scar that slashes across my face and the menacing glare I seem to give off most of the time. It’s true… I’ve been hit on more times than I could ever hope to remember, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say this job wasn’t without perks. While I’d never leave my post while on duty, I’ve taken plenty of those women home and fucked them after work hours. Hell, sometimes, I’ve just taken them up against the side of the building after I’ve got everything locked up. My security team always shakes their heads with amusement at the amount of female attention I get, and I assure them it’s not because of my charm or good looks, but rather the rumor floating around—which just happens to be true—that I’ve got a massive cock and I’m a god in the bedroom with it. They all tell me to fuck off when I point that out to them. Jealous pricks. I’ve never approached the blonde woman; although I get the sense she wants me to. Again, when I’m working, I’m working. I don’t have time for flirting or fucking. But maybe I should come in on my next night off and possibly talk to her. Try to figure out what’s going on underneath those pretty pale curls because she fascinates me. While I get hit on all the time, women have a hard time holding my gaze the way this one does. They’re content to stare at my feet while they try to flirt because my eyes are sometimes too cold and my scar is too angry looking. But not this woman. She looks me dead in the eye, and it is a fucking turn on as much as it is a mind fuck to me. I think she senses my gaze, because hers slides away from one of the girls at her table who seems to be telling quite an animated story, and she locks irises with me. We engage in the same staring war for only a moment, but I’m the one who has to look away this time as I reach the front door of The Wicked Horse. Things to do… people to see. I nod at Peter, one of the security detail who opens the door for me, and step out into a warm July Wyoming night.

* I LOOK INSIDE the glass panes of the back door and the living room is empty. People are so stupid sometimes when it comes to their safety. First, they have their porch light off and with my black clothing, I blend well into the night. Second, they have flimsy glass panes that would be easy for me to break and unlock the door with a quick flick of my wrist. Morons. Haven’t you ever heard of double dead bolts? But what I find to be more insanely stupid is the fact that these idiots left the back door unlocked. Turning the knob, I sneak stealthily inside. I can hear noise from the bedroom down the short hall… late evening news. The harsh quality of blue, flickering light into the hallway tells me the occupants are in bed with the lights off. Possibly asleep. So fucking easy. I hold the gun in my hand down at my side as I sidestep quietly down the hall. These new construction homes are solidly built and not a floorboard creaks. Just before I reach the door, I pull the black knit mask down over my face, assured that the holes cut out for my eyes and mouth will not reveal my identity. I take a deep breath. And then step into the bedroom. Husband and wife, laying side by side on the bed, watching TV. Mid-forties I suppose. The guy has a bit of a belly on him, but the woman isn’t too bad on the eyes. Dark brown hair cut into a bob and long legs pouring out from a silky, pink nightgown that barely covers what I’m betting are matching panties. I’m a sucker for lingerie and I start to get hard. Raising my gun, I hold it sideways in a gangster sort of pose, which is not the way you should ever handle a gun. I just find the sideways tilt is more menacing and lets them know I mean business. The woman sees me first and a tiny scream pops out of her mouth. The man comes flying up out of the bed, only wearing a pair of white boxers, and stops the minute I swing the gun toward him. His hands come up in an immediate pose of surrender. “Turn the light on,” I rasp out to the man. He reaches a shaky hand back and flips on the bedside lamp, coating the room in a soft glow. “TV off,” I command. I don’t want anything interfering with my concentration. He turns the TV off with the remote control laying on the table. The woman has sat up in bed and is breathing erratically. It draws my attention down to her breasts, which are large and obviously fake. I see her nipples are pebbled against the pink silk, and it makes my cock swell further. I turn the gun on her and make a motion with it toward me. “You… get over here.” She looks to her husband with wide eyes, and he tries to give her reassurance. “It’s okay, honey. Just do what he says and I’m sure everything will be fine.” He turns his look back to me. His voice quavers. “Please… we have money… jewels. Whatever you want?” “What I want,” I say darkly as I cock the gun, “is for your wife to get the fuck over here.” “Okay,” the man all but shrieks and actually makes a shooing motion toward his wife. “Amy… darling… just do as he asks.” He turns those somber eyes my way and begs. “Please don’t hurt her.”

I chuckle and don’t give him another thought as Amy stands from the bed and tentatively walks toward me. Her large breasts barely sway with the motion and the rounded edges definitely tell me they’re fake, but fuck… they’re nice. Very nice. When she’s standing in front of me, lower lip trembling, I lower my gun and with my free hand, stroke her cheek. She flinches but otherwise lets me have my way with her. I slide my fingers through her hair, to the back of her head, and I grip her tight. “Now, Amy… I want you to get on your knees and suck my cock for a bit.” She lets out a whimper as I start to push her down. “And if you bite me, I’m going to blow your husband’s head off,” I add on as I raise the gun back at him. “Are we understood?” She nods her head vigorously and tears pool in her eyes. “Good girl,” I say with a grim smile. “Now… get my cock out and get to work.” She fumbles with the button and zipper of my pants, but makes quick headway because I’m not wearing any underwear. My dick comes out locked and loaded, swollen hard and ready for action. My eyes cut quickly over to the husband, but he’s not moved a muscle, I’m sure worried that I’ll shoot him. I’m not sure what he thinks watching this, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from his wife on her knees before me. The minute those lips wrap around the head of my cock, my eyes flutter closed just for a moment and I groan. “Fuck yeah, baby. Just like that.” Apparently, Amy’s got skills. Mad, mad skills. She bobs up and down on my cock, perfect amount of friction, and has this wiggle move with her tongue underneath the head that almost causes my knees to buckle. When I feel my balls start to tingle, I push her off, noting the faint spill of drool from her swollen lips. “Panties off and get on the bed,” I tell her curtly. “Spread your legs so I can see that pretty pussy.” Amy looks to her husband pleadingly, but he just nods his head. She does as I ask, shimmying out of the tiny scrap of pink silk. She lays in the middle of the bed, and as instructed, spreads her legs wide for me. My cock actually bobs up and down in anticipation, but I got to suit up first. Stepping forward, I lay my gun on the bed, right between her legs. I give her a devious smile and taunt her as I reach into my back pocket for a condom. “I dare you to go for the gun. Think you’re faster than me?” She squeezes her eyes shut and doesn’t answer me. But I know she’s also too chicken shit to make a grab for it. While I rip the foil packet open, I add some further shame to her situation. “Touch yourself, sweet Amy. Let me see if you’re wet for me?” Her eyes snap open and she actually glares at me. “You go to hell.” I laugh at her as I roll the rubber on my cock and pick my gun back up. Rubbing the tip of it through her pussy lips, I bring it up to inspect. It’s glistening with her juices, just as I knew it would be. Fear doesn’t stop the thrill of excitement. I don’t spare Amy’s good husband a look as I lay the gun back down on the mattress, this time out of her reach. I’m getting ready to put some concentration into my work, and I can’t risk her making a grab for it. As soon as my hands are free, I snatch her by the ankles and pull Amy roughly to the edge of the bed. I actually pull up hard on her legs, lifting her hips off the edge, and I slam my way inside of her. She lets out a yip of pain, because even though she’s wet as all get out, I’ve got a big fucking cock—

which is truth, not rumor—and I know that hurt. I stay lodged in her deep, let her get accustomed to my size. I wait for her to open her eyes and when she does, I start fucking her. I go deep and steady, but no need to go too hard. I’m going to make sweet Amy come hard around me and I hope it fucking shames her. Damn… she’s so fucking wet, I slide so easily in and out. Feels amazing. My eyes cut over to her husband and widen with surprise when I see he’s got an erection tenting his boxers. That’s interesting. Apparently, Mr. Amy is a little turned on by me fucking his wife. “Get over here,” I rasp out at him, and he jerks his gaze toward me. It had previously been pinned on my dick ramming in and out of his wife. He moves forward, his eyes sliding back down to watch what I’m doing and his cock peeps right out of the hole in his boxers. “Fuck, dude,” I pant as I keep moving in and out of her. “You’re turned on by me fucking your wife.” He flushes red over my statement, and Amy doesn’t even bother to look at her husband. Her eyes are squeezed shut and her fingers are grasping onto the bed covers. “Jack off,” I tell him. “What?” he gasps in astonishment. “Get on the bed, kneel by your wife’s head, and jack off while I fuck her.” He makes a choking sort of sound, but he doesn’t argue. That’s because he doesn’t forget there’s a gun on the bed only inches from my hand. Amy’s husband kneels beside his wife and without any further direction from me, pushes his boxers down and starts jerking at his dick, his eyes pinned on my cock claiming his wife. Yeah… this is actually kind of hot. Wasn’t what I imagined, but I’m digging it. I start tunneling into Amy a bit faster, and now she’s making mewling sounds. I reach a hand down, pluck at her clit lightly, then press down on it so she can feel me moving in and out of her just on the other side of that sweet bud. She gasps. Cries. Then screams as she starts to come. “Oh, fuck,” her husband groans and he starts to come as well, shooting all over Amy’s big, round breasts and soaking the lovely pink silk. As I pound harder inside of her, my balls tighten. I grit my teeth, my neck muscles straining, and I start to come. I slam into her hard… brutally actually, and she gives a startled yip as I grind against her pelvis, unloading buckets inside the condom. “Fuck, that’s good,” I croak, and then praise my captive fuck. “Amy, of the sweet pussy.” When I’ve expelled every fucking drop I have, I pull out and pluck the condom off. Amy’s husband sags down on the bed beside her, and she scrambles over so they can hold on to each other. Awww… that’s sweet. I throw the condom on the floor, tuck my dick away, and snatch the gun from the bed. Giving them both a nod and a toothy smile, I say, “Not one word of this to anyone. I so much as hear you’ve told someone, and I’ll come back and I won’t be so nice. Are we clear?” “Yes,” they both say simultaneously. “We won’t.” I stare at them, my eyes promising all kinds of retribution. When I’m satisfied we’re good, I turn and walk out of their bedroom. Down the hall, and right out the back door. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I pull the black knit mask off and take a deep breath of the fresh Wyoming air. I swivel my head, the cervical bones in my neck

popping. I feel loose and relaxed. I actually sit down on the bottom step and look up at the stars hanging low and heavy in the sky. Beautiful. The porch light flicks on, bathing me in a yellow glow. The door opens, and I turn my head to see Amy standing there. She’s holding a bottle of Hoback Hefeweizen out to me and gives me a smile. “That was excellent, Cain.” “I thought it was some of my better work,” I say with a grin and hop up to accept the beer, which is my favorite from the Snake River Brewery. Amy’s husband appears over her shoulder and pulls the door open. “Want to come in while you drink that?” “Sure,” I say and trot back up the steps, walking back into one of the fantasy cabins that belong to The Wicked Horse. This wasn’t the first fantasy I’ve played in involving Amy and Charles Mason, but this was a special one. It’s their wedding anniversary and as members of The Wicked Horse’s sex club, Bridger wanted to do something special for them. As the door closes behind me, I wonder if the blonde girl is still back at the club. I’m technically off duty and I consider for a moment finishing my beer and going back to check it out. But then Amy’s hand is on my crotch and she’s rubbing my cock, which is eagerly responding, and I know the party here isn’t quite over yet. Blonde woman is forgotten. For now.

WICKED LUST (The Wicked Horse Series) By Sawyer Bennett

Prologue

Cain I FOLLOW WOOLF out of his office at The Wicked Horse. No… correction… that would now just be Bridger’s office. I cannot fucking believe Woolf sold out completely to Bridger. I mean… he seemed so invested in this club, and not just monetarily. As head of security and a longtime friend of Woolf’s, they both wanted me to be the first to know. They apparently signed the purchase documents last week, but they had to get some other things in order before they made the announcement to everyone else. I got the news first, but they’re going to have a staff meeting tomorrow to let everyone else know, and I suppose some type of email will go out to the sex club patrons. Just… damn. Woolf Jennings went all legit and vanilla on us. I watch as he walks over to the bar and slips his arm around the waist of Callie Hayes. There’s no shame in admitting it… they make a gorgeous fucking couple. I’ve known Woolf a long time. I’ve seen him at what I’ve thought was his pinnacle of happiness when we opened the doors to The Wicked Horse, but fuck, when I look at him right now… The way he looks at Callie with such unfettered love and reverence actually makes my chest constrict a bit with overt happiness for my friend. It’s at this moment I realize he’s doing the absolute right thing. I smile to myself because ever since I caught Woolf fucking her outside The Silo and watched how he tried to protect her so I couldn’t see… well, I just knew then he was a goner. And you know what? Good for him. Everyone deserves a chance at love, I suppose. I mean… if that’s your thing. Woolf catches my gaze and lifts his chin up to me in acknowledgment. I give him another congratulatory smile, watching as he takes Callie by the hand and leads her out of the club. I expect the only time I’ll be seeing him now is on the days I work out at the Double J ranch. I’ve been working there on and off since high school as it’s a good way to make some extra cash. While Woolf—I mean Bridger, now—pays me well, I’m on a mission to become debt free as quickly as possible. That means I work my ass off and live frugally, because I can’t stand being constricted by financial obligations. Making my way out into the main nightclub, my eyes do a quick sweep around. I have between four and six security men on duty each night to keep everything under control and running smoothly. There’s no mistaking them in their black BDUs and form-fitting black t-shirts with The Wicked Horse logo on the front and the word Security on the back. I want them to be obvious to the crowd, so they know I don’t fuck around when it comes to the safety of the patrons here. It’s obvious I don’t tolerate any shit on my watch. I’ve got my black BDUs on tonight too along with my combat boots—product leftover from my days in the Marine Corps. Instead of my Wicked Horse Security shirt, I’m wearing a long-sleeve, black athletic shirt that fits my skin like a second glove because my job tonight is a little different from the normal security oversight I usually provide. As I walk through the club to the front door, I continually scan my eyes back and forth. Old habits— those where I’m waiting for an ambush by Taliban insurgents while sweeping the Zabul Province of Afghanistan—die hard, and I suppose that will never go away.

Except, my gaze slams in an abrupt halt on her. This is the third night in a row she’s come in, and I don’t necessarily like how she rattles my focus at work. I wish I could tell you what it is about her that caught my attention, but I’m ashamed I can’t. It’s a blow to my ego that my intuition and street smarts are failing. She’s pretty, for sure. Not gorgeous, but really pretty. Wavy, blonde hair that is midway between her chin and shoulders, with bright blue, eyes. On the petite side, but with plenty of curves. I noticed this when she dances with the three girls she comes in with. She only dances with those girls. She’s turned down every man who asks her to dance. I’m also ashamed I notice this because I have better uses of my time than watching a pretty girl get hit on in a bar. I suppose the reason she caught my eye is because it seems she’s been trying to catch it. While she sits at a table, talking and laughing with her friends, her gaze will roam around The Wicked Horse. She’ll watch the dancers or the band if we have one going. She’ll sometimes focus in on other tables of people, but she never rests her gaze in one place very long. Except when it lands on me. Then she’ll hold my stare if I just happen to be watching her, which is often. Sometimes, she doesn’t look away for an almost unbearably long time. She’s always the one who breaks eye contact though, and it’s always with a wistful smile. She’s never approached me though, even though women do that all the time despite the scary-as-fuck scar that slashes across my face and the menacing glare I seem to give off most of the time. It’s true… I’ve been hit on more times than I could ever hope to remember, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say this job wasn’t without perks. While I’d never leave my post while on duty, I’ve taken plenty of those women home and fucked them after work hours. Hell, sometimes, I just take them up against the side of the building after I lock everything up. My security team always shakes their heads with amusement at the amount of female attention I get, and I assure them it’s not because of my charm or good looks, but rather the rumor floating around—which just happens to be true—that I’ve got a massive cock and I’m a god in the bedroom with it. They all tell me to fuck off when I point that out to them. Jealous pricks. I’ve never approached the blonde woman; although, I get the sense she wants me to. Again, when I’m working, I’m working. I don’t have time for flirting or fucking. But maybe I should come in on my next night off and possibly talk to her. Try to figure out what’s going on underneath those pretty, pale curls because she fascinates me. While I get hit on all the time, women have a hard time holding my gaze the way this one does. They’re content to stare at my feet while they try to flirt because my eyes are sometimes too cold and my scar is too angry looking. But not this woman. She looks me dead in the eye, and it’s a goddamn turn on as much as it is a mind fuck to me. I think she senses my gaze, because hers slides away from one of the girls at her table who seems to be telling quite an animated story, and she locks irises with me. We engage in the same staring war for only a moment, but I’m the one who has to look away this time as I reach the front door of The Wicked Horse. Things to do… people to see. I nod at Peter, one of the security detail, who opens the door for me, and I step out into a warm July Wyoming night.

* I LOOK INSIDE the glass panes of the back door. The living room is empty. People are so stupid sometimes

when it comes to their safety. First, they have their porch light off and with my black clothing, I blend well into the night. Second, they have flimsy glass panes that would be easy for me to break and unlock the door with a quick flick of my wrist. Morons. Haven’t you ever heard of double dead bolts? But what I find to be insanely more stupid is the fact that these idiots left the back door unlocked. Turning the knob, I sneak stealthily inside. I can hear noise from the bedroom down the short hall… late evening news. The harsh quality of blue, flickering light into the hallway tells me the occupants are in bed with the lights off. Possibly asleep. So fucking easy. I hold the gun in my hand down at my side as I sidestep quietly down the hall. These new construction homes are solidly built and not a floorboard creaks. Just before I reach the door, I pull the black knit mask down over my face, assured that the holes cut out for my eyes and mouth will not reveal my identity. I take a deep breath… and then I step into the bedroom. Husband and wife, lying side by side on the bed, watching TV. Mid-forties, I suppose. The guy has a bit of a belly on him, but the woman isn’t too bad on the eyes. Dark brown hair cut into a bob and long legs pouring out from a silky, pink nightgown that barely covers what I’m betting are matching panties. I’m a sucker for lingerie, and I start to get hard. Raising my gun, I hold it sideways in a gangster sort of pose, which is not the way you should ever handle a gun. I just find the sideways tilt is more menacing, and it lets them know I mean business. The woman sees me first, and a tiny scream pops out of her mouth. The man comes flying out of the bed, wearing only a pair of white boxers, and stops the minute I swing the gun toward him. His hands come up in an immediate pose of surrender. “Turn the light on,” I rasp out to the man. He reaches a shaky hand back and flips on the bedside lamp, coating the room in a soft glow. “TV off,” I command. I don’t want anything interfering with my concentration. He turns the TV off with the remote control laying on the table. The woman has sat up in bed and is breathing erratically. It draws my attention down to her breasts, which are large and obviously fake. I see her nipples are pebbled against the pink silk, and it makes my cock swell further. I turn the gun on her and make a motion with it toward me. “You… get over here.” She looks to her husband with wide eyes, and he tries to give her reassurance. “It’s okay, honey. Just do what he says and I’m sure everything will be fine.” He turns back to me. His voice quavers. “Please… we have money… jewels. Whatever you want?” “What I want,” I say darkly as I cock the gun, “is for your wife to get the fuck over here.” “Okay,” the man all but shrieks and actually makes a shooing motion toward his wife. “Amy… darling… just do as he asks.” He turns those somber eyes my way and begs. “Please don’t hurt her.” I chuckle and don’t give him another thought as Amy stands from the bed and tentatively walks toward me. Her large breasts barely sway with the motion and the rounded edges definitely tell me they’re fake, but fuck… they’re nice. Very nice. When she’s standing in front of me, lower lip trembling, I lower my gun and with my free hand, stroke her cheek. She flinches but otherwise lets me have my way with her.

I slide my fingers through her hair, to the back of her head, and I grip her tight. “Now, Amy… I want you to get on your knees and suck my cock for a bit.” She lets out a whimper as I start to push her down. “And if you bite me, I’m going to blow your husband’s head off,” I add on as I raise the gun back at him. “Are we understood?” She nods her head vigorously and tears pool in her eyes. “Good girl,” I say with a grim smile. “Now… get my cock out and get to work.” She fumbles with the button and zipper of my pants, but makes quick headway because I’m not wearing any underwear. My dick comes out locked and loaded, swollen hard and ready for action. My eyes cut quickly over to the husband, but he’s not moved a muscle, I’m sure worried that I’ll shoot him. I’m not sure what he thinks watching this, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from his wife on her knees before me. The minute those lips wrap around the head of my cock, my eyes flutter closed just for a moment and I groan. “Fuck yeah, baby. Just like that.” Apparently, Amy’s got skills. Mad, mad skills. She bobs up and down on my cock, with a perfect amount of friction, and has this wiggle move with her tongue underneath the head that almost causes my knees to buckle. When I feel my balls start to tingle, I push her off, noting the faint spill of drool from her swollen lips. “Panties off and get on the bed,” I tell her curtly. “Spread your legs so I can see that pretty pussy.” Amy looks to her husband pleadingly, but he just nods his head. She does as I ask, shimmying out of the tiny scrap of pink silk. She lies in the middle of the bed, and as instructed, spreads her legs wide for me. My cock actually bobs up and down in anticipation, but I got to suit up first. Stepping forward, I lay my gun on the bed, right between her legs. I give her a devious smile and taunt her as I reach into my back pocket for a condom. “I dare you to go for the gun. Think you’re faster than me?” She squeezes her eyes shut and doesn’t answer me. But I know she’s also too chicken shit to make a grab for it. While I rip the foil packet open, I add some further shame to her situation. “Touch yourself, sweet Amy. Let me see if you’re wet for me?” Her eyes snap open, and she actually glares at me. “You go to hell.” I laugh at her as I roll the rubber on my cock and pick my gun back up. Rubbing the tip of it through her pussy lips, I bring it up to inspect. It’s glistening with her juices, just as I knew it would be. Fear doesn’t stop the thrill of excitement. I don’t spare Amy’s good husband a look as I lay the gun back down on the mattress, this time out of her reach. I’m getting ready to put some concentration into my work, and I can’t risk her making a grab for it. As soon as my hands are free, I snatch her by the ankles and pull Amy roughly to the edge of the bed. I actually pull up hard on her legs, lifting her hips off the edge, and I slam my way inside of her. She lets out a yip of pain, because even though she’s wet as all get out, I’ve got a big fucking cock— which is truth, not rumor—and I know that hurt. I stay lodged in her deep, letting her get accustomed to my size. I wait for her to open her eyes and when she does, I start fucking her. I go deep and steady, but no need to go too hard. I’m going to make sweet Amy come hard around me, and I hope it fucking shames her. Damn… she’s so fucking wet; I slide so easily in and out. Feels amazing. My eyes cut over to her husband and widen with surprise when I see he’s got an erection tenting his

boxers. That’s interesting. Apparently, Mr. Amy is a little turned on by me fucking his wife. “Get over here,” I rasp out at him, and he jerks his gaze toward me. It had previously been pinned on my dick ramming in and out of his wife. He moves forward, his eyes sliding back down to watch what I’m doing, and his cock peeps right out of the hole in his boxers. “Fuck, dude,” I pant as I keep moving in and out of her. “You’re turned on by me fucking your wife.” He flushes red over my statement, and Amy doesn’t even bother to look at her husband. Her eyes are squeezed shut and her fingers are grasping onto the bed covers. “Jack off,” I tell him. “What?” He gasps in astonishment. “Get on the bed, kneel by your wife’s head, and jack off while I fuck her.” He makes a choking sort of sound, but he doesn’t argue. That’s because he doesn’t forget there’s a gun on the bed only inches from my hand. Amy’s husband kneels beside his wife and without any further direction from me, pushes his boxers down and starts jerking at his dick, his eyes pinned on my cock claiming his wife the entire time. Yeah… this is actually kind of hot. Wasn’t what I imagined, but I’m digging it. I start tunneling into Amy a bit faster, and now she’s making mewling sounds. Reaching a hand down, I pluck at her clit lightly, then press down on it so she can feel me moving in and out of her just on the other side of that sweet bud. She gasps. Cries. Then screams as she starts to come. “Oh, fuck,” her husband groans. He starts to come as well, shooting all over Amy’s big, round breasts and soaking the lovely, pink silk. As I pound harder inside of her, my balls tighten. I grit my teeth, my neck muscles straining, and I start to come. I slam into her hard… brutally actually, and she gives a startled yip as I grind against her pelvis, unloading buckets inside the condom. “Fuck, that’s good,” I croak, and then praise my captive fuck. “Amy, of the sweet pussy.” When I’ve expelled every fucking drop I have, I pull out and pluck the condom off. Amy’s husband sags down on the bed beside her, and she scrambles over so they can hold each other. Awww… that’s sweet. I throw the condom on the floor, tuck my dick away, and snatch the gun from the bed. Giving them both a nod and a toothy smile, I say, “Not one word of this to anyone. I so much as hear you’ve told someone, and I’ll come back and I won’t be so nice. Are we clear?” “Yes,” they both simultaneously say. “We won’t.” I stare at them, my eyes promising all kinds of retribution. When I’m satisfied we’re good, I turn and walk out of their bedroom. Down the hall, and right out the back door. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I pull the black knit mask off and take a deep breath of the fresh Wyoming air. I swivel my head, the cervical bones in my neck popping. I feel loose and relaxed. I actually sit on the bottom step and look up at the stars hanging low and heavy in the sky. Beautiful. The porch light flicks on, bathing me in a yellow glow. The door opens, and I turn my head to see Amy standing there. She’s holding a bottle of Hoback Hefeweizen out to me and gives me a smile. “That was excellent,

Cain.” “I thought it was some of my better work,” I say with a grin and hop up to accept the beer, which is my favorite from the Snake River Brewery. Amy’s husband appears over her shoulder and pulls the door open. “Want to come in while you drink that?” “Sure,” I say and trot back up the steps, walking back into one of the fantasy cabins that belong to The Wicked Horse. This wasn’t the first fantasy I’ve played in involving Amy and Charles Mason, but this was a special one. It’s their wedding anniversary and, as members of The Wicked Horse’s sex club, Bridger wanted to do something special for them. As the door closes behind me, I wonder if the blonde girl is still back at the club. I’m technically off duty, and I consider for a moment finishing my beer and going back to check it out. But then Amy’s hand is on my crotch and she’s rubbing my cock, which is eagerly responding, and I know the party here isn’t quite over yet. Blonde woman is forgotten. For now.

Chapter 1

Cain I KNOCK ON BRIDGER’S office door. Three solid raps and I hear his heavy bootsteps on the other side. There is no polite “Come in” as the door is locked with a passcode that no one enjoys except for Bridger himself. Well, probably Woolf, as I doubt someone changed the code since the announcement two days ago that ownership changed. He opens the door and gives me a small smile. “Thanks for coming in on your day off.” “No problem,” I assure him as I step in. “Didn’t have anything better planned.” Which is the truth. If I had my way, I’d be doing some extra work out on the Double J or some parttime construction with Walt, but neither of those sources panned out. And Christ… I could use the extra work as I got in another fucking bill that doesn’t belong to me, and yet, it does. It’s the story of my life. Working to pay off debt I didn’t incur, but that I’m still obligated to settle under the eyes of the law. If Rachel wasn’t already dead, sometimes I swear I could wring her scrawny neck out of frustration. Bridger closes the door behind me and motions to the couch. “Have a seat.” As he walks to sit behind his desk, I plant my ass on the dark brown leather couch that has seen plenty of action in this office. I know this because I’ve personally fucked a few of the bartenders in here, though only by express invitation of Woolf or Bridger to join in a threesome when things were slow. “We got a problem that I need you to take care of,” Bridger says bluntly, and it causes me to move from slouched posture to ramrod straight. The tone of his voice has me tense. “What is it?” “Colton Stokes’ membership to The Silo has been terminated,” he says with little emotion, but I’m still shocked. To my knowledge, no one has been kicked out of the club before. “I need to know why,” I tell him. Bridger nods because he knows I need to know. As head of security, if this is due to some type of breach, I need to fix it. It’s why they pay me a handsome salary with generous quarterly bonuses. To not only keep the patrons of the Wicked Horse—the nightclub portion of this business—safe, but to ensure the secrecy of The Silo, the sex club portion of the empire. “He told Governor Hayes about the sex club,” Bridger says with a hard glint to his eye. “Told him his daughter was at an orgy in one of the cabins. Told him about Woolf’s involvement.” And sudden understanding dawns on me. I mean, I knew Woolf got out because of Callie, but I just assumed it was because the poor fool went and fell in love and didn’t need this lifestyle anymore. But I get it now. There’s no way he could have been with Callie if that information was threatened to become public. Governor Hayes is coming into an election year, and he can’t afford for it to be public knowledge that his daughter was dating the owner of a sex club and she attended an orgy there. “Fucking douche,” I mutter as I scrub a hand through my short hair. “Exactly,” Bridger agrees. “And not a damn thing you or Woolf can do about the non-disclosure breach?” “Yeah, that’s a dead end.” Woolf and Bridger have a non-disclosure agreement that every member of the sex club has to sign,

agreeing to absolute secrecy of the existence of the club and its members. A breach of that agreement sets a minimum limit on damages at a cool million. The only problem is, to enforce that agreement, Bridger— as the sole owner of the business now—would have to sue Colton. That would be public record, and there’s no way in hell a legal document could be filed and made available for anyone to see that publicly accused him of outing the governor’s daughter as a participant in an orgy. The desire to keep the club secret wasn’t borne of any shame or embarrassment by Woolf or Bridger. On the contrary, they’re extremely proud of what they created, which is a protected environment where people can indulge in their most wicked fantasies. Therefore, they were fully prepared to enforce any breach of the non-disclosure through legal means. Hell, they have an attorney on retainer just for such a problem. But with the governor’s daughter now being involved, it requires a different sort of way to handle this. “What’s the plan then?” I ask as I stand, the menace clear in my tone, because there’s no way this is going to be overlooked. Not by Bridger and certainly not by me. That fucker not only just threatened my friends, but he threatened my very livelihood. He’ll have to pay. “I want you to visit him today,” Bridger says as he hands me an envelope across the deck. It’s thick, and I instantly know it contains cash for me. A bonus, so to speak. “Deliver the notification that he’s not welcome back on Double J property, and he will not so nicely be escorted out if he makes an appearance at The Wicked Horse or The Silo ever again. Also let him know I’m not pursuing the non-disclosure, but impress upon him that there will be ramifications if he opens his mouth again.” “Any limit to those ramifications?” I ask, my blood tingling with excitement. I never did like the prick and I like to fight. More importantly, I like the money in this envelope. I intend to earn it. “Don’t kill him,” Bridger says with a chuckle. “But make it hurt.” “Gladly,” I say as I tuck the envelope in my back pocket and start to turn for the door. “One other thing,” Bridger says. I halt, turning back around to face him. “Amy Mason called me this morning.” “Oh, sweet Amy,” I say with a chuckle. “She was very impressed with your performance the other night,” Bridger says with a lewd smile. “She wants to arrange for an encore. At her house.” “When?” I ask, because it will have to be on one of my days off. “Week after next. Her husband is out of town on business, and she wants a repeat type of fantasy. You ‘break-in’ to her house, but she wants you to be a little rougher on her this time. Make it a bit more realistic.” “Does Charles know she’s doing that with him gone?” I ask hesitantly, because something about this doesn’t sit right. Amy and Charles Mason always act out their fantasies together. “No clue,” Bridger says, pointedly looking at me. “Is that a problem?” My brows furrow as I contemplate. “I don’t know. Just seems a little off. And of course, there’s always a risk doing something like that off property. Last thing I need is for some crazy bitch to actually claim I broke in and raped her when it’s part of a fantasy she requested.” “I can cover that in a fantasy agreement,” Bridger offers. “We’ll type up the exact scenario, have her sign it in front of a notary, including that it be done at her house at her request.” “I guess,” I say half-heartedly, the idea still not sitting right. And nothing against the scenario itself. I’ve had plenty of women want to act out a fantasy where they’re being forced, but the fact she doesn’t want to do this with Charles involved sort of makes me wary. This is due to the mere fact that a good chunk of The Silo’s members are in committed, monogamous relationships. A good third of the club is married, and they enjoy indulging in the fantasy aspect with their spouses.

Amy and Charles Mason are just such a couple. In the few that I’ve done with them, there’s definitely a tight bond between them. I mean, you have to have an amazing level of trust in your partner to engage in some of the debauchery that goes on in The Silo. I guess it just feels a little disloyal, but truthfully… that’s not really my problem. “Want me to tell her you’ll do it?” Bridger asks with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah,” I say quickly before I can talk myself out of it. It won’t earn me any extra immediate cash, but my quarterly bonuses are calculated with how often I’m requested as a fantasy maker, so I want to keep the customers happy. “Work up the agreement and get her to sign it, then have her get up with me via email to set a date. That way we’ll have that in writing too.” “Sounds good,” Bridger says as he stands up from the desk, indicating our time is over and he has a million other things to do. “Anything else you think we should do to help seal this leak Colton made?” “Update the security code on The Silo. Right now, it’s just a five-digit number. I’d scramble the password and give each member a remote security access fob that generates a new passcode each day.” “Good idea.” “Oh, and think about maybe requiring a damages deposit for all members. Make them deposit a chunk of change into a trust account, separate from their membership fee. It’s automatically forfeit if they breach. Make it in addition to the million-dollar clause.” “Brilliant,” Bridger says with a devious smile. “And we should make sure that it covers any guests they decide to bring in.” “Definitely,” I agree. “Especially since we don’t have time to run background checks on each guest since no notice is needed. But if you tie the member’s purse strings to the liability of the guest, it will make them think twice over who they choose to bring into the club.” This is actually a major weak spot in my opinion, allowing members to bring in guests. I pointed this out to both Bridger and Woolf before we even opened the doors, but it was ultimately decided we needed to give some latitude to the members, especially since they paid a whopping fifty thousand per year to be members. In addition, most members were affluent and couldn’t risk exposure, so we figured they would pick their kink partners with care. In fact, they probably had their own non-disclosure agreements in place for protection. “I’ll get legal to draft up amended non-disclosures, and we’ll notify the patrons about a damages deposit. Any thought on the amount?” I shrug. “The members of this club are multi-millionaires. The membership fee of fifty thousand is chump change for them. I’d make at least the same amount for a damages deposit, if not more.” “A hundred thousand it is,” Bridger says with a nod. I chuckle, knowing every fucking member will pay it without batting an eyelash. The totally filthy rich have no qualms about blowing that kind of money on their kink. All I know is I’m extremely grateful to not only be a fantasy maker for the club, so I can frequently get my rocks off in the dirtiest of ways, but also my employment through The Wicked Horse earns me a platinum membership free of charge. Call it part of the perks package that comes with the job as head of security. While a few select employees at The Wicked Horse have silver memberships as part of their pay, earning them two visits per week, I was granted a full platinum membership because I’ve known Woolf just this side of forever since we grew up together. My position comes with built-in autonomy and authority. The benefit of the platinum membership is that I can walk into The Silo any day of the week, and I’m guaranteed a mind-blowing fuck because it’s a private club of many like-minded people. I enjoy this freedom from responsibility and commitment to another person, since the last such person managed to

make my life a living hell and even though she’s dead, she still manages to fuck up my existence on a daily basis. “Alright, man,” I say as I turn for the office door. “I’m headed to Stokes’ house now. I’ll give you a call later and let you know how it went.” “Make it hurt,” Bridger reminds me, but I don’t need it. I’m looking forward to doling out a little Cain Bonham justice on behalf of my friends and employer. And then after, I might just come back to The Wicked Horse and see if the blonde woman shows up again. If so, it will be five nights in a row as she had her pretty ass parked there again last night when I came on duty. We played our little staring match with each other, but tonight, I’m not working. If she shows again and wants to take that flirting to another level, I’m ready. Game on.

Chapter 2

Sloane GOD, I CAN’T stand country music. You’d think a girl born and raised in the great state of Tennessee would thrive on this shit, but I don’t. Never liked it growing up, leaning instead toward grunge and rock. But despite the twangy, deep voice of some vintage Garth Brooks booming over the sound system, I’m finding that I really like The Wicked Horse. Its rough pine flooring and dark paneled walls give it that rustic feel, but the expensive, cowhide-covered seats, custom-carved bar, and specialty drink menu speaks more to a clientele who prefers western chic. It’s an interesting combination but ordinarily not one that would keep me coming back. No, I come back for another reason, and that is mainly because I’m interested in the head of security, Cain Bonham. I just found out his name yesterday, and if I’m lucky, he’ll be here again tonight. I’ll keep coming back, night after night, hoping to catch him off duty. I happen to know, for a fact, that he does not engage with customers while he’s working. I know this not only from personal observation, but because my girl Jasmine, who sits directly opposite of me right now at our little table we’ve managed to sit at for the past five nights, hooked up with him a few months ago. She assured me he never looked at her twice until one night when he came into The Wicked Horse dressed in jeans, a pair of heavy, black biker boots that seemed out of place in a country-western nightclub, and a dark gray t-shirt. He was clearly off duty. Once he went up to the bar and ordered a beer, Jasmine told me she had set her sights on him. Said she’d been lusting after him for a few weeks, but the word on the street was that he was crazy rigid about not mixing work and pleasure. She decided to come on to him that night, and it apparently earned a one-way ticket to his bed. Well, she confessed they actually fucked in the parking lot up against the side of her car in between beers, but still… she claimed it was the best sex she’d ever had. She relished in telling me the story because Cain Bonham is an intimidating dude. Women don’t know whether to fawn or fear… and I suppose that’s reasonable. I’m not scared of much in this life, so I would totally go for the fawn path, which wouldn’t be hard given his dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and sharply angled cheekbones. He’s tall and built like a brick wall, his tight, black Security t-shirts hugging those biceps perfectly. I’m not put off nor scared by the large scar that runs along the ridge of one such perfectly sculpted cheekbone. The scar suits him because otherwise, he’d just be a pretty boy. Instead, he looks raw, edgy, and utterly gorgeous in my opinion. See… easy to fawn. Jasmine thinks my interest in Cain is amusing. She told me he doesn’t go back for seconds, or so rumor says, so she’s all for me getting my rocks off with him if I’m so inclined. And I am inclined because Cain Bonham is a job to me at this point. If I have to engage in sex with him to further my interests, then so be it. I promise not to enjoy it… too much, but that’s probably a lie. You can tell just looking at the man that it’s going to be explosive. Cain didn’t start out as a job to me. When I first came in here with my new girlfriends, I was casing the joint, no doubt. He caught my eye almost immediately with his rough good looks, and I got sidetracked from my mission to engage in some crazy staring matches with him where I tried to allude with just the power of my gaze that I was interested. It was sort of a game, and because I’m a sexually active and

liberated woman, I have no problem in random hookups or one-night stands. That’s what I was interested in. At first. But after a few nights of hanging out at The Wicked Horse for some basic background research purposes, I started to realize that nothing was going to jump out at me that would help me reach my goals. And my goals are pretty nefarious… at least to the owners of this establishment. I intend to infiltrate a supposed secret sex club that is being operated through this nightclub, and in turn, connect Governor Hayes to it. That’s when I set my sights on Cain Bonham as more than just a personal interest. From what little I know of the sex club, and let’s face it, it’s not very much at all, I need someone on the inside to get me in. Now, I have no clue if Cain’s obligations as the Head of Security extend to that avenue of the business, but the magazine shot me over a quick employment background check on him that revealed to me a few interesting things. Cain often works part time at the owner, Woolf Jennings’ ranch, the Double J. Most importantly, Cain was employed for three years by SDE Enterprises, which is a corporation based out of Driggs, Idaho. SDE owns a lot of different ventures, but one in particular caught my eye. A sex club named Scandalous. This was all enough to lead me to believe that Cain is probably involved with it. He’s my “in,” and I intend to sit my ass in this bar every night until I have the opportunity to make a connection with him. It’s my hope that said connection is going to be memorable enough that it will keep him coming back for more, which will hopefully give me an inroad into the underbelly of the business. My reasons for doing this are layered and complex, but at its most basic level, I’m a reporter for Revealed magazine, a publication based out of Washington, D.C., that works to expose corrupt politicians. At a deeper level, I’m avenging my mother every time I take a sleazeball down who thinks he or she can use their public office to walk on the backs of others. Admittedly, Cain wasn’t my immediate target when I moved here to Jackson, Wyoming just a week ago. And he’s not really my target now, just a means to hopefully discover something print-worthy. I’m still not completely sold on whether there is, in fact, a story here. The “anonymous” tip the magazine received isn’t very promising in my opinion. I spoke to the tipster via phone at the order of my editor, Brant Sweeney. I say “anonymous” with air quotes and sarcasm because I was able to find out the cell phone owner’s name easy enough with our background resources. So I spoke to some dude named Colton Stokes—who still thinks he’s anonymous to me. He was fairly tight lipped and would only tell me three things. First, that there’s a private sex club that’s owned, in part, by Woolf Jennings, president and CEO of JennCo. This is interesting in that Woolf Jennings is a billionaire with a massive cattle and oil empire, but it’s not newsworthy for Revealed magazine. Second, that Woolf Jennings is dating Callie Hayes, whose father is the governor of Wyoming. Third, that Callie also is a member of the sex club. Again, these tips aren’t promising in my opinion. I wasn’t quite sure what he wanted us to do with the information, so I pushed him on it. My money is on the supposition that this Colton Stokes guy is probably nursing some bruised feelings from a rebuff from the lovely Callie Hayes—yes, I researched her too—and he wants some payback. He could not, however, tell me how any of this tied to Governor Hayes. When I pushed him on this, he was at a loss too, except to say Callie would probably be his campaign manager, and that would only naturally lead him to suspect campaign finances were probably tied to the

sex club. In addition and way more promising, I also learned through additional research that Woolf Jennings is a major contributor to the governor. This had possibility. A very slight possibility, but it was one that Brant felt deserved some attention. He had told me in his nasally tone, “People don’t want to read about politicians taking payments from lobbyists. They want sex. Dirty, filthy sex. Go find it for me.” And so I moved to Wyoming. While I don’t think there’s much of a story here, I’m still here to do my job. If there’s something to be found, I’ll do it. Besides, this article is pure gold as far as I’m concerned. Plus, again… if Hayes is dirty and I help to bring him down, I can visit my mother and tell her all about it. Not sure she’ll understand, but it will make me feel better. Jasmine kicks me under the table, and my eyes shoot up to her. Garth Brooks is gone, replaced by Luke Bryan, and I realize I’ve drifted hard. I raise my eyebrows and shoot her a look. She nods past my left shoulder, and I turn slowly in my chair. Cain Bonham has just walked in, looking as sinful as ever. Dark brown hair cropped close on the sides but slightly longer on top. I found out he served in the Marine Corps and while it’s not military buzzed, it’s still pretty short. It only serves to highlight those damn fine chiseled looks, and the stubble he wears on his jawline also lends to his overall rough allure. He’s wearing dark jeans and a lightweight black sweater with a crew collar. I can’t see what’s on his feet because of the crowd, but I’m guessing biker boots, since Jasmine mentioned them before. She loves the biker type of guys. Cain doesn’t look my way but heads straight to the bar, nodding and giving what could pass as a halfsmile to some. I turn back in my seat, surprised to find my heart beating so fast. “You need to get your ass up and go talk to him,” Jasmine pointedly says. “I’ll go with you if you want.” She’s sweet. Really, she is. As part of my cover, I fortuitously got a job at a small, leather retail store on the town square, courtesy of a favor called in by my editor through the network of publication favors that infiltrates the United States. The woman known as Sloane Preston became Sloane Meyers—in tribute to my mother as that was her maiden name. I then became a retail clerk at Jackson Hole Leather Emporium. Jasmine works there as well, and we hit it off. Especially after I asked her about The Wicked Horse and she got all excited… told me she goes there all the time. The other two girls, Marilyn and Samantha, are local girls, close friends of Jasmine, very sweet but trolling for husbands, and they don’t know any other way to do it than to hang out in a bar every night. The group was my perfect cover for hanging out at The Wicked Horse, and I’ve been with them here for the past five nights, engaging in some flirty staring with Cain and wondering when I’d get to make my move. It looks like tonight is the night, but how to go about doing it? I have to be different because I need more than a one-night stand with him. He has to be interested in more than just sex, but from what I’ve been able to glean just from observing him, he seems more of a loner than anything else. My choices are to engage his mind to make him interested in me as a person, or give him the absolute best, dirtiest, mind-blowing sex he can ever imagine, so he’ll want to come back for more. I take a sip of my beer and contemplate how to go about setting the hook.

Chapter 3

Cain I NOTICED THE blonde woman the minute I opened the door to The Wicked Horse because my eyes involuntarily went to the table she sat at with her girlfriends for the past few nights. It’s odd to me that I felt a weird sort of elation over seeing her there, and it made me realize how much I was looking forward to hopefully figuring out the mystery of this girl tonight. My powers of observation are keen. No more than three steps inside the door and I saw her friend across the table raise her eyes my way and tilt her head toward me. The blonde woman started turning her head my way, and I immediately averted my eyes and headed toward the bar. No sense in letting her know right off the bat I’m here for her. Make her work for it a bit, I guess. Otherwise, where’s the fun in that? That little exchange also told me something important. The blonde was waiting for me to come in, and she shared that with her friends. I saw her friend clearly get her attention and nod my way, so that tells me one very monumental piece of evidence. I’m going to fuck that girl tonight. It’s odd I’m attracted to her, but I’m only talking about her superficial beauty. She’s a well-puttogether package no doubt, because what red-blooded man doesn’t love a blonde with curves? But it’s more the way she looks with her hair curled in loose waves down just below her chin, wide-set innocent eyes of baby blue, and dimples to the left and right of her mouth when she smiles. She looks like a metaphorical piece of apple pie, all sweet and sugary. That’s usually not my thing. I like women who are aggressive and know what they want. With as much dirty fucking as I do on a regular basis, vanilla women are just a tad too boring. Doesn’t mean I won’t fuck them, but it does mean they’re forgotten sooner than the others are. But I have to hand it to the blonde. She’s not been handing me shy smiles and surreptitious looks. No, she stares at me like a woman who knows what she wants, and that’s just so contradictory to her naive look. That’s what, in fact, makes her such a mystery. I wonder when she’s crying out in pleasure, will it be in a wholesomely saccharine way or if she’ll pull my hair out by the roots while screaming for me to make her come harder? It will be interesting to find out. Now, how to go about getting in her pants? I decide to drink a beer and ponder the question, because it’s still early and what I know about the blonde is that she’ll hang here for a good chunk of the night. At least, that’s been her modus operandi so far, so I feel confident I don’t have to make a move soon. And besides, if I miss the opportunity with her, that’s no skin off my back. I’ve got The Silo sitting twenty yards off the back of The Wicked Horse. I can bust a nut there just as easy. “Beer?” Ted says from across the bar. Good dude and he’s also a fantasy maker at The Silo. He and I have starred together in some group fantasies in the past. The guy will fuck anyone that has a willing orifice, so it makes him a more popular member of the club. I nod at him as I take one of the few empty seats and watch as he pours my favorite. After he sets the Hefeweizen in front of me, I slide a ten-dollar bill his way and thus is the extent of our exchange. I’m not an overly chatty dude to begin with, but when I come here, I like to drink, people watch, and keep an eye

on my crew. My back stays turned to the blonde for a few sips of my beer, but then I turn casually around on the stool and gaze out over the club. For a Thursday night, it’s fairly packed, although it’s still early yet. Give it another hour and it will be standing room only. My eyes first connect on Angel, our DJ, as she sits in a glass booth with a pair of headphones over her glossy, red hair. She’s probably the only woman in the world who intimidates me, and only because she enjoys degrading and defiling men. She’s a fem-dom, hardcore to the extreme. No matter how much weird shit I’ve seen happen in The Silo, it still blows my mind the amount of people who will pay to receive pain and degradation as a way to get off. But to each his own. I take another sip of my beer and casually move my gaze over to the blonde woman’s table. I see it’s empty but for their purses and drinks, but then immediately see her and her three friends dancing just a few feet away. Her back is to me and I have to say, it’s not a chore watching her dance. Tonight, she’s wearing a green floral pattern skirt that comes to mid-thigh and hugs her curves, and damn… she’s got a delicious-looking ass too. She’s wearing a blue, denim shirt that she has tied near her hips, baring the tiniest sliver of the skin on her stomach. It’s unbuttoned to reveal a shadow of her cleavage, and she finishes the ensemble off with a pair of brown cowgirl boots. It’s a sweet and sexy look, adding to the dual nature of this woman who is already sweet and sexy by leaps and bounds. I’ve watched her dance before, many times. She’s damn good, but she’s also particular. There’s not been a man yet who has caught her eye as she’s declined every offer. I hope to God she’s not waiting on me to come ask her, because even though I’ve been told on more than one occasion I have incredible hip action, I do not swing them around on the dance floor. She doesn’t look my way, and in fact, keeps her back to me. Perhaps playing a little hard to get? Makes me want to spank her ass, if so. I go to take a sip of my beer as I pin my eyes to her rotating hips, wondering how long she could keep that motion up if she was riding me, when I see a guy move into position behind her on the dance floor. She has no clue he’s there, but he’s openly leering at her ass, bending his knees and thrusting his pelvis suggestively behind her. Must be drunk, because no woman would ever find that sexy. Oddly, my first instinct is to stand from my stool and march across the room, right onto the dance floor, where I’ll put him in a headlock and drag him off before he touches her, but that would just be silly. What I should do is motion to one of my guys on duty and point out the potential problem, but when I look over at Gary, who’s one of two guys in charge of the dance floor, I see he’s already well aware and watching. I ease my posture and try to relax. He’ll handle it if necessary. And necessary apparently comes sooner than later, because the drunken, dancing fool moves right in behind the blonde and puts his hands on her hips. He does a weird, epileptic kind of move and pushes his pelvis into her ass. I start to stand from my stool again. Gary moves a step closer. We both watch to see if the guy backs off, but then I’m sure Gary is as shocked as I am when the diminutive blonde turns around, pulls her arm back, and slaps the shit out of the guy so hard, I can hear the crack of it over the blaring music. I’m momentarily stunned to inaction by this, but then the guy reels around, fury all over his face as he holds a palm to his cheek. He winds his other arm across his chest, indicating a clear intention to backhand the blonde, and I’m flying off the stool toward the dance floor. I see Gary make the same move, but we are both too far away. However, I’m brought to a dead halt, right in my tracks, again stunned to inaction, when the blonde

pulls her right leg back and, before the guy can even swing his arm, she kicks him square in the nuts. Holy fuck! When the guy doubles over, she’s not done with him. She balls her little hand into a fist, really so tiny it could never do damage, and lands a right hook to his face. The guy falls over onto the floor, one hand clutching his balls and the other his mouth, which is now bleeding. Gary is now on scene. Because apparently, the man on the floor needs protecting, he grabs the blonde from behind in a bear hold and pulls her back a few feet. She glares down at him and yells something, which prompts me to move. The dancing crowd has all halted, pressing in a tight circle around the combatants. Blonde girl—1. Douchey drunk—0. Won’t be a second round. The minute my foot hits the dance floor, the blonde’s eyes raise to meet mine. She stares at me with challenge, her face flushed red with fury. “Let her go,” I tell Gary, who immediately releases her. To my surprise, she bends over the dude, who is now cursing through bloody teeth, and says, “Bet you’ll think twice before rubbing your dick on a girl’s ass, won’t you?” The guy starts to push up from the floor, glaring daggers at the blonde. “You fucking cunt,” he sputters with blood spraying. “You could have just said no.” This infuriates the blonde, who steps toward him menacingly, and the guy isn’t a fool. He leans warily backward, holding a hand out to stave off her approach. I have to suppress a laugh as I reach out and take her by the upper arm. Looking at Gary, I jerk my head to the guy. “Get him out of here safely.” “Sure thing, boss,” Gary says before grabbing the guy by the back of his collar and pulling him off the dance floor. “I’m leaving,” the blonde says as she tries to shrug out of my hold. “You don’t need to throw me out too.” Throw her out? After that glorious display to all drunk men everywhere that they should heed hitting on the wrong woman? No way. I’m not throwing her out, but I am taking her out of here. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” I tell her as I start pulling her along. “Your hand’s bleeding.” Because I noticed that too. She must have scraped it on his teeth with that punch. She follows along easily behind me. As we walk past the table, she picks up her purse and calls out to the girls over her shoulder, “I’ll be back.” Yeah, that’s not going to happen either. I lead the woman through the bar and toward the main doors. We step out into a mild, mid-July evening, right on the heels of Gary escorting the guy whose ass she just kicked over to a waiting cab. There’s usually one or two lurking about waiting to take tourists back into Jackson. I turn in the opposite direction, heading across the wooden, covered porch of the club toward where I parked my truck. She pulls against me, and I turn to look at her in question. “Wait,” she says in confusion. “You said we were going to get my hand cleaned up.” “We are,” I tell her as I turn back around and start walking toward my truck. “I’m taking you to your place, and I’ll clean it up there. I’m thinking in your shower would be nice.” Even though you’d never know it by the easy sway of my shoulders or my confident walk, I hold my breath wondering what she’ll do. It was a bold statement on my part, but I don’t feel like dicking around. Besides, I just don’t flirt well. I’m immediately relieved when she says, “Sounds good to me.”

And I already start to get hard thinking about how easily she just capitulated.

Chapter 4

Sloane CAIN HAS A beat-up, late 90’s model Chevy truck. There’s a dent in the front quarter panel, and it’s covered in dirt. I’m surprised with his gallantry when he opens the passenger door for me and holds my non-punching hand in his while I navigate the running board. We pull out and head south on Highway 191 after I tell Cain I live in Jackson. He turns the radio on and adjusts the volume low. An unbidden smile comes to my face when I hear the sweet sounds of Soundgarden coming out versus a country song. “So,” I say into the gloom of the interior. “We’re taking a shower together, huh?” “To clean your hand, of course,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. “Of course,” I murmur, turning in the cab to face him with the little play allowed in the seatbelt. “I’m Sloane, by the way. Sloane Meyers.” I’m proud of myself that I don’t even stumble over my fake last name. “Cain Bonham,” he offers, and then says, “But I think I might just call you Right Hook.” I laugh and turn back in my seat, giving my hand a tiny shake. I can’t see what it looks like due to the lack of light, but it throbs like a bitch. However, I’m not about to let that interfere with my plans tonight. When I decided I needed something to get Cain’s attention outside of flirty looks or a direct come-on, which wouldn’t distinguish me at all, it’s like God sent that drunken leech to hit on me. I didn’t even really have a plan, just knew a spectacle would get Cain’s attention, and I struck hard and fast. I figured it would get me thrown out of the bar, which I hoped would lead to some conversation with him, but never in my wildest dreams did I think he’d take me home. And tell me he was going to take a shower with me. I press my legs together as a different sort of throb starts to beat a bit further south than my hand. I have no clue if this half-baked plan to get in good with Cain will do anything for my story that I’m not even sure is a story, but I know one thing… tonight will be damn good regardless. “You didn’t seem surprised by my offer of a shower together,” Cain says in an off-handed manner. I could play this a hundred different ways. Most women in my position would want to solidify their status with a man such as this—do something that would stick in his memory for a long time. The best way to accomplish that at this given moment would be to take off my seat belt, crawl across the expanse of the cab, and undo his jeans. A hand job or blow job would be memorable, no doubt. But I have a feeling it wouldn’t surprise Cain Bonham, nor would it be out of the ordinary to a man such as this. The guy who did Jasmine an apparently amazing favor by fucking her in the parking lot between beers. A man who is potentially embroiled deep within a fantasy sex club has probably seen and done it all. It’s at this moment that, even as adventurous as I am in bed, I realize I might be out of my sexual element. There’s probably not anything I can do to cause this man’s eyebrows to raise and say, “Hey… this girl right here… she’s special.” So I simply answer, “Well, there’s an attraction there for sure. I’m personally glad we aren’t wasting time on lame come-ons and you buying me cheap beers to get me drunk. I’d like to remember this night, personally.”

Cain gives a husky laugh of appreciation and promises, “Oh, you’ll remember tonight. I promise you that.” The throb between my legs gets insistently stronger, and I press them tighter together.

* THE MINUTE I pull my key from the lock and step into my tiny apartment, I’m immediately filled with broiling tension. Do I just strip out of my clothes and head to the shower? Or will he pounce on me? “Got anything to drink?” Cain says from behind me as he shuts the door. When I turn to face him, I find he’s turning the deadbolt and closing the short set of blinds over the glass panes in the door. Locking us in and away from prying eyes. A tiny shudder runs through me. “Maybe some whiskey?” he asks, and I blink at him. When he notices confusion on my face, he gives a chuckle and steps toward me, tapping his index finger on my nose. “Did you think I was going to fuck you the minute we walked in?” “The thought had crossed my mind,” I mutter as I turn away and head to a cabinet above the sink. I pull down a fifth of Jack Daniels, because I’m a Tennessee girl after all. “Need your first aid supplies too,” Cain says. “Might as well get that taken care of sooner rather than later. That dude you punched looked like he could have rabies or something.” “That’s all in the bathroom,” I tell him by way of explanation as I set the bottle and two shot glasses on the kitchen table and turn toward my short hallway. I hear the scrape of a chair indicating Cain must be pulling it out to sit in and I imagine he’s twisting the bottle open as I step into the bathroom. After I turn on the light, I immediately look down at my hand. I must have projected my middle knuckle in the punch because it’s slightly swollen. There’s also a tear in the skin. It’s the only open wound and didn’t bleed that much; just a welled-up, large drop of blood that ran in between my middle and index finger before it started to clot. As I reach toward the mirrored medicine cabinet above the sink, I catch my own gaze in the mirror. I study myself for a moment, noting the hint of determination in my eyes and the tiny flush to my cheeks that is indicative of my excitement. Am I really going to do this? Am I really going to sleep with a man to try to gain a foothold on a story? My blue eyes blink back at me without a clear-cut answer. I mean, it’s clear that I am going to sleep with him. I was attracted to him in that way long before I ever considered him a pathway to my end goal. But am I really going to use that intimacy to further my own agenda? Do I care if he gets hurt in the process? I stare back at myself, and I know I don’t have any answers to those questions. Shaking my head, I open the cabinet. After grabbing some peroxide and Band-Aids, I head back out to the kitchen. I find Cain leaning back in the chair with his hands folded and lying right over his belt buckle. It’s not a country-western type belt, but a plain, thick black one with an unadorned and unremarkable buckle. He does indeed wear black biker boots. On the table is a roll of paper towels he took from the holder over the sink, presumably to clean my hand. I can’t imagine anything kinky we could do with that. My eyes flick to the bottle, which remains unopened. “Thought you wanted a drink?” “Lot of things I want.” His voice is rich, low… rumbling. I feel it in my gut. “But there’s a proper order to things.” “Let me guess,” I say with a smirk as I pull the chair out adjacent to his, turn it to face him, and sit. “Fix my hand first?”

“Exactly,” he says with a wink and takes my hand, pulling it toward him to inspect. He turns my hand before prodding at the swollen middle knuckle. “Hurt?” “A little,” I tell him with a shrug. “Can you move it?” He holds his hand, palm up, and spread wide under me to cradle my hand. I give him an answer by curling and stretching my fingers. “All good.” He nods and then silently cleans my hand. Peroxide, a good wiping and drying, and then a Band-Aid over the middle knuckle. I’m silent as I watch him and when the wrist on his right hand turns, I see all four of his knuckles are scraped open. “What happened to your hand?” I grab it just as he finishes pressing the Band-Aid onto my skin. I turn his hand palm down, lightly running my index finger over his knuckles, which are already scabbed over with tiny cuts. “I might have a right hook of my own that got used today,” he says with a mischievous grin as he takes his hand away. He reaches over, grabs the bottle of Jack, and twists the cap. I watch as he pours two shots, and then he slides one my way. “Now, let’s have a drink.” “What are we drinking to?” I ask curiously as I pick up the glass and hold it out. “How about right hooks?” he says with a laugh as he taps his glass to mine. “To right hooks,” I agree and shoot the whiskey back. As expected, it burns and then settles into a nice, warm glow inside my belly. It also helps to settle my nerves a little. “You know,” Cain says as he sits his glass down and picks the bottle back up. He pours another shot for himself. I hold my glass out, and he refills it. “You’re a conundrum.” Tilting my head to the side, I ask, “How so?” Setting the bottle down, he picks his shot up, waving it in a circle toward me. “You’ve got this whole innocently shy and sweet-looking package going on. Like you should be sitting at an afternoon tea dreaming of white picket fences and discussing some romance novel with like-minded friends. But now I’m not so sure… you turn around and beat the shit out of some guy for humping up against you.” “And that bothers you, I’m guessing.” I slug back the second shot as I await his reaction, setting the glass on the table. His brow furrows, and he scratches at his chin thoughtfully with his free hand. “I’m just not normally attracted to your type.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Your chances of getting laid are dwindling.” Cain gives a bark of a laugh before shooting down his second whiskey. He sets the glass down on the table, and I’m startled when his hands jet out to latch onto my wrists. With a sharp tug, I’m pulled from my seat and straight toward him. Sitting forward in his own chair, he releases my wrists only to bring his hands to the backs of my legs, just underneath my ass, and he’s hauling me up onto his lap. My green, flowered skirt is made with mostly spandex and just a touch of cotton so it expands to capacity before sliding up my legs. Cain flicks a glance down. I know from that angle and how high my skirt has pulled upward that he can see my panties. Of course, I knew this was my potential goal, so I dressed appropriately in a sexy, black G-string, thankful I had my Brazilian wax done just last week. He readjusts my weight, slides his hands up to my bare ass under my skirt, and presses his fingers into the muscles. My hands come to his shoulders for balance, and I look down at him. When his gaze rises back up to meet mine, his eyes are glittering with challenge. “I didn’t say I wasn’t attracted to you. Just that I’m not normally attracted to your type.” “You don’t even know what my type is,” I assert, leveling my stare back at him with defiance. “Only one way to find out,” he says, and my pulse skitters out of control.

Leaning forward, my fingers digging into his shoulders for balance, I place my lips near his ear. Throwing down the gauntlet, I whisper, “Bring it.” He lets out a gust of air that I can feel brush my face as I pull back to look down at him. I expect to see lust, because I certainly started feeling him get hard underneath me as I sat on his lap. And that’s there, for sure, but I also see something that sets me on edge… in a sexy way. His eyes are calculating… as if he’s going to test me. “Let’s see,” he ruminates as his fingers stroke the skin of my butt. “Shy or bold?” “I’m bold,” I say automatically, because I know it was a direct question. And I’m prepared to prove it by pulling his jeans down, climbing aboard, and hopefully rocking his world. God, I want to rock his world. He’s so damn confident and suave about all of this. I think most guys would have pounced on a willing girl the minute we walked in, but he doesn’t mind building slow, playing cat and mouse, making me work for it. It makes me assume that whatever he’s making me work for is going to be well worth it. “We’ll see,” he says with a smirk as he picks me up and sets me back on my feet before him. When he releases me, his hand goes to adjust the hard-on in his pants a bit to the left of his zipper. “Now, if I told you to sit back down in that chair, put your hand down your panties, and get yourself off while I watched, would you have any hesitation in doing it?” He studies me carefully, awaiting my reaction. His eyes even flick to my cheeks to see if I’ll blush. I don’t, although my pulse goes incrementally faster over his dirty talk. “No hesitation,” I say as I tilt my chin up proudly, actually surprised I didn’t flush from just the mere thought of it. “Sounds kind of hot, actually.” Cain’s lips curve upward, and he gives me an appreciative stare. He nods his head toward the hallway and reaches for the bottle of Jack. “Good. Go into your room. Get naked and lay on your bed. I’m going to have one more drink, and while I’m doing that, I want you to play with yourself. Make yourself good and wet for me.” I’m not going to lie. I’m completely stunned for just a moment. Not that he’s asking me to do anything that weird. I totally masturbated in front of a former boyfriend before, and I know he thought it was hot. I’m just surprised he wants me to do that while he sits out here having another shot of Jack. And then it hits me. He’s in control right now, and he’s seeing how I’ll react to it. He’s also still trying to see if he can shock me—still trying to gauge what type of woman I am, because honestly… he’s still just as confused as ever. And that makes me feel powerful. It also makes my desire for this man increase tenfold to where I feel as if I might combust if he doesn’t hurry up and do something to me. But I hold my shit together, because I need to prove I am not so innocent and sheltered that I can’t take what he has to dole out. I give Cain a wink. “Better not take too long. I have some really great toys that get the job done pretty fast. Hate for you to miss out.” I am now the one carefully studying him. It’s barely perceptible, but I see it… a hard swallow as he considers what I just said. His gaze drops from mine to the bottle of Jack that he picks up, and he murmurs, “I’ll be along sooner rather than later then. Don’t let the train leave the station without me… and that’s an order.” Spinning on my booted heel, I head toward the bedroom, unbuttoning the denim top. I give him a sultry laugh and call back over my shoulder, “Sorry, babe. But God gifted us women with the ability to have multiple orgasms, and I’m not about to waste that gift.”

Chapter 5

Cain I POUR A SHOT, down it quickly, and then pour another. My hand goes down to rub at my aching dick, which started actually hurting the minute she mentioned toys. If you had asked me not ten minutes ago if it were possible this sweet-looking girl had sex toys in this apartment, I would have said no way. I would have put money on her being a missionary-type of girl who considered getting fucked from behind the height of sinfulness. But she’s thrown me a few surprises tonight, and I find that it makes me even more curious about her. Makes me want to fuck her longer and harder too, and I’m glad I made the decision to come to her apartment. I’m quite sure I could have gotten both of us off nicely in the back storage room at The Wicked Horse or maybe in my truck, but now I get the distinct impression I’m going to need all night to try to peel the layers away from this girl. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t care two shits about what lays beneath the pretty exterior, but I can’t help the pull she seems to have. Maybe I’m just getting tired of the same ol’ pussy… women spreading their legs for the sake of spreading. Maybe I’m getting… bored? Shaking my head, I give a laugh and down the glass of Jack. Bored with pussy? Yeah, never going to happen. But I am greatly intrigued by hers. As if to add another aching punch to my nuts, I hear a tiny moan come out of the bedroom and realize she’s already gotten started. Hell, I figured it would take her several minutes to get “freshened up”. Figured she’d touch up her makeup, fluff her hair, put on something sexy. Stand in front of the mirror and give herself a pep talk that she could do this… masturbate in front of a man. But in just under thirty seconds, she’s already started and well on her way to a multiple, and I definitely like that she wants to achieve that tonight. I have no problems helping her along the way. I quickly pull my boots and socks off, leaving them lying underneath the kitchen chair with the socks folded within. Old habits from living in the Marine barracks, I guess. As I walk down the hallway, I undo my belt buckle and start to pull it free of the loops. When I enter the room, I freeze in place, my belt halfway off, and just stare at the vision in front of me. I didn’t think it was possible, but my cock swells further… so much so it feels like it’s going to burst out of my pants. I can feel the distinct pulse of blood thumping in that large vein that runs on the underside. Sloane is lying on her bed, which is neatly made with a quilted light blue blanket. She’s completely naked, her clothes strewn across the floor with that tiny, black G-string laying on the corner of her bed. Because her hair isn’t overly long, really just past her jawline, it fans out in almost a halo-like affect around her head in big, barrel waves. Or rather like the rays of the sun. I’m stunned to find her overhead light on. Figured she’d go with some mood lighting with a table lamp, but under the harsh glare of the three bulbs in a rickety old ceiling fan fixture above, I can actually see that she wears very little makeup. Porcelain skin that is clear and makes her blue eyes pop. I think they might be ringed with a little mascara, but nothing else. Her cheeks are a little rosy, but I’m thinking

that might be from the fact she has a vibrator between her legs. And yes… that makeup-free face and shorter, sassier hair is what helped lend to that overall sweet and innocent vibe I was getting. My eyes drag down her body—fantastic tits by the way—and I see her swirling a small, pink bullet between her legs. My eyes glide slowly up again, and I find her staring at me with her lids half shut and a sexy smirk on her lips. She has her free arm laying casually above her head on the pillows, one leg straight and the other bent at a slight angle. I notice pale, pink polish on her toes. Sweet innocence with a vibrator between her legs and putting on a show for me. Fucking amazing. Sloane gives a breathy moan—must have hit something good, I’m thinking—and her hips give a tiny punch off the bed. This spurs me into action. Whipping my belt free of the remaining loops, I toss it on the end of the bed. I quickly pull my t-shirt off, dropping it to the floor and unsnap the button of my jeans. The entire time, Sloane watches me through those heavy-lidded eyes while she circles the bullet around and around her clit. Her moans are soft, breathy, and because her movements are slow, I can tell she didn’t want a quick climax, but was content to just get wet as I instructed her to do. Stepping to the end of the bed, I lock my legs and bend over her. Reaching a hand out, I nudge a finger in between her wet folds as she moves the vibrator just above. I sink in deep, producing a rumbling groan from her. And fuck, so goddamn wet. I mean, drenched. This is going to feel so good. Because my cock feels like it’s being strangled in my jeans, I pull away from Sloane and remove a condom from my wallet. I tear it open efficiently—lots of practice and all—and shed my jeans, stepping right out of them and onto the edge of the bed, where I kneel between her legs. I slowly roll the rubber on my dick and give my shaft a few lazy pumps before releasing it. “Feel good?” I ask as my eyes dart to her vibrator and back up again. She nods before her gaze drops to my cock, which is stiff and sticking up straight in between my legs. “I expect you’ll use that on me to feel better, right?” My answer to her is simple and shows the utter confidence I have in what I can do with my dick. I snatch the vibrator out of her hand so quickly that she actually gives a startled gasp and toss it across the room. I can still hear the faint buzz of it as it lands on the carpet, but I don’t give it another thought. Instead, my hands come to her hips and I flip her over on the bed, where she lands on her stomach with a small oomph. I give myself just a moment to appreciate the beauty before me. A woman’s backside is delectable to me; from the angle of her shoulder blades, to the dip in her lower back, to the swell of her ass. It’s gorgeous and I like spending time back here. Sloane’s happens to be perfection. Her ass is rounded and firm looking. I test the supposition by giving her right ass cheek a slight slap. She jerks and presses her face into the mattress, giving me a rewarding moan. God, that’s sexy, especially because I’m betting this is all new and exciting to her. She says she’s bold, and no doubt, she shocked me with the masturbating, but I know there are still a million different things I could do to her that would shock her into next year. Which is exactly why I have her on her stomach. I want to test out that theory. “I’m going to restrain you,” I tell her suddenly as I reach up to grab her arms, pulling them up and backward, holding them with one hand just above her ass. Her head comes flying off the bed, and she cranes it to look at me over her shoulder. For a moment, I suspect I see fear… probably some distrust, which is natural. She doesn’t know shit about me and for all she knows, I could force some whacked shit on her once she’s trussed up.

But I think that makes it all the more exciting, right? Before she can lodge a protest, I grab my belt. With a few practiced twists, I have it looped around her wrists, pulled through the buckle tight, and the prong held securely by a specially made hole in the leather not but about six inches from the buckle. This isn’t the first time I’ve used this belt to restrain a woman, but it is absolutely the first time I’ve ever asked, “You okay?” She nods and whispers, “Yes.” “Good girl,” I praise her. As I slap her on the ass one more time, she moans again, and then I tell her, “Because this might get a little rough.” I have no clue why I’m trying to scare her, but I want to see truly how much backbone she has. I figure this is the point of the evening where she might demand I let her go, but she merely lifts her hips off the bed in a silent plea for me to fuck her. Christ, that’s hot, and now I have to do just that. My hands go to her hips and I pull them up, spreading her legs with mine in between hers. Her face remains on the bed with her left cheek pressed into the mattress. Her hair has fallen over and covered her face, and that just won’t do at all. I want to see those eyes. With a quick move, I brush the hair back from the side of her face, tucking it behind her ear and finding it extremely weird that I’m fascinated by how soft the skin on her cheek is. Shaking my head to get my bearings, because why am I worried about the softness of her skin when I have a gorgeous ass propped up in front of me and my dick weeping to get inside? One of the things that is really turning me on about Sloane is that she apparently waxes her pussy. It’s bare and smooth without any razor burn that I tend to see from women who try to do it the easy way. I hope it doesn’t make me a pervert, but that soft-looking pussy without a single hair on it just lends to her youthful innocence that I keep building up in my mind, even though she does the oddest things to tear it down. Like right now as she pushes back against me, seeking contact. Her silent plea works too because I grab hold of my cock, twist my hips slightly, and bring myself in alignment. Wet warmth greets me as I start to rock into her. It was no lie when I said I was big, so I usually have to work my way in gently. Once I can get all the way in though, I won’t hold back. Not on this woman. I want to see if she’s bendable or breakable, or rather if she’ll just take it all like a champ. With every inch I take, Sloane’s breath hitches. I might be stretching her a little too much, so I pull out a few inches and slowly slide back in, letting her own wetness soothe the sting my cock might be causing. It’s slow going, but I don’t want to hurt her, and I learned long ago that some of the best orgasms are the ones built patiently. While I’ve fucked many a woman who can take me in one fell swoop either because they like the pain or because they’re not diligent with their kiegel exercises, I can just feel by the tightness of Sloane strangling my dick that she has not been overly used. In fact, it makes me think of her as almost virginal with that creamy, pale skin, big, blue eyes, bald pussy, and sweet smile. And fuck… the mere fact that I might be tarnishing someone who might indeed be fairly innocent is what is turning me on about her so much, I think. The mere fact I can’t figure it out is exciting, sure, but I realize… I want her to be ignorant of my ways, and I want to show her how good being bad is. Pulling my hands inward along her ass, I use my thumbs to pull her cheeks apart so I can get a better view of me pushing into her. My cock is darkened with the rushing blood that’s causing its hardness, and the condom is shiny from moving in and out of her pussy. I’m finding her walls are loosening, almost as if she’s melting around me, and I’m able to get about three quarters of the way in when I stop my

movements. “Doing okay?” I ask her as I tilt to the side to see her face. Her lips are curved up, and she’s got her bottom lip tucked in between her teeth. With a furrowed brow and the fact I push in another inch causes her breath to catch again, she manages to gasp out, “You’re really big.” “I’m almost all the way in,” I say in a strangled voice, because it’s getting more and more difficult to not just let loose on her. My dick is eager to pound away, and this slow in and out is for the birds. “Will you just fuck me?” Sloane says on a wheeze as I pull out halfway, sinking back in only just as far. To punctuate her sentiment, she rolls her hips and presses back against me. My hands tighten on her ass to still her movement and I close my eyes, telling myself she really doesn’t mean that. While I have her tied up like a submissive and all ready for me to do my worst to her, I don’t know that she’s really built for everything I could unleash on her. But then she undoes me with one simple, little word. Fragilely naive… asking for it. “Please.” “Christ,” I mutter, pulling out almost to the tip and then punching my hips forward until my cock is lodged deeply inside of her. I feel her tender flesh give way, listen to the cry of surprise that rips from her throat, and literally cannot stop my body from pulling back out and slamming back in again. Did I hurt her? Do I care? Apparently I don’t, because I pull out and drive forward again, an animalistic snarl rumbling out of me as our skin cracks against each other. I should slow down. Go faster, for sure. Ask her if she’s okay. “Feels… good,” Sloane pants. Thank fuck. So I go faster. My gaze goes down and I watch as I ram in and out of her, finesse completely forgotten at this point. Pull her ass cheeks apart again, graze a finger over her tight hole, and she shivers. That makes me smile but in no way lessens the force of my tunneling thrusts inside of her. I bring my finger to my mouth, lube it with my saliva, and bring it back down to her anus. Rubbing it around slowly while I fuck her, I ask, “Ever been fucked back here?” Sloane shakes her head violently in between gasps and moans. I push the tip of my finger in her ass, and she cries out in pleasure. Fuck, I groan internally. There are so many nasty things I’d like to do to her body. Cause her to scream out in pleasure… maybe with a bite of pain. I’d like to redden those cheeks with embarrassment over some of the things I would do, and then watch her flush even darker when she comes. In fact, I want her to come right now. Even though it knocks me off my pace just a tad, I manage to reach my other arm around her front while keeping the tip of my finger in her ass. I easily find her clit, because I could find that in the dark, and start to circle it roughly with the tips of my fingers. I lightly pump my finger in her ass, never taking it any deeper than the first knuckle. I don’t want to show her all my tricks tonight. Wait! What? That would imply I want a second night with her. Here I am… haven’t even fucking busted my nut… don’t even know if it will be any good, and I’m already thinking about another hookup with her?

No fucking way.

Chapter 6

Sloane I’M NOT SURE I can handle this. I mean… I’m a reasonably mature, adventurous, and daredevil type of woman. I’m sexually liberated, and while I may have never had a guy stick his finger in my ass, I can without a doubt say that it feels better than I ever imagined. And I have imagined it before. I’ve imagined all sorts of dirty things, read about even dirtier ones, but never thought those activities were really possible. Never really believed that there were men out there who would enjoy doing that. Seemed like fiction to me. Romance fiction to be precise. So even though my imagination is wild and vivid, and even though I’m not afraid of trying new and bold things, I really, truly, and utterly don’t think I can handle the orgasm brewing inside of me right now. Even though my fingers are going numb from the belt around my wrists, my shoulders ache from my positioning, and I have a cock pounding inside of me that feels like it’s at least the girth and length of a hard salami, I am more turned on right this very moment than I have ever been in my entire life. I’m so wet I can feel it trickling out of me with every slam of his huge dick, and I still want him to go harder and deeper into me. The minute he puts those fingers to my clit, I know I’m done for. Then he starts talking dirty to me again, and my orgasms starts bubbling. Yeah… you’d love having your ass fucked, Sloane. I’d have to build you up though. Would need to try out some different plugs on you first. Have you ever worn a butt plug? I gasp out that I have not. You’ll love it. I’ll load you up and then eat your pussy. The orgasm will blow your mind, especially if I pull it out while you’re coming. And that did it for me. I moan like a wounded animal as I start to come. Wave after shuddering wave of bliss seizes my body, holds me hostage with solid pulses of pleasure, and then I scream Cain’s name when it finally tears free of me. I turn to press my face into my pillows to stem the noise. “So hot, Sloane,” he growls as he fucks me harder. “So sexy when you come all around me like that… strangling my cock.” The force of my climax seems to turn Cain on even more. His hips slap against my ass in a frenzy, his hands now both back at my hips to hold me steady. He thrusts so hard that he slams my body down into the mattress, goes still, and then presses his face into the back of my neck while he starts to unload. He lets it out with one long groan of satisfaction, grinding his pelvis against my ass as he lets my body milk him. He lies on top of me, pressing the metal of the buckle into my wrists with his weight constricting my lungs. But only for a moment, as if he knows that’s not exactly comfortable, and then he’s rolling off me, pulling that big and still-hard dick out, leaving me slightly sore and empty feeling. I hear him pull the condom off—no clue what he does with it—and then his hands are working at the belt securing my wrists. He pulls it free and rubs my skin briskly. When he lets me go, I pull my arms forward and roll to my side toward him. His hand is there once again brushing the hair from my face.

Cain is lying on his side, facing me with his head resting in the palm of his hand. His eyes are lazy and his smile mellow as he stares at me. I prop my elbow up on the mattress, rest my head in my hand— mimicking his posture—and look down at the blue quilt on my bed. Taking stock of my feelings, I’m not quite sure how to handle the afterglow of certain awkwardness. I just had the most mind-blowing sex of my entire life, but there was almost zero intimacy. It was truly about doing what felt good and decadent, yet I can’t help feel that it was lacking in some respects. “Looks like some serious thoughts going on inside that pretty head,” Cain says quietly, and I raise my eyes to his. “You didn’t even kiss me,” I say softly, dropping my gaze again with an embarrassed smile. I feel his fingers under my chin, and then he’s pushing upward so I look back at him. His eyes are not exactly kind, but there is a knowing sympathy there. I think it might be pity for me that I’m not recognizing this for what it was. Just some hot and dirty sex. “Strike that thought,” I say quickly, completely embarrassed I’d even bring that up. I’m off focus here, reminding myself I have a job to do and Cain Bonham is not someone who wants to get involved with a doe-eyed innocent who wants sweet kisses while she’s being made love to. Rolling away from him, I try to change the subject. “I’m going to get a bottle of water. Do you want one?” I don’t even make a complete rotation because in a nanosecond, I’m on my back. Cain is on top of me, covering my body with his. He holds his weight off my torso by pushing his elbows into the mattress, but I can feel his shaft, now semi-hard and wet, laying against my stomach. He intently stares down at me. “That was definitely an oversight on my part.” Lowering his face, he brushes his lips against mine before pulling up to look at me. “You have the softest lips. I’ve wanted to kiss them all night, but I got too caught up in the need to fuck you.” My eyes flutter closed, and my heart thumps madly over his seductively sweet words. His mouth presses back against mine, pushes at me, and I open up. Angling his head, Cain kisses me slowly and surely, making me very much aware that he likes doing it by the rumble in his chest. My hands go to his hair, rubbing at the short bristles in the back, but then he pulls up again. “In fact,” he says slyly, “there are all kinds of places I want to kiss you.” “Like where?” I whisper, barely able to get enough air in my lungs to get the words out. “Let me just show you,” he says, his mouth going to my jaw. It slides over to my ear, where he gently bites me. Back to my jaw. Glides warm lips down my neck to my collarbone, where he lightly sucks. Cain moves his body down, pressing soft kisses over the center of my chest. He tilts his face, moves a fraction of an inch lower, and licks a nipple. Tilts his face the other way, puts more pressure on that arm, and then bites at the other nipple. My hands go flying back up to his head as I let out a sharp cry. Cain pushes further down my body, layering my stomach with soft touches of his mouth that cause shivers to sling up and down my spine. He takes a brief pause, lifts his head slightly, and looks up at me. “You said something about multiple orgasms earlier. We’ve got some work to do still.” “Oh, man,” I mutter, and then his mouth is back on me again. For a moment after Cain pulled out of me, I felt the keen absence of something as simple as an intimate kiss. Now though, as he moves lower and lower down my body, layering dozens of kisses, licks, and nips to my skin, I find myself lost in confusion as to what this is.

When fingers push into me and he buries his face between my legs, intent on giving me those multiple orgasms, I find no clarity as to whether this is truly just physical attraction and a quest for a mutually beneficial release, or if Cain wants to indulge in something a little deeper. Would he want more of a connection with me? As his tongue flutters against me, causing my blood to race and a throbbing need to start building again between my legs, I have to wonder if I even really care. I’m not sure I can worry about a connection to a man who I ultimately intend to use, but I can’t deny… that first kiss. The way he said he wanted to kiss me all night. I just don’t know what to think. So instead, I decide to just give in to feeling and I let my mind drift, intent on experiencing the bliss of Cain Bonham eating me out.

* THE MINUTE I wake up, I know Cain is gone. I lift my head and peer at the clock, realizing it’s a little after four in the morning once the numbers clear up to my blurry vision. I roll over onto my back, groaning at my sore muscles. My neck, shoulders, and lower back are all sore. My wrists burn from the leather that rubbed against them. There’s a throbbing ache between my legs, and because I got an up close and personal look at the true size of his dick just before I sucked on it, I’m not surprised. I’m going to be sore there for a few days I bet. I let my head flop down on the pillow and smile to myself because it was so worth it. For almost four hours straight, we did not stop. We may not have been actually fucking for that four hours, but we were touching and kissing and licking and groping and urging the other one to get ready for more fucking. God, no wonder I’m so sore. If Cain’s dick wasn’t in me, his tongue or fingers were. He took seriously the challenge of giving me multiple orgasms and would not stop eating me out that first round until I came three times. The third one was a struggle for me because I got all up inside my own head, worried about him being uncomfortable or getting tired or bored, but he diligently dragged it out of me, smiling up at me in triumph when I stopped shaking. By that time, he was hard again and he fucked me for a second time. This time on my back with my legs up over his shoulders. The rest of the time is a blur. His face was back between my legs, my mouth was on his dick, and his finger was in my ass again. My nipples are sore from him pinching them, and I even got brave and ran my finger along the rim of his ass. He groaned, and if I were a braver girl, I would have done more. Maybe next time. If there is a next time. All I know is that after the last time we had sex, which was doggie style again, I collapsed onto my stomach and was asleep before he even pulled out of me. I have no clue if he stayed to cuddle or got dressed and left, but I was completely out of it from exhaustion. But today is a new day, and now I have to figure out how to play this. He’s the only lead I have on this alleged sex club and Governor Hayes’ tie to it, unless I want to track down Colton Stokes and try to get some more info out of him. I have to say, the notion of using Cain in that way doesn’t appeal to me, but the prospect of not seeing him again doesn’t either. By continuing to pursue him, I can serve the story’s interest as well as my own. Cain fascinates me. The notion that he’s involved in the sex club does as well, because he whispered

enough dirty things to me tonight that my mind is spinning with possibilities. Even as sore and as used as I feel right now, I’m craving to learn more. I just know he can teach me more. Maybe I’ll just play it casual… see if he contacts me. While he didn’t ask for my number or anything, we did talk enough during some short periods of rest that he knows where I work. Or maybe I’ll go hang out at The Wicked Horse and see if I can tempt him again. All I really know is that I simply can’t go back to Brant with a big, fat “sorry I couldn’t find anything”. Either I have to prove there’s a story or I have to go back and prove to him that there’s nothing. Either way, I still have a job to do.

Chapter 7

Cain “HOW MUCH LONGER will this take?” I ask as I lean up against the concrete wall of The Silo, just to the left of the entrance door. Luke Colson is placing the last of the screws in the new security panel he just installed. He’s the best around these parts when it comes to security. With the promise of a bonus if he could get out here today, he’s just about finished with the new password panel to allow members in and keep disavowed members away. “About another fifteen minutes to get the programming done. Then I’ll have to activate all the fobs you asked for,” he says in between tightening the screws. Luke doesn’t question why we ordered a hundred and fifty remote security access fobs. In his job, he’s learned to not ask what he shouldn’t and just do his work well. That’s why he’ll get an extra bonus in addition to his regular fee. “And there’s no problem in rigging up the same type of panel to the new gate we’re installing?” I ask as I push away from the wall. “Nope,” he says confidently. “You get the gate installed with the specifications I gave you, and I can easily adapt a locking panel to it. Same fobs will grant access.” This is a relief because while it was easy enough to tighten security on The Silo’s door, we still had to worry about all of our fantasy cabins. There are thirteen cabins in all built behind The Silo. A dirt road from the parking lot of The Wicked Horse connects them but until now, anyone could drive down it if they were curious. Woolf lent a couple of his ranch hands to come out and install the gate today, and Luke will wrap up his work by installing a security panel to the lock. Then we should be all set. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I tell Luke. He doesn’t need me here hovering and besides, there’s something I need inside The Silo. Opening the door, I step into the cool hallway lit by dim sconces. From the outside, The Silo is exactly what it sounds like. A large, round building made of concrete staves and outfitted with a whitedomed top and a grain elevator on the outside. From the inside, it’s nothing like an actual silo and everything like what a fantasy sex club should be like. It’s approximately one-hundred and fifty feet in diameter with seven rooms constructed around the perimeter. A small, intersecting hallway from the entrance hall leads left and right, wrapping around the entirety behind the seven rooms. Concrete walls keep the rooms separated except for the interior wall that is solid glass, which is all the better for members to view the debauchery that goes on inside those rooms. Some of the rooms are set up to accommodate certain proclivities… Gang Bang, BDSM, Swinger, Ménage, and Fetish. There’s a “performance” room with just a single bed draped in black silk that anyone can use who’s in the mood to be the star of their own fantasy show. Hell, once I was bored and laid on the bed, just jacking off while people watched. It’s a good thing I don’t get performance anxiety because that would have been embarrassing. I make the short walk down the hallway to the center of The Silo. It’s an open area with a round, black lacquered bar that sits in the center. No one is tending it now as not many members are into drinking at ten in the morning. But someone will be on duty by lunchtime. Though no food or alcohol are served between

2AM and noon the next day, The Silo is opened 24/7 for all members who want a place to escape to and fuck. Moaning sounds filter in muted tones, and I turn my head to see someone in one of the group sex rooms. A single overhead light is on, clearly illuminating the occupants. My jaw drops slightly, not over what I’m seeing because I’ve seen it all and done most of what I’ve seen, but by who I’m seeing in there. Angel, Rand, and Logan. Okay, not surprised really to see Rand and Logan. They’re both active members of the club and fuck around with each other on occasion. They’re not gay, but they are adventurous and will try anything. From what I can tell, they’ve both liked most of what they’ve tried because those two guys will visit most of the various room and cabins in a week’s time, making the rounds to the multitude of different types of sex that are available. What does surprise me, however, is our DJ Angel. The woman has a voice so smoky rich she could probably make a man or woman orgasm with that alone, which is one of the reasons Woolf and Bridger originally hired her. She’s also a prominent player in The Silo, so I’m not necessarily surprised to see her here. But not only is she a revered fantasy maker, she is one seriously hardcore dominant. So yeah… I’m stunned to see her lying on her back, legs spread wide, getting fucked by Rand, who happens to be holding onto a collar locked tight around Angel’s throat. Never in a million years did I think I’d see that woman give up control, especially since I know she enjoys pegging men up the ass and having them lick her feet. My cock twitches as I watch them. While Rand is buried balls deep and rocking into Angel, Logan has his cock stuffed into Rand’s ass. All three are groaning and grunting with unrestrained pleasure. It’s hot as fuck to watch as they heave and undulate, and if I didn’t have places to go and people to see, I’d unzip my jeans and rub one off to this spectacular show. But I do have things to do so I turn my back on them and head past the bar to a small utility closet that’s been built in between the BDSM and Fetish rooms. It holds “supplies” that are delivered here almost as regularly as the food, liquor, and beer are. Bridger has been able to find some seriously freaky toys and is always trying to come up with new and adventurous ways to play around with people. The other day, he told me he bought an industrial design vibrator that will pound repetitively into a woman— much like an old-fashioned jackhammer. I cannot wait to see that in play. Pulling my key ring out of my pocket, I locate the appropriate key and open the closet. Flicking on the light, I walk down the one aisle bordered on both sides by floor-to-ceiling metal shelfing. I locate what I need, grab the two boxes I came for, and lock back up behind me. I make a note to myself to give Bridger some cash when I see him next to compensate for what I just took. As I make my way back through The Silo, I don’t cut across the center but walk the perimeter, bringing me by the room that Angel, Rand, and Logan occupy. I give a short rap on the glass with my knuckles and all three turn to look at me, narrowing their eyes to see into the gloom of the interior since none of the lights are on. But then they all smile at me in recognition and Logan calls out with an evil grin, “Come on in, man, and join us. I’ll give your ass a pounding if you want.” He punctuates this by slamming hard into Rand, which causes Rand to slam into Angel. Rand hisses through his teeth in pleasure, and Angel gives a gasp of delight before her eyes roll backward in ecstasy. Goddamn, that’s hot. My cock starts thickening. However, I shake my head and wave my hand at them. “No thanks,” I call through the glass. “I like my ass just the way it is.” And that’s the truth. While I may have wanted Sloane to stick that slender finger all the way in last night and give my prostate a good massage, that’s all that will ever see the interior of my back alley. Not

that I’m averse to sex with a guy. Just not anal sex. I sure as fuck won’t turn down a blow job by someone with mad skills, although I much prefer a beautiful woman with large tits. Laughing at my thoughts, I head out of The Silo. As I pass Luke and head for my truck in the Wicked Horse’s lot, I tell him, “Bridger’s got a check for you when you’re done.” “Sounds good,” he says without even looking at me. As I pass by the slate path that leads from The Silo to the back door of The Wicked Horse, I think briefly of stopping in to say hello to Bridger. We talked briefly by phone yesterday after my visit with Colton. I relished telling him about the encounter, and he laughed in approval. Colton was stubborn, but only for a few minutes. He denied being the one to out us to Governor Hayes but after only one punch to his jaw, and a follow up to his gut, he finally admitted it through wheezing gasps. I imparted my message to him, and then followed it up with just one more punch, back to his mouth, which scraped my knuckles up good. But it had been so worth it, especially when he promised in a panicked voice with a blood-filled mouth to keep his trap shut. Good boy. I consider only briefly seeing Bridger, but then decide against it. I have more important things to do today, the first being a trip into Jackson to visit Jackson Hole Leather Emporium and deliver the gift I just took from The Silo. The thought of just such a gift struck me not long after I came for the last time inside of Sloane. The poor girl dropped down into a dead sleep after I pulled out of her. My dick was sore, but it was a happy dick. After I disposed of the condom, I watched her sleep while I got dressed. I thought of all the dirty things I did to her and the even dirtier things I want to do to her, and then was struck with the thought of the gift. For a love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy, the actual idea that I would see her again and deliver such a gift is an oddity, but it can’t be helped. I am in fucking lust with this girl. I mean true lust, not just a generalized horniness to fuck someone. And said lust has not diminished, not even after I shot my load into her the last time. I was even then calculating when and how I could do it again. What’s even odder is the realization I’ve clearly never been in lust before, and Rachel doesn’t count. She’ll never count again. But no one has held my attention past a brief night of passion. No one has intrigued me the way she has. No one, and I mean no one, has been such an enigma to me. She’s sweet, yet sassy. Quite the innocent, yet intrigued by the sinful. Proclaims to be bold, yet blushes when I tell her I want to fuck her ass. She’s so many different things that she makes me feel off balance. Most would say that’s not a good thing, but I say quite the opposite. This feeling… like my world is tilting just a little and I’m venturing into unchartered territory—it feels almost dangerous… it all makes me feel alive. She puts me off balance in a good way, and I like this feeling. But most of all, my lust for Sloane is centered on this burning desire to show her all the depraved things that can make her feel so good. She’s adventurous and game, that I can tell, and I look forward to turning her existence upside down with the things she’d never be able to imagine in her most perverted dreams. I cannot wait to show her my world and maybe dirty her up a bit. It will start with the gifts I’m bringing to her. I cannot wait to see the look on her face.

Chapter 8

Sloane “HERE’S YOUR RECEIPT,” I tell the elegantly dressed woman on the other side of the counter. Zipping up the garment bag, I pick it up and carefully place it in her hands. It’s a good thing it’s completely covered too, because I may have been drooling over the gorgeous, caramel-colored suede coat lined with sheep’s wool and trimmed out in red fox. At a whopping thirty-two hundred dollars, it’s a luxury I could never afford on a reporter’s salary. The woman smiles big and turns away, handing her package to her husband, who follows her out the door. “Tourists,” Jasmine mutters as she comes to stand beside me, leaning over and resting her elbows on the counter. “One of the few places in the world you will see ordinary vacationers dropping that type of money on a coat they’ll probably take back to West Palm Beach and stick in the back of their closet.” I laugh and turn to face her, leaning to the side and resting on my own elbows. “This is a very expensive place to visit.” Jasmine nods. “It’s why I have high hopes of landing me a sugar daddy one day. I’ve slept with plenty, but one will stick I’m sure.” Shaking my head, I smirk at her. “Is that all you aspire to be?” She looks at me with all seriousness. “Well yeah… I mean, what’s wrong with wanting a rich man to take care of you?” Shrugging and feeling awkward since I’m sure I just offended her, I still can’t help being honest. “Nothing, I guess. It’s just… there’s no safety in that.” “No safety?” she asks with a cocked eyebrow. “Did you hear the ‘rich’ part I mentioned?” “But he could dump you at any minute, and then where would you be?” “Right back here selling overpriced leather goods to tourists,” she confidently says. “Just like you.” Yeah, not just like me. I have ambitions and a career path. This is just a fake job. As soon as this story is done, I’m headed back to D.C. I’ll hopefully have an amazing article that will sell lots of magazines and earn me a promotion. Then all will be right in my world. The door opens with a silvery tinkling of bells, and I look up to greet our next customer. He fills most of the doorway, projecting nothing but the shadow of a well-built man with the late morning sun bright behind him. And then I immediately recognize the shape of his torso, the width of those shoulders… hell, I even recognize those thighs that would flex and squeeze as he tunneled in and out of my body last night. My body temperature rises because I feel warm all over. When he steps further into the store and I can see his face clearly, I have to bite down hard on my lower lip to keep from moaning over just how fantastic he looks. Jasmine elbows me in the ribs as she stands up, smoothing her skirt with nervous hands, and tilts her chin up at him. “Well, hello stud,” she purrs as he walks up to the counter. His gaze is pinned on me, but he does slide a quick look over at her, giving a curt nod before coming back to me. I can see the rebuff hits her hard as her shoulders slump in my peripheral vision. “Due for a break?” he asks me in that low, rumbling voice.

Break? What? I blink at him in confusion because I’m absolutely stunned he’s here. I mean, of course, I wanted him to come and see me because I want to continue whatever this is. A love affair? A selfish means to an end for me? Shaking my head, I ask with all the eloquence of a woman completely befuddled, “Huh?” “A break, Right Hook,” he says with a lazy smile as he comes to a stop in front of the counter. “I have something for you.” It’s then I notice a small, plastic grocery bag in his hand. “You go ahead,” Jasmine says quickly and even gives me a push on my shoulder. “It’s dead in here, and I’ve got you covered. Old Man Stephenson won’t come in until later this afternoon, so it’s all good.” I know why Jasmine is pushing me away. While Cain’s snub of her earlier may have seemed cold, I know she wasn’t surprised by it. Because she told me herself he doesn’t do seconds, and Jasmine has no clue that Cain did firsts with me last night. Oh, she hit me up as soon as I walked in this morning, as I was enjoying the ache between my legs as if it was a dirty secret, and she practically begged me for details. I lied to her point blank and told her nothing happened—that Cain just escorted me out to a cab and I left. She accepted that with sympathetic eyes, and she must assume he’s here sniffing around for potential opportunity. Jasmine pushes me again, and I nervously tuck some of my hair behind my ear as I sort of stumble out from behind the checkout counter. “Got a break room?” Cain asks. I nod and turn toward the back door that says Private. The owner, Leonard Stephenson, has a small kitchen with a table that seats four. We’re allowed half an hour for a lunch or dinner break, depending on our shift, but otherwise, he expects us to be out front to help customers. I’m not worried because as Jasmine says, he doesn’t ever come into the store until late afternoon and we are the only ones on duty. I know she won’t bother us. Cain follows me through the door and the minute it’s closed, he places his hand on my elbow. The kitchen is dead ahead but he steers me to the left, right to the unisex bathroom all the employees share. With one hand still on my elbow, he pulls the door open and pushes me gently inside. His hand flicks the light, and the door is shut and locked behind us. “What are you doing?” I ask as I turn to him, but he curls one hand around my neck and presses a kiss on my mouth. A hard, deep kiss with tongue and a moan of greeting in his throat. And oh, hell… my knees almost buckle from the sensation and the fact that he brought me here, for privacy, because he wanted a kiss. My hands snake up, running over the hard lines of his chest, over his shoulders, and around his neck. But I barely get my fingers laced before he’s pulling away and giving me a devilish grin. “Didn’t want to have another kiss oversight.” I almost swoon—almost—but he doesn’t give me the opportunity before he’s throwing me for another loop. “Turn around,” he orders as he reaches into the plastic bag he brought with him, pulling out two small boxes that fit in one hand. “Put your hands on the edge of the sink and bend over.” “What?” I practically yell, my eyes dropping down to the boxes he’s holding. “No way.” “Yes,” he says, talking over me. I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. “Not until you tell me what’s in those boxes and why you want me to do that.”

Cain isn’t pissed over my denial but rather snakes a hand out, curling back around my neck again and pulling me in for another rough kiss. He laughs into my mouth and lets me go. “Sassy. I like that. I should redden your ass for it, but it’s going to be tender enough—” “What’s in the boxes?” I interrupt, trying to get a look at the plain white package with minimal words written on them. I’ve already forgotten his highhanded attitude, more than a little turned on by the threat to redden my ass. Completely curious and even a little afraid by why my ass will be tender, but yeah… mostly turned on. Laying one box on the edge of the sink, he takes the other and opens it up, shaking out the contents into his hand. A butt plug. I recognize it at once, not from any personal experience but from research I did before coming out to Wyoming. I had no clue what happened in a sex club, but I was smart enough to guess that toys might be part of the agenda. I searched a lot of popular sites, sometimes strangely fascinated by what I saw—at other times, perplexed. Once, really, really disgusted when urine was involved. But I definitely recognize a butt plug. “I want to get your ass ready for my cock,” Cain says in a low voice, and my eyes snap up to him as my body jerks from the sexy tone. “Like right now?” I ask, my voice semi-hysterical. “The plug right now. My cock… that’s not going to happen right away. I’ll have to move you up to bigger plugs.” He sounded so casual and calm as he explained this to me. I, on the other hand, felt my world spinning over the implications. First, and foremost, he wants to stick that massive dick in my ass. I could barely take it last night in the place it’s supposed to normally be and wouldn’t have if not for a lot of careful prodding by him. The thought of him doing that both titillates and scares the shit out of me. Second, and this is equally as important, it sounds to me as if Cain is saying he wants to be with me again. I mean, if he plans on graduating me up in butt plugs, that requires more than one night together, right? “Now put your hands on the sink and bend over,” he says again. His hazel eyes are a shade darker than what I remembered from the bright light of my bedroom. More brown than green at this moment, and I wonder if that has anything to do with the nature of our conversation. My eyes dart down and see he’s got a hard-on pressing against his jeans, so probably. “Sloane.” He says my name softly, as a means to get my attention. My gaze slides up. Before I can talk myself out of it, I turn toward the sink, drop my chest, and stick my butt out. “Nice,” he growls as he steps up behind me. I look up into the mirror over the sink, seeing him looking down at my ass with undisguised lust. “Hold this,” he says as he presses the plug into my hand. It’s heavy, made of what appears to be smooth, stainless steel, and it isn’t very big… no wider than my index finger. It has a narrow, rounded tip that flares a bit wider before curving inward again. I read enough about them to know this is to keep it from falling out once it gets past my ring of muscle, and the wide, circular bottom will keep it from getting sucked in. Damn… I’m nervous but so turned on right now. I feel like crying. Cain draws my skirt up over my legs to my hips. It’s a pastel blue floaty thing I paired with a white, off-the-shoulder blouse and sandals. I’m wearing simple white lace panties underneath, something I think he appreciates as I hear him hum low in his throat as they’re revealed.

I don’t know what I’m expecting… maybe for him to just get the deed done with a quick pat on my head, but I’m stunned when he snakes a finger in between my legs from behind. Right into the edge of my panties, brushing back and forth against me. “Just checking,” he says in triumph. “Wanted to see if the thought of this turned you on.” “And the verdict?” I gasp as he slides his finger in all the way. “You’re flooded,” he murmurs before pulling out of me and pushing the tip of his finger against my clit. “And I’m going to get you off really quick to help relax you.” I drop my head, staring at the sink as my hand curls reflexively around the plug. Cain’s fingers are talented. They’re calloused and rub in tights circles around me, faster and faster. I’m so wet that he glides effortlessly… his stimulation and the fact he’s doing this while I’m bent over the sink at my place of employment makes this all the more exciting. It takes me no time at all before I’m bursting apart with a short sob of relief, my hips rotating with no control against his fingers. “Fucking beautiful,” he says as he gives a last tap against my clit and pulls his hand from in between my legs. Sucking in air, lifting my head. I can feel Cain now pulling my underwear down as he says, “Spread your legs a bit.” I’m so languid feeling right now that I do as he asks, until my panties sitting at mid-thigh stretch and bite into my skin. Cain reaches over me to grab the other box, and I’m relieved when he opens it up and I see a new tube of lubricant. I gaze up, finding him looking at me in the mirror. He winks at me. “It’s going to feel good. I promise.” And I believe him because everything he’s done to me so far has felt better than anything I’ve ever felt in my life. No lie. Cain’s face drops back down so he can concentrate on his work. Because I can’t see what’s going on, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I concentrate on sounds and feeling. First, Cain’s large hand caresses my bare ass. I hear the click of what I’m thinking is the lubricant being opened, then his slick fingers are pressing in between my ass cheeks and rubbing up against me, all around. I feel a cool trickle hit my ass, and he’s massaging more lubricant onto me. “Hand me the plug,” he says, his voice hoarse. Holding my hand up by my shoulder, I feel him take the plug. I keep my eyes closed. “Deep breath, Sloane,” he tells me with one large hand fanned out over my lower back. I do as he says. The tiny tip of the plug touches my anus, and I will myself to hold still. I let my breath out slowly just as he starts to push it in. It doesn’t hurt, but I expect that’s because it’s no bigger than his finger. It feels… good actually. Damn good. Who knew? I’m stretched a little as it gets pushed in to the hilt, feeling my muscles contract around it and settle as soon as it’s all the way in. Cain gives a little tap to the circular end, causing it to jolt within me, and I gasp. “Nice, right?” he says thickly. I open my eyes slowly and nod. “Yeah, actually.” Cain’s hands go to my underwear, and he pulls them up my legs. I straighten up, feeling the plug move slightly as it adjusts. My skirt drops, and Cain actually smoothes it down before bringing his hands to my shoulders and turning me around.

“I want you to wear that all day,” he says as he peers down at me. “Do not remove it.” “But—” I start to argue, because there’s no way I can do that. I won’t be able to concentrate. “What time do you get off work?” “Huh?” “Work, Sloane,” he patiently says. “What time do you get off?” “Four,” I say, confused at the rapid change of subject, especially since I am still prepared to argue against that plug staying in me all day. “I’ll be at your apartment waiting for you,” he says as he leans down and quickly kisses me. “I don’t start work until seven, so we have a few hours to play. I’m going to lick your pussy hard and pull that plug out as you start to come. Trust me… you’ll thank me for it later.” I swear I almost orgasm right then and there. My jaw drops open in disbelief, but Cain is giving me another quick kiss and then he’s walking out of the bathroom. Did that seriously just happen?

Chapter 9

Cain I SLAM INTO SLOANE one last time, the muscles in my back tensing exquisitely, my balls pulled up tight, and I explode viciously inside of her. F-u-u-u-c-k, that feels good. So goddamn good. I’ve had a hard-on practically all day since I left her in that bathroom with a plug in her ass. I practically jumped on her when her car pulled in front of her apartment as I was already waiting there for her. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was immensely relieved when she sashayed up to me and hissed, “Get this damn thing out of me. I better come hard like you promised or there will be hell to pay for what I went through today.” That right there… that got my cock to go to full attention. We raced up the stairs, flew down the hallway, and then tore each other’s clothes off. I did as promised… licked her pussy furiously, whipping her up into a frenzy. It took her less than a minute to orgasm. When she said, “I’m coming,” I pulled on the plug, felt the resistance, felt it give, and when it popped free, she actually shrieked in ecstasy. Her hips also punched off the bed so hard, she caught me in the chin with her pubic bone, snapping my neck backward. “Damn, Right Hook,” I said with a laugh as her ass fell back to the mattress. She shuddered while looking at me with sex-blurred eyes. “Sorry,” she muttered, and then another quake rolled through her. “I’m not,” I told her earnestly as I opened up a condom from the jumbo box I brought with me. I rolled it on and because she was exquisitely loose after that orgasm, I was able to sink right into her tightness without a wince of pain. It was fucking perfect. The orgasm that continues to rumble through me is fucking perfect. I huff a few breaths as it settles, and then suck in some more air to further calm my heartbeat. Glancing at my watch as I roll off her, I figure out I can fuck her one more time… maybe twice if I can talk her into sucking on my overused dick after round two. I pull the condom off, tie a knot in the end, and drop it over the edge of the bed to the floor. I’ll pick it up later on my way out, with the other condoms that will be joining it. Flopping to my back, I lay next to Sloane while we get our breathing under control and think about what just happened between us. Some supreme sex, that’s for sure. The most supreme, in fact. I’m not sure I’ve seen a woman come that hard, and the fact I made her do it actually swells me up with some silly pride. I mean, I like getting women off. It’s a challenge to me as all women are built different. But I don’t care about the nature of their orgasms. One’s just as good as the next, and besides… that’s what sex is, right? Tit for tat. You get me off—I get you off. That’s sure as shit not how I felt about Sloane when I was with her last night. I was driven to pull as many orgasms out of her as I could, even as she was begging me to leave her alone. I want to do that again, and in fact… “How do you know so much about things like butt plugs and anal sex?” Sloane asks me. I feel the

mattress dip. As I turn my head her way, I see she’s rolled to her side, laying her head on one of the pillows and curling her arm under her. She looks well fucked and completely relaxed. I shrug and turn on my side to face her, resting my head on a pillow and reaching out with my hand to take her free one. I lace my fingers with her. “I’m just adventurous,” I tell her. I’m damn well not going to tell her I got my initiation into this world by working at a sex club over in Driggs, or that I currently work at one now. Even as curious as this sweet little girl is, she’d freak the fuck out. Maybe. Hell, I don’t know because I don’t know much about what she really thinks of all of this. “What did you think of it?” I ask as we stare at each other. She knows I’m talking about the plug. “I liked it,” she says with a smile. She drops her eyes, and then looks back up at me with pink cheeks. “That was the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had.” Nodding at her in understanding, I squeeze her hand. “It was beautiful to watch. Can’t wait to see you take my cock.” A small gasp of shock comes out of Sloane. I love when my dirty words can cause that. She shakes her head and says, “I don’t know, Cain. I don’t think I can take you back there.” “You can with the right amount of prep,” I tell her with confidence. “You have lots of experience with this?” she asks sarcastically and maybe with a little jealousy. It makes me laugh, and I feel compelled to roll forward to give her a quick kiss. “I have some experience with anal sex. I mean… been with women who enjoy it, but they’re used to it. You’re my first virgin ass.” “That implies you want to continue seeing me,” she says hesitantly. “I mean… you said it will take time.” “True enough,” is all I tell her, because while I know I want to see her again… fuck her again… I’m not sure what I want past that. “And if you are continuing to see me, would you perhaps be continuing to see other women at the same time?” she asks, sounding uncertain. Hesitant. I blink in surprise because the immediate answer that almost just popped free was, Fuck yes I’m going to see other women, but something stops me. Maybe it’s her wide eyes staring at me earnestly, or the fact she just trusted me enough to let me plug her ass during the workday, but I’m shaking my head in the negative. “I’ll keep my dick solely on call for you, how’s that?” She grimaces and asks for clarification. “That means no fucking girls in the parking lot of The Wicked Horse?” I blink in surprise at her. “How’d you know that?” “Jasmine,” she says simply. “Jasmine?” Who the fuck is Jasmine? “Jasmine,” she says with a pointed look. “My co-worker. You fucked her not long ago in the parking lot.” Shit… I knew that girl looked familiar, and I wasn’t sure why. Now I know. Don’t exactly remember the details, but it makes sense. I give Sloane’s hand a squeeze. “I promise, no other girls while you and I are fucking. You promise to give me that ass… let me do whatever it takes to get you there, and you’ll be the only one.” She grimaces over my crude words, but fuck… what can I say? They’re all true. “Why is anal sex so important to you?” she asks with a curious tilt to her head. “It’s not,” I assure her. “But your ass is.”

“My ass?” she says with confusion. “You’re sweet and innocent, curious and adventurous. You have a virgin ass, and I’d love to pop that cherry. It’s a fantasy of mine. At least, it’s become a fantasy since last night.” Awww… isn’t that sweet? She blushes and looks down again, I think warmed by my admission that it’s only her ass I’m fantasizing about right now. Chuckling, I reach out and pull her into my arms. Pressing her in close, I feel fucking compelled to kiss her forehead. I cuddle her for a few moments, relishing in the feeling. I mean, sure… I’ve done that before, but really just to make the girl feel good after. Maybe soften the sting of a quick departure or something. But with Sloane… something actually feels kind of right about this. Loathe to release her right away, and besides, I need a few more minutes to recharge before we can fuck again, I provoke her embarrassment a little further. “What’s your fantasy?” She jumps in my arms slightly and pulls her face back to look at me. “Fantasy?” “Yeah… your fantasy. What type of dirty fantasy gets you worked up?” “I don’t have one,” she says. A little too quickly. “Oh no you don’t,” I tell her as I push her onto her back and roll on top. I nudge her legs apart with my own, press my hips down, and feel my dick start to get some life back into it. Damn, that was fast, but I keep on point. “You are not avoiding that question. Every man and woman has a fantasy. Something they think about when they masturbate. Something that makes them come fast and hard when they’re playing with themselves, or are otherwise engaged in a boring fuck. You’ve got to have something, Sloane.” She cuts her eyes down and to the right, sucking her lower lip in between her teeth. Then back to me with those big, round, baby blues and says, “Well… there is one thing… but…” Her words trail off, and her face gets red. I lean down, graze my lips over hers. When I pull back, I smile at her in encouragement. “You can tell me. I promise the most that will happen is it will make me horny and I’ll fuck you.” “Well,” she says slowly. “I mean… I’m not really sure that this stuff ever really happens in real life, but… my fantasy is to be gang-banged.” There is nothing that Sloane could have said to me that would have surprised me more. And even though the thought of that scenario happening is provocatively hot, I have to get some clarification. “A gang bang?” “Yes.” Another blush. “Sloane, do you even know what that means?” I ask her carefully… gently. “Yeah… multiple guys, one girl… lots of sex,” she says, her chin tilted stubbornly at me. “And you’re judging me… you said you wouldn’t do that.” “No,” I assure her with a shake of my head and an encouraging smile. “Not judging. It’s just… typically, you know… in porn and the like, a gang bang is kind of rough. It can be violent and unless you’re into pain and humiliation, it’s not something I think you’d get off on.” Sloane’s eyes flare wide with understanding, and she vigorously shakes her head. “Oh, God… then no, that’s not my fantasy. I just meant multiple guys… you know, all focused on my pleasure. Definitely not into pain and degradation.” My lungs deflate in an instant, so relieved to know that all of my instincts about Sloane weren’t wrong. She truly is innocent to this stuff, which really fucking turns me on. I tilt my head, lean over, and kiss her neck. “So… what you’re saying is your dirty fantasy is to get serviced by multiple men.”

“Yes,” she moans as I push down a bit, dragging my teeth down her skin. “Would another woman be part of that fantasy?” I ask, feeling my cock start to swell as I think about another woman licking between Sloan’s legs. She giggles and says, “No. Just men.” Damn. “How many guys?” I ask her, intent to have her describe for me all the details, knowing it’s going to ramp up her desire right now. I know it’s certainly ramping up mine, as I’m quickly hardening. “Three,” she says breathlessly, her hands coming to my head as I move to her breasts. “No, wait… four. I think I want four total.” “All hung like me?” “God no,” she gasps as I lick around her nipple. “I’d die with that much big cock at once.” “Would you take three guys at once?” I ask her, looking up to see her reaction. She stares at me, and I almost come right there against her mattress when she admits in a whisper, “I don’t know if I could, but that is part of my fantasy. I’d totally try.” Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why did I even get started down this path? Why did I ask her something that would lead to this moment… a single, clear moment when I realize I have the power to give that fantasy to her? It would be so fucking easy to set up. It would be so fucking hot to watch her having every dirty desire fulfilled. It’s one of the things I love best about being a fantasy maker for the club… indulging members in things they don’t think they could ever have. Giving them the ultimate pleasure. Now I simply have to fuck Sloane because it seems her fantasy may have just become one of mine at this very moment. I push up from her, grab another condom, and rip it open. I was going to eat her out again, but I’m too damn horny now thinking about this. I need inside of her. And then I need to decide if I should give her what she wants.

Chapter 10

Sloane SEX. Big dicks. Butt plugs. Gang bangs. God, what has my world been reduced to? I woke up this morning feeling out of sorts about Cain and the myriad of emotions I’ve been feeling the last few days. I’m attracted to a man who is completely out of my comfort zone, who I’m using to gain subversive information from to further my career, and I’m willingly immersing myself into a world of kinky sex to meet my goals. When I made the decision to pursue a journalism degree in college, I was well aware of the boundaries that reporters constantly push in search of the truth. They put themselves in war zones, go deep undercover, and risk their very freedom by protecting their news sources. I knew all of that then, and I know it now, but I’m still struggling. My stomach is churning wondering how far I will go with all of this, particularly when I’m not even getting a whiff of a true story here. I just don’t see how to make the connection from a sex club—which is totally legal, by the way—to a dirty politician. And trust me… I want to find that Governor Hayes’ is dirty. I want to prove it and take him down, because he’ll be the first true notch in my bedpost of justice that I take down solely as a result of my own hard work. I suppose that’s truly the thing that keeps me going here as I war with myself over my own moral dilemmas. How far will I go with Cain? Will our hearts start getting involved, especially as the bounds of intimacy are stretched? Without a doubt, since I let him stick a plug up my ass as if he owned me, I definitely feel something of a bond with him. When he rolled out of my bed yesterday afternoon, leaving me a quivering mass of satisfaction on the mattress, he leaned over and gave me a soft kiss. His eyes were warm, sated, and triumphant. He merely said, “You are amazing,” and I felt my heart thump in response to that, the one part of my body that still had some strength of its own. But now even that’s weakening. My phone starts a vibrating buzz on my kitchen table beside my empty coffee cup. It’s face up so I can clearly see Brant’s number and I grimace even as I reach to answer it. “Hi, Brant.” “We need an update, Preston,” he says brusquely, addressing me by my last name as if I’m a recruit in his military platoon. “You’ve been there three weeks.” Sighing softly, I reach out and circle my finger around the edge of my coffee cup. “The first week was spent developing my cover and making contacts,” I remind him. “Then you’ve had two weeks to dig something up,” he says in exasperation. “We can’t fund your vacation there forever.” “I’m not sure there’s a story here,” I tell him resolutely, ignoring the vacation comment. “I’m just not picking up on anything yet.” “Come on, Preston,” he says in a hard voice. “It’s a sex club and a politician. Of course there’s something there. You just have to spin it right.”

I bristle against those words because we’re not the fucking National Enquirer. We don’t need to fabricate or inflate this shit; there’s enough corruption in our government officials without chasing sordid stories like this. Still, I’m careful when I say, “I’ve gotten in with the head of security at the club. I’ve planted the seed, and I think I’m close to getting an invite. Once I get my foot in the door, I’ll be able to assess the situation better.” “That’s good,” he practically purrs into the phone, and I wince. I can almost imagine him rubbing himself by the lewd tone. “You do whatever it takes to get the goods, you hear me?” “I’ll do whatever I can that doesn’t put me in danger,” I tell Brant firmly. “If you’re not willing to let me work this with regards to my own safety, then you need someone else here.” “Of course your safety comes first,” Brant says quickly and in a soothing voice. “But I don’t have to remind you… sometimes it’s the tiniest detail you come across that can break a story wide open. Just keep plugging away. This story will make your career.” Ironic that he used the word “plugging”. “I understand,” I tell him. “Plan on calling me at the end of the week with another update. We really need this, so I’m going to push you hard. That clear?” “Clear,” I tell him with a leaden weight settling in my stomach. “And word of advice,” Brant says as an afterthought. “You better be thinking of another angle than your current source.” I had already thought about that because I was feeling all kinds of rotten now that I’m getting to know Cain. The thought of using him in this respect isn’t setting well with me. Colton Stokes is on my list for sure. I’m going to hit him up today. And I’m also trying to figure out an angle with Callie Hayes. I’ve done some research on Governor Hayes’ platform and because his campaign is officially launching soon, I think I know the perfect thing that could possibly get me in the door with her.

* PART OF MY RESEARCH when I moved to Jackson was to learn all I could about my source, Colton Stokes. Thirty-one years old, never married, currently not dating anyone. Drives a brand-new Chevy Suburban. Operations manager of his father’s cattle company. Net worth not a hell of a lot since Daddy owns the company, but he does have access to a modest trust fund. I also happen to know he works out at the gym every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings, and I wait patiently sipping on coffee for him to come out. The morning is heating up nicely and there’s not a cloud in the blue sky. I’m not working today, and I’m not sure what to do with myself after I take care of this. Maybe I’ll drive around, check out the scenery. Ideally, I’d be up for spending some time with Cain, but he told me he’s got some work to do before his shift starts at The Wicked Horse tonight. I’ve suppressed the urge to do a deeper background check on Cain beyond the employment stuff. I know I should so I can avert any surprises, but I feel guilty enough trying to use him to get my foot into the club. He didn’t tell me details, only that he worked two other part-time jobs when work was available as he had some debt to pay. However, he did ask if I was coming by The Wicked Horse tonight. I played it vague and told him it was a possibility. His reply was, “Well, I won’t be able to spend any time with you while I’m on duty. I just don’t want you to be upset by that.” I thought it was cute he needed to explain that to me, but I was more than cool with it. I saw firsthand in my early observations of him how serious he is about his work. In fact, I think I won’t bother going because he’s honestly the only reason why I’d want to, and I don’t want to just stare at him all night with

my tongue hanging out. The door to the gym swings open, catching the glare of the sun. Colton Stokes walks out, putting on a pair of sunglasses. He immediately notices me leaning my ass against the front bumper of his Suburban with my arms crossed, staring at him. As he walks closer, he gives me an unsure smile and says, “Can I help you with something?” I push my own sunglasses off the bridge of my nose and up to my head to rest there, standing up straight. Holding my hand out, I say, “Sloane Preston.” He takes my hand, not a hint of recognition in his face, and shakes it. It’s a bit of a risk to reveal myself to him, real name and all. I suppose there’s a small chance he could rat me out to Bridger Payne or Woolf Jennings, but I think not. The fact he wanted to be anonymous in his tip tells me he wants to stay far under the radar. “Revealed magazine,” I say, and his eyebrows shoot up as he drops my hand. “We talked on the phone a few weeks ago. I’m here investigating the story you alerted us to about Governor Hayes.” Colton looks wildly left and right, then steps in closer to me and hisses, “Not about Governor Hayes. I told you about Woolf Jennings and his sex club.” “And then you told me about his daughter dating Woolf Jennings,” I remind him. “We’re a political magazine, Mr. Stokes. What did you think would happen if you waved that bait in front of us?” Colton takes his sunglasses off and scrubs an agitated hand through his brown hair. My eyes are immediately drawn to dark bruising to the left temple, curling just under his eye. And as I peer closer, I see bruising on his jawline. “What happened to you?” I ask, my eyes narrowing on his injuries. Leaning back in toward me, he mutters, “Let’s just say a message got delivered to me from the owners of The Wicked Horse. Woolf and Bridger were not happy with me.” “They know you called me?” I ask, a moment of fear starting to claw at me. “No,” he says loudly before lowering his tone. “No, they have no clue I called a reporter. If they did, they’d probably kill me. They’re mad I told Governor Hayes about the club.” “And they beat you up?” I ask incredulously. With a bark of a laugh, he says, “They wouldn’t dirty their hands. Sent one of their goons to deliver the message.” And it hits me all at once… the cuts on Cain’s hand the other night. He beat Colton Stokes up for telling Governor Hayes about the sex club and I’m assuming about his daughter’s role in it. And another idea strikes me practically stupid. “Wait a minute… if you told Governor Hayes about the club, and Woolf and Bridger are mad about it, that means Hayes didn’t know about it at all, right?” Colton carelessly shrugs. “I don’t know. He acted surprised. Pissed as hell.” “Fuck,” I curse loudly as my gaze wanders aimlessly around the parking lot. I’m seeing this story go down the drain. If Governor Hayes’ didn’t know about the club, he has no culpability. There’s no dirt on him. The only potential thing that could possibly stick would be if the money Jennings gave Hayes was from the club, but again… what’s the point in running that if the governor didn’t know it? All my plans to shake Colton Stokes down for more information sort of evaporate, but I still ask to make sure, “Is there any connection that you know of between the governor and the club?” “Just that his daughter goes there and is sexually involved with one of the owners, Woolf Jennings. She was involved in an orgy there. And now the governor knows it too. So, I guess in a way… he’s condoning that lifestyle.”

“I did a preliminary search on The Wicked Horse. The deed to the place is registered solely in Bridger Payne’s name and has been since the place was constructed. Are you sure Woolf Jennings is an owner?” “Positive,” Colton says as he puts his sunglasses back on. “And it sits on Jennings’ land.” That’s true. I confirmed that already and just because Bridger Payne’s name is on the deed to the actual building, it does not mean he’s the sole owner of the business. Hell, there could be several owners for all I know, but that’s not spelled out on any typical paperwork that I would have public access to— like deeds. Regardless, I am just not sure what to do about this… and that means a call to Brant for an update. Just fucking perfect. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Miss Preston, I need to get going.” He pushes by me and reaches for his truck door, but then levels a stare at me. “And I’d appreciate you not mentioning me to anyone.” “I protect my sources,” I tell him straight up. I might not like him, but I will protect his identity. I sort of feel obligated now; I’d hate to see what Cain would do to him if he found out. And this also confirms for me as well… Cain clearly is involved with the sex club aspect of the business, but I’d suspected as much. Stepping back from his vehicle, I pull my phone from my purse and watch as Colton gets in and drives away. When he’s out of sight, I walk toward my own car, dialing Brant’s cell. He answers on the second ring. “Speak to me, Preston.” “I just did a follow-up interview with our source here. He says the governor had no clue about the sex club, so I don’t think there’s a connection there.” “Fuck,” Brant mutters. While I hated everything about using Cain to get the story, I’m all of a sudden feeling saddened that once the story is killed, I’ll be leaving out of here probably as early as tomorrow. That means no more Cain and while I’ve only known him a few days, I’m already mourning the loss of the tenuous connection we made. It’s there and it’s something real… of that I’m sure. But sadly, it will probably die right along with the story once I move back across the country. “We’ll have to come at this from a different angle,” Brant says brusquely. “Exploit the daughter in the sex club angle.” “What?” I ask, astonished over his suggestion. “The daughter being in the sex club and the fact she’ll be his campaign manager is enough. We’ll run the story on the moral high road. Play up the depravity angle.” “But there’s nothing wrong with her being a member of that club,” I blurt out. “Not to you or me,” he says with a chuckle. “But to the millions of conservatives out there, they won’t want an elected official with that grime attached to him.” “So we’re going to kill a man’s career because of something his daughter did that he had no knowledge of… and that isn’t even illegal?” “We’re not killing anyone’s career, Preston,” he admonishes me. “We’re merely reporting the truth. Besides… you don’t know for sure the governor’s not involved, right?” “No, but—” “And you’re being paid to get the scoop on what’s really going on there,” he says, rolling right over me. “So roll your sleeves up, get in there, and figure out what you have to work with. At the least, you have an opinion piece on the morality aspect, and if you’re really lucky, you dig up something concrete about Hayes.” “Brant… I’m just not feeling—”

“Do it,” he orders into the phone with an icy voice. “Or look for another job. It’s quite simple.” He hangs up on me. I sit in the parking lot of Colton Stokes’ gym for half an hour after, trying to determine what I could do with my life if I quit my job. I had no answers other than the fact I could continue to dig and see what popped up. Try to shine some more clarity on what is important to me within this career. As of now, I’m feeling a bit disillusioned.

Chapter 11

Cain I LEAN UP against the wall to the left of the entrance doors inside The Wicked Horse and carefully survey my domain. My guys are all at their posts, alert and watching the crowd. The bartenders are handling the customers with ease and there have been no major disturbances unless you count Billy Stooks barfing in the men’s bathroom because he always goes into tip-over when he switches from beer to liquor. We packed him up in a cab and sent him home. I’ve done three walk-throughs of The Silo tonight, not because security is really needed there, but because I can’t stop thinking about Sloane and her fantasy. Shit… if that girl had a real gang bang, she’d freak the fuck out. The minute she took a slap to the face, a vicious twist to her nipples, or a hand squeezing her throat closed to keep her from screaming in protest, she’d probably pass out from the terror of it. Christ… just the image of that happening to her twists my guts up. Even though that exact scene has turned me on before with countless other women, I know I sure as shit couldn’t let her ever do something like that. Like I told her… that scenario is built for women who like the pain and fear. By the third time I’d walked through The Silo, I realized I did so eyeballing the various members who had come out to play tonight. Evaluating them. Wondering who would be willing to give her the fantasy that she really wants without crossing lines. Yeah… the thought of it… Sloane getting well fucked by four men as we all stand around and watch her blush deepen with every pounding, well hell… I’m getting hard thinking about it. It’s definitely one of my fantasies now. But there’s a problem. As much as I want to… as much as I know it would be the hottest thing ever to put her in a fantasy cabin and have her screaming out all night in pleasure… as much as I want to dirty up all of her innocence and sweet ways, I’m still deep down questioning the sanity of it. Questioning whether it’s fair to change her world this way, even if she comes out on the other end completely satisfied and thrilled to her core. She won’t be the same. I’m afraid I won’t either. With my mind in a turmoil, I decide to seek the advice of one of the wisest people I know when it comes to the games of sex and kink. Pushing off the wall, I head back to Bridger’s office. I know he’s in there because he left The Silo a little bit ago after putting on an eyebrow-raising show with one of the original members. I have no clue what Bridger’s back story is. I know he moved to the area when Woolf returned home from college a little over ten years ago. He’s worked out at the Double J as a ranch hand, and he and Woolf are best friends. I was not surprised Woolf and Bridger opened up a sex club, but I was surprised as fuck when I first found out that Woolf liked this lifestyle. I was working at Scandalous in Driggs, and the fucker walked in one night with Bridger while I was getting my cock sucked on center stage. We ended up sharing some beers and the same girl who had been sucking my dick. As they say, the rest is history. While I don’t know much about Bridger, I would say there’s some seriously whacked shit in his past. I’ve seen some hardcore BDSM stuff before, but nothing compares to the pain he can hand out. He does it sparingly, and there are only a handful of members in this club who can handle what he doles out. No,

correction… they actually need what he doles out. Their sexual satisfaction is dependent on it. Watching Bridger is like watching an art show. He’s methodical and deliberate. He can land the end of a whip on a nipple from clear across the room. He can practically carve a pattern in someone’s back that’s symmetrical and precise. I’ve seen him whip men and women to where they are screaming in pain, refusing to use their safe word, and when he lets them come, it’s the most explosive, freeing moment you can imagine. Bridger rarely fucks on these occasions. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it’s because most of this stuff doesn’t really turn him on. While it’s morbidly fascinating to watch, I know it sure as hell doesn’t turn me on… watching those specific instances that are true BDSM acts. Where pain and sometimes blood are required for a person to get off. A lot of the people who play at the club like to pretend they’re into that shit, but it’s just a toned-down version. We carry a huge stock of soft, suede floggers designed with wide, flat lashes that barely put a blush on the skin. They feel pretty good actually, producing just enough of a tiny sting to enhance the experience. But when Bridger wields a flogger, you can be assured it’s one that will hurt. He often uses a leather one with braided lashes that are knotted on the end, but if he wants to dole out maximum pain, he’ll use a horsehair one he keeps locked in his office. While it looks soft and fluffy, it actually produces an exquisitely intense sting. I once made the mistake of poking fun at it, and he cracked me on the back of the hand, causing me to yelp. He then laughed his ass off. Thereafter, I held major respect for the person on the receiving end of that device. Heading straight through the building, I cut across the dance floor, and turn down the hall that leads to his office. I give three short knocks, assuming he’s in there, but I can’t hear anything because the music is so loud. However, in just a few seconds, the door is open and he’s motioning me in. He looks tired, but I expect those performances take it out of him. When he’s flogging, the man is truly working up a sweat with the repetitive swings. “What’s up?” he says as he walks back to his desk, straightening up what looks to be spreadsheets strewn across the wood surface. “Need to ask you for some advice,” I tell him straight up as I take a seat on the couch, propping an ankle on my knee. “I’m listening.” “I’ve got this girl,” I tell him. “You got a girl?” he asks in amazement. “Well, not like a girlfriend or anything. We’re fucking and—” “As in more than once?” “Yes, more than once,” I say in irritation, and Bridger chuckles. “Anyway… she has this fantasy of getting fucked by multiple guys.” “Dirty girl,” Bridger says in amusement. “You know how to pick ’em.” “Actually no,” I tell him soberly. “She’s sweet. Kind of naive about this stuff, but she’s adventurous. I figured what the hell… I’ve got the means to give her what she wants.” “You want to soil her,” Bridger says, and the sentiment is so accurate that I rear backward on the couch a bit. “Why would you say that?” I ask in astonishment, a bit wigged out he pinpointed my very innermost dilemma. “It’s a classic fantasy,” Bridger says with a shrug of his shoulders. “Trust me… the prince didn’t want to just kiss Snow White to wake her up. He wanted to fuck the innocence out of her.” I snort and shake my head. “You’ve ruined that movie and my childhood for me.”

“The point is, in our line of work, purity is like a gateway drug. You find someone who is ignorant of this world but has a tiny curiosity, and the possibilities are endless. You do a little nasty to her, watch her shriek louder than anyone you’ve ever been with, and you’re hooked. You want more.” Holy shit, this guy is freaky accurate. I’m thinking the minute I sank that plug in Sloane’s ass was the moment I might have become addicted to her. When I pulled it out as she was coming and watched her thrash in the throes of the most magnificent orgasm ever, I became irrevocably lost to the notion of doing more to her. “So I should give her the fantasy?” I ask him for clarification. “I like a good gang bang,” Bridger says with a laugh. “Easy enough to arrange.” “Yeah, can’t do that exactly,” I say as I scratch my head with a sheepish smile. “Why’s that?” “She… well, I don’t think she could really handle something like that. It would have to be toned down.” “That can be done. Just need to pick the right people,” he observes. “I was thinking Rand and Logan for sure.” Bridger nods in agreement. “If some guy-on-guy action turns her on, I’m sure they’d be glad to oblige.” “I’m sure,” I drily say. “They’d fuck a watermelon if that turned her on.” “Want me to join you?” Bridger asks, and I blink in surprise at him. Bridger rarely participates in anything outside of the few BDSM members he services. Past that, he does his fucking in private… usually right here in this office. “I don’t want to put you out, man,” I say hastily. “But I’d probably set it up early next week.” “No trouble,” he assures me. “Sounds fun.” Yeah, fun and Bridger don’t exactly go hand in hand, but I’m not going to pass up this opportunity. While he’s a master with the lash, he’s also the most intuitive person I’ve ever met when it comes to reading people’s sexual desires. I want this to be good for Sloane. While she’s going to get off with what we’ll do to her, I know Bridger can maximize it. “Will you direct?” I ask him, because in these situations, it’s easy for it to get out of control. I know Bridger will be able to read Sloane like a book and deliver to her what she needs. “Sure,” he says with a smile. “But once you put me in control, I won’t give it up.” His tone is firm but there’s an ominous ring to it. It gives me a slight shiver. “You got it, boss,” I say as I stand from the couch with a two-handed slap to my thighs. “Now I better get back to work.” “Take the rest of the night off,” Bridger says as he looks back down to his spreadsheets. “Go see your girl.” “She’s not really my girl,” I feel compelled to clarify. Bridger snickers without taking his eyes off his work in front of me. “Go see your girl,” he commands. “Consider it an extra bonus for the excellent work you did with Mr. Stokes.” “But it’s a Saturday night.” “Go see your fucking girl,” Bridger snarls. I open my mouth to argue with him further about the nature of my relationship with Sloane, but then I think about her all curled up in her bed, maybe even in a conservative nightgown that deserves to be ripped from her body, and I can’t help myself. I ignore Bridger’s “my girl” comment and give him a nod of thanks. He doesn’t see it though because he’s intently focused on the work in front of him, and I’m already

forgotten.

Chapter 12

Sloane SOMETHING HEAVY ON ME starts to rouse me from sleep. The hand over my mouth and the one between my legs causes a stab of electric fear to slam into me, and I’m fully awake. I’m disoriented for only a minute as I take in the fact my bedside lamp is now on, a man is on top of me and his fingers inching under my panties. Just as I start to try to buck him off with a surge of fear-induced adrenaline, I realize it’s Cain on top of me, grinning down. “It’s me,” he whispers. “Nnnhh shhttt,” I yell into his hand, and he removes it. I clarify in a more moderate voice. “No shit.” He laughs, leans down, and gives me a deep kiss just as his fingers brush through me. “Surprise.” “How did you get in?” I ask, trying to sound mad but gasping in pleasure as one finger slides home. “Your lock was ridiculously easy to open with my driver’s license,” he says, holding that finger still inside of me for the moment. “I was going to knock, but then I just couldn’t resist the surprise.” “You’re lucky I don’t sleep with a gun,” I tell him. “I checked under your pillow first,” he says, and then curls his finger upward. I groan and tilt my hips, and he laughs again… this time in triumph. “What are you doing here?” I ask in a strangled voice, my mind starting to disconnect and my body starting to take over as evidenced by my hips rotating against his finger. “I’m here to get you off,” he says as he rolls to my side and props himself up casually on his elbow while still keeping his other hand lodged between my legs. He looks calm, utterly relaxed, and slightly mischievous. “You’re supposed to be working,” I say sternly, then my eyes roll in the back of my head as he pulls his finger out and starts to rub it on my clit. “Shut up, Sloane.” His voice is amused, but his eyes are intent. “Let me get you off and then we can talk.” Okay, if I must. I close my eyes and let him do whatever he wants to me, because my desire to have him get me off takes precedence over my curiosity to know why he’s not at work.

* SLOANE, WAKE UP. Come on, Sloane… it’s time to get up. I hear the voice, but I’m so warm, sated, and sleepy. I ignore it. Strong arms are wrapped around me, and I feel the sweet call of slumber pulling me back under. Hands moving on me, sliding up my ribs, over to my breast… nice, and I’m not sure if this is real or a dream, but I’m digging it. A sharp pinch on my nipple, followed by a hard twist, and I give out a surprised yip of pain and shoot up out of my dream state, right off the mattress.

I’m confused as Cain is pushing me back down and latching his mouth to said tweaked nipple, rolling his tongue over it in gentle, soothing strokes. And holy hell that feels good with the tingle of pain still sizzling beneath it. Cain raises his head and looks up at me with a grin. “Told you to get up.” “That hurt,” I whine softly as I bring my hand up to prod at my sore nipple. “I know,” he says with a triumphant gleam in his eye. “But you liked it… admit it.” “No,” I say in a petulant voice, but it doesn’t have much strength behind it because damn, that was amazing. “Yes,” he argues with me. “No,” I bicker back. His hand latches onto my wrist and in an abrupt change that leaves me spinning, he’s pulling me out of the bed. “Come on and get a shower. I’m taking you out to the Double J today.” “What?” I ask in confusion. I stumble slightly as he pulls me out of my bedroom and down the hall. “My friend Woolf’s ranch,” he explains. “I have to do some work out there today, and I’m bringing you with me. I’ll have some time to take you horseback riding.” “Wait… no, I can’t,” I say as I pull against his hold. It makes no difference; he pulls me right into the bathroom. “I have to be at work at ten.” “Call in sick,” he says as he reaches into the shower and turns the water on. “But I’m not sick,” I say resolutely. We’re both naked so standing in my little bathroom makes me acutely aware of his magnetic sexuality. I force myself to hold eye contact with him and not drop down to that massive dick that spent plenty of time between my legs last night. After I got over the shock of him breaking into my apartment, I immediately submitted to his wicked ways. He did, indeed, get me off with just his fingers. I was so wrecked after that, we didn’t bother with any conversation as he promised. Instead, he played my body to his satisfaction, which included a slightly larger butt plug he insisted I try because as he said, “It will feel amazing as I’m fucking you from behind.” I flush warm just thinking about it because it felt like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, every thrust into my body rattling the plug within me, causing it to bump and jostle against nerves back there I never knew existed prior to meeting Cain Bonham. “Hmmmmm,” Cain hums low in his throat as he steps into me… a knowing look on his face. “Whatcha thinkin’ about? Your face sort of got red there.” “Nothing,” I say as I give a slight cough to clear my throat. “Now, about work—” He steps in closer, and I feel his erection brush against my stomach. I will not look down. I will not look down. I will not look down. Cain grabs my hand, startling me, and hauls my body toward him. Right to his cock where he curls my fingers around it and makes me squeeze him hard. He groans from the sensation and then with his grip on my hand, makes me stroke him up and down. His eyes flutter closed, he removes his hand from mine, and he says, “Yeah… just like that, Sloane.” My eyes drop immediately and I look down at my hand, looking so small as it’s wrapped around his hard girth. I squeeze harder and increase the pace of my strokes, fascinated as fluid leaks from the tip, hits my hand, and lubes his skin for me. I stare in absolute fascination, feeling tingles break out all over my body as I jack this sexy man off. I want to watch him come, have it hit my stomach with warm bursts and hopefully deep groans from him.

“Take off work today,” Cain says in a hoarse voice as his hand comes back to mine. He grips me hard and stops my movement, holding me absolutely still. His dick jumps in my hand, but he ignores it. My head snaps up to his and while a sizzle of lust still remains deep in his eyes, I also see something else there. Almost a need that can’t be assuaged with my hand on his cock. I’ve got an immensely strong work ethic. While this may just be a cover job, I don’t like to leave people hanging. I’ve never in my life called in sick when I wasn’t. But when I see Cain looking at me like this… pleading for something—I’m not sure he even knows what, nor do I—it causes something inside me to shift. I’ve not been able to exactly figure out what Cain and I have going on here, because up until this moment, it’s really just been sex. But now it’s turning into something different and I have to make a decision how to roll with it. If I say yes, I could lose my job. Ultimately, not a problem, as the magazine is paying my expenses. I’d get the added benefit of possibly gaining a further foothold within Cain Bonham’s world. This, I need, if I’m going to do the job that’s being demanded of me by Brant. On its face, it seems like the best move for my undercover operation. But that’s the part that’s causing me doubt. I don’t want to spend the day with Cain just so I can figure out how better to use him. I want to get to know him, find out his story, and connect to him on more than just a sexual existence. I’m thinking he wants that to. Otherwise, why would he invite me? “Why are you doing this?” I whisper suddenly. If I’m to figure out what to do, I need to know his motivation. “Doing what?” he asks with surprise. “Asking me to spend the day with you,” I say with a small degree of skepticism. “I thought what we had was just sexual.” “Who says I’m not going to fuck you at the Double J?” he asks with a mischievous smile. “Because this is just sex, right?” I ask him for clarification, not giving into his amusement. The smile slides off Cain’s face and his eyes sober. Batting my hand away from his dick, he steps in closer to me, leans his face down to compensate for the difference in our height, and murmurs, “Not just sex, Sloane. Fucking amazing sex. Mind-blowing sex. Trust me when I say I’m coming back for more of it.” My heart instantly pangs with hurt that he doesn’t feel a connection like I thought, but then it becomes immediately relieved when I realize I can just concentrate on my job and use Cain to my advantage. But then he causes another sharp stab of emotion when he touches his mouth to mine briefly before saying, “But that’s not what today is. I figured you’d like to see some of Wyoming and there’s no prettier place than the Double J. I only have to do a few things for Woolf, and then I can take you out horseback riding.” Shit. Damn, shit, damn, shit. I might have doubted myself before now, but the minute he says those words and I realize there’s more to Cain Bonham than just unbelievable orgasms, I know I’ve got some major feelings twisted into this. Otherwise, the excitement of spending some time with this complex man wouldn’t be warring so hard with the guilt I’m feeling for the way in which I’ll ultimately take advantage of him.

Chapter 13

Cain “YOU’RE AWFUL QUIET,” I say as our horses plod alongside each other. Sloane turns that beautiful face… one I always think of as sweetly innocent… and gives me a smile so bright it almost hurts to look at it. Those two dimples fascinate me because they do the weirdest thing and make me want to smile back at her just as big. “It’s just so beautiful,” she says as her face turns back toward the Teton mountain range. “I mean… our mountains in Tennessee are lovely, but these are incomparable.” True enough. On this bright summer day, the riot of colors on the range is stunning. Deep green grass and trees, slate blue rock formations, and snowy white peaks. I’ll never get tired of it. Sloane hung out at the barn while I did some minor repairs on one of the stall doors. It wasn’t an urgently needed fix, but Woolf always throws work my way when he can and I’m appreciative of that. It took no more than an hour of my time and then I got two horses saddled. Because Sloane was an inexperienced rider, I put her on the fattest, laziest horse in Woolf’s stock and assured her she wouldn’t move faster than a snail. She was nervous at first but once she realized this was just a relaxing ride over some well-worn trails, she gave over to the thrill of the scenery and I think forgot she was on a horse, despite the fact she was still clutching the horn as if her life depended on it. “So… you’re like a cowboy or something?” Sloane asks out of the blue, her eyes still set on the mountain range ahead of us. “The Double J employs a lot of people. I worked through high school here and part time in between other jobs.” “And you were in the Marines, huh?” “The tattoo’s kind of obvious, right?” I chuckle. “It does kind of stare me right in the face when you’re on top of me,” she says primly, and my chuckle turns into an outright laugh. She’d be right about that. In a moment of pure stupidity when I was eighteen and had just graduated boot camp, me and my buddies went out and got tattoos to display our pride in being Marines. I opted for a devil dog on my right pec. A tough-looking bulldog with a severe underbite and a Marine Corps collar around its thick neck. It glared out from my chest with the letters U.S.M.C. tattooed underneath in red and gold. “I was in for six years and admittedly, that tattoo was a mistake,” I tell her. “What did you do in the Marines?” “Infantry,” I tell her simply. “It’s why I ended up back here in Wyoming after I got out. Not a lot of transferrable skills in that MOS.” “MOS?” “Sorry,” I tell her as I tug on the reins slightly to move my horse closer to hers. “Military Occupational Specialty. I was 0351… an assaultman. I basically operated an anti-tank weapon.” “Were you in Afghanistan?” she asks, her gaze now coming to mine with somber curiosity. “Twice.” “Is that how you got your scar?” she asks, and I blink at her in surprise. No woman I’ve been with has

ever asked me that question. Granted… it’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date with one, and granted… most times I’m just giving a hard fucking to someone over at The Silo and there’s no opportunity for questions, but the simple way in which she asks catches me off guard. It’s not with a morbid curiosity, but rather a desire to know me better. I can see in her eyes the truth of that because she doesn’t drop her gaze from mine. Shaking my head, I tell her, “Afraid it’s not that glamorous of a story. I was working at a bar over in Idaho. A jealous husband came in looking for his wife. Tried to drag her out by the hair. I took exception to it, and he took exception to me taking exception to it. He got me with a broken beer bottle.” “Holy crap,” she says with her jaw hanging low. “Was he arrested?” “Nope,” I tell her with a smirk. “But I kicked his ass after that. I was satisfied with the outcome.” “You’re such a badass,” she says with a giggle and fuck… but I love that sound. So young, carefree… makes me want to turn that giggle into a moan of lust-filled passion. That’s probably not going to happen out here, so I’ll settle for a blush. “You know what I should have done?” I say as I reach out to grab the reins of her horse, right near the bridle so I can bring it to a halt with me. She turns slightly in her saddle to look at me, both hands still clutching hard on the horn. “What’s that?” “I should have loaded your ass up with the plug before I put you on that horse. Do you know how good that would have felt with you rocking against that saddle?” Sloane’s face goes beet red, which causes me to grin at her, and she shakes her head no. “Absolutely not. I wouldn’t have let you do that.” “You would have,” I confidently say. “No, I wouldn’t,” she argues. “You’d let me fuck you right now if I pulled you off that horse and threw you down in that patch of wildflowers,” I tell her as I nod toward the ground, hoping to make that blush go brighter. “Not going to happen,” she says firmly. “We’re out in the open. Anyone could see us.” “We’re miles away from anyone,” I counter. “The moose might see us, or a bear could sneak up on us,” she sniffs. Winking at her, I say, “You have a point. I don’t think I could battle a moose or bear for you.” Releasing my hold on her horse, I kick my heels in, give a cluck, and urge my horse to walk again. Because Sloan’s horse is also dumb in addition to being fat and lazy, it follows along without a second thought. “I have Tuesday night off,” I tell her offhandedly, hoping this sounds casual. “Interested in hanging with me?” “Like a date?” she asks with wide eyes. Hmmmm. Not sure setting up multiple men to fuck her as a surprise is a date, but sure, why not? “Yeah… something like that.” “Sounds great.” Her smile pops with those dimples again. Fuck, they kill me. “You work an awful lot,” she says in contemplation. “Is that par for the course?” “Pretty much,” I say simply as I scan the area, looking for a place we can stop for a bit. She says she won’t let me fuck her out here, but I’m betting I can get her to change her mind. And it’s her own fault really… flashing those dimples at me. I pull my horse to a halt and dismount. Dropping the reins to the ground, knowing the horse isn’t going anywhere, I walk to Sloane’s horse and hold my hand up to help her off.

“Why are we stopping?” She looks down at me with uncertainty, her hands still gripping the horn hard with reins trapped in between. Fucking adorable. “Just giving the horses a bit of a break,” I lie smoothly to her. She accepts what I tell her and releases her grip on the saddle. Ignoring my hand, she swings her leg over but as she starts to lower herself to the ground, I put my hands on her waist and ease her down. “Thanks,” she says and pushes her hair behind her ears. I’ve noticed this is a nervous move she makes, and I like that she’s on edge with me. Turning from her, I take the reins of both horses and lead them over to some rabbitbrush growing near the trail. I toss the reins into the branches, knowing the horses won’t move. Pulling a rolled saddle blanket from the back of my mount, I shake it out. The trail we had been riding was bordered on one side by a thick grove of juniper, birch, and pine and to the other side by a wide, flat meadow. About a thousand yards further and we’d hit the Snake River. I’d chosen this trail because it rides perpendicular to the mountain range so I’d wow Sloane with the beauty, but mostly because there aren’t any cattle on this part of the ranch. No cattle means no cowboys. That means privacy. Grabbing two bottles of water out of my saddlebag, I tell her, “Follow me.” I have two choices. Plop the blanket in the meadow grass or move into the woods and hope for a decent spot free of too much of nature’s debris. The woods would be ideal, offering more privacy and hopefully loosening Sloane’s inhibitions, but I choose the meadow because I like a challenge. Besides, fucking in a field under a bright blue sky? Nothing better. I find a nice spot perhaps no more than twenty feet from the trail and lay the blanket down. The grass is fairly sparse and clumps of sagebrush around us sweeten the already pristine air. I sit, stretch my legs out, and nod toward the spot beside me. “Take a load off, Right Hook.” She gives a soft laugh and plops down to my right, crossing her legs and reaching out for a piece of sage. Picking it off, she holds it to her nose, giving it a long sniff. “Mmmm… that smells good.” “I never get tired of that smell,” I say as I tilt my head back to let the sun warm my face a bit. I didn’t have my cowboy hat since it was too far out of the way to swing by my house, so I made due with a ball cap I had in my glovebox. Luckily, the sun isn’t too brutal today, although I won’t keep Sloane out here too long because her skin is definitely on the delicately pale side. “So why do you work so hard?” Her voice cuts through my moment of commune with the sun, and I turn to look at her beside me. “You work full time and fill your off hours with extra work. Sounds like a man on a mission to me.” “I’m taking time off now, aren’t I?” I say with a wink and lean toward her. I bring a hand to her thigh and angle my head in for a kiss. Her head pulls back and her hands come to my chest. “Seriously… why do you work so hard?” Sighing, I give her leg a squeeze, pull away from her, and lay back on the blanket. I plant my feet on the ground and rest my hands on my stomach. It takes no more than a moment for Sloane to mimic my actions and then she’s lying on her back beside me, both of us now staring up into the blue Wyoming sky dotted with white clouds. “I was married,” I tell her simply, but there’s nothing simple about this story and it’s not one I’ve told many people. “Five years ago. My wife had some addictions… several actually. Cocaine mostly because Rachel loved to party. But she was also addicted to shopping. She ran up about fifty-thousand dollars of credit card debt that I’m stuck paying.” Sloane’s head pops up, and she turns on her side to face me. I just angle my head to the right so I can

see her. Her brows are furrowed as she asks, “But isn’t that debt split when you divorce? Why do you have to pay it all?” “Because we didn’t divorce,” I tell her. Her eyes flare wide with shock, so I quickly let her off the hook. “She’s dead. Been about three years now, and the cards were in our names jointly.” Sloane places a hand on my chest, and her face melts into a symphony of sorrow. “I’m so sorry.” “I’m not,” I say coldly as I sit up and Sloane’s hand falls away. She nibbles on her lower lip with worry and confusion. “I’m glad she’s dead. She didn’t deserve this life.” Rearing back, Sloane tilts her head in astonishment as if she couldn’t believe I’d say something so cruel about another human being. She opens her mouth to say something, then shuts it just as quickly and right there… in her eyes, I see it. She starts to disconnect from me. And that just won’t do. I told her the truth but not all of it, and I’m not about to lose something else to the destruction that encompassed all that was Rachel Bonham. Snaking my hand out, I grab hers and hold onto it before she can pull away further. “She killed our child,” I say gruffly. I know it’s a bit dramatic, but I need Sloane to understand that despite the drugs, cheating, and running up astronomical bills I couldn’t afford, there’s only one true reason I’m glad she’s dead. “What?” Sloane says and she goes to her knees, inches her way closer to me with concern etched over her face. Taking a deep breath, I blow it out harshly and tell her what very few people know about me. “She was twelve weeks pregnant. I had no clue, but she went and had an abortion behind my back. I found out from a fucking credit card bill.” A deep gasp of dismay comes from Sloane’s lips, and she whispers, “That bitch. That evil bitch.” “She was so drugged out, I’m not sure she really cared what she was doing. She died about three weeks after from an overdose.” “I’m glad,” Sloane says, but I know she doesn’t really mean it. She doesn’t know Rachel or me, but even as heinous as my situation was and as much as she empathizes, I can tell Sloane has a soft heart and wouldn’t wish Rachel’s horror of a life on anyone. I wish I could be as forgiving, but remembering that pain and misery is good for me. It helps to keep me at arm’s length from others so I don’t fall for that shit again. Some would look at me right now, sitting in a sunny meadow with a pretty girl and would just shake their head with humor at the situation, but they’d be wrong in thinking I’m falling for Sloane. No, I like having sex with her. She’s cool and all, and fun to hang with, but this is one thing and one thing only. It’s about dirty sex with an angel-pure type of girl. Once I get her dirtied up, I’m sure I’ll cut her loose.

Chapter 14

Sloane “WHERE ARE WE going?” I had asked Cain when he showed up at my apartment to pick me up for our date tonight. I wasn’t sure how to dress because I hadn’t heard from him since our time at the Double J two days ago. Well, except for a short text that said, I’ll pick you up at 8pm. His response? He merely held up a black, silk scarf and said, “It’s a surprise.” In that singular moment, a thrilling quake of adrenaline laced with fear and excitement raced through my body as I suspected Cain was taking me to the sex club. I willingly let him tie the scarf around my eyes, shutting me in absolute darkness. He kissed my neck and whispered, “I hope you like it.” And that was the last thing he said to me. He helped me out to his truck and buckled me in. He never said another word, despite my questions and nervous chattering. He was purposely ignoring me, which was doing nothing more than focusing that fear and excitement into an almost painful cramp of tension low in my belly and between my legs. I have no clue how long it took us to get to our destination. With the silence and tension and darkness, my mind was racing with possibilities, so I stopped paying attention to my physical surroundings. “We’re here.” His voice rumbles low and breaks the silence like the crack of a whip. I jump slightly and my hand rises to the scarf. “Don’t take it off,” he commands me. “Not yet.” My hand drops, and I hear him get out of the truck. In moments, my door is opening and I feel cool air against my legs as I’m able to get the seatbelt off. The forecast called for the temperature to drop into the mid-50s. Because I wasn’t sure if we were going casual or dressy, I chose an outfit that was in between. A mint-green circle skirt, pleated at the waist and flared out, hanging mid-thigh. I paired it with a formfitting black turtleneck, black tights, and black ankle boots with a high heel. A cheetah-print scarf around my neck, silver hoop earrings, and a swipe of mascara were all the other accessories I’d chosen. I looked mostly sweet, which I’ve figured enough to know turns Cain on, but the high heel on the booties adds just enough sex appeal that Cain won’t forget the other side of me that he’s drawn out. Cain’s hands go to my waist and he lifts me from the truck. When my feet hit the ground, I sense hardpacked dirt as Cain puts one hand at my lower back and takes my other hand to lead me to the great unknown. My heart flutters madly within my chest, going faster and faster as he walks me toward something I’m sure is going to change my world. Up three steps that make hollow thumps and creak as we step on them. Wooden, I’m guessing. Four more steps, a pause, and I hear Cain turn the knob to a door. Is this the sex club? We step in, the air feels slightly warmer, and I hear the door close behind me. I’m slightly disoriented as I expected to hear more. I mean, if this is a sex club, I expected voices, maybe some music and moaning. I expected lots of moaning. Instead, my ears strain against the silence, and that, accompanied with the darkness I’m still immersed

in, causes my pulse to soar practically out of control. Cain steps in close to me; I can tell it’s him by his smell and the change in the air around me. A hand to the back of my head and the scarf is being pulled away. I blink several times, the light around me harsh on my sensitive eyes, and I realize I’m in what looks like a large living room. A couch to my right with a framed painting mounted on the wall. Confused, my eyes slide to Cain’s, but then a rustling sound behind him catches my attention. I lean slightly, look past Cain’s shoulder, and see a man leaning casually up against the adjacent wall that borders a dark hallway. He stands with his arms crossed across his massive chest, dark brown hair worn in messy, long layers with whiskey-colored eyes. He’s stunning, but what catches me off guard the most is the strand of thin, white rope in his hands. A slight cough behind me causes me to spin. Two men stand there, both staring at me with not unfriendly faces, but not with open smiles either. One has a slightly amused look though. They’re tall, well built, and extremely good looking. One has blond hair that’s shaved on the sides but really long on top, so long it falls to one side and hangs down to almost his jaw. He has a full, thick beard and an eyebrow ring. The other has short, dark hair, eyes just as dark, and a goatee that surrounds a set of generously full lips. He reaches down and rubs his crotch while he stares at me, and wow… just… “Sloane,” Cain says softly. I whip back to him, feeling like my heart is about to burst forth from my chest. His hands come to my face where they hold me gently, so I focus on him. “This is for you… your fantasy.” “But—” I start to question. So many questions. Where are we? Who are these men? What are they going to do to me? Will I die from pleasure? Or will this be a terrible, terrible mistake I’m making? “No buts,” he cuts me off quickly. “I only want to know if you’re in or out. I promise you won’t be hurt. I promise it will be phenomenal, and you will come over and over again. But if you’re in, then we’re starting and the only way we’re stopping is if you use a safe word, okay?” “A safe word?” I mumble, feeling like my thoughts are drowning in mud. “You say the word and we stop immediately,” he explains. “Normally, a safe word is to stop the application of pain if it gets to be too much, but I promise you that’s not what we’re doing here. Remember I told you that you’re not really cut out for a gang bang? We’re modifying things a bit. Giving you a lighter version, okay? But if it gets too overwhelming… too intense… you say the word and we stop. You can’t pick the word ‘stop’ though, because we’ll ignore it. I expect you might say that a time or two as things get intense, so choose your word carefully.” My head swivels, trying to see the three men… trying to see if there are any more. “But who are these guys? Where are we?” I ask, mostly in an effort to try to ground myself, but also because I’m confused. Are we in someone’s house? This isn’t a sex club. “The only thing you need to know is that this is private property, you’re safe, and these are guys I work with and trust.” I peek at the large guy standing behind Cain with the rope. He’s a bit scary looking in his intensity. “Are you going to introduce me—?” “Sloane,” Cain says firmly and my eyes slam back to him. “This isn’t a social. You’re going to get

fucked by strangers—and me, of course—but you don’t need to know them. They’re going to do with you what they want, and that’s part of the fantasy, right?” “But you’re going to be involved too, right?” His lips curve up, and he smiles at me in understanding. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” “And… um… I don’t think I’m ready for…” My words trail off, complete embarrassment overtaking me that these men are listening to this. “No cocks in your ass tonight,” Cain affirms with a chuckle. “I’ve already told them it’s mine, but that doesn’t mean other things won’t be in there.” A massive shudder hits me from his words. While I can see that amuses Cain, it also turns his eyes dark… the green disappearing and the brown overflowing, which I’ve come to recognize as hot desire. So now it’s decision time. I can be a big girl, tell myself this is all to further my career because it will help me get better intel. I reason to myself that if I go through with this, show Cain how much I love it— even if I have to fake it—then he’ll invite me into the club. I keep him interested with my adventurous innocence, worm my way in, and find exactly what I need to write my article. Or… I can be honest with myself and admit that I might possibly be doing this for other reasons. Maybe perhaps because I feel something with Cain that I’ve never felt before. Something has awakened inside of me, and it seems to be begging for more. And if I go ahead and admit that to myself, what does this mean for Cain and me? Once this is over and done with, will he look at me the same? If it’s different, will it be increased desire or disgust? This concerns me. “Cain,” I whisper as I lean in toward him, my hands coming to rest on his chest while he still frames my face with his own. “What about us?” “What about us?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes searching mine for clarification. “Well… how do you feel about other men… with me? I mean, there’s no way in hell I’d let you do this with four girls. It doesn’t seem to make sense to me.” Understanding fills his eyes, lightening them up a bit. He gives me a sympathetic smile and a soft kiss. “Sloane… this fantasy of yours… it turns me the fuck on. Thinking about and watching you get pleasured… I’ve been obsessed with the idea since you told me. Trust me… this is as much for me as it is for you. I think you’ve figured my tastes run on the kinky side, right?” I nod, because yeah… I figured that out. I have no clue if this will really turn Cain on or end our relationship. I have to trust him when he says he’s cool with this, and the reason I have to trust him is because I have to also trust his promise that I won’t be hurt. I am putting my life and part of my soul in his hands right now, because I will be changed by this experience. Of that, there is no doubt. Taking a deep breath, I give him permission to let the games begin. “Then my word safe word is Tennessee.” Cain slams his mouth on me for a deep and possessive kiss with hands now gripping my jawline tightly and his entire body pressed to mine. I go dizzy, try to latch onto his arms, but he’s pulling away and releasing me. He takes a step back and to the right, and the man with the rope in his hand comes into full view. He is truly magnificent both in form and face. He’s bigger than Cain and the other two guys, with muscles bulging under a tight, navy blue t-shirt and soft, faded jeans. His eyes are lasered onto me as he casually saunters forward, one hand holding the rope, the other letting his fingers idly stroke the silken-looking fibers. “Get her naked,” the man says in a rough voice full of so much command, I almost start to pull at my

clothes to obey. But then hands are all over me… Cain to my front and the two men behind me, and I’m stripped quickly. The minute my underwear clear my legs, I have a sudden moment of panic caused by my nakedness in front of three strangers and Cain… a man I’ve only known a few days. “Cain,” the large man says as he drops the rope to the ground without taking his eyes off me. “Make her come real quick… let’s loosen her up a bit.” I’m surprised when Cain doesn’t question the man or hesitate, but instead drops to his knees in front of me, his hands coming up to stroke the outside of my legs. He looks up at me, his dark lashes framing his eyes, which are now luminescent with more green than brown. “I’m going to fuck you with my tongue, Sloane.” My legs almost buckle under me just from the weight of pure sex in his tone, but I’m saved when the blond and dark-haired men behind me press in closer. I’m stunned when the blond curves his hands around me from behind, drags them down to my mound, and peels me apart right in front of Cain’s eyes. Heat crawls across my face, down my neck and to my chest as I’m drowning in absolute embarrassment. This causes Cain to chuckle, his hands to slide higher to grip my ass, and I can feel his rumbling laugh when he presses his mouth to me. He goes in for the kill, and I’m not surprised. He’s done it before, and the man is deadly with his tongue. The pleasure is exquisite, hitting me squarely between my legs, yet my entire body seems to be immersed in sensation. The blond man’s hands are holding me for Cain’s pleasure, the dark-haired man’s go to my breasts, and the large man surprises me by pulling his t-shirt up and over his head, revealing a massive but sculpted chest tattooed with flying blackbirds up his ribs. I take all of that in quickly, then my eyes flutter closed because Cain is working his mouth hard between my legs and the decadent sinfulness of these last few moments is overwhelming to my senses. I feel an orgasm curl into a knot deep within me. Cain lashes at me hard and I break apart, letting out a long moan of relief as I climax. Cain pulls his face away from me, giving me a languid smile. I return it and have to restrain myself from reaching out to him in a show of gratitude and tenderness. For a brief moment, no one else is in the room with us. It’s just him and me, sharing a moment that belongs to us alone. In this brief moment where everything else is excluded from my existence, I have almost an epiphany of sorts. That this… what we’re getting ready to do… is going to change not only me, but also Cain as well. I can’t tell you how or why I know this, but I can just sense that both of us are standing on a precipice, getting ready to take the jump, and we’re either going to soar or plummet, but whichever way it is, it’s going to be life-changing. “Goddamn, that was hot,” the blond guy says, with his hands still between my legs. He tilts them inward, dragging his fingers through me, and I’m embarrassed again over how wet I am. Cain’s brow furrows almost in confusion as our moment is shattered. The large man with the blackbird tattoos squats down, catching my attention. I watch as he picks the rope up from the ground, slides it through his hands, and stands back up straight again. Cain also stands up but takes a deferential step back as the big guy starts to circle me. I feel the blond and dark-haired guys’ hands fall from me as they step back. The giant of a man circles around me, and I warily twist my head to watch his progress. My heart is pounding, partially fearful of this guy who looks like he could command legions of warriors and partly with exhilaration at what he could possibly do to me. My nipples harden in response to my thoughts. As he comes around to my front again, his gaze flicks down to them with a satisfied smirk on his face. As if he knows what I was thinking and was expecting my body’s reaction. “Rand… tie her up and have at her,” the man says suddenly, tossing the rope to the blond. At least I know his name now, and I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse.

“My pleasure,” I hear him say, and then my arms are being tied behind my back with the rope. It’s soft feeling against my skin, except when he pulls it tight, then it a produces a sharp bite. I hold back a whimper because I know innately that these guys have been told to go easy on me, and I don’t want to look like a wimp. I can handle this. My eyes flick to Cain, and he’s watching with the focus of a hawk. I start to shoot him a smile but then a hand is on my head, fisting my hair into a stinging grip. The dark-haired guy comes to stand in front of me with a lecherous smile. The big man steps forward and brings a hand to my jaw, pressing in slightly at the hinges, causing my mouth to open. He bends, moves his face close to mine, and whispers, “I want you to suck Logan’s dick. And make it good, okay?” My eyes flick to Logan and his smile actually warms. He gives me a conspiratorial wink. With Rand at my backside, seeming to wrap endless loops around my wrists, and the man I now know to be Logan holding my hair, I’m stunned when the big guy… whose name I don’t know… gives me a sweet kiss on my cheek before letting my face go. He stuns me further when his hands go to Logan’s jeans and he deftly pops the button, dragging the zipper down. I’m beyond shocked, and God help me turned on beyond measure, when he pushes Logan’s jeans down just a bit and pulls his dick out, which is swollen with need. It’s such an intimate act, completely kinky, and I can’t help myself. I look to the big guy and blurt, “What’s your name?” His eyes move from Logan’s dick, which he casually starts stroking in his big hand, causing Logan to groan, and slide over to me slowly. His eyes squint in amusement, and he chuckles, “Bridger, darlin’. Nice to meet you.” I smile at him, weirdly relieved to know his name. It makes him slightly less intimidating. Until he says, “Now get on your knees. You got four men who need servicing.”

Chapter 15

Cain SOMETHING ABOUT BRIDGER’S tone of voice catches me off guard. I’m achingly hard already just from stripping Sloane bare and watching her blush in front of three strangers while I ate her out. Watching Rand tie her hands up and Logan hold her hair got me even harder. But the way Bridger just spoke—or maybe it was the actual words used—get me on edge a bit. I don’t want Sloane scared and while she’s been daring so far, this is a huge fucking deal that she’s doing this. People don’t wake up one morning and think to themselves, Hey, I think I’ll get fucked by four guys today. It just doesn’t work that way, and she’s dealing with enough of a shock that I sprung this on her. I did that with purpose, wanting to have her make a quick decision on whether to do this. I knew if I told her about it ahead of time, she would have probably talked herself to death on the pros and cons. No clue what her ultimate decision would have been, but tonight, she went with a gut instinct and that told her to go for it. This confirms my suspicion there’s a whole lot of gumption deep in that girl, and I want to bring it out tonight. I just don’t want her scared at the same time. Bridger turns, dips his hand into a bowl that rests on a small table, and pulls out a handful of condoms. He tosses each one of us a foiled packet. Logan uses his grip on Sloane’s hair to push her to her knees. I note with relief that she goes willingly and with a spark of excitement in her eyes. He releases her briefly so he can get the rubber on. She waits patiently as Rand, Logan, and I open our pants and pull our cocks out. Her eyes flick back and forth between us, wide and blinking. God help me… she licks her lips once. Logan gets suited up first, and he wastes no time. His hand shoots out, gripping a fistful of Sloane’s hair again at the back of her head. With his other hand on his cock, he pushes it toward her face. “Open up, baby.” She does without hesitation, and I hold back a groan as I watch his dick disappear into her mouth. I know how good that mouth is. She’s got a fucking phenomenal mouth now that I think about it and as her cheeks hollow inward to suck on Logan, I can’t help but stroke my own aching dick. Rand drops to his knees behind Sloane, sticks both hands to the insides of her thighs, and urges her to spread her legs a bit. She does so awkwardly, not having much leverage with her hands tied behind her back and Logan’s dick in her mouth. Rand rewards her by sliding two fingers inside of her, a move that causes her hips to buck, a lustful groan coming out of her mouth as Logan’s cock slips free. Bridger laughs darkly. I take a few steps closer, my eyes flicking up to Bridger’s. He gives me a look that says, We’re just getting started, and that causes a thrill to race up my spine. I want this to be so good for Sloane, and I get what Bridger’s doing now. He’s starting out with a mind fuck, making her think this is all about the men in this room. Telling Sloane she’s servicing us. He did it to throw her off kilter, take away any security I may have given her by telling her that we’re going a bit easy. She doesn’t know what to expect now, and that is purposeful on Bridger’s part. He did it to flame her fears a bit, knowing it will magnify the sensual pleasure.

Logan lets out a long groan as Sloane takes him extra deep. “Fuck, that’s good.” She responds and bobs on him faster. “Let her bend over, Logan,” Rand says roughly as his fingers pump in and out of Sloane as she rotates her hips, seeking more. She needs fucked and right now. Logan pulls out of Sloane’s mouth, drops to his knees, and then leans back so his ass rests on his heels. With both hands to Sloane’s head, he pulls her back down on him so she’s now taking him from a hovering position above his cock. This causes her back to go more perpendicular to the floor and her ass to tilt upward. “Perfect,” Rand says gruffly as his fingers slide free. In one punch of his hips, he shoves his cock into her from behind. Sloane gives a startled groan and her eyes flutters shut in pleasure. Everyone stills… Rand lodged deep in her pussy, Sloane with just the tip of Logan’s cock in her mouth, and Bridger and me watching to see what happens. It’s Sloane who gets the action going again. Pulling forward a bit from Rand, she rotates her hips and pushes back, a silent plea for him to fuck her. She then starts bobbing up and down on Logan again, who brings his hands back to her head to help guide her. Rand starts pumping his hips in but goes at a leisurely pace, not wanting to knock her off the blow job game. Rand and Logan look at each other, a beautiful, naked woman stretched and bound in between them, one fucking her from behind, the other fucking her mouth. I find myself insanely jealous of them at this moment. “Give it to her deeper,” Bridger says in a low voice. Every one of us except perhaps for Sloane knows that Bridger is talking to Logan. He’s been studying Sloane’s skills, and he thinks she has more in her. With his hands to Sloane’s head, Logan lifts his hips up on a downward swing from her. It causes his dick to go deep, and she gags. He quickly pulls her head up and she gulps a lungful of air before he pushes her back down again. “That’s it, sweet girl,” Logan murmurs to her as she gags again when he hits her throat. “You like choking on my cock, don’t you?” Logan pulls her up free again and I see Sloane’s eyes water, not sure from the lack of oxygen or if she’s scared, but either way, I don’t give a fuck the cause, because it’s going to stop. “Ease the fuck up, Logan,” I growl as I take a step toward him. Rand pushes into her deep and goes still, interested to see what happens. Logan holds Sloane’s face hovering over his dick and rather than answer to me, he turns to Bridger for direction. To my relief, he gives a short nod of affirmation. Logan turns to Sloane, gives her a soft smile, and then pulls up on her head a bit as he leans into her. He kisses her mouth gently and says, “Sorry, sweet girl. My bad.” Sloane’s eyes are filled with immediate relief, which immediately relieves me. I’ll never forgive myself if she walks away from this as a bad experience. “Let’s try something else,” Bridger says as he kneels down beside Sloane. Rand doesn’t stop fucking her though, but he goes slowly so as to not knock her off balance. Bridger quickly undoes the knot against her wrists and unlaces the intricate pattern that’s binding her. He pulls the rope away swiftly and says, “Stand her up.” Rand pulls free, his dick wet and bobbing while Logan helps Sloane to her feet. Bridger also stands straight, his dick also still hard and ready for some action at some point. “Hold your arms out, darlin’,” he says to Sloane. She complies. Bridger immediately takes the rope and starts to retie her wrists from the front, leaving

about a two-foot length free at the end. Logan doesn’t miss an opportunity to further his apology to Sloane for choking her because he puts a hand between her legs and starts rubbing at her clit. She moans, drops her head back, and pushes her hips into him. She looks at me and I give her a smile, my hand absently tugging on my own cock to try to give it some relief. In less than a minute, Bridger is pulling on the rope and Logan steps back and away from her. Bridger leads her to the middle of the living room we’re in, which is one of the newer fantasy cabins that happened to not be in use tonight, and says, “Hold your arms up.” Sloane does, no hesitation, as she doesn’t understand what’s getting ready to happen. Bridger takes the free end of the rope and reaches his own hands above his head, tilting his head back. Sloane does the same. Her eyes widen as she watches him tie the end to a large hook bolted into the ceiling. He pulls on it, removing all slack and even causing her to go on her tiptoes a bit. I know it will be biting into her skin but I also know she can take it. Bridger stands back and says, “Rand… Logan… have at her. Fuck her good and then Cain and I will finish her off.”

Chapter 16

Sloane RAND COMES TO stand in front of me. He looks up at the rope tied to the hook above, and then back to me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Now, now, now… all kinds of things we can do with you like this,” he says in a playfully ominous tone. I dig my toes down into the carpet, bracing myself for whatever’s coming. I will have to say, I’ve never been flooded with such an array of emotions all at the same time. Excitement, fear, pleasure, pain, worry, gratitude, horniness, trepidation. All of it just completely throwing my entire system out of whack. For a moment, when Logan was trying to deep throat me, I almost panicked. Not because I was truly afraid of him, and honestly, I sort of liked the rough handling a bit, but I seriously didn’t think I’d be able to breathe if he kept it up. More confusing to me than all the stuff I’d been feeling prior to that, was hearing the deadly tone in Cain’s voice when he told Logan to stop. While I know reasonably in my mind that this is just a sexual experience that is devoid of feelings and intimacy, the way Cain stepped forward in protection of me struck me straight through the chest. Then I had another moment of exquisite doubt that this was all wrong. That this could ruin anything between Cain and me for the future, but just as quickly, I had to remind myself… what future? I’m using him to do an undercover story. So I pushed that worry aside and decided to ride this experience out. “How about a kiss first before I fuck you?” Rand asks me. He has the prettiest green eyes set off by long, blond lashes. I can see tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt, and the punk-styled haircut and nose ring lend a very cool edginess to him. “Sure thing,” I tell him with a saucy smile, figuring to keep up with the way this has turned sort of playful. I wait for him to press his mouth to mine, and I even see a flash of silver indicating his tongue is pierced when he smiles back at me, but he shocks the shit out of me by dropping to his knees and sticking said pierced tongue right between my legs. I’m so surprised that I actually cry out from the sinful invasion as he stabs his tongue into me, pulls it out, and licks straight up my center. He then merely stands back up and grins at me. Giving his lower lip a lick, he says, “Fucking delicious.” Then Rand bends his knees, grabs me under my ass, and lifts me up. My legs go wide, and he unceremoniously shoves his dick inside of me. He’s not as wide as Cain is, but he’s just as long because he immediately knocks into something deep within me, which I suspect is a direct assault on my G-spot. I moan and sag against the ropes, causing them to bite into my skin more but I just don’t care. “Oh, sweet Sloane,” Rand groans as he moves inside of me. “You’re fucking perfect.” I’m vaguely aware of Logan walking around me, and then his arm circles around my waist from the rear. Pressing his cock, which is still wet with my saliva up against my ass, his hand goes in between my legs, where he softly pinches and rubs my clit. Rand starts to fuck me hard, ramming into me at a furious pace… hitting that spot deep inside me each time. Sweat breaks out on his forehead and within moments, both of us are grunting almost in tandem with every thrust. Logan’s fingers on me cause a second orgasm to start forming, and then he does the unimaginable. He brings his other hand down to grasp the bottom of Rand’s dick, counter stroking him while he

heaves in and out of me. “Yeah,” Rand groans as his eyes close in pleasure. “Fuck yeah.” Oh, jeez… that’s hot. Watching a man jerk another man off while he’s fucking me. Orgasm has launched. I cry out… a strange, gurgling sound, but it’s overshadowed when Rand slams into me, throws his head back, and starts shaking. “Oh, man, that’s good.” I can feel his dick thumping inside of me while he unloads into the condom and Logan’s fingers still pluck at my clit. I gasp in lungfuls of oxygen, my heart ready to explode, and I mentally say to myself, One down… three to go. Logan releases his hold on Rand’s dick and pulls back on my hips, causing Rand to slip free of me although he still holds my legs. The minute the head of his cock is gone—before I can even take in another breath and get my bearings—Logan is shoving into me from behind. I cry out from the sudden invasion. My eyes flick over to Cain, just over Rand’s shoulder, who seems to be holding his own dick in a strangle hold, his eyes glazed and his jaw locked tight. His eyes are pinned to my pelvis area, watching as I’m jolted from behind with every thrust that Logan is giving me. “Easy,” Logan murmurs in my ear as he fucks me. “I’ve got you.” He heaves up and into me, his breathing harsh in my ear and at odds with his tender words. I close my eyes, give into the sensations of the second guy who’s fucking me tonight, knowing that it’s not even done and it’s the most intense thing that’s ever happened to me in my life. “Get out of the way,” I hear Cain say and when I open my eyes, he’s shoving Rand away. Cain takes my legs and lowers them to the floor. I can feel Logan adjusting his stance behind me but he never misses a stroke, except now the angle has him moving even more shallowly within me. Cain leans in, gives me a swift kiss. When he pulls away, he murmurs, “Want to taste you again.” Oh, God. He wouldn’t? Not while Logan was… Cain drops to his knees and hikes one of my legs over his shoulders, while Logan continues to pound me from behind. He has to shift slightly again, and he must be bending his legs because now he’s able to drive up into me again with bruising force. Then Cain’s mouth is back on my pussy. I immediately start to convulse again as I realize he has to be licking at Logan while he fucks me. There’s just not enough room down there otherwise. I moan, trying to hold off my orgasm, but then I make the mistake of looking down at Cain’s head bobbing in between my legs, and I lose it. Knowing he’s down there, eating me out, probably licking Logan’s cock… it’s just too much. I come apart from the inside out and scream from the force of the pleasure. “Who’s going to be next?” Logan grunts as he moves even faster within me. Cain stands up, wiping his mouth off with his hand. “My turn,” Bridger says gruffly, and my eyes fly to him. He’s the one I’ve been worried about. He’s the one who scares me the most, and yet I feel like he’s the one who’s going to push me in just the right way. “Get ready, dude,” Logan pants. “I’m about to come.” Logan’s cock pumping in and out of me like a jackhammer feels so good, and I watch with wide eyes as I now take in Bridger stepping up to me. His jeans are open, pushed to just below his hips, and he is massive. Around the same size as Cain and shining from the tip of his cock is a barbell pierced through the head. He strokes himself roughly with one hand while ripping a foil packet open with his teeth. “F-u-u-c-k,” Logan curses as he slams into me, his fingers digging down hard into my hips and my feet

momentarily coming up off the floor. He leans his face forward, clamps his teeth onto my shoulder, and bites into me as he starts to come. The tingles left over from the last orgasm Cain handed me seem to spark again, and I’m vaguely aware of Bridger rolling the condom on over that massive erection as I sag against the ropes even more, all feeling in my hands gone. Logan steps away, the loss of him inside me almost leaving me barren feeling, and then Bridger’s strong arms are releasing me from the hook. My knees buckle, and he’s surprisingly gentle as he lowers me to the carpet. I look at Cain, who has a half smile on his face, his hand idly stroking at his cock again. Bridger turns me, places me on my knees, and pushes me forward. My tied wrists come out in an attempt to support my upper body, but Bridger pushes on me harder so I go down to my elbows. This leaves my ass high in the air and he pushes a jean-clad leg in between mine, swiping it back and forth to spread them further apart. “Lube,” is all he says, and it sounds like a surgeon asking for a scalpel during surgery. The skin on my neck prickles and a jolt of fear travels from head to toe. I try to turn my head to see what’s going on, but I can’t get a good look down on my elbows. I feel hands on my ass, pulling my cheeks apart, and a cold drizzle of lube hitting me dead center. “Don’t,” I say as I try to rise up, but Bridger places one large hand on my back to hold me in place and smacks the other against my ass just hard enough to get me to shut up. “I know you don’t want a cock in your ass, darlin’, so quit worrying,” he says gruffly. It doesn’t ease my anxiety because I know something’s going back there. “Relax,” I hear Cain murmur and I take a deep breath, choosing to trust he won’t let this large man hurt me. Bridger’s fingers go in between my ass, rubbing up against my opening, and then dropping lower, pulling the lube along. He rubs all over my pussy, pushing fingers inside of me and massaging my insides. I groan, drop my head down, and stare at the carpet briefly before closing my eyes and just concentrating on the feeling. His hand is gone, but then I feel the head of his cock rubbing there. Even through the latex of the condom, I can feel the nuances of the piercing against my flesh and I can’t help shuddering. He pushes in, just the head, and I take a deep breath to get ready for his invasion. Instead, his hand slaps at my ass again, this time hard and making the sound of a cracking whip. “Shit,” I cry out, my head rearing upward, and then he slams inside of me, rocking my whole body forward. And Christ, that feels good, despite the sting on my ass and my tender flesh he just stretched wide. Bridger starts a steady pace, his breathing loud and choppy. I glance up, seeing Rand and Logan sitting on the couch watching us. They’ve disposed of the condoms, and their cocks are soft as they lay against their stomachs. Rand shoots me a wink, and then just to shock the hell out of me I bet, Logan reaches his hand out and curls his fingers around Rand’s dick, lightly rubbing his thumb over the soft head. Rand lets out a contented sigh and his head falls back against the couch, eyes closed in bliss. He starts swelling right before my eyes and under Logan’s strokes. It’s too much. I drop my head back down again and concentrate on the feel of Bridger… the third guy to fuck me tonight. And just when I didn’t think I could get overloaded any further, Bridger starts to talk dirty to me. With fingers pressing into the globes of my butt cheeks, Bridger asks, “You like this, Sloane? Like getting fucked by multiple guys?” I grunt my assent. “Is your pussy sore yet?” he taunts as he tunnels in and out. “Because it ain’t a good fucking unless it

hurts.” I can’t even answer; the words are so filthy and provocative that I wouldn’t trust my voice. But I don’t think he wants an answer because he says, “Next time… you’re going to take three of us at once and you’re going to love it.” God, I think he’s right. I think I would, but then again… I’m full-on delirious at this point. “I heard you want Cain’s cock in your ass,” Bridger says thoughtfully, never pausing in his thrusts. “I think I’ll help move that along.” That’s all the warning I get before he’s pushing a finger inside of me. And not the gentle easing in that Cain did the other night, but straight in deep and to the third knuckle, causing me to cry out in astonished pleasure. With the same motions of his thrusts, he pulls that finger out and rams it back in. It feels good, I don’t want him to stop, so I actually say, “Don’t stop” when he pulls his finger free, only to scream out when he pushes two back in. The invasion burns, causing tears to prick my eyes, but immediately morphs into a fullness that ramps up the pleasure of his cock inside of me. In and out his fingers go, his dick matching pace. I feel dizzy from the overload of pleasure, now grunting like some kind of animal. Then Cain is in front of me, kneeling down… resting his ass on his heels. His hand comes under my chin and he lifts my face up, holding tight as my entire body is being rocked back and forth by Bridger. His eyes are filled with a mixture of worry and lust. His cock is swollen and dark through the latex of the condom. “You okay?” he asks. I immediately nod, and then gasp as my ass starts burning again. I think Bridger just stuck a third finger inside of me. I can’t tell for sure though because I’m about ready to pass out from the avalanche of sensations. “I bet she’d take your cock back here right now,” I hear Bridger say, but Cain shakes his head in the negative. “Suit yourself,” Bridger says as he removes his fingers, and then both hands are at my hips. He really plows into me from behind, slamming into me so hard our skin cracks against each other. He hits me so deep it almost hurts, and my mouth falls open in a silent scream of pleasure. “Gonna come,” Bridger says roughly, and I’m surprised when he pulls out. I can hear the sound of the condom snapping and then warm liquid hits my back. I turn my head, pulling away from Cain’s fingers still under my chin, and see Bridger with his head tilted back and eyes squeezed shut. His hand works his cock, jacking himself through an orgasm as he unloads his semen onto me. This stuns me, but I don’t question it. It’s sort of dirty hot, and I don’t mind. Three down, the best yet to come. Cain takes me by the shoulders and helps me up into a kneeling position. I feel Bridger’s semen sliding down my back onto my butt. As if reading my mind, Cain whips his t-shirt off and reaches around me, wiping the mess up and then tossing it aside. He then puts his hands to my face again and gives me the sweetest kiss he’s ever bestowed on me. There’s not an ounce of lust in it, although I know by the massive erection he’s sporting that he’s turned on like nothing else, and this relieves me. “You are like the sexiest woman I’ve ever been with,” he murmurs, and then kisses me again. “And I can’t wait to fuck you right now with these guys watching.” I don’t have a chance to respond, not that I’d know what to say to that, but I do know that a new flood of wetness seeps out of me at the thought of Cain giving me the best I’ll have tonight to make this an unforgettable experience. One of Cain’s hands comes to my tied wrists where he latches onto them, and the other goes to a shoulder where he gently eases me onto my back.

“Little help here, guys,” Cain says. Rand and Logan push off the couch, both of their dicks now standing at half mast from their open flies. Cain pushes up off the floor. To my surprise, he starts taking off the rest of his clothing. While Rand, Logan, and Bridger remained completely clothed, which was sort of hot and made me feel dirty and vulnerable in a way, I’m touched that Cain wants to be completely naked with me. As he disrobes, Rand and Logan kneel down on the carpet beside me. “She’s ready for a hard fucking now,” Logan says in a low voice. From the other side of me, Rand says, “Cain’s going to own that pussy of yours, Sloane.” A shudder ripples through me, knowing that they are talking filthy for my benefit. Rand even takes a hand, puts it between my legs, and slides a finger into me while Cain pushes his jeans and underwear off. “She’s soaked for you, man,” Rand says, then pulls his finger out and lets it circle my clit in soft strokes. “She’s fucking beautiful,” Logan murmurs. I groan, rotate my hips… silently demanding more. Cain looks down at me for a minute… eyes intense and his scar vivid and angry looking, making him appear dangerous and even more sinfully unattainable. His eyes then flick behind me to Bridger. I tilt my head back and get an upside-down view of Bridger sitting in an armchair, his dick tucked away and one leg crossed casually over the other. He’s resting his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow on the chair, smiling at me in amusement. A soft thud catches my attention, and I look down my body to see Cain has fallen to his knees in between my legs. Without a word of encouragement or instruction, Rand and Logan’s hands go to my thighs. They each grab one of my legs. Raise them up. Spread them wide. I know in this moment that I am not the first girl these two men have played with. They’re too synchronized, and a stab of jealousy goes through me as I also realize that Cain probably was with them as well. Cain crawls over me, my hips raised up off the floor, my pussy wide open for him to take. He grabs his dick, lines up, and then presses down into me with both of his hands supporting himself near my ribs. “Christ, that feels good,” he mutters as he closes his eyes briefly. When they open back up, I almost combust from what I see in his eyes. Lust. Care. Determination. He’s going to make me come again. Cain starts slamming into me hard, jarring my spine against the carpet. It hurts but what’s going on between my legs feels so good, I can’t complain. A bead of sweat rolls off Cain’s temple and lands on my chest. I take all of this in at once. Three guys surrounding me. All of them holding me down. One watching from a casual perch as if all of this is normal. All of them having fucked me. I’ve come three times already. When Logan slips a hand across my stomach and down between my legs, I start orgasming again the minute he touches my clit. “Yes, Sloane,” Cain grunts as he hammers into me faster and faster. “I can feel you trembling all around my cock when you come.”

My hips punch up, trying to pull Cain into me deeper. I tear my legs free from Rand and Logan, wrapping them around Cain’s lower back and pressing my heels in hard to grab as much of a physical connection with him as I can. My bound hands reach up, go over his head, and I pull him down to me. I see a smile on his face just before his mouth connects with mine. Shoving my tongue in, I kiss him hard, and that’s when I feel his entire body seize up. The muscles in his neck contract under my palms, and he groans hotly into my mouth as he grinds down against me while he comes. He seems to come forever, his hips rotating, his pelvis pressed flat to mine with Logan’s hand caught in between us. It sets another ripple off through me and for a moment, I think I might lose consciousness.

Chapter 17

Cain THE MINUTE I pull out onto the highway and put a few miles between us and the fantasy cabin we were just in, I reach over and pull Sloane’s blindfold off. She was confused as to why she would need to wear it on the way out, so I had to scramble with a blatant lie and tell her it was Bridger’s house, and that he didn’t like anyone knowing where he lived. My gut burns over that lie, and it burns even more when she asks, “How do you know men who will do stuff like that?” My mind races, trying to come up with another lie, but she piles on more questions. “I mean… you’ve clearly done that with them before. Have you done that with lots of other girls?” Her voice is curious, but I hear an underlying tone of vulnerability that a flat-out lie won’t ease. “Sloane… I’ve known those guys forever. We enjoy some kinky shit, so yes, we’ve all done stuff like that before. But not like we did tonight.” “And I still don’t understand… doesn’t it bother you to watch other men with me?” Finally, I can tell a truth. “It hasn’t before,” I say quietly as we drive down the darkened highway. “But tonight… I had some problems.” “Like what?” “Jealousy,” I say simply. “Envy. Doubt.” “Doubt about what?” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “About whether it was the right thing to bring you there tonight. Whether I even had the right to ask you to do something like that.” She doesn’t respond but chooses to look out the passenger window at absolutely nothing since the highway is desolate and black as midnight. After three more miles, I slow down and put my blinker on, even though there’s not a car in sight. I start to turn left into my driveway when she asks, “Where are we?” “My house,” I tell her as my truck bumps down the dirt lane. “It’s late, and I didn’t want to drive all the way back into Jackson tonight. I’ll take you home in the morning.” And yeah… that’s definitely different. I’ve never brought a woman to my home before. I lived in town with Rachel, but I decided I liked solitude after the shit storm she put me through, so I rented a little cabin that is closer to my work at The Wicked Horse. We pull up to the side of the house, my headlights illuminating my Harley that I’ll soon need to cover for the winter season. Sloane gets out of the truck wordlessly, following me onto my small porch as I work the key into the lock. I push the door open, flip the light switch on just inside, and motion for her to precede me in. She does so, glancing left and right to take in my small abode. It’s not much, but then I don’t need much. Besides that, I can’t afford anything more. It’s a small, two-bedroom cabin with pine floors, a large front room that combines as the kitchen/living room, and a short hall with two bedrooms separated by a shared bathroom. The guy who owns it usually rents it out to tourists but was more than happy to accept a year-round lease from me for the stability. “It’s nice,” Sloane says as she sits her purse down on an end table.

I flip on another light for the kitchen area and head toward the fridge. “You want something to drink?” “I’m good,” she says and walks over to a small bookcase I have beside a desk on one wall of the living room. The place is so small that I don’t even have a couch. Just a ratty old recliner, my desk, a side table, and the bookcase. She peruses the photographs on one shelf. “Family?” she asks. I walk over to her, stand beside her, and point to one frame. “That’s my mom and stepdad, Walt.” “How long have they been married?” “Most of my life. My dad took off when I was little; traveling a rodeo circuit. Walt’s like my real dad, I guess you could say.” “And who is this?” she asks, pointing to a pretty brunette with her arm wrapped around a big, burly guy and two dark-haired kids standing in front of them. “That’s my sister, Claudia, her husband J.C. and my niece and nephew… Carrie and Tucker.” She looks at some other photos. They’re of the same people because they’re the only ones important enough to me to hold a place here. I’m in a few of them, usually with a big, toothy grin. What can I say? I dig my family. I tuck my hands in my pockets, unsure of what to do. Normally when I’m with Sloane, I have a hard time keeping my hands off her. Conversation hasn’t been our main priority, and I’m not even sure how to just hang out with a woman. “Want to watch some TV?” I lamely say. Her gaze goes over to my recliner, the only place to sit other than my desk chair, and then over to my small TV that sits on the edge of my desk because there’s nowhere else to put it. She looks back to me with a smirk on her face and a cocked eyebrow. “I meant in my room,” I tell her with a grin. “Let’s go get a shower and crawl into bed. I’m sure there’s something we can watch.” “Okay,” she says quietly, eyes lowering to the floor, and I realize she might feel just as awkward as I do right now. Pulling my hands out of my pockets, I take her by the shoulders, pulling her into me. I wrap myself around her and give her a kiss on top of her head. “Tonight was amazing, Sloane. Possibly the most amazing sexual experience of my life.” “So you liked it?” she asks hesitantly. “Liked it?” I ask with mock affront she’d even ask such a question. “Watching you come over and over? Watching you get pleasured until I thought you might pass out? Hell… fucking you so hard I thought I might pass out?” I drop my voice, squeeze her harder. “Watching you do something daring and brave and oh so very dirty?” “So you liked it,” she concludes, her voice semi-muffled since her face is pressed into my chest. “I fucking loved it,” I assure her. And I did. God, I fucking loved it, even if I had a hard time swallowing down some jealous tendencies. Before, when I’ve done something like that with the guys, I’ve never really thought too much about the woman. I wanted her to enjoy it, and I worked hard to make sure that occurred, but honestly… those experiences were about me first and foremost, and then after that, I wanted my buds to have a great time. But tonight… it was all about Sloane and I hope she understands that. “Come on,” I say as I release her, taking just one of her hands in mine to lead her to the bathroom. “Let’s get in the shower, and then I’ll tuck you into bed. I know you’re exhausted.”

She follows behind me, her hand firmly clasped in mine. “I don’t need you to be sweet to me, Cain. I’m a big girl.” “I know that,” I tell her, and then add on, “I apparently just can’t fucking help myself where you’re concerned.” She gives a husky laugh as I flip the light on to the small bathroom. It’s got a tub, shower, and small vanity beside the toilet. It will be a tight fit for both of us, but I am looking forward to soaping her body down good. I turn on the water, adjust the temperature, and turn back to Sloane. Her hands immediately go to my belt buckle, where she loosens it and pulls the leather free. She quickly undoes the top button, unzips my fly, and then reaches her hand in to grab ahold of my soft cock. It immediately comes to life, and I groan when she squeezes me. “What are you doing, Sloane?” “Going to give you a blow job,” she says simply. I swell even harder, but I shake my head in denial. “You’re exhausted. Let’s get you to bed.” “I am exhausted,” she agrees. “But not so exhausted as I can’t do this for you.” “For me?” I clarify. “Because of what you did for me tonight.” “It’s not necessary—” I start to say, but then she’s stroking my cock and the words just die in my throat. There’s no way I can turn down this offer.

* SLOANE IS DEAD to the world, her head on my chest and an arm thrown across my waist. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep after our shower. Hell, after that amazingly fantastic blow job just before the shower, I should be ready to fall asleep too but my mind is racing. Racing with all things Sloane Meyers. Like why in the hell I brought her to my house? Or why I’m content to lay in this bed with her? Or for fuck’s sake, why did I tell her we’d get up early so I could take her to breakfast? Breakfast! I don’t take women to breakfast. I sneak out of their beds and hope they don’t wake up. And since I’m thinking about all the ways in which my head is fucked over this woman, I can’t believe I bucked up against Bridger tonight. He was directing our scenario, and he told Logan to give it to her deep. That meant Logan should give it to her deep until she couldn’t take it anymore, and that meant I should sit there and stroke my dick and watch. But I directly contravened his order by telling Logan to ease up. Watching her gag and tears come to her eyes, I was ready to fucking throw a punch if he didn’t do as I said. I mean… what in the ever-loving hell is wrong with me? Deciding that perhaps holding her soft body against mine and smelling my shampoo in her hair isn’t helping matters, I gently slide out from under her. I can’t help myself when I pull the covers up over her shoulders, but I absolutely restrain myself from brushing her hair from her face. I’m not that much of a pussy over this girl. Yet. I walk naked out into the living room, cross into the small kitchen, and grab a beer from my fridge. After twisting the cap and disposing of it, I take a hefty pull. Then another. Maybe I should get drunk, then I’ll stop obsessing about her and how fucking hard I came in her

tonight. It’s like watching Rand, Logan, and Bridger fucking her caused some sort of caveman to come out in me. I had to fuck her harder and better. Had to make her come longer. Had to bury to the hilt and unload the biggest nut ever inside of her. And there was a moment I wished I wasn’t wearing a condom. I wished I was squirting into her bare pussy, coating it and marking her from the inside as mine. What the ever-loving fuck? Sighing, I head into the living room. I sit on the cold, plastic desk chair and run my finger over the pad of my laptop to wake it up from sleep mode. I don’t use it for much… surfing for some porn at times, but mostly to check email. I pull it up, glancing through the subject lines, deleting spam as I go along. Then I see the subject line “Friday Night?” and the sender is Amy Mason. I double click on the email and read it. Cain, I signed the fantasy agreement with Bridger today, and he said he’d email you a copy. I’m really looking forward to seeing what you’ve got for me. I suggest Friday after this one. Will that work for you? Amy

Christ. I had forgotten all about Amy and the fact that I’d told Bridger I’d do a rape fantasy in her house for her. While most of my concerns had been alleviated by Amy signing an agreement laying out the scenario, the decision to take this job was done before I ever met Sloane. Before I promised her monogamy while we were together. Shit. I scrub my hand over my hair, itching at the short bristles on the back as they prickle with tension. Can I fuck Amy as part of my job with The Wicked Horse and still keep my word to Sloane? My gut tells me no… that no sane woman would consider that a reasonable exception to the “no-cheating” rule. What’s more important is the fact that I absolutely don’t want to fuck Amy Mason. Sure… great pussy and all that, and fuck yeah… those types of scenarios are seriously hot. But for the life of me, the thought of it is almost distasteful to me for some reason. Still… I have a job to do, and Sloane Meyers has been in my life less than a week. I might just be merely infatuated with her, and I can’t let something fleeting fuck with my world as I know it. I’m not giving up this gig and the money that will come as a result for anything. I quickly type back a reply, even though my stomach cramps with each word that streams onto the screen. Amy, Friday after this one is good. But just to give me some added protection, respond back to me with the details of what you want. I know you signed the agreement, but I’d feel better if I had the email from you, especially since Charles isn’t going to be involved in this one.

I don’t even sign my name, but I hit send before I can talk myself out of it. I’m going to honor my commitment to her and Bridger because I said I would. It’s a job to me, that’s all. I know that won’t ever fly with Sloane, so as much as it’s causing my chest to squeeze, I’m going to have to call it off with her before then.

The only question is when? That leaves me with a week and a half to get her out of my system. Perhaps if I just fuck her soundly every night before then, the fantasy of this girl and what she does to me will wear thin. Then I can cut her loose and have a clean conscience when I fuck Amy Mason. At least I think that’s how this will work.

Chapter 18

Sloane IN THE BRIGHT LIGHT of day, as we pulled out of Cain’s driveway onto Highway 191, I immediately had my bearings. The blindfold last night had left me disoriented and because we were in what appeared to be a house, I had no clue where we were. But as I recognize Sleeping Indian Mountain on the eastern horizon and knowing we’re heading toward Jackson, it hits me that we must have been near The Wicked Horse last night. While we were definitely not in the building that Colton referred to as The Silo, we must have been on the property. And who knows… maybe it was Bridger’s house, but maybe it was something else. Despite the fact that last night was the most intense, sensual, and erotic thing I ever could have imagined happening to me, I still don’t know jack shit about the sex club. I had hoped by carefully prodding Cain about his relationship with Rand, Logan, and Bridger, something would be revealed that could clue me in on where to turn. But he was tight lipped and honestly, I can’t blame him. He’s been hired to protect a secret, and it’s clear he also has tight bonds of friendship with those guys. I’m nothing to him and completely untrustworthy. Which is why I realized last night before I drifted off to sleep that I would have to work the Callie Hayes angle instead. And yet, once again… I’m going to try to use Cain to get my foot in the door to try to build a story I don’t believe exists. I’m scrambling to save my job and career, and I’m doing it at the expense of a man who in just a few short days I’ve come to care about a great deal. And yes, I do care about him. There’s no way I could share that experience with him and not feel a bond. There’s no way I could have slept in his embrace last night, or felt his lips on mine for a good morning kiss, and not feel something for him. And the problem is I actually feel too much for him. So much so that perhaps I need to consider a new job and just leave all this sordidness behind. Maybe I could just work at the leather store for the rest of my life and let Cain fuck me each night, hoping that something deeper would continue to develop. Shaking my head and trying to get back on track, I start a calculated conversation that I hope will lead to some fruition. “So what do you have planned today after breakfast?” Cain doesn’t take his eyes off the road but says, “Not much actually. I was hoping Walt would have some work for me. He owns a construction company, but he rarely has any part-time openings in the summer months. Want to do something?” I take a deep breath and spit out my lie. “I can’t actually. I have to be at work at noon, but I’m hoping to run by Governor Hayes’ local office here and see if I could talk to someone.” Cain actually jerks in his seat and looks at me briefly before turning back. “Governor Hayes?” I give a girlish laugh, tuck my hair behind my ear, and continue to build my story. “Yeah… I’ve been reading up on the local politics and saw he was throwing the weight of his office behind a bill that’s been introduced to put tougher controls on doctors prescribing pain medications.” His head now swivels completely my way, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “And you hope to do what by going to his office?” After another girlish laugh, I give him a sheepish look. “Oh, well, I want to volunteer in some way for his campaign. I’ve always had a big interest in politics, especially at the local level. Worked as a page in

the Tennessee senate, volunteered for some election campaigns, stuff like that.” Cain silently digests that and before he can start poking holes in my story, I decide to lay a truth on him to help ease my conscience a bit. “And I’ve got a vested interest in that issue.” His head swivels to mine again, giving me a questioning look before turning back to the road. “What’s your interest in that?” I take in a breath, close my eyes momentarily, and ask my mom forgiveness for me using her this way. “My mom has struggled with addiction to pain medications. She overdosed once… intentionally.” “What?” Cain exclaims, his head now snapping my way with disbelief in his eyes. I hold his look. “Six years ago. She had so many drugs in the house. Prescribed by various doctors, not checking in with each other—pharmacies not communicating. It was just too easy for her to have the power to try to kill herself.” “I’m sorry,” he says softly, taking one hand off the wheel and reaching out to grab mine. He raises it to his mouth, presses a kiss to my wrist, and releases it. “I can’t even imagine.” “But you can,” I point out to him solemnly. “Rachel died of an overdose.” He nods in understanding but makes a better point. “Not the same. Those were illegal drugs, and she was just being stupid. It sounds like your mom may have been very lost.” Tears suddenly well up in my eyes because Cain just described my mother perfectly. Absolutely lost. One tear slips out and runs down my cheek in a warm river. I hastily wipe my hand over it, but Cain notices. His hand comes back to grab mine, and this time, he doesn’t let it go. He holds me securely, conveying a sadness he shares with me and giving me permission to continue to grieve if I want. I have the sudden and overwhelming urge to throw myself at him. Make him pull the truck over, crawl onto his lap, and snuggle into him. Demand he wrap his arms around me and tell me that he would forgive any stupidity on my part for the terrible lies I’ve been telling him, and more importantly, for using ugly truths to get a stupid fucking story. The sound of Cain’s cell phone ringing cuts the silence, and he releases my hand so he can grab it off the seat beside him. He takes a quick look at the screen, and a smile lights his face. “Hey Mom,” he says when he connects. He turns his head to me, gives me a smile, and turns back to the road. He listens to his mother on the other line, and finally says, “Yeah… I’m almost to Jackson now. I’ll swing by really quick and take a look, but I can’t stay long. I’ve got someone with me and we’re heading to breakfast.” He listens some more before shaking his head with amusement. “Yes, it’s a woman and yes you can meet her.” Cain gives a hearty laugh and says, “Bye, Mom.” I can still hear her talking on the other end when he disconnects. After he tosses the phone back on the seat again, my heart flops over like a puppy getting belly rubs when he takes my hand again, giving it a squeeze. “Hope you don’t mind stopping by my mom’s shop for a minute. The hot water heater isn’t working, and I’m betting the pilot light just needs relit.” “Wow,” I say with a chuckle. “Meeting your mom. This is just moving way too fast for me.” Cain laughs, squeezes my hand, and then makes an ache form between my legs when he says, “I don’t think so. Not after you made all my dirty dreams come true last night.” My face flushes red, and I know he’s teasing me. He’s not taking me to meet his mom. I just happen to be along for the ride. “Listen,” Cain says, his voice now serious again. “I know Governor Hayes’ daughter. We went to school together, and she’s involved with my friend Woolf that owns The Double J. I could arrange an

introduction if you want. Callie’s going to be managing his campaign, and I’m sure she’d love you to volunteer.” And just like that, Cain gives me exactly what I was hoping to get when I brought up my interest in Governor Hayes. An introduction to his daughter. And I feel so terrible about it that I just want to throw up.

* “WORD OF WARNING,” Cain says just before he pulls open the glass storefront door of Molly’s Dream Nails. “My mom can be a bit intense, so try not take what she says too seriously, okay?” “Oh-kay,” I say slowly, not quite sure what to expect. Cain opens the door, motioning me in. I step into what looks to be a very fashionable and trendy nail salon with six tiny desks made of black and hot pink lacquer, and two cushy reclining chairs of cream leather with large foot basins at the bottom for pedicures. Three of the desks are occupied with technicians doing nails of what looks to be local women by the way they’re dressed, but I don’t recognize Cain’s mom as one of them. Cain strides by the technicians, who are all young and look at him with appraising looks, as does one of the customers who has to be approaching sixty years old. He tips his head, pops those dimples, and says, “Ladies.” They all giggle and smile, fluttering their eyelashes. I want to roll my eyes, but I hurry along behind Cain as he heads toward a closed door. Just before he opens it, I nudge his elbow and give him an amused smirk, “Do you always leave a wake of giggling women fanning themselves wherever you go?” Cain blinks at me in surprise and points to his face, “With this ugly mug? I don’t think so.” “Ugly?” I ask in confusion. “You have one of the most beautiful faces I’ve ever seen. Hell, I want to fan myself half the time I’m around you.” He blinks at me again, looking stunned and disbelieving. He even cocks his eyebrow and levels a skeptical smirk at me. “What?” I say in exasperation. “You surely know how hot you are? You don’t need me to say it to you, and your ego is plenty big enough without me needing to stroke it—” Cain’s mouth on mine effectively shuts me up. His tongue in my mouth and his hand on my ass causes me to moan. I think I hear a few of the women give dreamy sighs behind us. The kiss is all too brief, but he only wanted to make a point. He levels a metaphorical exclamation point on it when he pulls his mouth from my lips, tilts it toward my ear, and whispers, “If we didn’t have an audience, I’d go for much more than a kiss right now.” “Maybe there’s a bathroom,” I suggest breathily, because I’m so down with going for more. To hell with breakfast and meeting his mom and the women gawking at us. Cain chuckles, but he whispers low. “Let’s stop talking about this right now. I don’t need to be sporting a boner in front of my mom, and she’s just on the other side of this door.” When he pulls his face back from me, his eyes are filled with laughter and amusement. It makes him even more stunning to me, and my tongue gets all tied. So I just mumble, “Okay,” and Cain nods, opening the door. He walks in first. I can’t see anything but his broad back for a minute, then he bends over and says, “Mom… get off the floor.”

Extending his hand out, he squats a little and then stands back up. I move to the side to see him helping his mom up. “What were you doing?” Cain says in a loving but exasperated voice. “Seeing if I could tell if the pilot light is out,” she says as she brushes dust off her jeans. “But you don’t even know where—” Cain starts to point out, but then he’s ignored as she turns to me. Cain’s mom is small… maybe an inch shorter than me. She has his same dark hair and hazel eyes that she wears very short with wispy fringes around her face. If I had to guess her age, I’d say early fifties only because I know Cain is thirty, but she’d pass for way younger. “Oh, my word,” his mom says as she steps forward, arms outstretched and to the side. Her eyes rake me up and down, and I’m wearing the same outfit that I wore to my very first and probably only gang bang. Luckily, it wasn’t too rumpled and was at least stylish and chic. Her arms come to my shoulders and she beams at me. “You are just gorgeous.” I blush prettily and watch as Cain’s mom turns to him, still holding me firm in her grasp. “Isn’t she gorgeous, Cain?” his mom asks him with the same sparkling smile of pure joy that her son has brought a woman to see her. Cain shakes his head in amusement and slides his eyes to me. His gaze pins me in place and my stomach flip-flops when he says, “Totally gorgeous.” His mom’s smile burns brighter, and she actually sighs. I hold my own sigh in, but it’s hard because damn… that was swoon worthy. Turning to me, she gives a push and guides me back toward the door we just came through. She loops an arm through mine and starts to usher me that way. “I’m Molly Bonham, Cain’s mother, but you probably already figured that out.” “I’m Sloane Meyers,” I tell her as we go through the door, leaving Cain behind. I’ve known Cain’s mom for all of thirty seconds, and I’ve already lied to her the minute I told her my fake last name. Molly leads me over to her technician table, and the other women all look at me with avid interest. Molly indicates a chair on the opposite side, and I sit. She takes her own chair and then reaches her hands out, snapping her fingers in an indication she wants my hands. I hold them out to her uncertainly. She grasps them and studies, turning them left and right. “You have beautiful hands. You come back and I’ll give you a manicure, but for now, I’ll just give you a massage while we talk.” Molly pumps some lotion in her hand from a bottle on her desk and starts rubbing it into one hand, her fingers digging down into the muscles of my palm, and damn… that feels good. “So, how long have you and Cain been dating?” Molly asks with a cheery smile. “And don’t leave out any details. This is practically unheard of. Well, not since—” “Rachel?” I blurt out. Molly blinks at me in surprise, and then shakes her head with disgusted look on her face. “Lord, no. He never brought Rachel to meet me when they were dating. I was thinking of his high school sweetheart… oh, what was her name? At any rate, he was crazy about her, but she was a heartbreaker. Broke all the boys’ hearts if I remember, but that was high school crush-type stuff. Well, and then, of course, he was gone in the Marines and hardly had time to come home and visit, and since Rachel, well… he’s not had much interest…” Molly goes on and on about Cain, and my head spins trying to keep up with her. This little dynamo of a woman who is vigorously massaging my hands and laying out her son’s entire dating history to me is absolutely charming. I listen… absorbing everything I can about this mysterious man. A man who takes his job seriously.

Fucks women in parking lots. Has kinky group sex with his friends. Puts butt plugs up my ass at my workplace. Hell… Molly is so damn normal and “mom-like” that it starts to give me new perspective on Cain. It’s almost as if I can envision him as a normal guy. “…and then he just works so hard between his job at The Wicked Horse, then working part time at the Double J, and for my Walt. I worry about him, and he needs a girl to keep him straight. He has to know there’s more to life than working to pay off all that debt Rachel left him.” “She sounded like a bad piece of work,” I comment softly. “She was the worst,” Molly says in a low voice as she leans in on me. “She cheated on Cain… ran around with all sorts of bad folks, high on drugs. Ran up all those credit cards. Honestly, while I hate for anyone to die, I couldn’t help but be relieved she was out of his life. And now here you are… the first girl he’s seemed interested in since her.” I find it interesting Molly didn’t mention the abortion Rachel had. It could be she just didn’t think it was couth to mention it to me as a stranger, but I’m betting she doesn’t know. Knowing what I do about Cain, I’d put money on the fact he didn’t share with his mother because he didn’t want to cause her pain. “So how did you two meet?” Molly asks as she pumps more lotion and starts to massage my other hand. “Um… actually at The Wicked Horse,” I tell her with a mischievous grin. “I ended up kicking a guy in the balls who tried to touch me on the dance floor and Cain had to escort me out.” “And you’ve been dating ever since,” Molly says with a romantic sigh. Yeah, well… not dating. We’re fucking, Molly. Just fucking. In fact, your son brought me to a strange house last night and fucked me with three of his buddies. It’s hard for me to even reconcile that notion… that it just happened last night, and here I am having a conversation with Cain’s mom. It’s just surreal to me. The door to the back room opens, and I turn my head to see Cain coming out. He gives me a quick smile, rolling his eyes when he sees his mom rubbing my hands. “Okay, Mom… let Sloane go now. We’ve got to go,” Cain says as he walks up to us. “Pilot light was out. I relit it for you.” Molly pats the hand she was massaging and looks at me. “It was lovely to meet you, Sloane, and I hope to see you again.” I give her hand a squeeze as I stand from the chair. “It was really nice to meet you too, Molly. Hope to see you again soon.” “Well, let’s make it this Sunday,” Molly says with a devious smile leveled at her son. “Cain usually comes to eat Sunday lunch with us. His sister and her family will be there too. You come with Cain, okay?” My head swivels to Cain, who I imagine might be gritting his teeth over his mom’s offer, but instead, he just leans over and kisses her cheek. “We’ll be there around one.” I’m stunned he wants me to go to a family dinner with him. We just had wild monkey group sex last night, and now he’s taking me to the family homestead? But I recover quickly and turn to Molly. “Can I bring anything?” “Just yourself, dear,” she says and then winks at Cain. “I like this girl, Cain. She’s a keeper.” This time, Cain doesn’t humor his mom but instead gets a tight lock to his jaw. He just nods and says, “We’ll see you Sunday, Mom.”

I follow Cain out of the shop, no doubt what I just saw on his face. He may have been sweet and doting in there just now in front of his mom, but Cain Bonham has no plans to keep me around for very long. That was very, very clear on his face.

Chapter 19

Cain CAIN BONHAM OUT on a date. A double date at that. Bet no one saw that coming. I have to say, it’s not as awful as I thought it would be. I’m trying to remember the last date I went on, and I guess it was when Rachel and I first hooked up. We didn’t start out with a date but with some wild sex in the back of my truck, and I think we eventually ended up going to dinner after. But with her, it was only sex and more sex, and I got sex and love confused back then. Not so now. I’m clear and levelheaded on what the stakes are, and I also know Sloane Meyers doesn’t belong in my life long term. In fact, this time next week, I’ll be fucking Amy Mason and Sloane will be a memory. My gut twists at the thought, but I ignore it. Instead, I look at Sloane and Callie talking. The women hit it off, and I mean hit it off. They haven’t stopped fucking talking since we got to the restaurant, and Woolf and I have been stuck having to entertain each other. At least we always have sports to talk about. Sloane wasn’t making light of her interest in politics. I was amazed at her knowledge and involvement at the state level back in Tennessee, and she worked on two campaigns, one of which was a US senator. Frankly, that shit was boring to me, but early on in the conversation, my interest was caught when Sloane told Callie more about her mother. “So why do you want to help with my father’s campaign?” Callie had asked her as they sipped on glasses of wine and we all picked at the overpriced shrimp cocktails. “He’s supporting House Bill 137,” Sloane said. Callie nodded in recognition. “Requiring doctors to check a database before prescribing highly addictive drugs.” “Among other things,” Sloane said. “But yes… that’s the most important part of the bill.” “Cain said you’re new to the area. Why the desire to get involved in local politics?” Sloane told Callie about her experience, going into some mind-numbing detail that caused Woolf and me to have a spirited discussion about baseball, but then my attention was dragged back when Sloane said, “It’s personal to me. And since I’m making this my home for the immediate future, I’d love to get back involved in the political scene.” “Why is it personal to you?” Callie softly asked. Sloane’s voice was strong as she told a bit more detail than she gave me a few days ago. “My mom had some lower back surgery. Got prescribed some pretty addictive stuff. She couldn’t give them up. That was compounded by the fact that she was severely depressed. She took too much… overdosed. I found her not long after she took them and was able to get help in time.” “Oh, God,” Callie said with her hand coming to cover her mouth in astonishment. She then just as quickly puts her other hand over Sloane’s and squeezes it. “I’m so sorry. Is she okay now?” “That was a few years ago,” Sloane said, running her finger around the edge of her wineglass and staring at the red liquid to avoid Callie’s questioning gaze. “She’s off the pain pills, but she still has

issues.” Luckily at that time, the waiter came up to take our order, so Sloane got a reprieve from further questions. The minute he left, I gently steered the conversation back to Sloane’s request to volunteer, and the girls were off and running again. Woolf and I talked about football. Eventually, the talk turned away from politics and we all had a good time hanging out. That had never been a chore between Woolf, Callie, and me, seeing as how we all knew each other for years. But it really didn’t surprise me that Sloane fit in so well. She’s laid-back like us but sharp as a tack, with an amazing sense of humor. We all four lingered after dessert for over an hour, just talking and laughing, and it was almost 10:30 PM by the time we left. By the end of the evening, Callie and Sloane had made plans to get together the very next day to do some shopping and “talk politics”. It seems as if Sloane is not only getting back into a hobby she enjoyed but has also made a new friend as well, and I’m glad. I suspected they would like each other, and honestly… that eases my conscience that she’ll perhaps have a friend she can lean on when I have to cut her loose next week. Callie’s going to give me so much shit about it, but at least she’ll understand as she knows all about the sex club. And she’ll also give Sloane some comfort as well. Ordinarily on a Saturday night around this time, either I’d be working at The Wicked Horse or I’d be fucking someone in The Silo or fantasy cabins. But tonight, after we say goodbye to Woolf and Callie in the restaurant parking lot, I ask Sloane what she wants to do. She shrugs. “I don’t know. Go back to my place?” The last two nights, I worked, but it didn’t keep me away from her. I drove all the way back to Jackson and let myself into her apartment, pleased to find her already naked and waiting for me. But tonight, I kind of want her in my bed. “Or my place,” I throw out, inviting her to my home for a second time. This is stupid because it smacks of a strengthening relationship, which is fucked up since I have no intentions of keeping this going in the long term. “Okay,” she says with a smile. I take her hand as we walk over to my truck, head already spinning with what I want to do to her when we get there.

* SLOANE STRADDLING ME, riding my cock. My hands on her hips, helping her to bounce up and down. Fantastic tits jiggling. One of her hands between her legs, rubbing her clit. Sloane fracturing apart and crying out as she orgasms. That’s all I need. I slam her down on me as I plant my feet firmly in the mattress and punch my hips upward. My cock goes so deep, she gives a startled yip even as she shakes and shudders. I unload viciously, gritting my teeth and riding out a pleasure so intense, it almost doesn’t seem real to me. Sloane immediately collapses on top of me, her body as slick with sweat as mine. My arms come up and around her, my hand to her back where I feel it rising and falling as she gasps for breath. “Am I crazy?” she says between pants. “Or was that really, really good?” “You came three times,” I say, equally out of breath. “I think I just blew the head off my dick. So

yeah… that was really, really good.” Sloane giggles and nuzzles her face into my neck. And I fucking love that sound and that feeling, and fuck… I’m going to miss that for sure. The sounds of Bullet with Butterfly Wings starts playing and Sloane jerks, sitting straight up on top of me, looking at her purse sitting on the floor. She scrambles off me, my cock sliding free and now feeling utterly cold and abandoned. Dragging the sheet off the bed with her, she hastily wraps it around her body before grabbing her purse and diving in for her phone. It comes up to her ear. She gives a slight cough to clear her throat and answers, “Mom? Are you okay?” Leaning up on my elbows, I watch as worry crosses Sloane’s face and she listens intently on the other line. Her eyes rise to meet mine, and she gives an apologetic look while holding up one finger to me. I return an encouraging nod and she walks out of my room, taking the privacy she just wordlessly requested of me. With a sigh, I roll out of the bed, pulling the condom off as I go, dumping it unceremoniously in a garbage can on the other side of my nightstand. While I’m totally cool with walking around butt-ass naked, Sloane covering herself with the sheet to talk to her mom told me one thing. That this conversation was potentially upsetting or painful, and she needed some type of protective cloak, even if it was just shielding her nakedness from me. So in deference to her, I pull my jeans on without the underwear and sit back down on my bed. My house is so small that I can hear Sloane even though she’s talking quietly. I don’t think she’s trying to hide what she’s saying though, because while her words are soft, they are clear. I’m sorry you’re having a bad night. Did you try to call Kent? Long pause as she listens. I know you don’t like the way they make you feel, but you need to stay with it. A shorter pause. Yes, Mom… it’s important. And then in a lower voice. I’ll try to come home soon. Maybe in a week or so I should be able to. A really long pause, and then, finally… It will be okay, Mom. You know to call Dr. O’Loughlin if it gets bad, right? Short pause. All right. I have to go, but I love you. I’ll call you tomorrow to check on you. I wait a few more minutes, assuming Sloane will walk back into my bedroom, but she doesn’t come. Pushing myself off the bed, I pad down the short hall into the living room. She’s sitting in my recliner, feet curled up under, tightly wrapped in the sheet. Holding her phone in front of her, she stares at the screen and gives a curse under her breath, then her thumbs are flying across it as she messages someone. Her face is livid with anger. The subtle whoosh sound of an outgoing text chimes even as Sloane continues to glare at her phone. “You okay?” I ask her and she jerks, immediately shutting off her phone. I expect to see worry and exhaustion perhaps from the side of the conversation I just heard, but instead, she shoots me a slightly guilty look. I glance down at the phone and then back to her, wondering who she just texted and why it would cause her to look angry and then guilty, especially right after ending a call with her mother. Sloane’s worried features smooth out, and she gives me a quick smile. “Yeah. Fine. That was just my mom. She’s a little blue and wanted to talk to me.” “Is anything wrong?” I push at her as I walk into the living room, coming to stand before the recliner.

She looks up at me, thumb idly stroking the edge of her phone. Taking in a breath, she lets it out. “My mom just got out of the hospital about a month ago. A psychiatric hospital. She had a bit of a meltdown and voluntarily checked herself in.” I kneel down in front of Sloane, bringing my eyes level to hers. Placing my hands on her thighs, I squeeze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” “Well, it’s not something you just tell total strangers,” Sloane says with a humorless laugh. “We’re not strangers,” I tell her. “We’ve known each other a week.” “But look at the things we’ve done in that week,” I counter argue with a smile and a pointed look. “And here you are, laying all your dark secrets on my doorstep.” Another flash of guilt in her eyes, and I realize she’s not sharing all her secrets with me. “Is your mom okay right now?” I ask so she doesn’t shutdown. “Yeah,” she says softly, pushing her legs out from underneath of her. I move my hands so she can uncurl herself and place her feet on the floor to either side of where I kneel. “She’ll be okay. Sometimes she just likes to hear my voice… I think it grounds her.” “Sounds like you’re planning a visit back to see her soon,” I say offhandedly as my hands go back to her thighs that are enshrouded in layers of sheet. Sloane blinks at me in surprise, so I clarify, “I overheard your end of the conversation.” “Oh,” she says distractedly and I can see the wheels in her head turning, trying to remember exactly what she said. She’s definitely hiding something from me. “Who were you texting?” I can’t fucking help asking. I just found out that Sloane’s got some serious shit to worry about with her mother clear across the country, something’s upset her tonight, and she sent what looked like an angry text out just a bit ago. It’s driving me nuts not knowing what this is all about, particularly because now I want to help her in whatever it is. “My brother,” she says quickly. Too quickly and I know it’s a lie. “Your brother?” “Yeah… Kent. Older than me by four years. He lives in the same town as Mom. I want him to check on her.” Well, shit… that sounds plausible, but still. I don’t think that’s right. The tone of voice she uses just now in talking about her brother is soft… loving. There’s genuine affection there. She’s not pissed at him. At least not tonight, but I decide to let it go for now. I’ve certainly got no business poking around all of Sloane’s dark secrets. Not when I have my own. Especially when I intend to cut her loose in a few days, making any of this interest moot. So instead, I do something I know both of us love and choose to hold onto that connection instead. I push the sheet up her legs, running my fingers over her bare skin as it’s revealed. When her pussy is open to me, the sheet bunched around her waist, I put my hands under the backs of her thighs and haul her legs up over my shoulders. Pressing my mouth to her, I give her a rough lick. She cries out as her hands go to my head to hold me tight. Yeah… I’m going to miss this too. So fucking much.

Chapter 20

Sloane CALLIE HAYES IS ONE of the most amazing people I’ve ever had the privilege to know and hang out with, and that little fact right there has compounded the guilt on my shoulders. She’s beautiful, smart, and funny. Overly compassionate and equally passionate about issues that matter. The oppressive weight of my culpability feels like a cinder block on my chest, only made worse by the fact I have now targeted this lovely lady. My mission is clear. I’m to find some sordid dirt on this unsuspecting woman merely because she happens to be the daughter of a politician and my magazine wants to profit off the situation. “Want a margarita?” Callie asks as we’re shown to a table at the back of The Merry Piglets for lunch. We spent the morning just browsing some of the stores on the town square, not with the idea in mind to shop, but really more of a casual meeting where we could get to know each other better. The thought of food or alcohol actually makes me want to puke because my stomach is so knotted up, so I just shake my head with a smile and say, “Too early for me.” Callie snorts and says, “It’s never too early for a margarita,” and then snags one of the waitresses walking by, latching onto the tie to her apron. “Kimmy… two classic margaritas.” “Sure thing, Callie,” the young woman says with a wink and heads over to the bar. “You’re popular here,” I comment with raised eyebrows and a smirk. “I used to work here in high school,” she says with a laugh. “Our family has known the owners forever… the Sanchezes… and my dad’s done political rallies standing right up there on the bar.” “Now that’s cool,” I say with admiration, because I could never imagine my dad doing something like that. Too much starch in his underwear back when he was representing the great state of Tennessee in the U.S. Senate. Of course, now he’s a bit different. “So what kind of hours could you commit to me on the campaign?” Callie says as she unrolls the utensils from the paper napkin. She places the cutlery on the table and tosses the napkin on her lap. “I work roughly thirty-five hours a week, give or take. I have early mornings open all week, and every other weekend off. I’m usually off by four PM, so use me however you want.” Callie’s eyes gleam mischievously. “Girl… you don’t know what you just offered. It’s easy enough to find people who are all gung-ho and fired up to help, but not so easy to find someone with your knowledge and experience. If I had the money to do it, I’d hire you for the campaign instead of asking you for some volunteer hours. But I won’t be able to take on employees for a few months yet until the campaign officially kicks off.” I try hard not to wince as that just added a whole new level of guilt onto my shoulders. And fuck, I hate doing this. Hate it, hate it, hate it. I hate Brant for making me do this. I hate my career and politics and my fucking father who started me down this path to begin with. I just hate it all, and I have the overwhelming urge to run straight out of The Merry Piglets, drive my rental car back to the airport, and book the first flight out no matter where it’s going. Leave everything behind, start over somewhere new. Except, the actual thought of not seeing Cain tonight is almost just as unbearable. Or not going to

dinner at his mom’s house tomorrow. He has enough of a hold on me at this point in our very young relationship that I have constantly battled myself over what to do. The sane part of myself… the part that still has integrity… wants to tell Revealed magazine to kiss my ass and walk. The other part of me though… the one that will do anything to protect her mother, even if it means submitting to blackmail… well, it’s the part that’s winning the war within my conscience at this point. Yes… it’s come down now to blackmail. After I hung up the phone with my mom last night, I decided to check my texts. Acid backed up in my throat when I saw one from Brant that said, You’re not working fast enough. I want an update first thing in morning, and I need something solid.

Asshole! He told me he’d give me two weeks last time we talked. It’s only been a week, and I was hoping that within the next few days, I’d be able to come up with a miraculous solution that would make all this go away and let me stay in Cain Bonham’s bed—possibly his heart—for, oh, about forever. I sent Brant a furiously quick reply back that merely said, You told me I had two weeks. Then Cain came into the living room, and I shut my phone off. Next morning, there was a message from Brant and he wasn’t fucking around. It simply said, Call me by 9AM or you’re fired.

For a brief moment, I thought about not calling and taking the termination. It would be so easy and my conscience would be alleviated. I could figure out what to do with my life after that. But the thought niggled at me that if I called him, and told him there just wasn’t anything to be found, he’d let the matter go and put me on another story. So I called him as soon as Cain dropped me off at my house after we got a quick breakfast. It was 8:55am and I was pushing my luck, but I couldn’t make the call with Cain around. As soon as he pulled out from the parking lot to my apartment, I hit Brant’s number on speed dial. The conversation deteriorated rapidly, any hope of me being able to salvage my pride and perhaps Cain and Callie in the process was obliterated. “Brant,” he answered, even though his Caller ID would have identified me. Asshole. “It’s Sloane,” I said in a tired voice. “Cutting it close,” he remarked. I didn’t respond and let the silence lay heavy. “I need some sign of progress right now. Apparently, investors are questioning the longevity of the magazine since sales have dipped last two quarters. We need something juicy to renew interest.” “I don’t have anything,” I told him, trying not to sound too whiny. “I’m getting nowhere on the sex club, and I just met Callie Hayes. I’m hoping to start doing some volunteer work with the governor’s campaign soon, but that could take a few more weeks to find anything.” It was my hope he’d understand the futility of it all and let it go. No such luck. “Then get in tight with the daughter. Get her to talk to you—get her to disclose her involvement. I’m sure it’s something a few bottles of wine will easily flush out.” I sighed because I knew he was right. Callie and I hit it off amazingly well at dinner. You know how you can just tell when you have a connection with someone? Well, I felt it with Callie, and I know she felt it with me. She has the potential—if I wasn’t here perpetuating a fraud upon her—to become best friend material. My heart squeezed so hard over the thought and I blurted out words that would eventually seal my

fate. “I can’t do it, Brant. These people are nice. They’ve done nothing wrong. We can’t tie anything to the governor. This isn’t right.” “You’re not paid to bring your morality into this, Preston,” he barked at me over the phone. “And right now, you are entrenched and have made two good contacts with key players. You are going to stick with this and you are going to get the story, do you hear me?” “Or what?” I sneered at him, wishing he was standing in front of me at this very moment so I could kick him in the balls. I was so angry over his lack of integrity that was being aimed at destroying two people I had come to care about, that I didn’t care if he fired me. I was bracing for it actually. “If you don’t do as I say,” Brant said in a very low voice, deadly calm and ice cold, “I’m going to run the next juiciest story I can find.” I had no clue what he was talking about, but his tone was so threatening that I swallowed hard. “Want to know what the story is about, Preston?” he taunted, and then gave a deep, husky laugh as if this turned him on. “It’s about a senator who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, fucked a hot, young thing while on a trip to Brazil, and fell in love. Carried on an illicit affair using taxpayer dollars to fund his travel to do so, that apparently everyone in Washington knew about except for his poor, unsuspecting wife, daughter, and son. And then, when he was outted and the story revealed to the world, the poor wife, who by the way, was addicted to prescription painkillers, tried to kill herself. Isn’t that just the yummiest of political scandal?” My fingers clutched onto my phone so hard, I thought it might crack. My teeth gnashed so forcefully, pain shot through my lower jaw. My voice was barely controlled fury when I whispered into the phone, “That happened a long time ago. That’s old news.” “But it’s new news that your mom just had another breakdown and landed back in the psych unit. We’re coming up on the five-year anniversary of your dad’s marriage to his hot, young Brazilian wife. It would be an interesting piece to do a profile on a disgraced senator who now prefers to live on a beach in Rio with his new wife and twin girls, while his ex-wife jumps in and out of psych hospitals.” My blood pressure spiked so high, I got momentarily dizzy. My hand went out to the counter where I steadied myself, and the first thought that ran through my mind was one of murder. I considered hopping a plane, flying to Washington, and stalking Brant home from the office where I’d unload an entire magazine of bullets into his black heart. My plan fizzled quickly though when he said in a calm, businesslike voice, “You’ve got a week to get her to disclose something to you or I’m going to be splashing poor Delilah Preston’s pretty but fucked-up head all over the front of the magazine. You hear me?” “I hear you,” I rasped out, tears filling my eyes and then flowing down my cheeks. I hung up the phone without saying another word, and then I tried to figure out how I was going to get Callie Hayes comfortable enough with me in just a week to admit to me that she attended an orgy at a sex club with her boyfriend, who is a secret owner. The waitress comes back and sets two frosty glasses filled with pale green, margarita heaven rimmed with salt. Callie looks up to the waitress with a smile to thank her, and I lean forward and place my lips around the straw, sucking hard on the alcoholic beverage for fortitude. “Whoa,” Callie says with a laugh. “Thought it was too early to drink?” “Apparently not,” I say with a slight cough after I release the straw. The drink is potent and my eyes water. “Hey,” Callie says, her brow furrowing with a concerned look. “Are you okay?” I start to shake my head in the negative, because I couldn’t begin to tell her all the ways in which I’m actually very sad right now, but then I’m struck with horrible, calculating, and dirty inspiration.

I let my lips slide into a frown and raise my eyes to her, filled with conundrum and worry. “I don’t know,” I say vaguely, cutting my eyes around to make sure no one is nearby who can hear. “It’s just… I’m not sure…” Callie takes my cue and leans across the table, whispering herself, “Tell me what’s wrong, Sloane. Sometimes it helps to talk about things.” So I put the bait out there. I cut my eyes around again, and then focus them back on Callie. In a low voice, I say, “God… I’m not sure I should even say anything… but, well… it’s about my relationship with Cain…” “He’s crazy about you,” she says with a confident nod of her head and a satisfied smile on her face. “And I’m crazy about him too,” I assure her with a soft smile, but then drop my eyes to the table. “But…” My voice filters away to indecision of whether to share, and Callie pulls on the bait harder. “But what?” she asks softly, and my duplicitous eyes rise up to hers. Totally clear and earnest eyes of fern green stare at me in solidarity and support. She’s saying, I’ve got your back. Whereas I’m trying to stab her in hers. I almost bolt out of the restaurant as that thought crosses my mind, but the image of my mom lying in a hospital bed, drugged to capacity so she doesn’t harm herself, flashes vividly, and I press forward, setting the trap. “Well… Cain is in to some really kinky stuff,” I say, my face flushing red with embarrassment, and that’s not an act. I’ve never been very good at sharing stuff like this, and what Cain and I did almost can’t be described. Callie doesn’t say anything, but there’s no judgment there. On the contrary, there’s a bit of a knowing gleam, and that makes it a bit easier to lay it all out there. “He… had asked me what my fantasy was, and I thought we were just… you know… talking out our ass or something. And I told him it was to have sex with multiple guys.” Callie’s eyebrows rise slightly, but she nods in understanding. “Women have fantasies just like men. Nothing wrong with that.” “Well, he provided me with the opportunity to fulfill mine,” I tell her bluntly. “And I took it.” “Oh,” Callie says as her eyes go round with surprise and then understanding. “Oh, wow. That must have been intense.” “You have no idea,” I say, an absolute truth amidst all the lies I’ve told recently. “It was life altering in some ways.” “You sound conflicted,” Callie observes. That’s exactly how I tried to sound, so that’s good. My eyes drop to my margarita glass, and I fiddle with the straw. “It’s just… it felt so good and right, and Cain’s made me feel all kinds of confident about it, but I can’t help but continue to worry that it was wrong. Being with other men when Cain and I promised to be monogamous with each other. I mean… no way would I let him do that, so talk about double standard. I should have said no, right? I should have never indulged in that. And what if that ultimately ends up disgusting him? Makes me like a cheap whore or something in his eyes?” I end by drawing in a long breath, because that was a mouthful, and I realize that much of what I just said is actually true. Every one of those doubts and conflicted thoughts have plagued me since that wild and amazing night. Callie takes a quick look around, then back to me with sympathetic eyes. Her arm comes out and she covers my hand with her own, giving me a squeeze. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Sloane. If Cain said he was good with it, then I’m sure he was. And if something like that happens and everyone is consenting

and understanding of the ramifications… if you go into it with your eyes wide open… then there is nothing wrong with engaging in something that’s out of the norm like that.” “Easy for you to say,” I say with a snort and give a laugh of nervousness that is totally manufactured by this point. “You’re so sweet and normal. I’m the one sitting here feeling like I should be branded the town whore.” Callie narrows her eyes at me and slaps me lightly on my hand before grabbing and squeezing again. “Now you listen here, Sloane. You are not a whore. You are a consenting adult, as was everyone else who participated that night. If it felt good and everyone had a clear conscience about it, then what’s the problem?” She’s still not giving me what I need. She’s giving me enough innuendo about her personal experience, which I suspect is true now as I wasn’t going to accept Colton Stokes’ word alone. But she’s not giving me the details I need to give to Brant so he’ll leave my mother alone. So I prompt just a bit further, “You sound like you know something about this type of thing.” Callie’s cheeks go red, but she holds my eyes and tilts her chin up almost in defiance. “I do. Know something about it. I did a three-way with Woolf and his best friend. And it was the most erotic experience of my life, and God help me… I’d do it again if the opportunity presents. I was totally wigged out about it though, like you. But Woolf helped me to understand that what I did with the other guy was nothing but a sexual act, and one that he enjoyed watching very much. It changed nothing about our feelings for each other, except perhaps cemented our bond and trust.” Holy shit! Callie’s been with Bridger? That has to be who she means when she says Woolf’s best friend. I mean, according to Stokes, they own The Wicked Horse together. And suddenly, I actually have a new and different type of respect for Callie. That she was brave enough to try something out of her comfort zone, particularly with someone as intimidating as Bridger. If this stupid fucking story wasn’t so necessary to protect my family, I’d relish sitting down with this woman and sharing all kinds of secrets with her. It would be nice to have another female who understands the conflicts that come when fantasy meets reality. “Now,” Callie says dramatically as she picks her menu back up. “Let’s figure out what we’re going to eat. I’m starved.” And just like that, our conversation is over and I’m still left with nothing but an admission that she had a three-way. Far less than what I need to appease Brant.

Chapter 21

Cain OUTSIDE OF RACHEL, and only because we were together for a few years, I’ve never fucked one woman as many times as I have Sloane. While we’ve known each other a little less than two weeks, the amount of times we’ve gone at it together has astounded even my inner horn-dog nature. And each time gets better. Each orgasm stronger. The connection deeper. It means I’m fucking screwed. And now… having her on the back of my bike as I take advantage of a warm early August day… I can’t imagine anything feeling more right in my life. The Harley rumbles gruffly as I slow down to turn into Mom and Walt’s driveway. They live just outside of Jackson on the opposite side of the Elk Refuge, about twenty minutes from my house. But it was the perfect day for a ride, and I wanted Sloane pressed up against me. I wanted to take every advantage of feeling her because time was running out for us. Five more days is all I had, and I wasn’t going to waste a second of it. If I couldn’t be balls deep inside of her, I at least wanted her touching me. If she couldn’t be touching me, I at least wanted to see her. Which is why I asked her to hang at The Wicked Horse last night while I worked. I actually breached my own rule about not mixing business with pleasure. And it was a pleasure to be able to look at her whenever I wanted while I also let my gaze roam around the club, checking for trouble. I didn’t pull any time over at The Silo, of course. Asked one of my other crew to handle sweeps through there, and I didn’t miss it for a second. Normally, I got a thrill walking through while on duty, listening to the passion permeate the air, watching bodies undulating against each other, knowing that I couldn’t partake just then, but when I got off duty, I would more than make up for the lust I let build inside of me. Delayed gratification has its benefits and all, but I couldn’t have cared less last night. I was completely happy letting my lust build just by watching Sloane dance, and while my intention was to wait until we got to my house to have her, I couldn’t control myself when we got out to my truck. Sloane didn’t even put up a fight, letting me lower my tailgate, bend her over, and hike her skirt up so I could fuck her in the shadows. As if she could sense my trip down memory lane, Sloane presses in tighter to me, giving a squeeze to my waist with her arms. I pull the bike up beside J.C.’s truck, engage the kickstand, and kill the engine. “That was so much fun,” Sloane says as she jauntily stands and swings her leg up and over the back of the bike to dismount. She does so with her hands pressed into my shoulders for leverage, and I hate the thickness of my leather jacket dulling the feeling. Sloane and I take our helmets off, place them on the seat, and head up to the house. Her hand slips into mine, and I like that feeling too. I never much cared for PDA. Never held hands with Rachel, but again… this just feels right. We trot up the steps and I open the front door, pulling Sloane inside, through the living room and straight back to the kitchen where we always hang out. The aroma of roasted chicken fills the air, and my stomach grumbles. My mom is a hell of a cook, and I try to make most Sunday dinners she holds after they all go to church. Mom, Walt, Claudia, J.C., Carrie, and Tucker all attend Sunday services at the Methodist

church. I don’t, usually because I work late and I’m too tired to get up that early, but mainly because I’ve just never felt the connection. However, for a brief moment as I walk in and see everyone in their Sunday finest, I have a fleeting wonder of what it would be like if Sloane and I had gone together. We’d sit with my family, taking up one long pew. Probably hold hands the entire time as we listened to the minister and sang songs. I can’t believe I’m even fucking thinking about something like this and I push the thought away because that smacks of something deeper and more infinite than I could have ever hoped to have with someone, and it can’t be Sloane. Not at this point in my life. “Cain… Sloane,” my mom says in a happy voice as she sees us. “Come in… we’re about ready to eat.” My sister is already at the table with Carrie on one side, Tucker on the other. She moves her hands in quick fashion, communicating to Tucker to put his napkin on his lap. Carrie watches, gets the message, and does the same. J.C. is carving the roast chicken at the counter, and Walt is pulling a beer out of the fridge. They all turn around and levy warm smiles as we walk in. I make quick introductions. “Everyone… this is Sloane. Sloane, you know my mom, but that’s J.C. on chicken duty, my stepdad, Walt, and that’s Claudia sitting in between the rugrats, Carrie and Tucker.” Sloane sweeps her gaze across everyone, nodding with a smile. Then she walks over to the table, and sits down opposite of Claudia. Beaming at Carrie, she says, “Hey cutie… I love that dress you’re wearing.” Carrie gives her a toothless grin, but she lowers her eyes in shyness. Sloane turns to Tucker, and I jump in to explain. “Tucker’s dea—” But I’m stunned silent when Sloane’s hands start moving quickly, using sign language to say, Hi Tucker… I’m Sloane. It’s nice to meet you. Tucker gives the quick sign back for, Hello. “You know sign language?” I ask, and her head turns slowly to me. She answers me but signs directly toward Tucker to explain her knowledge. My brother Kent is deaf so I know sign language, although I’m a little rusty. Turning to me, she says, “He got a cochlear implant when he was about twelve, so we didn’t really use it that much afterward unless it was around his other friends.” “Well, you’re still perfect at it,” Claudia says, and then reaches her hand across the table. “It’s really nice to meet you.” I stare at Sloane in amazement. It’s not that knowing sign language is a big deal because plenty of people do, but it’s the fact I keep finding things in this woman to endear me to her more. They showcase that despite the fact I thought she was my opposite because of her sweetly innocent ways, we actually have other things to bond us besides sex. The mere fact that she can carry on a conversation with my nephew just makes me more enamored of her. Our family dinner is exactly as it always is, and maybe even better. We spend a few hours at the table, the food quickly eaten but the conversation, laughter, and jokes taking far longer to dissipate. It’s made even better with the addition of Sloane. Tucker took to her quickly, as usually he’s the one who sadly gets left out of conversation with new people he meets because they simply can’t communicate with him. It was late afternoon by the time we were ready to leave. I had to be at work in about three hours, and I wanted some alone time with Sloane before then. I had asked her to come hang at The Wicked Horse

tonight while I worked, but she begged off, stating she wanted a good night of sleep before work the next day. I did get her to promise to stay at my house, and we even packed up a bag with a few essentials for her. If I have my way, she’ll be in my bed every night this week. Until I let her go.

* “WHAT ARE WE doing?” Sloane asks as I bring the bike to a stop and cut the engine. I put the kickstand down but don’t bother to dismount. “Watching the sunset,” I tell her. “This is a great place to watch it from as it sinks below the Tetons.” “Ooooh.” She gives a girlish squeal as she hops off, tugging at her helmet straps. “I knew you were a romantic.” When both her feet are on the ground, I reach out and snag her by the waist. I pull her toward me so fast that she drops the helmet onto the dirt road I had taken that winds behind two large buttes with a protected, private view of the Tetons. It’s a public road, used by fisherman to reach a nearby stream, but no one is parked out here now. Perfect. “Get up here,” I say gruffly, urging her on my lap, facing me in a straddle. I dig my boots into the ground for leverage additional to the kickstand. Sloane doesn’t argue or waste time. She scrambles up and wraps her jean-clad legs around my waist. Her hands go to my chin strap and she removes my helmet, dropping it into the dirt beside the bike. After, her hands come to my face where her thumbs smooth along my chin and she says, “Are we going to make out while we watch the sunset?” Making out sounds nice and would keep in line with her silly thoughts that I’m a romantic. But time is running out, and I don’t have the patience or fortitude to bear just kissing this woman. “I was thinking about fucking you while we watched the sunset,” I tell her as my eyes peer into hers. Her mouth rounds in a little “O” of surprise, but her eyes fire hot, and I can tell she likes the idea very much. That knowledge starts my pulse hammering. Her eyes cut left and right, noting the only nod to getting caught is a winding dirt road that someone might come down. Otherwise, there’s not a house or person in sight. “Right here?” she asks as she nibbles on her lower lip. “Right now?” “I’d need you to get those jeans and your underwear off first, but yeah… that’s what I was thinking.” I follow up with a push to her hips, grinding her down on my erection that started sprouting the minute she climbed onto my lap. I expect Sloane to perhaps give this some serious consideration, or maybe even argue with me a bit. Sometimes, she needs a little convincing, but that can be fun too. Instead, she scrambles right back off my lap, almost losing her balance and ending ass down on the dirt road. But she catches herself, slapping a hand onto my shoulder to give herself leverage to kick her tennis shoes off. She does that quickly, now standing in the dust in pristine white socks that won’t remain white any longer. But she doesn’t care. She undoes her jeans lightning fast, pushing them and her underwear down her smooth legs. I watch her almost in a daze, lust starting to drown me as I realize this woman just hopped off my lap in the middle of nowhere, perfectly willing to fuck me in the shadows of the Teton Mountains. I blink, try to get my bearings, and realize I have work to do as well. As she’s shedding her bottoms, I stand over the bike seat and pull my wallet out. I grab a condom, toss

the billfold onto the road, hoping I remember to grab it later, and then pop my button fly with one hard pull. “That’s right,” Sloane says huskily, and I shoot her a glance. She’s completely naked from the waist down, and my knees almost buckle when I watch her slowly drag a hand down to press her fingers between her legs. “Get that cock out, Cain. I want to go for a ride.” I groan and push roughly at my jeans, just enough that my dick springs free, and I sit heavily on the bike seat again. My hand grabs onto my shaft, giving it a few relieving strokes while I watch mesmerized as Sloane fingers herself. Standing on a dirty road in nothing but a t-shirt, a denim jacket, and white socks. Not sure I’ve ever seen anything hotter in my life, and I’ve seen some stuff in my line of work. I release my hold so I can get the condom out. My moves are practiced and efficient, and I’m suited up in no time flat. Holding my hand out to Sloane, I give her silent invitation to climb aboard. She pulls her hand out from between her legs, fingers wet and slick as they curl around mine. Her other hand goes to my shoulder, and I haul her back onto my lap. She quickly tugs her hand free. Both hands now rest on my shoulders, and she starts to lower herself. “Not yet,” I say gruffly as I put a hand between her legs. “Let’s get you loosened up a bit.” She moans as I slide two fingers inside her and goddamn, she’s already dripping. I’m not sure if it’s the bike ride that she found stimulating or just the fact I want to fuck her right now, but she’s not going to need much more prep before she can take my big dick inside. I’ve come to know her body very well, and I know exactly how to touch her to produce maximum pleasure. Working her clit fast and hard with my thumb, I keep two fingers deep inside her. Sloane’s head tilts back, her blonde hair falling away from her face. I stare at her slender neck and want to sink my teeth into it. She rotates her hips and starts to fuck my fingers in tandem with my own movements. I get even harder as I listen to the tiny sounds of pleasure and lust falling from her mouth, and then she’s gasping, “I’m coming, Cain.” And she orgasms beautifully, her pussy gripping hard onto my fingers, sucking them in deeper. Her body shudders as I place my lips to the pulse at her throat. I stick my tongue against her skin, and it feels like hummingbird wings, it’s beating so fast. When her channel finally relaxes its hold on my fingers, I pull them free and put both hands to her hips. She tilts her head up, looking at me through post-orgasm haze, and says, “I’m going to fuck you now.” “No, baby,” I tell her as I help to ease her down on my aching cock. “I’m going to fuck you. Just hang on, okay?” She nods, too sated to argue, and then loops her arms around my shoulders for leverage. I use my hands on her hips and my boots pressed into the dirt road to thrust up and into her. A long and stuttered moan comes out of her throat, seemingly never ending as I fuck her from the bottom upward. I heave up into her, seeking the deepest of contacts all while I try to suck in oxygen so I don’t pass out because it feels so damn good. I want to do this all night and all the next day and the day after that as well. I want to stay right here in this little private heaven with the sun setting behind the Tetons and the best pussy I’ve ever had plastered to my cock for eternity. I want to ignore my job and I want The Silo to burn to the ground because I hate it desperately at this very moment because it’s ultimately going to tear this beautiful creature from my arms. I wish I could tell her the truth. I wish I could tell her that I have a job to do this Friday night, but it’s nothing but a job.

In fact, I wish Sloane would just let me do this one job so I can fulfill my promise to Bridger and a customer, and then I’d stop doing any Silo work. I’d just maintain my job as head of security and I’d put my dick on lockdown so it only belonged to Sloane—or anyone else she’d choose to let us play with together as a couple. I wish, I wish, I wish. All pipe dreams. As I fuck Sloane on my Harley, racing toward an even bigger and brighter orgasm than the last one she gave me this morning, I know I’m being an utterly hopeless fool who just happened to fall for the right girl at the wrong time.

Chapter 22

Sloane CAIN PULLS ME to his body, kissing me again. His fingers go to the edge of the towel I have wrapped and tucked in between my breasts. “One more time,” he growls against my mouth. “No,” I say as I push back on his chest. “I just got out of the shower. I don’t want you to dirty me back up again.” “I like dirtying you up.” True enough. We got home from our “bike ride” where our viewing of the sunset was eclipsed only by the fantastic orgasm he gave me while we fucked on his Harley. As soon as he got home, he pulled me into his bedroom and went at me again, except this time he pulled a “Bridger” on me. Screwed me from behind with hard, brutal thrusts that I loved very much and then pulled out, whipped his condom off, and came all over my back. It was on shaky legs that I rolled out of bed and hit his shower up so I could get cleaned off. Giving another push to his chest, I tell him, “Go get your shower or you’re going to be late for work. I’m going to go cook up those pork chops so you can have something to eat before you leave.” His eyes go from hot, raging lust to warm tenderness. With lips curved up in a smile, he gives me a sweet kiss this time and says, “I like you taking care of me.” I give him a return smile, but if he could truly see the brightness inside of me when I hear something like that, he’d be completely dazzled. Cain Bonham has opened up to me in ways I never imagined the closed-off, scary, scarred guy ever would. It makes the narrow line I walk between him and my job more precarious as every day goes by. Yet, I can’t let go. I most definitely cannot walk away when there’s still a chance I can figure out a way to save him, Callie, and my mother in one fell super-hero swoop. Cain turns and steps into the shower I just vacated. I use the opportunity to go back to his room where I pull on a pair of old sweatpants and a long-sleeve Tennessee Volunteers t-shirt. As I pad down the short hallway, I take stock of my cooking knowledge. I’m not sure I’ve ever cooked pork chops before because I’ve always excelled at eating out. Growing up, we had a cook who catered to us, college was pizza and ramen noodles, and after college, I lived in D.C. where one simply didn’t cook on their tiny gas stove in an overpriced hovel of an apartment. You went out, and you ate well. As I enter the living room, I head over to Cain’s laptop. I figure I’ll Google how to cook the pork chops, because while I may not have the knowledge inside me, I can read and follow instructions very well. In fact, I once put together an entire entertainment unit that came in three large boxes with nothing but a set of instructions and a small Allen wrench. Sitting down on his cold, plastic desk chair, I rub my hand over the track pad to pull the computer out of sleep mode. It flares bright and I instantly recognize Google mail on the screen, but I immediately start to move my finger to engage the cursor over the Firefox icon so I can access a browser. I start to tap on the pad to choose the icon when certain wording in the subject of an email penetrates my brain. Can’t Wait To See You Friday Night!

My eyes focus on the subject line, sent just this afternoon, not but three short hours ago. To the left of

the subject line is the name Amy Mason. An immediate buzzing fills my head, and my entire body prickles with apprehension. My heartbeat starts to pound as my body seems to recognize some type of dangerous intent with this email. Can’t wait to see you Friday night? Jealousy floods my body, and I think back to just this morning when Cain and I were lying in bed, discussing future plans. “Are you working this weekend?” I had asked, as our naked bodies lay entwined. “Yeah,” he said gruffly, his hand idly stroking my lower back. “Want me to stay here?” It was an innocent-enough question, seeing as how he’s wanted me to stay the last few nights. He didn’t answer at first, but then coughed to clear his throat. “Not this weekend. Woolf’s asked me to work out on the ranch, and I have to be up really early. I’m actually going to stay in one of the ranch bunkhouses so I can get up and just get to work.” It sounded plausible. I never doubted his word. Now I’m thinking I know why he didn’t want me to stay here Friday night. I don’t hesitate a moment. I don’t question the wrongness of my actions. I don’t respect a single bit of Cain’s privacy. I double click on the email, and I read. Cain, My address is 3424 Fur Trap Road. I’ll leave the door unlocked, but every other aspect should resemble a nefarious intention on your part to break into my house and take me hard. You said you wanted details, so here they are. I fully expect you at my house no later than 10PM. I expect you to pull me out of a sound sleep with a gun to my head and your hand between my legs. I kind of like what we did the last time, so put me on my knees and make me suck your cock. I also expect you to stay all night, having your way with me repetitively, so feel free to unload down my throat. We’ll have plenty of time for you to fuck me hard after. Please note that ropes or handcuffs are completely acceptable, as well as blindfolds and ball gags. Damn… I’m getting horny just thinking about all the things your big cock will do to me. Hope this is sufficient to bring you inspiration and give you the protection you need. This is something I’m requesting and you’re giving me. I’m doing this completely of my own free will. XOXO, Amy P.S. I’ll have plenty of your favorite beer for you!

The buzzing in my ears got incrementally louder with every word I read, so as of now, I feel like a swarm of bees is taking up residence in my gray matter. My skin flushed hot, then hotter, so as of now, it feels like an inferno. My stomach is coiled with tension, filled with nausea. My eyes drop from the screen, and even though the glutton for punishment in me wants to read it again, I simply can’t bear it. The knowledge that Cain has made plans to be with another woman this week is simply unfathomable to me. After what we’ve done together, I thought I could trust him. Christ, after what I let him do to me with three other men… I totally fucking trusted him. And then it hits me. What I did that night with him and his buddies wasn’t something that women who wanted to keep a

man for the long term did. Cain is looking at me as just another great lay. His next great adventure. There’s no way he’s going to commit to monogamy with a woman who fucks multiple men in front of his face. A surge of nausea rises in me, and I suck in a deep breath to keep it at bay. “Sloane?” I hear from behind me, and I slowly turn my head to look at Cain over my right shoulder. He’s dressed, his hair wet, and he’s looking at me blandly. “What are you doing?” “I was searching for a pork chop recipe,” I say softly. It’s then I notice his shoulders relax. So I add on, “I found the email from Amy Mason instead.” “Fuck,” he mutters and takes a step toward me. I shoot out of the chair and hold both my hands up. “Don’t,” I hiss at him. “Don’t you fucking come near me.” “Sloane, it’s not what you—” “Fuck off,” I scream as I try to bolt past him down the hallway, intent on grabbing my shoes and my bag. If I hurry, I can be in my car and on the road in twenty seconds. Cain’s arm shoots out, and he catches me around the waist. “Just wait a minute and let me explain.” I start thrashing in his arms, kicking my legs out. One heel catches him in the shin, but it hurts me more than him. “Let me go, you stupid motherfucker.” “Will you calm the fuck down?” he yells at me. “Let me explain what that is.” “I don’t need your explanation,” I say, my voice quavering now with emotion. Now that the initial burst of anger has been released, I start filling up with sadness and rejection. “I’m nothing but a cheap thrill for you and your boys. Certainly not important enough for you to keep your promise not to fuck around.” “That is not what’s going on,” he says with frustration as I continue to twist in his arms so he’ll release me. “Let me explain—” “Let. Me. Go,” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Fuck this shit,” Cain mutters and he picks me up, hauling me over his shoulder. He spins so fast that my stomach flops. I hear him grab his keys off the counter, and then he spins again for the door. An acute case of vertigo hits me, and before I can recover, he’s bounding down the steps of his porch, my lower ribs banging painfully on his shoulder. He takes me around to the driver’s side of his truck, opens the door, and tosses me in. I immediately scramble across the cab seat, intent on flinging myself out the passenger door, but his hand on my shoulder stops me as he climbs right into the driver’s seat. He reaches down under the front seat, I hear something rattle, and then he slams a pair of handcuffs over my left wrist. I start to shriek in outrage but only stunned disbelief squeaks out when he slams the other end onto his right wrist. Cain then jams the key in the ignition, cranks the engine, and spits dirt and gravel from under his tires as he peels out of his driveway. “What the hell are you doing?” I finally manage to grit out as he drives with my hand cuffed to his. I tentatively give a tug to make sure the cuffs are secure, but they are. “Don’t do that,” he snaps as he turns angry eyes at me. “Unless you want us to wreck.” Cain is driving at a breakneck speed as he pulls out onto 191 and starts heading in the opposite direction of Jackson. “Where are you taking me?” I ask, my blood still boiling with rage and my heart still battered from the betrayal. “To The Wicked Horse,” he says quietly. “I have to show you something, and then I can explain what’s

going on.” What in the fuck could he possibly show me at The Wicked Horse? Is Amy a waitress there or something? And then it hits me. He doesn’t have anything at The Wicked Horse to show me. He’s going to show me The Silo.

* MY MOUTH STAYS firmly shut the rest of the ride, and that’s only because I have nothing to say at this point. I have nothing to say because my brain is too busy trying to process everything. I’m not sure what it is about this email that’s prompting this impromptu trip, but Cain just may be getting ready to lay all the evidence I need at my doorstep. The inner child in me… the one who’s betrayed… hopes I can use whatever I’m about to see to bring Cain down hard. But the part of me that’s been hurt… that’s the part of me who wants to beg Cain not to take me there, but come up with some other rational explanation for what I saw. Because I know whatever is within that round building that looks like a real silo is going to change everything that I’ve come to figure out up to this point. Cain pulls into The Wicked Horse and rather than take his customary spot at the part of the lot bordering the road, he drives alongside the building and parks near the rear… forty feet from The Silo. Wordlessly, he reaches into the clean ashtray and pulls out a key that he uses on the cuff. He releases the shackles and exits the truck. Coming around to my side, he opens the door and holds his hand out to me to help me down. I look down at the gravel parking lot and say dumbly, “I don’t have any shoes.” Like he’s a knight in shining armor, Cain gallantly pulls me from the seat and cradles me in his arms. The irony of thinking of him as gallant is not lost on me. He bumps the door shut with his hip and carries me over to a slate path that is lined with solar lighting, leading right up to the silo. When we get to the door, he drops me gently until my feet are resting on the concrete threshold and fishes in his pocket for a small, black fob he pulls out. He looks at the digital screen, and then punches in a long number into the panel by the door. I hear a distinctive snicking sound indicating it’s been unlocked. Cain puts his hand on the doorknob but before he opens it, he turns to look at me and says, “That email you saw. That was a job. One that was scheduled before I ever met you. It’s just a job.” “I don’t understand,” I say, because now I’m confused. I don’t understand how that rendezvous being scheduled is a job to him. Surely he’s not saying… “Just come inside and it will all be clear,” he says quietly… in a voice that sounds utterly defeated and which makes me want to comfort him for some stupid reason. Insane really. This guy is planning to fuck some woman in just a few days, and he wasn’t going to tell me about it. “You were going to cheat on me,” I say in a small voice, my eyes lowering to the ground. “You promised me you wouldn’t.” “And I didn’t break that promise,” he says firmly. “I was going to break things off with you before Friday.” My heart plummets and I didn’t think it could hurt any more than it did, but I was wrong. It feels like it’s been stabbed with a rusty, dull knife. Cain pulls the door open and motions me inside.

“Come on,” he says softly. “Let me show you my world.

Chapter 23

Cain I CURSE MYSELF for the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes for ever getting involved with Sloane Meyers. It was a stupid path I put myself on. One that was destined for nothing but pain in the end, and yet, I still gladly took all I could from her while it was available. The low strains of some classical shit filters through the room. I much prefer something sexier when I’m doing my silo fucking, but some of the patrons wanted something more sophisticated. As if that could make what we’re doing more stylishly acceptable. I lead Sloane down the hall and into the open, round room at the center. When we break free of the concrete walls of the hallway, the classical music is muted by two other distinct sounds. The first is the chatter of about thirty people. It’s sort of dead in here tonight, but that’s normal for a Sunday evening. The second is the moaning of people in the throes of ecstasy. I look down at Sloane and find her eyes sweeping the room. Taking in the people mingling with cocktails, the bar at the center of the room, and then her gaze finally sweeps left and she takes in the windowed rooms of The Silo. A small gasp of surprise escapes her lips, and her eyebrows shoot straight up. I follow her gaze and look at the first room. It’s holds nothing but a raised dais with a black, silk-covered mattress. Four people occupy the room, three men filling up one woman three different ways. Sloane takes a few steps past the window and looks into the next room. This is where she gets an eyeful. The room is completely bare of any furnishings or implements other than a large, wooden stockade that I happen to know Bridger built himself a few weeks ago. He’d wanted to showcase it and apparently, tonight was the night. Within the confines of the stockade is a woman. Catherine actually, who is a regular in the club. She’s a young, rich trophy wife to a decrepit billionaire who’s on death’s door. He gave her this membership so that she could get her rocks off. Although he’s long since lost the ability to get his dick up, he loves to watch her work. Catherine is also a woman who loves a good gang bang, and I’m talking about exactly the type of fucking that Sloane could have never imagined in her dirtiest multiple fantasy. With her head and wrists securely locked in the wooden frame, Catherine is gloriously naked and just as gloriously getting defiled by multiple men. There have to be at least seven guys in the room. Some completely naked, some standing around fully clothed and just watching as Catherine gets fucked. One guy is pumping furiously into Catherine from behind, causing her shoulders to jam into the frame secured around her neck. Her tits sway back and forth with the motion. Another guy stands to Catherine’s side and has his hand between her legs, working at her clit. I know it feels good because her eyes are practically rolled into the back of her head, but she can’t utter a sound because another guy has his cock shoved down her throat from the front of the stockade. The man fucking Catherine suddenly grips onto her hips hard, slams in to the hilt, and throws his head back as he starts to come. He grinds against her, unloads a little bit more, and then stumbles backward

completely spent. Another guy steps up, pulls his cock out of his dress pants, and rams it unceremoniously into her. Again, Catherine can’t moan from the invasion because she’s in the process of deep throating someone’s dick. Normally, watching this would turn me the fuck on. I’d be in that room with the other guys, waiting to get my crack at a woman who likes being used roughly and with little respect. Either I’d fuck her pussy, her mouth, or even her ass, and I’d do so with no regard other than busting a nut and then letting my next buddy have a chance. The thought of Sloane doing something like that makes me sick. “Why did you bring me here?” Sloane asks in such a small, hurt voice that I wince. When I turn to look at her, she asks, “Did you want me to do that?” Her gaze cuts over to Catherine. “God, no,” I say in horror as I take her by the hand and lead her back to the hallway. “I’d never want you to do that.” “What is this place?” Sighing, I turn her so her back is against the wall and lean in closer so I can talk in a lower voice. While we’re away from the main crowd, this is private and I don’t want to be overheard. “Sloane… this place is called The Silo. It’s a sex club. Bridger owns it, and it’s a place people can come to enjoy a safe and private atmosphere to indulge in their fantasies.” “Bridger owns it alone?” she asks, and I think that’s an odd question. “Yeah… he’s the sole owner.” “You pay to get in?” “A flat fee membership of $50,000 per year.” “And that woman?” she asks with a nod back to the main room. “She’s a regular. Her husband comes with her,” I tell her, but now that I think about it, I didn’t see the old geezer out there. He’s always confined to a wheelchair, sucking down oxygen while he watches his wife indulge. “So those rooms in there,” she asks, her voice sounding a little stronger and not as broken with hurt. “People can just go in there and…” I nod. “Yes. Some rooms are themed, but some are just places you can go in and have sex while others watch. Really… you can do anything you want here as long as your partner is willing.” Her eyes drop to the floor, and she chews on her lower lip. When she finally looks back up, she asks, “Are you a paid prostitute?” “What?” I ask in astonishment. “No. Why would you ever ask that?” “You said that woman Amy was a job. What else was I to assume?” Good point. I take in a breath, let it out, and lean closer. Placing my hand on the wall near her head, I say, “Sloane… I’m the head of security for The Wicked Horse. That’s my main job. But I am also a member of this sex club. Sometimes, I’m requested to be what’s called a Fantasy Maker. I’ll indulge someone in a fantasy to their specification. That’s what the thing was for Friday night with Amy.” “A fantasy?” she asks dubiously. “A rape fantasy,” I confirm for her, because no sense in beating around the bush. “Amy likes that. Normally her husband participates.” “Her husband?” she exclaims with wide eyes. “Yes. A lot of the members here are in committed, monogamous relationships.” She nods, as if that all makes sense to her now. “And you were going to break things off with me

before Friday?” “So I wouldn’t be breaking my promise to you,” I add on. “I get it.” “Do you?” I ask as I put my fingers under her chin and push up until she’s looking at me. “Do you get it’s a job and it’s something I have to do? I don’t want to do it, but I committed. And while I don’t get paid for these things, my bonuses are based on how often I’m requested. It’s a way for me to make good money and get my debt paid down. If I didn’t have that on my back, I wouldn’t feel so obligated.” “I get it,” she says again, this time with understanding. “You don’t have to tell me anymore.” Pushing off the wall, I step back from her and take a deep breath as I look out into the main room. I’m at a crossroads, and now that this is all out in the open, I search in vain for a way to make this still work with her. Turning back to Sloane, I ask, “Would you give me a pass on this Friday? Would you let me fulfill this fantasy, knowing it’s just a job for me?” Sloane’s eyes turn sad and her lips flatten. She gives a shake of her head and says, “I can’t. I can’t separate it out. I know you can do that, but I just don’t have it in me to know you’re with another woman. I know that seems like a double standard, but I just… can’t.” My shoulders sag, but I didn’t truly expect a different reaction from her. I had hoped, but I didn’t give it much chance. Holding my hand out to her, I say, “Come on. Let’s me take you back to my house. You can get your stuff and—” “I want to go back in there with you,” Sloane says, and my body goes stiff with tension. She points back to the main room and adds on, “I want us to go use one of those rooms… right now.” “Why in the ever-loving fuck would you want to—?” “Cain,” Sloane says softly as she steps into me. She places a hand over my heart and says, “You explained what’s going on. As of this moment, you haven’t broken your promise to me. We have four more nights together, so let’s make the best of them. And since this place is a part of who you are… a part of the way you are… I want to experience it with you.” I just blink at her, completely dumbfounded about this turn around. She’s gone from enraged hellcat to calm acceptance of my unusual proclivities and job duties. She’s giving me more than I could hope for… four more nights. She’s keeping a firm boundary, telling me we’re over the minute I take on this job with Amy Mason. My choices are to just cut her loose now, or take advantage of what she’s offering. And I’d be a fool to pass up Sloane Meyers in her bare feet and baggy sweatpants, with her hair still damp from her shower in a deviant sex club. “Then let’s go,” I say as I grab her hand and lead her back into the main room.

* AS SOON AS WE step out of the hallway, I see Bridger by the bar. I pull Sloane along with me, weaving my way among the scattered patrons that are still socializing and watching the action within the rooms. Bridger’s eyebrows rise when he sees us, his gaze raking over Sloane’s unruly appearance. “Hey man,” I say as we get within earshot. “I’m going to be a little late on the job.” Bridger just gives me a shit-eating grin and then turns to Sloane. “Going to take a walk on the wild side tonight, darling?” “Just for tonight,” Sloane says in a matter-of-fact tone. “Tomorrow, it’s back to plain old missionary.” I want to laugh at that, because Sloane may be sweet and inexperienced compared to me, but she is not

a “missionary” girl. In fact, she’s gotten quite bold under my tutelage the last several days, and she’s graduated up to a nice-sized ass plug and is still begging for more. “Well, enjoy,” Bridger says. “We will,” I tell him, and then throw a thumb over my shoulder at the room holding the stockade. “That turned out fantastic. Looks like Catherine’s having a blast.” Bridger’s eyes turn a little sad, and he says, “Her husband died a few days ago.” “What?” I ask in astonishment, and Sloane gives a tiny gasp of sympathy. “Died in his sleep apparently. She’s broken up about it, I think.” “Huh,” I say with a bit of skepticism. There never seemed to be any love between those two. I just assumed she was a trophy wife, and he was a rich ticket out of a bad life for her. But whatever. I have more important things to worry about. Turning to Sloane, I ask her, “Which room do you want to go in?”

Chapter 24

Sloane I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M getting ready to do this. It’s probably a mistake, and I’m doing this for all the wrong reasons, but I’m still going to do it. It’s odd, how you can barely know someone but still share such intense experiences with them that you develop a deep connection. That most certainly happened with us. But the truth is, we’ve been together a little less than two weeks, and I probably had no right to trust him. I had no business to take stock in the way he seemed to want me exclusively, and I should have never believed his promise to not fuck around while we were doing a whole lot of fucking. But he breached that, and while I logically get that to him it’s just a job, and that he was going to break it off with me and not really betray me at all, my heart still feels shredded to pieces. He’s made it clear that, ultimately, his job is more important to him than I am, which goes back to my theory that letting him give me my fantasy probably diluted any long-term respect he had for me. As for the sex club and his role, I think this is a way Cain makes good money and digs out of his debt. Sure, he’ll orgasm and enjoy himself, but I’m pretty sure these little fantasies he fulfills are nothing but employment for him. Still, I also understand that this sex club is part of Cain’s life. He said he’s a member, so that means before I came along, and after I’m gone, he’s going to enjoy the benefits of it. This is the part that hurts, because there’s clearly no room for me here. Except for tonight. Tonight, I’m going to allow myself to be a part of Cain’s kinky world. I’m going to experience a sexual high most people will never even imagine, and then I’m going to memorialize every sordid detail for my article for Revealed magazine. Cain’s loyalties aren’t to me, so mine can’t be to him. This means I can stop worrying about what my job might do to him. Of course, I’ll have to swallow down the bitterness of throwing Callie under the bus along the way, but I can’t worry about her now. With Cain out of the picture, there’s no life for me here. That means no friendship with Callie. It’s done, even though the sordidness of what I’m doing feels like a jagged razor cutting into my very soul. I look among the rooms, taking into consideration where I want to go. There’s a room with a woman tied to a large cross, getting flogged by another woman. The room with the one woman and three men going at each other, of course, and the room with the woman in the stockade. I watch as the guy getting his dick sucked pulls out of her mouth and comes on her face—another guy stepping in and taking his place. I grimace, because Cain was absolutely right. I wasn’t built for that type of gang bang, but she seems to be enjoying it for sure. There’s another room with a woman strapped onto what looks like a medical examination table with stirrups, her feet secured in them and legs spread wide. An enormous guy dressed head to toe in leather, including a black leather mask that covers his face, stands in between her legs. He holds a machine with an electrical cord that’s plugged into an outlet. The other end of the machine has a giant dildo on the end that’s attached to some type of mechanism that causes it to pump in and out of her vagina like a

jackhammer. She thrashes and moans on the table, and then her back arches up as she orgasms. A cramp of desire hits me hard between my legs. I realize I’ve been turned on from the minute I got here, but I’ve only now had the freedom to appreciate it. My eyes slide over to the next room, filled with various pieces of furniture and three couples in there fucking. That would be an easy enough choice, but I hesitate. None of it seems right. None of it seems like it makes a statement to the man who I want to understand fully that I have the ability to satisfy him in all counts if he’d only just stay committed to my body alone. So I turn to Cain and say, “Any rule against us fucking right here?” Cain jerks and Bridger, who’s still standing right beside us, laughs darkly. “You got a wild one there.” Cain doesn’t even bother to acknowledge Bridger, but looks left and then right at the people all around us. Many of them are watching the action in the rooms, but others are just enjoying quiet drinks as they mingle close by. “Right here?” he asks incredulously. “Sure,” I say with a shrug. “What’s the difference except a piece of glass separating us and maybe some useful furniture?” And to prove my point, I turn to one of the swivel stools sitting at the circular bar behind Bridger and pat my hand on it. “You could bend me over this and just go to town.” Cain shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen—” I give a startled yip when Bridger’s hands go to my waist. He easily picks me up, sits my ass down on the black, lacquered bar, and motions his hand toward me. “There you go, Cain. Your girl wants to get fucked right here.” I expect Cain to argue and pull me down, because I can tell I’ve thrown him off his game tremendously. It makes me feel good to know I can fluster the great sex machine and master, Cain Bonham. But instead, his eyes narrow at me and then spark with an almost evil intent. He steps up to the bar, in between my legs that are dangling over the edge, and puts his hands on my knees. Giving them a squeeze, he asks, “Right here?” “Right now,” I whisper in affirmation. “Suit yourself,” he says with a wicked laugh. His hands quickly pull my sweatpants free of my legs. I have to slap my hands on the bar for leverage as he practically pulls me right off the top along with my pants. His hands go back to hips, and then my underwear is being whipped free. I take a moment and look around. Bridger putting me up on the bar caught everyone’s attention that was sitting to the left and right. A few nearby couples watch with interest, and my head turns to Bridger, who is just standing casually next to me, his elbow resting on the bar near my thigh. He gives me a wink and says, “Enjoy, Sloane.” Cain bends over, presses his face right in between my legs, and runs his tongue up my center. A hoarse bark of surprise pops out of my mouth and I lean to one side to put weight on that arm, my other hand coming to Cain’s head to hold him to me. With nothing but the power of his tongue and the movement of his face side to side, he starts working against my clit in a determined fashion. “That’s hot,” Bridger says, and my eyes flutter closed without even looking at him. This is way hotter than what I imagined fucking in any of those rooms would be like. While the view is just as unobstructed, I guess there is some security in that wall of glass that separates the fuckers from the watchers. Pain bursts in my right nipple. My eyes fly open to see Bridger’s head at chest level, my t-shirt and nipple in between straight, white teeth. He then sucks at it through the material, licking to alleviate the sting. He pulls away and winks at me again, then turns his back on Cain and me, as if he’s totally uninterested, which makes what he just did all that more wicked.

Cain works his tongue against me furiously, moaning his approval over my taste and scent. He flutters hard, growls against me, and my orgasm catches me off guard. “Fuck,” I cry out shrilly, my fingers digging into his scalp. He laughs, kisses my pussy, and then stands up straight. Reaching over onto the bar, he grabs a napkin off a stack and wipes his mouth. He crudely balls it up and tosses it on the top right by my hip. “Was that what you wanted?” he asks me soberly. “Did you like everyone watch you get your pussy tongue fucked?” I swallow hard because I hear anger in his voice, and I don’t get it. Isn’t this what he wanted too? I mean, this is his fucking life. He’s a member of this club, and I just tried to show him I can be as down and dirty as any of these people. Plus, there’s the added benefit of me getting a story. Before I can say a word, Cain is pulling me off the bar and throwing me back over his shoulder. I protest with a “Hey, what the hell—” but he reaches his hand up, slides it up the back of my thigh, and presses a finger into my pussy from the back of me. I buck against the sensation, but his strong shoulder bears the burden. I’m upside down, but he spins away from the bar and starts walking away from the hallway that leads outside. I have no clue where we’re going until I hear a door open, the sound of a light being turned on, and then the door closing again. Cain bends over and puts me down, steadying me by my shoulders as I straighten up. I get only a moment to sweep my gaze left and right, immediately realizing we’re in some type of supply room. Floor-to-ceiling metal shelves lined with boxes, bottles, tubes, and bags filled with sexual paraphernalia. “Why are we—?” My words are cut off as Cain slams his mouth against mine, giving me a deep and bruising kiss. When he pulls away, he simply says, “No talking, Sloane.” His hands come to my t-shirt and he whips it over my head, leaving me completely naked before his lips are on me again. Cain’s hands come to my ass and he hauls me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He walks back five paces until I’m pressed up against a cold, concrete wall. Cain then kisses me so soundly and thoroughly, my head starts to get fuzzy. He possesses me with his lips and tongue, and he seems to be trying to communicate something to me in the ferocity of his touch. My heart reacts, my arms winding around his neck, and I start to kiss him back. I kiss Cain right there in a dismally lit storage room. The way his tongue strokes and rolls over mine is of a completely different nature. It seems to be full of apology and regret, and my answering kiss seems to tell him I understand even though I’m still hurt. Without a single word being said between us, the kiss speaks volumes. I’m barely cognizant of my surroundings, perhaps I notice the sound of Cain’s zipper coming down, I’m not sure, but then he’s thrusting inside of me. The initial burst of pleasure with the tiny stretching sting makes me gasp into his mouth. “Fuck, that feels good,” Cain groans against my lips, and his hips start hammering at me. He thrusts up into me, grinding my spine into the wall and groaning in lustful abandon. I try to say his name… I think in praise for how wonderful this is… but he’s pounding into me so hard I stutter, “Ca-ai-ai-ai-ai-n.” He ignores me, fucking me harder and faster. My fingers dig into the back of his neck and I press my face into his shoulder, hanging on for the ride as he completely dominates me. Cain pulls back and slams in, causing me to cry out, and then he goes still. I pull my face up and look at him. His face is flushed with a sheen of sweat, but his eyes reflect back a brokenness that causes my

heart to cramp. “I don’t want to lose you, Sloane,” he says gruffly, and then because we can’t ignore the way he’s lodged in me, all of our nerves pulsing for release, he does a slow swivel of his hips and grinds into me again. I moan, “Then don’t.” Please, please don’t. He pulls back, sinks into me slowly. “I don’t want anything but this pussy right here.” My muscles clutch reflexively over the yearning in his voice, squeezing onto his cock hard. He groans again, pulls out, and slams back in. He does it again and again. He picks the pace back up, tunneling deep as if he’s trying to crawl inside my body. A singular shudder of pleasure ripples up my spine, back down again, and then bursts wide open in a firestorm of release that catches me completely by surprise. “Oh, Cain,” I call out as my head falls back against the wall. Cain drives deep, plants his feet so he can grind hard against me, and starts to fall apart. His face falls to my shoulder, his fingers dig into my hips, and his cock starts to pulse inside of me as he climaxes. His breathing is harsh, his shoulders hunched. His face remains hidden. Cain draws in a deep, stuttering breath. When he lifts his forehead from my shoulder, he looks me dead in the eye. “I’m not going to do it. Friday… with Amy. I’m yours and yours alone if you’ll have me.” My eyes flare with surprise as pure joy seems to burst within every molecule of my being. “Are you serious?” “As a heart attack,” he says gravely. “I want you so much, Sloane. I’ll give the sex club up. I’ll find some other way to earn money. If I come back here, it will be with you… only as a couple.” The only way I can answer him is by taking his face in my hands and kissing him hard. He barely gets his tongue in my mouth before I’m pulling back to look at him, still disbelieving of the sacrifice he’s making for me. “You’d do that for me?” “I think you’re pretty amazing,” he says with a smile. “I know it’s only been a few weeks, but this is so different from anything I’ve had before. I want more of it, and I’ll do what it takes to keep it.” I slam my chest against Cain’s, wrap my arms around his neck, and press my face against his. My eyes get wet with emotion, and I whisper, “I can’t believe this. It’s more than I could have wanted.” He squeezes me affectionately and mumbles, “So we’re cool?” “We’re cool,” I say as I smile, and I know he can feel it from where my cheek lays against his. Another squeeze to my waist and then Cain starts to lower me to the ground. His cock slips free and the minute it does, a stream of liquid runs down my inner thighs. I look down as Cain steps backward. He looks down, sees his semen trickling down, and curses, “Fuck.” Cain puts his hands on my shoulders, and I look up at him. “I am so sorry, Sloane,” he says tritely. “Christ… I wanted in you so bad, I wasn’t thinking. And then… I realized it, but then I wanted to come inside you, and I just couldn’t fucking help it. But I promise to fucking God Almighty… I’m clean. I have to take health screenings routinely, and I always wear a rubber. I swear it.” “It’s okay,” I assure him, because I trust him on that issue. “I’m sure it’s fine.” “Are you—?” I nod. “—on birth control? Yes.” Cain sighs in relief, pressing his forehead against mine for a minute. When he pulls back, I also assure

him, “I should be clean too. I mean… that’s the first time I’ve had sex without a condom. But I can go get tested.” I could tell that issue hadn’t crossed his mind, so he shrugs it off. “I’m sure it’s fine. But how about we both get tested and since it’s just you and me, we do away with wrapping my dick up, okay?” I can’t help but laugh. “Okay. I will have to say, it’s way nicer that way.” “Oh, yeah.” He chuckles. “That was the fucking bomb, I shit you not.” “You’re a poet,” I say drily. “And this poet really needs to get you dressed, back to my place, and then back to work.” “Will you send Amy an email cancelling?” I hesitantly ask him. “Even better… I’m going to tell Bridger right now as we’re leaving. He can handle the cancellation with her, and besides… I’m sure he can find some other guys to handle it.” “Like Logan or Rand? I assume they’re members?” “Or any number of other horny members,” he points out with an affirming nod. “The club has almost one-hundred and fifty members. She’s not going to be suffering from lack of attention.” “Okay, then,” I say with a relieved breath. It seems like in the blink of an eye, things have changed drastically for Cain and me. It causes hope and happiness to fizz within me like a fine champagne. “And Sloane,” Cain says as he tucks himself into his pants. “You can’t tell anyone about this club, okay?” A flash of pain stabs into me, seems to tear my guts up as my little happy bubble is burst. Reality filters in, and I realize this line between truth and lies is impossible to walk anymore. “Yeah… of course,” I tell him soberly. “I understand it’s a secret.”

Chapter 25

Cain I SIT IN my truck and look up at my small house. It’s never seemed like anything but a house before to me, but knowing Sloane is sitting inside right now sort of changes the dynamic. I could see her staying there permanently with me, making a home with me. One day. It’s something I haven’t had since I moved out of my mom and Walt’s house when I went into the Marine Corps at eighteen. Certainly never had it with Rachel. I glance at my watch and see it’s almost 9:30 PM. I’m more than an hour and a half late to start my shift at The Wicked Horse, but then again, I didn’t imagine tonight would ever go down the way it did. When I saw Sloane sitting at my computer a little more than two hours ago, I could tell by her posture that something was seriously wrong. Although, it never occurred to me that she would have seen Amy’s email. Hell, I hadn’t even seen it at that point as I hadn’t looked at my computer all day. I immediately just assumed she must have gotten some bad news about her mother or something, so when she threw out Amy’s name to me, my heart just seized in my chest as I came to the quick understanding that Sloane was lost to me. My reaction was impulsive, no doubt. Picking her up, cuffing her to me, and taking her to The Silo was stupid and dangerous. I had no business revealing that to her, and it’s something that could have turned out very badly. Could have even cost me my job. But I had to make her see that yes, it’s a sex club, but it’s also part of my job. It was the only way I could truly explain to her why I had plans with Amy on Friday night. What I didn’t expect was for Sloane to react in a way I could have never anticipated. I thought she might understand once she saw, but I never expected her to want to partake in the sinfulness there. I expected her to take it all in and then tell me to go to hell. I most certainly didn’t foresee me eating her pussy on the bar in front of everyone, and that was indeed hot. But when I was done and observing the flush on her face from her orgasm, I had an intense desire to keep our sex private from other eyes. Call it a primal caveman response, or maybe it was my soul recognizing its mate, I don’t fucking know, but I had her back over my shoulder and my cock deep inside of her within the confines of the supply closet in seconds. While I was fucking her, deep as can be, I kept thinking it would be the last time. She was lost to me. I’d never have anything as great as what was in my arms at that moment, and an epiphany rang as clear as church bells on Sunday. Sloane Meyers was it for me. She was more important than continuing on with meaningless sex within The Silo, or earning good bonuses from my fantasy making duties. My priorities clarified. I looked with clear eyes upon the woman who I believe was meant for me and for whom I was falling for hard and fast. That caused me to lose it deep inside of her. I came so ridiculously hard, I almost wept against her

shoulder. I look back at the house. After I drove Sloane home, I walked with her inside. Led her straight back to my bedroom and watched as she crawled onto my bed, shoving her legs under the covers. I kissed her on her forehead and bade her goodnight, with a promise we’d talk more in the morning about what this all meant for us going forward. And though working at The Wicked Horse tonight is the last thing in the world I want to do, I headed back out the door. My hand goes to the ignition and I start to turn it, eyeballing my house… wait, my home now, one more time. “Fuck it,” I say into the darkness of the truck’s cab, pulling the key out. I grab my phone and send a quick text to Bridger. I’m taking the night off. Let Mikey know to take charge of the security crew.

I didn’t ask Bridger. I just told him, hoping that didn’t earn me a firing. But damn… I never take time off from work, always work extra shifts, and have always been at Bridger’s beck and call when he needed me. I don’t think one night off would be a problem. Bridger texts back immediately, and apparently, all is good. Not surprised. Have fun. I smile and open the truck door. He may be hard and scary a good chunk of the time, but I suspect Bridger might have a little bit of softness in the very center of his heart. Maybe not for himself, but he definitely likes those around him to be happy and fulfilled. Making my way back to the house, I silently fit the key in the lock and enter quietly. I can still see that my bedroom door is open, as the light spills out into the darkened hallway. I imagine Sloane laying there in my bed, maybe just getting ready to turn out the light to go to sleep. I suspect she’s worn out, but I hope not too bad. I have an insatiable need brewing inside of me again to have her, and I know she won’t deny me. Maybe it’s time to even take that ass tonight, which would be an incredible way to cement the new bond we developed. I creep down the hallway, glad of the worn but soft carpet to hide my footsteps. As I get closer, I hear her voice in a low murmur. I stop just outside the door, not wanting to interrupt if perhaps she’s talking to her mom again. I consider even turning around and waiting in the kitchen, when I hear, “Brant… I’ve got an update.” I freeze, my curiosity piqued, and I tilt my head to continue listening. “I’ve done some major digging with Callie Hayes, and I’ve also been inside the club. It’s all locked down tight, and Callie’s lips are secured. I’ve got nothing.” My breath goes stale within my lungs and my stomach seems to be filled with a ball of lead. There’s silence, and then a long-suffering sigh. Her voice sounds worn when she says, “There’s nothing there. No story. You need to let it go.” What the fuck? Any thoughts of surreptitiously spying on Sloane evaporate, and I step into the room. She’s still in my bed, her knees pulled up almost to her chin, with her back slumped against the headboard. The only sign I’ve surprised her by my appearance is a heavy sadness that fills her eyes as she realizes I’ve heard what she’s just said. Keeping her eyes locked on me, she says into the phone, “I was hoping I could persuade you differently.” My anger starts rising as I realize Sloane isn’t who I thought she was at all. I’ve heard enough to know she’s been planted here to find something on The Silo, and by the sounds of it, something about Callie. Which means Woolf must be targeted as well.

But why? “Brant… you do what you need to do, but there’s nothing here on my end. Run the story if you have to. I’m afraid this will serve as my notice too. I quit.” Sloane then winces as whoever is on the other line must be issuing a string of vulgarities. She listens for only a few seconds before disconnecting the call. She stares at the phone for a moment, seemingly lost in deep thought, and then drags her eyes back up to me. “I’m sorry,” is all she says. “Who the fuck are you?” I grit out, my hands clenching into fists. Sloane rolls out of the bed, dropping her phone on the mattress. When she walks up to me, her eyes are apologetic but pleading with me for understanding. She goes to lay a hand on my chest but I step out of her reach, my fists still balled tight. The sadness in her eyes intensifies at my reaction. “My name is Sloane Preston. Meyers is my mom’s maiden name. I work for—well, used to work for a political magazine in D.C. I was sent here to find out about The Silo and to try to connect it to Governor Hayes.” My breath hisses out through my teeth as my rage intensifies. “When I couldn’t find a link to the governor,” she continues on in a shame-filled voice, “I was ordered to try to find some dirt on Callie. They wanted me to write a sordid piece on her, and they’d connect the governor with a very weak political spin so they could publish it. They wanted sales and ratings.” “And what the fuck was my part in all of this?” She swallows hard but doesn’t drop her gaze. “You were my way into the club.” “Son of a fucking bitch,” I roar as it suddenly hits me that everything I had with this woman was a fucking lie. My hand shoots out and grabs her by the upper arm. She gasps in pain, but I don’t care. I drag her to the bed, picking up her phone with my free hand and throwing it in her purse on the nightstand. Then I grab the purse, shoving it into her chest, where she makes an awkward grab at it. I immediately start dragging her out of my bedroom. “You fucking bitch,” I hiss at her. “Wait, Cain,” she cries out, trying to dig her bare feet into the carpet. “I couldn’t go through with it…” “Yeah, I heard that part,” I sneer at her as I pull on her hard. She stumbles, goes to her knees, and I drag her down the hallway. “Convenient how you said that only after I walked into the room and you knew you were busted.” “That’s not true,” she blurts out and I stop, yank her to her feet, and start pulling her across my living room. “I had planned to quit when I made that call.” “Don’t fucking lie to make this easier on your conscience. I’m not buying it.” “Just wait,” she yells at me, trying to jerk her arm free. Just as I reach the front door, she manages to rip away from me and take two steps back. I turn on her, my breath coming in shallow bursts. My fury burns hotter as I take in the deceitful woman who turned out to be no better than Rachel was. Actually, worse since my feelings were deeper. “I was going to quit before then,” she says hurriedly as she reaches into her purse. She looks in, shuffles through something, and pulls out an envelope. Her hand reaches out, attempting to hand it to me. “I wrote this letter to you explaining everything. I was going to leave tonight… leave this with you… telling you the truth of everything. And I thought… if you could forgive me, then maybe we could—” I lunge at her, dismissing everything that comes out of her mouth, knowing I’ll never trust her or another woman again as long as I live. I take her arm again, yanking her roughly to the door. She tries to

pull against me, but I’m having none of it. I know my grip is so hard on her that it will leave bruises on her skin. So fucking what. They’ll match the bruises on my heart. I jerk the door open, shoving her through it onto my front porch. She stumbles but catches herself before she goes down. Sloane spins quickly to look at me, her hair flying and covering a portion of her face. Tears are streaming down her face, and I have to wonder why in the fuck she’s crying. She hands the envelope toward me again. “Please, will you just read it?” Glancing down to the envelope, I look back up to her. I narrow my gaze at her and put every bit of emotion into my words when I say, “Get the fuck off my property and don’t ever come here again. You so much as come after Callie or anyone involved in The Silo, and I will end you. There won’t be anywhere you can hide from me.” Sloane gives a tiny sob and nods at me in understanding, tears pouring so hard from her eyes that they drip off her chin onto my porch. “I understand. And don’t worry. I won’t do anything to hurt you, Callie, or anyone. That was never my intention.” I watch as she bends over, drops the envelope on the porch, and turns around to trot down the steps. She hustles into her car, and I watch until I can no longer see her taillights in the dark. I look down at the envelope one more time, then turn around and walk back into my house.

Chapter 26

Sloane I PULL OUT onto 191 and head toward Jackson, but my eyes are so blurred with tears that I can’t see the road. Slamming on brakes, I pull over onto the shoulder, feeling the crunch of gravel and wild sagebrush under my tires. Placing my hands at the top of my steering wheel, I lay my forehead on them and just go ahead and let the sobs out. I let myself purge all the pain and heartbreak I’m feeling, because I still have important things to do and I have to let this go sooner rather than later. Oh, God… I didn’t realize it would hurt this bad when Cain found out the truth. I didn’t realize how badly it would clearly hurt him, and his reaction very much hurt me. The mere fact he wouldn’t listen to my explanation… wouldn’t even touch my letter explaining it all… it leaves me so empty feeling I’m not sure how I can ever reconcile this all within my conscience. Cain has no reason to believe me based on what he overheard with Brant, but I had made the decision to tell Brant to go fuck himself yesterday after Callie and I had lunch. I thought of the connection I had with her, and the amazing relationship I was developing with Cain, and I weighed it against my abhorrence over hurting two people I came to care about and admire in a short time. I realized I couldn’t go through with what Brant wanted of me, so I came back to my apartment and drafted my letters. I wrote down exactly who I was and what I had set out to do. The one I wrote to Cain lays on his front porch, where it will probably blow away and disintegrate from the elements. The other I wrote to Callie. I kept them in my purse, assured I would not hand them over until I had exhausted all efforts to get Brant to back off. I had no clue when or if that could happen. I know tonight was my first true attempt to get him to see reason. As soon as Cain dropped me off at his house and left to go back to work, I was filled with compulsion to make this all go away so I could try to make an honest effort at having something real with this man who had just willingly sacrificed a big part of his life to be with me. In the matter of a few hours’ time, I had gone from thinking Cain was all wrong for me to knowing he was the one. I was willing to leave D.C., relocate here permanently, and try to figure out a new path in life. I was at peace with that decision, knowing that in the end, I’d get what was most important. But fuck… when Cain walked into that room and I saw the condemnation tinged with hate in his eyes, I knew time was up. I had to cut my ties with Brant. He was screaming at me that he was bringing my mother and me down when I hung up, but I couldn’t worry about that right now. I had to start making amends to the immediate people who were going to be hurt, and that was namely Cain and Callie. Cain’s a bust. He’s not listening, nor does it appear he has room in his heart to forgive my betrayal. And honestly, I don’t expect him to. What I did was too deceitful to even expect him to consider listening to a damn thing I have to say. But maybe Callie will, and since she was the one I targeted, it’s just as important to me that she understands I couldn’t go through with it. I know Cain doesn’t believe that was my intention all along, but perhaps she will. Reaching with a shaky hand into my purse, I grab my phone. I know it’s late, but I still pull Callie up

in my contacts and hit her number. She answers on the third ring and sounds fairly chipper despite the late hour. “What’s up, buttercup?” she says. My heart squeezes, because that’s probably the last time I’ll hear a friendly tone in her voice. “Callie…” “What’s wrong?” she butts in with concern heavy in her voice. She can hear the quaver in mine. “I need to see you… tonight,” I whisper, my throat clogging up with emotion. “I’ll come to you,” she says quickly. “Where are you?” Clearing my throat, I say, “No. I’d like to meet you at The Wicked Horse. And I need Woolf and Bridger there too. I know it’s late, but it’s important.” “Woolf and I are on our way,” she says, not even questioning why I want to meet her at the bar. “We’ll call Bridger and have him there. Just have the guy at the door show you to his office.” “Okay,” I say and have to choke down another sob. “And Callie?” “Yeah, babe?” “I’m really sorry,” I say morosely. “For what?” she asks, and I hear a tinge of fear in her voice now. “For everything,” I say before hanging up.

* ALL THREE STAND in Bridger’s office as I requested, looking concerned over my appearance. Tearstained face, wrinkled clothes, and dirty, bare feet. My shoes and bag of overnight clothes are still at Cain’s house. “Thanks for meeting me,” I whisper as I reach into my purse, pulling out the envelope for Callie. I hand it to her. “I’d like all three of you to read it. I was going to give this to you eventually, once I had worked a few things out, but unfortunately, it has to be tonight.” Bridger looks intrigued, Callie looks worried for me, and Woolf looks at me skeptically. “Where’s Cain?” he asks. “At his house,” I say calmly and don’t elaborate. Callie takes the envelope and breaks the seal. Hers is a little thicker than Cain’s. Why is immediately revealed when she pulls out the letter I wrote plus a small, digital recorder. Her head snaps up, and she looks at me with confused eyes. “The letter,” I say in a raspy voice. “It explains everything.” Bridger and Woolf step into Callie’s sides, and they start to read it over her shoulder after she unfolds it. I watch their faces and can tell by their expressions exactly how they’re feeling. Bewildered. Betrayed. Angry. Sad. It tells them everything. What my intentions were, what I found out, and most importantly, that I wasn’t going through with it. That I was going to leave town and quit my job, but that I wanted Callie to know what I had done in the hopes she’d at least forgive me. I even signed it with my real name… Sloane Preston. Callie finishes first, handing the letter to Bridger. She steps toward me, and Bridger and Woolf close ranks to finish reading. She steps up to me and takes my hands. I can’t bear to meet her gaze, so she says,

“Sloane… look at me.” I tilt my head, drag my eyes up to hers, and almost reel backward from the keen disappointment. “What’s on the digital recorder?” “Our conversation at The Merry Piglets. I didn’t copy it. That’s the one and only recording. I didn’t turn anything over to my editor,” I hastily tell her. “Everything I learned is in my head, and I’m not telling another soul. You have nothing to worry about from me.” “Does your editor have anything that ties me to The Silo?” she asks, her brows furrowed with concern. “Absolutely nothing other than an anonymous tipster,” I assure her. “Colton Stokes,” Bridger says confidently as he takes the letter and throws it down on his desk. “I can’t reveal that source,” I say carefully, but then hopefully reassure them when I add on, “but I do believe that source is dried up and has no intentions of opening his or her mouth again.” “You do realize the risk you put us all at,” Woolf growls at me, and I can see… he’s just as pissed as Cain. Callie reaches back and touches her fingers to his wrist. “Leave it, baby. Sloane wasn’t going to do anything to hurt us.” “At first she was,” Woolf says as he pulls his hand away and stomps over to the couch. He throws himself down on it, glaring at me. “Just so I’m sure I understand everything,” Bridger says as he leans his butt on his desk and crosses his arms over his chest. “According to your letter, you came here to flush out a story about Governor Hayes’ ties to The Silo. You quickly found out he had no knowledge of it, then you were ordered to try to tie Callie and possibly Woolf to it, so they could publish a “guilt by association” type of story about the governor?” “Yes, although Woolf wasn’t really on my radar,” I admit. Bridge waves a hand at me. “That’s because he sold out all his interest to me last month.” “For fuck’s sake, Bridger,” Woolf snarls from the couch. “Just tell her everything, why don’t you?” “She’s not going to tell anyone,” Bridger says with all confidence. “I’m not,” I assure him. “I swear it. I couldn’t. And I am so damn sorry I did this to the three of you. You’ll never know how sickened I am with myself.” Woolf gives a snort of disbelief and rolls his eyes. “What I don’t understand is…” Callie says softly, and my gaze slides to hers. “Why didn’t you just drop it the minute you realized there wasn’t much there?” “I wanted to, tried to really, but Brant threatened my mom,” I murmur. “I didn’t put that in the letter because I didn’t want you to think it was an excuse. I wanted you to know I took responsibility for my actions, and I wanted you to know before I left town that this was all on me.” “Threatened your mom how?” Bridger asks, his head tilted in curiosity. “My father is Jared Preston,” I say simply, and Callie gasps. “Who the fuck is that?” Woolf asks. “A United States senator from Tennessee,” Callie says as she turns to look at her husband. “Forced out of office about five years ago after using federal funds to perpetuate an affair he was having with an Argentinian woman, I think.” “Brazilian,” I clarify. Callie gives me an apologetic smile and continues, “It was a huge scandal. There were impeachment hearings, and he left in disgrace. And if I recall, he left his wife, son, and daughter, married the Brazilian woman, and now lives life as a beach bum with new twin daughters, right?”

“That’s the gist of it,” I say bitterly. “But what’s the connection to your mom?” Bridger asks. “Everything I told you about my mom was true. The surgery, the painkillers, the suicide attempt. She’s been in and out of mental hospitals since then. What my dad did destroyed her. Her first attempt at suicide was when she found out about the affair. It hit the news channels.” “Fuck,” Woolf says, and the sympathy in his voice is clear. “Brant tried to blackmail me. He said if I didn’t produce the story, he was going to run a follow-up piece to the Senator Preston scandal and focus on my mom’s most recent hospitalization, which coincided with the anniversary of their divorce.” “Fucking prick,” Woolf growls as he shoots off the couch. “Oh, Sloane,” Callie says as she reaches out to take my hands again. “That’s terrible.” I pull my hands quickly away and step back from her. “Don’t,” I say forcefully. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me. I made my bed and now I’m lying in it. Yes, he was blackmailing me and I eventually didn’t cave to it, but I considered caving. I could have told him to kiss my ass days ago, and I didn’t.” “Because you were trying to figure out a way to protect everyone,” Bridger says, his tone matter-offact. “Doesn’t matter,” I say as I fold my arms across my chest. “I just wanted to explain everything. I’m going to catch a flight out of here tomorrow.” “What about Cain?” Bridger asks. The tears well up in my eyes again, and I blink hard to make them go away. “Let’s just say Cain didn’t want to listen to my explanations.” Everyone is silent, not sure what to say. Finally, Bridger clears his throat and stands up from his desk. “Callie… Woolf. Why don’t you two head home? It’s late, and I want to talk to Sloane for a bit.” Callie looks like she wants to argue, but Woolf puts his arm around her shoulders, intent on ushering her to the door. She pulls free and throws her arms around me. Giving me a fierce hug, she whispers, “I forgive you and thank you for telling me the truth. It was very brave.” “Thank you,” I choke out, the tears now breaking free. I squeeze her back briefly, and then Woolf is pulling her out the door. He gives me a curt nod of his head, and then they’re gone. I’m really going to miss her. I turn to face Bridger and it occurs to me that I hadn’t considered being intimidated by him at all this evening, but now that I’m in the room alone with the big man, I’m feeling slightly overwhelmed. “Want something to drink?” he asks. “No thank you,” I say almost primly. “I’m tired and need to get to my apartment. I want to get an early start tomorrow.” “Don’t leave,” he says as he takes a few steps toward me. I resist the urge to back away from him, because although he’s seemed to accept my story and apology, he hasn’t quite said those words. For all I know, he wants to pound me into the ground. Hell, maybe he had Callie and Woolf leave so he can kill me and dispose of my body in secret. Plausible deniability. “Don’t leave?” I ask as he takes another step toward me. “Don’t leave,” he says simply and stops. “Give Cain a chance to cool down. Did you write a letter explaining everything?” I nod. “Then give him a chance to read it.” “He didn’t want it,” I say adamantly, because I’m afraid to believe there’s still a chance with Cain. If I

believe, then I hope. If I hope, then I hurt when he snubs me again. “Look,” Bridger says softly. “You two clearly have something deep. It’s new, but it’s tangible. I could fucking see it a mile away. So stay and give it a chance.” I refuse to hope. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Besides, I’m not sure I want to be with someone who wouldn’t even give me the courtesy of listening. You, Callie, and Woolf listened, but he couldn’t?” “You’re on the verge of falling in love with him,” Bridger says so confidently, I almost believe him. I hadn’t thought of the “L” word when it comes to Cain before, so I refuse to give it credence now when I have one foot on my way out the door. “I am most certainly not falling in love with him. He’s too closeminded and stubborn. In fact, I’m lucky I’m rid of someone like him.” All lies, but Bridger doesn’t know that. “You truly don’t have feelings for Cain?” he asks skeptically. “Not really,” I say, the words tasting bitter. “He was a good time and I became fond of him, but that’s about as deep as it got.” He takes one last step so he’s almost toe to toe with me. His hand comes up, and it curls around the back of my neck. When he pulls gently, my body falls into his and his other hand wraps around my back, pressing me in tighter. “Then stay with me,” he says in a low, seductive voice. He bends his head, putting his lips near my ear. “I loved fucking you that night and since you don’t care about Cain, stay here and be with me.” My entire body tightens with refusal and I jerk away from him, taking two large steps backward. He is not the one I want. Bridger just gives a husky laugh and cocks an eyebrow at me. “Don’t tell me you weren’t just now thinking to yourself that Cain’s the only man you could want.” Clearly, he was just trying to make a point to me, but I don’t want to accept it. I start sputtering. “Well… that’s… the point is… I mean…” “Sloane,” Bridger says, cutting me off. “Stay and try to work things out with him. If your feelings are that deep, then do something about it and don’t give up. He’s a stubborn fuck, but he’ll cool down eventually.” “I can’t,” I say automatically, but I’ll admit… Bridger now has me hoping. “I just lost my job. My savings aren’t all that great, and Stephenson doesn’t pay me enough to cover my bills. I’m going to head home to Tennessee and I have about enough in savings for a plane ticket.” “Have you ever bartended before?” he asks bluntly. “Um… yeah. A lot actually while in college.” “Then you can start tomorrow at The Wicked Horse. That will be a prime opportunity to put yourself in Cain’s line of sight. Remind him why he’s being pigheaded.” My head spins with the possibility. Should I do that? Is it even possible for him to forgive that type of transgression, especially as the other woman he loved betrayed him so badly? Then a thought strikes me. I narrow my eyes at him and ask, “Why do you believe me? Why did you so willingly accept my apology?” “Because you were remorseful,” he says simply, as if it was the dumbest question ever. “Anyone could see the truth in that. And you took full responsibility. Didn’t even try to pin it on the blackmail until you were asked about it. It takes a lot of guts and fortitude to do that.” “But you don’t know me,” I argue, because I just can’t believe that this is happening to me. The man I tried to screw over by outing his secret sex club is offering me a job. “But I do,” Bridger says with a knowing smile. “You are driven by a sense of justice, I’m guessing

because of what your father did. In fact, I bet you probably had some lame-ass degree planned in college, but changed over to journalism so you could have a vehicle to expose corrupt politicians. Probably had all these altruistic ideas about bringing scumbags like your dad to justice and helping to clean up our system of the frauds. You came here with a fire in your belly to nail your first big target to the wall, and then you ran into trouble when your heart of gold got in the way. You ended up attaching yourself to a good man who showed you there’s more to life than vengeance, and you realized wonderful women like Callie Hayes exist in this world. Even with your mother threatened, you ultimately did what’s right, so that tells me your moral compass needs no fine tuning. And let’s be honest… I know how fucking good your pussy feels, so I know without a doubt that Cain is probably already thinking twice about his decision to cut you loose so fast.” I stare at him, jaw dropped and mouth wide open. “You’re… um… really weird.” “I’m intuitive and that freaks people out sometimes.” “If I work for you, you don’t have any expectations that you and I will…” “Relax, darling,” Bridger says with a chuckle. “I just expect you to be a good bartender.” “Then I accept,” I say, suddenly filled back up with a renewed passion to make things right. I’m going to get Cain Bonham back, no matter how long it takes. “Be here tomorrow at noon,” he says with a nod as he turns back toward his desk. “I’ll have someone ready to train you.” “Thank you, Bridger,” I say softly as I turn toward his office door. “And Sloane?” he calls out. I stop with my hand on the doorknob, turning to look at him over my shoulder. “Yes?” “I’ll still most gladly fuck you any time you and Cain want to invite me into your bed.” He gives me a Cheshire Cat grin, and I feel something tingle between my legs. That man is serious trouble, but I can’t think about him now. My mind is on another man who is far more troublesome at this minute.

Chapter 27

Cain I OPEN THE DOOR to my truck and step out, right into a fucking mud puddle. Figures. I’m surprised it isn’t a pile of shit the way my life has been going the past… I look down at my watch… oh, twenty-one and a half hours, give or take a few minutes. Slamming the door angrily, I step out of the puddle onto dryer gravel and trudge my way toward the front doors. The last thing I want is to be here. I’d much rather sit at my house and polish off a fifth of booze, preferring to numb my mind to thoughts of Sloane and all the ways in which she betrayed me. My mood is black as I walk toward the nightclub. It’s been black since last night when I walked in on Sloane talking to God knows who on the phone about… I’m still not even sure what the fuck she was doing. My rage was so consuming that I’m not sure I understand what she was telling me, but I got the general idea. I got the important parts. Undercover reporter. Using me to find dirt on Callie and her father. Fucking bitch was using me to get into The Silo. I think about her dirty fantasy I made come true and realize I was being played right from the start. Every single time I made her come, and every single soft touch or sweet word she gave me… all fucking calculated to lead me by the short hairs down a very defined path. And when I think about the fact that just last night, I had made the willing and conscious decision to change my life so I could be with her, my black mood gets darker and colder. I nearly gave up everything for a woman who was using me. I nearly lost my heart, but at least that’s now firmly back under lock and key. Stomping onto the long, wooden walkway that borders the front of the club, I about jerk the doors off the hinges as my fury is projected into my actions. The club is just about deserted at this early hour, usually late stragglers who just came in for a few drinks or some pub food after work. The music is turned down low, and I can hear the chatter of some of the bartenders and waitresses as they prepare for the bustle to start in about an hour. “What’s up, man?” Tank Godwin says from his perch on the end of the bar. He’s one of the Double J hands, and I’ve known him for going on forever. Giving him a curt nod, I head toward the back of the club. I need to check in with Bridger and let him know what’s going on. While I’m guessing Sloane Meyers or Preston or whatever the fuck her name is, is probably long gone if I can believe what she was saying—and I probably can’t—I need to give him a heads up about the breach. That makes my black mood start to burn within my veins like acid… knowing I inadvertently put Bridger and this club at risk simply by trusting the wrong person. Just as I hit the hallway that leads to the back exit as well as Bridger’s office, I’m brought up short when his office door opens. I fully expect one of the waitresses to walk out with a satisfied smile on her face, but my knees nearly buckle when I see Sloane step into the hall. Bridger comes out behind her, murmurs something that I can’t hear, and then gives her shoulder an

affectionate squeeze. My eyes take in the fact she’s wearing a pair of skintight jeans, black boots with neon blue spurs, and a black Wicked Horse t-shirt with the logo over the left breast. I take all of that in, and yet my mind doesn’t process what it means. Instead, my rage, which had been on a low simmer all day, fires up and bubbles, frothing to a point that my vision almost goes red. In three long strides, I’m on her. My hand goes around the back of her neck, and because it’s so slender, my fingers curl all the way around in a hard grip. She gives a terrified yip as I turn her toward me, pulling up so she goes to her tiptoes. Leaning down, I get my face in hers and snarl, “What in the fuck are you doing here?” “I work here,” she squeaks at me, her eyes round and fearful. I suppose my fingers digging into her neck aren’t helping. “Like hell you do,” I growl at her. “Let her go,” Bridger says in a deadly calm voice. Ordinarily, I jump to do Bridger’s bidding. He is, after all, my boss. He’s the leader of our kinky pack when it comes to the sex club, and I usually fuck the way he tells me to fuck when I’m in a group. But right now, at this moment, I rebel against his order and tighten my hold on Sloane’s neck. “I think you need to know what this bitch has done—” “I’m well aware of what she’s done,” Bridger says, his voice just as calm but with a deeper rumble of authority. “Now let her go.” My hand falls away from Sloane, and she actually falls forward into my chest. Her hands come out and inadvertently balance against my chest. It feels like I’ve been burned. My body instantly becomes attracted to her touch. At the same time, it’s being repulsed by it. I practically jump backward, slamming my back against the wall. Sloane straightens herself and takes a step backward as well, eyeing me with a mixture of sadness and fear. My head swivels to Bridger, and I try to maintain some level of respect. “You know she was working as an undercover reporter to expose The Silo, right? Was targeting Callie… probably fucking Woolf too. She’s a snake in the grass and can’t be trusted, so I assume you’re going to fire her ass now that you know all of this, right?” “I knew it all when I hired her,” Bridger says, and then slides his gaze to Sloane. “Go ahead and find Francine behind the main bar. You’ll shadow her tonight.” My eyes narrow as I watch Sloane give an unsure nod. She drops her face so as not to look at me and scurries past. My fingers itch to grab onto her again. To throw her out of here. Or maybe pull her to me and kiss the hell out of her. Or maybe, just a good hard fucking, then I can toss her aside. My head is so fucked at this moment that I don’t know what I’d do, so it’s a good thing she’s gone. “In my office,” Bridger says and turns to walk back in there. I follow him in dutifully. Once I close the door behind me, I say, “Come on, man… you cannot seriously think to give her a job here after she tried to screw you over.” “You’d be wrong about that,” Bridger says as he walks around his desk and sits down in his chair. “I did give her a job, and you’re also wrong. She didn’t try to screw me over.” “I overheard her talking to someone about the club… and Callie. She admitted to me she works for a magazine.” “All true and she told me the same,” Bridger says, his voice level and matter of fact. “But she did not try to screw me over. She didn’t try to screw you or Callie over, for that matter. She did the right thing and

dumped the story, turned over all the evidence she had to Callie to destroy, and she quit her job. Seems to me, she’s the one who got screwed over.” “But her intent was—” “And furthermore,” Bridger says, talking right over me. “You have no right to judge her until you know all the facts. I assume you haven’t bothered to read the letter she wrote you.” That stupid fucking letter. I left it laying on the porch last night. I thought about it all night. Obsessed about it really, but I refused to read it. I left it there and I hoped it would blow away, just as I hoped these terrible feelings would go by the wayside. I stayed in my house all day today, not having anywhere I needed to be and preferring to sulk alone in my misery. When I stepped out on my porch to head to work, my eyes were helplessly drawn down to where the envelope had been when Sloane left last night. And it was gone. For a brief moment, a stab of regret pulsed within me. It was followed immediately by a sense of final loss… my last true tie to Sloane was gone. My eyes roved the area, figuring the wind took it since we had a rainstorm in the early morning hours. I saw it immediately about ten feet off the side of my porch on a patch of damn grass. My relief was intense, and just as quickly, I cursed at myself for my weakness. I called myself a motherfucking dumb motherfucking moron for even having a care in the world for that stupid letter. Really, what could it possibly say? How in the world could it ever excuse or make better what she did? What carefully thought out words by a known liar would ease the anger I had? “What difference would it make?” I say bitterly. “She used me.” “That may have been her original intent,” he says with a careless shrug. “But I guarantee you that’s not what she was doing in the end.” “What the fuck ever, dude,” I sneer as I cross my arms over my chest. “She’s bad fucking news. You cannot let her work here.” “But I am,” Bridger says simply. I just blink at him, refusing to believe he would do that. Where’s his goddamn loyalty to me? “Look, Cain,” Bridger says in a softer tone. “She was wrong and she knows it. She made it right in the end. And for what it’s worth, I believe the reason she made it right was solely because of her feelings for you and Callie. She just couldn’t hurt you.” “I heard her on the phone telling someone she worked for about the club and Callie. She admitted she used me to get to the club.” “Again,” Bridger says in an even tone. “At first, yeah… that’s what she was doing. But it tore her up, and she ultimately sacrificed that job to protect this club and Callie. It’s all in the letter.” I give a snort, not wanting to believe a word he says. It’s much easier to hold on to my hate and anger. It’s definitely easier to be able to put her from my mind and pretend this never happened. I can’t fucking do that with her in my line of sight here. “You need to fire her,” I say adamantly. “I won’t work here with her.” “Then I suggest you get in your truck and go home,” he responds. My eyebrows shoot straight up. “Are you serious?” “Dead serious.” “Suit yourself,” I say, figuring either I’m going home on an unplanned vacation day, or that was just Bridger terminating my services. I don’t bother to ask for clarification as I turn on my heel and head for

the door. “The letter, Cain,” Bridger calls out to me. “Do yourself a favor and read the damn thing.” I ignore him and stomp out, fully intending to stay away until he cans her ass.

* I SIT IN my recliner, mindlessly flipping the channel on the TV. Nothing is holding my attention, but then again… I’m not a big TV watcher. Never have the time actually, so it’s no surprise now that it’s not giving me a single ounce of numbness. I glance at the clock. Almost ten PM, and I think about the letter for about the hundredth time since I left Bridger’s office this evening. It’s still laying in my side yard, and this I know because I walked to the end of my porch when I got home and saw it there in the moonlight. I stared at it, warring with myself about whether to read it, but I left it alone. It’s like a damn homing beacon, calling out to me, Read me. Read me, Cain. Christ… I can’t get it out of my head. “Fuck it,” I mutter to myself and turn the TV off. I launch up out of the recliner, the springs groaning, and before I can talk myself out of it, head outside. The envelope is damp when I pick it up off the ground, and I have a small measure of relief as I think the words will possibly be smeared from the rain. But truthfully, I don’t know if it was even in the rain. It could have blown off long after the storm had passed through last night. I carry it inside, head to the refrigerator, and pull out a beer. Opening it, I take a few pulls and then sit at my small kitchen table, staring at the thing. My name is written in neat, cursive letters on the outside, barely smudged from the wet. Before I can talk myself out of it, I put the beer bottle down and open the envelope. Inside are two sheets written in the same blue ink as my name on the outside, dated three days ago. I take a deep breath, and I read. Dear Cain, By the time you read this letter, and if all goes according to plan, I will be on a plane headed back home to Tennessee. While it would have been very easy for me to disappear without a word, I felt I owed you the truth so you could perhaps garner some small measure of comfort after you find out what I did. First… my name is Sloane Preston. Meyers is my mom’s maiden name, and I used a fake name because I came to Jackson as an undercover reporter working for Revealed magazine in Washington, DC. My job was to follow up on an anonymous tip made to my employer about a sex club that had ties to Governor Hayes. While my actions sicken me now, I feel I have to honestly tell you everything. I first targeted you in the hopes that you would gain me access into the club. That first night we were together… I tried to orchestrate that. I punched that guy on the dance floor, hoping you’d find me interesting. I hoped you would want to know more about me, and it apparently worked. I had set the hook, and you took it. I’m sorry to hurt you that way. I wish I could avoid causing you pain, but it’s more important for me to be honest with you, so I can hopefully find some redemption within myself.

Here’s something else I’m being honest with you about. After that very first night with you, I knew down deep in my gut that it was a mistake of massive proportions to get involved with you. Every day… every moment we spent together, I found my connection to you growing stronger, and my feelings for you growing deeper. Please don’t ever doubt my feelings. While I was indeed trying to find a story, my real efforts went into building something with you. Every day, my own self-esteem and pride took a battering as I continued to lead a double life, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to cut you loose. You started to become necessary to me, and in a very selfish move, I tried to figure out how to have it all. I figured out early on there wasn’t a story there. I swear to you I tried to convey to the magazine time and time again that there was nothing there. I was met with resistance and firm orders to dig deeper. This past week, I wracked my brain trying to figure out a way from this mess. How I could salvage my job and my relationship with you. How I could look myself in the mirror and not be ashamed of what was looking back at me. Even when things were at their darkest for me, you ended up being my one shining light in this debacle. Ultimately, no matter what my employer wanted me to do, I realized I just couldn’t hurt you. I couldn’t hurt Callie. My job simply wasn’t that important. It was my hope I could get them to back off, but I was fully prepared to quit if that didn’t work. In fact, the purpose of me writing this letter is so you know that when you finally find out the truth about me, my intent at the end was to do whatever was necessary to protect you, Callie, Bridger, and the club. If you’re reading this letter, it means the magazine is not accepting my inability to manufacture a story, and I’m going to have to quit. Once that happens, I’m going to have to go home to Tennessee. I really hope it doesn’t come to that, but if you are reading this letter, it means I couldn’t save everything. Just the things that mattered most. I wish you so much joy and happiness in life. My heart will be forever broken over losing you, but I hope to God that you find a way to make peace with this and move on. I care about you so much, Cain, and it kills me to know how much you’re going to be hurt by this. I only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me and ultimately find someone who is good to you. Love, Sloane I set the letter down and stare at it. My fingers curl around the beer bottle, and I grip it tight. I’m not sure how I feel about what she’s said. I do have to admit, it seems like her intent for the most part was to protect Callie, the club, and me. I’m not sure why she couldn’t just tell me what was going on, but it doesn’t seem she was out to hurt us. It also seems that maybe she did have feelings for me. If only I could truly, deep down, believe that.

Chapter 28

Sloane I WONDER IF there will ever come a time that I’ll see Cain for the first time in any given day, and not have my entire body just sigh with pleasure over the magnificence of this man. He opens the door to The Wicked Horse and strides in with confidence. I pause my efforts in wiping the bar down and admire the tight fit of his black BDU pants and the t-shirt that proudly proclaims him as head of security. He’s recently had a haircut but he didn’t shave tonight, and I remember with yearning the feel of that scratchy beard against my legs. Cain didn’t stay away from The Wicked Horse long. Only a day, as a matter of fact. Bridger had told me the first night I worked that Cain demanded I be fired, and that he wouldn’t work here with me. I was stunned when Bridger told me that he sent Cain home, but he didn’t seem surprised when he came in to work the next evening. And as he’s done every night for the past three nights, his eyes sweep the interior until he’s confident he knows where every single person is. He always saves the bar for last, because he knows I’m there. He always glares at me, as he does now. His brows furrow inward and his eyes narrow, the expression fierce and his scar looking angry. Then his gaze moves on, and he barely looks at me again for the rest of the evening. Hell, last night, he stood five feet from me while a customer leaned over the bar and tried to grab my boob. One of the other bouncers across the room saw it and moved in to take action. When I cut my gaze over to Cain, he just stared at me a moment with hard eyes and turned his back on me, clearly giving me the message he didn’t even care enough about me to do his job. Cain walks down the length of the bar, nodding at a few other patrons, and disappears in the back kitchen area. That’s also been his pattern the last three nights, as he routinely shows up at work at least ten minutes early and then hides from me until his shift starts. With a sigh, I finish wiping down the bar and check with the existing customers to see if they need refills. It’s early yet and only three people sit at the main bar, but in about an hour, it will start to fill up. “That is one sexy ass man,” Tina says behind me. She’s new here too, although she’s been here a few weeks longer than I have. Her eyes stay pinned on the door that Cain just went through. “I wonder what it would take to catch his attention.” “Punch a guy in the face,” I mutter under my breath. “What?” “Nothing,” I say with a smile. “I think he’s gay. At least that’s the rumor I heard.” Tina’s face falls with disappointment, but then her eyes flick over my shoulder and light back up. “Or what about him? I’ve heard rumors from some of the other waitresses that he’s a beast.” I turn around and see Bridger walking out of his office. Yeah… he’s a beast alright, but I’m not going to let her know. Besides, I have a feeling that the only ones who get to play with Bridger are the ones he chooses and not vice versa. He walks to the end of the bar and jerks his chin at me, indicating he wants a word. Tina sighs loudly and I leave her behind, making my way down to him. “What’s up?” I ask him.

“Just checking in to see how things are going,” he says as he leans both elbows on the bar. “Haven’t had a chance to talk since you started.” “I’m really enjoying the work,” I tell him honestly. “Thanks again for the job.” “Yeah, no problem,” he says with a wave of his hand. “But I was talking about Cain.” I look at the swing-through kitchen door over my shoulder and sigh. “Well… it seems he glared at me for maybe two seconds less than yesterday, so that’s improvement, right?” Bridger cocks an eyebrow at me. “Well… what does he have to say?” “Say?” “Yeah… you’ve talked to him, right?” “No,” I say, blinking at him stupidly. “He doesn’t want to talk to me.” “Well, no shit, Sherlock. You’re going to have to press the issue with him. He’s not just going to wake up and everything will be fine.” I don’t like his pissy attitude, especially since this has been tough on me. Watching the man who has my heart in a chokehold look at me with nothing but distaste, living in a strange place with no friends, and worrying myself sick about what hell my actions will bring down on my mom is hard. Not a day goes by that I don’t consider packing it up and heading home to Tennessee. It’s what my mom would like even if she doesn’t come right out and say so. I told her pretty much what had happened as I had to prepare her for the article if Brant chooses to run it. So far, he hasn’t, but I’m just waiting for it to hit any day now. And I really should be home with her if that happens. But I also told my mom about Cain and my feelings for him, and she’s been supportive of me staying here a bit to see if I can make amends. “When am I supposed to have this big talk with him?” I sarcastically ask Bridger. “It’s not like this place is conducive to a serious talk, and I’m pretty sure he’ll shoot me if I come on his property.” “It’s pretty quiet in here right now,” Bridger says while giving me a pointed look. “Right now?” “Do I need to repeat it?” “But I’m working,” I say. “Then take a fucking break, Sloane. It’s not rocket science.” I roll my eyes and say, “At the risk of getting fired, you are one complicated man.” “Lucky for you, I’m a fucking romantic at heart.” “Yeah… you are no more a romantic than my ex-boyfriend who thought the act of bringing me a sixpack before a date would earn him brownie points, but I appreciate your zeal for others to find happiness.” Bridger just cocks an eyebrow at me. “Fine,” I say as I throw the towel on the counter below the bar. “I’ll take a break. But if I’m not back in ten minutes, you better send a posse out to dig for my body.” “Good girl,” he murmurs and pushes away from the bar to head back to his office, but not before giving a jerk of his chin toward Tina. Apparently, he’s decided to play with her, and since there are two other bartenders to watch over things, Tina scurries out from behind the countertop and follows him back to his office. Taking a deep breath, I head for the kitchen. When I walk through the swinging door, my gaze sweeps the room for Cain. I don’t see him and ask Frank, one of the cooks, “Seen Cain around?” “Went out the side door a few minutes ago,” he says, nodding his head toward the emergency exit. I square my shoulders and head that way.

As soon as I push the door open, the cool August air hits me and I cross my arms to ward off the chill. August evenings in Tennessee are warm and humid, but it gets chilly here at this time of year. My head immediately swivels to the right where I see Cain leaning up against the wall, looking at something on his phone. His head snaps up with a semi-friendly expression, but when he sees it’s me, his lips flatten out. “What do you want?” he mutters. “To talk to you,” I say. “Don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” he retorts. “Well, tough shit. Man up and put your listening ears on.” Cain pushes off the wall and takes a step to move past me, so I blurt out, “I saw your mom today.” Cain stops, straightens to his full height, and squares his shoulders at me. “What?” “I saw your mom. Went in for a manicure. While I couldn’t tell her details, I told her that I hurt you and I was very sorry for it. I apologized for hurting her son.” He stares at me with his mouth slightly agape, gives a small shake of his head, and goes to move past me. So I tell him, “You walk away from me, I’ll just follow you through the bar and continue to talk. Then everyone will know our business.” Spinning on me, he growls, “You and I have no business together. You are nothing but a bad memory.” Okay, that really hurts, and I involuntarily rub my knuckles across my sternum to alleviate the ache. “Okay… I deserve that. But I also deserve to have you hear me out.” “You don’t deserve it.” “Callie, Bridger, Woolf, and your mom seemed to think I did.” Cain snorts. “Just because they did doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” “Come on, Cain,” I plead with him. “You owe me.” “Why would you think that?” he asks incredulously. “Because I sacrificed a lot for you,” I snap at him. “You sacrificed for me?” he scoffs. “Yes,” I say firmly. “I put my family at risk, and I lost a good job because of you. In the end, I gave up everything for you and Callie. The least you can do is listen to what I have to say.” For a fraction of a second, I think he’s going to roll his eyes and stomp past me, but then he crosses his arms over his chest and watches me with silent but skeptical eyes. It’s enough of a reprieve that I take a quick breath and push forward while I have his attention. “I’m really sorry for what I did. My intentions were never to hurt anyone—only to gain the truth. But once I found out there wasn’t a truth, I realized I had to do the right thing. From very early on, I was constantly trying to figure a way out that would protect everyone.” “Your letter said that,” he says flatly and takes a step toward the door. “Anything else?” “Yes,” I whisper. “I really care for you. I miss you.” His eyes flicker back and forth between my own, and I can tell he’s actually considering my words. But then his irises lighten to a cool green, and he dismisses me while reaching for the door. “Wish I could say the same.” The stab that pierces my heart this time brings a prickle of tears to my eyes. He takes notice of the sheen, locks his jaw tight, and turns away from me as he pulls the door open. “I’m not giving up,” I desperately tell his retreating back. “I’m sticking around until you forgive me.” He doesn’t respond, and the door closes in my face. I wait a few minutes, blinking my eyes to dry them. Sucking in a quavering breath, I let it out slowly. That so did not go how I’d hoped, and went worse than I could have imagined. The futility of trying to chip through the concrete surrounding his heart hits me

hard, exhaustion permeating my very core. With fatigue of the soul threatening an impending breakdown, I walk back into the kitchen, back through the service door, and hang a left toward Bridger’s office. I’m just… done. Cain is nowhere to be seen, but that’s not important. I tried, and I failed, and it’s time to cut loose Jackson, Wyoming. Just as I reach Bridger’s office door, it opens and Tina walks out with a glazed look in her eyes, dabbing at the corners of her mouth. I see Bridger just behind her fastening his buckle. His eyes lock on mine, and he gives me a mischievous grin. I stand to the side and let Tina pass, then look back to Bridger for permission to come in. He gives me a smile and heads behind his desk. “That was fast,” he observes, noting my conversation with Cain lasted no more than ten minutes. “You too,” I throw back at him. “What can I say… Tina’s got a mouth on her.” I roll my eyes, because I do not need to imagine Bridger getting a quick blow job from my co-worker. I most certainly don’t feel like listening to her talk about it tonight. “So what happened?” he asks as he kicks his feet on top of his desk. “I apologized, told him I cared about him. He told me he didn’t feel the same.” “Ouch,” Bridger says as he winces. “Yeah… and I’m tired of my heart hurting over him, so I’m cutting my losses and heading home. I’ll continue to work until you can find a replacement for me.” Bridger waves a dismissive hand. “I could replace you in ten minutes if I needed, but you’re not leaving yet.” “Yes, I am, Bridger,” I say tiredly, my voice cracking. “It’s no use. He’s not going to forgive me, and even if he did, he’s never going to look at me the same. I’ve ruined it, and there’s no redemption for me.” “Well, you’re clearly not seeing what I’m seeing,” he says with a knowing look. I roll my eyes, refusing to believe that the all-knowing, all-seeing Bridger has something for me to pin my hope on. “That man can’t take his eyes off you these last few nights.” “He never looks at me,” I argue. “When you’re busy and your attention isn’t on him, he’s watching you like a hawk. And his gaze is hungry and regretful and wistful. Trust me, I know.” I shake my head in denial. “Then figure a way for him to get over this. Because clearly, my words aren’t doing anything.” “Something more than words is needed,” Bridger ponders as he flips his feet off the desk and opens a side drawer. He rifles through a folder and pulls out a single sheet of paper. “I offer to certain employees a silver membership to The Silo. I’m giving you one now, and you’ll need to sign this non-disclosure agreement.” “What?” I ask in disbelief. “I don’t want a membership there.” “Yes, you do,” he says firmly. “Cain needs something to prompt him to action, and seeing you in there will work. Trust me.” “You want me to go there and have sex with someone else?” I ask in astonishment. “No, darling,” he replies in a dry voice and as if I said something completely stupid. “You just need to act like that’s what you’re going to do.” “Trick him?” I ask dubiously. “Prompt him,” he counter argues.

“It won’t work.” But God… what if it does? What if that’s just what’s needed? A faint glimmer of hope flares within me, and I take a step toward his desk as he hands out a pen for me to sign the document. I take it from him, bend over the desk, and start to read the agreement. But then I raise my eyes to Bridger’s and whisper, “Has he been… you know… to The Silo since we broke up?” Bridger’s eyes go soft with sympathy, and he gives me an assured smile. “No. Only to walk through on his normal shifts here each night. He didn’t even ask to take the rape fantasy with Amy back.” I let out a huge gust of relieved air and hastily scribble my name to the document without reading it. I don’t need to know what it says, as I’d never reveal the club to anyone. Not even at the risk of my mother. “Alright,” he says with a devious grin. “Operation Slap Cain Upside the Head will commence tomorrow evening. Take the night off and be at The Silo at ten PM. I’ll meet you there to give you the security fob to get you in.” “Okay,” I say shakily. I can do this. I know I can. “And Sloane,” Bridger says ominously. “Yeah?” “Dress in your sexiest outfit. Preferably no underwear. You’re going to need everything in your arsenal to get this hardheaded cuss to bend.” I grin at him in wicked delight. “That, I can do.”

Chapter 29

Cain TAKING A DEEP BREATH, I pull the door open to The Wicked Horse. I steel myself for the fourth night in a row that I’ll have to watch Sloane all night, wondering what could have been and how I could have been so easily fooled. I would think my decision to keep my walls up would make it easier, but it isn’t. Every night that I can catch the smallest of glimpses of her behind the bar tears my insides up. I want her so fucking bad on a physical level that I’m constantly walking around with a half-hard dick. I’ve jacked off several times, all to her memory… almost swearing I can smell her shampoo when I come all over my hand. When I’m not obsessing about having sex with her, I’m replaying every single moment we spent together. Every conversation, trying to see what I was missing. Every touch she put upon me to try to figure out if there was truth or facade in the action. It’s driving me fucking bonkers. Callie is also driving me fucking bonkers. She called me last night, wanting to check in and see how I was doing. My voice was flat when I told her I was fine. She said, “Bullshit,” and then proceeded to lay into me for not giving Sloane a chance. I listened to her for about thirty seconds, and then I hung up. She called me back, but I ignored her. She then sent me a single text that said, Asshole. Yup… that’s me. My eyes sweep the interior of The Wicked Horse, and with a sense of excitement that I actually hate about myself, I look to the bar to take in the beauty of Sloane Preston. Except she’s not there. I swivel my head back and forth, checking out the club again, but I don’t see her. Walking up to the bar, I tap my hand on the counter and ask the other new bartender, Tina, “Where’s Sloane?” “Hey boyfriend,” she says in a singsong voice. What the fuck? Does she think I’m gay? “She’s got tonight off.” “Oh,” I say, and it’s not lost on me the keen sense of disappointment I feel. Shaking my head, I push away from the bar and head toward the kitchen, intent on trying to just do my job tonight and hopefully go more than two minutes without thinking about the not-so-sweet-and-innocent Sloane Preston.

* IT’S ABOUT 10:30 PM, and the club is packed. The nightly wet t-shirt contest just finished and yeah… I enjoyed watching that. In fact, it makes me start thinking I need to get back in the saddle. It’s time to start fucking Sloane out of my memory, and I should actually have Bridger put me back on the fantasy list. If I can’t have Sloane and all the things that seemed to promise a new life of happiness, might as well get back to doing what I do best. Speaking of Bridger, my attention is caught by the back exit door opening that leads out to The Silo.

He steps through. Pulling it firmly shut, he starts to head toward his office. I step away from my post, knowing my guys will cover, and make my way toward him. Just as he’s punching in the code, he catches my movement and looks at me with a smile. “What’s up, dude?” Bridger opens the door, and I follow him in. “Not much. Everything’s pretty tame tonight.” “That’s good,” he says and then proceeds to sit behind his desk, leaning forward to look at his laptop. “Need something?” “Yeah,” I say as I scratch at the back of my neck. Just say it. Just tell him. “I want to get back on the fantasy maker list.” Bridger’s head snaps up, and he gives me a smile. “Sure thing. Plenty of people will be happy about that.” Then why don’t I feel happy about it? “Okay, cool,” I say, hedging for a bit of time. Bridger’s attention goes back to the laptop. I shift my weight from foot to foot, and he looks back up at me. “You need something else?” “Um… just wondering how Sloane’s working out,” I say lamely. Internally wincing, I hope I don’t sound like a fucking moron. Bridger’s eyes light up, and he nods at me. “She’s doing great. A real whiz behind the bar. It was a good decision to hire her.” “Think she’ll stick around?” Bridger shrugs. “Maybe. She’s a hard worker and dedicated. It’s why I insisted she take a night off.” “Oh,” I say, not sure what that means. But then he enlightens me. “In fact,” Bridger says slyly, “I gave her a silver membership as sort of a bonus. Thanks to you inviting me to your little fantasy with her, I knew she’d appreciate something like that.” “You did what?” I bark at him as I straighten my spine, my hands curling into fists. “Yeah… she seemed a little unsure of it, but she’s a feisty girl. She’s over there now; I think psyching herself up to walk on the wild side. Rand and Logan are over there, fawning all over her.” What the ever-loving fuck was he thinking? “Are you okay?” Bridger asks with an innocent look on his face. “No, I’m not fucking okay,” I snap as I turn on my heel and stomp out of his office. It takes my long legs no time at all to eat up the distance from Bridger’s office to The Silo. I pull out my fob, read the number, and then punch in the security code so hard that one of the buttons jams, but I don’t give it a second thought. I fling the door open and storm inside, prepared to… what? I have no fucking clue. When I enter the open interior, my eyes scan the crowd, which is very busy this Friday night, and immediately see Sloane sitting at the bar. And for fuck’s sake, she looks like a Wanted Poster for Sin on a Stick. Cherry-red dress that is painted onto her body, strapless and barely covering her tits. It rides up high on her thighs as she sits at the bar, one leg crossed over the other. Matching red, high-heeled sandals with red ribbons that wind up her legs, and bright red lipstick that I’d love to have smeared all over my cock and her face after a hardcore mouth-fucking. Rand stands to one side of Sloane as she sips at a drink, and his hand strokes her bare shoulder. Logan stands on her other side, elbow on the bar and his lips near her ear, whispering something utterly fucking dirty I bet. Rage clouds my vision as I push my way through the crowd, not being nice if someone gets in my way. Logan sees me first, his eyebrows rising up and a shit-eating grin on his face. He says something, and

Rand turns his head toward me, also with the same smirk. His hand drops from Sloane’s shoulder, and he takes a step back from her. Smart guy. Sloane must sense me because her spine stiffens, and she turns on the stool to face me. Her eyes rake down my body, and her eyes give me a shy smile of welcome. Not buying it. My hand shoots out and grabs her upper arm. I pull her from the stool and she wobbles on those high heels, Rand’s own hand going out to steady her. “Touch her and I’ll cut it off,” I growl without even looking at him. The fucker snickers, but his arm drops to his side. I lean my face down near hers, my eyes pinning her with fury. “Do you want it so bad you’ll just jump in the next guy’s bed?” She shakes her head emphatically, those blonde curls flying back and forth. “No… I only want you.” I give a bark of a skeptical laugh and start pulling her away from the bar, through the crowd and out the exit door. When the night air hits us, I hiss at her, “You’re getting in your car and going home.” Sloane steps off the slate paver outside the door and digs those heels into the dirt. Her arm jerks free, and she says, “I’m not going home.” “Well, you’re not going back in there,” I flatly tell her. “Then take me out here,” she whispers. Every cell in my body swells with lust, even as a fissure of anger ripples through me. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I sneer at her, trying to shame her for her wanton ways, but Christ… I want her so damn bad. “With you,” she says earnestly. “Only you.” I take a deep breath, and I have to ask, “Is this a setup?” In the glow of the light outside the Silo door, I can see her cheeks turn red. But she looks me straight in the eye, “Yes. Bridger’s idea to spur you into action. I went along with it.” “Fuck,” I mutter as I look back toward The Wicked Horse. That asshole. Putting temptation right in front of me, knowing damn well I’ll let my cock speak its own mind. “So, you want me to just fuck you out here?” I put enough of a shaming sneer in my words to have her blushing again. “I’d prefer you take me back to your house, but if all I can get of you is out here, then yes. Wherever you want. However you want it.” I might have been good had she said something different. I might have even had the balls to walk away from her sexy body and yearning eyes. But however I want it? Unfortunately, I want it hard and fast, and I want it right this fucking minute. My options are limited, and I quickly weigh them. Back into The Silo where I can pull her into the supply room again. Or even better to possibly shame her, right into one of the rooms so I can fuck her for the entire club to see, and then walk away from her. But no, those aren’t right either. Because the way in which I’m about to sacrifice my principals demands privacy. So I take Sloane’s hand and lead her around the side of The Silo. I walk her halfway around the circular outer structure, until we are in absolute darkness with nothing around us.

Turning her from me, I have her face the concrete building. Grabbing both of her hands, I place the palms against the staves. I step into her backside, press my lips to her ear, and whisper, “I can have you any way I want?” She takes in a shaky breath and nods. “Yes.” Dropping my hands, I take the edge of her skirt and pull it over her hips where it hugs her waist and stays out of my way thanks to the miracle of spandex. I tilt my head to the right and look at her in the glow of the moonlight. No fucking underwear. Goddamn perfect. I drop my hand to that sweetly rounded ass, push my middle finger down in between her cheeks, and rub my finger along the seam. She moans and jerks against me. “Can I have your ass tonight? Would you give that to me, sweet Sloane?” She chokes out a half sob, half moan and murmurs, “If that’s what you want?” My cruel, black heart… the one that’s still hurt and betrayed, gives a soft laugh that borders on evil. “Nah… that was something special we might have had, but I’m just not that interested in it anymore.” Which is a fucking lie. If I had some lube, I’d so take her ass, but without it, I don’t want to risk hurting her. And besides… that would take time and I don’t have that luxury. This is going to be a hard, fast, impersonal fucking so I can give some relief to my balls, which have been squashed into knots since first locking eyes on her tonight. I pull my head back and angle it further to the side so I can look at Sloane’s face. She has her cheek pressed up against the side of the wall and there are unshed tears pooling. And damn if I don’t feel guilty that I just hurt her feelings. “Shhh,” I shush her gently, dropping my right hand and bringing it around the front of her body. I slide my fingers between her legs, letting them brush back and forth lightly against her pussy, which is slick and inviting. “Don’t cry, Sloane. I’ll make this good for you.” She blinks, and a single tear spills. I can’t fucking stand it, so I sink a finger into her and she moans sweetly. “Yeah… that feels good, right?” I murmur. My left hand goes to her strapless top. Pushing it down, I free her breasts and palm one. I rub the pad of my index finger over a nipple while my finger below presses into her deeper. “What do you want Sloane?” I ask her nicely, imagining all the ways in which I could fuck her right now. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” She takes in a shuddering breath, lifts her cheek away from the wall, and cranes her neck to look at me. Her eyes still shining with wet, she says, “I want you to forgive me.” My cock leaps in response to those words, or perhaps just at the thought of getting inside that tight wetness, but the asshole in me comes through. I prepare to tell her that’s never going to happen, but then she takes the wind out of my sails. “Please,” she begs. “Please forgive me.” With her nipple pinched between my forefinger and thumb and my finger lodged deep inside her, I think for a desperate moment. Perhaps I should forgive her. But the words are jammed deep in my throat. So instead, I kiss her.

Chapter 30

Sloane WHEN HIS MOUTH claims mine, I sigh deeply and melt in relief. He didn’t say the words I needed, but surely… this kiss… it means something, right? His tongue rolls deeply in my mouth, my neck straining to keep the perfect angle so that he doesn’t break away. I push my hips back, seeking more contact with his body, and he groans when my ass rubs up against his erection. Pulling his mouth away, breathing hard, Cain’s hands go to my hips. He takes a step back, pulling me along with him just a fraction. One strong hand goes to the middle of my back. “Bend over,” he rasps out. My lips still tingling from that kiss, and my blood racing through my veins, I do as he commands, knowing that the deeper I bend over, the more my ass is tipped just right to him. I brace my hands hard against the concrete wall. For a moment, his hands are gone and I hear the unmistakable sound of his zipper coming down. I take in a deep breath and push it out roughly when I feel the head of his cock at my entrance. He pushes in slightly, curses under his breath, and his hands are back at my hips. My fingertips dig into the concrete wall, and I close my eyes tight. With a roll of his hips, he slowly pushes into me. He doesn’t stop and slides in deep until his pelvis is pressed against my ass and the zipper to his jeans digs into my skin. “Oh, Christ… Sloane,” he mutters, his breath huffing out over my upper back. He feels so good. So very right. “Cain,” I murmur, hopefully conveying with that single word what this moment means to me. Holding me steady at my hips, Cain pulls back and sinks back into me, his cock dragging against every sensitive nerve I have and producing a full-body shudder. “You like that?” he asks gruffly. “God, yes,” I say on a moan. “Do it again.” “Greedy,” he mutters, but I can actually hear a smile on those words. Pulling out, he slides back in with exquisite care. He does it again, and again, not seeming to be in a hurry. I’m not in a rush either, wanting to savor every single moment of him being locked inside me. This may be my last chance, and I don’t want to forget anything. Cain pulls out. With a rough jerk against my hips, he slams in, the slapping of our skin breaking the quiet night. “Fuck yeah,” he groans and picks up the pace. I drop my face and stare at the ground, the tips of my red heels peeking up at me and my breasts swaying with the motion of his increased thrusting. I rotate my hips, try to draw him in deeper. My breathing becomes shallow and labored, my body tightening as I race closer to orgasm. And then Cain hunches his body over me. He slides one hand around my front, going between my legs. His fingers pluck at my clit while he tunnels in and out of me. The other hand comes up, circles around my neck, and he pulls me up slightly. Placing his lips near my ear, without ever missing a beat of his pumping cock, he murmurs. “Not going

to lie, Sloane. I missed fucking this pussy.” While his voice rumbles richly, the words are designed to let me know that the sex is the only thing he’s interested in about me. That cuts deep, yet I can’t seem to find my own voice to deny it. I want to call him a liar and tell him we had so much more, but every time he hits me deep, my brain starts to get fuzzier and fuzzier. He keeps talking, a weird mix of sexual heat and frozen taunts. Not sure I’ll find better than this, but one can hope. I’m going to come in you so deep, you’ll be feeling me for the rest of your life. And my absolute favorite, I’ll hate myself for it, but I’ll jack off to this memory of tonight for some time to come. Finally, he shuts up, and it’s a good thing too because I want to slap him for ruining this. His bitter feelings and acerbic words are starting to cause darkness to well up inside of me. I almost have the fortitude to pull away, but then his finger presses roughly against my clit and he slams into me hard. His voice breaks when he says, “Christ… you fucking destroy me, Sloane.” My orgasm tears free, refusing to be quelled, and it explodes out in homage to the explosive passion between us, no matter how much hurt resides there. Cain pulls out, pushes back in roughly, and then starts to shudder as he comes. His forehead comes to rest on the back of my head, he grinds his pelvis against me, and he whispers, “Fucking destroyed.” My tears well back up again. I blink once and they fall down my cheeks, stream past my jaw, and drip onto his hand. I suck in a breath and tell him, “I’m destroyed too.” Cain’s body tightens, and he breathes out a regretful sigh. Placing his lips at the back of my head, he gives me a soft kiss. I feel hope start to swell within me. Releasing his hold on my throat and pulling his other hand out from between my legs, Cain straightens and slides free from me. I immediately feel his semen start to run out of me, a poignant reminder that we once again shared a deep intimacy by having unprotected sex. I straighten up, awkwardly pushing my skirt down and then pulling the stretchy material over my breasts. When I turn to face him, I find him tucking his dick back in his pants and zipping up. Finally, he raises his gaze and looks at me with sad eyes. “I forgive you, Sloane. I understand you were doing a job and that you ultimately sacrificed it.” A smile breaks out on my face, and I take a wobbly step toward him. His hands come up, palms out to hold me off, and he takes a step back from me. Shaking his head, his eyes turn hard. “But there’s nothing else between us.” “No,” I say immediately. “That’s not true. Didn’t you feel it?” “I felt an amazing fucking orgasm,” he says, his bitterness evident. “But that’s all. God help me, Sloane, I trust what your body can do for me. That was never in question. But it’s the only part of you I trust, and that’s just not enough for me.” “But—” “I have to get back to work,” he says, giving me a nod of farewell. “Take care of yourself.” “Cain,” I say desperately, tears now falling freely again. “Please… give us a chance.” He doesn’t respond, just melts into the darkness.

* THE NEXT SEVEN HOURS are a blur. I make my way on shaky legs from the back of The Silo to the parking lot, twisting my ankle no less

than three times on the uneven gravel playing havoc with my four-inch heels. The pain is barely noticeable as the intense squeeze of heartbreak has my full attention. It takes me just a little over thirty minutes to drive to my apartment. Another five online and I have a ticket booked out of Jackson leaving at 7:31 AM, connecting through Denver and then on to Nashville. It takes me twenty minutes to shower, dry my hair, and put on my pajamas. Another hour and I have my measly possessions packed. Four hours of tossing and turning in bed with fits of tears that I refuse to let fall but which keep my throat clogged with emotion. Red eyes and exhaustion making people do a double take as I walk through the small, rustic airport toward security. A quick text to Callie, because she’s the only one who will truly care, and besides… other than Cain, I don’t have anyone else’s phone number. I’m getting ready to board a plane. Going home. I’m sorry again for everything. Will you let Bridger know? I didn’t know how to get up with him this early in the morning.

Callie… ever the early riser, texted back within moments. Why? What happened? I can come there, and we can talk.

My text back. No, it’s okay. This is the right thing to do. Take care of yourself. I’m sorry again. I turned my phone off before she could text back. The plane boarded, and I slept all the way to Denver. Drank three cups of coffee while I waited for my layover and had an extreme case of the jitters on the flight to Nashville. Called my mom when I landed, cried, and told her I’d be home soon. She cried too. I refused to look at my text messages and turned my phone back off. Rented a car and drove the hour and a half to my mom’s house in Sewanee. Made it home by four PM, and by five, I was on the couch with my mom, telling her everything that happened. We cried together.

Chapter 31

Cain I STRUT INTO THE SILO, a man on a mission. This is the only way to get Sloane out of my mind. I need to make a complete break, and that means giving up the last vestige of a tie with her. That means I need to fuck someone else, so I can get back to being me. Once I fuck someone else, I can stop replaying in my mind every tiny detail of what happened last night. The weird feeling I had when I didn’t see her behind the bar when I walked into The Wicked Horse. The astonishment when Bridger told me she was in The Silo. The rage seeing Logan and Rand look at her with hunger. The look of happiness on her face when she saw me. The fucking way she told me she only wanted me. And the way she felt so fucking right with my world when I sank into her. Yeah, all of that shit has to go. Time to vacate it out of my mind and get back to living life. The crack of a whip catches my immediate attention as I step into the common circular area. My head swivels in the direction of the sound and I see Bridger in one of the rooms, working a woman over with a four-foot single tail whip while she’s mounted to a St. Andrew’s cross. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a sheen of sweat as he lands another precise strike on her ass, which is crosshatched with red stripes. She’s stoically silent when the leather strikes, but her back arches in pain. Bridger is an artist with his implements, and I’ve watched him make people come with just a few well-placed lashes to their delicate skin. I don’t understand people who need pain to get off, but there’s no denying… it’s erotic as hell to watch. I turn my back on the show, vaguely hearing two more cracks before I get up to the bar. I order a Hoback Hefeweizen, take a seat on a stool, and turn out toward the common area to take stock of the pickings. Catherine is here, wearing a romantic-looking dress made of white silk and lace, baring her shoulders. Her dark hair is long, wavy, and she’s wearing a single white daisy tucked behind her ear. My dick twitches a tiny bit as I realize she’s going for the sweet, innocent look tonight, meaning she wants to get sullied up good by whoever fucks her. Maybe. But then again, I should stay away from sweet and innocent reminders tonight. Too much like Sloane. A scream echoes out from the room where Bridger is working the woman over, and I see her entire body shaking as she moans in ecstasy. Bridger drops the whip to the floor, walks over to her, and removes the restraints at her wrists and ankles. She sinks down to the floor, smiling up at him in gratitude, and he gives her a curt nod. That’s about as touchy feely as Bridger gets when he’s doling out his kink. I watch as he walks over to a bench, picks up a black t-shirt, and pulls it over his head, straightening it down over the flocks of blackbirds on his torso. He walks out of the room without a backward glance, disappears a moment as he traverses the back hall, and then appears from the exit hallway. He makes eye contact with me immediately, and his lips tip upward in silent welcome. See… even he knows that I need to get back in the saddle so to speak. Bridger walks across the room, completely oblivious to the hungry stares that follow after him by men

and women alike. But most will never have him because he’s choosy and he’s expensive. While most acts of debauchery that occur within these rounded walls are part of the membership fee, those who want a crack at Bridger have to pay big bucks. And that’s not prostitution because he doesn’t have sex with those paying customers. Nope, he just reddens their skin, sometimes drawing blood if that’s what they require, and they happily hand over their hard-earned bucks for a momentous orgasm brought on by the sting of leather. “Nice to see you join us,” Bridger says drily as he takes a seat next to me. I spin my stool back around, so we’re both facing the interior of the round bar. Bridger nods at one of the bartenders, who knows to bring him a bottle of sparkling water, his preferred drink after working up a sweat. “It’s time,” I say simply and take a sip of my beer. At least that’s what my brain says, but my dick might be saying something else. While it might have given a tiny twitch at thinking of Catherine a moment ago, I think that was more of a reaction to her similarity to Sloane in that moment than anything. And even watching Bridger play is usually guaranteed to get me half-hard, but I’m as soft as a goose-down pillow right now. No worries though. I’m in no rush to get my rocks off tonight. In fact, I plan on taking my time about it, making sure it counts. Making sure it finally obliterates all of these awful feelings swirling inside of me, especially when I think of Sloane crying last night. And Christ… even though the words felt right, why did it hurt so much to walk away from her? Why did I feel like I was leaving something important behind? Something that felt a little bit like myself. I take a longer pull on my beer, swallow it, and then take another. Maybe I need to just get drunk instead. “Charles Mason is back from his work trip,” Bridger says offhandedly, as if it’s just another day at the office discussing business. “Wanted to know if you wanted to get together with him and Amy this week. In one of the fantasy cabins.” “Yeah, sure,” I say distractedly, and then take another mouthful of beer. I swallow hard and set the glass down. “Whatever.” “Well, try not to be so excited,” he says blandly. I blink at him in surprise and try to put on my best high school cheerleader voice while I clasp my hands in front of my chest. “Well, yay… of course I’d just love too, Mr. Payne.” “Smartass,” he grumbles with a smirk. “Welcome back, dickweed,” I hear as two hands slap onto my shoulders. I turn slightly and see Rand behind me, his fingers digging into my muscles briefly before releasing his hold. Logan comes up on the other side of Bridger and takes a seat. “Assume no hard feelings?” Logan asks as he gives me a sly grin. “It looks like things worked out well for you last night, right?” “What happened last night?” Bridger asks with mild curiosity as he looks at Logan. “Miss Bonham here got his panties in a twist when he caught us flirting with Sloane last night,” Rand says with a mocking laugh from my left. Bridger’s head swings the other way to look at him briefly before cutting to me. “That right?” I refuse to answer because I don’t want these guys ragging on me about my overt display of jealous propriety last night. It’s something I prefer not to dwell on, especially since it was so out of character for me in normal circumstances, and just completely fucking weird given the fact I couldn’t stand Sloane. Well, yeah… I can stand her. Hunger for her actually. But I was furious with her and wanted nothing to do with her. So it was just fucking weird last night. “Oh, yeah,” Rand tells Bridger whose eyes slide past me to listen. “Came in here, dragged her out all

caveman style. Never came back so I assume Little Bonham saw some hot action last night and Miss Sloane had a satisfied smile on her face today.” I don’t miss the change of emotion on Bridger’s face, because he goes from mild interest to outright anger. He turns that gaze back on me and says, “What the fuck did you do to her?” I rear backward slightly from the menace he projects, but I stand my ground. “What the fuck does that mean? And what’s with the ’tude?” “I wasn’t sure what the hell happened, but now it’s clear… you must have done something to send her scurrying,” Bridger says with ice practically falling off his tongue. “Scurrying?” I say dumbly, having no idea what in the hell he’s talking about. “Back home… to Tennessee. She texted Callie this morning from the airport that she was leaving. Callie and Woolf went by her apartment, and it’s empty.” “She’s gone?” I murmur, my tongue feeling numb as it says the words. “Yeah, she’s gone,” Bridger mutters. “And I’d like to know what the fuck you did to send her running.” My mind spins and fuck… I feel a little dizzy. Now, whether I would have actually gone through with fucking someone tonight is beyond me at this point, but I do know one thing as I sit here contemplating what I’ve just learned. I never in a million years thought Sloane would be gone. I just assumed she would stick around and continue to work on me. I can’t say as I hated what happened between us last night. Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? I fucking loved every nut-blowing moment of what we did. So much so, I think subconsciously I was sort of banking on it happening again, maybe even secretly hoping that my walls would get chipped away with every orgasm we wrung out of each other. Yeah… no way in hell am I’m ready to fuck someone else tonight, I think with total clarity. “Cain,” Bridger barks and I startle, raising my eyes from my beer to him. “I didn’t do anything,” I grit out. “I fucked her… she enjoyed it. I left.” “Try again,” he commands. “I told her I forgave her, but that there wasn’t anything between us anymore. I left right after…went back to work.” “Well, no wonder she fucking left,” Rand says quietly. “You’re kind of a prick,” Logan adds on. “She’s a sweet girl too. Wouldn’t have minded—” “Say another fucking word of that thought,” I growl at Logan, “and I’ll rip your tonsils out.” Logan’s mouth snaps shut, and he glares at me. “And why the fuck are you all taking her side?” I grumble, my eyes coming to rest on each of their faces in turn. “She’s a snake in the grass. A liar. A betrayer.” “Dude, you have got to get ahold of your tender sensibilities,” Bridger mocks me. “That girl came to Jackson with a serious agenda—an insatiable fire lighting her sense of justice. You ended up tilting her world in just a matter of a few days. In just that short period of time, she gave up vengeance and justice all for you and Callie. She apologized. She made it right. And if I know Sloane, and I’m betting I do, that girl probably poured her heart out to you in an effort to have you care for her again, and you left her standing in a puddle of tears. She’s got a soul made of pure gold, and you’re a fucking moron who chased it away.” Vengeance? Justice? What the hell is he talking about? But I can’t think about that now because guilt overwhelms me. That’s exactly what happened, and while I might have felt a twinge of it last night, it’s oppressive to me now. Still, I’m not ready to go down without a clean fight, and I need one of them to at least admit to me that I have a right to feel betrayed and angry about this. It would really help if one of my fucking friends had my back just a tiny bit.

So I try to explain myself better. “I get that she was in a bad situation, and I get that she pretty quickly realized what she was doing was wrong. I even understand that ultimately, she made everything right, and for that, I forgive her. But I’m sorry… she should have come clean sooner, especially when I… when she… when we started having feelings. If she would have just cut the deception a little sooner, it would have been easier to bear.” “She couldn’t,” Bridger says. “She had no choice.” I can’t help the half-scoff, half-snort that comes out of my mouth and nose. It’s not a pleasant sound, but it makes a point. Because she most certainly had a choice, and she chose badly. That’s what I can’t let go of. “She was being blackmailed.” The flat anger in Bridger’s voice punches deep into my gut, and I don’t doubt his words for a minute. “Blackmailed?” I say incredulously. “Yeah… her editor threatened to write a lurid article about her mom’s most recent hospitalization and her past suicide attempts.” Again, I go dizzy and my confusion is like a thick puddle of goo within me. “Why in the fuck would her editor care about her mom’s suicide attempts?” “Because her mom was married to some senator who cheated on her and used government monies to fund his affair. The scandal destroyed her mom. It was the first time she tried to commit suicide. Her editor threatened to open the story back up if she didn’t produce some type of evidence against Callie and the club.” Vengeance? Justice? It all makes sense now. “Son of a bitch,” I wheeze out, feeling like the air in my lungs went on hiatus. I press my fingers to my temples and squeeze my eyes shut. This is not fucking happening. “Why didn’t she tell me?” “She didn’t want you to think she was making excuses. She thought just being honest about her mistake would be good enough.” “But she told you,” I point out bitterly, opening my eyes and drilling Bridger with a heated look. “True enough, but we’d pretty much made our peace with her before that,” he says, and my guilt starts humming again. “If she would have just said something…” I say, and my voice drifts off. No, wait… that’s not exactly right. If I look at this whole shit storm with an unjaundiced eye, it makes perfect sense Sloane didn’t tell me. She’s the type of person who owns up to her mistakes and she takes responsibility. I’ve always admired her integrity, and maybe that’s why it hurt so much when I realized it might have been lacking. But yeah… I could see Sloane not bothering to tell me the entire situation, wanting me to forgive her on the merits of her personal remorsefulness for hurting me, not because someone was forcing her to do something bad. “Christ,” I mutter, pressing harder into my temples, my brain on overdrive. “Has that asshole editor run the story? Is that why she left to go home?” “No, she left to go home because you’re a moron who’s a little slow on the uptake,” Bridger says, his tone full of sarcasm. But then his eyes take on a wicked gleam, and he almost chortles when he says, “But that punk-ass won’t be running it. I’ve managed to convince him otherwise.” I blink stupidly at Bridger. “How’s that?” “It’s amazing what about five thousand will buy you in the way of a good investigator. Within two days of Sloane telling me about this prick, I’d found out that he had a secret young piece on the side and his wife had no clue.” “He was having an affair?” Rand asks with a laugh.

“With a man… a young congressional aide,” Bridger says with glee. “I have the pictures to prove it, and what do you know? He backed right off Sloane.” That should make me happy. However, for some reason, it makes darkness well inside of me. That Bridger was the one who protected her. Saved her. Believed in her. Fuck… was everything I apparently was not, and it sickens me to my core over how stupid I’ve been. I push up from the bar stool, pull my wallet out, and throw money on the bar for my beer and a tip. Bridger’s eyebrows shoot up in a brief moment of surprise, which is odd because it’s practically impossible to surprise him. But then, he knowingly smiles at me and says, “Have a nice flight.”

Chapter 32

Sloane I PULL THE BACK of my hand across my forehead, wipe the sweat and layer of dust off, and huff out a hot breath. I’m not sure what possessed me to come up to my mom’s attic and rummage through some of my old college boxes, but here I sit in my pajamas in a room that boasts at least a ninety-five-degree temperature and suffer while I work. I suppose I’m filled with a displaced sense of nostalgia. Maybe a desire to look at things that took me back to a happier place in my life. That would be the summer between my sophomore and junior years at the University of Tennessee. Before my dad got caught sticking his dick somewhere else. Before our family got tied up in national scandal. Before my mom tried to kill herself. Those were the good days and so I’m reaching back out to them, desperately searching for some old photographs of my college buds and me, more than a few highlighting my skill at keg stands at various frat parties, but still… it was before my pure bubble of naivety and happiness was burst, and before I was set on a path that led me directly to Jackson, Wyoming and perhaps the biggest heartbreak of my life. I also figured I’d pull out some old photos, maybe some knickknacks that provide good memories, and place them in the spare bedroom of my mom’s house where I’m crashing for the moment. Of course, Mom has told me to stay as long as I want—well, her word was forever actually—but the point is… I have to figure out what to do with myself. Don’t get me wrong… I love Tennessee. It’s my home state, and there is an innate level of comfort here. While this isn’t my childhood home, this is where my mom has lived since she and my dad separated, and so it is now my home too. It would not be unrealistic of me to stay here, look for a job locally, and try to regroup. But I love D.C. too. The hustle and bustle, the culture, a decent group of friends I made who weren’t exactly besties but with whom I could go out and have a great time on the weekends. It was a good life. Granted, the career was apparently a shit decision, but I could see making D.C. my home. There’s certainly more job opportunities there if I want to stay in journalism, although the notion of that is soured a bit for me. At this moment, I’m jaded enough to believe the media may actually be more evil than my father. A sharp stab of longing courses through me as I regretfully consider Jackson, Wyoming. This past week, I had envisioned myself living there. Figured I’d quit Revealed magazine, somehow salvage a relationship with Cain that was started on lies, and possibly get a job on the quaint local newspaper staff. There’s no doubt Wyoming is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been, and I could totally see myself living there permanently. I mean… I wasn’t completely sure about the winter, but figured it wouldn’t be so bad being holed up with Cain during the cold and snowy times. My pipe dreams were huge; my optimism unparalleled. I was an idiot to think something so good that started with dishonesty could ever last. Why I even thought I should stay behind after my plot was exposed and try to “fix” things with Cain is beyond me. There’s no way a man like Cain with his hard lines and bitter past would ever have let me back in. Not

with someone like Rachel in his past who secretly aborted their baby and charged it off on an already overextended credit card, knowing that one day he’d learn the truth. Evil, evil bitch and her actions were a big part of the reason I could never gain purchase with Cain after my betrayal. The attic stairs creak and I can hear my mom climbing them. Her head pops up through the rectangular entrance in the floor, and she smiles at me. “What in the world are you doing?” “Just going through some of my old college boxes,” I tell her as I pull out a stack of old notebooks filled with scribbles commemorating boring lectures. She climbs the rest of the way through, turns, and sits her butt on the wooden floor, legs dangling over the edge. My mom is a beautiful woman, and I’m not sure why my dad felt the need to go younger with bigger boobs. Maybe it was Fernanda’s exotic accent or the fact she wears a belly button piercing, or maybe she just gives great head… who knows, but as much as I will admit my stepmom—and I gag when I think of her in that context—is a stunning woman, she just can’t compare to my mother’s graceful beauty. She’s like a southern belle Grace Kelly with fine bone structure, luminescent blue eyes that I inherited, and a magnetism that always seemed to draw every person’s gaze when she’s in a crowded room. On the outside, she’s funny, witty, charming, and bright. She can hold a conversation with any stranger, and her kindness and generosity knows no bounds. On the inside, sure, she may be an emotional wreck, but unless she gets to her very dark place, you’d never know she has demons that randomly torture her. There’s not a doubt in my mind that she was successful for the most part in keeping those demons at bay, but with the combination of the prescription pain pills, which she was using to self-medicate her emotional weaknesses, and my father’s very public betrayal and subsequent scandal, she simply couldn’t keep it together anymore. Now she has her good days and her bad, and I’m happy to say that since my return yesterday afternoon, her smile seems genuinely joyous and content. Maybe I should just stay here and give life in a small, southern town a shot again. “Feeling the need for a trip down memory lane?” she asks, leaning back on one arm and turning her body slightly to watch me. My mom is still in great shape, petite and luminescent. Maybe she’ll find love again one day. Although, I hope she doesn’t settle for it, hoping it will make her whole. That’s no reason to be with someone. I shrug. “Maybe just a few things that will help me remember a more peaceful time in my life.” “Ain’t that the fucking truth?” she says with a grimace, and my eyes snap up from my notebook for a class I took called Crafting a Story in the Digital Market. “Mom,” I say in a drawled-out, admonishing tone. She raises her eyebrows and looks at me innocently. “What?” “You said the ‘F’ word.” “Fucking right I did,” she says with a grin. “I’m an adult. I’m allowed to.” “But not to your daughter,” I point out. “There are some things you just don’t do as a mother.” “Oh, seriously, Sloane. Quit thinking of your mom as a prude,” she says with a laugh. “Now… I’m going to go take a walk with Chester Cheetah. Want to come?” Chester Cheetah is her three-pound Chihuahua. No clue where that name came from, but she loves that dog more than anything and spoils him just as much. “I’m good,” I tell her as I put the notebooks back in the box, not finding anything that provides me with company. Just some now-wonky feelings about getting a degree that may be quite useless to me. “I think I’m going to go get a shower and maybe fix some eggs and bacon. Want some?” She shakes her head. “I ate breakfast about seven hours ago. It will be dinner time soon.”

“Yeah, well, I slept through that obviously,” I say with a grin and push the box aside. “I had some catching up to do.” It’s true. I slept until about three o’clock this afternoon. When I rolled out of bed, I felt a pressing need to hide myself away in the attic, searching for something to make me feel better. I follow my mom back down the stairs, and she helps me fold the attic ladder back into place. She gives me a kiss on my dusty, sweat-covered cheek and heads back downstairs to take Chester for a walk. I head back into my bedroom, gather my clothes and toiletries out of my still-packed suitcase, and then take a much-needed shower. My stomach rumbles as I take the effort and time to polish myself after my shower. That means drying my hair and even swiping on a bit of mascara, because no matter how crappy I feel on the outside, I always feel infinitely better if I can make myself slightly pretty on the outside. Gathering up my clothes, I exit the bathroom and pad down the short hallway to the spare bedroom I’m occupying. While this house is nice, it’s a lot smaller than our upscale house in Nashville that we lived in when my father wasn’t in session. It definitely doesn’t have the fine appointments of the townhome they had in Washington when he was in session. But still, it’s perfect for my mom right now and she enjoys being back in her hometown. Perhaps this is where I should be too. Maybe. It feels a little right, but that’s probably the comfort of being with my mom. As I enter into my room, I think maybe it would help to even decorate this more to my tastes— I give a piercing shriek as I realize there’s someone sitting on my bed when I walk in. A hulking figure so large it depresses the mattress in at steep angles. “Hello, Sloane,” the deep voice says, and my heart refuses to stop its mad gallop when I realize it’s Cain in my room. Blood racing like mad not only because he scared the shit out of me, but also because Cain is sitting in my room. Cain. Gorgeous, scarred, sexy Cain who, although he says he’s forgiven me, still has no regard for what we had. “What are you doing here?” I ask as I press a hand holding my panties to my breastbone, giving a rub to try to calm the unsteady beat underneath. His eyes pierce into me as he sits hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped between. Face so serious… somber, and quite possibly even apologetic. “You left without saying goodbye.” I turn from him, walk over to the closet, and throw my dirty clothes on the floor. I’ll need to go out and buy a laundry basket at some point. Keeping my back to him, I say, “I thought we said our goodbyes the night before last.” “No, I said goodbye,” he points out. “You didn’t seem quite willing to accept it, last I recall.” Spinning to face him, I let a little anger come through. Whoa… didn’t know I was really all that angry until right this moment. “You fucked me against the wall of a sex club and told me quite clearly that I wasn’t enough for you. Then you left. Why would I ever bother saying goodbye to you at that point?” “I was wrong,” he says ever so simply. Like that is the answer to all of our problems. Is it? “How do you figure?” I ask skeptically, because the one thing I’ve learned about Cain in our time together… he is brutally honest. He doesn’t hold with punches, even when he knows they’re going to hurt like a son of a bitch. “Your mom seems really nice,” he says, completely ignoring my question. “Granted… she was

apparently on her way out to take some little rat-looking dog for a walk, but in the five minutes we spoke, I totally understand now.” “Understand what?” I’m thoroughly confused. “That you were trying to protect her. Why the blackmail your editor held over your head was so powerful. I think about if that was my mom, and I would have done the same damn thing.” He looks at me without judgment, his eyes sympathetic. He stands from the bed, towering tall, and walks to me. His hand comes out and he strokes his knuckles across my cheek, murmuring when he says, “You should have told me.” I close my eyes briefly, relishing his touch. When I open them back up, I tell him with naked honesty, “I didn’t want you to think there was a valid excuse for my actions. That blackmail wasn’t over my head at first. I came here and started things with you under very a dishonest and wrong purpose. The blackmail came later.” “True,” he says, dropping his hand. I have to restrain myself from snatching it back to my face. He turns away from me and walks to the window that overlooks the street. “Yet you tried to make it right. Maybe you didn’t go about it all in the correct order, but you were doing what you thought was best without intent to hurt. You were trying to save everyone in the end, and I have to respect that.” I hold my breath, afraid to even try to hope what this all means. He flew here… to see me. To accept my apology. Give me understanding. “I was wrong in not giving you the benefit of the doubt,” he says quietly as he looks out the window. To apologize? He’s apologizing to me? “No, that’s not true,” I say quickly, clasping my hands in front of me. “You had a terrible experience in your past that was guiding you. The woman you loved betrayed you in a terrible way. I get why you couldn’t so easily give me the benefit of the doubt.” Cain’s head snaps to me, and his eyes narrow a bit. “I never loved Rachel.” “You didn’t?” How is that possible? He turns his head back and looks out the window, pulling down on the wooden blind slat to get a better look. “I never felt for her what I feel for you.” My head spins. A kernel of hope-filled yearning forms, and then bursts open in my chest. He tilts his head, his eyes scanning the street. “This is a nice neighborhood,” he says casually, perplexing me greatly. “I could see us living here.” “What?” I ask, my voice clogged with confusion. “If you won’t come back to Jackson with me, I could move here.” He turns from the window and looks at me, eyes naked with an honest offer. “I don’t understand,” I squeak out. I so don’t fucking understand what’s going on here. Cain takes two long steps, and he’s back in front of me. His hands come to my face and he pulls me in a few inches, bending his head closer to me. “Sloane… I don’t know if I really understand what love is… but I’m feeling something inside of me for you that has to be something close to it. Maybe it is it. All I know is that I’ve been a fucking moron, according to Bridger, and I’ve come to the very late realization that I have to have you in my life. I seriously can’t go another day without you, and I’m really sorry I didn’t come to this brutal conclusion earlier. So I flew here with the hopes of talking you into coming back to Wyoming with me, but if you won’t, I can relocate here. If you’ll have me, that is. If you’ll forgive me for being such a monumental prick to you, and give me another chance.”

“Oh, wow,” I breathe out, letting every bit of hopelessness and misery seep out. “Just… wow.” “Do you?” he gently asks. “Forgive me?” “Yes,” I whisper as I start to melt. My hands come to his chest to rest against the steady beat of his heart. “Can you?” His head bends, brushing his lips against mine. “Can I what?” My hands curl into his shirt, gripping hard as I feel my legs start to go weak. “Can you love me?” Another whisper of his lips against mine. “Yes,” I say with a smile. “I can totally do that.” Then he kisses me deeply, holding my face so I don’t think to pull away. But I would never think to do that. “Will you?” he says against my mouth, lips brushing back and forth. He leans his head away from me so he can look into my eyes. “Will I what?” His eyes are almost pleading. “Come back to Wyoming with me? Make a new life with me there?”

Chapter 33

Cain “I’M SO FUCKING horny right now, I’m pretty much guaranteed to attack you the minute we get in the house,” I tell Sloane with all honesty. “Why ever would that be?” she asks sarcastically as I pull into my driveway and shut off the engine to my truck. “Because you’ve been squirming in that seat the entire ride from the airport. The way you’re shifting around… little tiny groans that you’re trying to suppress but I can hear all too clearly. My dick feels like it’s going to break.” “Well, that’s what you get when you insisted I wear this ass plug,” she gripes at me, but she has a tiny smile on her face so I know she’s not hating it all that much. It’s true… I’m horny as fuck because I know she’s a hot, squirming mess with that plug wedged in deep. But that’s what she gets for denying me the last two days we’ve been at her mom’s house in Tennessee. While Sloane had no qualms about returning to Wyoming with me, and her mom was happy to see her happy, we stayed a few days so that Sloane could spend some time with her. It was my absolute pleasure to tell both women they didn’t have to worry about an article from Revealed magazine, telling them all about Bridger’s little talk with Sloane’s editor. So yeah… absolute torture the last two days sleeping in a bed with Sloane but not being able to fuck her. She said it was out of respect for her mom, and I got that, sure. But damn… my balls ache with need for her, especially after knowing that plug is getting her ready for me. As soon as we got off the plane in Jackson, I pulled her over to the restrooms, reached into my carryon suitcase, and pulled out the plug and a bottle of lube. I shoved it into her hand, and she almost dropped the items. She looked absolutely so stunned to see them in her palm. Glancing around like a crazy woman, she desperately closed both hands over the offending items, hoping no one was looking. “Go in the bathroom and put that in,” I told her gruffly, my cock already swollen and making an embarrassing bulge in my jeans. “We’re going to seal this deal by you giving me your cherry when we get to our house.” For a brief moment, there were all kinds of fight and denial in her eyes, but apparently, she was so touched by the words “our house” that she gave me a red-cheeked nod and scrambled off into the bathroom. I had to restrain myself from rubbing my crotch as I imagined her getting that thing in all by herself in the bathroom, which I know isn’t easy but can definitely be done with enough determination. The absolute persistence she must have had, because I did go up one size larger. She came out of the bathroom with a flushed face and an awkward walk. I asked her how it felt, and she growled at me. My dick got harder. I pull the key out of the ignition, and Sloane turns her head to look at me. I know she’s feeling all kinds of uncomfortable right this minute, but she looks at me with pure adoration. “I’m glad you came after me.” “Welcome home,” I murmur, leaning over to kiss her softly. She sighs into me but I pull away, sweet romance done with for right now. I pull Sloane into the house. We leave her bags in the back of my truck, and I’m not even sure I close the front door behind us. Drag her down the hall and into “our” bedroom, using rough hands to jerk her

clothes off. “Get on the bed,” I tell her gruffly, pulling at my own shirt. Not very seductive but I’ve got a lifetime to show her all the ways I can be with her. Sloane crawls onto the bed while I pull my shoes and pants off. I hastily dig through the drawer of my bedside table, standing up straight with a bottle of lube in my hand. When I turn to look at her, I groan and almost shoot my load right there. She’s on her knees, elbows to the mattress, and ass tipped up high in the air. Grinning at me with her cheek pressed to the pillow and a lock of hair over one of her brilliant blue eyes, she says. “Your ass awaits, sir.” I walk up to the bed and smooth a hand down her back, over the swell of her ass, where I give it a squeeze. “As much as I like you in that position, turn over on your back, baby. We’re doing this face to face so I can watch your face when I pop that virgin ass.” She groans over my crudity but flips over on her back, her legs pressed primly together. I walk to the end of the bed, throw the lube down by her hip, and pull her apart by the ankles. She has one hand lightly resting on her flat tummy, the other arm crooked by her head with her index finger trapped between her white teeth. She looks at me coyly, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It causes me to hesitate, just basking in the stunning creature before me that is all mine. Forever. Yup… forever. I crawl onto the mattress between her legs and lower my weight onto her, causing her to pull her hand away from her stomach. Dipping my head, I bring my mouth to hers and give her a searing kiss. Her hands come to the back of my neck, and she arches up into me as she accepts my tongue. Slipping one hand between her legs, I brush my fingers through her folds, not surprised in the least that they are dripping wet. I know the plug may have been a tad uncomfortable during the car ride home, but I also know it was causing skitters of pleasure within her the entire time. The fact that she’s so wet tells me that I’m not just taking her gift, but she’s also giving it to me with relish. And while my ultimate goal is to take Sloane’s last remaining virginal element, my cock wants inside her too desperately at the moment. I rotate my hips, she spreads her legs a little further, and I start to push my way inside her slick pussy. “Mmmmm,” Sloane murmurs against my tongue. “More.” I give her and myself more, because it feels so fucking good having that wet heat pull me in toward nirvana. I slide inch after inch of my cock in, deeper until I’m bottomed out and grinding against her. Every press of my pelvis against hers pushes her ass into the mattress and the plug gets jostled within her. I have no game plan other than to make Sloane feel good. That will naturally make me feel good. My hips start pumping, wet flesh smacking, moans filling the air. I slip a hand in between our bodies, find Sloane’s clit, and start to rub against it while I fuck her harder. She pants into my mouth as I continue to kiss her, and I can feel her heart slamming against mine through the skin and bone separating them as our chests are mashed together. “I’m… Cain… I’m going to come,” she manages to mutter against my lips, and I slam into her harder. Sloane’s hips punch upward as her back arches off the bed. She gives a cry of ecstasy, a sob of relief, and her body starts to shudder. I pull my head up and watch as her eyes roll back under her lids as she orgasms. Pressing my knees into the mattress, I put a hand under her ass and raise it off the mattress. With my other hand, I reach behind her and grasp onto the plug, pulling it out slowly as her body shakes and trembles. Her eyes fly open as the plug is removed, and she lets out another hoarse cry, bucking against the sensation.

“Oh, God… Oh, God…” she mutters over and over again, her head thrashing left and right against the mattress. Fucking sexy as hell. I pull my cock out of Sloane’s heat. She’s so far gone in the throes of a never-ending orgasm that she doesn’t seem to notice. I grab the lube, flipping the cap with my thumb. A steady stream pours onto her pussy. “Lift your legs, baby. Spread them apart for me.” Sloane raises her head from the mattress and looks at me with bleary eyes, but she complies. I stick my fingers under the stream of lube, catch a bit, and then toss the bottle aside. I smooth my slick fingers over her pussy, and she shudders again. I push my fingers down further, rub them over the tender skin from there to her tight hole, and gently massage in tiny circles. “Feels good,” she murmurs, rotating her hips and bringing her hands underneath her knees to help hold her legs open. It’s wanton and filthy looking, and my cock weeps from the sight. Speaking of cock… I fist it with lubed fingers, place one hand on the mattress, and lean forward. I guide the tip of my shaft right to her anus, rubbing all around it, and she mewls like a starved kitten. “Deep breath, Sloane,” I urge her. She sucks in a lungful, drawing my eyes briefly from my cock against her ass to those perfect tits with pebbled nipples. “Let it out slowly.” She does and my gaze drags back down to the erotic sight of my hard cock getting ready to plunder her ass. I grit my teeth, push forward… right through her tight ring that was mercifully loosened a bit from the plug. My eyes shoot up, seeing Sloane with her brow glistening with sweat and her lower lip between her teeth. She has her head lifted off the pillow, and she’s looking down between our legs with wide-eyed curiosity mixed with apprehension. “Easy,” I gentle her and push further in. “Oh… wait… ow,” she gasps out. I still, looking up at her while she adjusts. I’ve got no more than the fat head of my dick in her, but I know she’s struggling. “Want me to stop?” I whisper. She shakes her head frantically. “No. Feels way better than it hurts. Give me more.” Oh, thank fuck… I don’t think I can stop. Sweat beads along one temple and slides down my jaw. I push in deeper, one, two, three more inches. Sloane chokes out a pleasured sob as my cock slides along her delicate nerve endings inside. She’s past the point of pain, and I know this because she lifts her hips, trying to get me deeper. I comply, and I slide completely in, bottoming out with a grunt of pleasure. “Oh, fuck, that feels good,” I mutter as I drop the other hand to the mattress and just hold myself within her. Sloane’s eyes are fluttering, on the verge of closing in uncontrolled ecstasy. I’m going to lose her soon, I know, so I make sure she understands something very important. “Sloane… baby,” I say, and her eyes slowly open, eventually focusing on my own. “This ass is mine and no one else’s. Ever.” Her brows draw inward. “What do you mean?” “I mean… if you want us to play around again… with Bridger, Rand, Logan… I’m okay with that as long as no one ever touches this ass.” “You still want to… do that?” she asks in astonishment, and while I’m not one who normally likes to converse during my cherry ass fucking, this needs to be said. “Maybe,” I hedge. “We both have memberships to the club. I like kinky shit, and now I know you do too. I’m open to it.” Because yes, Bridger held Sloane’s job at The Wicked Horse, and while I don’t think she’ll work

there forever, it means I could pull her over there for a quick fuck on our break if I wanted to. That thought causes my cock to jerk inside of her a bit, sort of chomping on the bit to let loose. And this is what she really needs to hear, because this is the most important part and really doesn’t have a damn thing to do with us playing with others. “I trust you. Implicitly. I can separate out the kink from the love, so if you want to try some stuff at The Silo, you just tell me what you want and I’ll deliver.” Sloane’s head comes further off the mattress as she peers at me, now seemingly oblivious that my cock is wedged deep in her ass. “Why do you trust me? How? After everything—” I cut her off with a punch of my hips against her ass, reminding her there is a big dick filling her up. She groans, but I ignore it. “Because of everything you risked and sacrificed. You put me above your career, your mother… you wanted me after I was a prick. I love you and with that comes complete trust. If you want something that’s out of the bounds of normalcy, and it makes you feel good, I’ll always give it to you.” Sloane’s eyes turn so tender that my heart actually starts thumping like a happy puppy’s tail. She gives a slight shake of her head and says, “I think I’m going to pass on having any other men play with us. You’re more than enough for me, but… I’m not averse to playing in the club with you.” And that is something I can happily live with. “Sounds like a plan then,” I tell her with a smile. She lifts her head up further, and I meet her mouth with mine. My life is complete.

Epilogue

Rand I WALK THROUGH THE SILO, turning the lights off behind me as I go. Normally, this would fall to Bridger or Cain, but neither one is around tonight. Bridger’s attending some party out at the compound for the Mayhem’s Mission motorcycle club, which translates into fucking some free pussy unassociated with The Silo. While this is Bridger’s baby, sometimes I get the feeling that his “duties” here wear on him. Sometimes, it seems he actually hates “servicing” some people, but maybe I’m trying to read something into the situation. Regardless, he’s not here and neither is Cain. He just flew back from Tennessee today and he’s shacked up with Sloane, I’m sure still hammering out the necessary apologies that woman deserves from him. Cute couple though. I figured out of all of us dudes, he’d be one of the last to drop given his history with Rachel, but what the fuck do I know? I’m definitely unlucky in love, but I’m okay if it never comes my way. I’ve got friends, a great job, and all the kinky fuckery I could ever imagine. I snicker to myself, thinking about that. Kinky fuckery. Some chick said that the other night while Logan and I were both doing her, and we thought it was hilarious. She said she it was a term in one of her favorite books, but whatever. It totally describes what happens within the walls of this circular building. I make my way down the short hallway to the exit door, flipping down the switch of the sconce lighting and pushing the door open. The air is crisp and smells refreshing. Cleans the soul kind of good because sometimes when I walk out of The Silo, I feel like it’s tainted by the things I do. But again, whatever. I might feel dirty at times, but some of the shit I dip my wick into also feels fucking amazing. I pull the door closed and ensure the lock is engaged. Security’s become more important now than ever given that fuckwad Colton Stokes blabbing his mouth. Of course, on one hand, you could say it was a good thing because it brought Sloane Preston to our neck of the woods. Not only was she a fantastic fuck, and I hope Cain lets me in on that again, but it’s also made my buddy super happy. So maybe Colton just deserved an ass whipping instead of the murder I’d like to dole out to him for threatening our existence. The parking lot is nearly deserted, The Wicked Horse having closed nearly an hour ago. The Silo is technically open 24/7 for any members who want to get debauched, but the bartenders go off duty at the same time The Wicked Horse closes down at 2AM. I’m the last to leave after getting a last minute cocksuck from Carol, one of the lovely purveyors of fine drinks. She toddled out not but fifteen minutes ago with a tart goodbye. I should have returned the favor to her, but she owed me the blow job because she lost a bet last week on the Yankees game. She’s a transplanted New Yorker and I hate the Yankees, so I always bet against them, no matter the price of the potential loss. My eyes zero in on my Suburban parked up against The Wicked Horse in the space nearest the slate path that leads from the back door over to The Silo. I click the remote entry fob and the lights flash, indicating the doors are unlocked. I reach for the handle, pull it open, and just as I’m about to step in, my gaze falls on a white Mercedes coupe sitting two rows back and three spaces over. I start to turn away and then do a double-take as I realize it’s Catherine’s car.

I know she left The Silo probably about half an hour ago after giving everyone a show tonight. Since her husband died last week, she’s been at The Silo every night, indulging in every wicked sex act you can imagine. Not that she didn’t indulge before, but for some reason, since the old fart’s death, she’s seemed a bit more free-spirited in her pursuits. Maybe even doggedly determined to outdo herself every time. Tonight, my tongue was hanging out of my mouth while she occupied a room all to herself and played with a variety of electrical and mechanical toys that Bridger’s been collecting. She got right up against the glass wall and made sure everyone could see what she was doing. I bet I watched her come at least six times before she finally fell into a heap on the floor, panting with sweat-soaked skin and drowsy eyes. After she collected herself, she got dressed and sauntered out the door, waving goodbye over her head. I was so fucking horny after that, it took no time at all for Carol to wrench an unbelievable orgasm out of me. And strangely… I was imagining Catherine sucking my cock at the time, which is a bit weird. It’s not like there’s any mystery there. Catherine’s deep throated me on a few occasions before, and I’ve fucked her on even more occasions than that. Didn’t think she was really anything different from all the other sexual encounters I’ve had, but for some reason, it was her dark hair I imagined clenched in my fist rather than Carol’s strawberry-blonde curls. Perhaps Catherine left her car here and went home with someone else. That must be it and just as I start to turn my eyes back to my vehicle, I see movement within the darkness of the interior of her car. I peer harder, willing the light from the nearest security post to reveal the inside, and if I’m not mistaken, the seat is leaned back and she’s lying down. Perhaps having just turned from one side to the other. What the hell? I close my door and walk quickly across the lot to her car, my head tilted in curiosity. As I get closer, I can see better, and it is indeed Catherine lying in the driver’s seat reclined all the way back. She’s on her side with her hands curled up by her face, her back to me. Those long, dark locks are spread out over her back and shoulder. I tap gently on the window, knowing I’m going to startle her but not being able to help it. She jerks upright, looking at me with frightened eyes. When she recognizes me, I can see her give a sigh of relief. She raises the seat up and rolls the window down. It’s then that I notice her car is running. “Hey,” she says, her eyes darting around the parking lot. “What are you doing?” I ask, completely perplexed to find her sleeping in her car. I know she’s not drunk because Catherine doesn’t drink. At all. She does some crazy shit in the club, and she doesn’t want anyone to ever think it’s not of her own free will. She owns her kinky fuckery… and owns it good. I don’t think she does drugs, so it’s very confusing to find her here like this. “Um… I just…” Her voice trails off and her gaze falls down to her delicate fingers, which are intertwined tightly with one another. “Catherine… were you going to spend the night out here?” She lets out a huff of frustrated air. Looking back up to me with resignation in her eyes, she admits, “Yes.” Nothing more. I cock an eyebrow at her. Catherine and her late husband reside in Vegas permanently, but he has a luxury cabin just outside of Jackson that they spent a lot of time at since he got her a membership at The Silo. “Is your car broken down or something?” She shakes her head and looks back down at her lap. “Then what the fuck?” I ask, exasperated and also damn worn out from the night’s activities. I want to

get home and get some shut-eye. Work comes early and I cannot miss it. I have to open the tattoo shop I work for at ten in the morning, and I need the few hours of sleep I can squeeze in. She’s silent and I think she may refuse to answer me, but then her small voice reaches my ears and it stuns me. “I don’t have anywhere else to stay.” “What do mean? You have a seven-thousand-square-foot home not thirty minutes away.” She shakes her head, that dark hair falling in a veil to hide her face. It’s a gorgeous face, too. High cheekbones, exotic slant to her liquid brown eyes. It’s a face that should be in movies or on magazines. A face beautiful enough that it landed her a wealthy husband on death’s door and should have left her swimming in riches. “Catherine,” I prompt, pulling on the handle to her door. It’s still locked so I reach my hand inside, find the lock, flip it, and then pull the door open. I step in, squat down, and place my hand on her thigh. “What is going on?” She pulls in a shaky breath, lifts a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, which exposes her face again, and then turns to look at me with bleak eyes. “He didn’t leave me with anything. Just this car, which he had titled in my name.” “Excuse me?” “Samuel left everything to his two children, which I get he would leave them with something. But he always promised me he’d take care of me. I’d always have a place to live. His attorney showed up at the Jackson house two days ago with an order that I had to vacate. I was allowed to pack up my clothes, and that was it.” My breath hisses out from between my teeth, and I wish that creepy fucker was still alive so I could pound his withered, crippled ass into the ground. That goddamn motherfucker. I stand straight and hold a hand out to her. “Come on. You can crash at my place tonight. I’ll help you figure something out.” “Seriously?” she asks, her eyes wide and her lips trembling. “I mean… we don’t really know each other.” “I’ve been balls deep inside you a time or two, Catherine. I think I know you a little bit,” I say with a teasing smile. She blushes, and fuck… that’s pretty. I’ve never seen Catherine blush, and she’s done some things to make even the kinkiest of motherfuckers go red in the face. “Are you sure?” she hesitantly asks. “Positive,” I say and push my hand toward her. She turns the engine off before taking my hand. Swinging those long legs bared from the black leather mini skirt she wore tonight out, she says, “I’ll be glad to pay you. You know… in sex or something. I’ve only got about fifty dollars in cash left to my name.” My cock leaps at the thought, because yeah… although I’m tired, I would not say no to fucking her tonight. But instead, I decide to be a gentleman. “You don’t owe me anything. Let’s get you to my place so you can get a good night’s sleep. We’ll talk about it more tomorrow and try to figure out how to take care of you.” She blushes again and stands from the car. Her hand goes to my chest and she leans up on tiptoes, I think maybe to give me a hot kiss, but instead, she brushes her lips across my cheek. “Thank you, Rand. You’re a lifesaver.” Hmmmm… I like the sound of that.

WICKED NEED (The Wicked Horse Series) By Sawyer Bennett

Prologue

Rand I WALK THROUGH THE SILO, turning off the lights behind me as I go. Normally, this would fall to Bridger or Cain, but neither is around tonight. Bridger is attending a party out at the compound for the Mayhem’s Mission motorcycle club, which translates into fucking some free pussy unassociated with The Silo. While this is Bridger’s baby, I get the feeling that his “duties” here wear on him sometimes. There are times it seems he actually hates “servicing” some people, but maybe I’m trying to read something into the situation that isn’t there. Regardless, he’s not here and neither is Cain. He just flew back from Tennessee today, and he’s shacked up with Sloane. I’m sure he’s still hammering out the necessary apologies that woman deserves from him. Cute couple though. I figured out of all of us dudes, he’d be one of the last to drop given his history with Rachel, but what the fuck do I know? I’m definitely unlucky in love, but I’m okay if it never comes my way again. I’ve got friends, a great job, and all the kinky fuckery I could ever imagine. I snicker to myself, thinking about that. Kinky fuckery. Some chick said that the other night while Logan and I were both doing her, and we thought it was hilarious. She said it was a term in one of her favorite books, but whatever. It totally describes what happens within the walls of this circular building. I make my way down the short hallway to the exit, flipping down the switch of the sconce lighting and pushing open the door. The air is crisp and smells refreshing. Cleans the soul kind of good because sometimes when I walk out of The Silo, I feel like I’m tainted by the things I do. But again, whatever. I might feel dirty at times, but some of the shit I dip my wick into also feels fucking amazing. I pull the door closed and ensure the lock is engaged. Security’s become more important now than ever given that fuckwad Colton Stokes blabbed his mouth. Of course, on one hand, you could say it was a good thing because it brought Sloane Preston to our neck of the woods. Not only was she a fantastic fuck, and I hope Cain lets me in on that again, but it’s also made my buddy super happy. So maybe Colton just deserved an ass whipping instead of the murder I’d like to dole out to him for threatening our existence. The parking lot is nearly deserted, The Wicked Horse having closed about an hour ago. The Silo is technically open twenty-four/seven for any members who want to get debauched, but the bartenders go off duty at the same time The Wicked Horse closes down at two AM. I’m the last to leave after getting a lastminute cock suck from Carol, one of the lovely purveyors of fine drinks. She toddled out not fifteen minutes ago with a tart goodbye. I should have returned the favor to her, but she owed me the blow job because she lost a bet last week on the Yankees’ game. She’s a transplanted New Yorker and I hate the Yankees, so I always bet against them, no matter the price of the potential loss. My eyes zero in on my Suburban parked up near The Wicked Horse in the space closest to the slate path that leads from the back door over to The Silo. I click the remote entry fob and the lights flash, indicating the doors are unlocked. I reach for the handle, pull it open, and just as I’m about to step in, my gaze falls on a white Mercedes coupe sitting two rows back and three spaces over. I start to turn away and then do a double-take as I realize it’s Catherine’s car.

I know she left The Silo probably about half an hour ago after giving everyone a show tonight. Since her husband died last week, she’s been at The Silo every night, indulging in every wicked sex act you can imagine. Not that she didn’t indulge before, but for some reason, since the old fart’s death, she seems a bit more free-spirited in her pursuits. Maybe even doggedly determined to outdo herself every time. Tonight, my tongue was hanging out of my mouth while she occupied a room all to herself and played with a variety of electrical and mechanical toys Bridger’s been collecting. She got right up against the glass wall and made sure everyone could see what she was doing. I bet I watched her come at least six times before she finally fell into a heap on the floor, panting with sweat-soaked skin and drowsy eyes. After she collected herself, she got dressed and sauntered out the door, waving goodbye over her head. I was so fucking horny after that, it took no time at all for Carol to wrench an unbelievable orgasm out of me. And strangely… I was imagining Catherine sucking my cock at the time, which is a bit weird. It’s not like there’s any mystery there. Catherine’s deep throated me on a few occasions before, and I’ve fucked her on even more occasions than that. Didn’t think she was really anything different from all the other sexual encounters I’ve had, but for some reason, it was her dark hair I imagined clenched in my fist rather than Carol’s strawberry-blonde curls. Perhaps Catherine left her car here and went home with someone else. That must be it. Just as I start to turn my eyes back to my vehicle, I see movement within the darkness of the interior of her car. I peer harder, willing the light from the nearest security post to reveal the inside, and if I’m not mistaken, the seat is leaned back and someone’s lying down, perhaps having just turned from one side to the other. What the hell? I close my door and walk quickly across the lot to her car, my head tilted in curiosity. As I get closer, I can see better, and it is indeed Catherine lying in the driver’s seat reclined all the way back. She’s on her side with her hands curled up by her face, her back to me. Those long, dark locks are spread out over her back and shoulder. I tap gently on the window, knowing I’m going to startle her but not being able to help it. She jerks upright, looking at me with frightened eyes. When she recognizes me, I can see her give a sigh of relief. She raises the seat up and rolls the window down. It’s then that I notice her car is running. “Hey,” she says, her eyes darting around the parking lot. “What are you doing?” I ask, completely perplexed to find her sleeping in her car. I know she’s not drunk because Catherine doesn’t drink. At all. That’s because she does some crazy shit in the club, and she doesn’t want anyone to ever think it’s not of her own free will. She owns her kinky fuckery… and owns it good. I don’t think she does drugs, so it’s very confusing to find her here like this. “Um… I just…” Her voice trails off and her gaze falls down to her delicate fingers, which are intertwined tightly with one another. “Catherine… were you going to spend the night out here?” She lets out a huff of frustrated air. Looking back up to me with resignation in her eyes, she admits, “Yes.” Nothing more. I cock an eyebrow at her. Catherine and her late husband reside in Vegas permanently, but he has a luxury cabin just outside of Jackson that they spent a lot of time at since he got her a membership at The Silo. “Is your car broken down or something?”

She shakes her head and looks back down at her lap. “Then what the fuck?” I ask, exasperated and also damn worn out from the night’s activities. I want to get home and get some shut-eye. Work comes early and I cannot miss it. I have to open the tattoo shop I work for at ten in the morning, and I need the few hours of sleep I can squeeze in. She’s silent and I think she may refuse to answer me, but then her small voice reaches my ears and it stuns me. “I don’t have anywhere else to stay.” “What do mean? You have a seven-thousand-square-foot home not thirty minutes away.” She shakes her head, that dark hair falling in a veil to hide her face. It’s a gorgeous face, too. High cheekbones, with an exotic slant to her liquid brown eyes. It’s a face that should be in movies or on magazines. A face beautiful enough that it landed her a wealthy husband on death’s door and should have left her swimming in riches. “Catherine,” I prompt, pulling on the handle to her door. It’s still locked so I reach my hand inside, find the lock, flip it, and then pull the door open. I step in, squat down, and place my hand on her thigh. “What’s going on?” She pulls in a shaky breath, lifts a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, which exposes her face again, and then turns to look at me with bleak eyes. “He didn’t leave me with anything. Just this car, which he had titled in my name.” “Excuse me?” “Samuel left everything to his two children. Of course, I knew he would leave them with something. But he always promised me he’d take care of me. I’d always have a place to live. An attorney showed up at the Jackson house two days ago telling me that I had to vacate. I was allowed to pack up my clothes, and that was it.” My breath hisses out from between my teeth, and I wish that creepy fucker was still alive so I could pound his withered, crippled ass into the ground. That goddamn motherfucker. I stand straight after giving a quick pat on her thigh. “You can crash at my place tonight. I’ll help you figure something out.” “Seriously?” she asks, her eyes wide and her lips trembling. “I mean… we don’t really know each other.” “I’ve been balls deep inside you a time or two, Catherine. I think I know you a little bit,” I say with a teasing smile. She blushes, and fuck… that’s pretty. I’ve never seen Catherine blush, and she’s done some things to make even the kinkiest of motherfuckers go red in the face. “Are you sure?” she hesitantly asks. “Positive. You can follow me to my place.” “I’ll be glad to pay you,” she says earnestly. “You know… in sex or something. I’ve only got about fifty dollars in cash left to my name.” My cock leaps at the thought, because yeah… although I’m tired, I would not say no to fucking her tonight. But instead, I decide to be a gentleman. “You don’t owe me anything. Let’s get you to my place so you can get a good night’s sleep. We’ll talk about it more tomorrow and try to figure out how to take care of you.” She blushes again as I put my hand on the door to close it for her. Just before I do though, she whispers, “Thank you, Rand. You’re a lifesaver.” Hmmmm… I like the sound of that.

Chapter 1

Rand I TRY TO be as quiet as possible as I creep past the couch where Catherine’s sleeping. My tiny apartment can be walked from end to end in about five seconds. Roughly 475 square feet of efficient living. I’ve been renting this apartment from my buddy, Jake Gearhart. It’s situated over the garage of his modest ranch house in the town of Jackson, Wyoming. It’s nothing but a large square that has a semi private foyer/mudroom as soon as you enter. When you round the corner, you have the kitchen and living room to the left, and my bedroom to the right. The bathroom sits adjacent to the foyer. While I can certainly afford bigger and better, I don’t see any need to spend my money on my living conditions as I’m rarely here. Over the last several years, I’d gotten used to sleeping in small quarters or hotels, so I’m comfortable as is. Jake’s different. He has a family that includes the pretty wife who’s a local, an adorable two-year-old daughter, and another kid on the way, although you can barely see Lorelei’s baby bump at this stage. As I try to creep past a sleeping Catherine, I wish I had bigger digs so I could have offered her a guest room so she could get some rest. I actually did offer her my room when we got to my apartment last night, but she refused. Staunchly. Said she didn’t want to inconvenience me and she was already feeling like an imposition. I assured her she was not and tried to push my room on her. Her eyes immediately turned warm, and then sizzled with blooming sexual heat that made my dick start to get hard. “I’ll only take your room if you let me pay you, and well… you know the only thing I got to offer at this point is my mouth or my pussy. Want it?” Fuck yeah, I wanted it. I’ve had both before and they’re fucking fantastic. But not last night. Last night, Catherine was in a bad spot. I wasn’t about to take advantage of that offer. I wanted her to see she could get something from someone without the expectation of needing to give something in return. It’s called friendship and that’s what friends do. And I think Catherine and I are friends. Maybe. Fuck, not really sure. So even though I really wanted to fuck her, I saw the stubborn pride bubbling low beneath the sensuality in her eyes, and I knew my dick was going to bed alone. Since she wouldn’t take my room without feeling the need to basically prostitute herself in return, I conceded and fixed up the couch for her complete with pillow, sheets, and a thick quilt. I also offered her up a t-shirt and a pair of my sweatpants, of which she accepted only the t-shirt. It swallowed her whole and made her look even more vulnerable than I was already considering her to be. She doesn’t stir as I walk behind the couch that sits perpendicular to the mudroom wall and essentially creates a living area that opens right up into an L-shaped kitchenette that houses my stove, refrigerator, and enough cabinet space to barely hold my dishes. A small, round table with two chairs

completes the set up. As quietly as I can, I start making coffee, but the minute I open a squeaky cupboard door, I can hear Catherine starting to stir on the couch. After I fill the pot, measure the coffee, and start the brew cycle, I turn to find Catherine now sitting up with the quilt pulled demurely over her lap. She must have slept fitfully because her hair is a tangled mess and she has mascara smeared under her eyes, which reminds me of something. “Your bags and stuff in the trunk of your car?” I ask her. She blinks at me once, grimaces, and rubs a finger under one eye. She pulls it away, looks at the black smear, and wrinkles her nose. “Um… yeah.” “Give me your keys. I’ll go get them so you can get cleaned up and changed,” I tell her. “Yeah,” she says as she stands from the couch, her voice still rough with sleep. “I should get out of your way.” “I didn’t mean it like that,” I tell her as she pulls her purse from the coffee table and reaches inside. “There’s no rush for you to leave.” Her face clouds over, almost as if she refuses to believe someone could be nice, before tilting down so she can look around inside her purse. I take the brief opportunity to appreciate that even with tangled hair, mascara smears, and a baggy t-shirt on, she’s still one of the sexiest women I’ve ever seen. Hell, she may be the absolute sexiest, and I’m only judging this by the fact that, in this moment, I seem to be more attracted to her than ever before. I’m not sure if it’s her vulnerability or my white-knight complex, but I’ve seen Catherine dressed in any number of sexy outfits with perfect hair and makeup, and I never wanted to fuck her as bad as I do right now. When she turns to me with car keys in hand, I hope she doesn’t notice the hard-on I’m sporting. Not that I’d be embarrassed about it because Catherine’s gotten me hard before and she knows it, but because I don’t want her to think that’s all I’m interested in from her. I especially don’t want her thinking she has to pay me in that way. I take the keys from her and head for the door. “Mind pouring me a cup of coffee? I take it black.” “Sure,” she murmurs, but I don’t look back at her. I need to get my dick under control. In the trunk of her car, I find a large suitcase, a carry-on, and a duffle-type bag, all done in the classic brown leather and gold lettering of Louis Vuitton. I’m totally not into fashion, but I’d bought my fair share of that designer for both my mom and Tarryn, so I know how expensive this shit is. I can’t help but think that Catherine might find herself in a situation where she has to sell her fucking luggage to get some cash, and that’s a shitty place to be. I cart the bags up the outside staircase to my garage apartment with my hard-on back under control. I find her sitting at the small kitchen table, a cup of coffee in her hand. My cup is poured and sitting by the coffee pot. “Listen,” I tell her in my most casual voice so she doesn’t feel like a charity case. “Why don’t you stay here for a few days until you can get your bearings?” “I couldn’t—” she starts to say, and I knew she’d rebuff the offer. “Come on, Catherine,” I cut her off sternly. “We’re friends. That’s what friends do.” “It’s Cat,” she says. This throws me off because I’d been expecting an argument. “Excuse me?” “Cat. The name I prefer to go by is Cat.” I blink at her, stunned for a moment by the change in subject. “I didn’t know that.” She shrugs nonchalantly and lowers her gaze to her cup. “No one ever bothered to ask. Catherine is what Samuel insisted on calling me. It’s how he always introduced me.”

Fuck. Just… fuck. I can almost see her identity disappearing right before my eyes. What did this asshole do to her? He left her destitute after already stealing who she was right out from under her. Taking my cup from the counter, I walk over to the table and sit opposite of her. I make a command decision, knowing it’s the right thing to do in this moment. I know Jake will tell me I’m slipping into my savior role, but fuck him. Cat needs help and I don’t think she has anyone else to turn to right now. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” I say in a firm, take-control voice. Her eyes immediately snap up to mine. “You’re going to stay here in my apartment with me. If you want to remain stubborn and stick with the couch, that’s fine. No argument from me. That will let you get your feet underneath you. You can take a bit of time, figure out what you want to do… or where you want to go.” “I don’t have any money—” “If it’s that important to you, you can pay me back when you get some.” I don’t even consider trying to talk her out of just accepting my generosity because I can see Cat has pride. I can see that’s about the only thing she has of value to her name, and I’m not about to steal it from her. “How’s that sound?” She turns slightly away from me, letting her gaze roam over the tiny space of my apartment. It takes her two seconds before returning to me. “You don’t have a lot of room here. I wouldn’t want to get in your way.” “I’m not here a lot,” I tell her as I stand from the table with my cup in hand. “I have a full-time day job. Between that and being at The Silo, we probably won’t run into each other that much.” And why do I feel a crushing sense of disappointment over that thought? “I’d want to pay you rent once I maybe get a job or something,” she says, her chin lifting higher. Christ… the sexy seductress looks just adorable right now, all bowed up with dignity and determination. “What kind of work would you want to do?” I ask her, thinking I’ve got contacts in this area. Maybe I can help her out that way too. “I’ve only ever done two things to get by in this life, Rand,” she says softly with just a trace of bitterness. It sucks to hear that tone the first time she calls me by my name. “And that’s dancing and fucking.” “Dancing?” I ask, because I can’t bear to think of her prostituting herself to make a living. Although really… wasn’t that what she was doing by marrying an older man? I mentally curse at myself for letting my head go there. “I was an exotic dancer in Vegas,” Cat says with a grim smile. “That’s where Samuel met me.” I’ve seen Catherine naked many, many times and yeah… she has a dancer’s body. Long limbs, soft curves in just the right places, and breasts that are spectacular. I bet she put on a fucking fantastic show. But that wouldn’t benefit her here in Jackson as there aren’t any titty bars and the thought of her returning to Vegas isn’t all that appealing to me either for some weird reason. So I point her in the next best direction for now. “I suggest you work on finding out more about your legal rights,” I tell her with a pointed look before lifting my cup to my mouth for a sip. “My legal rights?” Her eyes blink in confusion. “Well, yeah. I mean… you thought Samuel was going to take care of you, then some attorney shows up and tells you to get out of your house. Did he even show you a copy of the will giving him that authority?” Cat shakes her head, cheeks turning red with embarrassment. “I didn’t ask. He was pushing me hard to get my stuff packed and to vacate.” Even though I may not have gone to college and only have a degree from the school of hard knocks, I

know enough to know that doesn’t sound right. “You need to go to that attorney’s office and ask for a copy of Samuel’s will,” I tell her. “As his wife, you’re entitled to see it. I seriously don’t think they can just kick you out like that. I’m sure there’s some long process they have to go through or some shit.” Cat’s cheeks turn even redder. “I didn’t even think to ask for a copy. God, I’m so stupid.” Before I can stop myself, I take one step to her chair, grasp her chin with my hand, and squeeze slightly to get her attention. “You are not stupid. You’re in a bad place and that attorney took advantage of that. But now you’re on solid ground and I’ll help you figure this out. Okay?” For a moment, I think she might cry on me, and I brace myself for it. I don’t do well with tears. I’m a sucker for them. If I see one drop spill, I’ll pull her in my arms. At that point, I’ll really have to take shit from Jake that I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to a lost woman. She surprises me though and nods against my grip. “Okay.” Though I’m loathe to release her, I do it anyway. “Okay then. I think your goal for today is to go to that attorney’s office and ask for a copy of Samuel’s will.” “Just show up without an appointment?” Cat asks with hesitation. “Yup. Just walk in and ask for it. You shouldn’t need an appointment for that.” I think. Fuck, I don’t know, but it’s a start. “I can do that,” she says as she stands from the chair. For the first time since last night, I actually see a glimmer of hope in her eyes that perhaps things will turn out okay. I don’t know that they will, but I know for sure I’m not going to abandon her. Jake’s going to give me so much shit.

Chapter 2

Cat SO I HAVE a plan. A temporary one, but at least I have a plan. I also have a roof over my head for the time being, and since Rand told me to help myself to anything in the apartment, I will also have food in my belly. While he takes a shower, I make use of the carton of eggs in his refrigerator and scramble some up for both of us. I have a plate waiting for him when he emerges from the bathroom, wearing nothing but a pale blue towel wrapped low around hips. I know that body well. It’s tall and lean with just the right amount of muscles gracing a broad chest and strong arms. I happen to know when he flexes his abs, they’ll tighten into a six pack, just as I know his pierced tongue feels good between my legs. I know well those green eyes that will stare at me with frenzied lust and the soft brush of his blond beard against my skin. Rand is a beautiful package, no doubt. He’s edgy with his golden hair shaved on the sides but long on top. He often brushes his fingers through it, pushing it away from his face. I find it amusing that he always seems exasperated by the length, but he never cuts it any shorter. Add in a multitude of tattoos over his chest, back, and upper arms, a silver ring through his left nostril and a matching one through his left eyebrow, and you have a man who’s edgy, cool, and sexy all at the same time. So I feed him scrambled eggs while he sits at the table. I try not to stare at the gap in the towel that rides up his right thigh and instead focus my attention on his apartment. It’s small in and of itself, but it’s cramped with so much clutter that it feels like you’re in a closet. Not the type of small clutter like unwashed cups left on tables, but rather his mudroom has at least four pairs of ski boots shoved under a bench along with a pair of snowshoes in the corner and puffy ski pants and coats hanging on hooks on the wall. In his living room, two corners have various skis and poles leaning in causal stacks. A bookcase holds trophies and glass-encased medals I briefly noticed last night as he was making up the couch. So many, in fact, they appear just haphazardly jammed on the shelves, not to display but merely to just put them somewhere out of the way. I was so exhausted last night I didn’t take a very close look, but while Rand was getting my luggage out of my car, I went to the bathroom and my attention was caught by a framed photo. It was pushed into the back corner of the second shelf from the top. It caught my attention because of one of the most recognizable logos in the world displaying prominently in the background. Five circles. Three on top. Two on the bottom. All interlinked. Each a different color. Blue, black, red, yellow, and green. I halted as I recognized the Olympic rings, but more importantly, I recognized Rand standing on a tiered podium, right in the middle and on the highest dais. Both arms were raised high in the air in victory, with one hand clutching a bouquet of flowers and the other raising his index finger pointed upward to the sky. Around his neck, a large, round gold medal hung on a thick white ribbon. I was stunned. Rand was an Olympic medalist?

My eyes roamed around his small living room again, taking in the ski equipment. Back to the photo where he was wearing a heavy, puffed overcoat on the stand done in pristine white with the American flag patched over his left breast. Holy fuck. Rand won an Olympic gold medal. I didn’t say anything when he came back in as he dropped my luggage next to the couch and said he had to jump in the shower and head to work. So I made eggs, my gaze flicking periodically to the shelves of trophies and medals, wondering what else was in there. Now I look over Rand’s shoulder as he hunches over his plate, shoveling the food in, which makes me suspect he might be late for work. My eyes come to rest on the photo I studied earlier. “You won an Olympic gold medal?” I blurt out, dying to know more about him. I mean… he’s always just been Rand. A gorgeous, sexy man who’s tremendously talented with his cock, mouth, and fingers, but past that, I know nothing about him. His eyes rise up to meet mine as he finishes chewing the eggs in his mouth. After he swallows, he swipes his lips with the paper towel I laid next to his plate and gives me a wolfish smile. “That was five years ago in Vancouver. Won the gold in the Super Combined as well as two silvers in the Super G and Downhill.” My mouth hangs slightly open in astonishment. “Three medals?” He nods, gives me a wink, and takes another bite of his eggs, seemingly not interested in touting his accomplishments to me. But I’m amazed I didn’t know this about him. “Did you compete in last year’s Olympics?” I can’t say he gives me a look of sadness. It’s not even bitterness. Maybe just a fondness for what will never be again, but he lays his fork on his plate, wipes his mouth again, and says, “I was going to. Made the U.S. Ski Team, but about a year prior to the start of the Games, I took a bad fall at an event in San Sicario. Injured my right knee pretty badly. Tore three of the four major ligaments in my knee.” “They couldn’t repair it before the Olympics started?” I ask, feeling terrible he lost such an amazing opportunity. Rand shakes his head and stands from the table. I get a flash of the golden skin covered in coarse hair on his thigh with rippling muscle, and for the first time, I notice scars on his right knee. “Wasn’t the first time I injured that knee. I competed in the 2006 Games when I was nineteen. Took a bad spill on my first run on the Super G. Knocked me out completely. So I had surgery to repair the damage and built myself up for the 2010 Games. Luckily, my knee held strong and I picked up a few medals along the way.” I stand up from the table as well, taking my plate and following Rand to the kitchen sink. Before he can start to rinse his own, I take it from his hands and say, “I’ll clean up. You go get ready for work.” Our fingers touch as he gives up the plate and I swear I can feel the touch down to my toes. So innocent yet so powerful. When Rand turns toward his bedroom, I can’t help but ask, “You don’t seem all that bitter about losing out on those opportunities.” He turns to me with a wide grin. “Yeah, well, I guess I choose to focus on the successes I had while I was competing. And I always knew it was a fleeting career that could be cut short at any time. It’s too dangerous and was bound to happen anyway.” “Do you still ski?” I ask, even more curious about this man. He nods. “Sure I do… for pleasure only. And I don’t get crazy or anything. You stick around when the snow starts falling and I’ll take you out. You ski?” I shake my head. “Never been.” “Then we’ll have to do it,” he says, and it almost makes me believe he means that. As if he expects me

to be sticking around long enough to see the snow. Granted, the weather is getting colder and there have even been some scattered flurries, so it won’t be long, but I have no clue where I’ll be come wintertime. In fact, I know absolutely nothing and it scares the shit out of me. “I don’t even know your last name,” I murmur, pathetically aware that I know Rand is an Olympic medalist, but I don’t know something as intimate as his complete name. I’ve let this man fuck me and I’ve sucked his cock, but I have no clue what his last name is. That makes me feel small and filthy. “Bishop,” he says softly, his head tilted to the side. “Rand Bishop. It’s a pleasure to formally meet you, Cat Vaughn.” Shaking my head, I correct him. “Lyons.” “Lyons?” “My maiden name. It’s Lyons. I’d prefer not to have Samuel’s last name attached to me anymore.” He nods with an understanding smile. “Cat Lyons. There’s a redundant name for you, right?” The small laugh that pops out of my mouth is unbidden and feels strange. It makes me realize I haven’t had a genuine laugh in quite some time. Without another word, Rand turns toward his bedroom and shuts the door behind him. I’ve seen him naked many times, but it doesn’t feel weird for him to seek privacy to get dressed either. I use the opportunity to riffle through my bags where I find a pair of clean underwear, a bra, and a pair of jeans, as well as a lightweight cashmere sweater. Standing up with the items in my hand, I take two steps toward the bathroom, and then change my mind. If I’m going to see the attorney who has this supposed will that kicked me out of my home, I need to look more like the wife of a dead billionaire. I go back through my clothes, choosing a black wool pantsuit with flared legs and double-notched collar on the jacket. Grabbing a pale blue silk blouse to wear underneath, I leave my black Louboutins in the duffle bag. I’ll grab those before leaving. In the bathroom, I’m momentarily shocked by my reflection in the mirror. My hair is a disaster, and I look like a raccoon with the mascara ringing my eyes. I have to laugh at myself. A silent laugh that I’d dare let anyone see me looking so wretched. Samuel always demanded I appear my best, even insisting I attend to my beauty ritual before I came downstairs to the kitchen for a morning cup of coffee. This meant shower, shave, full-blown makeup, and artful hair designs, as well as my designer clothing with the appropriate accessorized jewelry in place. It was the only way I was allowed in his presence. I take a moment to appreciate that I just sat through breakfast with Rand, probably looking my worst, and yet not once did he even seem to notice. In fact, several times when he gazed at me, I could see that look in his eyes that he liked what he saw. I didn’t miss the hard-on he was sporting either. I wanted to do something about that, yet for some reason, it seemed important to Rand that I not feel beholden, and it was equally as important to me that it not feel like a job. He knew that about me even before I did, and I appreciate it more than he’ll ever know. Sadly, my beauty ritual takes an extraordinarily long time. While I think I have a great body and amazing bone structure, it still takes a lot of work to apply the perfect makeup and dry my thick hair before curling or flat ironing it to get the crazy frizz out. By the time I’m polished and groomed, stepping out of the bathroom in a mild cloud of designer perfume Samuel gave me last Christmas, the apartment is silent and empty but for me. My eyes drop to my purse on the table, taking in the white note sitting on top. I grab it and read, squinting and even stumbling over Rand’s messy scrawl. I think it says: Cat, After you get a copy of the will from the attorney, come see me at the shop, Westward Ink. It’s at

the corner of Cache and Pearl. I want to see what it says. Rand Several things about this note hit me at once. Rand works at a tattoo shop? By the name alone, it could be a print shop, but I know it’s a tattoo shop because I’ve walked by it several times. It sits right in the heart of town, just a few blocks off the main square. Whenever Samuel brought me to Jackson so he could get his rocks off by watching me in The Silo, I’d have plenty of free time in which I was desperate to escape the house and proximity to his cold, leering eyes. So I wandered around Jackson and came to know a great deal about all the shops here. I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around this. Does Rand run the tattoo shop? Or does he just work there? And why? How come he doesn’t work in the ski industry, which is absolutely booming around here in the snow months? The other thing that hits me—almost with a warm, tingly sensation in my belly—is that he wants to see the will. That means his interest is deeper than just letting me crash on his couch, and the warm, tingly sensation flares a bit. I can’t remember the last time someone took care of me or wanted to see me safe and secure. In fact, outside of the initial illusions Samuel gave me when we first got married—that he was my salvation, ha!—there’s never been another person in my life who worried about my welfare. I’m inherently distrustful nowadays, especially after Samuel roped me into a sham marriage and abused me in every way possible. This was only fortified when I was kicked out of the Jackson home and turned out in the street. It would be very easy for me to suspect Rand’s motivations, yet for the life of me, I can’t help but believe he’s a genuine person. As such, after I visit the attorney, I intend to visit him at his shop and let him read the will with me.

Chapter 3

Rand I GOT INTO WORK right at ten, which is what time the doors are supposed to open at Westward Ink. I’m not a tattoo artist. My reasons for working here are varied, in no particular order, and really don’t define who I am. After getting knocked out of competitive skiing two years ago, I decided to make Jackson my permanent home. I’d spent a great deal of time here, skiing the double-black diamond slopes as part of my training. I liked the locals and the atmosphere. I also liked the powder that was always in abundant supply. In addition, Jake Gearhart, one of my closest friends, made this his permanent home and opened up a ski shop, so I figured… why the fuck not? This was as good a place as any to settle down. What I did not want to do was work in or around the ski industry. It’s not from sour apples or bitterness over my injuries and the early end to my career. I wasn’t lying to Cat this morning. I choose to glory in the fact that I had a great career while it lasted. She didn’t ask about it, but there’s more to competitive skiing than just winning races. And I’m really talking about endorsement deals and sponsorships. Like I said before, I could afford much bigger and better than the tiny apartment where I live as I made a fuck of a lot of money during my heyday. But I don’t need more, so my money is banked, along with my gold and silver medals, in a secure lockbox. I spend my money if I want something, and I still buy my mom Louis Vuitton and my dad expensive cigars. Most of my early training was done on the East Coast, as I’m a native Vermonter. I attended prep school with Jake at the famous Carrabassett Valley, which is a private alpine skiing, snowboarding, and freestyle academy that has produced many Olympic and World Cup champions. It sits at the base of Sugarloaf and I cut my teeth there, but after I turned eighteen, I moved to Park City, Utah to train with the U.S. Ski Team. In between training for competitions and recovery of my injuries, I lived a great deal of time in places like Tahoe and Jackson where I’d spend weeks, sometimes months, working my way back up to championship level. I met my buddy and Westward Ink owner, Pish Malden, here in Jackson when I got my first ink during one of my numerous stays in the area. He was someone I’d grown close to over the years. After I moved into the apartment above Jake’s garage, Pish and I were casually talking one day as he was working on some ink on my arm and he ended up offering me a job. Not as a tattoo artist, mind you, but really just helping to run the shop to start out. I also took a part-time job bartending at The Wicked Horse last year, which then earned me a one-way ticket to my role as a Fantasy Maker at The Silo, but I’m content helping Pish out here for now. It keeps me busy and I like busy. While I’m not a tattoo artist, I am an artist of sorts. In fact, in my late teens, my parents were proud to see I excelled at two things. Skiing and drawing. I had mad skills at both. But they gently pushed me toward skiing, since honestly, there was just more opportunity there. So I became a competitive alpine skier who drew and painted in my spare time. When Pish learned this about me, he would often take some of my doodles and designs and put them in his tattoo template book. So yeah… I might not actually do the ink, but there are many people who walk around with one of my designs on their bodies. Pish offered to teach me how to tattoo, but I’m just not interested. For one, it takes a long time to get good at it and, honestly, I don’t know what I want to do with my life. I’m pretty sure it’s not working at a

tattoo shop forever. Besides, I end up spending a lot of time at The Silo and I’m not interested in working more hours at Westward. So Pish settled on me being sort of a manager of the shop, coordinating schedules of the other artists and keeping things running smoothly. I’m in charge of opening every day except on weekends. In his spare time, he taught me how to do piercings. That isn’t hard at all and while Pish did my tongue, I’m proud to say I did my own nose and eyebrow. So if someone walks in and wants a piercing and the other artists are busy, I can do that in a pinch. Right now, however, the shop is dead. Pish is off today and the other artist, Josh, is finishing up a small piece at his station. He’ll head out to a late lunch after, and I’ll hang here until he gets back to handle any walk-ins. I’m scheduled to work all day today, but if it’s really slow in the afternoon, Pish won’t care if I take off a bit early. About every five minutes, I’ve been looking at the front glass windows and door of the shop that look out over Pearl Street, expecting Cat to come walking in any moment. It’s nearly two and I haven’t heard a word from her. I don’t even have her fucking phone number as it wasn’t something I thought to get before I rushed out this morning. I just assume she saw my note, got dressed, and went to the attorney’s office. Frankly, I expected it to take no more than a few minutes to obtain a copy and then she would come to the shop. I thought she’d be here a long time ago, and I’m wondering if she packed her stuff up and left. It’s a possibility I’m not liking at all. I hear Josh’s southern twang as he walks out of his cubicle. He’s a transplanted southerner who came out this way about ten years ago to work at Yellowstone and never left. Josh is giving his customer postcare instructions, and then he’s walking out the door to lunch while I handle the payment. Just as I’m counting out change, the front door opens with the clang of a large cowbell, and I see Cat walking in. She’s a stunning vision of elegant wealth. It’s how I know she probably dressed most days of her married life to Samuel—in designer clothes and expensive jewelry. I’ve never seen her this way because whenever Samuel brought to her The Silo, she was dressed in leather, vinyl, or hardly anything at all. It didn’t really matter what she wore through the doors, she was usually naked not long after that. Looking at her now as she walks toward me with a large, black purse slung over her shoulder and her sunglasses perched on top of her head, I’m having a hard time even imagining that this woman and I have ever fucked. Or done some of the really fucking dirty stuff we’ve done together. It’s almost surreal. She waits patiently while I finish with the customer, her arms casually folded in front of her and looking at some of the design options framed on the wall. Once the dude leaves complete with his bandaged biceps because he had barbed wire inked around his pale, skinny arms, Cat turns to me. “Did you get the will?” I ask. She reaches into her purse with a grimace. “That asshole attorney made me wait for almost two hours.” Cat pulls the thick document out. It is folded into thirds. She opens it as she steps up to the counter. I walk out from behind and ask, “Why did you have to wait so long?” She practically growls when she says, “I was being given the run around. At first, his secretary said he wasn’t in, but I told her that was fine. I didn’t really need to see him, just needed a copy of my late husband’s will. Then she admitted he was in and would need to approve it, but was in a meeting and I’d have to wait. When he finally came out to the lobby, a fucking hour and a half later, he admitted he didn’t have a signed copy on him. Just an unsigned copy that Kevin had given him.” I come to stand beside Cat at the counter as she flattens the thick document out before us. Before she starts to read, she flips to the last few pages and sure enough, there are no signatures there. “If it’s not signed, then it has no power, right?” I ask.

“Supposedly, but the attorney said the signed copy’s in Vegas.” “And he never asked to get a signed copy before forcing you out?” Cat shrugs. “Guess not.” We stand beside each other, our shoulders touching, and lean over the document. It’s long and cumbersome, but within the first few paragraphs, we see the offending language. I, Samuel P. Vaughn, being of sound mind and body, do hereby will, devise, and bequeath my entire estate, including all real and personal property, in equal shares, to my sons Kevin Vaughn and Richard Vaughn, share and share alike. The next few paragraphs direct what do with his property if his sons predecease him, including distribution to his grandchildren as apparently, his younger son Richard has two kids. The real kick in the teeth is the next paragraph that states: I specifically make no provision for my wife, Catherine Lyons Vaughn, in this Last Will and Testament, other than her clothing and other personal effects accumulated throughout our marriage as well as any jewelry I have bought her through the course of said marriage. Cat makes a sound of disgust low in her throat and flips through the rest of the thick document. We can’t see any other provisions that really apply to her and again, the last few pages are conspicuously bare of signatures. “This document means nothing,” I say as I stand straight and turn to face her. “Without signatures.” “Agreed,” Cat says with loathing. “I’m thinking about calling Richard who lives in Vegas. Even though he’s the youngest, he’s the more ‘reasonable’ of the two brothers.” “Where’s Kevin?” I ask. “I think at the Jackson house. That’s what the attorney said when he kicked me out. That I had to vacate because Kevin was coming to stay.” “So he essentially told you to leave your own home without having a valid copy of a document giving him the power to do so, probably only on the word of Kevin Vaughn telling him one had been signed?” “Pretty much,” Cat admits. “Yeah, that doesn’t fucking work for me,” I mutter as I grab the will off the counter and fold it back up. Handing it to her, I say, “Listen… you really need to hire an attorney. That’s the best thing you can do at this point.” Cat shakes her head, grim resignation evident. “I can’t do that, Rand. I just don’t have the money it would take. Maybe if I could get a job, I could save up or something.” Well, fuck. She’s between a rock and a hard place. Ordinarily, I’d see the damsel in distress, particularly one as lovely and alluring as Cat, and I’d step in to save the day. Jake teases me mercilessly because I have this inherent need to nurture, care for, and develop others. Not sure where that comes from, but it’s something I can take to the excess sometimes. I should offer to loan Cat the money to hire an attorney, or maybe take it upon myself to do that. But I don’t make those offers because, frankly, I don’t think Cat would accept. She seems to have the art of “stubborn pride” down to a science if the fight over her sleeping on the couch is any indication. Besides, there is something I could do that’s more behind the scenes. “You should feel free to go hang back at my apartment, or whatever,” I say as I lean my elbow on the counter. “I’ve got about another hour here and then I’m heading over to The Silo. If you don’t have any objections, I’m going to talk to Bridger about this and get his take on it.”

“Why Bridger?” she asks, her head tilted curiously to the side. “Because he’s one of the smartest dudes I know. Plus, he’s well connected. He’ll probably know something about this attorney who forced you out of the house. If not, maybe Woolf will. Do you mind if I tell them about this?” She doesn’t hesitate as she sticks the document back in her purse. “No, not at all.” “Okay, good then,” I say with a smile, reaching out and touching my hand to her shoulder, where I give a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll get it figured out.” As I start to pull my hand away, I’m stopped by hers coming up to latch onto my wrist. Her grasp is delicate, barely touching me, but it holds such power. Cat steps into me, her soft brown eyes shining with gratitude. She goes to her tiptoes, which isn’t much more of a stretch given the sky-high heels she’s wearing, and leans into me. Placing her lips against my cheek, she kisses me just barely and pulls away. “Thank you, Rand. For everything.” Christ, she smells good. And that body is just inches from mine. She releases her hold, and my hand falls away from her shoulder. I want to grab her back to me and… what? Hug her? Fuck her? Tell her it will all be okay? Tell her to suck my dick? Please Cat, suck my dick? Instead, I turn away from her and walk behind the counter. “I probably won’t be home until really late tonight, so I guess I’ll see you then.” “Okay,” she says with a smile and starts to turn away. “Unless you’re coming to The Silo tonight?” I throw out, hoping my voice doesn’t sound anything more than casual. She gives a small shake of her head. “I don’t think so.” The weight of crushing disappointment hits me again. While I’ve firmly made up my mind I am not touching Cat while she’s at my apartment because I’ve invited her there out of friendship, I’d reasoned in my mind that she was still fair game at The Silo. I mean, if you walk in those doors, it means you want to fuck. No-strings-attached sex to be precise. Right? So, if Catherine Lyons were to walk into that door tonight, technically she would be fair game. I think. But that apparently isn’t happening.

Chapter 4

Cat I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M here. I promised myself I wasn’t coming back. Not after Rand found me sleeping in my car in the parking lot last night. Not ever again. Yet here I am, nervously smoothing down a simple black, form-fitting strapless dress as I stand outside the entrance door to The Silo. One of the most truthful things I’ve ever admitted to myself is that my feelings for The Silo are complicated. It’s a place I’ve loved and hated at different times. It’s made me feel beautiful and ugly. Needed and abhorred. Powerful and weak. The times I’ve felt good walking out those doors were fleeting, the buzz and adrenaline of great sex already a cold, distant memory. The lingering happiness that filled me from being desired and needed by others soon fizzling into nothingness. But those times I’ve felt bad walking out… those stuck with me a lot longer. Usually through a scalding hot shower to wash away the sweat of others, while I sat on the tiled floor and chanted over and over again that this was what I needed to do to survive. Oddly enough, The Silo helped me survive the sick perversion Samuel was intent on forcing me to endure. It was the lesser of two evils, and so I made sure I put on quite the show whenever my husband brought me here so he could watch me get fucked and debased because that made him happy. He watched with clouded eyes from his wheelchair, his mouth twisted into a feral grin, and I made sure he believed I loved every bit of it, because it was one of the few ways I could assert my independence from him. It was also how I could hurt him, if even only a tiny bit, because he’d much rather believe I hated it. Sadly, sometimes I did love every bit of it. My lips curve upward as I realize, many of those times involved Rand. He’s an amazing lover and he’s adventurous. He is wide and varied in his kink, and even if he wasn’t fucking me, I loved watching him get off with others. And that is the reason I’m here. Rand Bishop. A man I’ve fucked and sucked several times in the past. A man I am immensely attracted to. A man who has provided me unparalleled kindness in the last twenty-four hours. I want him, and I want him tonight. It has to be here because I get the sense he’s deemed me to be off limits in his apartment. He wouldn’t accept my body as payment to him for his generosity last night, but that’s not what The Silo is all about. It’s about people making free choices to get their rocks off in an environment with like-minded people. It’s about sex with no strings or expectations, and pleasure as the only end goal. Taking a deep breath, I reach into my little clutch purse and pull out my security fob. I punch the digital code it provides me into the wall panel, and the door unlocks with a soft click.

The Silo is the brilliant brainchild of business partners Bridger Payne and Woolf Jennings, although Woolf recently sold out. It’s a round concrete building with a white-domed top that looks just like an authentic silo. It sits just off the back of Bridger’s nightclub, The Wicked Horse. While it might look like a colossal bin to store grain in from the outside, the inside is a massive round space with glass-walled rooms around the perimeter. It’s a sex club and all kinds of kinky, nasty, sexy stuff goes on inside this place. It’s a no-holds-barred type of club and anything goes as long as it’s consensual. Some of the things I’ve done in this club would make the devil blush. As I exit the short hallway that leads me to the center, I immediately spot Rand standing up at the round, black-lacquered bar that takes up the middle of The Silo. I ignore all the other activity around me as I’ve seen it before. Fully dressed couples mingle with cocktails in their hands. Naked couples in the glass-walled rooms, fucking in every way imaginable. It’s all almost passé to me, because I’ve not only seen it all, I’ve done it all. Just last week, I let Bridger lock me in a stockade, effectively securing me around the neck and wrists, and then I invited several men to fuck me. Pussy, ass, mouth… didn’t matter. Luckily, it was one of those nights that was a good one. I enjoyed it. I came several times, and when I walked out, I didn’t feel degraded. That’s because it was my choice to be there, not Samuel’s, and I did what I wanted. I also called a stop to it all when I was done. And trust me, after the seventh guy, I was done because I was sore and my neck ached. My wishes were immediately granted, and I was treated with kindness and reverence by the men around me. Bridger was there to cover my body with a robe and lead me off to the bathroom where I could get cleaned up and dressed in privacy. Yeah, that was a good night. I’m hoping tonight will be better. As I take in Rand, I see he’s wearing the same clothes he had on at the tattoo shop today. Faded jeans with a small rip in one knee, a thick, black leather belt, and a black Rage Against The Machine t-shirt that fits his chest extraordinarily well. His blond hair falls across his forehead and he pushes it back in what I recognize as a habit now, causing me to smile. He’s talking to a woman, and I take a moment to size her up. I don’t think I’ve seen her in here before, but honestly, I don’t pay much attention to the women. I like cock, so the women never interested me much. Although one time, Bridger strapped me to the St. Andrew’s cross and invited people to come in and eat my pussy. A procession of men took up his challenge, except one lone woman who came in as well. I don’t remember much about her other than her lips were so soft, and frankly, she worked my clit better than any man ever has before. I’m going to have to assume she was a lesbian and damn… she really knew what she was doing. The woman Rand is talking to is pretty. Very pretty, actually, with caramel-colored hair streaked with golden highlights. Her skin is tanned and she looks to be about my age. I immediately figure either she’s a bartender from The Wicked Horse with a limited membership here, or she’s a lot like me… here with a rich sugar daddy of some sort. Rand doesn’t look away from her. He seems to be totally interested in what she’s saying, which I can tell is something flirty by the way she’s standing in close to him and holding her drink so that her cleavage is squeezed for maximum display. She even leans in closer, goes up on tiptoes, and whispers something in his ear while resting a hand on his chest. My fingers curl inward, balling to tight fists when I see his hand drop to her hip. His fingers splay wide and while he does nothing more than grip her there, he does nothing to dissuade her from stepping in closer until her breasts brush against him. I don’t hesitate a second. I walk through the minglers, sidestepping and nodding greetings here and there. I’m well known and get smiles from everyone. When I reach Rand and the woman I don’t know, he

turns to look at me, his eyebrows rising first in surprise, then with a welcome smile on his lips. His eyes roam down my body, lighting up with appreciation. It makes me immensely happy to see his hand fall from the woman’s hip. She also turns to me, her lip curling in disdain while she shoots daggers at me from her eyes. I don’t spare her another glance. Instead, I reach for Rand’s hand that is closest to me. His fingers immediately thread with mine and he tilts his head in question. “Let’s fuck,” I murmur, turning to start pulling him away from the woman. He doesn’t hesitate in the slightest, and I try hard not to laugh as the girl makes a loud sound of disgruntlement that she’s being left so abruptly by a man she clearly had her sights set on. I lead Rand back across The Silo, down the short hall that heads back toward the door I had just entered in through. But rather than leave, I turn right into the hallway that runs the perimeter of the round building, behind the glass-walled rooms. Rand follows behind, his hand holding mine tightly, but not saying a single word to me. He doesn’t need to say anything, but I know he’s feeling what I’m feeling. The sexual tension is so thick that I can feel it coating my exposed skin like a blanket. “Which room do you want?” I ask as I walk in front of him, my hips swaying provocatively. I know… can just feel those green eyes pinned to my ass. “The black room… we can fuck on a bed of black silk and that woman you just left behind can watch your cock sliding in and out of me?” Rand doesn’t say anything, but I know if I were to let go of his hand and reach backward, I’d find him hard as a rock. “Or how about one of the rooms where you can restrain me? Maybe the St. Andrew’s cross, or even the stockade. Lock me up and do what you want to me.” I think I hear a low growl of need in Rand’s chest, and it fills me with euphoria that he wants me so badly. “Or maybe one of the rooms with toys,” I suggest silkily as we walk slowly along. “So many things you could do to make me come with toys.” Rand moves so quickly, I give a startled yelp of surprise. His hands come to my shoulders and he spins me toward the outer wall, which is nothing but cold, gray concrete staves. I open my mouth to say what, I don’t know, but then his tongue is twirling against mine while he presses me back into the wall. And I can’t recall… has Rand ever kissed me before? I’m not sure. I think I’d remember something like this… so possessive and animalistic. Necessary. That’s what it feels like… absolutely needful to him. We may have fucked before, but I don’t recall kissing him, so I’m thinking we haven’t. Such a personal act and one I don’t do often. Usually it’s because a man wants it and I oblige, no biggie. But this kiss with Rand? It causes my legs to go weak and my heart to skitter out of control. It makes me want to sag in relief over the warm feelings it produces in me, and I want nothing more than to stand in this hallway with Rand and just make out with him all night long. I think I’d be completely satisfied with just kissing him. It’s that damn good. Yet, he has other ideas. Pulling his mouth away just enough to growl against my lips, he says, “None of the rooms. Gonna fuck you right here… keep you all to myself.” He gives me no opportunity to respond because he steals my breath away with another fast but deep kiss before he’s jerking my skirt up around my hips and then my panties down my legs. Squatting before me, he taps against the outside of my right ankle. I raise it so he can slip that leg free. “Other leg,” he mutters. I lift that one, and then he’s standing up with my panties in his hand. He orders me, “Get my cock out, Cat.”

I don’t hesitate. I work his belt buckle with expert hands, only stumbling once when he pushes a hand between my legs and drags a finger between my folds. I can feel how ridiculously wet I am, but that was a given. Rand’s take-charge ways are turning me on like nothing else ever has. When I get his belt freed and his zipper down, I push at the jeans a bit until his thick cock comes in to view. I reach my hand in, circle it around the girth, and gently pull it free. I’m confident this didn’t hurt him and that the hiss of air that rushes through his teeth is merely because my hand on him feels good. I want him to feel better so I start to stroke him, causing Rand to groan in response and his body to stiffen all over with trembling need. “Enough,” he says gruffly, pulling my hand away. “Now open your mouth.” I grin for a moment before I open my mouth, expecting him to push me to my knees so I can suck on that beautiful hardness sticking straight out between us, but he surprises me when he shoves my panties in instead. My eyes flare wide with shock as he gives me a devilish grin. “Don’t want anyone to hear you scream. Don’t feel like sharing this tonight.” He doesn’t want to share me tonight? Meaning he doesn’t want anyone else to watch? And yeah… he stopped me in the darkened hallway lit only with soft sconces and relative privacy unless someone decides to go in or out of the rooms. Good chance that will happen, so I know Rand doesn’t have complete expectation we won’t get caught, but it makes me even wetter knowing he wants something with me that I’ve never given another man here in this building. Just myself. I hum in my throat, letting him know I approve of his methods, and he doesn’t waste any time. He bends his knees, pushes his hands between my thighs from the front, and lifts me. As he extends his arms wide, my legs spread obscenely before him and Rand gazes longingly at my pussy. I don’t look down at what he’s looking at but rather at his face, watching the way he licks his lips. “Guide me in, baby,” he whispers hoarsely, still never taking his eyes away. I circle a hand around his dick, feel it jump in response to my touch. Then, along with a flex of Rand’s hips, guide the tip right to my entrance. The fat head of his cock pushes into my slickness easily before meeting with some resistance. The only foreplay we had was dirty words, so even though I’m wet, I’m not relaxed. In fact, I feel strung tight with tension and need, and even though I know that first push is going to sting, I want it so bad my mouth waters, which is immediately soaked up by my panties. Rand finally lifts his gaze as his hands tighten their grip under my thighs. He has me firmly in his hold and his cock is wedged in just the right place, so I let the base of it go and bring my hands to his shoulders for leverage. Our eyes lock together. We just stare for a brutally clear moment where nothing else exists but a man who wants a woman, and vice versa. There is no sex club and nothing overly kinky about what we’re doing. Just a man and a woman who want each other with a raging passion. Rand gives me a smile before leaning his head toward me, tilting slightly, and placing a soft kiss at the corner of my mouth. I moan against the panties because the gentleness of that move touches me. When he lifts his head and looks at me again, there’s a possessiveness in his eyes now that I’ve never seen before in my life. Not from any man before who has claimed my body and certainly never from my husband. It’s a look I didn’t know existed until this very moment, and once I realize what it is, Rand takes it upon himself to thrust into me hard. My head falls back, and I groan against the invasion. The sting, and then the melting of my pussy around him. He doesn’t even give me a moment to adjust, just starts thrusting in and out of me with

bruising force. He’s a large guy, thick and long, and he hits that spot deep within me that makes my toes curl and my eyes threaten to roll into the back of my head. “Look at me, Cat,” Rand demands of me. It takes all of my effort to raise my head up so I can comply. His eyes glow with that same possessiveness and now a spark of triumph as he pounds into me, every punch of his cock into my pussy bringing me closer and closer to orgasm. “Feel good?” he asks, although he knows I can’t answer. So I smile at him with my eyes and nod my head. “Yeah… feels damn good,” he mutters and thrusts faster. “Always loved fucking this pussy. Dream about this pussy. Jack off to thoughts of this pussy.” Oh, damn… those filthy words and his hips slapping against me rhythmically while he holds my gaze the entire time make me feel in this moment that Rand Bishop owns every part of me. Surprisingly, I’m okay with that. Samuel once told me he owned me and that he could do whatever he wanted with me. And he was right about that. I hated him and his ownership. But not this with Rand. If he can make my body feel this good and make me feel this needed, then I’ll sign away the rights and title to my body right now. My orgasm catches me off guard and bursts within me after a brutally hard thrust deep into my body. My muscles clench and grab onto his cock, rippling with pleasure around him and causing Rand to finally lose eye contact with me. His eyes flutter closed and he thrusts into me one more time before going still and muttering in staccato bursts, “Coming. So. Fucking. Hard.” He grinds against me. My pussy clamps hard on him, and he groans as he spurts inside of me, “Goddamn… that greedy fucking pussy can milk my cock any day of the week, Cat.” I laugh against the silk in my mouth when he says, “And twice on Saturday.” Dropping my head to his shoulder, I try to remember every single detail of this experience. I’m betting it was a one-time only thing, but I think I just had the best sex of my entire life.

Chapter 5

Rand CHRIST… THAT ORGASM. That motherfucking amazing orgasm that just rocked my world and made my knees go weak, which sucks because I already have a bum knee. My hands grip harder under Cat’s thighs and I shift her up a bit, my cock still wedged deep in her. Her forehead is planted on my shoulder and her back is rising and falling with labored breaths. I broke a few rules tonight, the biggest being that I promised myself I wouldn’t touch Cat. The nature of our relationship has changed by virtue of me bringing her into my home and offering her sanctuary. The minute I offered her safety, her pussy should have become off limits to me… or at least, to my gentleman’s way of thinking. So that was the first rule I broke. I’m also here tonight as a Fantasy Maker. I’m essentially working for Bridger. While that means I can fuck whomever I want within the round walls of this building, it means it needs to be done in a way that makes me useful to the clientele. Obviously, there’s the pleasure of the person I’m fucking to take into account, but there’s also the viewing pleasure of the other patrons. I took Cat in the privacy of the hallways because I wanted it to be private. I didn’t want to share her, myself, or what we were doing together with anyone. Lastly, I broke a major rule and one I’ve never broken before. I just shoved my cock into a pussy without any protection. I wanted Cat so badly… wanted her all to myself without anyone sharing in the experience… that I held no regard for the consequences of such actions. I’d even like to blame it on the heat of the moment or that lust fogged my senses, but it would be a lie. I knew damn well what I was doing and wanted to feel that tight, slick pussy against my skin. Wanted to come inside of her and coat every inch of her. I wanted it, and I didn’t give a damn if I knocked her up doing it. While I went with gut instinct that she was safe and I knew I was safe, I still knew the risk. Cat and I operate in a world of multiple sex partners, which means we are people who understand safety and consequences. Unless you’re in a committed and trusting relationship with your partner, everyone in The Silo wears condoms, so I’m not so much worried about that with her, and she should feel secure that I’m safe too. But goddamn… I didn’t care one shit that I could get her pregnant, and even now, I just can’t feel bothered to worry. Maybe because I’m still flush off probably the best orgasm of my life, because she feels damn good in my arms, or maybe because she’s appealing to every single molecule in my body that feels the need to help her lost soul, but I just don’t give a fuck. Still… I have to ask, “Cat… you on the Pill?” She moves in my arms, lifts her head from my shoulders, and pulls the panties I’d stuffed in her mouth free. Swiveling her jaw, she licks her lips once and says in a raspy voice, “Yeah. I’m protected.” “You okay I didn’t suit up?” I ask, not needing to elaborate. “I am if you are,” she murmurs. I totally am. I’m so fucking okay with it and how amazing that just felt, that if she gives me just a few moments and wiggles her hips just right, I’ll be good to go for round two without ever pulling out of her.

But then I pull a dick male move and speak without thinking, totally ruining the moment. “But let’s agree… we fuck anyone else, we still wear protection, okay?” I know it’s a mistake even before she stiffens in my arms. I know the words were wrong the minute they left my lips. It wasn’t that I was thinking about screwing anyone else, or that I wanted anyone else. I just wanted her to know that she was different, and I meant that in a good way. But she clearly didn’t take it like I meant it, and I know this for sure the minute she literally pushes out of my embrace and drops her feet to the floor. My dick slides out, and I almost curse over the loss of her warmth around it. Cat’s head drops and her hair falls forward so I can’t see her expression, but I watch, mesmerized, as she takes her panties and swipes them between her legs, cleaning my semen away. When she straightens back up, she shoves the panties toward me and my hand automatically goes out to grab them. I note the wetness against my palm and watch as she pushes the hem of her dress down her thighs. When she finally looks at me, she levels me not with anger but with a brilliant smile. She even reaches out and pats me on the chest. “Well, that was fun, Rand. Thanks a bunch. Now I think I’ll head back into the main room and see what other fun there is to be had.” I have no clue if she’s mad at me or serious about wanting to go back in there and fuck another man, but some sort of caveman-like DNA inside of me becomes active and my free hand shoots out to grab her by her upper arm as she turns to walk away. “You are not going in there to fuck someone else.” I cannot believe I actually just said that to her. Even as I cannot believe I actually said those words of possession, my grip tightens on her arm. She looks over her shoulder at me with wide eyes as her lips part in surprise. “But you just said—” “I know what I said,” I snap at her, angry with myself for even saying something so insensitive, and angry with her for even thinking of fucking someone else even though I apparently gave her carte blanche to do so. Taking a deep breath, I tug on her arm so she turns to fully look at me. I let it out slowly and try to explain myself. “Cat… let’s go back to my place.” “Why?” she asks, her tone heavy with suspicion. I know it’s because I’ve confused her. But fuck… I’m confused myself. “Because I am not done with you by a long shot,” I say without further explanation. “You can have me here,” she counters. “I don’t want you here,” I tell her, deciding to go with brutal honesty. I don’t know the reason why, but I can’t stomach the thought of us fucking out there for everyone to see. More than that, I really want her spread-eagled on my bed. Her eyes flick back and forth between mine for a moment before she gives me a tiny nod of acquiescence. She merely whispers, “Okay,” and nothing has ever sounded sweeter to me before.

* THERE ARE A million different things I want to do to Cat in this moment. I knew she’d look lovely naked on my bed, her arms raised above her head and her legs spread wide for me. Gorgeous breasts that are full and heavy looking with dark brown nipples and that pretty pussy trimmed tight and drenched inside with my jizz from our fucking at The Silo not but an hour ago. Million things to choose from… suck on those nipples, finger her ass, or suck on her clit until she screams. And yet I’m obsessing about my cock in her cunt, bare, with no walls between us. Like I really can’t let the thought go. I followed her to my apartment from The Silo, focusing on the taillights of her Mercedes as we drove the thirty-odd miles in the dark, but all I could think about was every glide of our flesh against each other.

It vaguely reminds me of the first time I ever fucked a woman… fifteen years old and the giddy rush of feeling the ultimate pleasure for the first time. But that was a horny kid who took almost a full five minutes to put on a rubber and almost came the moment I sank into Beverly Bay’s non-virgin but not well used seventeen-year-old pussy. But fucking Cat bare was infinitely better. It was wondrous, new, and I’m not sure can be replicated, but I’m obsessing about it, so I’m pretty sure her clit, nipples, and ass are going to get ignored right now. I’ll give them attention later. As I kneel on the bed between her knees, my dick hard as fucking concrete and throbbing to get into her, I can’t help but wonder at the look on her face right now. It’s guarded, for sure. Her eyes are heavy with lust, but there’s a touch of skepticism there too. Perhaps like me, she’s wondering if what we had in the back hall of The Silo was a fluke or not. Only one way to find out. Putting my hands under her knees, I raise her legs and spread them wide. Her pussy literally blooms for me, right before my eyes. Cat reaches a hand out, grasps me by the base of my dick, and pulls me to her. To fucking heaven, I groan internally as I sink inside of her. “Mmmmmm,” she moans when my pelvis is pressed hard to hers. “Goddamn,” I mutter as sweat beads on my forehead just from the overwhelming pleasure of her surrounding me. “Is it just me or does that feel fucking amazing?” “Never felt anything like it,” she whispers. A shiver actually runs up my spine over the awe in her voice. I’m a base creature. I like to fuck hard and fast, never really needing to prolong the rush to climax because I know there’s another one on the horizon waiting for me. But with Cat right now, legs spread wide and that pussy belonging solely to me in a way I’m betting it’s never belonged to another man before, I want this moment to last for-fucking-ever. So I release my hold on her legs and urge her to wrap them around my waist. I lower myself over her body and press my elbows into the mattress at her ribs, lowering my mouth to hers. And while we kiss without a care or rush in the world, I fuck her slowly and without needing anything more than this moment.

* “WE REALLY SHOULD get some sleep,” Cat gasps as my finger lightly circles her sensitive clit. I’m kneeling between her legs again, having just eaten her pussy and given her an orgasm, but intent on giving her another. That sweet bundle of nerves is swollen and darkened pink with not only the rush of lust but also because I’ve been playing with it all night. It might even be a little painful. But she doesn’t push me away, even though she just suggested we get some sleep. It’s late. Or rather, early morning, and I have to open the tattoo shop in about six hours. But fuck… I cannot stop touching her. Making her come. Slipping my cock in that piece of wet perfection that I think I might be slightly addicted to right now. Filling her up with what may be buckets of my cum by now. Thank God, she’s on the pill because otherwise, she’d be so knocked up right now just by the sheer volume of sperm I’ve shot into her. “You sore?” I ask as I dip my finger into her, pull out her juices and my sperm, and swirl it around her

reddened clit again. She moans with her eyes partially closed, her hips lifting a bit, even as she nods, “A little.” “Hmm,” I muse as I study her pussy. I want back inside bad. You know, the addiction and all. But I don’t want to knock her out of commission either because I plan on a repeat of this tonight after work. In fact, I might just live my life working by day, and sweetly fucking Cat by night. We’ll eat, of course, for nourishment, but it sounds like a damn perfect life to me. “Want me to stop?” I ask her, my eyes dragging up her body to her face. Her lips tilt upward mischievously. “I can take whatever you got.” This I know, I sourly think. I’ve watched her fuck multiple men in one session. Hardcore fucking where lots of lube was needed because a woman can only take so much. But she didn’t need that lube tonight now, did she? This will be our fourth time and she’s still just as wet, slick, and inviting. We’re both a little raw, but we both have mileage in the tank. Of that, I’m sure. Still, the thought of lube… has me thinking. “Turn over,” I tell her suddenly, rolling over her to the side of the bed. As Cat moves to her stomach without question, I reach into the drawer of my nightstand and pull out a bottle of lube. When I turn back to her, she has her cheek lying on my pillow, her eyes facing me. Her gaze travels back and forth from the lube to me before her tongue peeks out and swipes at her lower lip. “What are you going to do with that?” “Going to give your pussy a break,” I tell her ominously as I flip the cap open. Cat has a great ass. I’ve fucked it before, even once while her mouth and pussy were full of other guys’ cocks. My own cock starts dripping at the memory of that, and I crawl back over her body until I’m kneeling behind her. She needs no encouragement because I know Cat loves anal as much as I do. Her ass goes up in the air and she spreads her legs to give me access. While I’m horny enough I could happily drive into that snug hole, I take my time with her. I make excellent use of the lube, pressing my thumb in her ass while I stroke her clit softly with my other hand. By the time her body starts shaking with an orgasm, I’ve got three fingers in deep from behind and she couldn’t be more ready for me. She sighs deeply with pleasure when I sink my cock in her ass. I bite the inside of my cheek so that I focus on pain, and this is so I don’t blow a nut right then and there. And Christ… I’m glad she just came because I’m not going to last long at all. The gentleman in me has to remind myself that she’s come numerous times tonight and it’s okay if I race quickly to the end this time. Besides… I know she needs sleep. The first swivel of my hips against her has my balls already tingling. My hands go to her hips. Latching onto her hard, I start a rhythmic thrust. Cat groans and thrashes below me, which turns me on even more to know she loves my dick in her ass. I squeeze my eyes shut and pump in and out, not so hard I can hurt her, but quickly enough that my balls quickly pull up tight with an unbelievable need to explode. And I do… quick and viciously inside of her, planting myself in deep so I can fill her up from this end too. Suddenly, my body becomes utterly exhausted. The hours of fucking we’ve just done becoming almost unbearably too much to comprehend. Cat’s body sags underneath of me to the mattress, and I follow right along with her. I immediately roll us to the side and wrap my warms around her. She snuggles into me, wiggling her ass, which is still gripping my dick inside of her. I’m content and well sated, and I wonder if when we both wake up tomorrow, we’ll still want each other this way.

I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that as far as I’m concerned, but I have no clue how Cat feels.

Chapter 6

Cat SAMUEL’S HEAVILY LINED FACE leers at me, hovers over me so close I can smell his breath, which is sour from the rot of decaying teeth. His blue eyes have a milk-like glaze over them because he’s mostly blind, but they still see me clearly enough. “It’s time to pay up, Catherine,” he sneers at me before letting out a demented cackle of a laugh. I roll hard to my left, so fast that I dislodge something heavy lying across my stomach, but it does nothing to hold me back. My terror-filled need to get away from Samuel fuels me with a burst of adrenaline, and I launch myself right out of the bed. Straight onto my knees… where they thud painfully, but then I’m standing up and looking to bolt to the nearest door. “Cat… what’s wrong?” I hear from the bed. For a split instant, I think it’s Samuel. But then just as quickly it registers… that rich, deep voice… the smell of sex heavy in the air that is definitely not Samuel’s rotten breath. I spin back to the bed and see the outline of Rand’s body sitting up in the bed, then his legs are swinging over the edge. I can’t see what he does, but I hear the snick of the lamp switch as the room is bathed in a soft glow. He stands, swiveling his face to look at me. It’s filled with concern, even as he’s walking around the bed to me as he repeats. “What’s wrong?” My hand comes up, resting over my chest, and I can feel the mad pounding as I realize I must have been having a dream. I try to force myself to calm down, thinking of Samuel’s body lying in his casket so that I remember he’s dead and can’t hurt me anymore. Rand’s large hands come to my shoulders, feeling steady and comfortable as they hold me. He’s completely naked, yet I don’t really see that right now. All I see are his blond lashes framing those green eyes, which are filled with worry for me. For me. I’m almost lost as to what to say to him because no one ever worries about me. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone in my life ask me “what’s wrong”. Maybe a teacher, but I really can’t recall a specific instance. Certainly not my mother. Don’t know my father. And definitely never Samuel. No close friends who fretted over my feelings or safety. Not even co-workers where I danced in Vegas had ever asked me if something was wrong. Not one person in my life cared enough, and yet here Rand stands before me, holding me steady and asking me a very simple question. What’s wrong? “I had a nightmare about Samuel,” I say, my voice hoarse with sleep, but I’m pleased that it’s steady with the truth. Rand’s eyes get soft with understanding. Before I know what’s happening, he’s picking me up in his arms, depositing me back into bed and crawling in behind me. We lay on our sides, facing each other, and he puts an arm around my waist to pull me in closer to him. “Want to tell me about it?” he asks, his gentle voice putting me at ease.

“I think I do,” I murmur, tilting my head back so I can look at him. He surprises me by giving me a kiss. Not a sexual kiss but just a sweet one that validates he’s here to listen and support me. “Lay it on me, Cat. I’ve got you.” And he does. For the moment anyway. Eyes shining with support and a steady arm around my waist. This man who has been nothing in the past to me but a mindless fuck has very quickly become perhaps the nicest person I’ve ever encountered. So I barely stumble over my words when I tell him why Samuel visits me in my dreams. “My husband never had sex with me. Not once in the time we dated, nor in the time we were married.” Rand blinks at me in surprise. “Come again?” I know why he’s surprised. Who in the world didn’t look at Samuel and me together and not whisper to their friend with judgmental looks, “Well… we know why he married her.” Everyone thought Samuel pulled me away from topless dancing so that he could have a beautiful young wife who would fuck him day and night and that perhaps he’d regain his youth that way. He was certainly rich enough to get any beauty he wanted, and he was powerful enough in Vegas that no one would dare laugh in his face over the disparity in age. But that’s not the way it was with Samuel. So I try to explain him to Rand. “I thought when he asked me to marry him that he wanted a conventional marriage. I mean… don’t get me wrong… I didn’t love him and his money enticed me. I was tired of taking my top off and having men stick their grubby hands down my panties when they tipped me. I saw his mansion and imagined myself living there. I swam in the designer clothes and expensive jewelry he bought me while we dated. I thought I knew what he wanted in return. In exchange for him giving me a stable life, I’d be a wife to him in every way, and I was prepared to do that. But he never did anything more when we were dating other than give me kisses on my cheek and hold my hand. I thought he was old fashioned and sweet. It was charming to me.” I stop for a moment, trying to gauge the look on Rand’s face, because I can’t begin to imagine what he’s thinking. But he clues me in quick enough when he says, “You were trying to survive life.” I lower my gaze and can’t help the tiny smile that comes to me… because he gets it. He understands me without even knowing me. “I left home not long after I’d turned seventeen. Mom was a bitch—an entire story unto itself I’ll tell you about some time. Lived on the streets for a while, practically starved to death at times. I learned to hustle and dealt some petty drugs to put food in my stomach. Gave a blow job or two so I could crash on someone’s couch rather than sleep outside.” “Cat… you were surviving,” Rand says, arm loosening from my waist and his hand coming to my hip where he gives it a squeeze. “Yes, but with Samuel, it was different. It wasn’t just survival. I saw a way to better my life.” “You did what a lot of women in your position would do,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact. “I married him,” I agree. “And after he put that ring on my finger, he made my life a living hell.” Rand’s body stiffens and his fingers dig into my hip a bit. It doesn’t hurt, but it tells me he’s immediately on edge, so I bring my hand to his chest and lay it over his heart, stroking his skin with my thumb. Then, I proceed to tell him what a monster Samuel was. “At first, he didn’t do anything. For a few weeks, he sort of ignored me. I moved into his house and had my own room. I started to think that perhaps he was nervous to be with me, or maybe even had physical problems and couldn’t, but he was never around for me to talk to about it. And then… well, I got comfortable living a solitary but rich life. I had my own credit cards and could shop whenever I wanted to. I spent hours in spas and salons, having everyone cater to the hotelier Samuel Vaughn’s new wife. I thought that was the way my life would be, and I was really okay with that. I mean… Samuel was old and

I wasn’t looking forward to those duties as a wife even though I was prepared to do it if he wanted.” “Yeah, I could never imagine you and him together,” Rand says with a thoughtful smile. I give a small laugh in agreement, but he won’t be smiling for much longer. “One day, Samuel sent word to me from his assistant that he was having a business dinner at the house and wanted me to join him. I thought it was awesome. Boredom was getting to me. I thought I could at least be a wife to Samuel in some ways by letting him show me off to people he wanted to impress.” “I get the feeling this is going somewhere I’m not going to like,” Rand says hesitantly. He knows it’s bad if I have nightmares about Samuel, and it is bad. Best to rip the band-aid off and all. “When I walked into the dining room that night, it became clear pretty quickly that I was what was being served on the menu. There were five of them… all business associates, I think. I heard bits and pieces of conversation while they were all fucking me that led me to believe that. My husband conducted business right there in the dining room while those men took turns with me. He watched from the end of the table and egged them on, encouraging them to do whatever they wanted to me.” “Son of a fucking bitch,” Rand growls as he rears upward. My hand immediately goes to his shoulder, and I push him back down. “You need to listen so I can get this all out,” I urge him gently. “That fucking bastard prostituted his own wife out as a business incentive?” he demands furiously. “He prostituted me out to anyone he wanted a favor from,” I clarify, and his eyes go darker with rage. “He once didn’t have cash on hand to tip a driver he hired to take us to the airport, so he had me suck the driver’s dick in payment.” “What the fuck?” he hisses and again tries to sit up in the bed. I try to hold him back, but he’s stronger. Besides, I don’t think this conversation lends itself to snuggling so we both come up into sitting positions. He turns to me and braces himself with one arm on the mattress. His other reaches out, touching the tips of his fingers to my jaw as he whispers. “I’m so sorry, Cat. No man should ever do that a woman, much less his wife.” I give a little shrug and try to make light of it. “It didn’t happen all the time. I tried to reason to myself that it was what I needed to do for this ‘so-called’ better life I wanted.” Rand’s fingers slide from my jaw, past my ear, and then curve around the back of my neck. He pulls me a little closer to him and looks at me intently. “The Silo… that wasn’t something you wanted, was it?” And yes… Rand doesn’t know me all that well, but he does get me. “The Silo is complicated for me, but no… joining was all Samuel’s idea. Like I said, he didn’t let his friends and associates have me all that often, and what I came to quickly realize was that Samuel got off on watching me debased. Sure… it garnered him favor with his friends, but really… he gave me to those men because he liked watching me suffer.” “The Silo… you mostly did gang bangs,” Rand mutters as his gaze drifts a bit to the side in contemplation. “We all thought… I mean… we just assumed that was your thing. You liked multiple guys. But it was Samuel who insisted on it.” “Yes,” I say simply. His eyes come back to me filled with guilt. “I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely. “I wouldn’t have… I don’t think anyone there would have done that to you if we knew you didn’t like it.” I can’t stand to see him feel guilt over something he had absolutely no knowledge of, so I need to make sure he understands that nothing about me is simple. “Rand… you couldn’t have known. No one did. And like I said… it’s complicated. There was a part of me, deep down inside, that sometimes liked what was being done to me. Sometimes, I’d be getting drilled by one man with another one waiting and I’d look at Samuel… and rather than see that smug satisfaction on his face, I’d sometimes see a kernel of jealousy.

Another man was fucking his wife while he couldn’t. He’d sit there, limp dicked and unable to get off on the spectacle, and I swear to God, Rand… I’m not sure if it makes me a monster or what, but that would make me get off. Thinking of that sadist suffering while I was getting fucked raw would give me mindblowing orgasms.” “Jesus Christ,” Rand growls again, and then he’s pulling me roughly into his arms. He wraps himself around me, pressing me into his chest. I manage to turn my face to the side so my cheek is resting over his heart and tell him, “It wasn’t all bad. All the guys at The Silo were really nice.” He makes a sound deep in his chest. I’m not sure what it signifies, but his arms wrap around me tighter. “If that fucker wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him for you, Cat. I swear I would.” I smile over his declaration, but I know he doesn’t mean it. I’m not worth killing someone over. “Is there anything else I need to know?” Rand asks without loosening his hold on me. “Isn’t that enough to give me nightmares about Samuel?” I ask, sort of tongue in cheek, but also as a means of perhaps avoiding one other ugly truth I’m thinking might be best left untold. Rand’s silent for a moment, but then he says, “You trusted me with something deeply personal, but I need it all, Cat. How can I chase away your demons if I don’t know what they all are?” My body goes utterly still, and then a phenomenon happens to me that has never happened before in my life. My heart literally fucking melts within my chest. I blink my eyes hard to chase away the sting of tears I feel forming over a man I barely know who is telling me he’s my champion. It’s unbelievable to me. “Cat,” Rand prompts me. “Anything else?” Giving a cough, I clear my throat and pull back so I can look him in the eye. I tell him perhaps the worst of it. “His oldest son, Kevin. He shared me with him quite a bit. Favorite son and all.” He doesn’t say a word to me, but I can feel the fury vibrating off him. Rand’s eyes turn practically red and his jaw locks so tight that the muscle jumps violently. But because he has shown he cares for me, and doesn’t want to make this more upsetting than it already is, he keeps his silence and merely hugs me in commiseration. A hug. How novel. How soothing. I may not have much experience with them, but I’m finding they’re warm and secure, and I feel like I could sleep without nightmares if Rand’s arms are around me.

Chapter 7

Rand IT’S BARELY SEVEN in the morning. I don’t need to open the shop for three hours, but I have important shit to do. I slip quietly out of my apartment, leaving Cat sleeping in my bed. I hope she continues to sleep for hours to come because I know she’s exhausted. Not only did I completely wear her body out last night, but also after she told me about that shit with her motherfucking-dead-but-want-to-kill-him-again husband, we stayed up and talked. Eventually, I settled us back down and pulled her close to me. Her body fit against mine naturally, and it felt better than right. I may spend a lot of time at a sex club, but I’m not one of these guys with emotional barriers who uses no-strings sex as a way to keep women at arm’s length. I’m an actual snuggler to the core. I don’t care if it’s a one-night stand or the love of your life. After sex, there’s nothing better than spooning and drifting off to sleep. So tucking Cat into me felt natural. I didn’t give it a second thought. I just held her tight and we talked until she could get it all out. Have to say, I admire the fuck out of that girl. She didn’t shed a tear even though I could hear in her voice how disgusting it was for her to relay that stuff to me. She’s tough as nails and it’s true what I said… she did what she had to do to survive. As she opened up more to me, it practically killed me to hear her own self-loathing for getting herself caught in Samuel’s web. I asked her—because I had to or it would kill me not knowing—why she stayed with him, and it boiled down to fear and doubt. Samuel preyed upon the perfect woman for his sick plans. He showed Cat how good it felt to live with the comforts we all take for granted. A soft bed, a warm home. Food in her stomach. She told me he’d often go weeks ignoring her, and during those times, her life was fine. She lived it as she wanted, so she reasoned to herself it was a penance she could handle. I thought penance was an interesting word for her to use, and I had to wonder why she thought of herself as a sinner. Personally, I think she’s an angel. And while she never came out and said it, I got the feeling that Cat was fearful of Samuel. Not sure if he threatened her, or implied he’d do something, but Cat had said something to the effect of “for my safety, it was best to just toe the line”. Regardless, our talk came around to The Silo again, and I gently prodded at her as to why she continued to go there once Samuel died. “You were free,” I told her. “Why come back to the place he made you do those things?” Where he got his fucking saggy nuts off—metaphorically speaking since he couldn’t get his little dick up—watching his wife get fucked over and over again by multiple men. Burns me the fuck up. Don’t get me wrong… a good gang bang when a woman is consenting and receiving pleasure from the depravity of it all is awesome, but the thought of Cat doing it and not enjoying it… not sure I can handle that thought. What she told me about that left me unsettled. Not sure if I’m supposed to feel good or bad about it, but it’s weighing on my mind. When I asked her why she still came back after Samuel died, she was quiet a moment, and I wondered if she was remembering back to a few nights after his death. She was at The Silo and told Bridger that Samuel was dead. He, in turn, let a select few of us know. We circled her protectively, wondering what she wanted and how we could help ease her sadness. She ended up choosing several men to fuck her—

present company excluded. This wasn’t all that unusual, as there are, after all, many men from which she could have picked. At any rate, she went into one of the rooms that housed a stockade Bridger had built. After she was locked up tight, she took cock after cock with a satisfied smile on her face. It was one of the hottest things I’d seen and I thought she needed it to take her mind off her sadness. Turns out… she was celebrating, and she told me as much in answer to the question I had posed. “Because sometimes I liked it,” she admitted in a soft voice. I think she was ashamed, so I validated her. “There’s a lot to like about The Silo, babe,” I told her in a firm but gentle voice. “Sex there can be exhilarating and beautiful. There’s nothing wrong with what we do there.” I felt the movement of her nodding in agreement. “Many times, I loved it… loved the rush and the feeling of being wanted. I don’t fake my orgasms, so you know I’m turned on by much of that stuff. But I also hated a lot of stuff.” “I can imagine,” I consoled. “But if you really want to know why I went back,” she continued. “It’s because Samuel loved those gang bangs. His favorite thing was to watch me take it over and over again with no ability to say no to any of those men. He liked me stripped of control. But that night… even though I was locked in the stockade, it was my choice to do that. I chose which men fucked me, and then I said when it was over. I had all the control. I hoped Samuel was rolling over in his grave, looking up at me from the burning pits of hell when I called a stop to it all.” I was blown away by those words, and haunted at the same time that something as simple as being able to say “no” could have such a big impact on a person’s self-worth and security. So again… no clue how I feel about all this. Cat’s emphatically said that her feelings about The Silo are complicated, and that’s a fucking understatement. She’s loathed it and loved it, and I get the feeling it’s in equal measures. I did ask her because my ego was bruised a bit, “Why didn’t you choose me that night you were in the stockade?” Cat didn’t answer me directly, but in a roundabout way told me what I wanted to hear. “Rand… I think Samuel ended up conditioning me to be a woman who knows nothing but submission. I do as I’m told because I’m afraid to do otherwise.” I thought this was an odd observation and wasn’t sure how it applied to my question, but then she made it all clear. “But with you, I never felt fear. Never felt I was in danger from you. Always felt safe and no matter how dirty we got, I felt cherished. I knew if I said “no” to you, you were a man who would respect it immediately. I didn’t have anything to prove to you or myself by bringing you in that room. It was about confronting my fears and taking back control, and that’s not something I’ve ever needed to do with you. It was unnecessary to choose you that night.” Yeah, those words right there pretty much sealed my fucking fate. I was going to do whatever I had to do to get Cat on her feet with a permanent smile on her face, as well as the knowledge in her soul that she could do whatever the fuck she wanted and no one was going to hold her back. This is exactly why I left her sleeping in my apartment and left for work almost three hours before it started. Even though I live only a few blocks from Westward Ink, I needed to drive out to The Wicked Horse and that was an hour round trip. After I start up my Suburban and begin to navigate my way out of town, I dial Bridger up on my phone. I know he’s awake because he always gets up early despite the late hours he keeps. I doubt if the dude sleeps more than a few hours per night. He usually gets into his office at The Wicked Horse no later than

eight AM. He answers on the second ring. “What’s up?” “On my way to The Wicked Horse to see you,” I tell him without any lead in. “Hope you got a few minutes before you get going for the day.” “Not there,” he responds in that gravelly voice that’s typical Bridger. “At the Double J getting ready to help Woolf with some stuff.” Not surprised. Bridger and Woolf are best friends and while Woolf may no longer be involved with The Wicked Horse or The Silo, those two are still thick as thieves. Bridger’s house actually sits on Double J property. As if the guy doesn’t have enough to do as it is with running a nightclub and sex club, he often helps Woolf out at the ranch. Woolf is the CEO of JennCo, a massive conglomerate comprised mostly of cattle and oil, but it makes him one of the richest motherfuckers in the USA. You’d never know it though by talking to him. Unassuming and unpretentious, he’s just one of the guys so to speak. Hate that he’s no longer involved in The Silo or Wicked Horse, as the gang doesn’t get to see him enough as it is. But love does funny things to people and he’s clearly happier keeping Callie happy, so good for him. “I’ll be there in half an hour,” I tell him, not asking if he minds me taking up his time. I disconnect the phone and step on the gas once I get out of town. It ends up taking me almost thirty-five minutes because of a minor traffic jam caused by rubbernecking tourists. Dozens of cars pulled haphazardly off the road, some with their ass ends still in the lane of travel. People jumping out of their cars without a care that there’s still traffic on this two-lane rural road that will flatten their asses. But that’s part of living in Wyoming, and I slow to a crawl as I navigate my way past travelers who are standing on the side of the road in a large group. I recognize a park ranger’s truck and while we’re technically outside of the Teton National Forest, they’ll respond to dangerous wildlife calls. And I see immediately as I creep by what the hubbub is about. About two hundred yards into a pasture covered with sagebrush and dried grass, a grizzly bear is lying on top of what is probably an antelope carcass. He’s massive and appears to be gnawing on the neck of his kill. It’s the park ranger’s duty to keep the tourists at a safe distance because there’s always one moron in the group who wants to sidle closer for a better picture opportunity. Once I make my way past the minor traffic jam, I fight the temptation to speed to make up the lost time. It’s not worth the cost of a ticket or the extra time that would be lost if I’m stopped. When I pull up to the Double J office, I park in between Bridger’s red Corvette and Woolf’s black Range Rover. Grabbing my phone off the seat beside me, I get out of my truck without locking it up. Nothing of value in there to steal and no one would anyway. That’s not the way we do things in Wyoming. I trot up the steps and push open the door to the ranch office, which is actually an old homestead on the ranch. I think it might have even belonged to Woolf’s grandpa or something. The sounds of Bridger and Woolf’s voices pull me down the hall, and I find them both in Woolf’s office. Woolf is sitting in his chair behind his desk, booted feet propped up on the scarred, wooden top. Bridger sits in a large chair done in cowhide on the opposite side and sips on a container of coffee. “Morning, sunshine,” Woolf says with a big grin on his face. “Good to see you, man,” I say with a laugh as I take an identical chair next to Bridger. He tips his chin up at me and grumbles, “What’s so important you needed to see me first thing this morning?” I know Bridger and Woolf’s time is valuable—far more than mine is, as all I have to do today is run a tattoo shop—so I don’t beat around the bush. “Cat’s in trouble and I need some advice. Maybe some direction.” “Who the fuck is Cat?” Bridger says with his eyebrows furrowing in.

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “Catherine.” “Vaughn?” Bridger asks for clarification. “Lyons,” I say automatically, and his eyebrows draw inward again. “Who?” Shaking my head, I hold up a hand for him to let me speak and start again. “She goes by Cat, her maiden name is Lyons, and she prefers to be known as that. I found her sleeping in her car in the parking lot of The Wicked Horse two nights ago and found out she’s homeless.” “What the fu—?” I cut him off because again… time valuable and all. “Local attorney showed up at the house in Jackson and told her she had to vacate. That the will left her nothing and his son was demanding she leave. She was allowed to leave with nothing but her clothes, jewelry, and a little cash. All credit cards shut down.” “You’re fucking kidding me?” Bridger growls as he sits up straight in his chair. I quickly see he’s taken as much offense to this notion as I have. While Cat is but a member of The Silo, Bridger takes care of his own. I also know he has a soft spot for her and worries about her at times. “She went and got a copy of the will, but here’s the kicker… it’s not signed. The attorney insists the signed copy is in Vegas. Cat’s thinking about calling one of the sons and asking for a copy with the supposed signatures, but she’ll probably get the run around.” “Who’s the attorney?” Woolf asks. “Harlan Grables,” I tell him. “Know him?” “Yeah,” Woolf says. “Small-town lawyer, does a variety of stuff. Mostly speeding tickets and stuff. Kind of sleazy actually.” “Which means there’s no way in hell he drafted the legitimate will of a billionaire hotelier from Vegas,” Bridger concludes. “You think the attorney’s lying?” I ask incredulously. “But why?” “Could be the son paid him to draft the bogus document to get her out of the house,” Bridger says with a careless shrug to his shoulders. “Could be Samuel’s real attorney drafted it, the signed one is in Vegas, and the son had a copy here. He asked the attorney to enforce it, and the lawyer did so moronically without seeing the signed copy.” “I’m betting there’s not a signed copy,” Woolf chimes in. “The mere fact she’s been given the run around… I bet they’re just hoping she gets tired of waiting for an answer and will go away.” “Well, that’s not happening,” I say with a growl as I lean forward in my chair. “No fucking way.” I don’t miss both Bridger and Woolf’s eyebrows rising as they shoot each other a smirking look. Ignoring them, I ask, “Any bright ideas on what I should do? I’m letting her crash at my place until I can get her on her feet.” “Taking up her cause, huh?” Bridger asks slyly. “Something like that,” I mutter, but then I get distracted as my phone starts ringing to the tune of Maroon 5’s Wake Up Call. I roll my eyes without bothering to look at caller ID as that song tells me all I need to know. I press the decline button, sending Tarryn to voice mail. “Seems to me you still have your hands full,” Woolf says with a sly grin, looking down at my phone gripped in my hands. “I’ve got Tarryn handled,” I assure him. Because the only thing to do with her is ignore her. She’ll eventually get bored and move on. Temporarily at least. “I’ll give Cat a job off the books as a Fantasy Maker,” Bridger says. “Under the table, of course.”

My head immediately shakes back and forth in denial. “She’s taking a break from The Silo. She needs a job far away from that shit.” “Come on, dude,” Woolf says as he swings his feet off his desk and sits up in his chair. “Catherine was born to be a Fantasy Maker.” Maybe my personal fantasy, I think for a brief moment before anger over Woolf’s innocently callous words overtakes me. “That shit’s off the table,” I snap at him, and he blinks at me in surprise. “And clearly you two don’t have any helpful advice.” I surge up out of the chair and mutter to Bridger, “Catch you later.” I storm out of the Double J office but even as my own feet hit the dirt outside, I can hear Bridger saying, “Wait up.” Turning, I see him trotting down the steps toward me. “Cut Woolf some slack,” he says gruffly. “He doesn’t know.” “Know what?” I ask him, confused and slightly skeptical. Bridger’s head turns slightly, and he gazes out over the open range that stretches for miles with the Teton Mountains standing tall on the horizon. When he looks back at me, he scratches at his chin. “Cat… she forced by her husband to go to The Silo?” He worded it as a question, but I can tell he’s actually laying it out as a statement he wants verified. “Yeah.” “That motherfucker,” Bridger snarls, aiming his cowboy booted foot at Woolf’s front tire. It slams into the tread and bounces off as he curses under his breath. “Not your fault,” I tell him just loud enough to penetrate his curses. I know what he’s feeling right now and it’s guilt, plain and simple. That Cat was forced to do something she didn’t want to do. “And her experience isn’t all bad there. It’s complicated.” So fucking complicated. “She want a job at The Wicked Horse?” Bridger asks. I shake my head. “Still too close.” “Let me think on it,” Bridger says. “And I’ll also check into this attorney, but I’m betting he was just paid to enforce a document that may or may not be legit. Now, can I front Cat some money?” “I’ve got her covered,” I tell him, because fuck if I’m going to allow him to ride in and save the day for Cat. I’m not sure why I have this overwhelming need to protect her and help her. I mean, I feel for her. I really do. And she’s a great fuck, and it’s been awesome to have her right there in my apartment… but still, I can’t figure out why I have this strong of a connection to her cause. Bridger nods in understanding. “Alright, man. But I’ll help in any way I can.” “Appreciate it,” I tell him and turn toward my Suburban. While I might not want Bridger being Cat’s personal champion, I’ll gladly take any help he and Woolf can give me until we can figure out what’s best for her future.

Chapter 8

Cat OPENING THE OVEN, I take a quick peek at the meatloaf I have baking and then glance at the timer on the microwave I had set. Another ten minutes and it should be done. Rand had texted me a few hours ago letting me know he’d be home from work by seven. We had our first minor disagreement after I responded back to him that’d I’d cook dinner. His response was almost immediate. I’ll pick up pizza. I wasn’t sure whether to be offended that he was perhaps distrustful of my cooking or he was being an overly gracious host, but I sent him back a firm response. I insist. I want to do something nice for you. No need, he wrote back quite succinctly. I wasn’t so succinct. I’m cooking dinner and not arguing about it. I’ll have it on the table and ready to go at 7PM. If you can’t let me do something to show my gratefulness for your generosity, then I’m going to have to make alternative plans to stay somewhere else.

His response was still just as short, just as quick, but it made me smile. Look forward to your cooking. It’s my hope he appreciates my efforts, although knowing Rand, that’s sort of a given. The more I come to know him, the more I admire the type of man—no, human—that he is. In all my dealings with him before at The Silo, I never looked past the exterior. He’s a glorious package and was one of my select favorites there. But let’s be honest… he was fucking a shell of a woman then. I closed off everything on the inside and would only let my body feel. With all the things that make me uniquely human shut down, there was nothing available by which I could see inside someone else. Not that I wanted to since it never occurred to me I could have a life outside of Samuel. That I could have someone truly care for me. I never even hoped for such a thing because you can’t hope for something that you don’t even understand. That you don’t even know exists in the world. So without that knowledge, there was never any need for me to look past the exterior of any man who had me. I was nothing but a vessel to them, and they were nothing but a few moments of physical pleasure that hopefully outweighed the shame of what was happening to me. After our text exchange, I drove to the grocery store and put a dent in my meager funds, coughing up $9.63 for some ground bison, an onion, and some milk. The milk was for the box of macaroni and cheese I found in a cupboard. He had butter, ketchup, eggs, and spices, so I had everything else I needed for meatloaf and macaroni and cheese. Very simple and basic. I considered throwing in a green vegetable too, but I actually got sidetracked in the grocery store when I started thinking about Rand and how perfectly he was able to play my body last night. Which is weird. I never think about sex in general, but I seem to be obsessed with Rand and how he makes me feel in bed. Out of bed too, so to speak, as he got me to easily open up to him. Telling him my secrets and shames last night was freeing. The fact that he listened without judgment speaks volumes. So yeah… I got sidetracked thinking about Rand and walked out of the grocery store without a veggie. Rand doesn’t have any vegetables among his canned goods, which leads me to believe he probably doesn’t like them anyway.

I think I’m a decent cook, and it’s something I enjoy doing. Granted, I haven’t had a lot of opportunity to experiment, but I can hold my own with the basics. Growing up, I had to fend for myself so I could get pretty damn creative. Once I left home, I took whatever food I could get, and it was often just a stolen candy bar or something. With Samuel, we had a chef when we were in Vegas. In Jackson, I did get to cook for us, although he’d never hand down a compliment to me even if he thought it was the best food ever. Not going to say I didn’t think about poisoning him a time or two, especially when he’d farm me out to others, but I just don’t have that in me, I guess. Samuel’s food remained healthy and poison free, even though I hated him enough that I hoped his advanced age would get him sooner rather than later. Or that he’d choke on a chicken bone, it being fortuitous that I did not know how to do the Heimlich maneuver. The macaroni is done boiling, so I go about fixing the cheap box of Kraft, adding in extra butter because that makes everything taste better. By the time the meatloaf is done and I’m pulling it out of the oven, I hear the door to the apartment open. My entire body goes on hyper-alert, and a rush of giddy excitement runs through me. Rand’s here. The sensation is so startling that it takes a moment to realize the heat from the glass dish of meatloaf is starting to sting through the towel I’d grabbed it out with. I hurriedly set it on the stovetop. “Smells amazing,” Rand says from behind me. I turn to him, feeling my cheeks get warm from the praise and the anticipation of seeing him. God… I’ve never felt this before. It’s how I imagine children feel on Christmas morning when they wake up and are beside themselves with excitement to know what Santa left them. I’ve never had that experience, but I had friends at school who did, so I could easily envision it. I’ve most definitely never felt it for another man because I never really had a serious relationship before. I’ve made attempts, but I always picked poorly. When you’re sometimes homeless and occasionally stripping to pay rent, the choices for “good guys” are relatively lacking. I guess that’s why Samuel seemed like such a godsend at first when he showed interest in me. Rand’s eyes flick from the meatloaf to me. His gaze lingers in a long, slow slide up and down my body. The giddiness ramps up as I feel a rush of dampness between my legs. Normally, when I feel the signs of lust coming on, my body and persona tend to take on a life of its own. I know how to work my assets and incite the same lust in someone else with either a particular look or a sway of my hips. But right now, I’m not feeling the need to do that with Rand. In fact, I feel a little off kilter. Rather than give him a sensual look of invitation, because let’s face it—I would not say no if he wanted to have sex right now—I blush even deeper if the heat in my face is any indication. Rand notices this because I don’t miss the quick flash of amusement on his face but rather than make me feel uncomfortable about it, he merely gives me a boyish smile and asks, “Do I have time for a quick shower before we eat?” “Sure,” I say, because the food isn’t going anywhere. “I’ll only be about five minutes,” he says as he turns toward the bathroom. I figure I could use the time to set the table, but then I see him peel his shirt over his head as he walks away from me and all thoughts of plates, utensils and napkins evaporate. And this time, the dampening of my panties is enhanced by a cramping need of want low in my gut. Just looking at his naked back roped with lean muscle and colored with tattoos incites me to near madness with desire for him. I look back to the meatloaf, and figure it’s safe enough where it is. I look back to the bathroom, where Rand has shut the door. Noticing it is not quite shut all the way, I wonder if it’s an invitation.

I look back to the meatloaf and consider my options. Rand originally made it clear that there were no expectations of sex in exchange for his generosity in letting me stay here. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t sex, as evidenced last night by the repetitive and stellar sex we did have. I’ve had that beautiful man in my body before at The Silo, but last night was different. Last night, it was personal and moving. It was in the sanctity of his home. It was within a caring embrace. He saw me as more than just a vessel, and I literally felt the difference in the very marrow of my bones. So last night had nothing to do with paying him my share of the rent. That was because he wanted it and I wanted it. The meatloaf is definitely a gesture of my gratitude, but if I were to walk in that bathroom right now, would he know it’s because I want him and that it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with payback? Only one way to find out. I drape the towel in my hand over the warm pot of mac and cheese before walking to the bathroom door. I can hear the water running and the unmistakable sound of hot spray against skin. Before I can talk myself out of it, I push against the door and slip inside. Rand’s bathroom is small, but it does have a tub against one wall with a navy blue shower curtain that completely hides him from my view. I can only imagine what he looks like on the other side… maybe rubbing soap all over the planes of his body, or maybe his eyes are closed and face serene while he washes his hair. But before I can wonder any further, I hear a low groan issue from the other side of that curtain. I recognize the nature and tone of that sound because I’ve heard it often before, and I know exactly what he’s doing now. Without hesitation, I step forward and peel the curtain back a bit near the foot of the tub. And oh my God… it’s better than I ever imagined. Rand has his face tilted to the ceiling to let the hot water hit him on the top of his head. His eyes are indeed closed and his lips slightly parted. And a soapy hand is wrapped around his hard cock while he slowly strokes himself, twisting his wrist just a bit when he reaches the head. I pull the curtain back further and the slide of the shower rings against the bar is loud enough to disturb Rand. His eyes open and his neck straightens. He looks at me with lazy eyes and never misses a stroke. “Sorry. Took one look at you when I walked in that door, saw the way you blushed, and it made me incredibly horny. Had to jerk off before dinner.” I can’t help but laugh, pulling the curtain back all the way. “Rinse your dick off.” “Excuse me?” he says with wide blinking eyes, his hand still working himself. “Rinse the soap off. I don’t like the taste of it.” “Oh,” he says in understanding and immediately turns his body into the spray to do as I ask. When he’s squeaky clean, he shuts the water off before turning to face me. He’s spectacular. Wet and muscled. Thick cock hard and standing straight up, just begging for my attention. I indulge and wrap my hand around it. He groans again and then rasps out, “Get naked, Cat.” I shake my head with a smile before lowering my knees to the tiled floor. Rand steps to the edge of the tub, and he’s within perfect striking distance for my mouth. I wrap it around the head of his cock with both my hands to his ass, pulling him in deep. Over the last few years, I learned how to deep throat by virtue of all the cock I’ve had in it. Samuel loved to watch me choke on it. He’d get most excited when I’d gag and slobber all over. I hated the fucker for that. So I was determined to learn how to take it like a pro and not give him the satisfaction of it. With nothing but determination and a driving need to take something away from Samuel, I can now take a cock all the way down without even missing a breath or a stroke. Rand knows this, of course, because I’ve given him head a few times. But he’s never had this reaction

to me before as he shouts out when my nose presses into his pelvis and his hands come to my head to grip hard. “F-u-u-u-u-c-k,” he curses as he literally pushes me off him but I make sure to give a measured suck once he’s out of my throat. “Fuck, that’s good.” Yes. It. Is. The taste of Rand in my mouth, the feel of his soft skin stretched over what feels like forged steel. The way he goes crazy when I take him back down deep again. “Cat, you need to pull off right the fuck now before I come,” he growls at me, once again using his hands to push against me. I let him do this, leisurely sucking on him, but I have no intention of stopping. When Rand walked back here and I felt that mad rush of desire for him, I thought I wanted him to fuck me. Yet what we have going on right here is something far and away different from the other times we’ve been together. It’s like we were in black and white, but now we’re in Technicolor. In this moment, I realize that I don’t care if I get off. I want him to have the best damn blow job in the world, and I want him to remember that it’s from me. So instead of releasing him as he commands, I relax my throat, open up, and pull him in deep again. It’s a clear message to him that I’m not stopping. I raise my eyes, looking up at him with his cock wedged down deep inside me, and he returns my look. His eyes are swimming with need and perhaps a question to me as to what I want. I answer by pulling back before immediately sucking him down deep again. Repeating the move, I take a quick breath in between. Then once more, and he gets the message. I want him to fuck my mouth. I know he gets this because his hands grip me just a little harder but instead of pushing me off, he holds me still. Finally, his hips start moving and Rand takes every bit of pleasure that I offer up. He doesn’t last long at all, shouting out my name on a backward pull before shooting all over my tongue. I drink it down while staring up at him, savoring the warm, salty flavor. His eyes are closed and he has the most peaceful, blissed-out look I’ve ever seen on a man. His hands shift so his thumbs stroke my temples. Opening his eyes, he looks down at me with a soft smile. “That was unbelievable.” “You should have just asked me to do that to begin with,” I say with a grin. “I didn’t want you to think—” “I know… and I get it. But I wanted to do that for my own pleasure as well. That had nothing to do with owing you anything.” “I’d really love to return that favor right now,” he says as he bends over and helps me off my knees. Shaking my head, I step away and give him room to exit the tub. “We have dinner to eat first. After that, you can have your way with me.” Reaching over to the towel rod, I grab the one I know is Rand’s and toss it to him. He catches it and starts to dry off. When I turn to walk out of the bathroom, he says, “Cat.” I look over my shoulder at him. “It’s going to be another all-nighter, just so you know.” Oh, God… I squeeze my legs together to alleviate the ache that just formed. Maybe we don’t need to eat dinner just yet.

Chapter 9

Rand “DAMN, THIS IS good,” I say before taking another bite of meatloaf. “We should have at least heated it up,” Cat grumbles as she takes a tentative bite herself. Turns out, she went ahead and let me return the favor to her right after that fucking unbelievable head she gave me. She appeared to weigh her options carefully when I told her we’d be up all night again. I could literally see the wheels turning in her brain and imagined her balancing needs against wants. On one hand, an immediate and satisfying orgasm from my tongue on her clit. On the other, cold food that could be reheated. She chose the orgasm, and I, in turn, tossed her on the bed and ate her out so thoroughly, I think she actually had two orgasms. A big one and then a smaller one right on the heels of that when I nipped her clit with my teeth as she was coming down. She shrieked in surprise and her back arched off the bed, and I was so fascinated by her response, I pressed two fingers in her wet pussy and felt the tremors of that release from the inside. Made me start to get hard again, but I figured we needed to eat and get some sustenance for what I had planned for her. So I pulled a weak-kneed Cat from the bed and tossed her a t-shirt from one of my drawers. After I pulled on a pair of jeans, we stumbled into the kitchen where I fixed us up two plates. Because I was starved and horny for her again, I didn’t bother heating the food. The look on Cat’s face right now tells me she’s not a fan of cold grub. “The sooner we eat, the sooner I can fuck you,” I tell her in a matter-of-fact manner. “You’re insatiable,” she says with a grin, then pokes her fork into the mac and cheese. “You’re a bad influence,” I tell her with a return smile full of mischief, but then I feel the smile slide right off my face when I hear my phone ringing from the bathroom where I left it with my clothes. Wake Up Call. I ignore it and stab at the meatloaf, pissed that Tarryn’s calling me again and that she can’t take a hint. Even more pissed that she’s ruining my hard-on. “Do you need to get that?” Cat asks softly. I look up at her with a shake of my head. “Nah. We’re eating, and this is fabulous by the way.” Her eyes light up from the praise. Thankfully, the phone goes silent. Sadly, it starts ringing again. Wake Up Call. I lock my jaw and make busy work cutting up the rest of my meatloaf. Cat doesn’t say a word. Finally, the phone stops ringing, but within just a few seconds, it’s starts again with that vile song I used to love but now hate because it reminds me about the worst of Tarryn. “Christ,” I mutter, dropping my fork to the plate and rubbing the bridge of my nose in frustration. Raising my face, I see Cat looking at me with her head tilted and faint worry in her eyes. “Maybe you should get that.” The phone stops ringing and for a blessed moment, I think maybe she’s done. I even reach back for my fork, but then it starts back up again. “Son of a bitch,” I curse as I push up from the table and stalk to the bathroom where I’d left my phone

before I got in the shower. I stab at the Accept button and growl, “For fuck’s sake, Tarryn.” “I was worried since you hadn’t called me back from this morning,” she says in that clipped New England accent that hasn’t faded much after living several years out west. “Here’s a fucking hint,” I tell her as the anger continues to rise within me. “I didn’t call you back because I have nothing to say to you.” “Come on, Rand,” she says in a soothing voice. “You don’t really mean that. Regardless of you being angry right now, we shared too damn much for you to just disregard me.” Closing my eyes, I drop my head in resignation because she is right about that. I could never disregard Tarryn. In fact, my problem was always that I regarded her too much. One of the reasons I tried to avoid her now was because she always seemed to say the right thing to suck me back in. My need to nurture and develop inherently kicking in. It makes it hard to completely let go sometimes. It is also probably proof of why she has a specialized ring tone to alert me to her call, so I have the choice to talk to her or not versus just blocking her number completely. And as if to prove that sentiment, she strikes fast and hard. “I’ve started training again. Going to take a shot at the giant slalom. There’s an event at Copper Mountain in November.” Gritting my teeth, I hold back the flurry of curses I want to spew at her. Instead, I force myself to say in a calm voice, “That’s great. I’m sure you’ll do great.” She’s silent a moment, but then she prods. “Could use a good coach.” “Plenty around this area,” I say. “Interested in the job?” she asks with an awkward chuckle. “You know I’m not, Tarryn,” I say quietly, sneaking a peek toward the kitchen. Cat’s eating silently, her face lowered in an attempt to give me privacy, I think, but that’s impossible in an apartment this small. “Come on, Rand,” Tarryn cajoles. “No one knows my skiing better than you. No one pushes me the way you do.” I try hard not to snort at that because there was a time in the not so distant past that she hated the way I pushed at her. In fact, the way memory serves, and according to Tarryn, I pushed so hard that she fell right into the arms of another man. At least that’s the way she tried to excuse her infidelity. My eyes flick to the bathroom mirror, and I take a good look at myself. I’m not the same man I was eleven years ago when I started dating Tarryn. Not the same man I was four years ago when we broke up. My gaze focuses in on Cat’s reflection at the kitchen table behind me. Hell, I’m not the same man I was two nights ago when I found her sleeping in her car. “Look Tarryn,” I say with a firm tone as I turn and walk out of the bathroom toward Cat, who looks up at me. “I’ve got company, so I need to get off the phone. But if you’re looking for a training coach, check in with Jake. He’ll hook you up.” “But I don’t want—” “Sorry, but I really have to go. Take care,” I say into the phone just before I disconnect. As I reach the table, I look down at Cat… her big, brown eyes swimming with focused curiosity. “Ex-girlfriend… Tarryn,” I say by way of explanation. “She has phases where she gets lonely and reaches out to me.” “How long did you date?” she asks hesitantly. Possibly feeling the need to explain her question, she adds on, “When you meet people within the confines of The Silo, it’s sometimes hard to picture them in real relationships.” I laugh and sit back down at the table, picking up my fork. Food wasn’t getting any warmer, but I was still hungry. “Seven years. Started when we were seventeen. We met at prep school. She was a

competitive alpine skier too.” Cat’s eyes flare wide in a holy shit type of way. “Seven years is a long time. Which begs the question… how old are you?” “Twenty-eight,” I tell her before taking another big bite of the meatloaf. It really is pretty good. “And you?” “Twenty-four. I was twenty-one when I married Samuel.” “And you’ve got the best of your life still to come,” I tell her. Cat gives me a faint smile, pushing some macaroni around on her plate before asking, “Why did you two break up? That’s a long time to be with someone.” “Well, if you ask Tarryn the reasons, she’ll say it’s all my fault,” I tell her with a wry grin. Cat’s eyes go round and she dips her chin in mock astonishment. With an exaggerated gasp, she teases, “What? No way. Rand Bishop has faults?” I laugh because she’s cute as all get out. Now that I think about it, I never saw Cat smile very much at The Silo. Damn sure never saw her make a joke, but she’s a fucking natural. “I’m not without faults,” I tell her, pushing my empty plate away. I contemplate a second helping, but she’s touching on a fairly serious subject even if it’s with some levity. Because even though Tarryn is the one that cheated on me, and it was ultimately the demise of our relationship, I did help drive her there. That’s a tough pill to swallow sometimes. “Everyone has faults,” Cat says simply. “It’s called being human.” “Well, to make a long story short, since I’d really rather take you back in the bedroom, I’ve got a white-knight syndrome. Or, at least that’s the definition my best friend, Jake, has labeled me with.” “A white-knight syndrome?” she asks skeptically with a cocked eyebrow. “I’m the type who likes to rescue the damsel in distress. Or so Jake seems to think.” “But you don’t think that?” I shrug. “Tarryn has her fair share of issues. She didn’t have an easy life growing up, but her natural talent on the slopes got her a full ride to Carrabassett Valley, which is how we met. I saw her skiing as a way for her to have a different life, so I tried to help push her along.” “Encouragement is good,” Cat points out. “Yeah… it wasn’t just encouragement. I mean, I really pushed at her. Pushed her to train, lead a clean lifestyle, and work harder than she ever has in her life. Because that’s what I did to be at the top of the game, and I wanted the same for her. It was her ticket out of a mediocre life. It takes hardcore training to compete at the Olympic level. Tarryn’s a great skier, but she’s not a great athlete. I wanted her to follow me in my path, and really… she just wanted to be a regular girl. She didn’t want the gold medals the way I did, and I just couldn’t understand it.” Cat’s face softens with understanding. “You wanted it bad for her, but she didn’t want it for herself.” “Exactly,” I say pointing a finger in her direction. “The last few years weren’t great before we broke up. I was traveling, and she was living here doing some ski instruction. She started seeing someone else, and when I found out about it, I wasn’t all that broken up. I think it all just sort of withered up and died from neglect, but I recognize my part in that for sure. I pushed her so hard that she became bitter. On top of that, I was traveling a lot for competitions, and we were apart most of the time because she wasn’t skiing at my level. So, the way she looks at it is that I pushed her right at someone else.” “That doesn’t excuse cheating,” Cat says hotly. “If she didn’t respect the relationship, she should have ended it.” Again, I shrug. She’s not telling me anything I haven’t thought about more than a time or two since we broke up almost four years ago. “I agree. But I’ve let it go. And I learned from it.”

“That you shouldn’t rescue damsels in distress,” Cat says, and I can tell by the pointed look on her face she’s talking about herself. “No, that’s not what I learned,” I tell her with a censuring look. “A good man always helps a woman if she needs it. But I learned that sometimes my definition of who needs help is different from others. In Tarryn’s case, she didn’t need what I was pushing on her, and since I can practically see that beautiful brain of yours trying to work out how this means I view you, let me assure you, two nights ago, you needed rescuing. You needed a hand up, so I gave it to you. That’s all it was, Cat. Plain and simple.” “So none of your attraction to me has to do with the fact that you see me as lost and needing rescued?” “I was attracted to you long before I found you sleeping in your car, Cat. Hell, I’ve even fantasized about you when I was getting my dick sucked by another girl.” I lean forward and put my forearms on the table, staring at her hard so she understands what I’m saying. “But I’m not going to lie either. I couldn’t stand to see you hurt and alone. If that’s my white-knight complex, so fucking be it. It brought me into your life on a deeper level. But most assuredly, the reason I was jacking off in the shower to you, and the reason I think I’ll be fucking you repetitively tonight, is that I find you fascinating and attractive on more than just a physical level. If it was just physical, I’d be at The Silo right now instead of my mouth watering to get back on your pussy again.” Cat sort of rears backward in her chair and blinks at me in confusion. “You find me fascinating?” “You’re smart, tough as nails, and resilient. You have a wicked sense of humor, although I’d like to see more of it. You cook a pretty damn good meatloaf and survived an intolerable situation with plenty of grace intact. Oh, and you give the best blow job I’ve ever had in my life.” She giggles over that last part, which is exactly what I was hoping for. It wasn’t a lie about it being the best blow job ever, but I knew it would lighten the seriousness of what I was saying. “Look, Cat,” I say, causing her giggles to dry up, but she looks at me through smiling eyes. “I like you. I think you like me. I think we sure as hell like fucking each other. You’ve got a place to stay until you get on your feet, so the pressure is off. Let’s enjoy this and see where it goes, okay? I could totally be on board with us going at it with each other every night.” “Are you saying you want to be exclusive?” she asks hesitantly, the smile dying instantly and her lips flattening out. Well fuck… maybe I was reading her wrong. Maybe she can’t give up the gang bang or something. “Well, if that’s not something you’re interested in—” “Okay, let’s do it,” she blurts out. “Be exclusive?” I ask, just so I make sure we’re on the same page. I know what it’s like to be on the very opposite page from where you think someone is. “Yes,” is all she says. “What about The Silo?” I cautiously ask. “That was never really my thing,” she says sadly, and it makes my heart squeeze in pain that her asshole husband made her do that. “I only went back after he died because it was at least something I knew, and I didn’t feel so alone there.” “Then it’s agreed… we take a break from The Silo,” I reassure her. Of course, I’d have to get with Bridger and explain to him that I was taking a hiatus. I’m only a part-time Fantasy Maker there, so I won’t even be missed. Plus, I know he won’t begrudge me this. Whatever this is, but I’m rolling with it. Cat stands up from the table and picks up both plates. I stand as well, quickly taking them from her hands. “You cooked so I clean.” “Not going to argue there,” she says smugly and sits back down.

I intend on making quick work of the kitchen because now that I’ve disclosed my baggage with Tarryn —which admittedly pales in comparison to hers with her dead husband—I really, really want to get back to the business of sex with this gorgeous creature. “Why does she call you now?” Cat asks, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s shifted back to Tarryn. I don’t bother to turn to look at her, working at filling the sink with soapy water. “I have no clue, but it’s been a pattern since we broke up. She’ll get involved with someone, and then I won’t hear from her. Sometimes for months. When she’s single again, she calls me. Or sometimes, she shows up on my doorstep to talk, or she’ll ask me for a favor that is seemingly innocuous, but she tends to think if I help her out, I’ll want to get back together with her.” “Maybe it’s because you’re not competing anymore, so now she thinks you’re more ideally suited at this point in your lives,” Cat points out. I scrape the tiny bit of food left on Cat’s plate in the garbage and stick both plates in the suds before turning my attention to packaging up the leftovers. “Just because I’m not competing anymore doesn’t change who I am. She’s still the same person who gave up because things got too hard, and I just can’t respect that. What that really tells me is that no matter how hard I might have pushed her away, she wasn’t the right one for me anyway.” “It’s fascinating to me that you’ve had this whole other life outside The Silo,” she says almost in awe. “You just never think about the people you come in contact with there outside of that building.” “The Silo is about fantasy, not reality. It’s easy to leave your real life at the door.” “Except that was my real life, inside The Silo. There was no fantasy for me,” she says, and my gut clenches hard. I grab a towel, give my hands a quick dry, and turn to Cat. “That’s over with,” I tell her softly. “The day Samuel died is the day your real life started.” I watch her carefully. The way her brown eyes look at me blankly a moment, as if the words bounce off, and then a small flare of hope sparks as she swallows hard. Finally, a small nod of her head while she murmurs in agreement with me, “Yes… my real life has just started.” Good. She understands. Now I wonder what she’s going to make of it.

Chapter 10

Cat “ALL RIGHT,” RAND says as he turns the ignition of his Suburban off and unlatches his seatbelt. He turns to look at me in the passenger seat beside him. “I’m going to go hang out with my buddy, Jake, while you do your thing. Just come find me there when you’re done.” “It could be a while,” I remind him as I also take my seatbelt off. He just gives me an amused smile before his left hand shoots out to grab me behind the neck. Pulling me across the expanse of the front cab, he presses a hard, swift kiss to my mouth before letting me go. I actually go dizzy from the unexpected move, but mostly from the display of affection he just laid upon me. I have to restrain my fingers from touching my lips, hoping to savor the tingling he left behind. “It’s Teton Ski and Snowboarding,” Rand says as he releases me, and then points over my shoulder. “Two blocks down East Broadway. And take your time. I’ve got nothing else going on today.” “Okay,” I murmur as I grab my large satchel purse from the floorboard. In addition to my wallet, lip gloss, my sunglasses case, and a handful of pens, it also now carries a copy of a resume Rand helped me type up this morning. It’s pathetic and small, and we couldn’t put all of my “work” experience on there, but I did do some waitressing in addition to dancing, and I served on the board of a charity in Vegas that Samuel asked me to do. I’m hoping my youth and eagerness to learn will make up for my pathetic work history. One of my goals today is to walk the town square and see if anyone is hiring. When Rand asked me last night just before we fell asleep what my plans were today, I told him I intended to find a job. He offered to drive me to the town center as he was taking his ski equipment into his buddy’s shop for a tune-up with ski season fast approaching, or at least that’s what he said was the reason. I suspect he just wanted to offer gallant services to me, and it warmed me so much that he wanted to do that, I graciously accepted. I hope to cover most of the businesses surrounding the town square with my resume. Maybe something will come through. Before I committed to staying in Jackson, there was a moment last night when I thought about just heading back to Vegas, even though I didn’t have any money to get there. I knew I could get a job stripping pretty quickly. I’d have immediate cash by which to live, so it was a decent option if I could just make my way back home. But then I took serious stock of where I was in that moment and realized I didn’t want to go to Vegas. I wanted to stay right there, in that bed with Rand, with his arms wrapped tight around me and his beard tickling my neck. I wasn’t ready to give up the security he was temporarily providing me, nor these new and delicious feelings blooming inside my chest whenever he looks at me. It was my very own Christmas every time he touched me or smiled at me. I was soaking it up like a greedy sponge. We both exit his Suburban, me taking a bit longer as I carefully use the running board to step down in my Fendi heels. I look at the shoes that cost $750, wishing I had that cash in my pocket rather than the designer label on my feet. Hopefully, that won’t be an issue by the time I meet Rand over at the ski shop after I finish all my errands. “Good luck,” he says with a smile at me over the hood of his vehicle. “Call me if you need anything. I’m just going to be hanging out.”

“Will do,” I say, hitching my purse up as Rand turns toward the rear of his Suburban where he has his skis stashed. Apparently, a tune-up is nothing more than getting the skis repaired of any damage from the season before, such as nicks and stuff, as well as getting them waxed. Again, I suspect this is not something that had to be done right now, but was rather his excuse to drive me to the center of town, which I find almost unbearably sweet because I don’t understand what I’ve done to deserve that consideration. I step up onto the sidewalk that borders the town square, which is nothing more than a small park with large shade trees that are still full and green, a few benches, and a small walking path. I head in the opposite direction of Rand, with no intention of job hunting right away. Tucked inside my purse is all the jewelry Samuel bought me. Well, I actually bought it myself, but it was with his money. Even my engagement ring I picked out and bought, at his insistence and with him pushing his own personal credit card into my hand since my limit wasn’t enough to cover the three-carat rock. Rand has no clue I’m doing this, and I suspect he’d try to discourage me from something so rash, especially since I have a roof over my head, food in my stomach, and his amazing cock fucking me every night. But the one thing Samuel taught me, and taught me well, is that no one is truly looking out for me but myself. I can’t rely on Rand to be there for me, and while I’m fairly confident he wouldn’t abuse the trust I’ve placed in him the way Samuel did, I still have to be ready to jet out of here at the first sign he’s something less than I hope him to be. That means I need money. I’ll sell my jewelry, or at the very least, I’ll pawn it. After that, I’m free, mobile, and I won’t be beholden to anyone. I won’t be owned again. Except… I have that nagging feeling like I want to be owned by Rand or something, but that’s just crazy. Samuel owned every part of me, and I hated it. There’s no way I could possibly want that from Rand. Right? I glance over my shoulder at Rand receding in the distance as I continue to walk away. He’s already got his skis pulled out and the door shut, standing at the corner waiting for a light to turn green so he can cross. He doesn’t look back at me as I turn right onto South King Street, which houses Libertine’s Jewelry just half a block down. I decided to start with actual jewelry stores, independently owned and small. I figure they would be the most likely to buy from me. I actually purchased a piece here last summer, so I hope the owner remembers me. With my gaze lowered to the sidewalk to make sure I don’t lodge my spiked heels in a crack or something, I’m almost knocked sideways by my shoulder colliding with someone. “I’m sorry—” I start to say as I turn toward the person, but I come to a dead stop with my mouth hanging open and my blood turning to ice. Kevin Vaughn stands there leering at me. I can tell by the mixture of contempt and challenge in his eyes that he had seen me coming down the sidewalk and purposely ran into me. He’s not surprised to see me the way I am him. “Hello, Catherine,” he says as he takes a step toward me. My eyes take in his appearance. Samuel was old and practically withered with the slew of medical problems he had, but I could always see in his face that he had once been a good-looking man. His sons both have the same bone structure and look. Kevin Vaughn keeps his blond hair perfectly cut, styled, and sprayed. Fake tan that is so well done it

looks real. Thousands of dollars of veneers that make his teeth almost neon white. Dressed in designer labels. He loves money and he loves spending it. As the director of operations for Samuel’s hotel empire, he makes a lot of money. He also has a small dick and a large problem with premature ejaculation, so I always think of that whenever I’m in his presence. Otherwise, he’d skeeve me out too bad just by the way he looks at me. It tore me up to admit to Rand the other night that Samuel let Kevin have me. I’m not sure if the offer was ever made to Richard or not, but he and I never fucked. In fact, Richard was unfailingly polite but reserved around me. He was married to a nice woman, had two kids, and managed Samuel’s investments, seeming to enjoy a much quieter life than his plastic brother. The first time with Kevin was my first Christmas with Samuel, which was just an ordinary day to me. Samuel and I ate breakfast together in almost total silence—the only sound interrupting us was the doorbell ringing. I found Kevin there when I opened the door. He told me he was just dropping by to give a present to his father, but I knew it was a lie. I knew it because as he said those words to me, I could see him undressing me with his eyes. He was also empty handed. Samuel wheeled himself into the foyer. The minute Kevin stepped in and I shut the door behind him, he made it clear that I was actually Kevin’s Christmas present. “Catherine, darling,” Samuel said in that weak voice made so by congestive heart failure. “Be a good girl and wish Kevin a very Merry Christmas.” I only spared a moment to stare at Samuel in completely stunned disgust, but I saw the resolve on his face. When I turned back to Kevin, he was already undoing his belt and breathing shallowly as if he hadn’t been laid in months. I suspect that was true because his wife looked a little uptight and they didn’t have any children, so something wasn’t working right. “Get on your knees,” Kevin ordered me, pushing his pants and underwear down, that tiny little dick popping free. I almost laughed, but I didn’t because what I was getting ready to do wasn’t the least bit funny. I shudder over the memory and take an involuntary step backward, my ankles wobbling just a bit. “I’m surprised to see you still in Jackson,” Kevin says as he rubs a finger over his chin in a thoughtful manner. His voice is mildly polite, but I can sense an underlying vibe of distaste for me. While Kevin never had a problem fucking me, I knew he hated the fact his dad married me. Hated he had a stepmother younger than him and who would potentially carve into his inheritance one day. I know this because he would sometimes mutter that to me while he was banging me. “Not sure why you’re surprised,” I tell him calmly. “You left me without a dime to my name when you had that attorney kick me out of my home and shut my credit cards off. Just how did you expect me to get out of town, Kevin?” He shrugs dismissively. “Not my problem really. Figured you could fuck your way back to Vegas or something.” I have to curl my fingers inward and press the nails deep into my palms to restrain myself. It’s almost impossible to hold myself back from kneeing him in his tiny nuts and following it with a right hook to his smug face. But I decide to choose a different way to change his attitude. “I want a signed copy of the will, Kevin. Apparently, that attorney had only an unsigned copy. It seems a little suspect you’d have me evicted based on that alone.” “You weren’t there for the actual reading in Vegas,” he says calmly, that smug smile still in place. “That’s where the signed copy is.”

“I figured as much,” I tell him with a pointed look. “That’s why I’m going to call Richard and ask him to send me a copy with the signatures, so I can have my own attorney look at it.” And… there it is. That superior-than-thou attitude melts as his lips flatten into a grim line. He has no clue if I’m bluffing, and I’m totally bluffing. I can’t afford an attorney, but I am going to do whatever I can to see a copy of that signed will. I also have no intention of calling Richard because even though I think he’d be fair to me, I can’t be sure. It’s best not to trust either of Samuel’s sons at this point. “Listen,” Kevin says in a conciliatory tone as he steps closer. His eyes are glittering with something I can’t quite put my finger on but which sets off all my internal alarms. His arm reaches out and he grasps me by my shoulder. “If you need a place to stay, you can come back to the house here. I’ll even give you some cash to help you out.” Twisting my upper body to dislodge his hand, I laugh at him. “And let me guess… in return, you want me to fuck you?” His eyes light up with the prospect. “I wouldn’t be averse to that.” “Well, I would,” I sneer, surprising him by taking a step forward into his space. I poke a finger in his chest while molten rage fuels my words. “I wouldn’t let that needle dick you have anywhere near me. And if I find out you’re lying to me about the will, you’re going to regret the day you ever fucked with me.” Kevin’s arm shoots up and he grabs my wrist, squeezing hard and pushing my hand from his chest down his stomach. “Come on, Catherine. You know you’re good for one thing only, and I’m offering you an easy ride. Jump on board, and I’ll keep you here at the Jackson house. You’ll be my little piece on the side.” Just as my knuckles brush against the edge of his belt, I rip myself out of his grasp. “You’re a sick, fucking—” He moves so swiftly that I don’t have time to react. His arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me in tight to his body. His other arm comes up so his hand can grip me at the back of my head. It looks like a lover’s embrace, even though I manage to get my hands to his chest in an attempt to push him away. But he’s stronger than I am and he holds me rigidly. Tourists are walking by, oblivious to what’s going on. Kevin leans his head toward me, puts his lips near my ear, and in a low but deadly serious voice, he says, “You do not fuck around with me, Catherine. You can either walk away intact or in pieces. Your choice. But I seriously suggest you forget about that will.” He pulls his head back so he can look down at me, his eyes flicking back and forth to see if what he’s said has sank in. I don’t respond, but I don’t break eye contact either, gritting my teeth together in anger and some fear. “I can see you understand me,” he says confidently, releasing his hold. I take two stumbling steps back. Kevin merely tucks his hands into the lightweight jacket he’s wearing and says, “I’ll make these two offers, and then I’m done with you. I’ll give you five thousand in cash and you move on with your life. Stay away from my brother and me. Or move back into the Jackson house—I’ll give you a monthly allowance and you’ll be at my beck and call when I come to visit.” Straightening up to my full five-foot-seven—thank you, Fendi—I stiffen my spine and lock my knees in figurative battle. I forget about the fact that not only does Kevin disgust me, but he also slightly scares me too. But I don’t get caught up in that. Instead, I tell him with as much sarcasm as I can muster, “As tempting as those two offers are, I’m going to decline.” Kevin’s eyes harden, his lids lowering until I see just tiny slits of brown irises peeking out at me. He inclines his head at me in acknowledgment of my position and says in what can only be taken as a clear threat, “So be it. But don’t say you weren’t warned.”

He takes away my ability to walk away from him, making a casual turn on the sidewalk and meandering off in a carefree saunter. I can tell by the set to his shoulders and the almost jaunty step that he’s not worried about me at all. But he should be. Because I just learned something very important. There is no new will where Samuel cuts me out. If there were, Kevin would have offered up the signed copy to me without hesitation. Instead, he tried to buy me off, relying on his faulty instinct that I am still a woman who can be owned. It’s a mistake to underestimate me, and I know exactly what I need to do.

Chapter 11

Rand “I CAN’T BELIEVE WE essentially live in the same house and I only get to see you when you have a few minutes to pop into my place of business,” Jake says as he walks into the back breakroom of his ski shop. I’ve been here for almost two hours waiting for Cat to finish up her job hunting visits, shooting the shit with some of Jake’s employees or other locals who stop by for some sporting equipment needs. Although his shop is named Teton Ski and Snowboarding, it’s actually morphed over time into a sort of one-stop shop for all of your Wyoming outdoor needs. He runs guided fishing trips in the summer, hunting trips in the fall and winter for big game such as elk and moose, as well as black bear in the spring. He even has guides who will just drive you around and show you where you can see all the wildlife. Jake sells everything from skis to guns to fishing lures to sporting apparel, and he’s been quite successful at it. I don’t respond directly but throw a teasing jab while looking at my watch. “Must be nice to have a job you can roll in at close to lunch time. Wish I had as easy a life as you.” Jake laughs. As well he should, because he’s one of the hardest-working men I know, and he knows I’m joking. He’s normally in the shop at least an hour before it opens, and while he may go home so he can have dinner with his family, I know he works in the evenings too to stay on top of things. “Lorelei had an ultrasound this morning,” he explains as he walks over to the coffee pot on the counter and pours himself a cup. “And how is the little niblet?” I ask, leaning back in my chair so the front legs come off the ground a bit. “Looking like a chip off the old block,” he says before taking a chair at the table opposite of me. “He’s got the look of a snowboarder for sure.” “It could be a girl,” I point out since it’s still too early for the ultrasound to show that. “Nope. Gonna be a snowboarding boy. Amber’s going to be the skier.” I laugh and shake my head, but, secretly, I’m a little envious of him. Beautiful wife, gorgeous kid with another on the way, and leading a spectacularly full life. Once I figure out what I want to do with my own, I’m hoping things shake out for me like they have for Jake. “So what’s up with you?” Jake asks. “Jimmy said you’ve been here a while.” Jimmy is one of his employees who is manning the store today. He also doubles as a fishing guide, but the trip he had set this morning got cancelled. It rained like hell last night and the rivers are too muddied to make it worthwhile. “Just waiting for a friend who is doing some errands around town; thought we’d go get some lunch after she’s done.” “She?” Jake asks, an eyebrow cocked and with a quick lick to his lips. “Yes, a she,” I affirm. “I’ve been known to like the opposite sex, you know.” It’s no wonder Jake has a healthy dose of skepticism when it comes to me making any type of plans that sound like a date with a woman. He’s the one person who knows firsthand how turbulent my relationship was with Tarryn. He also knows that when it ended, I sort of swore off relationships for a while. While he has no clue about The Silo and what I do there, he’s also observed me for the past four years and hasn’t seen me date anyone. I’ve been to dinner at their table, gone out with him and Lorelei on

many a weekend, but they’ve never seen me with a date. And why would I? Even though I truly understand what happened to our relationship, Tarryn left me a little jaded by her infidelity. Besides, there was no shortage of tourists and locals to fuck once I settled here in Jackson. Once The Silo opened, that pretty much sealed my fate as a bachelor because I could get off whenever I wanted with no-strings attached. It’s not that I’m opposed to the strings, but it’s just easier when they’re not involved. “This is monumental, dude,” he says with a grin. “It’s about time you started dating again.” “We’re friends,” I correct him. “She’s down on her luck and crashing at my place for a few days.” Friends who are fucking though. “Friends my ass,” he says without any qualms of dismissing my motives so quickly. “So when do Lorelei and I get to meet her? How about dinner this weekend?” “Maybe,” I say, not bothering to try to assert that this is a friends-only deal. He’s not buying it. Not because he has any great insight into me, but because he doesn’t want to. Jake’s always been a romantic at heart, and he wants everyone to fall in love, get married, and pop out kids. “She’s going to come here after she’s done dropping resumes off, so you can meet her then.” “She’s job hunting?” he asks before taking a sip of his coffee. “Yeah, you hiring?” “Not right now, but I will be in about two weeks to gear up for the start of hunting season. I’ll need some extra help to keep track of all the expeditions and guides.” “How many are you up to now?” I ask curiously. Jake has never hunted or fished in his life that I know of, but he’s become quite successful at gathering knowledgeable guides who flock to this area during peak tourist season to pick up work. “I’ve got eleven,” he says nonchalantly. “Seven returning from last year and four new that I’m hiring.” “Jesus,” I say with a teasing grin. “Do you even bother with the snow sporting world anymore?” “Still my one true love,” he answers before pushing his chair back and standing up. “And I need to get to it as I have a shitload of stuff to do today. I’m already a few hours behind.” “Sure, man,” I say, standing up as well and not wanting to hold him up… too much. But I have to ask, “Listen, this friend of mine… her name’s Cat, and she’s really in a tough spot. If you hear of any job openings, let me know, okay?” “You know I will,” he reassures. “But you know it’s tough around here. Everyone wants to live and work in this area.” And that’s the fucking truth. I’ve been all over the world and much of the United States, and there isn’t much that’s comparable to this area in the way of scenery and activities. Throw in the grandeur of Yellowstone just north of us, and the competition for work is stiff. Movement over Jake’s shoulder and beyond the open doorway of the breakroom catches my attention. I see Cat walking toward us. I’ll admit that my tongue was hanging out of my head this morning when she came out of the bedroom wearing a slim-fitted skirt that came just down to her knees but with a slit up the side that showed just a tiny peek of her lower thigh when she walked in her high heels. It wasn’t enough to be overtly sexy, but it was enough to get a man’s attention and for him to wonder what else was up there. Luckily, I knew the answer to that question. I smile at her, and she says hesitantly, “The guy up front said you were back here and that I could come on back.” Jake turns to the sound of her voice. Because he’s a genuinely friendly guy and an extrovert on steroids, he sticks his hand out and says, “You must be Cat?”

She enters the breakroom and takes his hand, shooting me a quick smile before looking back to him. “And you must be Jake. I’ve heard a lot about you.” “And I haven’t heard nearly enough about you,” he says as he gives a quick shake and releases her hand. “But unfortunately I’ve got to get to work. So I demanded that your man set up a double date with me and my wife, Lorelei.” Cat’s eyes cut to mine. While she doesn’t need to say a word, I can read the look. It says, He doesn’t know we’re just fucking? I shoot her back a look that says, It’s more than just fucking and you know it. She smirks at me before turning back to Jake. “That sounds like fun. We should do it soon.” And just like that, it looks like I might be having my first real date in well… for fucking ever. There’s never been anyone other than Tarryn and shit… we were still kids when we started seeing each other. Dates back then consisted of making out in the school library or grabbing an ice cream in town. Once we got older and life got busy, dates were an uncommon occurrence. “Sounds awesome,” Jake says. He turns to look at me with a pointed look that says, Let’s do this sooner rather than later before you chase her off. Turning sideways, he slides past Cat while saying, “Nice to meet you.” “You too,” she murmurs and then turns back to me. “Sorry that took so long.” “No worries,” I assure her. “You hit all the places you wanted to?” A slightly uneasy look crosses her face, but she nods. “Yeah… now it’s a wait and see.” “What happened?” I ask bluntly. I can tell something happened in the last two hours that has her a bit rattled. “What do you mean?” she asks, those large, brown eyes blinking at me in faux innocence. I don’t buy it for a second. “Come on, Cat,” I say softly as I step into her. She looks up at me with her lower lip tucked in between her teeth, and Christ… that’s sexy, but I move past that thought. “You’ve already told me enough of your dirty laundry that you obviously trust me to some extent. Tell me what’s got that beautiful face filled with trouble.” That lip pops free as she gives a resigned sigh, her eyes lowering briefly as she takes in a breath and then looks back up at me. “I ran into Kevin on the street.” For a moment, I don’t comprehend who that is, but then it hits me hard and my protective instincts arise. Reaching out, I take her by the upper arm and pull her a little closer. “Did he hurt you? Are you okay?” She nods quickly. “Yeah… I mean, he was a creep as always, and he threatened me, but I think—” “He fucking threatened you?” I snarl, and she jerks in surprise over the deadly tone in my voice. “Not to fuck with him,” she says timidly. “To forget about the will.” “You two discussed the will?” “Among other things,” she says as she steps backward and pulls her arm slightly to get me to release it. I’m not sure if she’s seeking distance because I just scared her or she doesn’t appreciate the caveman mentality, but I let it go for now. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest. “Okay, how about tell me everything start to finish?” I command. “It was short… we literally bumped into each other on the street. Well, actually, I think he ran into me on purpose to get my attention, but no matter. Anyway, I told him wanted a copy of the signed will and he wasn’t happy about that. But then he propositioned me—” I curse under my breath and that stops Cat’s dialogue. She looks at me in question, and I wave an impatient hand at her. “Sorry… go on.”

“He said I could move back into the Jackson house, but I told him I wouldn’t let his needle dick anywhere near me. Then he told me not to fuck with him, reiterated the Jackson house offer, which was essentially to be his side piece, or I could take five thousand in cash and go away.” “Did he touch you?” I ask through a locked jaw and gritted teeth. She knows by the tone of my voice that her answer could be perilous, so she stiffens her spine and simply says, “Yes. He grabbed me and pulled me into an embrace just before he threatened me. But we were on a public sidewalk and he wasn’t about to make a scene. When I pulled away, he let me go.” Blazing fury fills me as I think about that asshole taking advantage of Cat’s body because he believed his dad owned her, and now trying to do so again. The thought he could think to take what I was fast starting to think of as mine pissed me off. That he would even think about trying to touch her again makes me furious, especially when he essentially forced himself on her before. She may not have fought him, but he damn well knew she didn’t want her husband gifting her to his son whenever he felt the need arise. “Something good came of that meeting though,” she says quickly. My eyes focus in on her, leaving my other thoughts about murdering Kevin behind. “What’s that?” “I know damn well that will leaving me nothing wasn’t executed. Otherwise, he would have never threatened me or tried to pay me off. He was wigged out when I told him I wanted to see the signed copy.” “So what… you think the original will is still in Vegas?” I ask. “I do,” she confirms. “And I’m leaving tomorrow to find out if I’m right.” “What?” I ask in stunned disbelief. She’s leaving? Maybe not coming back? “I’m going to drive back to Vegas,” she says with a gleam in her eye. She gives a pat to her purse. “I was able to pawn all my jewelry, so I have some money to help me get by. I’m getting into that house and Samuel’s office, and I’m not leaving until I know the truth.” “You pawned your jewelry?” I ask in disbelief. “Why would you do that?” “Because I need the money, Rand,” she says with a little irritation in her voice. “I can’t just live off you, you know. And I can’t sit back and let that dickhead take advantage of me anymore.” I hate she has to make these tough choices, and I can’t stand the thought of her being so desperate she pawned her jewelry, but I can understand her reasoning to do just that. Cat’s done with taking a backseat to her life. She let Samuel dictate everything and now that he’s gone, her backbone is starting to shore up. “You should have at least tried to sell the jewelry to some reputable jewelry stores,” I grumble. “I did try,” she says. “No one was interested, so I had no choice.” “Well, at least if you’re owed some of Samuel’s estate, you can get it all back,” I concede. Cat gives an unladylike snort and shakes her head. “I don’t want that jewelry. It means nothing to me. I don’t want anything reminding me of that man and what he did to me.” I smile in understanding and take a step back into her. Putting my arm around her waist, I pull her in and give her a kiss to her forehead. “Okay, I get it. You’re ready to charge into battle and nothing’s holding you back.” She responds by wrapping both arms around my waist, her purse squished in between us. Squeezing me, she says, “That’s right.” “You coming back?” I ask, bracing myself for the possibility that tonight might be the last time I ever see Cat again. “I’m… well, I’m not sure,” she says quietly with her cheek still pressed to my chest, and that’s a better answer than I actually expected. Vegas is Cat’s hometown. She can get a job there quickly, I’d imagine. Nothing here to pull her back this way.

“So what time do we leave tomorrow?” I ask, throwing caution to the wind and then locking my arm tight as I expect her to pull away. She jerks slightly but merely tilts her head back to look at me. “You want to go with me to Vegas?” “Fuck if I’m going to let you ride off into battle alone,” I tell her with a charming grin. “I’m a white knight after all. Besides, I don’t trust Kevin or Richard. If for some reason they’re there, I don’t want you handling them on your own.” “But your work,” she points out. “Pish won’t care,” I tell her confidently. But he’ll so care. He’ll be pissed because he’ll have to get his ass up now and open the shop. He works late hours, preferring to do his inking at night, but I can’t worry about him right now. This is more important—although why, I’m not quite sure. But I’ve decided to follow my gut, and if I lose my job, so be it. I don’t need the money as my earlier sponsorship deals have left me financially secure. “Now how about we go grab some lunch and we can plan what we need to do?” “No… I can’t let you do that. I can’t disrupt your life like that. This may be nothing more than a fool’s errand.” Fool’s errand. Funny. Am I a fool for getting involved like this? Am I just entranced by what an amazing fuck she is or is there something more with this woman? “I’m going and that’s the end of it,” I tell her firmly, but then I try to emphasize that this truly isn’t a big deal. “And you’re not disrupting me. I wouldn’t have offered if it did, okay?” “Rand… it’s too much—” “Cat… I’m going so just accept it. It’ll be a fun road trip. We can buy sugary soda and sour gummy worms to eat on the way, sing bad 80’s songs at the top of our lungs. It’ll be awesome.” I then give her my best and most charming smile. The indecision and doubt on her face melts away, and she gives me a girlish laugh with a pat to my chest before releasing me. “Okay, fine. You can go.” I take her hand, relieved that today will not be our last day together. As I lead her out of the breakroom and through the shop, we wind our way through racks of ski apparel, which is the most direct route to the door. Jake’s behind the counter and throws us a wave. I call out, “Later, man.” “This weekend,” he reminds me with a pointed look. I just nod. I’ll have to call him later and explain this weekend isn’t going to work as, apparently, I’m going to Vegas with this woman and we may or may not be breaking into a house that may or may not belong to her. Also that I may or may not be developing some feelings for a woman who may or may not be in my life for much longer.

Chapter 12

Cat ALTHOUGH IT WAS a nipple puckering forty-two degrees when we left Jackson at six this morning, I don’t regret my decision to wear a loose, flowered skirt for the drive. This time of year in Jackson is amazing. The days are sunny and warm, but the nights get downright cold. The valley floor is thick with wildflowers just starting to fade but the alpine ones are peaking, which paint the mountains with color. But we’re headed south now and when I checked last night, Las Vegas was holding steady with temperatures in the eighties, so I know my choice of apparel is sufficient. Besides, when I kicked off my taupe-colored ballet flats and put my bare feet up on the dashboard of Rand’s Suburban, I know he appreciated the way the skirt slid along my thighs and revealed my skin. I know this because his head immediately snapped my way for a moment. As he studied me, or rather my legs, his lips tipped upward. He didn’t say anything, but he did place a warm palm on my knee and slide his hand along the same path my skirt took. He did this pushing inward slightly so the stroke of his skin against mine was along the inside of my thigh. Sliding his hand slowly along, he pushed my skirt even further up legs until his hand was resting just inches from my panty line. My heart felt like it was about to explode. I knew if he moved his hand just slightly, he’d feel the dampness of my underwear. Yes, I was horny for this man. He fucked me well last night, but it was only once, and then he proclaimed we needed to get to sleep because we had to get up early for the long drive ahead of us. With a man like Rand, I’m finding once just isn’t enough. But he did nothing more than squeeze my inner thigh with his large, warm hand and then pulled it away so it could rest casually again on the steering wheel. It took a good twenty minutes for my heart rate to go back to normal and for me to think coherently. The rest of the trip is proving to be uneventful, however. We’ve been driving for almost eight hours with short stops to refuel and grab something to eat. I’ve offered to drive, but Rand’s refused. Not sure if it’s a macho, alpha thing, a gentlemanly thing, or maybe he just doesn’t trust me with his vehicle, but I’m not averse to riding shotgun as long as he’s not too tired. It was my decision to drive versus fly, which is what Rand wanted to do. He felt the ten and a half hours it would take us to get there was a waste of time, and he’s right about that. But my money’s tight and it was cheaper to drive. I netted around $3300 from pawning my jewelry, which sucks since it was probably worth ten times that amount. But beggars can’t be choosers, and I have to ration my money carefully. This meant I could budget money for gas to Las Vegas, but not plane tickets. Rand offered to buy the air fare, but I shut that conversation down quickly. I also reminded him that I didn’t need him to go with me and that I was driving, and it was the end of the discussion. Except he did somehow convince me to take his Suburban rather than my small Mercedes, which would be more comfortable for Rand, and I felt that was a good compromise. I smile over that word. Compromise. I’ve never been able to compromise with anyone before. It was flat out impossible with my mother, and with Samuel… well, there was no question I’d ever cross him.

But Rand has proven that he’ll listen to me and give my wishes consideration. While I could tell he wasn’t happy at all for me to be spending any of my meager money on this trip—and yes, he was incensed I only got $3300 for my jewelry—he also recognized it was important for me to be in control of how this was done. I keep a running chatter of dialogue going so if nothing else we are semi-entertained. While I’ve intermittently put my feet up on the dashboard and other times curled them up under me in the big expanse of the Suburban’s front passenger seat, Rand has remained a gentleman the entire time. I’ve kept the conversation light because we have some serious shit waiting for us in Vegas, which would be taking our attention soon enough. “What about your family?” I ask him because we’ve been talking about the friends he’s made over the years doing competitive skiing and how they became like a family because he was traveling so much. Rand smiles while maintaining his concentration on the road. We’re on I-15 south with nothing but flat desert valley with shadowy mountains in the distances to look at. Sometimes, the monotony of the landscape can almost be hypnotizing, and not in a good way. “My parents are still back in Vermont where I was raised in a little unincorporated village called Quechee. My dad is a full-time novelist—true crime stuff—and my mom teaches middle school.” “No siblings?” I ask. “Nope. Only child, and as such, I may have been doted on,” he says with a grin as he watches the interstate before him. My heart squeezes in what I think might be a very brief moment of actual jealousy. In those few words… in that smile he has on his face right now, you can see the genuine love for his parents. “Sounds nice,” I murmur as I glance out the passenger window at the desert landscape whizzing by. “It was,” he says pointedly and with no shame for having an amazing family. I turn to look at him to find him staring at me, just briefly before turning his head back to the road. “My parents are great. They sacrificed a lot by sending me to Carrabassett Valley. Not only in the money it cost, but also because it essentially took their only son out of their lives. It was hard on them to let me pursue my dreams. We only got to see each other occasionally, mostly on holidays, even though my parents only lived about four hours away. But between school and training, there was never any free time.” “They sound amazing.” Go away, jealousy. Rand is the type of man who deserves great parents. “The most amazing,” he agrees. “When I started competing on a serious level, my dad started to travel with me because his job can really be done from anywhere. This, of course, took him away from my mom. So it wasn’t a conventional family relationship, but it worked for us.” “Why live so far away from them?” I ask with curiosity. Rand shrugs. “I don’t know. I love Vermont. Its beauty rivals Wyoming. Ton of skiing, my family’s there. Maybe one day, I’ll gravitate back that way, but for now, I have the freedom to travel and live where I want to. I guess until I figure out what I really want to do, I’m fine in Jackson.” I wonder what it would be like to have that type of freedom. And I’m not just talking about financial freedom, as that’s clearly part of Rand’s ability to do what he wants. But to actually just take your time and figure out what you want in life. To have no pressures or worries hanging over your head. To not have to constantly weigh pros and cons of every action you take, or to be forced into something just because your very livelihood would depend on it. Another flare of jealousy burns within my chest for a moment, but I squash it. Rand’s earned his right to have that type of life. I haven’t. Not yet, anyway. “What about you?” he asks, and it takes a moment for the question to permeate. I turn slowly to look at

him—that stunning profile of his—and I wish desperately he didn’t have his sunglasses on because I know that low afternoon desert sun would make his green eyes shimmer like spun glass, and he’d become an even more romantic hero than I was already building him up to be in my mind. “What about me?” I ask hesitantly, although I know deep in my gut what he’s inquiring about. “Your family. What’s your story?” My gaze slides back out to the desert as we fly down the interstate. I’ve never felt a special affinity to Nevada, even though I was born and raised here. Right now, the shades of brown from the hard-packed dirt to the creosote brush feels a lot like my life. Dull, cruddy, and depressing. I contrast those colors to the palette of Rand’s life and where he lives. Vivid greens, cool blues, and sparkling whites. “I have no clue about my father,” I say as I bring my hands to my lap where I twirl my fingers together. “My mom wouldn’t tell me anything about him other than he was an asshole. She didn’t even put his name on the birth certificate.” “What?” Rand says in astonishment. “She didn’t think you’d have the right to judge that yourself?” “Guess not,” I say glumly. I never knew what to think of the man who gave his sperm to my mom. “Do you believe her?” he asks. It surprises me he would question my mother’s character without knowing anything about her. But I suspect Rand is making some preconceived judgments based on what little he knows about me, and let’s face it… he wouldn’t be wrong to question her motives. I question them all the time. “Probably not,” I admit softly, still staring at my hands. “My mother wasn’t a very motherly figure. It’s hard to trust what she says.” “More,” Rand orders, not in an autocrat type of way, but rather in a way that says he’s not going to let me chintz on the gory details of my life. He’s demanding to know my demons, because as he said, how can he slay them if he doesn’t know what they are? “I promise I won’t judge.” My head snaps up and swings to stare at him with my mouth slightly open. “I know you’d never judge me,” I say vehemently. Not once in the entire time I’ve known Rand—whether it was while he was watching me get fucked by other men or while he was absorbing the wretched details of my relationship with Samuel—has he ever looked upon me with anything other than intrigue, lust, curiosity, respect, and most recently, with care. “Then lay it on me,” he urges softly as he takes a moment to turn his attention from the road to give me an encouraging smile. I take a deep breath, pull my bare feet up from the floorboard, and put them on the dash again. I notice briefly it’s time for a pedicure as the polish is starting to chip, then just as quickly remember I can’t afford those anymore. I actually pull my skirt to my knees and hold the edges there with my hands. “I’ll give you a classic example of my childhood,” I say after exhaling. “One night, I woke up really hungry—I was eight, I think. I was hungry because Mom sent me to bed without dinner. She said it was because I was a pain in her ass, but I think it was because she hadn’t bothered to go grocery shopping. But I knew there was probably something I could get out of the cupboards, so I got out of bed and made my way down the narrow hall of our little desert trailer to the kitchen. The kitchen actually stood between the hallway and the living room, and I saw my mom in there with a guy—just some random dude, which was par for the course. They were sitting on the couch, smoking a joint together. There was a pizza on the coffee table. Mostly eaten, but there were two slices left. She saw me and asked what I wanted. I told her I was hungry and asked for some of the pizza. She told me tough shit and to get back to bed. She said it was hers, and she’d need it for the munchies that were sure to come on after they finished smoking their joint. Then they both started laughing hysterically.”

“Unbelievable,” Rand growls from low in his throat. “My mother is irresponsible and selfish. She had absolutely no business having a kid. She didn’t even care when I left home at seventeen. I know this because I came back after a few days to get more of my stuff and she was there. Didn’t even ask where I’d been. Only wanted to know if I had any money, because I’d been working since I was fifteen, to make sure I at least had food.” “Was she on hard drugs or something?” Rand asks in wonder, because that would be a good explanation for her lack of care. “Nope. I mean, yeah, she smoked some pot every once in a while, but she held a steady job. Worked as a secretary at an auto body shop. She had friends. She’d see a lot of different men, but she didn’t really parade them in front of me. I think she was embarrassed she had a kid.” “What a fucking bitch,” Rand mutters. “It’s funny,” I say in reflection. “I left home when I was seventeen, didn’t finish high school, and ended up on the streets for a bit. And still… it was better than what I had. I never had someone care for me before, and that didn’t change whether I was in her house or sleeping on some strange dude’s couch in exchange for a blow job. The difference is that when I was with her, I still always expected she’d care a little. As much as she let me down, over and over again, I always still expected it of her. And that means I was repetitively hurt when I didn’t get it. At least on the streets, I had no expectations that anyone could smash.” Rand’s hand comes out, and he takes mine. He pulls it across the cab, making me lean a little toward him, and gives a soft kiss to the inside of my wrist. “Your mom sounds like a vile person. I’m thinking one of the best things you ever did was leaving when you were young. You’re in a much better place now that you’re rid of her.” I give a cold, bitter laugh, and shake my head. “I’m not rid of her. That woman became a leech on me once I married Samuel.” “Come again?” he asks with a head tilt. “She saw in the society pages that I got married. Not two days later, she’s at our house, asking for money.” “Did you give it to her?” Rand asks. “Yeah, I did,” I admit to him, but without shame. “Why?” “Because it made me feel superior to her. Is that bad?” Rand gives a chuckle and squeezes my hand. “You were already superior to her, Cat. That money didn’t prove anything.” I squeeze his hand back. “Maybe not, but I couldn’t say no. She was my mom, after all.” “Amazing,” Rand murmurs as we fly down the highway. “That you would still have any empathy for a woman who treated you so badly throughout your life. I think that makes you absolutely and perfectly amazing.” “Or stupid,” I mutter, and Rand laughs. “Maybe a little foolish, but never stupid,” he offers. “I’ll take that,” I tell him with a grin. “Of course, she called the minute she heard Samuel had died. I’m sure she saw that in the paper. I figured I’d be hearing something from her, asking about my inheritance, and that’s exactly why she called. You’d be proud. I put her off and told her I didn’t have time to deal with her. Ironic it wasn’t but a week later and I was all but homeless. Good thing she’s not asking for money now, huh?” “Yeah, well, you better not give her one dime of that money you got for your jewelry. You earned that

the hardest of ways and that’s for your future, not hers.” “Agreed,” I say as I see a looming sign growing closer. Las Vegas – 56 Miles. Almost there. And then I’ll hopefully find out what my future really holds.

Chapter 13

Rand “BIG STEP UP from my little trailer in the desert, huh?” Cat says on a low whisper as we stand before the front portico of one of the biggest houses I’ve ever seen in my life. The house Cat shared with Samuel is monstrous. She had told me it was eleven-thousand square feet. To be that big, it comes in three chunks with a main center section and two wings that flank at a slight angle inward. Done in taupe stucco, brown brick, and red tile, it fits into the desert scenery well. It’s nine AM. We decided that if we were going to enter the house, we were going to do it as if she belonged there. Without really knowing what Samuel’s will truly says, it’s more than plausible that Cat has every right to be here. We thought it would look far less suspicious if done in the bright light of day. Thus, we got to the hotel yesterday afternoon, a lower class, budget hotel Cat chose that sat on the outskirts of Vegas. Since she was insisting on paying, I had to let her choose. Rest assured, if it was in my hands, we’d be at the Bellagio, but I’m honoring her need to do some of this on her own. It’s important to her pride. “Ready to do this?” I ask as we stand side by side on the bottom step. Before us stands double doors made of solid wood, and either her key will work or it won’t. Same for the security code. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she says firmly, and then reaches out with her hand to take mine. It feels natural. It makes me remember how much I missed being part of a unit. Together, we walk up the steps. Cat told me on the way here that Samuel bought this house about twenty years ago after his first wife died. Because she was the love of his life, he couldn’t bear to stay in the family home where they raised their two sons. Since he moved in, Cat had been his fourth wife, the other two before her outliving their usefulness after they reached the age of twenty-eight. Cat told me she wondered if Samuel did to them what he did to her. I didn’t offer an opinion because I think we both know he did. When we reach the front door, Cat releases her hold on me and digs into her purse slung crossways over her chest and resting at her hip. She pulls out a set of keys, flips through them, and chooses a goldcolored one that doesn’t look much different from the others. With a deep breath, she reaches out and slides the key in. Twisting her wrist, she lets out a huge sigh of relief when the lock turns. She looks at me, her lips peeling into a wide grin and her eyes sparkling with excitement. I smile back at her, relieved of course that her key still works, but knowing deep down that it doesn’t mean shit. She may have still been cut out of Samuel’s will, but the locks just haven’t been changed yet. Cat pushes the door open, and we both step into a cavernous foyer aglow with natural light from the huge, arched window above the door. A beep from the security panel beside the door catches my attention, and I watch as Cat puts in the code. It shuts the alarm off, and we both let out an audible sigh of relief. The house is sparsely decorated—minimalistic. It would be easy to say that was so because Samuel was a bachelor for a long time and didn’t care what his house looked like, but I’m going to guess it’s because Samuel didn’t get much pleasure out of life and didn’t care what his house looked like. From

what I know about the asshole, he derived pleasure from watching his wife be degraded, so I doubt fancy artwork and priceless knick-knacks would do much for him. “Come on. His office is this way,” Cat whispers, reaching back for my hand to pull me toward the stairs. I immediately place my palm against hers, but ask, “Why are you whispering?” “I don’t know,” she rasps back with a giggle. “I guess because I’m not sure if I’m actually breaking and entering, or not.” “Let’s assume not and talk in our normal voices,” I prod her. Although she’s cute as fuck doing that, it’s also setting me on edge a bit, making me feel like we shouldn’t be here, and I’d rather take the optimistic route that we are definitely allowed. Cat had assured me there was no full-time staff who lived in the house. While Samuel employed a chef, housekeeper, and an attendant for his personal needs, none of those employees lived in residence. As far as we knew, Kevin was still back in Jackson, probably never suspecting Cat would come here to search the house. Richard was probably oblivious to everything but we didn’t know that for sure. Cat decided not to reach out to him, mainly because she figured he wasn’t going to help her. He may not have any clue what Kevin was doing from Jackson, but then again, he might have full knowledge. We’d never know, so why alert him any further that Cat was questioning the validity of the will? Now, it certainly can’t be helped she let Kevin know she was questioning it, but we’re sort of banking on his ego and his complete underestimation of Cat to keep him happily in the dark. So if we’re lucky, he’s probably on a fishing trip right now on the Snake River. Cat says that’s one of the reason’s he goes to Jackson, and if there’s a God above, maybe he’ll fall out of the fucking boat and drown. Cat leads me up a curved staircase done in deep mahogany to a large second-floor landing. Hallways branch left and right… entryways into the wings of the house. “My room was that way.” She points to the right, and then back to the left. “Samuel’s that way.” I find it interesting she referenced her room in the past tense. Not sure if that’s because she doesn’t believe this house is hers or that she doesn’t intend to come back here regardless. I’ll ask her about that later, but for now, I follow her straight ahead from the landing to a set of double doors that she pushes open to a huge office. It’s what I would expect of an egomaniac, billionaire hotelier. Expensively paneled walls, luxurious silk rugs, ornately carved desk, and the faint musk of cigars in the air. “Samuel spent a lot of time in here,” Cat murmurs in a grateful tone as she drops my hand and walks in. Glad he spent time in here and not bothering her, I’m sure. She heads straight for his desk and pulls back the massive leather chair on wheels so she can sit down in it. Turning to a side drawer, she pulls it open and starts rifling through. I walk up to her and stand behind the chair to the side, watching her progress. She pulls out a thick pack of stapled papers and hands them to me, saying, “Our pre-nup. The will trumps anything in the pre-nup as best I can remember, but we should take pictures of this as well.” Before we came in here, we agreed we wouldn’t take any documents with us. Our main goal was to verify if the will cutting Cat out existed, and to look at the current will if we could find it. Because there’s not a copier in Samuel’s office, we’ll have to take a picture of each page with her iPhone. I hold the pre-nup without looking at it. I don’t care what deal Cat made with her devil of a husband. I only care about her not getting screwed over right now. “Bingo,” she shouts with glee and pulls out another thick document. She lays it on the desk, and I step in closer to look at it over her shoulder. It’s titled “Revocable Trust Agreement and Pour-Over Will”. “Quite a fancy name for a will,” I mutter.

She nods. “Trust agreement… will… I’m assuming they’re just different names for the same thing; how to distribute his estate.” Cat starts to skim through it, her finger sliding down the page as she scans and flips pages. “Kevin is the trustee, but I knew that. Just means he’ll administer the estate. Blah, blah, blah, blah,” she says as she breezes past paragraphs entitled Debts & Expenses and Administrative Powers of Fiduciaries. My eyes actually start to cross when her finger stops and she says, “This is the paragraph.” I lean over closer and see the word Residuary. Cat reads out loud, “Upon my death, I direct my trustee to transfer five-million dollars to my wife, Catherine Lyons Vaughn. Pursuant to our pre-nuptial agreement, she will have no ownership rights or interests in any of my real property at the time of my death, with the exception of the house in Jackson, Wyoming. I further direct my trustee to ensure transfer of title and deed of said property to my wife.” “Did you know that was in his will?” I ask her. She nods. “Not the exact details, but he told me he would leave me with enough money to sustain me as well as a house. I didn’t know it would be the Jackson house. I suppose that was his way of reminding me in death how much he loved taking me there.” I wince at the bitterness in her voice. There’s no way she’d ever want to stay in a place that held such terrible memories for her. Cat flips quickly through the rest of the document to the very end, where I can see the original ink of Samuel’s signature as well as a notary public seal. “He signed this two weeks after we were married,” she says, still looking at the document. “We need to go through the rest of his stuff,” I tell her as I squat down at the drawer that’s still open and start rifling through the contents. “If there’s another will or trust agreement or whatever the fuck you call it dated after that one, you’re screwed.” “But if there’s not, Kevin’s screwed,” she says, and my head turns toward her because of the icy tone in her voice. She narrows her eyes at me and in a voice bristling with anger, she says, “That asshole kicked me out over five million dollars and a house? When Samuel’s estate is worth billions? What a fucking douche bag.” I give her a wry smile. “I think it was more about controlling you than the money. The fact he wanted you to stay at the house tells me all I need to know. He was banking on you crawling to him for help.” “Bet he was stunned I didn’t,” she says quietly. Nodding in agreement, I turn back to the drawer, eager to get this over with and get the hell out. I start flipping through hanging folders containing tax returns, bank statements, and deeds of trust. Folder after folder of the story of Samuel Vaughn’s wealthy life. “Thank you, Rand,” Cat murmurs. It’s so soft I barely hear it, yet my entire body feels like it’s been punched by the depth of emotion in her words. My head rises and turns to her as she sits in the massive leather chair that swallows her up. “If you hadn’t have taken me in, I might have gone to Kevin for help.” “No way,” I say with a soft smile. I don’t reach out and touch her like I want to, because I don’t want to give any credence to her suspicion of what she might have done. I know Cat. She’s stronger than that and would have never given Kevin the ability to control her. So I stay reserved so she knows it’s a ludicrous thought. “The Cat Lyons I know wouldn’t have ever done that. You would have figured another way. Hell, you did figure another way. You sold your jewelry and you came to Vegas to find the truth. So fuck you very much, Kevin Vaughn. This woman doesn’t need you.” Her beautiful, brown eyes crinkle and she can’t help the deep laugh that erupts. “Yeah. Fuck you very much, Kevin Vaughn.” Now I laugh with her and totally can’t resist reaching out to wrap my hand around her neck, pulling

her forward. I kiss her hard and knock the laugh right out of both of us. When I pull back slightly, I nip at her lip and ask, “Would it be bad form for us to fuck in this house?” She snickers. “I don’t think I could get wet for you in this house.” “Then I insist when we leave here, we head over to the Bellagio. My treat. We’re getting a nice suite with a view over the lake, and I’m going to fuck you on a bed stuffed with feathered down and covered in silk.” She sighs and her eyes are closed with a dreamy expression on her face when I pull all the way back. That look… right there. I want her to have that on her face all the time. Regardless of where this creature lands in life, be it here or back in Jackson, I want this woman to walk through the rest of her days with that look on her face.

* I STEP UP behind Cat as she looks out the window at the Bellagio lake below us. It’s timed water show set to music is quiet right now, and besides, it’s better to see that stuff at night. Of course, she’s from Vegas so she’s probably seen it a hundred times before. But I’m glad we’re staying here. It’s a good way to celebrate. Celebrate that we didn’t get arrested. Celebrate we found the signed trust agreement leaving her money and the house. Celebrate we didn’t find the one that supposedly cut Cat out. Of course, it didn’t mean there wasn’t one, but it wasn’t in Samuel’s house. We had to figure out our next move, but we could do that later, and besides… I want Bridger’s input on that. He always has a cool head and a chess-like mind, and this is all about maneuvering into the right spot at the right time. My hands go to Cat’s waist, and I press the front of my body against the back of hers. She didn’t give me any argument about coming to the Bellagio for the night and letting me pay. That’s progress. Her head falls back and my chin drops to rest on her shoulder. “You know, I think feathers and silk are overrated. I’m perfectly fine just fucking you up against this window right now.” Many women would laugh, blush, and coyly banter with me. But not Cat. Taking one of my hands, she drags it across her stomach and pushes it down in between her legs. She chose to wear a pair of camel-colored pants with wide legs and matching heels to our scouting mission at her house. Her ivory-colored blouse and pearls made her look every inch the rich wife, and she quipped that if she were going to get arrested, she was going to look damn good doing it. I agreed. She looked damn good, but now I’m bemoaning the fact she’s not wearing her simple floral skirt she had on yesterday for the ride. It would make things so much easier. Still, I remain undaunted and because her hand insistently pushes mine right to where she wants me, I reward her with a hard press of my palm against the bottom of her zipper. I estimate her clit is right about there and I know I’m on the money when she moans and tilts her hips into me. “How about we get these pants off you?” I ask her, but I don’t wait for permission. Instead, I bring both hands to her button, where I easily open it and pull the zipper down. I push the material, making sure to grab her panties with my fingers on the way down and squat right alongside. Pulling past the smooth, silky skin of her thighs until it’s pooled around her feet, which are still encased in four-inch heels. “How far can you spread your legs?” I ask her. She turns her head over her shoulder, eyes at half mast, and tries to kick one leg out, but the constraint

from her pants doesn’t give. My eyes slide to her bare ass and just a peek of her pussy below, and I know that’s not enough for what I want to do. “Lift your leg,” I tell her, tapping her left calf. She lifts that one up, so I can pull the material of her pants and underwear free. Before setting her foot back to the ground, I kiss the inside of her thigh. I don’t worry about the other leg, because now she’s free enough to spread wide. Cat doesn’t even wait for my command but pushes her left leg out about a foot. Now her pussy opens up to me. I surge upward, bringing my hands to her ass and peeling her cheeks apart so I can have better access. Tilting my head back, I bring my mouth to her and slide my tongue in as deep as it will reach. “Oh, God… Rand,” Cat moans. She’s wet and tastes amazing. My tongue is drenched with her need, and while my thoughts were to get her off with my mouth, my cock is so painfully hard that I want to give it relief. So I pull my mouth free of her and stand up, my hands working at my belt, button, and zipper. Cat’s ready for me as she bends forward, placing her hands against the window glass and tilting her ass outward. “That’s a good girl,” I murmur as I pull my cock out. Step right up to her. Dip my legs. Slide my way home. “Mmmmmm,” I groan through tightly closed lips and gritted teeth. Because fuck, that feels good. She responds with a low moan of her own, rotating her hips… trying to draw me in deeper, but that’s impossible. I’m rooted. “Hard or slow fucking?” I ask her because I want Cat to start realizing she has choices. I might take control most times and lead the way, but I want her to know she has the right to choose otherwise. The right to ask for something she wants. “Slow,” she whispers, and I have to smile. Usually when we go at it, it’s as if we’re in overdrive, both racing as fast as we can to the climax because we know we can do it all over again. But yeah, she’s right. I think, for right now, we go slowly. We have all day and night, as we’re not leaving until tomorrow morning to head back to Jackson. So I fuck her very slow and while at times it’s almost torturous to hold back on blowing, in the end, it’s a fucking stellar orgasm that actually drops both of us to our knees when we come together.

Chapter 14

Cat I PUT IN my earrings, the only pair I kept that are sedate gold hoops, and check my watch—which I also kept. I kept it because I’m constantly checking the time and will go nuts without it, but also so I could have something else to pawn should I need to down the road. Walking back out to the kitchen of Rand’s apartment, I look down once again at the note he left me when he jetted out early again before I even woke up. Cat, Stuff to do but make sure you’re dressed casual and ready to go by noon. Rand Short, to the point, and totally not telling me a damn thing. But it’s the lunch hour and I’m guessing maybe he’s taking me out to lunch. Maybe like a date? Which is a foreign concept for the most part. I mean… I went out on dates with Samuel. They were formal affairs where he’d send a stylist to me, who would dress and polish me up. Then a driver would pick me up at my crummy little apartment I shared with two other strippers. They’d jokingly say, “Have fun, Vivienne” as I walked out the door, an homage to Pretty Woman. Samuel would then take me to a posh restaurant I couldn’t even afford to work in and we’d make polite small talk while we ate. So not sure that’s really a date. Not the type that a twenty-four-year-old woman should have. Maybe we’ll go to The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar for burgers, which is totally a tourist trap, but I’m not really a local, am I? Perhaps a stroll around town square afterward? That sounds fun—like a real date should. The knocking on the door surprises me, and I flip my watch to look at it again. Noon on the dot, but that can’t be Rand as he’d just walk right in. I go to the door, put my eye to the peephole, and see two women standing there. Young, roughly my age. One a brunette, the other a blonde. I open the door and peer out at them. “Can I help you?” “Cat, right?” the brunette says, sticking her hand out and not even waiting for mine to meet hers. She takes it and gives a quick handshake. “I’m Callie Hayes… Woolf Jennings’ girlfriend.” I immediately turn beet red and almost start to hyperventilate. Woolf Jennings’ girlfriend is shaking my hand? What the fuck? I mean, seriously, what the fuck? I had sex with her boyfriend a few times at The Silo back in the day. I furiously try to scrub some of those images from my head as I desperately try to think of what to say, but then she’s dropping my hand and the blonde—who looks vaguely familiar—steps forward, taking it. “I’m Sloane Preston. I think you know my boyfriend, Cain Bonham.” A strangled sound gurgles up from my throat, and I go dizzy. I think I might vomit for a moment, as I can only think these women are here to beat the shit out of me. I’ve been with both of their men, on more than one occasion, and in a nastier way than I’m betting these two beautiful women have been, and I just

know I’m done for. The blonde drops my hand, tilts her head to the side, and asks, “Are you okay? You look a little pale?” “Um… I… um…” I stutter as I take a step back from them. My gaze flicks back and forth between the women, wondering if they have weapons and why in the hell I didn’t slam the door in their faces. The brunette—what was her name… Callie?—gives a nudge to the other with a knowing look on her face and takes a tentative step toward me through the doorway. “She thinks we’re here to bust her chops about The Silo.” She says this to her friend, but her eyes are on me. I take another step backward. “Well, reassure her we’re not,” the blonde—Sloane, I think—urges her. “I’m here to offer you a job,” Callie says, and I halt my backward momentum. “Excuse me?” I ask, stunned at this weird turn of events. “Bridger told Woolf you were looking for a job. Woolf told me. I happen to be looking for someone to help with my dad’s campaign—” “—he’s running for governor,” Sloane pipes in. “—that’s right. Things are starting to ramp up and I need help,” Callie concludes. Okay, now this is just too weird for me to comprehend. With all the peculiarity and stress in my life, I seriously cannot digest what these women are doing. “Let me get this straight,” I ask with hands on my hips and eyes slightly narrowed at Callie. I decide not to hold any punches. “You want to offer me a job on your father’s political campaign?” “That’s right,” she says with a bright smile. “I mean… you can do some basic typing, right. Address envelopes? Stick signs in yards? It’s pretty basic, but it’s a full-time position.” I ignore the requirements for the job as I’m more than qualified and decide to really address the elephant in the room. “I’ve been with both your men at The Silo. Why are you helping me? Why in the hell are you even here shaking my hand?” My voice gets a little hysterical at the end, and Callie’s eyes soften. She ignores the fact I haven’t invited her in and takes two more steps toward me. Her hands come to my shoulders and she squeezes them. “Cat… I don’t know you, but Bridger and Woolf both assure me that you are a very nice person. Sloane and I know all about The Silo and what our men did there before we came along. And that’s where I want you to focus… you were with them before Sloane and I got involved, and we have no right to judge or be mad at something they did before we fell in love. So if we don’t have a problem with it, I don’t think you should.” I blink at her stupidly because although her words make sense, I know just enough about women to know they are jealous creatures. I also know no women who would want to be friends or co-workers with someone who had very kinky sex with their significant other. “She doesn’t believe you,” Sloane says as she leans a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Figures.” “Well, we don’t have time to convince you. I’m starved. We promised Rand we’d take you to lunch and discuss the job, so let’s go,” Callie says in exasperation and takes my elbow. I’m still sort of frozen from the shock of all this, but my feet willingly move when she pulls me toward the door. “Rand did tell you we’d be by, right?” I shake my head, no words coming out. As I grab my purse on the bench in the mudroom as an afterthought, Sloane mutters, “Typical man. Forgetting the important things. Don’t worry… we’ll have a great time at lunch. Margaritas at The Merry Piglet make everything better.” Now that is something that’s finally clicking with me. I could use a margarita. Or five.

* “SO THEN EVERYTHING spills out of my purse,” Sloane says with a gasping laugh, “and a butt plug rolls out. Right to the foot of the waiter. He picks it up and just hands it to me with a red face. And Cain was dying laughing.” Callie wheezes she’s laughing so hard, slapping at the table and nearly knocking over her third margarita. I look back and forth between these two women as I have been most of lunch… with my mouth hanging open. Sloane looks up at me with tear-filled eyes and smirks. “Come on, Cat. That’s funny, right?” “She’s still in shock,” Callie affirms with eyes just as wet from laughter. “Maybe we broke her,” Sloane says thoughtfully, wiping a finger under her eye to push away the moisture. “Rand’s going to be pissed.” I take another healthy slurp of my margarita, also my third, and mutter with a smile, “It’s funny.” Then I take another slurp. “So what’s your take on anal?” Sloane asks me, and I start choking. “Like or dislike? Callie still hasn’t worked up enough courage to take it all the way, but I love it with Cain.” “I… I…” I stutter as both of them look at me with mischievous faces. Eyes shining and happy, and truly, truly not in the least offended by the presence of a woman such as me. I mean, they seriously look like they’re enjoying this company and discussion. Almost like I’d imagine real girlfriends do. Resolution strengthens my spine. I decide to accept the fact that they seem to like me and are not put out by my past relationships with their boyfriends. I decide to own it. “Yeah… I like anal,” I say confidently with my chin tilted up. “If it’s done right. And let me tell you, Rand does it right.” Callie puts her chin in the palm of her hand and gives a dreamy sigh. “Maybe one day.” “Girl,” Sloane drawls in exaggerated fashion. “You and I can compare notes later when Saint Callie isn’t around.” “Hey,” she exclaims, sitting up straight and glaring at Sloane. “I am not a saint. I’ll have you know I’ve done a three-way with Woolf and Bridger.” My mouth falls back open again. I decide to fill it with more margarita. “Please,” Sloane scoffs and waves a dismissive hand at her. “Who hasn’t had Bridger in a multiple before?” My head snaps toward Sloane. I suck deeper on the straw until the last liquid is pulled up and the ice rattles in loneliness at the bottom of the glass. “You’ve had Bridger before, right?” Sloane asks with a naughty sparkle in her eye. “I would plead the fifth,” I say resolutely, “but I feel like you two would berate it out of me. So yes… I’ve had Bridger before.” “He’s yummy,” Sloane says. “Totally,” Callie agrees. “And your dad’s the governor?” I ask with comedic suspicion and a cocked eyebrow at her. “Because it’s just so hard to believe with some of the things coming out of your mouth.” “It’s true,” she says solemnly, holding up her hand and placing the other over her heart. “Swear it.” “And you really want me to work for you?” I ask, not with any more doubt, but more in awe because I can’t understand why this opportunity is being given to me. I did nothing to deserve it.

“I really do,” she says with a genuine smile. “We help friends around here. You’re Bridger and Woolf’s friend, and so you are now my friend.” “And mine,” Sloane chimes in. Callie leans forward, pushes her margarita glass to the side, and says, “So I’m offering you the job and I think you should say, ‘Thank you, Callie, I accept.’” “Thank you, Callie,” I say with a nod of my head in gratitude. “I accept.” Because I’d be an idiot not to. “Excellent,” she says, beaming me a huge grin, and then she’s shouting across the restaurant. “Livvy, another round of margaritas.” “Oh my God,” Sloane mutters. “I’m going to be so drunk. Cain’s going to need to come get me.” “Yeah, I think our workday got shot to shit,” Callie agrees. “Good thing I’m your boss.” My head snaps to Sloane. “You’re working the campaign too?” “Yup,” she says, sucking down the last of her third margarita. “Only until I can find something better suited.” Callie kicks Sloane under the table. I know this because the table rattles and Sloane yelps before glaring at Callie. “Ow. That hurt.” “Good, because that was a strike to my heart that you’d even imply you’d work somewhere else,” Callie says seriously. Sloane rolls her eyes and throws a thumb in Callie’s direction. “I’m a journalist by nature, so I’m gladly helping Callie out until I can do something more suited to my degree.” “Gotcha,” I say in understanding. “So, listen,” Callie says in a low, secretive voice as she leans forward. Sloane does the same, apparently eager for gossip. “I don’t know any details, but Woolf shared with us that things with your husband were really bad. And he said that you’d been kicked out of your house, left with no money after he died, and that Rand was helping you out.” Sloane nods seriously in agreement. “What she’s trying to say is, now in addition to Rand, you got two new peeps who will have your back until you can get on your feet.” “And you don’t have to tell us any details, but if you do need to talk, especially to another woman, you only have to call,” Callie adds on. Before I can respond, the waitress returns with a tray loaded with three margaritas and another basket of chips and salsa. We murmur thanks and when she leaves, Sloane reaches out to take a chip. How she can even fit any more food in her stomach is beyond me. She already killed a large chimichanga. I take a moment to let not only what they just said to sink in, but everything that’s happened in the last seven days. I’ve had apparently five people step up and go to bat for me, and they hardly know me at all. It provokes strange feelings within me because I’ve never even had those closest to me—mother or husband namely—care for me like this. For the first time, I think I start to have a small glimmer of hope that there are good people in the world, and I don’t just have to push my way through life in survival mode. I might actually be able to have fulfillment and happiness. “I didn’t marry for love,” I say suddenly, looking up from my glass to first Callie’s eyes and then Sloane’s. “I’d run away from home at seventeen, spent time on the streets, and then eventually became a stripper. Marrying Samuel was my way out of destitution and back-alley blow jobs so I could afford to eat.” Callie and Sloane both wince, but their eye contact never wavers. Their gazes don’t hold a speck of judgment but are full of empathy.

“He abused me,” I continue on, and Sloane’s hand shoots across the table to cover mine. She gives it a squeeze. “Not physically himself, but to make long, sordid stories short, he farmed me out to friends and business contacts. Even his son.” “Fucking douche-bag, evil asshole,” Sloane growls, and Callie’s eyes get moist again. “He made me go to The Silo, and he made sure I became known as the woman who loved getting gang banged because that’s what he got off on,” I say, realizing I don’t have any bitterness about it right now. It is what it is, and for whatever reasons these opportunities are being afforded to me, they landed me in a place with good people that I wouldn’t have met but for The Silo. “And if you’re wondering why I just didn’t leave,” I continue, playing with my straw, “I berate myself over and over about my stupidity in not. But if I’m going to be honest with my new friends, I didn’t leave because even though he did those things to me, my life was still better than what it was before. I wasn’t handed out often, and I’ll even admit, a lot of things that happened at The Silo I enjoyed to some extent. I don’t know what type of woman that makes me… to let her husband treat her that way… which is why I still find it a bit hard to accept you want to be my friends.” “Cat,” Callie murmurs. “We all make choices in our life that we are held accountable for later. I can’t see that the choice you made to stay does anything more than label you a survivor. It’s just that simple.” “And I’ll add on to that,” Sloane says quietly. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with liking your time at The Silo. Callie and I have both experienced it, and we love the freedom it provides. As women, we need to revel in our sexuality and accept that we are allowed to have desires and fantasies we want to be fulfilled. The Silo gives that to us. Find the right man on top of that—who understands and values your inner kinkiness—and well, hell… that’s like the best sex ever.” “Yeah,” Callie reiterates. “Don’t ever feel ashamed about The Silo and what you’ve done there. Even with Woolf and Cain. Granted… we don’t need details, but it’s nothing that changes our opinion about you.” “So true,” Sloane agrees. My heart swells and grows warm. It settles in deep and a rush of joy pulses within me. These women… two amazing, non-judgmental, caring and confident women… actually seem to like me. Accept me. Want to help me. Maybe my time at The Silo was nothing more than fate or pre-destiny. Maybe I had to meet and marry Samuel, have him debase me and ultimately lead me to The Silo, so that I could be in this very place at this very moment. My thoughts turn to Rand, who has been equally as non-judgmental and caring as Callie and Sloane. Actually more so. I think about what Sloane just said… find a man who understands and values my inner kinkiness. That’s totally Rand. From the very start. An idea strikes and it might even be fueled by the margaritas, but I know by the time I’m ready to act on said idea, I’ll be sober. Reaching into my purse, I say, “I need to send a quick text to Rand.” “Oooohhhh,” Sloane gloats with a knowing look in her eyes. “You’re sexting him, aren’t you?” “Well, yeah,” I admit with a sheepish smile as my fingers fumble across the keys. “Kinda, sort of.”

Chapter 15

Rand I’M NOT SURE I’VE ever had a day drag by more slowly than today has. It’s been a long day. Agonizing actually. It started off with me meeting Bridger to give him the trust agreement we took pictures of and that I had printed out early this morning. I left the copy with him and asked him to look it over, but I talked to him about what route we should take in the meantime. On the way back to Jackson from Vegas, Cat agreed to let me talk to Bridger first. She wanted to call Kevin right then and there to confront him, but I wanted to take a bit of a more cautious approach. It might be better to hit up an attorney first for a legal opinion, but I knew Bridger always had great advice, so I figured we should wait it out just a day so I could talk to him. I had already set up Callie and Sloane to take Cat out to lunch today. Woolf had texted me late Monday night after we got back to Jackson and Cat was already asleep, telling me he’d talked to Callie and she was going to ask Cat to work for her on the campaign. This was excellent news and was a job about as far away from The Silo as I could get her. Ironic since not but a few weeks ago, Sloane was digging around as an undercover reporter trying to connect the governor to the sex club. So while Cat’s apparently eating burritos, I’m spending a tremendously slow day at Westward Ink, watching the clock tick down to quitting time so I can get home to Cat. And yeah… weird that I’m thinking words like “home” and “Cat” almost synonymously, but I can’t fucking help it. The more I become embroiled in her affairs, the more intrigued I become by her. The more she starts to blossom and starts to become the confident, take-control woman I know her to be deep inside, the more attracted I become to her. The more I get to know about her and the things she’s overcome so far, the more I become attached to her. The more she milks my cock, the more I want her to milk it. Hard and often. Haven’t even thought about The Silo once since she and I talked about it five nights ago. My phone dings with a text and I see it’s from Cat. Callie said they were going to The Merry Piglets, which always means margaritas with lunch. It’s cute and coy, and I never thought I’d use those words to describe Cat. Sloane and Callie think I should own my inner kinkiness. And I’m kinda drunk.

I’m sitting at the front counter, previously bored out of my mind but now fully alert with interest. I immediately write back, I think you should own it too. And you’re a cute drunk. It takes a few moments for her to text me back, and I wonder what an inebriated Cat really looks like. Never have I seen her intoxicated. She never once had an alcoholic drink at The Silo, and I’ve never seen her look to be high or out of control. I bet she’s fun though. Want to know something that really turned me on at The Silo?

And there it is… the first time I’ve thought about The Silo in five long days. It’s a record for sure. My fingers fly across my phone. Yes, I do. Her reply comes back much faster than the priors, and I go ahead and take that to mean she’s eager to let me know her dirty thoughts. This I can get on board with because, for the most part, Cat’s sort of taken

a backseat in bed and let me control how things go. I’d like to see her start making some demands of her own so I can show her there’s someone who really wants to give her that. I get achingly hard when I read her reply. Watching you and Logan together. My head spins. She liked watching Logan and me together? I can’t believe she’d even remember something like that because in The Silo, that stuff’s pretty normal. My cock starts to throb realizing she enjoyed watching me. Sure, with another guy, but that doesn’t bother me. What Logan and I do together is hot. We don’t mess around with each other without a girl involved, as neither of us is gay. Not even sure we’re bisexual. Maybe. Who knows? But we both have no qualms with some guy-on-guy action when we’re in the heat of things. Always in a multiples or an orgy-type situation. He’s fucked me and I’ve fucked him, although he prefers to top. I like both. We’ve both sucked each other’s cock, and let me tell you… he’s damn good. Not as good as Cat, but damn near close. It’s not been that long since we did a fantasy together, and a smile comes to my face as I remember that was a four-on-one we did with Bridger, Cain, and Sloane. Logan and I didn’t have sex that time, as it was all about Sloane’s pleasure, but we did a lot of touching while in the process, and that’s just as nice. I text her back without giving any deep thought to what I’m getting ready to offer. Want a repeat? I hold my breath for what seems like an agonizingly long time, until I get back two words guaranteed to make the rest of this day go slower. I do. We’ll be at the apartment by 6:30. Be naked and ready. And sober. I want you fully alert.

After I send that text, I dial Logan’s number. He’ll be game. I know he’ll be well done with work for the day, cleaned up, and ready to go by 6:30 PM. Which is technically a ridiculously early time to get your sexy party on, but fuck if I’m going to wait.

* LOGAN’S WAITING AT the top of the stairs that lead up to my apartment, leaning back against the door with one booted foot propped against it, another long leg stretched out. With his arms folded casually across his chest and a bland look on his face, you’d have no idea looking at him that he was vibrating with sexual need right now. Logan is one of the most sexual creatures I’ve ever known. Before I knew the real deal about Cat, I would have put them in the same category, almost as if they needed sex to survive. I hang out at The Silo a lot, but Logan is there every single night, for hours at a time. I’m not sure there’s a patron there who has as much sex as he does, and it never seems to get old for him. Maybe he’s a sex addict now that I think about it, but whatever. Not my place to judge. “Can’t say I hated getting your call this afternoon,” he says with a slow smile as he pushes off the door. “A private night with you and Catherine… fantasy come true.” I smile but hold it for only a moment before I level him with a serious look. “Listen… Cat’s in a bit of a rough place. A lot of that stuff at The Silo she did… that was her husband making her do those things.” “What?” Logan asks with his eyebrows drawing inward. I nod. “But that’s not the rough place. Plenty about The Silo she came to like… including apparently watching you and me together… but it’s other stuff. She got kicked out of her house, credit cards shut off,

and told she was cut out of inheriting anything. Was basically fucking living in her car.” Logan scrubs a hand over his chin, worry in his eyes. He nods at me, and I continue. “She’s been staying here for the last week, and well… something’s happening between us. I’m not quite sure what it is, but it’s something.” “So why am I here?” Logan asks. “Because despite all that shit she’s been through, Cat still has her dirty side. She’s apparently owning it. This is by her request tonight.” “What are the boundaries?” he asks, and I know why he’s going there. I just told him that something was happening between Cat and me, and he’s being respectful of that. Logan and I have both been with committed couples before, and you usually have a talk about what lines can and can’t be crossed. Sometimes just an intimate kiss is something a person might not want you to do to their monogamous partner, even if he’s okay with you sticking your cock in his wife’s pussy. It’s complicated at times, but it’s best to lay it out. “Only boundaries are the one’s she sets,” I say, totally ignoring the slight rumbling of unease over the fact that Cat might very well want to fuck Logan tonight. But if that’s what she wants, I’m going to make sure she gets it. “This is all about her fantasy tonight. We’ll let her direct.” Logan reaches down, readjusts himself and mutters, “Let’s get started then. I’ve been sporting this hard-on all afternoon since I took your call.” I turn toward my door and make short work of unlocking it because I’ve been in the same situation all afternoon too. The apartment is quiet and dark with only a faint spilling of light coming out from my bedroom into the living room. “Give me just a minute, okay?” I murmur to Logan as he stops by my couch. “Sure thing.” I walk into the bedroom, immediately assaulted by the vision of Cat exactly how I told her to be. Naked and in bed. She’s lying on her side, head propped up on her hand and the other laying gracefully along her body. One leg straight, the other slightly bent. It’s sexy and provocative and my eyes immediately fall to her breasts, then slide down to check out the rest of her. “You look gorgeous,” I tell her as I walk to edge of the bed, loving the low burn of lust I see in her eyes. I’m thinking this has been a long afternoon for all of us. “Have you touched yourself since you got here?” She shakes her head. “Good girl,” I say, sitting on the edge of the mattress. I lean over, placing a hand on the bed behind her. My face hovers over hers as she tilts her head to look at me. “Logan’s in the living room and will be in here in a minute. But tonight, you’re going to tell us what to do and what you want.” She starts to shake her head. “Yes, Cat,” I say firmly. “Your fantasy. We do exactly what you want and there isn’t anything you can’t ask us to do… to you or to each other, okay?” Her eyes shine with a mixture of excitement, worry, and a hotter sizzle of lust. “Okay.” “Let me check something out,” I tell her as I stand up from the bed. “Turn on your back.” She complies and I push a hand between her legs, pressing two fingers inside of her. Soaking wet. Pulling them out, I lick them off and start to get undressed, never taking my eyes off Cat. I sense Logan walk in behind me, hear his clothing start to hit the floor, but I keep staring at her. She lets her gaze flick briefly to Logan, but then it’s back on me again as I disrobe. Her eyes roam all over me, pinning on my cock once I get my jeans off.

Logan comes up to stand beside me. I give him a brief glance, noting his dick is as hard and straight as mine is. I look back to Cat. “Tell us what to do.” Cat adjusts herself on the bed, pushes up so her back is resting on the pillows, which are stacked against the headboard. She raises her legs, plants her feet on the mattress, and spreads her knees wide. One delicate hand goes between and she starts to play with herself. Soft, tiny strokes… nothing that would get her off, but an indication she’s already turned on by what’s before her. Her actions… displaying herself like that and setting herself up to watch us has my cock leaking hard and an unbearable need to crawl on the bed and sink into her. But then she says, “I want you two to kiss. And touch each other.” Logan turns and starts to place a hand on my shoulder, but I say, “Wait up.” Turning to my nightstand, I open the drawer and pull out a bottle of lube, tossing it on the bed beside Cat. Her eyes go to it and back to me. “I’m assuming we’ll need that at some point,” I tell her with a grin. “I think you will,” she whispers, those fingers rubbing slow, lazy circles on herself. Logan’s hand is now at my shoulder and he turns me to him. Then both hands are on my face and he’s pulling me to his mouth. Kissing a dude is weird at times, but with Logan, it’s always been hot. His lips are soft, his tongue dancing slowly with mine, and our cocks bump against each other, smearing the other with pre-cum. Logan digs the fingers of one hand into my jaw, pushing through my beard and gripping me tight so he can deepen the kiss. The other drops between us and wraps around my dick. I can’t help the low groan that comes out, and I hear a tiny whisper from Cat, “So hot.” Logan starts to slowly jack me as I let my hands roam over his body. So different from Cat. Hard planes and coarse hair that don’t really attract me physically, although I’m generally attracted to Logan. I think it might have more to do with the way his tongue is playing mine or the way his grip is firm on me. Sometimes women go a little too soft, afraid they’ll hurt a man down there. Guys know exactly what we can take, so getting jacked or sucked by a guy is many times better. “Suck his cock,” Cat whispers, and I realize my eyes have been closed. They open upon that command, and Logan slowly pulls his mouth away from mine, although his hand still strokes me. I turn to look at her, but it’s kind of a mistake. She has a finger pumping in and out of her pussy, and again… have to restrain the urge to tear myself away from Logan and jump right onto Cat. She looks to Logan and nods at me. “Suck Rand’s dick.” Logan gives her a cocky grin, and I know exactly what that means. He intends to drop me to my knees if he can do it to show Cat exactly how good he is. I brace. Spreading and locking my legs as Logan sinks to the carpeted floor and grins up at me with almost a taunt of what’s to come. I get ready to bite down on my tongue because I know how fucking talented he is. But fuck it… if I come right away, I’ll get back in the game soon enough. I’m standing close enough to the bed that Cat could reach out and touch my hip. Just a slight turn of my head and I see that her hand has stilled. She watches us while holding her breath. “Let me show you a trick that all guys love if they’re man enough to admit it,” Logan says to Cat, but he’s looking up at me. I know what’s coming and I know he’s not going to give me any mercy. I decide right then and there not to fight it. Logan bypasses the lube sitting on the bed and puts his index finger in his mouth where he wets it good. When he pulls it out, he tells me, “Spread ’em.” My head tilts again and I look at Cat, whose eyes are as big as saucers as she watches. I reach my

hands back, grab ahold of my ass cheeks, and do exactly as Logan orders me. Logan pushes his hand between my legs, totally ignoring my dick for the moment, which is straining upward, and runs his finger along the seam between my balls and my asshole. I grit my teeth because it feels amazing to be touched there. The tip of his wet finger probes me, circling my pucker. I try to breathe in deeply but the anticipation is killing me. I look down at Cat again and she looks up at me before saying to Logan, “Do it.” Logan complies and smoothly pushes his finger into me. Way in deep all the way to his third knuckle. “Fuck,” I shout out, my hips jerking forward, not to get away from him but for my cock to slap him in the face so he takes a fucking hint and sucks me already. Logan twists his wrist slightly, pressing right in on my prostate, and my knees do in fact start to buckle. I lock them back tight because I think I could actually come just from him stroking me like that. I release my hold on my ass and bring one hand to my dick, grabbing it by the base and the other threading my fingers through Logan’s hair. Logan doesn’t make me wait, giving me a smirk before opening his mouth up and taking me all the way in. Goddamn, that’s good.

Chapter 16

Cat NEVER IN MY entire sexual history have I been as turned on as I am right now. I’m sure it has something to do with the fact that I have two beautiful, built, and sexy men before me, willing to do whatever I want them to do. I can’t help myself, pulling my fingers free of my pussy and circling the wet around my clit. Faster and faster while I watch Logan and Rand do their thing. So empowering. That’s a first feeling too. I’m sure once the flush of lust and impending release washes away, I’m going to be extremely grateful to Rand for giving me this. I watch and play with myself. Logan on his knees, pushing himself back and forth on Rand’s cock. Cheeks hollowed on the back swing, his eyes closed in bliss. Rand’s hands gripping Logan’s head tight. White knuckles in an attempt not to start thrusting… fucking Logan’s mouth. My fingers circle faster. My gaze flicks up to Rand and I see he’s got his face tilted downward, eyes at half mast, watching Logan work him. Eyes filled with bubbling lust, teeth gritted, jaw locked. He’s lost and it’s so damn hot. I press harder on my clit as my fingers move faster and faster. I look back down again, to see what Rand is seeing and focus in on Logan’s hand. In between Rand’s legs with his finger pumping in and out of his… My hips shoot off the bed as I come, a groan rumbling out of me and then floating free. I squeeze my eyes shut briefly, see stars blinking in the darkness, before opening them back up. With hazy and blissful eyes, I see Rand watching me but now his hips are pumping back and forth as he holds Logan’s head still. Yet Logan seems unfazed while Rand fucks his mouth… his throat… with hot eyes pinned on me, Logan’s hand is working faster at Rand’s ass. My legs snap shut together as an involuntary cramp of need hits me straight in the center. Then Rand thrusts forward, throws his head back, and roars out a release as he comes with a shudder. I can see the ripple actually run up his spine at the same time Logan’s throat works to swallow him down. It’s so damn beautiful. Rand is so damn beautiful that another cramp of need hits me. I want Rand on the bed with me right now. I want that cock pumping in and out of me, and I want him to be as lost in me as he was just now. But that’s not going to happen as I watch him pull his dick out of Logan’s mouth, his muscular chest rising and falling in short bursts. He’s spent for now and will need time… The room is quiet except for the rushing breath of three people in the midst of some crazy sex. Logan rubs his roughened fingers over the corner of his mouth before flexing his jaw. He looks up at Rand with a grin. “Good?” “The things you can do with that mouth and finger,” Rand mutters and then turns to look at me. “What’s next, Cat?” “Next?” I ask, feeling dull witted right now. It was so intense watching that… having that orgasm I can still feel the tingles from… that falling into a deep sleep right now seems like a good idea. Rand nods down to Logan, who stands from his kneeling position. “Logan needs to come… I’m

guessing pretty bad. Your call how we give it to him.” My eyes flare wide, and I shoot Logan an apologetic look. I hadn’t even thought about his pleasure, and I feel horribly guilty. Shooting up to my knees, I figure I could give him a blow job, but Rand’s hand comes out to grip my shoulder. He gives a small shake of his head and says with a very pointed look, “Only if you want to do that. But it’s whatever you want, babe. We’re both here to do whatever you want us to.” Logan snickers, and I blush with a small smile in his direction. “Sorry.” “No worries,” he says with a shrug, but then grabs his cock with his hand, giving it long, slow strokes. “But how about you decide what you want so I can get off. Kind of dying here watching you and Rand come. So fucking hot.” Turning my face to Rand, I move my knees to slide closer to him toward the edge of the bed. He turns his body to face me, one hand coming to my waist where his thumb strokes my skin. “Anything?” I ask him. “Anything, Cat.” “Do you like…?” I start out, but then my voice trails away. I can feel my cheeks get hot and for a woman who got fucked by seven men while locked in a stockade, I think this hesitancy about my sexuality is truly more of the real Cat starting to come out. Now that I’m in control, I’m just a bit unsure of myself. So I take a deep breath and let it out. “Do you like Logan fucking you?” I ask Rand point blank, chin lifted so he can see me owning this. “Because I’d really, really like to see that.” Rand’s eyes turn soft, his lips curving up in a gentle smile. “Yeah, babe… I like that a lot.” Leaning in, he kisses me, one hand still gripping my waist, the other coming up to hold the back of my head. His tongue slides into my mouth for a claiming stroke against my tongue before it pulls out and his forehead touches mine. Rand’s breath rushes out over his lips onto mine, and he whispers so only I can hear him. “I think I’d do anything you asked me to.” And I melt. Literally feel my body start to sag and my hands come to his shoulders to pull him down to the bed with me. Yes, down on the bed with me where I’ll stroke him back to life and have him… Rand’s hand at my hip falls away and he lets the strength of his other at the back of my head lower me back down to the mattress. When it hits, he pulls it free and turns to Logan, walking right into the other man’s space. They both crash together in a tangle of arms and legs, mouths fusing together in a deep kiss and hips grinding against each other. I push away the flash of jealousy, focusing instead on the scenes before me. Logan’s cock darkened with pre-cum spilling from the top, trapped in between their lower torsos and getting massaged by their bodies undulating. Rand’s is half hard, but he ignores it. Instead, he puts his hand in between their bodies and takes his friend in his grip. Logan jerks and groans over the contact, so much so that their kiss breaks and they stare at each other with hot eyes, faces just inches apart. “Get on the bed,” Logan growls, his hands coming up to Rand’s chest and giving him a shove. “On your knees… right beside Cat. Going to fuck you from behind this time.” This time? Does that mean there will be more tonight? Or is he going to fuck Rand again at some other time? Maybe outside of my presence? I’m not sure how I feel about that, but then my thoughts scatter as Rand climbs right over me, going to his hands and knees. Logan grabs the lube, walks to the end of the bed, and raises one knee up to the mattress while he uncaps the bottle.

“Kiss me,” Rand whispers, and my eyes slide to his. I scramble onto my knees and sidle up to Rand, pressing my lips against his with my hands to his cheeks, flexing into his bristly beard. He sighs into my mouth as we kiss and I close my eyes, giving into it. We kiss and everything else melts away. Just him and me, the smell of his sweat and the mint on his breath. Tongues stroking and rolling against each other. Lips sliding and nipping. A hiss pushes from his mouth into mine, and Rand’s body jerks a bit. My eyes fly open, and I pull away. Rand’s head drops down and he moans, back arching. Logan’s kneeling right behind him, working two fingers in and out of Rand’s ass. A flood of wetness rushes from between my legs and I can feel it dribbling down the inside of my thighs. I move to the side of Rand so I can see better, placing a tentative hand on his mid back to feel the muscles bunching and flexing as he rounds his back and then arches it again when Logan puts a third finger in. “Feel good?” I ask softly, my gaze pinned helplessly on Logan’s hand and what it’s doing between Rand’s strong buttocks that are coiled tight. “Yeah,” he grunts as Logan starts to pump, but only a few times before he’s pulling his hand away. More lube, this time dribbled right over Logan’s hard cock that I notice is covered with a condom. I’m not sure when that happened… probably while I was kissing Rand, but who cares when. It’s the now I’m focused on with Logan lining up to Rand’s ass. I slide sideways a bit more, get closer to the action so I can see, still keeping my hand on Rand’s back. Logan’s a big guy with a lot of girth and for a brief moment, I worry about Rand. But then I watch as he pushes his hips back a little, a silent plea, and I know he’ll be all right. With his hand and hips guiding the way, Logan places the tip of his cock against Rand’s ass and flexes forward slightly. The large head slowly disappears as I watch in fascination. “More,” Rand groans. My hand starts stroking the muscles of his back, my other hand coming up to rest on his butt. “Give him more,” I tell Logan softly. Logan’s face is pinched with pleasure, his lower lip between his teeth and digging in hard. He does as I ask and pushes his hips forward even more, sinking inch by inch into Rand. When the trimmed hairs on his pelvis brush against Rand’s ass, and I know he’s rooted deep, I let my breath out in a wavering gust of longing and excitement. Rand’s head is still hanging low, eyes closed and jaw locked as Logan starts to move. Luxurious pulls of his cock out, with penetratingly slow thrusts back in. Each time he bottoms out, Rand grunts in pleasure. Each time Rand grunts in pleasure, an ache throbs between my legs. Logan picks up the pace, which lends to an almost fevered vibe in the air. Sweat on his forehead, chest heaving and his hands gripping Rand by the hips with this thumbs digging down into the muscle, he mutters an almost endless stream of filth to Rand, “Christ… this feels good. You know I love pussy, man, but this ass… never mind fucking it. Going to come so hard… going to pound you harder. Then when we’re all recovered, we’re going to fill Cat up. I’ll take her pussy… you can have her ass, Rand. Sandwich her right between us and fuck her oh so good.” My gaze slides to Logan, mesmerized by his dirty words. Completely turned on by them as well. He smiles at me as he pumps in and out of Rand, and then nods his head downward with a pointed look that I should take a gander. “Your boy likes dirty talk.” Tilting my head, lowering my eyes, I see Rand with his back rounded, head hanging down and his own hand between his legs, working his cock. Stroking with a tight grip. Quick, furious pumping while he

grunts and groans. He’s rock hard again. He’s. Hard. Again. “Stop,” I blurt out, my hand on Rand’s ass moving to Logan’s chest. He doesn’t stop his movements immediately, but slows them down, finally pulling out and then pressing back in deep where he holds still. Both men, with heaving chests, look at me curiously and with a little frustration. “I want you inside of me,” I say as my gaze snaps to Rand’s. “Want you to come inside of me.” Total silence. Rand’s face strained with the need to come. Logan’s not looking much different. “While he’s fucking you,” I add on to clarify my wishes. “Figured that much, Cat,” Rand says with his lips tipped upward. While still looking at me but clearly talking to Logan, he says, “Pull out, man.” Logan does as requested, both he and Rand not able to hold back a wistful moan at the friction caused from the exit, and then Rand pushes off the bed coming just to his knees. “You want on your back or knees, Cat?” “Whatever’s best,” I breathe out, my heart racing and my skin flushed warm with the thought of what we’re about to do. “On your back,” he says in a low voice as he reaches out to graze his knuckles over one of my nipples. “So I can watch your face.” And I melt again, immediately sagging to the bed and positioning myself on my back. Rand maneuvers, comes in between my legs, and lowers himself onto me so he can give me a kiss. His chest presses onto mine, his dick hard and pulsing as it bears down against my pubic mound and his arms slipping under me so he puts me in a full-body hug as his tongue slides into my mouth. Pure bliss. My arms go over his shoulders, wrapping around the back of his neck, and I hold him tight to me as we make out, the only movement of our bodies being our tongues and lips. Finally, he breaks contact, lifting his face from mine and giving me a smile bright with repletion. Eyes holding mine, he pushes off me, grabbing my legs and spreading me wide. Hands to the backs of my thighs, he swivels his hips and as if his dick knows exactly where to go, it pushes into me. Sinking in like it belongs, every nerve ending firing in welcome relief that he’s there. “That’s it,” he whispers as he claims my pussy. “Taking every inch of me and loving it.” “Yes,” I whisper back, my eyes rolling into the back of my head and lids lowering to full darkness. If I watch Rand and see the same expressions I saw on his face when he was fucking Logan’s mouth, I know I’m going to burst apart so violently, I’m afraid I won’t be put back together. Rand starts moving, an animalistic sound of need and urgency rising from his chest. He thrusts in and out of me a few times, and my head starts to spin. I become lost to the sensation of him. But then he stops, and my eyes open slowly. He spreads his legs, thighs on the mattress, and I watch over his shoulder as Logan crawls in between Rand’s legs. Using his hand, he guides the head of his cock to Rand’s ass, and with nothing more than a lowering of his entire lower body, he fills him up again. Rand hisses as he’s pushed deeper into me, sandwiched in between Logan and me. His elbows go to the mattress, his muscles bulging and straining to keep most of his weight off me. We’re all still for just a moment, but then I can feel the outsides of Rand’s thigh muscles flex as he raises his hips, pulling out of me. Just to the tip where he holds still, allowing Logan to pull out of his ass a bit. Logan pauses… a brief moment in time where I wonder what’s going to happen next, before I scream out in pleasure when Logan slams into Rand, who then slams into me. Rand lets out a hoarse bark of

surprise, and Logan groans as if he’s dying of pleasure. “Oh, let’s do that again,” I murmur, trying to unclench my toes that had just previously been curled. Logan gives a dark laugh, and Rand’s eyes glitter as he stares down at me with equal measures of naked desire and fulfilment. The tilt of his head. The soft smile. The intent stare. Fulfilment that he’s given me what I wanted. And I melt again. Then Logan starts fucking Rand, who starts fucking me again, and I come so hard, I feel obliterated. I have no doubt I can put myself back together again, but I’m just wondering what a reassembled Catherine Lyons will look like compared to the old one.

Chapter 17

Rand “ARE YOU EXCITED about starting work today?” I ask Cat as she leans in toward my small bathroom mirror and puts on mascara. She gives a soft, “Uh-huh” as she feathers the black goo onto her eyelashes. I’m fascinated by everything she does to make herself up. Not to make herself more beautiful, because I don’t think the makeup and perfect hair does that. It just makes her beautiful in a different way. She could wear nothing on her face, as I’ve seen her do at night before she goes to bed, and still be just as lovely. But I watch because she lets me and because I could watch her for hours doing nothing. Pish was already pissed at me for ditching work last Friday, as well as missing Monday and Tuesday of this week. But I pointed out to him that I never take vacation—which is true because there’s nowhere I want to be— and that shut him up. I also told him I was taking Wednesday too. Which I did and enjoyed thoroughly. That was the day after the spectacular fuck-fest that occurred between Cat, Logan, and me. Whereas I thought the three of us would go all night, turns out we all fell into an exhausted heap because of the massive orgasms that ripped through our little group. I think I dozed with my head on Cat’s chest and her playing with my hair. When I woke up, Cat was sound asleep and Logan was gone. I noted the way Cat was curled into me and I was spooned around her, and I figure if Logan saw that, he was being the good guy and jetted out of there so we could be alone. So yesterday… Cat and I did nothing but relax and recover from the events of the last few days. She wasn’t going to start with Callie and Sloane until the next day as Callie was having a bunch of shit moved from a warehouse over to the campaign headquarters for them to organize. Cat and I hung at the apartment all day, wore sweatpants, ordered Chinese takeout, and binged on Netflix. The only sign of energy either of us exhibited was while we were watching Jessica Jones. I was sitting on the couch, my legs propped on the coffee table. Cat was lying on her side, her head on my thigh. Just as Jessica and Cage were getting it on for the first time, Cat shifted, rolled, and came up on her knees beside me. With her face still turned toward the TV screen and watching Cage take Jessica up against the wall, she palmed my crotch with her hand and started rubbing. My breath froze and I held still. Deliriously happy she initiated not only because my cock was about to feel really good, but also because Cat was embracing her sexuality in a natural manner. She was doing something she wanted to do with no one prodding her or expecting anything. So she blew me right there while I watched Jessica Jones. Well, fuck… couldn’t watch it. Couldn’t concentrate on anything but her wet mouth on me, so we had to rewind. “What’s the smile for?” Cat asks. I blink away the memory, coming back to focus on her watching me in the bathroom mirror as I lean against the doorjamb. Not sure why I’m still loitering because I could have left for work already, but like I said… very much enjoying the view. “Just thinking about that blow job you gave me yesterday on the couch,” I tell her truthfully. She beams back at me in the mirror as she puts the cap back on her mascara. “It was really good, wasn’t it?”

“Best ever,” I murmur, and I think it was. But then again, each encounter with this woman just keeps getting better and better. She turns, placing the mascara in a black, quilted bag laying on my cramped vanity. Resting her butt against the counter ledge, she places her palms to either side and says, “Listen… I want to reach out to Kevin and demand a copy of the signed will he says supposedly exists.” “I thought we were going to wait for Bridger—” “I’m tired of waiting, Rand,” she interrupts. “I’m sorry… but this is my life and I want to get this settled so I can move on.” “Move on from here?” I ask her quietly, my throat aching just pushing those words out. She gives a quick shake of her head. “No. Not from here, here… I mean like move on from Samuel, his family, and everything that was my life.” I instantly inflate with relief and wonder if subconsciously I hadn’t been pushing the will aside because I was afraid she would leave after it was worked out. But I can’t keep her here against her wishes to move on, whether it be from my apartment or from a bad life, and I swore to myself that I’d help her out as best I could. “Let me call Bridger really quick and see if he’s got anything to offer before you call, okay?” I ask her as I pull my phone out of my pocket. She nods and I dial Bridger’s cell, putting it on speakerphone so Cat can hear when he answers, “What’s up?” “Just checking in to see if you got to look over the copy of that trust agreement I brought you?” “Sorry man,” he says with true apology in his voice. “I’ve had a bit of an issue going on at The Silo and just haven’t been able to get to it.” “What’s going on?” I ask, completely feeling a bit guilty I haven’t been there in so long. Bridger hasn’t said a word, and I wasn’t poking the bear on that. He sighs into the phone. “I don’t even know if issue is the right word or not, but I accepted a new patron into the club upon a recommendation of a few of our more established members. In fact, he bought himself a platinum membership, as well as memberships for his harem… four of them in all.” My head snaps over to Cat, and she has the same raised eyebrow look that I do. “Did you say harem?” I ask with a laugh. “I don’t know what the fuck you call it, but the man has four women he brings in with him, and they all sort of… belong to him, I guess. It’s fucking weird, but hey… you know our motto… no judgment.” “Then what’s the issue?” “He’s got this girl… woman, really, but young. Twenty years old and supposedly a virgin. Won’t let anyone fuck her. They can do other things do her, but not fuck her. Rumor is going around he’s going to auction off her virginity and everyone’s in an uproar, wanting it for themselves. I’ve been at The Silo every night just making sure I keep an eye on things. But seriously, reviewing that document just slipped my mind.” “It’s cool,” I tell him, but inside, I wish he’d have some better advice. “Listen,” Bridger says, his voice coming through the speakerphone in that slightly tinny way, “mind if I give it to Jenna to look at? She’s good and it will be a professional eye on it.” Jenna’s a former college classmate of Woolf and Bridger’s who went on to law school, and she’s also Bridger’s attorney for the business. She plays at The Silo too—quite well I know from personal experience—and if Bridger trusts her to review it, then so do I. I look at Cat and give a nod, telling Bridger, “Yeah, that’s fine. Cat’s going to go ahead and reach out to Kevin to ask for a signed copy of the will that supposedly cuts her out.”

“Sure that’s a good play?” Bridger asks. “I have to,” Cat pipes up, and I give her a smile. “I need to move this forward.” “Hi Cat,” Bridger says, his voice softening. He always had a soft spot for her and I wonder if he’s fucked her. I’ve never seen him do so and he rarely participates at The Silo. But still, plenty of times Cat and Bridger were there and I wasn’t, so it’s conceivable. “Hi, Bridger,” she says back, smiling at me. “And thank you for helping.” “My pleasure, darling. Now I’ve got to get to work.” We disconnect. Cat pushes off from the counter and moves past me to get out of the bathroom. She does this with a hand coming to my waist where it rests softly for a brief moment, and I like to imagine that she did it for no other reason than she wanted to touch me. I follow her out, through the living room and to the kitchen where she pulls her phone out of her purse. “I’m calling Kevin right now.” I wordlessly come to stand beside her, my hand going automatically to her lower back where I rest it lightly. A sign of support. A way to give her strength. She taps her finger on the screen, pulls up Kevin’s number and poises her finger above it. “I’ve got both Kevin and Richard’s contact information in case something happened to their father.” I nod because I can’t imagine any other reason she’d have to call them, but I see her eyes filled with unease. It hits me all of a sudden why she would even bother to tell me that. My hand covers hers, and I pull it back from the phone slightly. “Cat,” I say, my tone soft but censuring. “I’d never think you’d do that.” Call up one of those brothers. Sons to your husband. Because you wanted to fuck them. She gives me somewhat of an apologetic grimace. “I just… you don’t know me, Rand, and I didn’t want you to ever think there was anything—” “Just stop,” I say roughly as I squeeze her hand in mine. “I do know you, Cat. Now make the damn call.” She studies me for a moment, and I stare back at her. She finally gives me a nod and pulls her hand free so she can tap on Kevin’s name. She hits the speakerphone button, affording me the same courtesy I just gave her during my call to Bridger. It makes me feel like we’re a team. Unit. Couple. Really, Rand? You’re letting your head go there? The phone rings twice and then Kevin is answering. I expected his voice to be higher, maybe even effeminate, because I can’t help but view him as a little pussy for fucking his father’s wife. I expect he’s ugly, small, and weasely. Instead, his voice is vibrantly deep, and I know in an instant that he’s none of the things I expected. “Catherine,” he says smoothly, as if he’d just greased his throat with melted butter. “I thought you’d be calling me. Please tell me you’ve reconsidered my offer to stay here in Jackson.” Both of our gazes rise from the phone to focus on each other. Cat rolls her eyes in exaggerated fashion, and I grin at her. “Kevin,” Cat says in her most regal, sophisticated voice. I expect she learned to talk this way being married to Samuel and running in wealthy circles. “I want a copy of the will you claim has cut me out of my inheritance as your father’s wife.”

“So you’re not considering my offer?” he asks, sounding almost hurt. “Kevin,” Cat snaps to focus him. “I want a copy of the signed will and I want it immediately. When can you get it to me?” “Sorry, love,” he says, and I can hear the smirk through the phone. I hope I get to wipe it off him one day. “But it’s in my father’s home office in Vegas and of course, I’m here in Jackson. Once I return, I’ll be glad to get you a copy.” “Wrong, Kevin,” Cat sneers at the phone, and I can actually feel the rage vibrating off her. “I was in Vegas this weekend. In my home… your dad’s office… and the will you purport he signed isn’t there.” She stops, and I’m surprised she had the fortitude to do so. I thought she might blurt out that we saw the original trust agreement and pour-over will signed not long after the wedding, but she didn’t. She holds that close to the vest, and I think that’s smart. No sense in him knowing exactly how fired up she is or that she has a copy of what is probably the one and only estate document in existence. It’s best to let him think she’s just a girl poking around… not someone to be reckoned with. Kevin’s silent. For a moment, I think he’s disconnected. Cat and I look at each other, and I give a slight shrug to my shoulders. Finally, he asks in a voice filled with icy disdain, “What is it exactly that you want?” Cat takes a deep breath. “I want a copy of the signed document that governs Samuel’s estate, so I know what my rights are. And until such time as we can resolve this, I want you to turn my credit cards back on so I have something to live off until that occurs.” My eyebrows shoot up because I didn’t see that coming. Cat glances at me with a questioning look, and I nod at her in agreement of what she just asked for. My hand comes out, and I hit the “mute” button on the phone so he can’t hear us. “Ask for the house. Tell him you want back in and him out.” She shakes her head immediately in denial and whispers, even though he can’t hear us. “I don’t want to go there.” Yeah… that’s a big fucking smile taking up residence on my face right now. I lean forward, kiss her quickly, and then unmute the call. “Tell me where you are,” Kevin asks. “I’ll bring it to you.” Yeah, he isn’t getting within twenty feet of Cat again. I lean toward the phone slightly and say, “You can send it with a courier to 263 W. Karns Ave, but you’re not welcome here.” “And who is this, if I may ask?” he says in an amused voice. “Cat find herself a man or something?” “I’m your worst nightmare if you fuck her over,” I growl into the phone, my eyes flicking up to see Cat watching me with wide eyes. Kevin makes a scoffing sound and laughs. “Brave man… hiding behind a phone and won’t give his name.” “It’s Rand Bishop, you asshole. I just gave you my home address, and I work at Westward Ink. You feel free to come see me whenever you want to, and I’ll show you exactly the lengths I’m willing to go to make sure you won’t fuck Cat over anymore.” A moment of silence while Kevin digests my words, and I’m sure they’ve pissed him off royally. But he surprises me when he says, “I’ll send a copy of the signed document over tomorrow.” “Bring it to Westward Ink,” I command because it just hit me… neither Cat nor I will be here during the day, and besides… I don’t want him anywhere near her. “Understood,” he says crisply. The phone then beeps twice to indicate he’s hung up on the other end. “Was that okay?” Cat asks me hesitantly, dropping the phone back in her purse. “You were perfect,” I say, sliding my hand from her lower back to her ass and giving it a small smack. I don’t do more than that, although I’d love nothing more to drag her back to the bedroom and muss up that

perfect makeup and hair. At the least, I want to kiss her, but not sure it’s appropriate given the nature of the conversation that was just had. So I keep it cool and give her a wink. “Well, I better get to work before Pish fires me.” Cat snorts. I spent the many, many hours on the road to and from Vegas telling her all kinds of gory details about Pish. Hell, she probably knows more about my friends and family than anyone as much as we’d talked during that road trip, but she definitely knows what I know about Pish. That he’s a pushover. I pat my front pocket for my keys, feel the small bulge, and turn toward the door. “Hey,” she says softly. Turning back to her, I tilt my head to wait for whatever it is she wants to say. Please be something good. Please be something that lets me know that I’m not imagining some of these feelings or worse yet, that they’re one-sided. “I meant what I said a minute ago,” she says, her eyes lasered onto mine so I know she’s talking straight. “What’s that?” I ask, since a lot was said in the last minute or so. “That I don’t want to go back to the Jackson house,” she says bluntly. “I really don’t want anything he has, but in particular, I don’t want to go back there.” “Bad memories and all,” I hazard a guess, remembering just how good that felt to hear her say she didn’t want to go back the first time. It’s even better the second. “No,” she says simply and picks up her purse. “Just better memories here. Much, much better, and I don’t want to give that up.” “Then don’t,” I tell her leaning forward, grazing my lips on her cheek. “You have a place here as long as you want it.” I hope she reads between the lines. I’m not just talking a bed to sleep in, but I’m certainly not ready to tell her that yet. While Cat’s opened up to me in amazing ways, I can still tell that deep down, she’s going to be leery of anything that resembles a commitment and I’m not about to scare her off.

Chapter 18

Cat “THERE’S WAY MORE PAPER than I thought there’d be,” I tell Sloane as I pull several thick folders out of a banker’s box. It’s one of about forty banker’s boxes that are stacked against the wall in the large conference room of Governor Hayes’ campaign headquarters. Sloane and I have been diligently unpacking and organizing it all as best we can. It’s the materials from his last campaign for governor when he won the office in a very heated and close race. That was three years ago, and in just over a year from now, the citizens will be voting again on whether to keep him in office. And this is the extent of my knowledge of how elections are run by a candidate. Sloane’s been filling me in a bit. She told me that her father used to be an elected U.S. Senator, so she’s done campaign work before. She also told me her dad’s a douche and she didn’t like to talk about him, but she hoped he had perpetual sunburn from spending all his time on a beach in Brazil with his new and much younger wife. I didn’t press her for any details given the acid in her voice when she said that. Callie was in Cheyenne, meeting with her father to start putting together a formalized kick off for the campaign. For my first day of work, she left instructions for me to just help Sloane with organizing the materials, and that seemed easy enough. I wish I had dressed a little differently, choosing a black and white zebra-print Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress with nude heels. Those have been long since kicked off and my sleeves rolled up as we pull out mailing lists, copies of speeches, policy summaries, advertising campaigns, glossy mailers and signs that were used. We lay them in stacks according to subject on the large table that takes up most of the room and chatter about inane stuff, mostly an attempt to get to know one another. I had an amazing time with Callie and Sloane at lunch two days ago. The margaritas absolutely helped break the ice, but the fact that these women were so accepting of me says so much about them, that I feel relatively comfortable now despite my sordid past with the two men in their lives. “So you and Rand, huh?” Sloane says while sitting on the floor before an open box. She’s not looking at me but rather pulling out manila envelopes and checking out the contents. Just casual conversation. “Yeah,” I say a little uncertainly since I really have no clue what the nature of our relationship is. “He’s a great guy.” “Hung like a horse too,” Sloane says, just as casually and still focusing on her work. She seems intent on what she’s doing and as if her statement wasn’t anything more than an afterthought. “Excuse me?” I ask, stunned by her knowledge of Rand’s body parts. She looks up at me with a sheepish grin. “You’re not the only one who had experience with all things wicked at The Silo.” “You and Rand?” “Me, Rand, Logan, Bridger, and Cain,” she says, her grin getting bigger with a slightly wistful look on her face. “All at the same time.” My jaw drops wide open, and I make no move to close it. I just stare at her, my eyes probably as big as an owl’s. I can’t believe it. No way. Sloane looks like the poster girl for innocence with her sweetly

rounded face and cute as pie blonde waves coming to just above her shoulder. Just… no way. “Yup,” she says with a chuckle, completely amused at my shock. “Cain arranged it. I’m sure Rand told you all about how I was an undercover reporter investigating The Silo and Governor Hayes. I was playing ignorant of The Silo with Cain and he was showing me a part of it but not really. Took me to one of the fantasy cabins and had the guys waiting there for me.” “Wow,” I say as I lower myself slowly into one of the chairs that surround the conference room tables. I’m not sure how I feel about this. There’s a weird, low bubbling feeling that I can’t quite place. Like my favorite toy got stolen from me on the playground by another girl. And yet, there’s no way that’s jealousy. I have no right or claim to be such. “I tell you that only to make you more at ease with me,” Sloane says. “I know it really bothered you at lunch the other day… making friendships with us… not sure how we’d look at you or if we’d judge you. I hope Callie and I have both shown that we don’t care about what happened in the past. I just told you about Rand so you know I’ve got dirty stuff in my closet too, but it doesn’t mean anything more than just an experience.” I nod in understanding. She’s right… the knowledge that she was with Rand helps to obviate my guilt over being with her man. “I saw you at The Silo once,” Sloane says, now leaning back and placing her hands flat on the carpet behind her. “You did?” I cringe internally wondering exactly what she saw me doing. While Sloane walks a bit on the wild side, I’m betting the four-on-one she had was the wildest thing she’s ever done. She’d probably be sick if she knew some of the things I’ve done. “It was after your husband died,” Sloane says with a nod of her head. “I was there with Cain and Bridger had told us. You were in one of the rooms… locked in a stockade.” A small smile comes to my lips and my fingers come up to inadvertently touch them in remembrance. That was a good night. It was the night I first got to make my own choices about who I let into my body. “You were beautiful,” Sloane says softly, and my gaze slides to her. She doesn’t say that in a “come on” type of way, but rather in a respectfully deferent way. “I remember being amazed at what strength and confidence you must have had to do that.” “Insanity more like it,” I mutter as I push out of the chair and walk over to the boxes again. “No,” Sloane says. “I saw your face. There was pride there. And pleasure. You owned it. It was exquisitely erotic but beautifully inspiring. I envy you a bit.” I turn, startled to hear her say that. “Don’t envy me. What you saw was a rarity. Most of my Silo experiences are not good.” “I suspected as much,” Sloane says with a sympathetic smile. “And I’m really sorry for that.” Turning back around, I grab the next banker’s box and haul it down. “Well, it’s all in the past.” “You say that as if you almost believe it,” she says, and my eyes snap to her. “What do you mean?” I ask curiously. She acts like she has insight into me that I don’t have about myself. “You’re holding back with Rand.” “I’m not—” “You most definitely are,” she reprimands. “I ask about Rand and you’re like, ‘He’s a great guy’. I call bullshit on that.” My eyes narrow on her. “What would you know?” “I know he’s taken you in, given you shelter, provided safety, and shielded you from judgment.

Arranged for a job, took you to Vegas, and I bet he’s handing you orgasms like they’re candy every night, right?” Not sure how she knows all that, but I’m going to guess it’s through Bridger to Woolf to Callie to her, but regardless… she’s right about all those things. She’s so right about them, and it makes me feel horrible that I refuse to give them the recognition they deserve. “Rand deserves way better than me,” I tell her, finally voicing a fear I’ve had from the moment he held me after I told him about all the ways in which Samuel abused me. Sloane cocks her head. “How do you figure?” “I’ve got nothing to offer. I’m just a woman who is good for one thing, and I’ve been too well used for there to be anything special about me.” I hope that didn’t sound too whiny because I’m just trying to call it as I see it. But now that I’ve told her that, I stiffen my spine and hold her gaze, knowing in my heart of hearts I just shared with her my secret fear that’s holding me back from Rand. He’s much too good for me. And I know I can’t keep him. Once I figure out what I’m entitled to—or not—I’m going to have to move on and let him have his life back. Until then, I’m going to keep accepting what he’s offering me because I guess that’s just me being selfish. I like the feelings he provokes in me too much. I like the safety and security and the way he makes me laugh. I’ll take it for a bit longer, which only confirms I’m no good. I’ll end up using him up and leaving him behind at some point. But it’s what’s best for him, I’m sure of it. Sloane looks at me skeptically. “You totally don’t even see yourself, do you?” “Sure I do,” I mutter, pulling the lid off the box I just set down on the conference room table. I see myself in the mirror every day, and I know exactly the kind of person looking back at me. My phone starts ringing from inside my purse, and I pull it out to check Caller ID. I try to push down the measure of annoyance that starts to rise when I see “Trish Lyons” on the screen. I don’t have her under the beloved title of “Mom” because she doesn’t hold that honor. I stopped considering her my mom long ago. Little liar. Swatting my conscience away, I reject the phone call, sending it to voice mail. I start to drop it back in my purse, but it starts ringing again. Trish Lyons.

“You can answer it if you need to,” Sloane says from her seat on the ground. “Callie’s really laid back about personal calls.” I don’t want to answer it, but I recognize my mom’s antics and she’s escalating. This isn’t the first time it’s happened. Something is prompting her to reach out, and she’s following the normal pattern. First, it starts with little texts. Just checking in, baby. How are you? When I ignore them, she turns on the “mom” act a bit more. Please call me. Really worried about you. Yeah, bullshit. Then the calls start. She starts to give more away on the voice mails she leaves. Just trying to reach you. I’m in sort of a pickle and could use some help. Followed by, I need some cash pretty quick, Catherine. They’re going to turn my electricity off if not. Can you wire it to me? And when that goes unanswered, she gets nasty. If you don’t send me some money, I’m going to keep calling and calling. I’m not going away so just send the fucking money. You don’t want me showing up on your doorstep.

And I so don’t want her showing up on my doorstep. She did it once and made a huge scene, which embarrassed the hell out of me in front of Samuel. So when I finally give her the money, it’s so I can have a little bit of peace. It is usually short lived because once she learned I was married to a billionaire, the requests came more frequently. I never had the guts to tell Samuel what I was doing, so I just took some cash advances off my card and would send them to my mom when she asked. It kept her happy for a bit until it didn’t anymore. We’ve been through the ignored texts, which she’s been sending me for almost a week now. She called and left voice mails yesterday and the day before. Today would be about the time she started to threaten me. Normally, I would ignore this call too but something in me is a bit different today than it was even yesterday. This morning, I stood up to Kevin and demanded something for myself. That was something I’m not sure I’ve ever done before, and I don’t pretend otherwise, probably would have never happened but for Rand taking me in and putting me under his wing. But still… I can do this. I can stand up to my mother. I connect the call and say, “Hello Trish.” She doesn’t even attempt to be offended because she’s not. She’s never minded if I called her Mom or not. “I’m surprised you actually answered. I have a better relationship with your voice mail.” “Because we have no relationship at all,” I remind her in a tired voice, my eyes sliding down to Sloane to see she’s got her head bent back over the box, trying to be unobtrusive. But I don’t care if she hears this. Hell, she’s watched me gang banged before, so why hide my wretched mom at this point? “What can I do for you?” She launches right into her tale of woe. “Well, I’ve had a major leak in the roof and I have to get it replaced. It’s going to be pricey, and you know I just don’t have that type of savings. Probably at least ten grand.” My mom isn’t the brightest bulb in the bunch, and I’m going to have to assume any intellect I have at all was handed down from my dad. She knew her daughter was married to a billionaire. She might not know exactly how many zeroes that is, but she knows it’s a lot. The few times I’ve seen her in in the past three years, she’s seen the jewelry I sport, the Mercedes I drive, and the designer clothing. I even had her over for dinner once to my palatial house, maybe hoping to rub her face in the fact that I landed well despite the things she did to screw me up. Trish Lyons saw all of that and yet she never asked for more than a few hundred dollars at a time. Hell, I’d drop five-hundred dollars on a haircut every six weeks, so it was nothing to me. She would hit me up for the same amount every few months, so in reality, it wasn’t that bad. Not sure why I dragged things out… ignoring her texts and calls until she turned nasty, then I’d eventually give in and hand the money over. No, wait… I do know why I did that. I did that because there was a small part of me that still considered her to be my mother. Some remote part of my heart that perhaps pitied her for her shortcomings and lack of love. Maybe I even did it in gratitude for the life of luxury that had been bestowed upon me. But regardless, all those years, poor, intellectually challenged Trish Lyons never asked for more than a pittance. I suspected it was maybe to buy some dope or something. Now she’s asking for ten grand and that’s quite the jump. And I know exactly why. “You heard Samuel died,” I guess as I pace alongside the conference room table.

“Just terrible news, sweetie,” she coos at me in such a fake, syrupy voice that my teeth start aching. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” I say in a clipped voice. “And I don’t have the money.” “Well, of course you do,” she says as if I’m the silliest person in the world. “Your husband was rich. He’s dead. So you’re rich.” If only life were that simple. “Samuel cut me out of the will,” I tell my mother, which is not something I believe at all. In fact, I suspect I’m due a big chunk of change and can buy a new trailer for my mom, not just a roof, if I wanted. But I’ll never tell her that. She doesn’t deserve to know. Because if I’m cutting out the poisonous past and refusing to be owned anymore, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let my mom maintain any type of hold on me. At the most, I might give her a tiny bit of money once the estate gets settled, but then I’m done with her. “I don’t believe it,” Trish says, scoffing. “He wouldn’t.” “Well, he did,” I snap. “I’m coming over. We can talk about this,” my mom says in a brusque voice. “I’m not in Vegas.” Small pause. Can hear the wheels turning. “Where are you?” she asks. “Look… I’m at work and can’t talk,” I say, ignoring her question. She doesn’t deserve to know where I am. “But what am I supposed—?” “Take care of yourself,” I say softly and disconnect the phone. Is that the last I’ll hear of Trish Lyons? Nope. There’ll be another day, another dollar asked for. The one good thing about not having a pot to piss in right now is that it makes my conversations with my mom a lot shorter.

Chapter 19

Rand I NOTE CAT dressed a lot differently for work today as she walks into the Snake River Brewery to meet me for dinner in a pair of dark jeans and a form-fitted plaid shirt with expensive leather boots that come up over her knees. Yesterday, she was all polished sophistication when she left. She came back to the apartment tired, sweaty, and with dirt smudges all over her dress. Over frozen pizza because neither one of us wanted to cook, she told me about her day, which apparently included unloading and sorting dirty boxes filled with old campaign stuff, Sloane telling Cat all about our encounter together, as well as a call from her loser mother. It was a full day for her. Cat didn’t seem bent out of shape that I have carnal knowledge of Sloane, but I expect that’s because Cat has carnal knowledge of Sloane’s man, Cain. Ordinary people would never understand the dynamics of this type of sexual freedom, but hell… sometimes it seems a little weird to me as well. But no more weird I suppose than the fact that I seem to fall more for Cat each day… hell, each moment we’re together… and I can’t seem to figure out if these feelings are real or fanned perhaps brighter by an unexpressed desire to be a hero to her. She walks toward me, hips swaying, and every man in the bar turns his head to look at her. Her eyes are only for me as I stand up from my stool to greet her. Cat steps into me, her hands to my waist and she goes to tiptoes to press her lips to the lower side of my jaw. “Hey,” she says softly. “Good day at work, honey?” I ask playfully as I drop my hand to her ass and cop a quick feel. She laughs and steps past me, plopping down on the stool I had been saving for her. I take my seat beside her, and she takes a grateful swig of the Snake River Pale Ale I’d had poured for her by the bartender when I’d arrived about fifteen minutes ago. I call out to one of the bartenders who has his back to me, counting money from the cash drawer. “Ryan… go ahead and put in a barbeque chicken quesadilla and a bison burger.” He looks over his head and says, “Sure thing, Rand.” “How’d you know I wanted a burger?” Cat asks. She knows I ordered the burger for her since I know she doesn’t like chicken, which is strange because I thought everyone likes chicken. Still, it’s a unique fact about her that’s hard to forget. “Lucky guess,” I say with a smirk. “So seriously… how was your second day of work?” “More of the same unpacking boxes, but Callie was there today and she started educating me on what the process will be like over the next year.” “Sounds fun,” I say with trademark snark. She smiles, but the light doesn’t last long before her eyes turn serious. “Did he ever show?” She’s talking about Kevin who had agreed to deliver the purported current and signed estate paperwork of Samuel Vaughn. I expected him or someone on his behalf to come to Westward Ink today and hand it off. Well, that’s not true. I actually expected him not to bring it but at the least figured he’d call Cat with some bullshit excuse. Instead, there wasn’t a peep from him all day. Cat knows this because she texted me about every hour for an update.

Did he show? Do you have it? Where do you think he is? He’s not going to show, right?

I shake my head in the negative to her original question. “I ran by the apartment right after work to see if perhaps someone left it in my mailbox. No one ever came by the shop.” “Fuck, he’s an asshole,” she mutters as she reaches for her beer. “Should have known he wouldn’t follow through. My credit cards didn’t get turned on either.” “It’s not because he’s an asshole, Cat,” I tell her, and she turns to blink at me in surprise. “It’s because he doesn’t have it. It doesn’t exist.” “You think?” “I more than think,” I say confidently. I’d been thinking about it all day. If she was truly cut out of the will, there was no reason to keep a signed copy from her. Kevin Vaughn was bluffing to cut her out of his life with minimum fuss, and he was banking on the fact that she was going to be the pliant and subservient woman she was when Samuel was alive. “Should I call him?” she asks, her finger absently stroking up and down the glass wet with condensation. I shrug. “What’s the point? He probably won’t answer, and if he does, he’ll give you a round of bullshit. The fact of the matter is, you have a copy of a valid trust agreement that leaves you money and a house. It’s time to turn this over to an attorney and get this shit sorted.” Cat raises her gaze to me, and she gives me a nod of agreement. “You’re right. It’s time and I’ve got the money from my jewelry I can use to hire an attorney now.” “We’ll call Bridger later and ask him if Jenna will handle it,” I tell her as I lean sideways on my stool and bump my shoulder against hers. “I’m sure she’ll give you a discount too.” “Sounds good,” she says, her voice sounding as relaxed and happy as I’ve ever heard it. “So, let’s play ‘What If’,” I say as I turn on my stool to face her a bit. “What if you ultimately find out you get nothing from Samuel’s estate?” Cat turns, her knees brushing against my thigh. She rests a forearm on the bar, the other on the back of my stool. “I guess I’d have to be a better roommate and start paying you rent, huh?” “You’d want to stay here?” “I think so,” she says hesitantly. “I know exactly what’s waiting for me in Vegas. I think I’d like to explore the opportunities here. And I will pay you rent as soon as I get my first paycheck.” Hmmmmm… that tells me exactly shit. “You know you’re not a roommate to me, right?” I tell her, deciding that maybe we need a little plain talk between us. “I’ve had roommates before and they were nothing like you. We’re different. What we have between us is different.” Her arm shifts and her hand goes from the back of my stool to brush against my shoulder. Her eyes stare at her hand as she strokes me, almost in confusion. “I’m not sure what we are.” “Well, I think we’re a little north of roommates, a little east of friendship, and probably a little south of fuck buddies.” Her gaze slides from my shoulder to meet mine as her lips turn upward. “I’m lost.” I laugh and slide my hand around the back of her neck, pulling her to me for a kiss. “I’m lost too. But I’m glad you’re right here beside me now.” “Me too,” she admits, and that makes me smile. I release my hold on her neck, turning to grab my beer

as she says, “But you know I’m afraid to believe in this, right? You know I’ve never had a relationship before. I have no clue what to do, no clue if I’m any good at anything. I’m afraid you’re expecting something of me I can’t give, and that one day, you’re going to wake up and realize I’m really not someone you’d want to give the time of day to and that your hero talents are wasted on me.” A dull, cramping sensation starts in the center of my chest and squeezes tighter as I absorb her words… take in the solemnity of her gaze upon me. God, she’s fucked in the head and I can’t imagine being so lost and unaware of your own potential. “Cat,” I say as I ignore my beer and turn fully to her. My hands go to her knees but before I can say anything further, my phone rings in my back pocket, and it startles me for a moment. I would normally ignore it because this is a fucking serious issue we need to discuss, but I asked Pish to call me if someone dropped the will off after I left. I give a squeeze to her knees and a hold a finger up. “Just a minute.” I fish in the back pocket of my jeans and pull the phone out, looking at the number. It’s not from Westward Ink, but it’s not one I recognize either. I have a moment of indecision if I should answer or ignore, but then choose to connect the call in case it’s perhaps one of the other artists at the shop calling me on a cell phone I don’t have programmed in my contacts. I don’t know all of them well enough to call them friends. “Hello,” I say into phone after bringing it to my ear. “Is this Rand Bishop?” A young woman… definitely not someone from the shop. “It is.” “This is Amy Felgar, a patient care rep at St. John’s Medical Center. Tarryn Stoker is apparently being admitted and her nurse asked me to call you.” My stomach drops so hard and fast that I feel nauseated. “Is she okay?” She doesn’t answer right away, and I can hear some clacking on a computer. “I’m sorry, I don’t have much info in the system. They might not have it all entered, but it does say she’s being scheduled for surgery.” No clue what my face looks like, but I feel Cat’s hand on my thigh with the weight of warm assurance. I look at her, and she returns a worried stare. “I’m on my way.” Hanging up, I put the phone back in my pocket and stand up from the stool. “Tarryn’s had some sort of accident. Getting ready to go into surgery. She asked them to call me so it must be pretty serious.” “Yeah… okay,” Cat says immediately as I open my wallet up and take some money out. I lay it on the bar so she can pay for the tab. Her eyes glance to the money, and then flick back to me. “I’ll bring your food home. Call me once you know something.” “I will,” I murmur as I lean in to brush my lips against her temple. “And I’m sorry… this was bad timing. We’ll continue the talk when I get back to the apartment.” “It’s fine,” she reassures me with an understanding smile. “I hope she’s okay.” “Me too.” I absolutely hate leaving Cat right now, especially on the heels of her revealing the terribly low opinion she has of herself. She needs affirmation of her strengths, not to have me abandon her. But shit… it’s not like I can’t not go to the hospital. If anything happened to Tarryn and I didn’t go, I’d never forgive myself for being so callous. So I have to go. Another kiss, this time on Cat’s lips, and I leave the Snake River Brewery. The drive to St. John’s takes no more than fifteen minutes as it sits only about ten blocks east and I manage to catch almost every green light. It’s a small medical facility but given the amount of ski injuries in this area, they’ve got an excellent trauma unit. It takes no time at all to park and make my way back to the surgical suite that the front receptionist

directs me to. A nurse greets me at the door and leads me back to a curtained room where I find Tarryn. My eyes quickly roam over her, taking in pale skin but no other outward signs of injury other than an elevated leg wrapped in a temporary splint and bandages. “What happened?” I ask as I walk up to the side of the bed opposite the IV pole that she’s hooked to. “Stupid really,” she says as she reaches a hand toward mine. I take it and give a supportive squeeze. “I was stepping off the sidewalk, crossing right there at Cache and Pearl, and I just stepped down wrong. Ankle buckled and snapped.” “You’re kidding?” I say in disbelief that something so simple could cause a break that needs surgery. Rotten fucking luck. “I knew I could count on you to come,” she says as she looks up at me with an adoring smile as the nurse walks into the cubicle room and hangs something else up on the IV stand. “How soon before she goes back?” I ask the nurse. “It won’t be tonight. Probably first thing in the morning, around six or so,” the nurse says briskly. “They want to make sure all the alcohol is out of her system, and the X-rays show the break is fairly clean and stable.” “I was out with Laney and Gayle for some cocktails,” Tarryn says with a laugh. “You know how it goes.” “Did that have anything to do with why you fell?” I ask. She shrugs and moves a thumb over the top of my hand to stroke it. “I don’t know. I doubt it. I really just stepped down wrong off the curb.” The nurse writes something in her chart and then walks out of the curtained area. I pull my hand from Tarryn’s and try to ignore the hurt look on your face. “Why did you have them call me?” “Well, because I’m having surgery. Who else would I call?” she responds seriously, as if this was the most common sense thing in the world. Despite the fact we’ve been broken up for four years. “Oh, I don’t know,” I say sarcastically. “How about your roommate and best friend Laney? Or your next best friend Gayle? You know, the girls who were with you when this happened and who you spend almost every day with.” Tarryn still doesn’t get it. She waves an impatient hand at me. “Laney will be back. She was going to go handle a few things first, pack me a bag and stuff. She’ll be back later. But I knew you’d want to be here too.” Taking a deep breath as the anger rises, I try to remember that she’s lying in a hospital bed with a broken ankle and facing surgery. I try to retain a measure of sympathy, but I still can’t help it when I say, “Tarryn… I don’t want to be here. We are not together. There shouldn’t be any expectation on your part that I would be here. Now, while I care for you because of things we’ve shared in the past, we don’t have anything past a casual friendship. And when you do stuff like this, you’re making it harder on me to want to even maintain that.” She blinks at me several times, eyes wide with surprise. As if this is the first time she’s heard this line from me. But it’s not. It’s just the first time she’s heard it while lying in a hospital with a broken ankle and facing surgery. The other time was when she got a flat tire and called me to change it. Or when she got drunk on her birthday and called me at midnight to come out and celebrate with her. Or let’s not forget the time she found mouse droppings under her sink and called me to come over and set traps. “Tarryn,” I say gently as I squat beside the bed and put my hand on her shoulder. “It is over with us. Totally over, and I think to make the boundaries clearer, I really need you to just stop reaching out to me.” “No communication whatsoever?” she whispers after a hard swallow. I don’t want to hurt her, but I still say it anyway. “None. I’ll stay here with you until Laney gets here,

but then that’s it, Tarryn.” “I don’t understand how you couldn’t want to continue our friendship,” she says in a small voice. “Because you want more than that,” I tell her simply. “Despite you just calling it a friendship, you want more.” “And you don’t?” she asks with her head tilted. “Not ever?” How can she keep such hope alive? Maybe because I still did stupid shit like change her tire or set her mousetraps, although I didn’t go celebrate her birthday with her. I was pissed she woke me up on a work night. Still, I’m just as much at fault because I would usually drop what I was doing to help her out when she called. I was a sap that way. While I’d always make it clear to her I was doing these things out of friendship, I can see why she’d have continued hope. It’s because I was still always there for her. But as I just told her, that all has to stop. “There’s someone else,” I tell her softly, and I watch her face fall. “And I really want it to work, so my focus and attention is going to be there. One-hundred percent. In fact, it should be there right now, and that’s why I’m leaving as soon as Laney gets here.” Her eyes mist up and she closes them against the sting and my stare, but she gives me a small nod of acknowledgment. I hope it’s also of acceptance, but only time will tell. Now all I have to do is wait for Laney to show up, so I can get back to Cat and we can continue our conversation. It’s time for her to start realizing the potential of what she has within, as well as what we have between us.

Chapter 20

Cat I PULL MY MERCEDES curbside in front of Jake and Lorelei’s house, just on the other side of their small driveway. Rand will park his Suburban on the adjacent side, with us leaving plenty of room for their cars when they get home. The house is dark except for the porch light and the driveway is currently empty. I manage to juggle the takeout containers—which are still quite hot since I had them just package our food up to go rather than eat mine there—along with my purse and keys as I get out of my car and hit the lock button. The driveway is lit up by two sconce lights on either side of the double car garage, but the side of the house is fairly dark as I walk toward the stairway that will lead up to the apartment. I know there’s a motion sensor that will turn on a security light there as soon as I reach the end of the driveway and veer off on the small path to the side, so I have no hesitation as I walk toward the house. Just as I step onto the cement pavers that lead to the wooden staircase, two things hit me at once. The light isn’t working because it doesn’t come on, and something is rushing at me in the dark. I don’t have time to scream. Hell, I don’t even have time to comprehend I should be fearful. Instead, something barrels into me, catching at my shoulder and driving me up underneath the staircase and into the side of the house where I slam hard into the wall. My purse and the food goes flying, as do the keys in my hand. Before I can even take in a breath, which is difficult since it was just knocked out of me, a large, sweaty hand clamps over my mouth, while a beefy arm wraps around my chest. I immediately smell stale beer, cigarettes, and what might possibly be hot dogs, along with the unmistakable scent of motor oil. I try to take in air but the hand over my mouth is partially obstructing my nose, making it difficult. I’m seized with panic that I might suffocate and can’t control my body as it starts to flail. “You better calm the fuck down, bitch,” the man snarls in my ear and his mouth is so close, I can feel the brush of a beard against my skin and the spittle that hits my cheek. To reiterate his point, the arm falls away from my chest, only to come back moments later with a switchblade held expertly in his hands. While I can’t see much, he has me turned toward the street, so the glow from the garage sconces causes the blade to glimmer. I can’t help the small moan of terror that slips free. Before I can even try to think of something to save myself, he’s spinning me fast, shoving me backward into the wall. My head slams into it with a jarring thud that rattles me, but not enough I don’t feel the press of the blade against the base of my throat. It’s so dark that I can’t make out a damn thing other than the outline of his form. “Orders were clear,” he mumbles, and it almost sounds slurred. “But no reason I can’t have a little fun.” Orders? Fun? Before I can figure it all out, his free hand comes to my blouse, paws at the opening at the top of my chest and manages to get a few fingers lodged in so he can rip it open. Buttons go flying as the white camisole I wear underneath is revealed to the cool night air. It is then I realize what the hell he means by fun. My body starts to react again, and my hands go to his wrist that holds the knife to my throat as I scream, “No.”

Kicking a leg out, I catch him in the shin, and he curses at me before pressing the blade harder against me. I feel the skin open up, and it stings terribly. “I will cut your motherfucking throat wide open if you don’t quiet the fuck up and hold still,” he yells at me, completely oblivious that he’s making as much noise as I am right now. The alcohol fumes coming off him and the way his words come out less than clear leads me to believe he’s definitely drunk or close to it. Drunk or not, he’s incredibly strong and he’s cut into the bottom of my neck, so my body goes absolutely still. “That’s better,” he praises, then his hand starts pawing at the bottom of my camisole again, trying to inch his way up underneath of it. I take in a deep breath through my nose, trying to think of a way to fight back without getting my throat slit open. Maybe a knee to his nuts? Surely that will hurt him bad enough he won’t be able to control the knife. Another scream to distract him? His rough fingers touch my stomach, and panic starts to seize me again. I can’t help it. My hands try to push him away from me, thinking a sliced throat would be better than experiencing the “fun” he wants to have. My body locks tight and I try to figure out exactly where his crotch might be in the gloom, intent to launch my kick, when light suddenly floods the driveway and the side of the house, illuminating my attacker. Dark, greasy hair that comes down to his shoulders and parts in the middle. A long, wiry beard. Dirty face smudged with oil and sweat. The light surprises him and his eyes flare wide as they turn toward the source, which I know is a car that’s just pulled into the driveway. Either Lorelei or Jake, but I can’t tell because I can’t turn my head without causing the blade to go in deeper. I have no clue if they can see us, but my attacker must not think so, even though I can see his eyes are pale blue from the shimmer of the light on him. He presses the blade in tighter and doesn’t say a word, seemingly unsure of what to do. For the first time, I feel a small trickle of blood that rolls down past my collarbone to my chest. The engine is cut off, and I hear the ticking of the motor. The lights don’t go out and the car door opens. All of this happens in just seconds, and without any thought as to whether it’s the right thing to do or not, I open my mouth and let out the most piercing shriek I can muster. It startles the man so much that he actually jerks backward from me, my neck suddenly free from the knife. I turn and see Lorelei standing beside her car with the door still open, not even fifteen feet away. She’s staring straight at us, the headlights showing her exactly what the situation is. I haven’t met her yet, but I did see her getting in her car one morning from the upper window in the garage apartment. I wonder if she knows who I am. Because she’s standing in the glow of the sconce lights, I see clearly the look of shock cross her face, then her eyes narrow in recognition of me and a scary, greasy man standing there with a knife. Oh, fuck… what was I thinking? Lorelei is pregnant. She might even have her daughter in the backseat. She’s now in as much danger as I am. “Lorelei… run,” I scream, my back still pinned against the wall, not by my attacker but merely by my terror. But she doesn’t. Instead, she calmly reaches into her purse and pulls a gun out. My gaze goes to the man, watching his eyes widen in surprise. I’m sure mine look the same. “You get the hell away from her,” Lorelei says as she holds the gun aimed at him in a sure, two-

handed grip. She looks completely confident in her abilities, and I think that might be because everyone in Wyoming owns guns and knows how to shoot. The man doesn’t move one way or the other. He stands frozen to the spot, his eyes riveted on Lorelei and the gun, his hand holding the knife loosely by his side. My gut instinct—no, my internal sense of selfpreservation—tells me to run—but I stand frozen to the spot as well, afraid any movement from me might provoke him to attack. “Only going to say this one more time,” Lorelei says, and I hear the unmistakable snick of the gun cocking. “Get the hell away from her.” He only hesitates for one, maybe two seconds before he bolts off into the darkness, the sound of his feet thumping on the hard ground and eventually receding into the distance. “Get over here, Cat,” Lorelei says, her gun now swung slightly toward the way in which my attacker just ran. Well, that answers the question… she knows who I am. I bend to grab my purse, but Lorelei barks at me, “Over here now. I can’t see much past you and I don’t know if he’s still out there.” There’s no hesitation because the thought he might be back propels me as much as Lorelei’s commanding voice. I run straight at her, confident she won’t shoot me. She nods at her car and says, “Get in the back with Amber.” I don’t argue but do exactly as she says. When the door is closed, she slowly backs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. With amazing efficiency, she sets the gun on the dashboard, reaches into her purse to grab her phone, and manages to start the car. Handing the phone to me, she says, “Call 911. Tell them what happened and the address. Tell them I’m leaving and going to drive the block until they get here.” “Why?” I ask as I take the phone. “Because I have no clue if there are others, possibly in the house or apartment,” she says as she shifts the car into reverse. Brilliant. Would have never thought of that. I turn to look at Amber sitting beside me in the car seat. Beautiful little girl with golden blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, clutching a teddy bear. I give her a tremulous smile. “Hi.” She looks at me with solemn eyes, understanding that something scary is going on here. Then I turn back to Lorelei’s phone to call the police.

* “CAN YOU REMEMBER ANYTHING else?” Detective Blanton asks as he sits beside me on the couch in Lorelei and Jake’s living room, typing notes on an iPad. He’s a nice-looking man… tall with dark hair peppered lightly with gray, which tells me he’s been a cop for a while. “I think that’s it,” I say, my brain trying to sift through all the details, but I feel they’re all muddied from the fear and adrenaline. It took me no more than five minutes to recount to him what happened the first time, and that’s only because the entire thing couldn’t have lasted more than two minutes, although it felt like twenty. He had me go through my story three more times, each time managing to pull out some other detail I had forgotten. It makes me wonder what else I’ve failed to tell him. He doesn’t say anything, just continues to type in some notes. The front door opens, but I don’t flinch as police officers have been coming in and out as they search for evidence, making sure that no one was inside the house. I turn my head, surprised to see Rand standing there, his face pale and his jaw locked. He sidesteps a cop, rounds the loveseat, and heads straight toward

me. I stand up, shuffle to the side of the coffee table, and meet him at mid-room where his arms are around me and he’s pushing my face into his chest. “Jesus,” he growls as he squeezes me breathlessly. “Thank fuck for Lorelei.” I nod, because yes… thank fuck. As soon as we returned to the house, only after Lorelei saw the first cruiser pull into the driveway, she called Rand and Jake to let them know what happened. I had no idea what she said because I was immediately pulled into an interview to try to get my statement while details were fresh and untainted. Three other cars pulled up within moments, with two officers heading off into the darkness to see if they’d luck out and find the guy who attacked me. An ambulance arrived moments later. But here Rand is now with his arms banded around me tightly and for the first time since the man grabbed me, I feel a measure of safety. Rand pulls back slightly and looks down at me. “Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?” Hospital? Hospital! “How’s Tarryn?” I blurt out, my hand coming to his chest. “Is she alright?” Rand rolls his eyes and glares at me, pulling me back to the couch where he pushes me down and then squats in front of me. “Forget about her,” he says as his fingers come to flutter over the white bandage on my throat that the paramedic put on me. He said it wasn’t deep at all and should heal up fine, so I refused a trip to the hospital. “He cut you?” “I’m fine,” I say, rather than confirm the obvious. It turns out he didn’t cut me all that bad. A thin slice… more a scratch really, that produced a single large bead of blood that trickled down my chest. Lorelei walks out of the back hallway and smiles at Rand and me. “I just put Amber down. Can I get anyone coffee?” The detective looks up from his iPad and says, “I’d actually like to get your statement, Mrs. Gearhart.” Lorelei nods and sits down on the loveseat while Rand pushes up off the floor to pace while she tells her story. He mutters and curses to himself as he listens, and I’m thankful he wasn’t here when I told the cop what happened, as it was far more unpleasant than Lorelei valiantly chasing him off with a gun. “Give me as detailed a description as you can,” the detective prods her. “He was about fifteen feet from me and my headlights illuminated him pretty well. Five-nine, maybe hundred and sixty pounds. Dark brown hair to shoulder, full beard and mustache. Jeans, black boots, and a long-sleeved dark t-shirt. Leather cut with an MC patch on the front that I couldn’t see all that well, but I saw a larger one on the back when he turned to run. Had a skull on the back. Oh, and he had a teardrop tattoo under his right eye, at least I’m pretty sure that’s what it was, but it all happened so fast. I’m not sure how much that helps.” I stare at Lorelei, my mouth agape. How did she get all that in the few seconds she saw him? How in the hell did she see that tattoo when I was almost face to face with him and didn’t notice it. Or maybe I did notice it but it just didn’t register. Or perhaps it registered but I’ve forgotten it because I was more worried about not getting my throat slit. Let’s face it… I’m practically useless at this eyewitness stuff. All I had was greasy hair and a preference for beer and hot dogs, which granted… if they had tracking dogs, they might be able to sniff him out based on that. Detective Blanton nods as he types the information in, his mouth moving silently as he talks to himself at the same time. When he finishes, he looks up at me. “Did he say anything at all? Have a distinct accent?

Anything else you can remember?” Shit! He did talk to me and I didn’t even remember it until he asked. Absolutely fucking useless, and I’m thinking there’s even more I’ve forgotten and he’s going to need to interview me several more times to get the entire store. I nod effusively. “He said he had orders, but that he was going to have fun first.” “Orders?’ the detective asks with raised eyebrows, and Rand comes to a standstill. I can feel the shock and anger vibrating off him, but I don’t dare look. I know what he’s thinking. “Yeah… he said something like ‘orders were clear’ but that he wanted to have some fun first,” I confirm. “Son of a bitch,” Rand says as he comes to the same conclusion I just did. “Did someone have motive to hurt you?” the cop asks as he looks at me but cuts a quick glance at Rand. I nod, but Rand answers for me. “Her late husband’s oldest son, Kevin Vaughn. Cat’s owed some money from the estate and he’s claiming there’s another will cutting her out. We’ve asked for a signed copy and he was supposed to deliver it today, but he never showed.” “What kind of money are we talking about?” the detective asks, now very interested in this turn of events. “Five million and a house here in Jackson,” I provide. “And what is the estate worth?” he asks. I shrug. “I don’t know. Samuel was a billionaire. But a lot.” “And you think five million out of a billion plus is worth killing you over?” It’s a fair question and it’s something I’ve thought about to the extent I never understood why Kevin wouldn’t just let me have that. It was nominal in the grand scheme of things. “No, I don’t think that’s something that should cause someone to want to kill me,” I tell him with a measure of confusion. “But he kicked me out of my house, shut all my access to money off, claiming there was this new will that cut me out completely. He’s not been able to produce that, and he made an offer to buy me off a few days ago.” “Buy you off?” Detective Blanton asks. Squaring my shoulders, I tell him bluntly, “Five thousand dollars or I could move into the Jackson house and be his mistress.” If this surprises the detective, he doesn’t let it show, merely bows his head over the iPad and notes that. He asks for contact info for Kevin as well as Richard, confirming where he can get up with me for more questions if needed and so he can keep me updated. With Lorelei and I both assuring him that’s all we can remember, he goes outside to oversee the other cops in searching around the house for evidence. Rand walks up to me and holds his hand out. I take it, and he pulls me from the couch. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs, fed, and then ready for bed.” I nod with a tired smile and turn to Lorelei as she stands from the love seat. “I know we haven’t been formally introduced, but thank you for saving my life tonight. And seriously… all that stuff you remembered about what he looked like… you, madam, are a fucking legend.” She grins and leans in to give me a hug. “My pleasure. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Rand leads me out of the living room and to the front door, Lorelei following behind us. Food sounds good, but a hot shower sounds better as I can’t get the smell of hot dogs and beer out of my head. Twisting the knob, Rand pulls the door open and I see both Jake and Bridger standing at the bottom of the porch talking to Detective Blanton. Both their heads turn our way, Jake’s eyes going to Lorelei’s, where he does a quick up and down to ensure she’s fine and then gives her a transparent look that says, I’m so proud of you, glad you’re safe, and I’m going to kill that asshole if I find him for even coming

on to my property, but before that, I’m going to take you inside and fuck you because I love you so much. Bridger looks straight at me, his eyes also roaming over me quickly and coming to stop at the bandage on my neck. His lips flatten out in a grimace, his eyes coming back to mine where he gives me a sad look. He turns back to Jake, claps him on the shoulder, and then turns to Rand as he leads me down the porch steps. When my feet hit the bottom, Bridger reaches a hand out and grips my chin. “You okay?” “Yeah… I’m fine.” He nods and then looks to Rand, nodding upward to his apartment. “We need to talk.”

Chapter 21

Rand I DIDN’T THINK I could be strung any tighter. Cat was attacked on the doorstep of our home and it was nothing more than a fortuitous moment that Lorelei happened to come home at that exact time. I shudder thinking about the alternative because that means I’d have to imagine Cat laying broken, raped, and dead for us to find when we got home later, and that’s not something I can handle. But when Bridger says we need to talk, my body tightens even more and my teeth slam together so hard I think they may have cracked. “Come on up,” I tell Bridger as I grip Cat’s hand tighter and lead her to the stairwell. Bridger follows behind, and we easily navigate our way as the police have a large ground lamp set up on the driveway as they look at footprints and comb the area for anything that can assist them in the investigation. I’m assuming that whoever attacked Cat knocked out the security light because it’s not on. The wooden porch at the top of the stairs is empty, but there were some technicians up there when I arrived a bit ago dusting for prints on the door. They had confirmed it was still locked and the apartment was secure, but they figured the attacker could have tried to get inside first before Cat arrived. Black dust smudges the doorknob, but I ignore it as I release Cat’s hand to pull my keys out and open the door. We’re all silent as we walk in, and I quickly turn on lights in the living room and kitchen. Cat goes to the couch and sits on it with a sigh. Her plaid blouse is still open, the white camisole underneath demurely hiding everything, but I don’t miss the fact the buttons are missing with pieces of thread hanging from the places they were once secured. My teeth clamp down harder and my jaw starts to hurt from the force of it. I want to kill someone… well, Kevin to be exact because I know damn well he’s behind this. Then I want just a few minutes with the guy who dared to attack Cat because he’s going to regret the day his sorry, piece-of-shit mother ever gave birth to him because he’d rather have not been born than what I intend to do to him. I go to the cabinet to the right of the sink and pull out a can of chicken noodle soup. It’s the best I can manage for Cat at this moment, and I go about making it silently because I’m afraid if I open my mouth to talk about the events of the last hour I’m going to lose my shit. Bridger comes into the kitchen, takes a seat at the table, and watches me silently. He said we need to talk and I’m not sure what he’s waiting for, but I wait all the same. Not sure if he means he wants to talk to me privately or if he’s just waiting until I can feed Cat. While the soup heats, I pull an open bottle of white wine from the fridge that Cat had put there. I also grab two beers for Bridger and me. Cat gets up from the couch, walks into the kitchen, and accepts a glass of wine from me as she sits down at the other chair I have at my tiny table. “Why are you here?” she asks Bridger bluntly after taking a sip of the wine and setting it down before her. “How did you know this was going on?” “I didn’t,” he says. “Shocked the shit out of me when I pulled up and saw the circus. Jake and that cop filled me in.” Pouring the soup into a bowl, I set it before Cat with a large spoon. I almost expect her to push it away, but instead, she starts eating it, taking the time to blow on each spoonful she brings to her mouth.

“So what’s up?” I say as I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest. I want Bridger to hurry up, say whatever he needs, and then get the fuck gone. I have a woman who was attacked and I need to check her over. I need to see with my eyes that she’s okay, and I need to feel with my hands the same. I need to give her the opportunity to tell me how fucking scared she was, and then I need to reassure her she’s safe and that will never fucking happen again. And then… if she’s still not exhausted and ready to go to sleep, I need to take the time to let her know how valued she is and that I want something more. That was made abundantly clear to me the minute Lorelei called me at the hospital to tell me what happened. I always knew Cat might leave the area and go back to Vegas, but tonight I came very close to losing her and it made me prioritize a bit. Made me realize she’s my top priority. “Jenna went through the entire trust agreement you gave me,” Bridger says while tapping his index finger on the table. Cat pauses with a spoon of soup halfway to her mouth. “Cat stands to inherit a bit more than just five million and a house. That’s why I came here.” “What?” Cat says, dropping the spoon back down. “Yeah… the five million and the house was an immediate bequest to get you set up, but later on in the document, he also gives you ten percent of all profits from the hotels and subsidiary businesses under them for the remainder of your life, and then that reverts to his kids if you die before them.” My mind quickly calculates. Ten percent of a billion is one hundred million, and that’s just estimating Samuel’s worth. It’s probably more. “Holy fuck,” I say as I turn my gaze upon Bridger and he’s watching me carefully. “Now that is something Kevin would kill over.” “Yup,” Bridger agrees and cuts a glance at Cat. “Did you know that?” “No,” she says in astonishment. “I mean… Samuel said he’d take care of me, but I thought the five million and a house was more in line with what he meant.” I don’t say it, but all I can think is, Yeah… that fucker must be showing his appreciation for all the times his wife took someone else’s cock so he could humiliate her. “I don’t want that money,” Cat says bitterly, and I know she’s thinking the same thing. What that money really represents. But fuck if I’m going to let her walk away from her due. “Yes, you do.” “No—” I cut her off with a sharp, “Yes, Cat. It’s yours under the law and you are not turning your nose up at it. Your husband may have been the ultimate prick, but in the end, he was looking out for you.” Her mouth snaps shut and she glares at me. I know there’s more argument there, but we’ll worry about that later. Turning to Bridger I say, “We need to go down, grab that detective, and tell him this.” “Already did that when he walked out. He wants a copy of the trust agreement.” “I’ll get it to him tomorrow,” I say, but my mind is already racing ahead, trying to figure out how Kevin could be connected to the attacker. But as usual, Bridger is uncannily ahead of me. “Cop told me a description of the guy that attacked Cat. Sounds like he could be a member of Mayhem’s Mission.” I nod because that’s what I had been thinking. While plenty of people ride bikes in this area, there’s a huge motorcycle club—Mayhem’s Mission—and they are definitely shady. Without a doubt, Kevin would get someone to do his dirty work, and I could see him being stupid enough to approach a biker to do it. “I’m going to call my buddy, Kyle Sommerville, tonight. He rides with them. I’ll see if he’s heard anything.” Bridger stands from the table indicating that’s all the information he has to share.

“Think he’ll know something?” Cat asks him as she stands up too. He turns to her. “Maybe, and if he does, he still might not tell me anything, but I figure it’s worth a shot.” “Well, thank you,” Cat says as she steps into Bridger, wrapping her hands around his waist. He seems surprised for a moment. The man is not the huggy-feely type. But then his face softens, his arms come around her upper back, and he gives her a quick squeeze before releasing her. I walk Bridger to the door, noting that Cat sits back down to continue eating her soup. Still, to make sure she can’t hear, I step out onto the small porch behind him and pull the door shut behind me. He turns, knowing I’m here seeking a private word. “You think it was Kevin behind this?” I ask to make sure we’re on the same page. “Yup. Same as you.” “Then I’m going to pay him a visit after Cat goes to sleep tonight,” I say with a nod. “I’ll get the truth.” “Yeah, you are absolutely not going to do that,” Bridger says gruffly and steps into me. “You’re going to let the police handle this.” I might not have his bulk but I stand eye to eye with him, so I lean into him rather than back. “That fucker hired someone to kill Cat. Someone who didn’t intend to just do it easily. He was going to rape her first. Not going to let that slide.” Bridger doesn’t physically back away, but his voice softens a bit. “I get it, man. You care for her and you want vengeance. But it’s not going to make anything better for her. If you go there tonight and beat the shit out of him, the only one who that is making feel better is you. Trust me… you’re best served to go back in there and hold that girl tonight. She needs that more than you running off on a fool’s errand.” In that moment, I hate him for being right, calm, and wise. I hate he can take the high road and still be able to sleep tonight, but if I do as he asks and take the high road, I’m going to burn from the inside-out with my failure to protect her. Still, I can’t disagree with him that at least for tonight, Cat needs me by her side, not running off to avenge her. So, I nod at him curtly and turn to head back inside. Before my hand touches the knob, Bridger asks in a low voice that’s sure not to filter down to the cops pacing around the yard with their flashlights. “You ever coming back to The Silo?” I look over my shoulder at him. His face is inscrutable. I shrug and say, “No immediate plans, but if I do, it will be with Cat.” Bridger lets out a deep chuckle of understanding as I walk back into the apartment where I find Cat at the sink, washing out her bowl. She doesn’t turn to face me but instead asks, “Everything okay?” “I’m the one who should be asking you that,” I say as I walk up behind her. Reaching around with my hands, I take the bowl from her and place it in the sink, then turn her around to face me. She does so easily, looking up at me with curiosity. Her eyes are wan, but still she smiles at me. My eyes drop to the bandage and with slightly shaky hands, I peel the tape and gauze back so I can see for myself. A thin, red line about three inches long, about two inches above her left collarbone. The air wheezes out of my chest as I realize just how much worse it could be. Placing the bandage back in place, I press the tape onto her skin and look up at her with an encouraging smile that takes all my willpower to give her. “Not bad at all,” I say. Her eyes shine with amusement at me that I’m trying to downplay what happened, just to take the weight and magnitude off her shoulders a bit. “You need to eat,” she says, hands sliding up to my chest. “And you still haven’t told me if Tarryn’s

okay?” My hands capture hers, and I hold them in place right over my heart. “Tarryn’s fine. She’s having surgery tomorrow on her ankle, and I’ve asked her to stop contacting me.” “Rand,” Cat says in a censuring tone. “Don’t, Cat,” I warn her, still trying to gentle my words as she’s had a shittier day than I have. “You let me handle Tarryn and trust I’m doing what’s right and I’m doing it in a way that’s not intentionally hurtful, okay?” Immediately, her cheeks turn pink and her gaze drops. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have…” “Cat,” I say softly but firmly to cut her off, and she looks back up. “Let’s talk about you, okay?” “Me?” “Yeah… and me.” “And you?” she asks hesitantly. “Let’s talk about us and if there’s a concept of us,” I clarify with a smile, taking her by the hand and walking her into the living room. My desire is to walk her right into the bedroom so I can undress her, examine her fully to make sure I’m not missing anything, and then pull her into bed where I’d also really like to fuck her but know that I’ll ultimately just end up holding her. But this conversation needs some boundaries, so it’s to the couch I lead us. She takes a seat and rather than sit beside her, I plop my butt on the coffee table instead where our knees bump together. She frowns and says, “Uh-oh… this is serious.” “Yeah,” I admit. “You want me to leave?” she asks softly, her eyes shining at me with some understanding she thinks I need but totally don’t want. “No, I don’t want you to leave,” I tell her with exasperation as I take her hands. “I want to talk about you staying… forever, if you want.” “Staying?” she asks carefully. “You mean more than just here at the apartment with you?” I don’t answer her directly but rather turn back to where we had left things at the Snake River Brewery before I’d got called away by Tarryn. “You told me tonight that you were afraid that I was going to wake up one day and realize you’re not the person I’d want to give the time of day to.” She nods, lips pursed in an ashamed grimace. “Well, my fears are a little different,” I tell her as I press forward. “I’m afraid I’m going to wake up one day and you’ll be gone because I didn’t make the bold move to tell you how I’m feeling. I know you said you’re afraid you can’t give me what I’m expecting, and the ironic thing is, you already give me that and so much more, and you don’t even realize it.” “Rand,” she says, and she sounds desperate. Her face is pale and she looks decidedly uncomfortable, but I decide to push forward. “I’m crazy about you, Cat,” I tell her firmly, looking her dead in the eye. “That call tonight from Lorelei was my wake-up call and I realized I was not ready to lose you in any fashion. I’m falling in love with you and I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, but you need to know for a woman who doesn’t think she amounts to much, you’re pretty much amounting to my everything.” Cat blinks at me, her eyes getting shiny. “You don’t mean that.” “I do and one day, you’ll believe it too,” I tell her with utter confidence. “I don’t know if I can love,” she whispers fearfully. “I mean… look at what I know of it. A cold, derelict mother who only wants to use me and a dead husband who got off on humiliating me… a father who abandoned me. I don’t know what it even means to care for someone.” “That’s bullshit, Cat, and you know it,” I tell her. “The mere fact you’re worried about not giving me

what I need tells me you care for me. Hell, the fact that you were more worried about how Tarryn was tonight than yourself tells me that you’ve got a heart the size of this state.” She blinks at me again, and I can see she’s confused. She even shakes her head in silent denial, opens her mouth to do the same, and then seems to reconsider because she closes it just as quickly. Her gaze slides over to my bookshelf that holds photographs of me competing and with my family. It tells of a happy, fulfilled life surrounded by people who love and care for me. And then she totally changes the subject. At least I think it’s a change of subject. “If Kevin did this… hired someone to kill me, do you think that’s something within his very makeup or was it learned behavior from maybe his father… to sort of take what you want?” Well, shit. That’s a deep as hell question and I don’t know much about Kevin or Samuel. She has to have a reason for asking it, but I’m not sure what she’s looking for, so I’m a little hesitant when I say, “I have to believe that his father’s influence played a role. His father pretty much taught him he could have what he wanted without working for it. You’re the example of that. He let that shit have you… someone beautiful, amazing, and totally beyond his reach, and he just handed you over without his son even earning the right to breathe the same air as you.” She nods, gaze coming back to me. “I think that’s probably true. Although Richard doesn’t seem to have that same entitlement.” “Or maybe he’s involved in this with Kevin and we just don’t know it,” I point out. “Also true,” she says softly, and then changes subjects again. “I wonder what type of influence my father would have been on me. You know, if he’d have stuck around… been involved in my life.” “You don’t know that he abandoned you,” I say carefully, so she’s not making conclusions about a situation she truly knows nothing about. “That’s what my mom says,” she says bitterly. “But I can never trust what she says, so who knows?” “Well, you didn’t have very good role models in your life,” I tell her, as this is something I am sure about. “And yet, you’re still an incredibly caring and empathetic woman, so I’m going to have to say that part is inside of you somehow. Maybe that’s part of your dad.” Her smile softens, lips curved in a wistful arc while her eyes get dreamy. “You know… if I get money from Samuel’s estate, I think I’m going to try to find my dad. It may be a chase after nothing, but it seems the right thing to do if I were to have a windfall of some sort.” “That inheritance is not a windfall,” I remind her. “It’s your due under the law as his wife. And we’re going to make sure you get every penny.” She nods with another smile, and then yawns. It’s my cue that this deep conversation is over for now. While that part of me that is dying for her to admit her feelings for me wants to bully her into it, I think enough has been said tonight to at least make her think. She knows that this is more than just casual for me, so now I really just need to sit back and let her try to figure things out.

Chapter 22

Cat I WALK INTO THE SILO with my head held high but my palms sweating fiercely. While my head tells me this is a good idea, my heart is already hurting in anticipation of what Rand will think. It’s been four days since I was attacked and things have not gotten any clearer to me. In fact, I feel like I’m struggling to stay afloat in muddied waters. Detective Blanton brought Kevin in for questioning the very next morning. According to the detective, Kevin acted shocked he was being questioned in relation to the attack and of course, denied any involvement. He was released after two hours of being grilled and maintaining a consistent refusal to admit to hiring someone to kill me. This was frustrating, especially because the detective told me he didn’t buy Kevin’s innocent act for a moment. He had asked Kevin about the supposed will he claimed cut me out, and after a lot of hemming and hawing on his part, he did finally admit there wasn’t another will. He said he didn’t believe I deserved anything and that’s the reason why he said there was. He didn’t even act abashed that he kicked me out of my home on a lie. This of course raised a huge, red flag to the detective and has motivated him to push harder to find my attacker, who could then possibly turn on Kevin. The other thing that happened was Richard called me that evening, as apparently he’d been questioned by the detective via telephone immediately after Kevin was. If I can believe him, and I think I can, Richard was appalled that Kevin claimed there was another will and used that to kick me out of the house. He confirmed for me what Bridger had revealed just four days ago. I was going to get five million dollars, the Jackson house, and apparently yearly profits in the amount of ten percent. Richard didn’t seem put out in the slightest. The best thing that happened was he assured me Kevin had vacated the house today to return to Vegas and I could move back immediately if I wanted. He also opened up a bank account in my name and transferred some immediate funds until he could get a larger transfer done, as well as turned my credit cards back on, not that it mattered. I had cut those cards up days ago, as I didn’t want anything reminding me that I was once Catherine Vaughn. I even went and got a new Wyoming driver’s license with my maiden name of Lyons, although I hadn’t decided whether or not to stay here. About the only thing I have decided is that Rand has become important enough to me that I’ve decided to cut him loose. I know he has faith in me. I know he sees something within me that I just can’t seem to recognize myself. I know, without a doubt, that he believes we could have something solid and long lasting between us. Unfortunately, I just don’t believe that. While it warmed me down to my toes when he told me that he was crazy about me and was falling in love with me, cold reality soon settled in as I lay in his arms that night. I thought about all the things that make me a wretched human being and felt myself growing colder on the inside, a slithering cloud of blackness filling me up. I’m a woman who let dozens of men fuck me.

Defile me. Humiliate me. I let my husband force me to have sex with people who were as vile and disgusting as he was. I let him make me have sex with his own son, for God’s sake. I sat there like a doormat and took that abuse for years, and why did I do it? Because the money and having a place to live was more important than my self-respect. At any time, I could have walked out that door and gone back to stripping. It may not have been the best life, but it was an honest one, and I could have gotten right back up on that stage and been able to support myself just fine. But if I’m being absolutely honest with myself, and reflecting on the true nature of myself so I can decide what to do about Rand, then I have to admit I was perfectly willing to let myself be defiled and humiliated so I could keep the fancy house, Mercedes, and designer clothing. I whored myself out for a cushy life and that right there tells me all I need to know about my true character. And that is not someone who would ever be worthy of Rand Bishop. The only problem was that I didn’t know how to go about breaking it off. We spent the weekend together just hanging out in the apartment, fucking constantly. It was desperately pathetic on my part because I wanted to hold onto the physical pleasure with him just a little bit longer, knowing that there would never be another man comparable to him in my bed. It goes without saying there will never be another who is comparable in my heart either. Since I’m being honest about all the terrible things that make up Cat Lyons, I can also be truthful and admit I do love Rand. I love him enough to make sure he does far better than me. All weekend, Rand was careful in his words with me, preferring to take more of a backseat when it came to talking about the future or feelings. I think he was giving me “space” to come to the same conclusions he did, but all I realized is that while I cared for him more than anything in this world, I was nowhere near good enough for him. I simply don’t deserve him. He absolutely doesn’t deserve a woman like me. We both went back to work on Monday as usual—him to the tattoo shop and me to the Hayes’ campaign headquarters—and it killed me to come home last night to find he made dinner for us. It was the perfect picture of domesticity, and it made me realize I could not let his hope continue to build. So when I got up this morning for work, I knew I needed to send a decisive message to him that I was most certainly not the one for him. The note on the kitchen table telling him I was spending the evening at The Silo should do the trick, even though I’m sick to my stomach about it. I need to stay strong. This is the best way… to remind him of who I am deep down so he can realize his heart is being wasted on someone like me. Walking up to the bar, I glance around at the patrons. I should just choose someone, fuck him fast, and get it over with. That will, for me at least, cut the ties to Rand. Once I’m with someone else, I know it’s over. Instead, I decide to order a drink to calm my nerves. I take a seat at the bar and order a glass of wine, sipping on it while contemplating how much my life sucks at this moment. Two men approach me, but I decline the invitation. I tell myself I’m enjoying my wine and want to finish it first, although truthfully, I don’t even know what kind I’m sipping. “Odd… seeing you here,” I hear from behind me and recognize the gravel-like timber to Bridger’s voice. I don’t even bother to look at him as he takes the seat next to me. “Why’s that?” I ask blandly. “You’ve been absent for a while… you and Rand wrapped up in each other. It’s just odd you’re here

now. Without him.” I shrug and still don’t look at him. A sip of wine. Staring blankly at the bar top. “I talked to my buddy, Kyle,” Bridger says in a low voice, thankfully leaving the subject of Rand and me alone. “He was noncommittal on whether he could identify the guy based on the description. I sort of got the impression he was going to poke around and find out what he could before he decides if he’s going to help.” “What does that mean?” I ask as I swivel my stool so I’m facing Bridger. “It means that if the hit on you was brought before the club and sanctioned, Kyle won’t tell me shit. But if this was a rogue act, he might give us a tip in the right direction.” “Oh,” I say in disappointment as I swivel back to face the bar. I know Kevin’s not going to roll over on anything, and that the only way to pin him to this is by finding the guy who tried to carry out the order, hoping he gives Kevin up for a plea deal or something. It sounds to me as if that’s probably not going to happen, which is a cause for concern. It means I’m still vulnerable and although Richard has given me assurances, I think Kevin is a bit on the sociopathic side. I wouldn’t put it past him to continue to come after me. “So this is it, huh?” he prods. “You’re making the break from him?” So much for him leaving the subject of Rand and me alone. Gaze goes to my wine… wish I had about three of these in me right now. “It’s the right thing to do. He deserves better than me.” “If you say so,” Bridger says mildly. I turn to him in surprise, finally looking at the man who most people look upon as some sort of god around here. He’s been nothing short of nice and supportive of me, and I’ve always had the distinct impression he takes care of those he calls friends. I don’t necessarily think I’m in that category, but I know damn well Rand is. So, I thought he might try to persuade me otherwise. For Rand’s benefit. “You’re not going to try to talk me out of this?” I ask, my eyes narrowing on him. “Nope,” he says with a confident smile. “You’re a big girl and can make your own decisions. You’re also a smart girl. I’ve got confidence in you.” Huh? I think this just affirms for me that Bridger probably recognizes those same god-awful qualities that I see in myself. He probably knows this is the best thing. This should be affirmation to me of my decision but instead it hurts me deep down to know that I must be right about myself. “Besides,” Bridger says as almost an afterthought. “Rand just pulled into the parking lot as I was walking in. Figured he’ll have plenty to say to get you to change your mind.” “Rand’s here?” I spin swiftly on my chair, looking back at the door. And sure enough, he’s standing there just at the end of the short hall that leads into the main room. His gaze is pinned on me with an absolutely unreadable expression on his face. He stalks across the room, not looking anywhere else but at me. As he gets closer—when I can see the green of his eyes—I note they’re filled with disappointment. When he reaches me, he spares a quick look to Bridger and lifts his chin in greeting before turning back to me. He just stares and I don’t know what to say. Should I apologize? Explain my actions? Or maybe I should just own them to make the break easier. Before I can utter a word though, Bridger stands up and claps a hand on Rand’s shoulder I’m assuming in commiseration. He gives me a guarded look and turns to head back across the room. Rand and I both

watch him walk out of The Silo. “Why are you doing this, Cat?” Rand asks softly, and I slide my gaze back to him. I lay open my heart and tell him the truth. “Because I’m not good enough for you.” I expect him to scoff, roll his eyes, and lay into me with a speech about all my fine qualities. But he doesn’t. He just stares at me with the look of a man who knows the ride will be bumpy but who is prepared to hold on tight. “If this is what you need to do,” Rand says in a neutral voice, “then you do it. Just so you know—it’s not going to change my feelings about you.” My mouth falls open as I realize he’s deadly serious. “You’d sincerely be okay with me fucking someone else here tonight?” “No, I won’t be okay with it,” he says with a touch of anger in his voice and his eyes firing a little hot. “If you’re going to play around with others, I want to be involved. But if you feel this is what you need to do to because you can’t deal with my feelings, or maybe the feelings you have for me, then you need to do it.” “I need to do it?” I whisper back in question since he seems to think he knows what I need. “You need to do it,” he reiterates. “But I’m here to tell you, Cat. You won’t feel better. You’ll feel worse because you’ll know it hurts me. It won’t make the break any easier for either of us.” This angers me because I know he’s right and I don’t want him to be. I also don’t want to fuck someone else, so maybe I should just really lay it on the line so we can end things on words rather than actions. I lean toward him, keeping my voice just above a whisper. “Do you know how much strange cock I’ve had in me? Multitudes of men who I didn’t even know their name? Fucking me in my mouth… my pussy… my ass. I never said no. I never thought to have a tiny bit of self-respect and tell my asshole, evil husband that I wasn’t doing those nasty things. I took it over and over again, and you know why? Because I liked the money and the lifestyle. I didn’t want to go back to a dirty, cockroach-infested apartment or a sticky stage with a stripper pole. I whored myself out to be a wealthy woman, and I did it without regrets. Is that the type of person you could fall in love with?” “I know all of that,” Rand says back in a low voice, and I don’t detect a trace of bitterness over my “used goods” status. Instead, his voice is gentle as he reiterates, “I know all that and I don’t care. But you are wrong about one thing… you do have regrets. If you didn’t, it wouldn’t bother you so much right now.” I blink at him, unsure of what to say. He’s so right. I regret everything I’ve ever done from the moment I met Samuel Vaughn. I regret marrying someone without love, for choosing money over respect, and for hurting Rand in any way. He leans in closer, lips hovering just inches away from mine. I breathe in, and he smells so good… “You do what you have to do, Cat,” Rand says softly. “It’s not chasing me away.” He kisses me. Nothing but a tender kiss on the corner of my mouth. Then he turns away from me and walks out of The Silo.

Chapter 23

Rand I’M NOT A FAN of Vegas. Been a handful of times, usually for a bachelor party. Not big on gambling, definitely don’t want to see Cirque de Soleil or Celine, and all-you-can-eat buffets are overrated. This part of Vegas isn’t much better. No glitzy lights. No throng of people walking around with stars in their eyes. Nope. Cat’s mom lives in a small trailer park on the outskirts of town with nothing but flat desert as far as the eye can see. When I pull my Suburban onto the dirt path that leads into the entrance, dust kicks up and swirls all around. I left Cat in The Silo going on almost twenty-four hours ago. I left her behind and told her she needed to do what she needed to do, and I don’t regret that. I can’t make Cat into something she doesn’t want to be. I have to let her figure things out so she accepts them. She has to be in control of her destiny. Of that, I’m absolutely certain. So I went home, packed a duffle bag with a few days’ worth of clothing, and hopped in my SUV. I drove straight out of town and headed south, intent on doing something for Cat that might help her regain her identity. It’s a long shot, but I don’t have anything but time on my hands. I thought about flying because I hate long drives, but then immediately discounted it for two reasons. First, I needed space from Cat and I needed it at that moment. Probably couldn’t have caught a flight out last night and that would mean a potential run in with her at the apartment. She needed the space to figure things out as well, so I knew driving the ten-plus hours would do the trick. Secondly though, and most important, it gave Bridger time to do what he needed to do. As soon as I hit the road, I called him and told him I was going to find Cat’s father. He seemed neither surprised nor skeptical of my actions, but just asked what he could do to help. I told him I needed to first find Cat’s mom because she was the only one who knew who he was. Cat told me her mother said he abandoned them and she didn’t even put the name on the birth certificate. No clue if that’s true or not, but I’m going to find out. Bridger also showed me why he’s got the respect of everyone in The Silo, and why people turn to him when their troubles get too much to handle. “I’m heading back over to The Silo now,” he’d told me last night. “I’ll keep an eye on her for you.” “Let her do what she wants to do,” I told him, even though the thought of her fucking someone there made my stomach knot up. “You got it, brother,” he replied. “And for what it’s worth, you’re doing the right thing.” “Going to find her father?” “No,” he said solemnly. “Letting her figure herself out. Only way it’s going to work between you two.” The words were a small comfort as I traveled mile after mile to Nevada. But even his wise words started to dull when I saw Vegas come into view around eight AM. I went straight to the Bellagio and checked in. Pulled my clothes off and fell on the bed in an exhausted heap. Sleep came easily despite my worries.

When I woke up around five, Bridger had sent me a text with Trish Lyons’ address and two additional words, Good luck. After a quick shower and a room service meal, I got my Suburban from the valet and headed out of town to hopefully get the information I need. I navigate the neat rows of trailers, all fairly well-kept with underpinning and permanent decks built on although they all have some age on them. As I pull up to Trish’s home, I see a silver sedan parked perpendicular to the porch steps, and I hope it’s hers. I’m prepared to camp out and wait if it’s not, but I’d sure like to get this over with because I doubt it’s going to be pleasant. I park behind the silver car and shut my engine off. As I open the driver’s door, I see a flutter of movement at the window so I know someone’s definitely in there. By the time I exit my SUV and hit the top porch step, the front door is opening, leaving the screen door in place as a barrier. I assume that’s Cat’s mom staring out at me, but I can’t be sure as they look nothing alike. This woman is shorter than Cat by several inches and has thinning blonde hair that’s pulled back into a bun. Her skin is overly tan and although she can’t be more than mid-forties, the damage from the sun creates an almost leather-like look that adds hard years onto her. “Can I help you?” she asks in a voice that’s unfriendly and brusque. “Trish Lyons?” I counter. She could deny it, but I can tell by the look on her face that it’s her. Still, she plays dumb. “Depends who’s asking.” I don’t have time for this shit. “My name is Rand Bishop. I’m a friend of your daughter’s. I want to find her father, and I want you to tell me his name. I’m prepared to pay well for the information.” Her face morphs from skepticism to interest the minute I mention money. Her hand shoots out, and she pushes the screen door open. “Come on inside and we’ll talk.” I step inside, pleased to find the interior cool. Her house is well kept but a little worn. Carpet and furniture looking as if it dated back to Cat’s childhood days. I glance around and don’t see a single picture of Cat and while it doesn’t necessarily surprise me, it does sadden me. This woman hasn’t minded taking money from Cat over the last several years but she doesn’t care enough about her to even have her photograph on display. “Would you like something to drink?” she asks me as I follow her into the kitchen that sits right beside the living room with a short, half-wall divider between the spaces. “No thanks,” I say. She sits at the small, round table in the center, nodding at the chair opposite of her. I take a seat, lean back, and clasp my hands on the table. “How much money are you willing to pay me for the name of Cat’s father?” she asks, her eyes now gleaming with the possibilities. “Ten thousand,” I say, ready to haggle with this woman. She’s going to try to squeeze everything out of me, no doubt. “That won’t do it,” she says and rubs a finger over her chin thoughtfully. “But twenty-five would.” I know I can get her down more because I recognize the lust for the money in her gaze. But I want something more than just the name of Cat’s father from her, so I tell her, “Done. However, after this, you don’t ever ask your daughter for another dime. You can contact her to inquire as to how she’s doing, wish her happy birthday, or just in general try to be a mother. But you don’t squeeze her for money ever again.” Rather than respond to my offer, she says, “That husband of hers is dead. I expect she’s inherited a ton of money. Seems like I’m selling out short at twenty-five now that I think about it.” I could lie to this woman, tell her that Cat didn’t get any inheritance, but that doesn’t necessarily sit

right with me. So I hedge a little and tell her the truth as it stands today. “Cat doesn’t have anything other than a little bit of money she got from pawning her jewelry. She was kicked out of her home and told she’d been cut out of the will. She’s working a job right now making fifteen bucks an hour. She’s got nothing to give you.” That was all truth. Her eyes are calculating as she considers what I’ve said. “But I do have money… lots of it, and twenty-five thousand is more than fair to pay for a name and a final payoff for you to leave Cat alone.” “What does she hope to gain by finding him?” she asks, not because she cares for Cat but because she’s trying to see if there’s another angle to exploit. I ignore the question because she doesn’t deserve to hear anything about Cat’s need to find herself. It’s partly this woman’s fault that her daughter is so lost. Instead, I say, “I’ll give you half now for the name and the other half when I find him.” “What if you don’t find him?” she asks, leaning forward with shrewd eyes. “If I don’t find him, then you don’t get the rest of the money.” I lean forward and hold her stare. “That doesn’t seem fair,” she pouts. “Take it or leave it.” I was done negotiating and I knew she was going to take it. No way she was turning her nose up at $12,500 in cash right now. Trish stands up from the table and walks back into the living room. I don’t follow but watch her pull a small box out of a rattan chest on one end of the couch. She opens it up, riffles through, and comes back to me, sullenly handing me a piece of paper. I take it from her and see it’s a computer printout of a news article dated February 3, 2003. There’s a grainy picture of a man wearing a military uniform with a beret. The title says, “Fort Bragg Soldier Awarded Bronze Star”. “I would Google him every now and then,” she says, nodding down to the paper in my hand. “Found that a few years ago, but not really sure why I kept it. Was just curiosity, I guess.” My eyes move back and forth as I read the short article: Fort Bragg, NC (AP): Sergeant Major Allen Henning with the 82nd Airborne Division was awarded the Bronze Star with Valor for selfless actions he undertook in Afghanistan that saved the lives of numerous soldiers. Sergeant Major Henning, along with fourteen other soldiers, came under enemy fire while stationed at Forward Operating Base Eagle in the Balad district of Afghanistan. After identifying the shooter in an Afghani uniform, who had already shot two soldiers under Henning’s command, Sergeant Major Henning managed to return cover fire to enable others to get to safety. He then managed to wound the assailant, effectively disarming him and ensuring his quick capture by U.S. Forces. The article goes on to say that Allen Henning is from Green Bay, Wisconsin and had joined the Army in 1990 at the age of eighteen. I know Cat is twenty-four, born in 1991, so if this is her father, that would have made him nineteen at the time. I look up to Trish, who doesn’t hold an ounce of fondness on her face for the man who gave her a daughter. “What’s the story with you two?” I ask bluntly. She grimaces and sits back down at the table. “I was living with a friend in Fayetteville, North Carolina and met Allen there. He’d been in the Army only a few months stationed at Ft. Bragg. We had a brief affair and then I came back to Vegas. He apparently went on to do quite well for himself.” “Define brief affair,” I push at her.

She shrugs. “We were together maybe four months. Because we were young and stupid, we were fucking like rabbits with no protection. I got pregnant and never told him.” “Why not?” I ask, trying not to let my lip curl up in disdain at her. “He was gung ho about the Army, and I sure as shit didn’t want to lead that type of life. He got sent to some school at a base in Alabama. He wanted me to wait for him back at Fort Bragg but as soon as he left, I used that opportunity to come back home to Vegas.” “You just left without telling him you were leaving?” “Knew he’d try to talk me out of it. If he’d known I was pregnant, he would have followed me to Vegas. Allen was just one of those upstanding people, always doing the right thing. Was kind of dull actually.” Man, this woman is cracked in the head. “If you didn’t want to be tied down, why in the world would you even keep the baby?” I have to ask her. Because in the few minutes I’ve been in this woman’s presence, I can tell she has no business being a mother. “I didn’t have the funds to get back to Vegas. Told my mom I was pregnant and abandoned, which wasn’t the entire truth, but she wired me money to get home. She made me promise to keep the baby though as she didn’t believe in abortion. So I had Catherine and lived with my mom for about three years. She pretty much took care of the baby until she died from a sudden brain aneurysm, then I had to step up to the plate and become a mom.” Yeah, lady… you most certainly didn’t step up to the plate. “Why didn’t you just give Cat to her father if you didn’t want her?” I ask, unable to hold the derision out of my voice. “Because she had her uses,” she says without an ounce of shame, still looking me in the face. “Tax breaks and government assistance.” “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I growl at her from across the table, pushing my chair back and standing up. “You kept a child because she helped you with taxes and food stamps? What the hell is wrong with you?” Trish’s face flushes red as she tries to defend herself. “I did the best I could. I never beat her or abused her.” “You neglected her,” I spit at her. “You kept her from a parent who might have wanted to give her love and devotion. The only thing you love about your daughter is the money she gives you.” She shrugs again, not willing to engage me in a debate over her mothering skills. Instead, she says, “Look… how about I just get my money and you go on your fool’s errand trying to chase Allen down? Not sure what you hope to accomplish with that, but that was the easiest twenty-five thousand made in the history of the world.” “Twelve-thousand-five hundred,” I correct her as I pull my checkbook out of my back pocket. “You don’t get the other half until I find her dad.”

* THE DISDAINFUL TASK of handing money over to that woman complete, I jump in my Suburban and head back to the Bellagio, calling Bridger on the way through the hands-free Bluetooth. “Fruitful discussion?” is how Bridger answers. “Yeah… got the name of Cat’s father. Allen Henning. Was in the Army, at least as of 2003 when he won a Bronze Star. Originally from Green Bay and was stationed at Fort Bragg. That’s all I got.”

“Piece of cake,” Bridger says, and I will have to take his word on it. The man has dozens of contacts that provide all sorts of useful information, and I’m grateful he’s helping me on this. “I’ll have something for you by morning.” “Thanks, man,” I say as I rub the back of neck, which is aching from the tension of having to actually be in Trish Lyons’ presence. “Sure thing,” he says. “And your girl went home alone last night. Sat at the bar and drank water the rest of the night after that one glass of wine. Left around midnight. I’m assuming she went back to your place.” I wonder what Cat thought when she got to the apartment and I wasn’t there. I left a note, intentionally vague, that just said I was going to be out of town for a few days and would call her when I could. That must have sufficed for her, as she hasn’t attempted to reach out to me. “Also got something on Cat’s attacker,” Bridger says, causing me to sit up straight in my seat, my aching neck forgotten. “Kyle identified him… says he’s a member of the club but her attack was something he did on his own. It wasn’t brought before the president and sanctioned. Sounds like he got a nice chunk of change that he kept all to himself, so the club wasn’t happy at all about having heat brought down on them with no pay in return.” I grimace because just a minute change of circumstances—Kevin approaching the head honcho instead of some rogue member—would have meant we’d never get this information. “What’s that mean?” I ask. “It means Kyle was authorized to tip the cops to where they can find the dude. Hopefully, he’ll roll on Kevin or they’ll find some evidence connecting them.” Hopefully. Because until Kevin was behind bars, Cat wasn’t truly safe. I hadn’t liked the thought of leaving town, but Bridger confirmed Kevin had gone back to Vegas and that he’d keep an eye on Cat for me. Knowing that fuckwad is here in Vegas and that I could do some serious damage if I could track him down has me vibrating with adrenaline. Wouldn’t be hard to get his address. Bet Bridger could whip it up for me in no time at all. Shaking my head, I force myself to leave those thoughts by the wayside. If I’m lucky, I’m going to have Cat’s father’s location tomorrow morning and I’ll be heading out to talk to him. I can’t let Kevin waylay me just because I want the pleasure of breaking his face. That’s going to have to wait until I can get Cat’s father back for her.

Chapter 24

Cat I WALK THROUGH the cavernous house made of logs and slate that will soon be transferred to me in name once Samuel’s estate is settled. Until then, and with Kevin back in Vegas according to Richard, I decided to move out of Rand’s apartment and back into the home I shared with my late husband when we visited Jackson. The entire place is furnished and decorated in typical western flair with heavy pine furniture covered in leather and silk throw pillows in Native American palettes to soften up the look. Typical stuffed and mounted game trophies on the wall. Accent lamps done in cowhide and elk antlers. It’s unoriginal but homey, and if it were not the house I shared with Samuel Vaughn, I’d find it charming. But instead, I hate this place because it’s only purpose was to have a place to sleep when he brought me to The Silo. I have no intention of keeping it. Once things get settled, I’ll sell and bank the money. Once I figure out what I want to be now that I’ve been forced to grow up, I’ll have the financial freedom to chase new dreams, but I won’t be doing it near anything that remotely reminds me of Samuel Vaughn. That means the Jackson house has to go at some point. For now though, I’ll take the refuge, as there’s no way I could stay at Rand’s place after how we left things four nights ago. I spent the rest of the night he left me at The Silo brooding and sipping at bottled water. He told me to do what I needed to do. He essentially said I should fuck someone else if I needed to do that. That was confusing to me at first because it almost sounded like he didn’t care, but when I really thought about it, that’s not what was going on at all. Rand was telling me to do what I needed to do, whatever that may be, to figure out what I want. He was hoping I’d figure out I wanted him, of course. And, of course, I absolutely want him. It’s just that I don’t think I deserve him. So that night, I sipped at my water, brooded, and I thought about life, choices, consequences, and regret. I thought about love and lust, security and comfort. I didn’t need anyone to paint me a clearer picture. I know now that Rand Bishop is it for me. I’ll never find another like him, and I’ll never want anything more in the world than him. I just had to talk myself into truly believing I could have it and not stain him at the same time. So I went to the apartment, maybe in the hopes of letting him try to knock some sense into me, only to find him gone. Nothing but a simple note: Cat, Be gone for a few days. Please stay—don’t feel like you need to leave. Will try to call soon. Rand I must have stared at that note for twenty minutes, trying to glean something out of it to help me figure

out what was in Rand’s mind. Did he take off because he assumed I would indeed fuck someone else at The Silo? Was that his way of “accepting” my feelings that I’m not good enough? Is he agreeing with me about that?’ The unmistakable and emphatic answer comes to me as clear as a bell. No. No way would Rand think that about me. He’s been my one true champion from that day he pulled me out of my car and brought me to his apartment. He’s spent countless energy on validating and affirming me. He’s never judged me once for my choices, and despite knowing the worst about me, he still desires me on both a physical and emotional level. Which begs the question… if Rand can be that stubbornly set on seeing me as a good person, why can’t I? I mean… I admire Rand. He’s a smart guy. Well rounded, kind, and empathetic. He has good business sense and isn’t a fool. So why in the hell would I even think to discount what he sees about me? Why would I ever think that’s not the entire truth? Walking past the overstuffed couch in the living room, I reach out and straighten a throw pillow. My life has been reduced to fluffing pillows because there’s nothing else to do but sit around and wait for Rand to come back. No idea where he could have gone. I went to Westward Ink two days ago, but Pish didn’t know where he was or when he’d be back. I considered going to the Wicked Horse and asking Bridger, but for some reason, I didn’t think I could look him in the eye and admit I may have made a very big mistake by going to The Silo that night, which in turn, drove Rand away. My doorbell rings, startling me with a shock of adrenaline because there’s no reason for anyone to be at my door. I have no friends and my heart refuses to believe it would be Rand. For a split second, I think about ignoring it because if it is Rand, then I’ll be forced to make a decision on how I choose to view myself and what I believe I’m entitled to. Scary prospect, and I’m not sure I’m ready. But then I decide to go for it because it could be a courier delivering papers from Richard regarding the transfer of monies, or it could be Detective Blanton with an update on the case. Instead, when I open the door, I’m greeted by the smiling face of Callie Hayes. The woman who hired me out of the goodness of her heart, only to have me quit on her after three days on the job. Yes, the day after my run in with Rand at The Silo, I went into campaign headquarters and told Callie I couldn’t work for her anymore. She asked why and I told her the truth. That I now had quite a bit of money coming my way and didn’t need the job. She just smiled at me and nodded politely, not buying for one second that was the reason I was quitting. But because she’s a professional, she wished me well and told me I’d be welcome back if I wanted. I felt like shit leaving her like that, but the truth is, at that point, I had figured my life in Jackson, Wyoming was over. I felt like a fraud, and Rand had left. There was no reason for me to stay and continue to cultivate friendships. In fact, I had intended to hightail it back to Vegas. Even though there’s no one there I love, it’s still my hometown. Yet four days later, I’m still here and watching as Callie pushes past me into my home. She looks around as she shrugs out of her jean jacket. It’s late afternoon and the temps really start to dip at this time of year, but not enough to warrant a big coat. “Nice place,” she says conversationally.

“Um… thanks,” I respond as I follow her into the living room. She turns, smiling at me brightly. I smile back, not so bright and with mostly confusion. “What are you doing here?” “Checking in on you, silly,” she says with a wave of her hand. “I didn’t buy that shit about you having all kinds of money now and moving on with your life. Well, I totally bought the money thing… I mean, hello… your husband was a gazillionaire or something, but I refused to believe you were bailing on Rand.” “Rand bailed on me,” I say quietly. I realize for the first time I’m a little hurt he left without any true resolution between us. The way he’s left me wondering, mulling, and stewing over my life has me in knots, and I’m doing nothing but obsessing on how to untie those so I can have peace. Huh? Maybe that’s what Rand intended all along to happen to me? Shaking my head, I look at Callie. With my most confident voice, I say, “I appreciate you checking on me, but as you can see, I’m fine.” And she snorts at me with a major eye roll, and then just levels one cocked eyebrow at me. I get a little miffed. “You don’t know me so just level that look somewhere else.” “I know what it’s like to love someone but they don’t give you the same back in return, mainly because they’re too stupid to realize it,” she murmurs, her head tilted and eyes sympathetic. “I know because Woolf did it to me, and I know how that made me feel. You’re running away from Rand, and I can tell you… it’s going to hurt him deeply.” My shoulders immediately sag and any thought I had of fighting her on this seeps out of me. I don’t want to cause Rand pain. I don’t want to be stupid and lose something that could be very good for me. I just don’t know how to accept my own worthiness. I look at Callie with misery-filled eyes. “I don’t know how to do this.” “Do what?” she asks, taking a step toward me with hands coming out to grasp mine. “Accept happiness—feel worthy—trust that Rand is really crazy for me. I don’t know how to give credence to all of these amazing things I’ve never had before. It doesn’t feel right… or genuine to me. I feel like a fraud.” “Why?” she asks, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Why would you ever feel that way?” “Because I’m not the type of woman anyone respects. I sold out. Sold my own fucking self-respect and worth for the almighty dollar. I let myself be treated abominably because I didn’t have the fortitude to demand better for myself. And here Rand Bishop is before me, almost perfect in every way a human can be, and he wants me to step off into a happily ever after with him that I’m sure is going to come crumbling down when he realizes the type of person I really am.” Callie stares at me and says, “Phew. That was a mouthful.” “He’s too good for me,” I say bitterly, pulling my hands from her. “Does Rand know all your dirty secrets?” she asks me point blank. “Well… yeah… I’ve told him everything.” “And how does he feel about all of that?” she asks, but before I can reply, she says, “I mean… does he berate you for your choices? Look down his nose at you? Mock you? Make you feel inferior? Does he constantly rub your nose in your mistakes and make you feel ashamed of yourself?” I pull up straight, incensed on Rand’s behalf. “Of course he doesn’t. He’s done nothing but call me a survivor. He’s said my past doesn’t matter.” “Then why the fuck are you letting it matter?” Callie asks sarcastically, and I feel like she’d love to add a thump onto my forehead for being so dense. “If you trust Rand, then you must believe what he says.

If you believe what he says, then your past doesn’t have shit to do with your future with him.” I have no words. No comeback. Certainly no argument. My gaze drops to the floor as I can’t bear to have Callie see my own mortification at being so stupid. I do trust Rand. Clearly trust his reasoning better than my own, since my head seems pretty fucked up these days. But more importantly, if I just let go of my notions of inferiority, and for the briefest of moments, suspend my own self-doubt, I can admit to myself that Rand seems to think I’m pretty great as is. So why shouldn’t I? My eyes snaps up, pinning Callie, who’s looking at me expectantly. “I’m a fucking idiot.” She bursts out laughing, throwing her head back and revealing beautifully straight, white teeth. I can’t help it… I laugh too. We stare at each other in amusement as our laughs turn to chuckles, and then finally recede into a sheepish smile from me and a happy smile from Callie. “Okay, my job here is done,” she says proudly, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “I expect to hear all the nitty-gritty details about how you and Rand make up, and you can’t spare any of the sexy stuff either.” I snort. “He’s got to show back up in town for that to happen.” “I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” she says, and something about the look on her face makes me do a double take. “Wait a minute… do you know where he is?” I ask suspiciously. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I think she might deny it, but then she sighs and shrugs her shoulders at me. “Actually, I do know where he is, I do know when he’s coming back and no, I won’t tell you. That’s for him.” “But—” “Now, I really have to go. Lots of stuff to do today,” she chirps at me, brushing by me to the front door. “But—” “Later, Cat.” The door opens and then closes behind her quickly, and I realize that Callie just came over here to help pave the way for Rand’s return. She was gauging the situation and was bound and determined to do her damndest to make sure my head was on straight when he showed up on my doorstep. Shaking my head and smiling to myself, I walk up to the front door and peek outside the rectangular pane of glass that sits to the side. Callie gets in her car, a sassy little BMW, and pulls out of my driveway. Damn, I’m glad she came by. I start to turn away, but movement catches my eye. I watch as another vehicle pulls in. I don’t recognize it… a nondescript black four door with a Wyoming plate on the front. The late afternoon sun hits the windshield at just such an angle that I can’t see who it is. My gut tells me it’s Detective Blanton, and I get excited that he may have news for me. I’m surprised when after the car comes to a stop, the passenger door opens first. A man gets out and takes a look around the front yard. He’s probably in his mid-forties with dark brown hair, tall, fit, and reasonably attractive. The driver’s door opens and my jaw drops open when I see Rand get out. He says something to the other man across the top of the car, who nods in return. Both men close their doors and start walking up to the house, and for the life of me, I have no clue what’s going on. Rand walks up the porch steps first, and just as his foot hits the top landing, I open the door. His gaze snaps to mine and lights up with joy to see me standing there. I have a flood of warmth and happiness

course through me as I realize how much I’ve missed him in the past few days, and how much I just want to throw myself into his arms. But he brought company and that holds me back. I look to the older man again, and note he has brown eyes and olive-toned skin. He gives me a cautious smile, and when he does, I note he only has one dimple popping on the left side. Huh, just like me… only one dimple working. Just. Like. Me. I tilt my head, looking at him closer. It can’t be. It just can’t. I turn my head slowly back to Rand and look at him… my eyes pleading with him to tell me who this man is. “Cat,” Rand says quietly as he nods to the stranger. “I found your father.”

Chapter 25

Rand GODDAMN, SHE LOOKS gorgeous. Wearing a pair of faded jeans ripped at the knee, a sweatshirt, and fuzzy socks. Hair pulled up in a ponytail and not a lick of makeup on her face. And now she looks woozy, her legs buckling slightly when I reveal that I found her dad. I step forward quickly, put my arm around her waist, and hold her tightly. Turning her toward Allen, I watch as her eyes roam all over his face. Slowly… taking in every detail. Probably comparing the arch of her eyebrows to his, or the way their noses tilt slightly upward at the end. I took one look at Allen Henning when I tracked him down to Fayetteville, North Carolina, and I had no doubt he was Cat’s father. That was three days ago. Bridger worked his magic and found out that Sergeant Major Allen Henning retired from the Army just this year after twenty-five years of active duty. He never returned to Green Bay, instead settling in Fayetteville as he’d spent almost as much time there as he had growing up in Wisconsin. Allen had married a local girl and they had two children, a boy age fifteen and a girl, age eleven. I left my Suburban in Vegas and caught a flight to Raleigh, North Carolina. Once there, I rented a car and drove the hour and a half to Fayetteville. I had no clue how Allen would receive me because I knew very little about the character of this man, but I didn’t let that hold me back. I made it to his house at dinnertime as he was just setting down with his family to eat. He was gracious but didn’t invite me in. Instead, he stepped out onto the front porch into the air that was still quite warm and humid in early September. I didn’t hold any punches because I knew I’d found the right man. “Mr. Henning… I’m in love with a woman who I believe is your daughter.” He blinked at me in surprise, but he wasn’t pissed, and that started to clue me in to the man’s character. “Excuse me?” “Back in 1990, you briefly dated a woman named Trish Lyons.” His eyebrows furrowed inward as he flipped backward in time and then his nose wrinkled slightly. “Yeah… we were together a few months. She sort of dumped me with no explanation. Hadn’t thought about her in years actually.” “Well… she was pregnant when she left and didn’t tell you about it. Went back to Vegas and had the baby. A girl named Catherine.” To give the man credit, he stayed upright although his face went ghostly white. “I have a daughter?” “Yes,” I told him with a smile. “She’s twenty-four. She’s also sweet, amazing, and gorgeous. She had a shitty life. Yet, she still turned out amazing. She had no one her entire life who she could count on, and her mother always told her you abandoned them. I sought you out to see if that was true, and if it wasn’t, to give Cat a little piece of her heritage.” “I never would have abandoned her if I’d known,” he whispered roughly. “I know,” I told him. “I can just tell you wouldn’t.” Allen then invited me in. He called his wife, Marsha, into the living room where he recounted to her what I’d just told him in a quiet voice so the kids wouldn’t hear. She had the same stunned look, but then

she immediately became concerned about Catherine the way Allen had. I then got invited to dinner, but we agreed not to say anything to the kids. Allen felt that was a conversation he and Marsha needed to have with them after they learned more about Cat. So I sat at the dinner table with the Henning family, and I learned all about them. And they are fucking phenomenal. Cat is getting ready to inherit a dad who is eager to make up for lost time and a stepmother who is ready to dote on her. Allen told me this morning when I picked him up at his house to make the trip here with me that the kids were over the moon to learn they have a sibling. Today has dragged by so slowly, flying out of Raleigh to Dallas, and then into Jackson. Allen and I have spent plenty of time the last few days talking about Catherine. While I haven’t told him any details about her life with Samuel, I told him everything I knew about the way Trish raised her. To say that Allen wanted to make a side trip to Vegas and give the woman a piece of his mind was an understatement. I also watched Allen grieve today while we sat in Dallas on our layover. It hit him all at once… he missed twenty-four years of his daughter’s life. Missed changing her diapers and her first steps. Teaching her to read and how to drive a car. Missed threatening the first boy to take her on a date, and while Cat ultimately married poorly, he missed his opportunity to give his daughter away. I have to say, it’s awkward watching a grown man get emotional, and mainly because my fucking eyes misted up too as he talked about all the shit he missed out on. And now here we stand with Cat looking like she’s about ready to pass out and Allen looking like he’s going to vomit if someone doesn’t say something fast. So I step into action, my hand gripping Cat at her waist. “Cat… baby… this is your dad, Allen Henning. Lots to explain, but first, he never knew of your existence until I showed up on his doorstep three days ago.” Cat’s head tilts as she looks at him, almost as if she’s afraid to ask even the first question for fear of being crushed. So he decides to take matters into his own hand and simply pulls her into his arms for a hug. She goes willingly, her arms wrapping around his waist and her cheek pressing into his wide chest. They sway back and forth, gripping each other tightly. Cat with her eyes closed but tears still dribbling out and flowing down her cheeks. Allen with this temple resting on top of her head, his eyes also closed, and the happiest, most peaceful and serene smile gracing his lips. I could stand there all afternoon and watch Cat just hugging her father, but she’s the first to pull back. She looks up at her dad, who gently wipes her tears and then turns her gaze to meet mine. “How? How in the world did you find him?” “I paid your mom a visit,” I say simply, but there’s no way in hell I’ll admit I paid the woman for the information unless Cat asks me point blank. “She’d never give that information up,” Cat says as she narrows her eyes at me. “How much did you pay her?” Well, fuck. I duck my head, think about lying, and then finally look back at her with a grimace. “A lot, and it was worth every penny. Let’s leave it at that.” She nods, but I know she’s not letting it go. She’s merely deferring the discussion until she can get me alone, not wanting any unpleasantness to ruin this moment. I take the opportunity to fill her in as succinctly as I can, figuring Allen can do the rest. “Your mom told me that she dated Allen briefly in 1990 while she lived in Fayetteville, North Carolina with a friend,” I begin. Cat’s eyebrows jump upward. “She lived in North Carolina?”

I nod. “Briefly. Dated Allen and got pregnant. Left and went back to Vegas without telling him.” Cat’s gaze swings back to her father’s. “You never knew about me?” “Never,” he says fiercely. “And if I did, I would have never let you go. Never.” Fuck… okay, that’s getting to me. Getting to me even more to see Cat’s eyes fill up with bright, shining tears of joy. Time to lighten the mood just a bit. “So, okay… how about you two move the party inside and get to know each other?” I say, taking Cat’s arm and turning her toward the door. I clap Allen on the shoulder and pull him along. Cat opens the front door, steps into the foyer, and turns to welcome us both in. Allen crosses the threshold as she smiles at him with absolute eternal hope on her face. Her eyes slide to me and she motions with her hand to invite me in. I shake my head. “Uh-uh. You two need alone time. You have lots to talk about.” She cocks her head at me, but I don’t stick around. I nod at Cat’s father with a smile before turning to jog down the porch steps. Allen and Cat have a lot of catching up to do. I’ve come to learn a lot about this man and his family the last two days, and Cat needs to hear it all from him as well. She also needs to decide how much of her past she wants to share with him, and that’s a private matter that I don’t need to impede on. As I reach the rental car—my mind suddenly trying to figure out if I should fly to Vegas tomorrow to get my Suburban, which means I’d incur the wrath of Pish if I don’t get my ass back to work—I hear Cat call out, “Hey… Rand… wait up?” I turn to see her coming down the porch steps, her dad standing in the doorway with his hands tucked in his pockets, watching us carefully. I didn’t hold anything back from Allen. He knows I love the hell out of Cat. “What’s up?” I say casually, not really knowing where Cat’s head is at. Bridger told me she left my apartment and moved back in the house. He told me all about Cat quitting her job with Callie and the police suspecting Kevin but not able to do a damn thing until they find the attacker. Cat comes to a stop a few feet from me, looking uncertain. I hate that. I want her to feel free to jump in my arms, but she’s just been given a shock, and things between us are unstable at best. So I give her a friendly smile to encourage her to speak. “Looks like there wasn’t a will that cut me out,” she tells me as she sticks her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and rocks on her feet nervously. “Richard called me… told me to move back in here and that Kevin was going back to Vegas.” My gaze flicks to the large house and then back to her. “I get it… who wouldn’t want to live in that?” She winces slightly but doesn’t engage in the very awkward conversation that would ensue about her moving out of my apartment while I was gone. Instead, she says, “Detective Blanton interviewed Kevin. He thinks he was involved with my attack, but Kevin won’t admit anything.” I nod. Bridger had kept me in the loop. “Bridger’s buddy, Kyle, came through. Identified the guy who attacked you. It wasn’t sanctioned by the MC, so they’re going to share that info with the police. They’ll put a warrant out for his arrest.” Cat’s gorgeous mouth forms into an “O” of surprise. “I didn’t know that.” “Well, hopefully, they’ll find the guy quickly and he’ll roll on Kevin. Then you can put all of this behind you.” She nods, gaze dropping to the ground… clearly indecisive about what to say. When her face lifts, she turns to look at her dad standing in the doorway waiting for her, and then back to me. “I can’t believe you went to all that trouble for me,” she says quietly and with such earnest gratitude, I

actually feel a little hot under the collar. My gut says to play it cool with her, but fuck that… I missed her too much and I want her to know that this isn’t over between us. “I’d do anything for you, Cat. Come find me when you’re ready, but for now… go get to know your dad. He’s a great guy.” Her eyes shimmer as she smiles at me brilliantly. She inclines her head to me… a silent gesture of acceptance and pleasure over my words… and turns to race back to the house like a little girl who is having her first Christmas. I watch until she hits the porch. Her dad moves to the side to allow her to come through, and they link arms as they turn to go inside. When the door shuts, I get in the rental car and head home.

Chapter 26

Cat IT’S BEEN A WEEK since Rand brought my father to me. Since that amazing man went out and tracked down the missing puzzle piece in my life. I didn’t realize how badly I needed that piece until it was presented to me. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to adequately convey to Rand what that means to me. Did to me. The way it changed me. Not many people can really understand my background. It’s hard to comprehend what it does to the human spirit… the belief that someone doesn’t want you. I knew my mom didn’t want me, and I only had her telling me my father abandoned me to complete my familial unit. I told my father everything during his visit. And I mean everything, even down to telling him about Samuel and how he used me. I didn’t give him vivid details, but I gave him enough that my dad started crying, which made me cry too. He then assured me that he wants me. That even when he didn’t know I existed, he wanted me. That was lovely, and I cried harder. My dad then pointed out that given my history and not having the most important people to depend upon—that being parents—he said it was no wonder I accepted what Samuel wanted of me as his wife. He thought it spoke to perhaps my inherent need to be wanted, even as vile as the circumstances were. He reiterated to me something that Rand has said on more than one occasion… that I was a survivor. The five days I had with my dad were not nearly enough. We spent every moment together, just talking endlessly. We had twenty-four years of catching up to do. While my life’s details were not easy for him to take, I reveled in hearing about his. He was a career Army man and a true hero. I apparently have amazing grandparents back in Green Bay that cannot wait to meet me. His wife, Marsha—my new stepmom, so weird to say that—is the freakin’ bomb. We’ve talked several times by phone and she’s everything that my mother was not. I also had a tentative talk on the phone with my new siblings. My brother, Jared, is fifteen and really into soccer. This was an awkward conversation because I know nothing about soccer or fifteen-year-old boys, but in the end, it was okay because he said, “I can’t wait to meet you, Cat,” and that made my day. Now my sister, Natasha, is a spitfire at age eleven. I do know something about eleven-year-old girls so we talked about music, Snapchat, fingernail polish, and boys, not necessarily in that order, and well… mostly about boys. I did this while my dad listened in on my end of the conversation and rolled his eyes, muttering, “I don’t want to know about this stuff.” It was a perfect five days. I was completely reborn, and I say completely because the process started before my dad came back into my life. I realize now that process started the night Rand found me in my car and made me start believing in a better life. And now I stand outside Rand’s apartment, wondering how I can take this last piece of my life’s puzzle and snap it into place so that my existence will be as close to perfect as a person can hope for. I wipe my hands on my skirt because they’re sweaty from nerves and take a deep breath, trying to will my

heart to slow the hell down. Rapping my knuckles against the door twice, I listen intently. I can hear him walking, hear the creaking of the floor on the other side of the door, and then he’s standing there in front of me, looking better than ever. Blond hair falling over his forehead and he pushes it back, giving me a lazy smile. He stretches his other hand out high to grab onto the doorjamb, which raises his t-shirt up slightly so I get a peek of his stomach. I can’t help it… my eyes fall and stare, and when my tongue pops out to lick my lower lip, Rand gives a husky laugh. Cheeks red and warm, my gaze snaps back up to his. Amusement shining in his eyes, he says, “Took you long enough to come see me.” “Well, with my dad visiting and all—” “He flew out two days ago,” he points out to me, and this is something I know well. It’s taken me two days to get my nerve up to come see Rand after my dad left for North Carolina. Two days where I tried to prepare the best speech ever to let him know what he means to me, and as I stand here now, I can’t remember a damn word. It’s gone. Blank. All the pretty poetic words about what he’s done for me and the realizations I’ve come to… just… gone. So I blurt out, “I think I love you.” The amusement drains out of Rand’s eyes and his stare becomes very intent, his body going still. Was that the wrong thing to say? Shit. “I mean… what I really meant to say is—” Rand lunges at me, hands going to either side of my face. With a tight grip, he yanks me into him. Our mouths crash together, our bodies press in tight. My entire being sighs in relief and that last piece of the puzzle snaps in with a resounding click. Or is that my heart finally settling into place now that it finally knows what love really is? Not sure. I’m being lifted, his hands moving from my face to my ass, where he pulls me up his body and my legs lock around him. We don’t stop that delicious kiss for even a moment as Rand turns into the apartment and kicks the door shut behind him. My arms circle around his entire head, fingers in his hair as our tongues duel and our teeth scrape against each other. Then I’m flying… free for a moment until my back hits his bed and his body covers me from the top. Mouth back on mine as hands start to roam. My fingers slip under the back of his t-shirt, pressing into his muscles. Rand grinds his pelvis against me, and we both groan over the sensation. His hand slides under my skirt and goes straight to my hip. He starts to yank at my panties, trying to get them off me. “I really need to fuck you,” he mutters as he rears up and puts both hands to the task. “Wait,” I say, my arms rising and my palms going to his chest. “That night at The Silo… when I went there… I didn’t—” “I know,” he says brusquely, eyes pinned to the job at hand, which is now currently sliding my panties past my knees. Okay, that conversation clearly doesn’t need to happen. But there’s so much to say and I can’t concentrate when he’s stripping me. “But we need to talk about—” “Cat,” Rand practically barks at me with amused frustration as he pulls my underwear free and tosses it over his shoulder. “We can talk about how much we love each other, spiritual awakenings, and all that

other foo-foo shit that occurs when you’re in a relationship later, but right now… it’s been a long damn time since I’ve been inside this pussy and I’m not about to wait so we can hash all this crap out.” I know I should be offended, but I’m not. He’s adorable. “You love me?” I ask, knowing that’s really the only important thing I need to know. “Yes,” he says as his smile softens. He presses the palm of one hand against my mound, turns his wrist, and then slips a finger inside of me. “And you’re wet as hell right now, so I’m going to fuck you and then we’ll talk later, okay?” “Okay,” I sigh as my hips undulate against the sensations. “Good girl,” he commends me as he works to free his cock from his jeans. His hands go under my knees after he does, raising and spreading me wide, and then he’s sinking in deep and it’s the best feeling in the world. Totally different from any time before since there are true emotions involved now. Because now I know who I am and I understand my worthiness to be happy. Because he loves me and I love him, and that makes all the difference.

* RAND’S HAND STROKES my lower back in wide circles while I lay on top of him, lulling me to the edge of sleep. My heart rate is finally back to normal but what is still going full tilt is the happiness coursing through me. Let’s think about all the reasons why. I have a wonderful man who loves me and thinks I’m perfect, warts and all. I have a family now… a father, a stepmother, a brother, and a sister. I live in a beautiful place and have real friends. I have money… lots and lots of money, thanks to Richard transferring the five million dollars to me even though the estate hasn’t been settled. He feels absolutely terrible about what Kevin did and is bending over backward to make things right for me. What Kevin did… I jerk upright, pressing my hands into Rand’s chest and looking down at him. “Kevin,” I practically squeal. “I forgot to tell you about Kevin.” “He was arrested day before yesterday,” Rand says blandly as his hands go to my butt where they start kneading into my muscles. “How did you hear that?” I ask, although I can guess. “Bridger told me,” he says, his fingers inching inward… sliding along the crack of my ass and then downward. I reach back and push his hands away because he’s too damn distracting. “So you know all about them arresting my attacker?” “Yup,” he says with a grin. “It’s a small town. You hear things.” Small town, my ass. I’m sure Bridger told him what happened, which was essentially that someone from Mayhem’s Mission tipped the police toward Jim March, who was my suspected attacker. He fit the description, including the teardrop tattoo, which was apparently the key to identifying him. The police picked him up and grilled him hard with their suspicions he’d been hired to kill me. The guy wasn’t totally stupid because he hired a lawyer, who then turned around and helped him cut a deal with the DA’s office. He rolled on Kevin and provided key details to prove he was hired by him. The next day a warrant was issued for Kevin’s arrest and sent to the Vegas police. He was in custody within a

few hours and will be extradited back to Wyoming within the next few days. “It’s finally over,” Rand says quietly, his arms now coming up to wrap around my lower back. “Or a wiser person would say it’s really just beginning,” I counter with a grin. “Who are you and what have you done with the pessimist formerly known as Cat Lyons?” he chuckles. I snicker before leaning my face down to kiss him. “Well, she found a guy who’s pretty amazing and who taught her to see the good in herself.” “Oh, yeah?” he asks slyly. “Tell me more about this dude.” “Well, he’s incredibly hot, fantastic in bed, and he happens to be one of the kindest, wisest, and most caring people Cat Lyons has ever met. He made her sort of look at life from a new perspective.” “She should totally give him a blow job for that,” Rand says to me earnestly. “He so deserves that, don’t you think?” I laugh, kiss him again on his lips, and say, “Yes… he totally deserves it.” I push against his chest so that I start to slide down his body. His arms loosen to allow my descent, and I can feel his cock start to twitch against me as my breasts drag down his abdomen. “Hey,” Rand whispers, and I halt… looking up at him. He brings a hand to my face, pushes my hair behind my ear, and says, “I love you. I mean, I really, really love you, and I cannot wait to show you how fantastic that can be.” I smile, bending forward to kiss his chest before looking back up at him. “I already know how fantastic it is. And I love you too.” “That’s my girl,” he murmurs before his hands go to my head and he gently pushes on me to get moving again.

Epilogue

Logan I THINK THIS WOMAN may be the death of me. A dire prediction, but probably true. Probably true because she’s not mine to have and I’d probably take her, even at the risk to my own safety. I’m fixated on her… obsessed really. That black-as-midnight hair and huge, blue eyes the color of the Wyoming sky. Her skin pale… almost translucent. She looks otherworldly, in fact, and it’s no secret that every man in The Silo is obsessed with her as much as I am. I have to have her, and maybe tonight will be the night. My dick is already hard and aching with the thought, and if I’m given the pleasure of her company, my cock won’t even get to touch her pussy, which I’m betting is sweeter than honey. I try to look nonchalant as her “owner” walks around The Silo, chatting up the various patrons and deciding who gets to play with her tonight. He’s passed me by on four other occasions. I expect tonight won’t be any different because he knows I don’t have the type of bank he’ll be asking for when he ultimately auctions her off. So many men slobbering to get a taste of her and only one sweet, virginal girl to go around. That’s right. She’s a virgin. Twenty years old and looking like a porcelain china doll that would break if not handled carefully. But I also know she’s stronger than she looks as I’ve watched her take a mouth fucking like a champ. She’s a contradiction. She’s most likely my downfall. Like I said, she’ll probably be the death of me, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

WICKED RIDE (The Wicked Horse Series) By Sawyer Bennett

Prologue

Logan I THINK THIS WOMAN may be the death of me. A dire prediction, but probably true. Probably true because she’s not mine to have and I’d probably take her, even at the risk to my own safety. I’m fixated on her… obsessed really. That black-as-midnight hair and huge, blue eyes the color of the Wyoming sky. Her skin pale… almost translucent. She looks otherworldly, in fact, and it’s no secret that every man in The Silo is obsessed with her as much as I am. I have to have her, and maybe tonight will be the night. My dick is already hard and aching with the thought, and if I’m given the pleasure of her company, my cock won’t even get to touch her pussy, which I’m betting is sweeter than honey. I try to look nonchalant as her “owner” walks around The Silo, chatting up the various patrons and deciding who gets to play with her tonight. He’s passed me by on three other occasions. I expect tonight won’t be any different because he knows I don’t have the type of bank he’ll be asking for when he ultimately auctions her off. So many men slobbering to get a taste of her, but only one sweet, virginal girl to go around. That’s right. She’s a virgin. Twenty years old and looks like a porcelain china doll that would break if not carefully handled. But I also know she’s stronger than she looks as I’ve watched her take a mouth fucking like a champ. She’s a contradiction. She’s most likely my downfall. Like I said, she’ll probably be the death of me, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Chapter 1

Logan I’M IN THE viewing room again. Three rows of seats, stadium style. I’m in the front row, so I have a completely unobstructed view of what’s going on fifteen feet down below us. I’ve been here before and it’s all familiar to me, but not in a way that provides comfort. But it’s familiar in a way that I know I have to see this nightmare through to the end, even if I’m not sure exactly where it’s going. While the lights in the viewing room are bright and astringent to my eyes, the room below is dark and shadowy with only the center being visible because of the round surgical lamps surrounding the operating table. And I know it’s an operating table below because I can hear the soft whoosh of a respirator and the faint beeping of the EKG monitor, but mostly because several doctors and nurses clad in scrubs and face masks congregate around it. There are so many of them that they stand with their shoulders pressed against one another, forming a tight ring around the table as they do their work. The circle of medical professionals is so tightly formed that I can’t even see who is on the table. I lean forward in my chair, getting closer to the clear glass. My eyes narrow and I lean left and right in my seat, trying to get a better look. Trying to see past the surgeons and nurses. Trying to get just a tiny peek of who is lying on that table. Maybe if one of them would just move a tiny bit, I could see. It’s so frustrating, and I’m wondering if I’m the only one in this room having a hard time trying to see what’s going on down below. The seats are filled to capacity, this I know, but I’m not sure who all is here with me. I turn my head to the right, see a row of people, but their faces are all blurred and indistinguishable. To the left, it’s the same, but no one is leaning forward the way I am. By their body language alone, none of them appears to be distressed that they can’t see who’s on the table. I slide my gaze back down to the surgical room below, my nerves tingling with an awareness that I just can’t quite put my finger on. The doctors and nurses work, murmuring words I can’t understand. Then it happens… the doctor at the very end of the table at the patient’s feet shifts slightly, and then straightens until his spine is perpendicular to the floor. His head slowly turns, lifts, and his eyes come right to me. I can’t see any of his face below said eyes as it’s covered by his mask, but I don’t need to see what’s under that thin, protective covering to know that his lips are flattened in a disappointed grimace. His eyebrows slant inward and his eyes narrow; I feel the icy disgust permeate every molecule of my being. Then he moves again… this time turning his body to the right, which creates a slight opening at the end of the table. His gaze is so hostile now that it’s not a chore for me to tear mine away, and I cut it to the operating table. It’s a small body on the table, covered in a white sheet, the feet not even reaching to the end. One by one, each of the doctors and nurses step away from the table, creating more space for me to observe what’s really going on.

My gaze drifts up the small body that I inherently know is female, covered all the way up to the chest. I first notice the long, dark hair spilled out from under her head, but I can’t see her face as it’s covered with a large mask attached to the respirator. I’m so frustrated, not being able to quite recognize who it is. Then a nurse reaches a hand outward to the patient, puts it on the mask, and slowly pulls it away. My heart rate speeds up with anticipation… dread… near hysteria. I want to look away, but I can’t. I won’t let myself. Then I see who it is just as the respirator goes quiet and a long, steady beep emits from the EKG machine. And I scream, and scream, and scream. I shoot straight up in the bed, my abs clenched tight from the move, but then my stomach turns to liquid as I come awake. My mouth is wide open, but no sound is coming out. I’m soaked with sweat, trickles running down my temples and down the middle of my bare chest. My lungs are rapidly expanding and deflating, yet it doesn’t feel like any oxygen is getting in. I swing my legs to the side of the small mattress, the box spring underneath squeaking, and I place my feet on the floor, slightly spreading my legs. Leaning forward, I dip my head down in between my knees as wave after wave of nausea rolls through me. I suck in deep breaths of air, mentally telling myself it’s just a nightmare. But I’m awake and cognizant enough to know it’s not. Images flash through my head of the little girl on the operating room table. The vague smell of antiseptic remains in my nostrils so vividly, my eyes water in response. I swallow hard against the vomit threatening to rise up my throat and fling myself back on the bed. Shutting my eyes tight, I conjure up the most pornographic images I can think of to try to redirect my thoughts. I’ve tried deep breathing, meditation, prescription drugs, illegal drugs, and alcohol. I’ve tried it all before, but nothing wipes my mind clear of the nightmare quite like refocusing my attention to something that is almost antithetical to the pain that particular dream produces. So I choose to focus my mind on the extreme pleasures of perversion to wipe out the raw desolation of my sorrow. It always works. At least, it has for the past year I’ve been a member at The Silo. As long as it continues to be my mental Novocain, I’ll continue to submerge myself into a cloud of sexual haze to keep the insanity at bay. I think about last night and the amazing sex I had with Rand and Cat. So fucking hot. Tiny, frail body under a sheet. Squeezing my eyes shut, I remember what it was like to kiss Rand… feel his roughened hands on my cock while Cat fingered herself. I call up the memory of Cat commanding me to fuck Rand and the shiver it sent up my spine, knowing that watching two guys get it on was making her hot. Long, steady beep from the EKG machine. She’s flatlined. I squeeze my eyes shut harder, forcing myself to recall the image of when I pressed my lube-slicked dick to Rand’s pucker and the way it felt when the head popped through that tight ring. As I slide my hand down my stomach, in between my legs, I almost beg my cock to get hard from the memory, but it doesn’t. It refuses and that worries me, because I know from having this nightmare many times, I can usually chase away the dredges of horror by jacking myself off to any number of memories I have stored up from my sexual escapades over the past year. I’m usually able to crudely spit in my palm, wrap it around my

shaft, and allow the first touch to completely free my mind. By the third stroke, I’m habitually lost to pleasure and I forget all about that little girl lying on the table. Sex is a drug and I’m possibly a sex addict, but it does wonders at keeping my misery at bay. But even as hot as last night was with Rand and Cat… regardless of the fact I came hard while lodged balls deep in the tightest of asses, my dick stays limp. “Fuck,” I mutter as I come up to my elbows and look down my body in the early morning light. The memory of last night should do the trick, but I feel nothing but overwhelming guilt and sadness holding my body hostage. For the first time in a long time, I have the urge to get utterly and fantastically shit faced. Drown myself in a bottle of vodka, perhaps preceded by a few Xanax. My palms actually itch, not with the urge to jack myself off, but with the need to shove some pills down my throat or crack open a bottle of liquor. Not. Good. I flop back on the small mattress, the sheets all bunched up under me, which is testament to the shitty sleep I had, and breathe out a frustrated sigh. Everything from my mind to my dick seems broken. Closing my eyes, I wonder what gruesome image will flash before me since I’m utterly wallowing right now, but I’m surprised when a bright and vivid vision pulses before me. Long hair falling to mid-back… dark as raven’s wings. Large, blue eyes blinking with innocence. A luscious, curvy body with an ass made to be held on to tight while I fucked her. I groan as I think about the virginally sweet Auralie who has been gracing The Silo the last three days, and my cock starts to react. And it reacts swiftly. My balls tingle as I wrap my hand around my increasing length, and I immediately start stroking as I think about the woman who has greatly intrigued me these last few days. In fact, while I was fucking Rand last night, who was fucking Cat at the same time, I was actually imagining I was riding Auralie. It was her face I imagined when I came. She’s an enigma, and I’m not the only one whose dick stands at attention when she’s around. Her “owner” is a douche-looking asshole who likes to parade her around, letting the men sniff but not touch until he says so. Sometimes, he has her walk around The Silo naked, her large breasts swaying with pert, stiff nipples that make me think she’s turned on by the experience. But that only makes her more intriguing, because the rumor is that she’s a virgin. That’s not to say she doesn’t have sexual experience, but Magnus—her owner—has insinuated to several of the patrons that her pussy is untouched. Therefore, that makes it even more tantalizingly sweet to all the horny men looking to add a virginal notch in their belts. Me? I’ve never cared much for virgins. Too stiff and unyielding, and when I fuck, I don’t want to have to worry if I’m hurting her. I want a woman who begs me to ram my cock into her, who won’t mind the swift bite of pain it might cause. Doesn’t mean I’ll give into that desire, because I find just as much pleasure with a slow, sweet, and tender fuck. It’s all good to me. But there’s something about Auralie that speaks to me. I don’t care she’s a virgin, and if I were ever lucky enough to get a crack at her, I’d take great care to ensure I didn’t hurt her. I’d make it good her first time, and, when she was ready, I’d give it to her harder the second time if I felt she could take it. No, that’s not what intrigues me about her. I can’t put my finger on it, but there is something in her eyes that I recognize. Call it perhaps one soul possibly speaking to the other through our looks, and trust me… we’ve shared plenty of looks each night I’ve seen her in The Silo.

In fact, just last night, I swear we had an entire conversation with each other just through stolen but meaningful gazes. There was a moment last night, just before Magnus picked the lucky bastard who would get a little one-on-one time with her, that she looked at me, and I swear her gaze said, I wish I didn’t have to do this. I wish I could be free to pick who I want. I really wish I could pick you. And I couldn’t help it. The look I gave back to her said, I’ll help you get out of this. Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it. But then Magnus gave a big, booming laugh that broke our connection, and he was enthusiastically shaking one of the patron’s hands. My stomach cramped for a moment, thinking that he had “sold” Auralie to this guy… someone I really didn’t know who had started coming to The Silo in the last few months… but then I realized he had merely been chosen for a tiny interlude with her. Magnus cut his eyes to Auralie and jerked his head toward the man. The chosen patron was older than me by about ten years, which put him about twenty years older than Auralie’s rumored “twenty” years of age. But I suppose he was relatively attractive—not that I really looked at guys that way. I mean, sure… I’ve fucked Rand a few times and he’s fucked me, but that’s really just me looking for new and innovative ways to get my rocks off. It’s all about consuming my mind with the most intense and surreal experiences I can muster, so I don’t think about… other things. Auralie’s head dropped slightly, and she took a deep breath. She walked up to the man, who was clearly sporting a hard-on against his dress pants, and took him by the hand. And because The Silo is a private sex club that people join so they can express their sexual perversions in an enlightened and accepting atmosphere, showmanship is often the name of the game. It’s why The Silo is nothing more than a round building with glass rooms on the interior, so that no fucking is done in private, but is there for all the other patrons to enjoy and be titillated by. I watched last night, dreading and anticipating in equal measure, as Auralie led the man over to a set of low-slung, black leather chairs formed in a circle and pushed him down into an empty one. Even though I didn’t want her to be messing with that guy, I was also turned on by the prospect, a feeling that completely baffled me. Yes, I wanted those pale, delicate hands to be working at my belt the way they were working his. Wanted her to be pulling my cock out. I wanted her to lean over me and have those breasts sway like hypnotic pendulums, just the way they were for him. And Christ… when she opened her mouth and wrapped her lips around his cock—which was nowhere near the size of mine—I swear I almost felt the sensation on my own dick. Even though I’d just fucked Rand not an hour prior—having left him and Cat curled up sweetly together on their bed—I became insanely horny again watching the lovely Auralie give another man a blow job. I was jealous, turned on, and angry all at the same time. I wanted to tear her away and push her to her knees before me. Wanted to punch the man sitting in the leather chair, his face slackened from lust, and then I wanted to kick the shit out of Magnus, who seemed to take pleasure and pride in pimping out Auralie’s mouth since he wouldn’t let anyone touch her pussy for free. I watched for a few minutes as Auralie bobbed up and down on his dick, my own thumping in my pants for release. Locking my jaw, I watched, wishing it were me and knowing it would never happen. The “rumor” was that Magnus was going to auction her hymen off to the highest bidder—and I could never afford her on my salary—but for now, he was doing nothing more than guerilla marketing. He was whipping the male patrons into a frenzy by parading her around and letting her suck a few dicks so they could have a little test run first. I knew I was a goner when, on an upstroke with her cheeks hollowed out, Auralie lifted her eyes and pinned them on me. I read her expression loud and clear, for it said, I wish this were your cock.

Fuck… I was a total goner. I broke eye contact with her, spinning around and stomping off toward the short hall that led to the outer perimeter hall that circled The Silo. Following it about a quarter of the way around, I chose a glass door that housed “The Orgy” room. It was the best choice because it was always filled with people who were nothing more than a writhing mass of cock and pussy begging to be fucked. Grabbing a condom from a large bowl on a table by the door, I headed toward the center of the mass. I was going to get fucked or sucked, didn’t really care, but I needed release. And I’d be imagining it was Auralie the entire time.

Chapter 2

Auralie I WALK DOWN the staircase, one hand trailing along the knotty pine banister, the other holding my long robe up so I don’t trip. I suppress a yawn, I’m not sure why, then just let it loose. As it is, I don’t bother to cover my mouth as manners would dictate. The only other one who could possibly be offended is Magnus, and I don’t care if he’s offended. I can hear his voice, low and controlled, as I head through the small living room and into the kitchen. Magnus Albright sits at the round kitchen table that seats four. It’s also done in a blond pine with dark knotholes patterned throughout. I’d never been to Wyoming before Magnus brought me here five days ago and moved me into this cute little western chalet just on the outskirts of Jackson. But I love everything about it so far, from the stunning peaks of the Teton Mountain range to the pine log homes that sparsely cover the vast landscape. Yes, I love Wyoming from what little I’ve been able to see, but I hate why I am here. Magnus is already showered and dressed, his thinning blond hair meticulously slicked and combed to the side to hide his impending baldness. His face is freshly shaven except for long sideburns that he doesn’t realize went out of style back in the 1800s. Magnus is all about impressions, and he always dresses as if he’s going to be handling “business” at any given moment. That means he’s wearing a custom-tailored suit in dark navy with a pristinely starched white dress shirt underneath. His tie will be added later if he leaves the chalet, but I’m guessing he won’t since he really has no place to go other than The Silo, and he doesn’t even bother to drag me there until the late evening hours when the place will be hopping with horny customers. His muddy-brown eyes shift up to me as he holds his cell phone to his ear, listening to whoever is on the other end. He rakes his gaze over me impersonally, as he is neither attracted to me, nor does he care for me. I am nothing but a business deal, which does make me important to him, but not in the way the heart works. I appeal to his mind and his ego, and he equates me to nothing but a good score. I’m his long con that’s going to be a decidedly easy trick to pull, even though it might take some time and effort to get all his ducks in a row. I’m his pawn… his shill… and sadly, I have no choice in the matter. “Well, I don’t give a darn if he’s demanding to cash out immediately,” he says snippily. I roll my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee because Magnus refuses to curse. He thinks it’s impolite, which is ridiculous given the fact he made me suck some stranger’s dick last night without blinking an eye. “Tell him that the terms of agreement clearly state we get five days. You have to be tough, Mickey. I don’t have time to come back and handle this.” Magnus listens for a moment, and then nods in affirmation of whatever is said in return. “That’s good. And go ahead and deposit the Anderson investment into the outsource account, let it clear, and then on the fifth day, cash him out with a four-percent rate of return.” A slight pause, and then Magnus says firmly, “You heard me right. Four percent. The man may be insufferable but he’s well connected. He’ll refer more people to us.” Another slight pause and a nod. “That’s good, Mickey. Now… would you like to talk to your

daughter?” My spine stiffens slightly and I turn around to face Magnus, my eyes dropping to the phone in his outstretched hand. Magnus gives me a cool smile and nods in encouragement for me to take it. “He wants to check in on you.” I reach a shaky hand out and take the phone from Magnus. Just as I start to tug it from his grasp, he tightens his hold on it to stop my momentum and get my attention. My eyes slide up slowly to meet his, and his look is clear. Don’t upset your father. Giving a curt nod, I pull the phone from Magnus. I then give him my back as I put it to my ear and say, “Hey, Dad.” “Hey pumpkin,” he says in that faded Boston accent. He’s been in New York for almost thirty years now, and it’s hard to detect unless he says words like park, which comes out like pah-k. “How are things going?” I swallow hard against my lie and hope my voice doesn’t quaver. “Awesome. How are things with you?” I purposely turn things back on him so he doesn’t push me for more details. Not that he would. Deep down, my dad doesn’t want to know the details and I’m happy for that. “It’s all good here,” he says with a roughened breath. I can tell he’s stressed. “But I’m holding it together.” “That’s good, Dad,” I say. My words come out shakily, and I know I’m about to lose it. So I lie again. “Listen, I’m on my way out the door… important business and all that. I’m going to hand you back to Magnus.” “Okay, baby,” he says, but his voice is already fading as I turn on Magnus and shove the phone back at him. He takes it with a cool smirk to his lips and doesn’t even bother to look at me. I grab my cup of coffee and head back toward the staircase, to the safety and privacy of my room, just as I hear Magnus murmuring to my dad again. I’m sure my dad is pressing him for assurances that I’m truly doing okay, but Magnus will never give him more than the bare minimum to keep him pliant. In my room, which is more knotty pine walls, furniture, and flooring, the monotony of which is broken up by a thick comforter with a Native American design done in taupe, coral, and muted greens, I take a sip of my coffee and look around. The walls are covered with western-themed prints of cowboys and Indians, the matting inside matching the colors of the comforter so it all ties in together. On the bedside table is a copper lamp with a bucking bronco etched into the shade. A large rack of elk antlers hangs over the bed, and while the decor sounds more masculine than not, it actually is very soothing. I’ve pretty much been holed up in here when I’m not working it at The Silo, trying to drum up as much horny anticipation and fevered need to fuck me as possible. After I take another sip from my cup, I set it down on the dresser that has a large mirror attached. I take a careful look at my reflection. My skin is clear and translucent, apparently one of the few things my mother ever gave me that was good. Magnus has forbidden me to wear makeup, something I very much enjoy doing, but he says it makes me look older and that would defeat his marketing prowess. I do, in fact, love playing with makeup and putting it on because it does make me look older. This I like because I believe I look abnormally young for my age. Even though I have large breasts, and, if you saw me naked, there’s no denying I’m a woman fully grown, my face could sometimes pass for a teenager. Magnus says dirty old men like that. I shudder, hoping to God he doesn’t auction me off to some old perv. Every night in The Silo has been an absolute torture as I wait to see what he’ll make me do. For the past three nights, he’s kept it fairly simple. The first night he did nothing but parade me around, fully clothed, which lulled me into a false

sense of security. The next night, he struck up a conversation with one of the other patrons and quickly found out he was a cattle baron, which are frankly a dime a dozen out here, but they are incredibly wealthy. Hell, all the patrons at The Silo are sinfully rich. They’d have to be to afford the $50,000 membership fee. So with the cattle baron looking at me with undisguised lust, and Magnus calculating mentally how much I could sell for, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to give the man a “freebie”. Now, since my “virginal” status is what’s being peddled, the freebie did not mean sex. Magnus made it very clear when he told the man—whose name I do not even know because we were never introduced —that there could be no penetration of my vagina. I mean, that’s literally how he said it in that formal, polite way. “You may not put anything in her vagina.” I winced because it sounded so clinical. I also winced because that left a lot of other things the man could do to me, and while blow jobs were not unknown to me, I did not want anything near my ass. Turns out my worries were for nothing, because the man was more than happy to accept a blow job. And it was awful. I mean… blow jobs aren’t awful, if you’re with someone you are genuinely attracted to and maybe even have a measure of care for. But sucking a stranger’s dick who you are in no way attracted to is just nasty, and I suppose the only good thing is that the man put a condom on and I was spared from having to swallow. He was also a fast shooter so I didn’t need to suck more than a minute or so before he was blowing, so that was good too. Last night though, Magnus upped his game. He told me as we pulled into the parking lot he wanted me naked for the night. I immediately balked and told him to go to hell. He just clucked his tongue and chastened me, “Now, Lee-Lee… you know you have to do this. You know you have to do it right. You know I won’t accept anything but full effort from you on this deal, and I don’t have to remind you of the consequences if you don’t.” So I got naked. Because I didn’t need the reminder. And Magnus led me around, introducing me to patrons, letting them ogle my breasts. After the first fifteen minutes or so, I lost the red tinge of embarrassment from my cheeks and I let my alter ego take over. I had developed it over the last few days, and it wasn’t a chore. Acting came naturally to me, and if I needed to act like the innocent seductress, I could do it. So I lowered my eyes a lot, knowing my fabulous black lashes stood out starkly against my pale skin, and I fidgeted shyly when one of the patrons would roam his eyes all over my body. Magnus even let one of the members pinch my nipple. “Just to get a feel of how firm they are,” he’d said. My nipple didn’t even react, just stayed soft and yielding. This didn’t even seem to register with Magnus—who never really looked at my naked body—or the other man, who didn’t care if I was turned on or not. He was just trying to get in good with my “owner” so that he’d be in the running for that evening’s “experience” with me. Yeah, it shouldn’t be a surprise that nothing about this experience would turn me on, given that this was something I was not fully on board with, and that I was sort of being coerced. Being paraded around and forced to bestow sexual favors, knowing that made me a filthy whore because money would eventually change hands, really wasn’t conducive to stiff nipples or wetness down below.

That is… until he walked in. No clue his name, but I saw him on the first night Magnus brought me in. Saw him on the second night too. Last night, he was still just as beautiful and just as perplexing. Oh yes… he’s beautiful. Dark hair, slightly longish and messy like he just doesn’t care one bit about how it looks. A goatee surrounding beautiful lips. His skin olive toned, his jaw solid, and his cheeks angled. Those eyes though. From the color… Hazel with subtle shades of green, brown, and gold. To the level of pain I saw within them… Deep and consuming. To the way in which he communicated his emotion… Confidently and without ambiguity. Those eyes captivated me from the start. The rest of his packaging was beautiful as well, as he was tall and built. There wasn’t a woman in that circular house of perversion who didn’t have their tongues hanging out when he walked by. But it was his eyes. They simply spoke to me. For the past three nights, this stranger, with a heavy burden on his shoulders I’m not sure anyone else truly recognized, played a subtle game of secret communication using stolen glances and subtle body language. It’s not that we spoke on any deep level using the power of our gazes, but there was clear meaning. Lust, intrigue, frustration. I took one look at the beautiful man with the soulful eyes and my nipples got hard. They did that each night I saw him. Even as I was sucking another man’s dick, they were hard. I looked at him once in mid-bob, and I hoped he understood my message. I wish this were you. I understood his response. It was short, and then he stalked off. I wish it were me too. But it never would be. I didn’t know the man at all… not even his name… but I could tell he didn’t have the money to be a real patron at The Silo. His jeans were always worn and some of his shirts a little frayed. I heard Magnus talking with the owner, Bridger, one night, and he said that some of the men and women in The Silo are Fantasy Makers. Extra people who are on hand to add to the numbers of people wanting to fuck and be fucked. They are paid employees, I guess, which probably made the beautiful, sad man as much a prostitute as I am. That is something we have in common. Perhaps why we understand each other with just the merest of glances. A knock on my bedroom door startles me out of my thoughts, and I look down to see if my nipples are poking out against my robe. They are… straight out and completely reflective of my wayward thoughts toward a man I’ll never be able to touch. I open the door just a crack and peer outside, keeping my traitorous body from his view. Not that he’d look. I don’t think Magnus is into women. Or men for that matter.

I think he’s just into money. “Yes?” I ask crisply as I open the door. He knows I don’t like being around him when it’s not needed. “We’re going to leave a little early tonight for The Silo,” he says coolly. “I want you to wear that pink dress tonight.” I grit my teeth and nod, thankful on one hand I’ll be clothed since he’s choosing my wardrobe, but also on edge, because I know he has something different planned for tonight. The dress is pretty and demure with a flowing skirt that comes to just above my ankles. He had bought a pair of pale, pink ballet flats to go with it. It is demure and virginal, and he wants to remind everyone at The Silo that he’s got a product to sell. Fresh, tight pussy. “And leave your hair long,” Magnus adds on. I nod again and stare at him with hard eyes. “We’re upping the “wow” factor tonight,” he says thoughtfully, almost as if he’s trying to get a rise out of me. Which is ludicrous. Magnus does not like to fight and does not like confrontation. He merely expects obedience. “I want you to really put on a show for the crowd.” “Understood,” I grit out, and then I shut the door in his slimy face. Oh, I’ll give a show all right if that’s what he wants. If I can do anything to facilitate this matter so we can just get it over and done with, I’m all for that. I’m going to see this through to the end, because I have no choice in the matter. And when I’m done, I’m done. Finished. Never coming back to this life again. And in my new life, I’m going to make it my mission to find a way to make Magnus suffer for what he’s doing to my family and me.

Chapter 3

Logan I WALK INTO THE SILO tonight tense and on edge. I spent all day out on the Snake River with a father and son visiting from Maryland. The boy was eleven years old and the first cutthroat trout he pulled out of the water had him screaming with excitement. I maintained a lucid smile on my face while I removed the hook from the corner of the fish’s mouth, trying not to show how much it hurt when the father reached an affectionate hand out and ruffled his kid’s hair with pride. Those twinges of pain are to be expected, but are usually alleviated by the mere fact that my job during the summer and fall months consists of taking tourists out on float trips down the Snake River for a taste of some Wyoming fly fishing. While I certainly can’t speak for all careers and professions out there, I can say, without a doubt, this is probably the best job I’ve ever had. Even more so than fucking myself into a stupor at The Silo. There is nothing more peaceful or restorative to my soul than three or four hours spent floating lazily down a meandering river with blue sky and gentle breezes washing your worries away. Now granted… that restorative fix is usually destroyed by my nightmares, but I can say that there are great chunks of my day that are pleasant and even happy at times. Today was no exception, except that as the evening got nearer and I knew I’d be heading to The Silo, I started to get knotted up with unease. This was very strange because I go to The Silo almost every night, and I fuck almost every night. I love sex. It’s amazing and addictive and freeing and numbing. So I try to do it as much as possible. It is something that causes my steps to become lighter once I walk toward a guaranteed orgasm within that building. But not tonight. I walk in that door, and I immediately tense up with wondering what Auralie will be wearing. How will she smell? Will her hair be up or down? Nipples hard or soft? Will her eyes look at me with the same meaning as last night, and will I absolutely hate watching her touch and taste another man if Magnus so deems that to be the night’s main attraction? I’m late getting here, perhaps even subconsciously hoping that Magnus will have already paraded her around before I arrive, but the minute I step into the circular opening of The Silo, my eyes are immediately drawn to the pale pink of Auralie’s dress. I know what Magnus is doing. He’s playing up every bit of youthful innocence she possesses, and I have to say, it’s a brilliant move for most of the perverts in here that want to pop her cherry. Who wouldn’t want to be the big, studly man who gives the virgin her first sweet orgasm? I hate to break it to these fools in here, but I know something about Auralie that they don’t. I’ve never talked to that beautiful woman once, but I know that she knows exactly what an orgasm feels like. It may not be by a man’s cock if Magnus is to be believed, but she’s had a finger, tongue, or vibrator up against her tight bud before. I can tell. It’s in her eyes. She may not like sucking the dick she’s had to suck, and she might not like having her flesh peddled—

all things that are patently clear—but when she looks at me and she conveys that message of want and desire for yours truly, I know it’s because she knows how fucking good an orgasm feels and she’s imagining one with me. God knows… I’ve sure as shit been fantasizing about it from my end. Her slender back is to me with her long hair that is so black it shines blue hanging down her back almost to that rounded ass, but she stiffens slightly when I walk in. Almost as if sensing me, she turns her head slightly and lets her gaze roam the room until it comes to a complete stop right on me. She gives me a soft smile, but the real meaning simmers in those cobalt eyes. You’re here. I’m so glad. I’m not trying to be a dick, but I’m angry and frustrated by these circumstances, and I can’t help my return look. I’m not so glad. I can’t have you, and it’s going to kill me to watch you be given to someone else. Sadness fills her eyes, making them shimmer briefly before they shutter closed. Her lips draw down, and, with a regretful sigh, she turns from me to listen in on the conversation Magnus is having with the Cleimdens, a married couple who are into some seriously kinky shit that includes the wife pegging her husband in the ass while he brays like a donkey. I hope to fuck Magnus is not going to let Auralie play with them tonight. Turning away, I make my way through the crowd up to the center bar that’s circular like the room. A black lacquer top and contemporary chrome stools upholstered in buttery black leather are heavily occupied except for an empty seat right beside Bridger. He’s sipping on water, ass sitting on the edge of a stool while his foot is propped up on the chrome railing at the bottom of the bar. He rests an elbow casually on top of the bar, but his gaze is pinned on Magnus and Auralie. He’s clearly unsettled by the couple as his gaze is wary, but I can tell by the loose set to his shoulders that he’s also accepting of their presence. Bridger does not try to curtail the kinky shit that goes on in this establishment as long as all participants are willing and consenting. Knowing Bridger as I do, which isn’t all that great really because the guy is a complete mystery to most, I’m sure he’s thoroughly checked out this Magnus dude as well as ensured Auralie was a willing participant in his shenanigans, contrary to what her eyes have told me in the past. “What’s up?” I announce my presence behind him with a slight clap of my hand on his back. He’s not startled because he’s Bridger and nothing rattles him, so he merely swivels his body my way and nods. “Not much. What’s up with you?” I shrug. Not much is up other than my blood pressure and feelings of guilt and anger over the thought of Auralie touching someone else tonight, but I’m not going to tell him that. This Bridger notices all in one skilled glance because my emotions are painted clearly on my face, but he tries not to make a big deal out of it. “You seem tense.” I don’t respond but call out to Heather, one of the bartenders, who looks my way. “Maker’s Mark… neat.” “Must be tense,” Bridger comments. “You don’t ever drink on work nights.” “I might take the night off,” I muse, trying not to get insulted by Bridger’s snort of disbelief. Me coming to The Silo and not getting my rocks off is just… unheard of. “Seriously,” he prods at me. “What’s up?” Taking the drink, I slug back a hefty swallow and set it back down, enjoying the burn. I shouldn’t even bother to engage, and I’m better served by walking out of here and staying away until sweet Auralie is sold off, but I can’t fucking help myself. “What’s the deal with the virgin auction?” I say, carefully veiling my feelings by not even daring to

mention I know Auralie’s name. I mean, it’s hard not to given that everyone is talking about her and her “owner” Magnus—which is a seriously stupid fucking name—but I don’t want him to see how affected I am. Bridger’s head swivels back to Auralie and Magnus, and my gaze follows. I receive a jolt that makes my legs shake as I realize she’s staring straight at me. Time seems to stand still as she gives me that wistful look before turning away. Bridger looks at her for just a moment more, and then turns back to me. For a moment, I can’t even move, but then I tear my gaze away from that pretty pink dress and look back to Bridger, trying to seem unaffected. I’m met with a highly arched eyebrow of curiosity. “What?” I say with a belligerent tone. “I’m curious about them, that’s all.” “Have you been fucking her?” he asks in a low voice, leaning in toward me. “Because if he’s advertising her as a virgin, someone’s going to be disappointed.” “No, I’m not fucking her,” I mutter, but damn… I so wish I were fucking her. “That look she just gave you,” Bridger says knowingly. “It’s carnal.” “I haven’t touched—” “Maybe not carnal as in physicality, but you two know each other in some way,” he presses. Yeah, if you give any credence to silent, wordless communication, then sure… I know her. I know she doesn’t belong here selling that sweet pussy to someone, and that I should be the one to have her. I think this all in a sullen tone inside my head. “You don’t have enough money,” Bridger says flatly, but not unkindly. He’s just trying to make me see reality. Oddly, I do have some money if I was so inclined to bid on a virgin, but no one here knows that and besides… it’s probably not enough for the amount Auralie will eventually command. So it will continue to sit in my savings untouched… just as it’s been for the past two years. As far as anyone here knows, I’m practically a vagrant who wanders the country in search of the next big rush. I’ve landed in Wyoming and stayed longer here than I have anywhere in the last two years, mainly because I love my job as a fishing guide and I love the unlimited sex that lets me have some measure of solitude. The fact that I live on a permanent campsite in a small tin trailer with wheels that I pull behind my beat-up old Ford truck lends to the air that I’m pretty much penniless. And that’s really how I exist. My income is nominal from my job, but it’s enough to pay for my campsite, put good food in my belly, and clothing on my back when I need it. I don’t respond to Bridger’s comment about money, but instead I ask, “You sure she’s doing this of her own free will?” “So she says,” he responds. “I talked to her at length, and she was adamant that she was.” “So she’s selling her virginity?” I ask incredulously. I mean, who does that? Fuck… who still has their virginity at her age? Which is? “How old is she?” I ask hesitantly. “Says she’s twenty,” Bridger says, and I wince. Christ… I’m thirteen years older than she is. Not a huge difference, but enough to know we’re probably worlds apart in our emotional mentality. And she certainly could pass for twenty. But damn… she looks like she sucks cock like a pro, and I remember what it was like when a twentyyear-old would blow me. Most don’t know what the fuck they’re doing at that age. Women are infinitely better in the sex department as they get older and their confidence grows. “If I can have everyone’s attention please,” I hear called from across the room. The chatter slowly dies down. I’m stunned the announcement comes from Magnus, and he beams out to the patrons with a smarmy smile.

“What a tool,” Bridger mutters, and this confirms what I had suspected. He doesn’t like the dude any more than I do. “As you all know,” Magnus says as he picks up a lock of Auralie’s hair and brings it to his nose to sniff in dramatic fashion, “my pet here… Auralie… is a young and fresh innocent. Smells so sweet.” My gaze slides to Auralie. Her face is tilted to the ground, her eyes shyly hiding from the spectacle Magnus is creating. The crowd presses in a little closer to listen to what he has to say. “A select few of you have felt the pleasure she can give the past few days, but I want to offer up something different tonight. I’m going to choose one of you lucky men tonight who want to get a crack at something so sweet and pure that you won’t be able to think of anything else after. A chance to feast between the lovely Auralie’s legs and see that, although she may be virginal, she is more than ready to be pleasured by someone.” Auralie keeps her face down, but I can see the pink tinge to her cheeks and the tightening of her jaw as he’s just offered her pussy up to someone’s greedy mouth. I involuntarily stand from my stool, but Bridger claps a hand on my shoulder and growls, “Stay out of it.” But how can I? When my mouth is fucking watering at the chance to eat her out. My dick starts to swell at the thought. I give it a frustrated shove over in my jeans to get it out from behind my zipper, but I refuse to sit back down on my stool. Bridger’s hand falls away from me, but he stands up on high alert. I think he’s afraid I might run over to her, pick her up, and throw her over my shoulder like a caveman to jet out of here with my virginal prize. Instead, I pick up my drink and slug the rest of it back, slamming the highball glass down on the bar top. Heather walks over and looks at me with eyebrows raised. “Another,” is all I say. In the meantime, Magnus, with his captive crowd and blossoming beauty ready to be devoured, looks around contemplatively at the potential customers he wants to milk for semen and money. Finally, his eyes come to rest on Jacob Johnson, a local lawyer who made a fortune suing pharmaceutical companies for several years while he practiced in L.A. The rumor is his last settlement yielded a twenty-million-dollar fee, so he retired and owns several homes around the United States. He spends the summer months here in Wyoming, fucking most nights at The Silo. While he’s generally a nice guy and we once got our dicks sucked together by the same girl who alternated between the two of us while we shot the shit, I hate him right at this moment as he steps up to Magnus and shakes his hand with a grateful smile. “How about you take her into The Orgy room?” Magnus suggests with a sweep of his hand that way. There are only five people in there right now. Two guys lying on a silk mattress kissing and caressing each other, not in a hurry to get it on just yet. And a threesome going at it… guy fucking a girl from behind while she sucks another guy’s dick. Been there done that. Several times. I watch as Jacob takes his hand and wraps it behind Auralie’s neck, giving her a subtle push toward the hallway that leads to the back doorways to the rooms. He pushes her along, not roughly but with command, as if he’s confident in his abilities. But I’ve watched him eat pussy before. He’s sloppy at best and won’t give her what she deserves. My fingers itch to do something, but I’m not sure what. Heather returns with my drink and I take it from her, knocking it back in one long swallow that burns my guts up but gives me a slight head rush. I don’t do liquor very well anymore.

She starts to turn away, but I say, “Hold up.” Heather stops and looks expectantly at me. I turn to Bridger, who is facing me again now that Auralie has been led away. I tell him, “I need to borrow Heather for a bit.” Bridger just shakes his head with a flat line to his lips, not denying my request but rather empathizing with my poor, fucked-up head. “Go ahead,” he says, and Heather’s eyes light up. She and I are very well acquainted with each other, and she’s a favorite fuck of mine. I jerk my head toward The Orgy Room and say, “Let’s go.” “Absolutely,” she says with a grin as she walks toward the other side of the bar that houses the swinging pass through so she can exit.

Chapter 4

Auralie OH, SHIT. Shit, shit, shit. I cannot do this. I. Cannot. Fucking. Do. This. The man who Magnus called Jacob keeps his hand firmly on my neck as he guides me to the back hallway that leads to the entrances to the glassed rooms. The Orgy Room? My skin crawls thinking about having a complete stranger do something so intimate to me. For reasons that I’m sure are completely fucked up, I found I could turn off my emotional switch when Magnus made me blow those other two guys. That was a job and nothing else. It was acting at its finest. No different than pulling a change-raising short con. But now he’s talking about letting a man—a stranger—attempt to pleasure me in a way that I’ve never had done before. I’m very aware as to how my clit functions, as well as its response to stimulation. I’ve never had a man’s lips and tongue there before, but I have a trusty vibrator that makes short work of me and I’m terrified as to how I’ll respond. I’ll either be so wigged out that I’ll stay dry as the desert and embarrass myself, probably ruining my sale value, or I’ll react like a shrieking banshee because my clit is so sensitive, and I’ll embarrass myself. It’s a no-win situation. On top of that, the beautiful man is here and I don’t want him watching me. I can’t bear to have him watch me react, or possibly not, and the humiliation will be awful. Or, the worst of all things that could possibly happen is that the beautiful man watching me could cause me to have a reaction that would be unforgiveable. He’d know I was more turned on by him watching me than what was actually being done to me. I just can’t. “Wait,” I say suddenly as he starts me down the perimeter hallway, which is dimly lit with wall sconces about every ten feet. “What?” he says, using his grip on my neck to turn me to him. We’re completely hidden from the patrons on the interior of The Silo, as well as the members of each room since the back wall of said rooms is made out of concrete staves that match the exterior. I take a deep breath, knowing Magnus is not going to be happy with me, and say, “I’m on my period… you can’t.” Total ballsy lie, but it’s all I got. I hope to God he doesn’t ask for proof. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” he mutters, his hand falling away from my neck. I shake my head a little too enthusiastically, my voice raising an octave. “No… it started this afternoon. I had no clue Magnus was going to offer this to the men here, or I would have told him.” I sort of expect him to be a little more put out over the wasted opportunity, but instead, he grabs me by the back of the neck again, not roughly but more in a controlling way, and says, “No worries. I’ll take a blow job. I was going to get one anyway when I was done, right?”

Before I can respond, he starts to push me down the hall again. The heels of my feet instinctively dig into the concrete flooring, bringing me to a stop. “Wait—” “For fuck’s sake, what now?” he growls, his hand gripping me a little harder, which causes my heart to start pounding. “Is there a problem here?” I hear from behind us, and I don’t even need to turn around to know who it is. While I’ve never heard his voice before, I know without a doubt it’s the beautiful man standing behind us. Jacob whips around, spinning me with him since he doesn’t let me go. My first close-up look at the man who is softly washed in the glow of the sconces is almost too much to take in. He’s just perfection, and his eyes are pinned right on me. I vaguely notice he has a woman with him… one of the bartenders, it seems… and he’s holding her hand. But what I notice most is the hard glint in his eyes and the way his jaw is locked so tight that a tiny muscle jumps in the lower portion of his cheek. While his gaze seems full of anger, I inherently know it’s not directed at me. This is confirmed when he slices his eyes to Jacob and says, “I repeat… what’s going on?” “None of your fucking business, McKay,” Jacob bites out, his fingers gripping me even harder as if I’m his favorite toy and he’s afraid the neighbor kid is going to take it. And McKay? That’s his name? The beautiful man—McKay—drops the woman’s hand he’s with and takes two steps to bring himself almost toe to toe with Jacob. His voice is low and commanding when he says, “She looked like she didn’t want to go with you, and you know Bridger’s rules… she has to consent.” Oh, fuck. I have no say in this really. Sure, I had a very awkward conversation with the owner, Bridger, a few days ago when he grilled me for affirmation I was here of my own free will. Another fine acting job was completed when he seemed to accept my lies. “She’s on the rag,” Jacob mutters. “So I’m getting a dick suck instead.” “Nice,” McKay mutters sarcastically, and his eyes slide down to mine. “You want to go with him?” His first words spoken to me. Even if he hadn’t voiced a single syllable, he could have looked at me with that same question in his eyes and I would have known just what he was asking. My expression back to him is pointed. Eyebrows knitted with tension, biting hard on my lower lip with unease and eyes filled with a desperate plea for help, I still manage to say, “Yes.” Because that’s what Magnus would expect of me. McKay stares at me for a long moment, seemingly undecided as to which answer he should deem as the truth. Even though there’s nothing he can do to stop my fate, I hope he accepts my silent answer as the one I mean, so he knows I want nothing to do with this creep. I wonder if he can also glean just by my look that I would have gladly gone into that room with him. “Auralie.” I hear Magnus’ cultured voice behind McKay, who is so tall and broad shouldered I hadn’t seen Magnus walk up. “What’s going on?” Before I can answer, McKay turns to Magnus and says, “She’s not feeling well. You can take one look at her and tell.” Thank God he didn’t give my “period” lie to Magnus. Magnus would demand an inspection for proof because he’d be pissed I was messing up his grand display of showmanship and superiority. Magnus’ gaze cuts to me, and in a tight voice that he tries to pass off as concerning but doesn’t quite make it, he asks, “Auralie, love… is that true?” I give a slight nod, trying to look pathetically sick, but I know I come off as terrified of how this situation has gotten out of control. When I risk a look up to McKay, I see that muscle in his cheek jumping

harder as he takes in the fear in my eyes. With a surprising amount of humility that I wouldn’t have guessed this big, powerful man would possess, but with complete manipulation that I admire, he turns to Magnus and says, “With all due respect, sir… perhaps you should let her rest tonight. She’s put on quite a show the last few nights, and you’ve admirably whipped up everyone in here. It’s been a real treat to watch for sure. And if she doesn’t make an appearance tonight, it’s only going to increase every man’s appetite for her.” Magnus looks at McKay. For someone who regularly takes advantage of and manipulates people, he still immediately buys into the flattery that McKay gives to him. His chest puffs out a bit, and he says, “You have an excellent point.” Jacob’s hand falls away as he growls in frustration. McKay looks right at me, but he says, “Jacob… why don’t you and Heather head into the Orgy Room? I’m sure she’ll make things better for you.” “Yeah, fine,” he mutters, but as he reaches past me to grab Heather’s hand, who looks just as happy to be going with Jacob as she was with McKay—weird girl—he looks to Magnus and says, “I want another crack at her though before you make the sale. I’m going to make a serious bid you don’t want to miss.” Magnus smiles magnanimously and says, “Of course, Jacob.” Without another word, Jacob and Heather head off down the hall. I’m left alone with a man I despise and a man who I feel an intense connection with even though we’ve hardly spoken at all. Magnus reaches a hand out and asks, “And you are, sir?” “Logan McKay,” McKay—well, not McKay—says as he shakes Magnus’ hand. While his tone is warm and inviting to further conversation, I can tell by the look in his eyes that he despises Magnus as much as I do. Logan. I like that a lot. “And what exactly do you do for a living?” Magnus inquires politely, although I think it’s overly rude. He’s asking because he wants to know if Logan will be a serious suitor for me. If he’s got the bank to make a good bid on my poor, underused vagina. But I already know the answer to this because while I know Logan is intense, sexy, deep, concerned, protective, and commanding, I also know he’s a simple man who lives a very simple existence outside of The Silo. I can read it all over him loud and clear. “I’m a fishing guide,” he says, confirming my instinct as he releases Magnus’ hand. “I guide fly-fishing trips, mostly on the Snake River, but sometimes I’ll go over to the Yellowstone or Gros Ventre.” “Really?” Magnus says with interest. “I’ve always wanted to try fly fishing. I think I’d be very good at it.” I roll my eyes, seeing that Logan notices as those gorgeous lips tip upward slightly as he looks back to Magnus. “I’d be happy to take you out any time you’d like.” “Let’s go tomorrow,” he immediately demands. Weird how I can read so much from Logan’s posture and eyes. He clearly doesn’t want anything to do with Magnus. The offer was just politeness with a suspicion Magnus was not the type of guy who would really go fishing, but he still says, “We would have to leave early. Six AM? You’d have to meet me at the South Fork boat ramp.” “Then I should get my little dove home so I can get to bed,” he says with the exuberance of a little child trying to play grown up. “I’ll Google directions to the boat ramp and see you there.” God, he’s so freakin’ weird. Logan’s eyes slide back to mine. This is not noticed by Magnus because he’s reaching for my hand as he says, “Come, Auralie. If you’re not feeling well, you probably need some rest too.”

I tip my head to the right a little and give Logan a smile that is nothing but gratitude for saving me from the terrible situation I was walking into. Granted… it only makes me safe for tonight as no telling what Magnus will make me do tomorrow, but I’ve gotten a reprieve and I’m grateful for it. I let Magnus pull me back toward the exit door, risking a glance over my shoulder back at Logan. He watches me carefully until I round a bend in the hall. When I can’t see him anymore, I look at Magnus’ stiffened back. He’s definitely pissed at me. I have to trot to keep up with his long, skinny legs. As soon as we step out into the crisp evening air, he releases my hand and rounds on me. “You better not be messing things up, Auralie.” I’d like to say Magnus scares me, but he doesn’t. He knows I’ll do my part when required because he knows I have no choice. “I’m really not feeling well, Magnus,” I say apologetically. To smooth his ruffled feathers, I point out, “You wouldn’t want me puking on a potential sale, would you?” His pinched expression goes lax, and he gives me a curt nod in acceptance. “Well, it’s not like this really hurts anything. I’m not going to be making a quick decision on this. I want the absolute top dollar for you, so not only do we have to rile up their horny little senses, but I also need to make sure I’m waving you under the proper noses. Everyone who is a paid member in there can afford what I’m going to ask, but not everyone will want you. I need to focus on those who do.” Logan does, I think bitterly. I not only see it in his face, but I also feel it in my bone marrow when he looks at me. Which makes me wonder… “Why in the world are you going fishing?” I ask curiously, because Magnus in his fine custom suits and gel-slicked hair has never struck me as a person who would want to go fishing. He’s too… prissy. “To schoomze, of course,” he says simply as I follow him to his rental car. A Porsche something or other, because he has to maintain an image. “Schmooze?” I ask astounded. Surely, he has to know just by looking at Logan that he doesn’t have that type of money. “Oh, I don’t expect that yokel to bid on you,” he says primly. “But I’ve been watching him, and he’s well connected in that establishment. He’s been a member since its inception according to someone I talked to last night, and thus he’s going to be my in as to who I should be focusing my attentions on.” Figures. He’s going to use the “man of my very own dreams” to sell me to someone else.

Chapter 5

Logan BY SIX AM, I have everything set up to take Magnus fishing, and I’m waiting patiently at the back of my boat trailer for him to arrive. I’m almost betting he doesn’t show, and it’s going to piss me off because I actually had shit I had to do today that was far more important than guiding his ass down the Snake River. Nothing I hate worse than taking a prissy douche fishing. I bet he won’t even touch a fish if he’s lucky enough to catch one. My sixteen-foot drift boat sits in the shallow water off the bank of the South Fork ramp, held in place against the current by a pyramid shaped anchor I dropped to the rocky bottom. I then pulled my truck and trailer up to a parking spot, where two local kids will pick it up and move it to another ramp a few miles downriver where we’ll end up porting at the end of the trip. I pay them ten bucks each to do this, which doesn’t sound like a lot, but there is so much fishing in this area and so many one-man crews like me who operate that they can work at this solidly for eight hours a day moving vehicles and make pretty good money for a high school kid. I hear the crunch of gravel under tires and look up from my brooding toward the river to see a black Porsche pulling in. Nice car, but he’s still a douche. Magnus gives me a little wave as he pulls in beside my truck. I push away from the boat trailer and start walking down toward my boat, not even waiting for him. I hear his car door open, then close, and the sound of his feet crunching over the gravel to catch up to me. “Good morning,” he says pleasantly from behind me. “Mornin’,” I say, forcing a jovial tone to my voice that I’m just not feeling. I peer over my shoulder at him and see he’s weirdly dressed in a fancy-type tracksuit in black with silver racing stripes down the legs. It’s apparent he sees my look of amusement at his outfit as he gives me a smarmy grin and says, “I didn’t have much in the way of clothing options. Afraid all I brought with me to Wyoming was fancy suits and a few of my workout outfits. Left all my jeans and cargo pants at home back in New York.” I call bullshit because I can tell that prissy motherfucker abhors the idea of sweat. I’d cut off my left nut and hand it to him if he’s ever worked out a day in his life… skinny, pasty, weak motherfucker. “You’re good,” I force myself to say lightly. “Doesn’t matter what you wear, really. Except… you’re going to need a hat. Once that sun gets up, it will burn your head if you’re not careful.” “I didn’t bring one,” he says worriedly as we reach the boat. “No worries,” I say as I stop at the bow, which rests only about two feet off the bank in water that’s only a few inches deep. “Let me just help you in, and I’ll get one for you.” With my right hand on the bow, I hold my hand out to Magnus in an offer to steady him as he climbs in the boat. But he doesn’t make a move, looking worriedly back and forth between the water and what I’m guessing are very expensive and never before worn tennis shoes. “I have to get in the water?” he hesitantly asks. “Yup. Although you can take your shoes and socks off to get in so they don’t get wet,” I explain, not thinking he’ll be that big of a sissy. But to my surprise, he sits down on the gravel and pulls the fuckers right off. With his pale, bony bare feet, he gets back up, hobbles over the gravel, and lets me help hoist his body into the boat. I pick up his

shoes and socks and hand them to him, trying hard to keep my facial expressions pleasant and not downright disgusted. Because everything about this man disgusts me. I had a crappy night of sleep. You’d think I’d have slept great since I’d succeeded in getting Auralie out of something she clearly didn’t want to do. I just assumed she’d had some experience with oral since she sucked dick like a champ, but she was clearly wigged out about having Jacob put his mouth down on her unmentionables. I was wigged out by it too, which is utterly ridiculous. It smacks of jealousy, which is an emotion I haven’t felt in years. In my life, I’ve been envious of many things. People’s ability to handle stress. Other people’s skills. Hell… other people’s jobs. Love. Security. Season tickets to the Bulls. A speedy metabolism. The ability to yodel. Whatever. But not once in the past two years has jealousy even flitted through my senses when it comes to sex and a woman. That’s because in order to be jealous, you have to desire something as if it’s precious to you, and while it’s true I desire Auralie’s body, I most certainly don’t desire the purity of it in a way that makes me proprietary. As I said… don’t care if she’s a virgin. Don’t care she’s sucked other guys’ dicks at The Silo. Okay, well… that does bug me, but whatever. The point is I shouldn’t care one bit if another man touches her, but for some reason last night, the thought of Jacob having her pissed me off so badly, I was on the verge of taking Heather in that Orgy Room and fucking her pussy with my mouth right beside Auralie so she could see what she was missing. It was utter madness, and it actually frightens me the lengths I was willing to go to try to foil Magnus’ plan to display Auralie out like a piece of meat and let another man touch what isn’t mine but I wished to hell was. I shake my head and try to get my head in the game. Because while I have absolutely no desire to spend the next four hours with this jackass—which is how long the trip will take downriver—I most certainly am going to use this opportunity to try to find out exactly what his plans are. The “rumor” has been heavy that Magnus intends to sell her virginity, and I say rumor only because I haven’t heard it straight from his mouth. He’s told other people—namely Bridger—but he’s not made a formal type of announcement. I almost hope to God it’s true. If so, it means these people will be gone from The Silo soon after the sale. If Auralie’s out of sight, she’ll most definitely be out of my mind. Fucking liar. No way will she be out of my mind when I’ve been using the fantasy images of her lying beneath me to get myself off at night, or to chase away bad dreams. Fuck… even last night after she left with Magnus, I waited a sufficient time for them to be able to get out of the parking lot, and then went to my little camper in the woods. What does it say about me—what does it say about what she’s done to me with her sweet eyes and curvy hips—that I gave up an opportunity

last night for some amazing sex at The Silo? I just wasn’t fucking into it, and that scares me more than anything. I need the lure of sex. I need the numbing power of the almighty orgasm. If I don’t have those available to me, I’m only stuck with my thoughts and my bad deeds. I cannot live life that way. I won’t survive it. Chasing away those particularly morose thoughts, I lift a leg over the edge of the boat, my Teva-clad feet splashing down briefly into the shallow water before I haul myself in. My drift boat is a source of pride for me. It’s necessary for me to make a living, and it wasn’t cheap even though I bought it used. It’s aluminum with a swivel, high-backed chair at the bow and at the stern, as well as a bench seat in the middle where I sit in between two nine-and-a-half foot oars on either side. I use those oars not to propel me downriver, because the current does that—hence the name drift boat—but to steer me past small rapids and to move me from one side of the large river to the other to hit certain fishing holes I know are guaranteed catch spots. When I take a party out on my boat in the summer, I dress in cargo shorts and a tank top. While it never gets overbearingly hot in Wyoming, the sun in still strong and I’m always tanned to a golden brown. I remember a few weeks ago I was in The Silo eating some pussy, and I must have looked up at the girl— can’t remember her name—and she gasped, “Oh my God… your eyes… they pop against your tan. So hot.” That caught me off guard. I missed a targeted lick to her clit, but then I got back on my game and got her off quickly thereafter. I put her words out of my mind then, and the only reason I’m thinking about them now is because five minutes ago, I was just thinking about Jacob eating Auralie out and how jealous I felt. I wonder if she would think my eyes were amazing as she stared down at me when I— Fuck! Get your head in the game, Logan. “All right,” I tell Magnus as I move past where he’s seated in the bow seat. I sit down on the middle bench, use a winch crank to pull the short length of rope and anchor holding us on the bank, and I use the oars to push us off into deeper water. The aluminum bottom scrapes along the rocks, but my upper-body muscles easily get us dislodged. “Let me get us to the middle of the river, and then I’ll take a few moments to show you some casting techniques.” “Okay,” Magnus says as he looks around at the stunning scenery, although I have a vague notion he’s not the type to appreciate the blue waters, summer green buttes, and rocky crags as we float downriver. I release an oar, which is held in place by an oarlock that prevents it from falling into the water, and reach down to my backpack at my feet. Fishing around inside, I pull out an old baseball cap that I keep in there. Handing it to Magnus, I say, “Put that on your head. And grab that life vest at your feet and put it on.” “You’re not wearing a hat,” he says as he does my bidding. “I’m used to the sun,” I tell him as I direct the boat to mid river, lock the oars so they’re out of the water and won’t drag, and then pick up a fishing pole I’d readied by putting a dry stonefly nymph onto the hook. They’re hatching now and the fish are tearing them up. And I can’t help adding on, “Your skin looks a bit delicate to go without a hat.” He doesn’t seem to take offense and just nods, watching me with interest. Over the next ten minutes, I teach him how to cast the rod from a seated position on the boat. I try to show him how to stand up when he’s casting, but he’s not very balanced or coordinated. The slight rocking almost causes him to pitch into the water. Once he has the basics, I take the oars in hand and start directing the boat as it rides the current. I pull into a few well-known spots where he’s almost guaranteed to get a hit, and by the third riffle he casts into, he surprisingly does as I instruct and pulls the tip of the rod up hard when he feels a trout snag the fly.

I talk him through the mechanics. Keep the tip up. Reel it in. Keep reeling. Tip up so there’s tension. If you lower it, he can jump off the hook. All right. Hold steady. Let me get my net. And sure as shit… I swear he almost squeals when I offer to let him hold the fish briefly before I release it back into the water. With his nose wrinkled, he says, “No, thank you. They look terribly slimy.” No shit, Sherlock. As we continue downstream, Magnus makes some more casts, but then he seemingly gets bored and says, “I think I’ll take a break.” After setting the pole down, he kicks his legs out, crosses them, and says, “So, how long have you been a member of The Silo?” “Going on about a year now,” I say as I periodically look over my shoulder at the river since I’m sitting with my back to the direction we’re headed. I use some small maneuvers with the oars to keep us in the center, which is guaranteed to get us to our destination much quicker than if I were going side to side to hit some popular fishing spots. “And what do you think of my sweet Auralie?” he slyly asks. I think about playing dumb or aloof, but despite what a shmuck I think this guy is, I don’t think he’s overly stupid. “She’s extremely beautiful. Surely, you know that.” “I do indeed,” he says. “She’ll fetch a good price for sure.” “So it’s true then,” I push at him, because I know he’s being intentionally coy to make me ask. “You’re going to auction off her virginity?” “That I am,” he says like a proud peacock. “And I was wondering if you’d be so kind as to perhaps give me some inside scoop on some of the wealthier patrons there. Perhaps not just the wealthiest, but also those most inclined to have a proclivity toward virgins. While I’m not in an overall hurry to get this deal done, because I want to drive the price as high as possible, it would certainly make things more efficient if I can let those most likely to bid on her have a little bit of time with her first. Sort of an appetizer, so to speak.” My jaw locks and I want to tell him to go to hell, because no way in fuck do I want to help him perpetuate this travesty. I have no clue why Auralie feels like she needs to do this, but I know without a doubt she doesn’t want to. But before I decline, his next words almost knock me on my ass. “And if you’d be willing to give me some good tips, I’d be inclined to reward you,” he says in a smooth voice. “With perhaps a little liaison with Auralie tonight?” “Liaison?” I ask, my voice croaking with tightness. “Well,” he says with a giggle—and Jesus fuck, men are not meant to giggle. “You can’t have her virginity, but you can do whatever else you want with her. Of course, it has to be in a viewing room so other patrons can see. She’s still a very valuable commodity to me. Everything is about making that sale, you understand?” “I get to be with her tonight?” I ask, terrified he’s bullshitting me. I want her so bad, but I don’t want any part of this deal, which means I’m equally terrified he’s being serious. “Tonight,” he confirms. “You give me the inside scoop on those I should be focused on, and I’ll start focusing on them after you have her tonight. Deal?” I’m absolutely going to hell. And I don’t care.

“Deal.”

Chapter 6

Auralie TODAY WAS UNBEARABLE. I spent most of it in my room, trying to read a book but constantly distracted by worries and unwelcome thoughts. The only bearable part of the day was that Magnus was gone for a good chunk of it, on a guided fly-fishing trip with Logan. God… Logan. He’s been starring in the unwelcome thoughts all day. I keep analyzing last night’s events, replaying in my mind every minute of interaction with Logan in that back hallway. His anger… he was so angry last night over me being fed to the sharks and my disgust with the situation. Perceptive. Even though I told him I was okay going with Jacob into the Orgy Room, he saw the real truth in my eyes. He knew I didn’t want any part of that horrid situation. He was protective. Stepping in to manipulate the situation to save me another painful humiliation at the hands of stranger. And regardless of how much you could tell he loathed my situation, he looked at me in such a way as no other man ever has. Yes, he wanted me physically in a way that made my heart pound and my girlie parts tingle, but he also wanted something else. He wanted to accept this weird, silent connection we have, but even as he wanted to, I could tell he was both baffled by it and fearful as well. As was I, because it was not something I could ever act on. When I was not distracted by thoughts of Logan, I was plagued with worry and dread over the approaching evening. Magnus didn’t truly buy that I was not feeling well last night, and the only reason he let it go as easily as he did was he felt it was a good tradeoff to meet Logan and get some insider information. In fact, he came back from his fishing trip today complaining of how slimy looking the one fish he caught was, but he was practically chittering like a happy squirrel that found a nut from the “abundance of information” that Logan provided him on The Silo patrons. When he told me that over the dinner I reluctantly shared with him down in the kitchen, I wasn’t sure what he meant. I’m not sure how I feel about the fact that Logan seems to be helping Magnus. This is at odds with the way I know Logan feels about the situation, unless I’m completely off base about him. Regardless, the worries and unwelcome thoughts still plague me as I walk into The Silo with Magnus. He’s dressed in his usual dark, custom-fitted suit that he currently prefers with a skinny-pant type of style that I find makes him look ludicrous. He did not pick out my wardrobe tonight, which alerted me to the fact that I probably wouldn’t be wearing clothes once we got into The Silo. Because of this, I practiced deep breathing exercises I’d been taught once by a yoga instructor I dated briefly, putting on my “persona” of the shy virgin who is quietly, but with abject acceptance, meeting her fate. I know it titillates some of the patrons to watch Magnus ordering me around and for me to appear powerless to argue against him. So tonight, I went middle of the road. I didn’t pick one of the dozen or so dresses he’d bought for me that are sweet and sugary like I wore last night, but I didn’t go for sexy either. I chose a shimmery blue dress that was fairly loose across the top. It had a neckline that ran straight across the top of my chest, but it was fitted from the ribs down. The hem came down to my knees with a modest slit up the back. I paired

it with a pair of silver, pointed-toe pumps. It was sexy without being slutty, and it didn’t make me look too old or too young. It made me feel… like me, and when Magnus didn’t say anything about my choice, I considered it a very small victory to at least feel slightly normal before the abnormality of this whole fucked-up situation was going to start. The inner core of The Silo is packed. I suspect because it’s almost midnight on a Saturday. While The Silo was busy the last three times I was here, I expect just like any business, there’s a slump during the workweek. As soon as we clear the entrance hall, I immediately hear grunts and moans coming from the glasswalled rooms that run the perimeter. When Magnus first told me about this “establishment,” I simply couldn’t wrap my mind around a sex club. My first visit here was spent mostly with my face burning hot —which lent credibility to my virginal status—and my jaw hanging wide open as I snuck glances at the wide variety of sex acts taking place. Fortunately, Magnus does not keep me here long. He normally brings me out late to The Silo, parades me around for a bit, let’s someone have a piece of me, and then ushers me back out again so that he can let the gossip mill run rampant when we’re out of earshot. This is something I’m grateful for, because even though I don’t consider myself a prude or overly sensitive, I’m still just having a hard time with the concept of so much public display of sexuality and lack of inhibition. With his hand on my elbow, Magnus walks up to the bar and orders a white wine spritzer for himself and a bottled water for me. He hands my drink to me without a word. To my shock, he doesn’t make any move to meander through the crowd, socializing and striking up conversations, all while making sure I’m on prominent display. Still, I don’t let my guard down because I know this evening can only end with me getting humiliated in some way with some strange man. I stand beside Magnus, shoulder to shoulder, and we just look out over the crowd. A few men come up to Magnus to make small talk, all done while eyeing me lewdly. But I’m surprised when Magnus remains slightly aloof. He’d normally delve into discussion on their backgrounds and what they did for a living so he could determine if they were worthy to potentially have a crack at me. Tonight though, he merely listens politely and keeps the talk small and light, which now makes me wonder… is he not bothering anymore because Logan gave him all the information he needs? Then another thought… perhaps Logan gave him such good intel that Magnus has already made a decision on who will buy me. And if that’s the case, that means my time in Wyoming is coming to a short end. This makes me enormously happy to be close to the end game, but a bit disgruntled over this weird sense of loss that I won’t see Logan anymore. Ridiculous really, when you consider we’ve hardly interacted at all. Except with our eyes. And almost as if a magnet grabs ahold of me, my gaze is magically pulled to the entrance hallway almost directly across the room from where I stand. And there is Logan, looking directly at me. Damn, he looks amazing in his usual casual attire of worn jeans and a dark blue chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up his powerful arms. He’s wearing a pair of worn hiking boots on his feet and his hair is slightly damp from what I’m guessing was a recent shower. My skin flushes warm from the way he watches me. When he licks his lower lip, my knees almost buckle. My head goes absolutely dizzy when he starts walking toward me, and while I know I should feel nervous about the proprietary look upon his face and how Magnus may dislike that greatly, I can’t seem to send him any sort of silent warning that he needs to back off. In fact, I lift my chin and let the warm radiance of my focus upon him speak what I’d say to him if I

had the power to speak my mind in this moment. Yes, please… come and get me. Take me away from here. When Logan is but a few paces away from us, I feel Magnus stiffen up beside me. I don’t have to look at him to know he has Logan’s purposeful walk in his line of sight. I brace for a clash between these two men because I can tell that Logan is on his way over here right this second to take me out of here. Instead, Logan’s eyes slide over to Magnus and he gives a polite tip of his head. “Magnus, I came to collect what you promised.” I jolt at the rough timbre in his voice that’s laced with bitter anger, but I look up to Magnus to see his reaction. Because… collect what? Magnus gives Logan a charming smile and places his hand on my lower back. With a tiny shove, he pushes me toward Logan and says, “Of course. Please enjoy, but remember the rules. Her virginity stays intact.” Logan doesn’t even answer. He just takes my water from me, handing it carelessly to Magnus before taking my hand in his. My gut instinct is to pull away, but I’m so shocked by what’s going on that I follow along meekly. I risk a look over my shoulder at Magnus as Logan winds his way through the patrons, but he’s not even looking at me. He’s already engaged in conversation with someone else. When Logan turns right down the perimeter hallway, I finally come to my senses and pull hard against his momentum. My hand tears free from his grip as I say, “Wait a minute. What’s going on here?” Logan spins on me, his eyes flashing with a combination of undisguised lust and self-loathing for said lust. He doesn’t answer me. Walking right into me, he pushes me back into the concrete staves. His hands come up to lay flat on the wall to either side of my head, and he bends his own down to put his nose inches from mine. “Magnus said I could have you tonight. As payment for my services today.” I lick my lips, which feel so dry from nerves, and I ask, “You mean for providing him inside information on the patrons here to best determine who’s most likely to pay the biggest price?” “Something like that,” he mutters, his eyes dropping to my mouth. A small thud of disappointment resounds in my chest that Logan would help to facilitate this mockery, especially since I know by the prior looks he’s bestowed upon me that he’s firmly against the proposition of auctioning me off. I want to push him away and tell him to go to hell, but he surprises me when he says, “I told him what he wanted to hear… not necessarily what was going to help him.” I blink in surprise. My eyes get soft with gratitude that even though I will, in fact, be auctioned off, probably fairly soon, Logan is still attempting to protect me. He sees my reaction and because we’ve become used to communicating through the nuances of facial expression, his eyes also soften and some of the bitterness fades away. “I had to be with you… at least once. I know it’s never going to be in the way that I truly want, but I’ll gratefully take anything at this point.” “I don’t want to be doing this,” I whisper, and I don’t have to clarify what I mean. He knows I mean being sold like a piece of meat. He knows I’m not talking about standing toe to toe with him in this private hallway with the prospect of something quite sinfully carnal occurring between us. “Fuck,” he growls, his eyebrows knit together in frustration. “I don’t want you to be doing this either, but I don’t have the kind of bank to make a bid for you.” I shake my head quickly in denial he’d even think that. “No. I’d never want you to spend your money on me like that. I’m not worth—” Logan’s mouth presses to mine, effectively shutting up my self-deprecation. Surprisingly, his kiss is soft but short. When he pulls away, his voice is heavy with grievance. “This is it for us. Tonight. Right now.”

I nod in sad understanding, hating my life so much. My eyes drop from the weight of my dejection. “I’m going to make this good for you, Auralie,” he says quietly. My eyes snap up to his with astonishment. “We have to do it in a public room so others can watch, but I want you to try to ignore that and concentrate on me. I swear I’ll make it good.” My heart squeezes hard, and then bursts outward, filling up with a warm sensation of comfort I’ve never felt before. I’ve always taken care of myself, even since I was a little kid, and to have Logan declare his devotion to my well-being is almost more than I can handle. “Logan, I don’t understand any of this…” Placing his fingertip over my lips, he says, “We don’t have time. Magnus is expecting us to appear soon, and we’re not going to be able to say much in there, but know this… I’d make things different for you if I could.” My eyes mist up, and I have to blink them furiously to make them go away. As he pulls his finger away from my mouth, I manage to nod my understanding. “I wish things could be different.” Placing both of his large palms against my cheeks, he pulls me away from the wall and up slightly as he says, “First though… I want to kiss you. I mean really kiss you before we go in there. I want to kiss you in a way that would declare to everyone you belong to me, which I couldn’t possibly do without pissing Magnus off. So I’m going to kiss you now, okay? And you will know it’s the way I’ll want to kiss you in there.” I can do nothing more than nod dumbly at his beautiful words before he’s bringing his face to mine. The first touch of his full lips are whisper soft, just a slight grazing back and forth across mine that makes my breath puff out in a contented sigh. Pressing in closer to me, he puts pressure against my mouth, and I open up to him. His head tilts and I mirror in the opposite direction. He gives me a soul-possessing kiss full of wet tongue and minty breath while his hands gently frame my face. It’s a kiss for the ages, and it will never be forgotten by me. It’s full of sweet romance. The way in which he moves against me suggests a rumbling inferno of passion barely contained. It’s also full of regret and sadness, but mostly it’s a painful reminder of the fact this is fleeting. When Logan pulls away from me, his eyes peer into mine. I read what he’s saying loud and clear, Another time. Another place. I wonder what we could be together. “I know exactly what you mean,” I tell him softly.

Chapter 7

Logan JESUS FUCK… WHAT in the hell have I gotten myself into? I have to restrain the urge to grab onto Auralie and bolt for the exit door. I’ll take her to my camper, put that fucker in gear, and drive balls to the wall to get her away from Magnus. Instead, I take her hand and lace my fingers through hers before leading her toward the Black Room. If I had any respect for either Auralie or myself, I wouldn’t use her to get my rocks off this way. But I can’t fucking help it. I’m a glutton for punishment because I would be far better served to walk away from her now and never know the pleasures I inherently know she’ll bestow. Instead, I’m going to get a taste of what I know in the depths of my soul will be heaven, and it will ruin me that I won’t be able to have more. But just to make sure, before I turn the knob to the Black Room door, I ask, “You have to go through with this sale?” My heart sinks when she nods. “I don’t have a choice.” Thought so, because why else in the fuck would she even ever start down this path? I let resolve take over my spine, stiffening it up before I push the door open and pull her inside. She gives a slight gasp as she sees the interior of The Silo from a very different angle. While the back wall is concrete, the outer wall is glass. You can see the other patrons milling about, engrossed in conversations or making out with each other. Some minor stuff always happens out there like dick sucks or fingering a girl to orgasm while sitting on one of the plush chairs. But the really good stuff always happens in one of these rooms. I chose the Black Room because it’s designed for a singular show with either a couple or at the most a threesome. There’s a raised dais done in black lacquer with a huge king mattress on top, covered in black silk. Even the flooring is done in a shiny, black tile. I assume Bridger decorated the room this way so as to highlight the simplicity of the actions that would take place upon those silk sheets. He even made sure the only lighting in this room was a single overhead light that shines down like a spotlight onto the mattress. Auralie stands frozen, staring out at the patrons who are starting to congregate at the glass now that the room has occupants. I walk up behind her, press my body into the backside of hers, and bring both of my hands around to cup her breasts over her dress. Dropping my head, I put my mouth near her ear and whisper, “Try to ignore them. Concentrate on me, okay?” She nods and I squeeze the firm globes of her breasts, which are utterly fantastic. I mean, I knew they were because Magnus paraded her around naked one night, but feeling them—even with a clothing barrier —is beyond better than I could have imagined. I’m stunned when Auralie reaches a hand back and rubs her palm over my growing erection before spinning in my arms. Her hands go to my belt, and she starts to work at it, but I bring my hands down to cover hers and bring them to a stop. “Uh-uh,” I chastise her so softly that no one outside the glass would be able to hear me. “Not going to do this the way you sucked those other guy’s cocks.” Her eyes snap up to mine, and her heart-shaped mouth pops open in surprise. She gasps when I reach around her back, find the zipper of her dress, and lower it down. When it reaches the base of her spine, I bring my fingertips to the collar and peel the material down over her shoulders, past her arms, and over

her hips where it slithers to the floor. She stands before me in a nude strapless bra done in satin with matching panties that sit high on her hips, providing more than ample coverage of her crotch and ass. My fingers work the hooks at the back and the bra comes free, spilling out those fantastic tits with nipples already standing pebbled and ready for attention. I massage her breasts with my hands briefly, and then lower my head to suck a nipple in my mouth. Auralie’s hands fly to my head, her fingers digging into my hair briefly, but then just as quickly release me as if she doesn’t want to show her reaction to my touch. This I understand because it would upset Magnus if she were to show favoritism to a customer, so I give her a pass on it and pull my mouth away from her puckered flesh. “Get on the bed,” I tell her as I step back and pull my shirt over my head. Auralie’s eyes go wide, and she stares at my chest for a brief moment before letting them travel down my abs. “The bed, Auralie,” I gently remind her. She turns and steps onto the lacquered dais, those high-heeled silver pumps making the toned muscles in her legs stretch and elongate. I can’t help but stare at her ass as she places a knee on the bed and then crawls to the center before turning over and lying down. I smile at her because she looks uncomfortable as hell, her legs stiff and her spine straight, casting furtive glances at the glass. Stepping onto the dais, I wrap my hands around her ankles and jerk her legs apart, causing her to gasp in surprise. I know Magnus is watching every bit of this to make sure I don’t do anything that would “devalue” his little flower, but my back is to him and he can’t see me grin down at Auralie as I crawl right up her body and press my aching cock down onto her pelvis. Even with her underwear on and my jeans, I can feel the heat our bodies generate. Dropping my weight slightly, I lower my stomach and then my chest down onto her, putting my face right over hers. I want to kiss her again the way I did in the hallway, but I don’t want Magnus to suspect there’s anything more between Auralie and me than a man wanting to have a bit of a thrill. So I take just a moment to whisper, so softly I know she can barely hear me. “Going to eat your pussy now, honey. And it’s going to be intense. You’re going to come like I suspect you never have before.” “Oh, God,” she moans, her hips pressing off the mattress against me with a grinding motion. I hiss through my teeth and quickly move back down her body, because I don’t want to fucking come in my jeans. Pulling her underwear off, I drag them down her legs, tossing them over my shoulder. I don’t even risk a glance back at the crowd I know is watching, and I’m briefly thankful I didn’t see Jacob out there as he’d know Auralie lied to him yesterday about having her period by what I’m getting ready to do. Auralie’s gaze drifts toward the glass, so I remind her, “Eyes only on me.” She obeys instantly so I reward her, dropping to my knees and pulling her body down to the edge of the mattress. She slides easily along the silk, and I get a good look at her waxed pussy as it gets closer to me. I’m not surprised by this, although I would have rather seen her more natural. I suspect, however, Magnus insisted on this to make her look as innocent as she’s held out to be. I run a fingertip over the soft, fleshy mound. While I’m sure having my fingers near this pussy makes Magnus extremely nervous, I drag it right down her slit where I’m utterly satisfied to find her already wet. Her entire body shudders. I slide my gaze up Auralie’s body and find her lifted up on her elbows, watching me with hazy, lustful eyes filled with fascination. Bending over, I bring her legs over my shoulders and move my hands up and over her stomach before using them to peel her wide open for me. She glistens. Her clit is so swollen it peeks out from her wet flesh. Bending over, I gently prod it with the end of my tongue, and Auralie’s hips shoot off the bed as she moans. I press her back down, flick my tongue out again, but this time, I’m ready. I hold her down in place, but I’m not able to suppress the cry of pleasure that tears out of her. This I know

the patrons out there heard. My dick starts pulsing in my pants I’m so turned on right now. I want so badly to press my fingers inside of her, but that’s a no-no, so I open my mouth and bring it down on her, giving her a long lick up her center before settling my lips right over her clit. Licking at her slowly, I prolong what I’m guessing might be torture the way she thrashes and calls out my name. I lazily rub circles around her swollen flesh, sometimes giving a little flutter of my tongue against her clit, but when I sense her getting close to an orgasm, I back off again. I could lie here all night and do this. Because Magnus gave me no time restrictions, I’m not in a hurry for this to end. Over and over again, I lick and suck, sometimes pressing my finger on the little bundle of nerves and rolling it around. Auralie cries and begs, and when I finally risk a glance up at her, I find her watching me with almost anguish in her eyes. She opens her mouth and I expect her to beg me for release, but instead, she whispers in a low voice that won’t carry past my ears, “Logan… let me do the same to you right now.” I rear slightly backward from the naked want in her voice. From knowing she wants her mouth on me the way I have mine on hers. I raise my eyebrows at her. Are you sure? She answers back with a look so intense, I can’t even doubt her meaning. Yes. Now. In my mouth. I go a little dizzy from what she just communicated to me, but I gather my wits enough I’m able to stand up on the dais and shed the remainder of my clothes. Nothing I’m planning on doing is breaking any of Magnus’ rules, but I’m so compelled to shove my cock in her mouth, merely because she really wants it there, that I’d do it even if he’d told me not to. Nothing’s stopping this train now that it’s left the station. Auralie is back on her elbows again, watching me with keen eyes. I drop to my knees back on the mattress, my dick bobbing almost painfully. I take note of the flushed cheeks, tangled hair from her thrashing, and pebbled nipples, and I can’t wait another minute. Flipping my body around, I lay on my side with my face at her hips, which puts hers near mine as she rolls to her side. I can’t bear to look down at her, so I concentrate on getting my mouth back on that sweet pussy by taking her outer leg, picking it up, and maneuvering it onto my shoulder. I use the arm I’m lying on to snake around her back and press her toward me, using my tongue to prod through her wet folds and find the prize. When my tongue hits her clit, she jerks and moans. I fucking love that sound from her. Then her hand is on my cock and I’m the one who jerks, which mashes my mouth to her harder. I hold my breath for a moment that lasts for years, and then I can feel her hot, wet mouth on me. I groan against her pussy. And fuck… she takes me so deep my balls start tingling. I can’t see a damn thing because I’m face first into some sweet eating, nose, lips, mouth, and tongue deep into her snatch, and I think it might even be better I can’t see. Rather, I can imagine. Her cheeks hollowed out, her throat begging to be plowed. Her mouth so damn wet that she glides seamlessly up and down my shaft. She places a tentative hand to my balls and rolls them against her palm, and I feel the head of my dick bumping against the back of her mouth. Every time I put pressure on her clit, she moans, which vibrates against my aching shaft and shoots jolts of pleasure down to my nuts. She’s so fucking good at this, but I knew she would be. I just knew it. I’m so close to coming and the thought of her drinking me down starts sending me over the edge. I don’t want to leave her behind so I hit her clit hard with my tongue, flicking it quickly with increasing pressure. Both of us are so far gone, our hips pumping against each other. My head bobs between her legs as she gyrates and I ram my cock in and out of her mouth, entering the top of her throat. With a sudden heave of my body, I roll to my back, my arm around her, taking her with me so I’m on the bottom and she’s on top. Her mouth never misses a stroke. I use both free hands now to pull her down

so she’s sitting on my face and my tongue is lashing at her pussy. Auralie is leaking all over my mouth and chin faster than I can lap it all up, and when I sense she’s right on the edge, I do something deliciously dirty to her that’s also not against Magnus’ rules. I reach a hand past her hip, over her lower spine, and push my fingers lightly down the crack of her ass. Pushing them past her tight hole, down to the base of her pussy where she’s dripping wet, I rub my fingers around until they’re soaked. Then back up again where I push the tip of my index finger right into her ass. Auralie shrieks against my cock and then tilts her pelvis so she’s grinding on my face, her entire body quaking as an orgasm rips through her. It causes my own to fire and I plant my feet on the mattress, punch my hips up, and start to unload what seems like buckets into her hot little mouth. I groan my relief against her pussy, pull my index finger out to the tip, and push it back in. Auralie cries out again, but it’s muffled because her mouth is full of cum and cock, still holding me so deep I can feel her throat swallowing against my overly sensitive head. When she’s given one last pull on my cock, she pulls her head back and I flop out of her. Her face falls and rests on my thigh as I pull my finger out of her ass, giving a slight push on her hips to lift off me. She’s practically dead weight and I’m barely able to breathe, but I also don’t want to lose the feeling of her against me. So I roll both of us to the side again, slipping my arms around her waist and resting my cheek against her pelvis as I try to get my breathing under control. Not once did I think about the crowd watching us, or if Magnus is pissed that was clearly a bit more than I’m sure he imagined happening, or even if Auralie’s mortified we did that in front of all those people. I don’t think of anything other than the fact that was my one and only crack at this gorgeous creature, and now I’ve got to figure out a way to move past this and put her out of my mind.

Chapter 8

Auralie I PULL MAGNUS’ rental Porsche into a parallel parking spot just one block off the town square, almost giddy with excitement to have the opportunity to explore Jackson. To say I was stunned this morning when Magnus woke me up at the crack of dawn was an understatement. He burst into my room, telling me that I needed to drive him to the airport as he had an emergency back in New York he had to handle. There was no way I was going back with him because he wasn’t about to waste money on a plane ticket when I wasn’t necessary to him there, and he also didn’t want me having any face-to-face contact with my father. When I asked him what the emergency was, my stomach dropped when he said with icy menace, “Your father apparently can’t follow instructions. He’s going to cause everything to crumble if I don’t get there and settle things down.” Yeah, well, that’s what you get, Magnus, when you get a two-bit hustler to run a long con that’s completely out of his comfort zone. I worried, of course, for my father. Magnus may at most times project an air of civility and politeness about him, but that’s just part of him staying in character. I’ve seen the nasty side that gets out of control with blistering anger. While Magnus Albright could never be compelled to violence as he might hurt his prissy, delicate hands, he has enough goons on his payroll that his messages are always imparted with brutal clarity as to his seriousness. So Dad has screwed up apparently, and I’m worried for him, but I also have to remember that Magnus left me here and this game hasn’t been played out to his conclusion. He’s not going to do anything to my father that will send me running, so I’m just going to have to hope my dad didn’t fuck things up too badly and that Magnus can fix whatever it is. And then he can come back here, and we can get this finished. I can move on with my life then, which most definitely includes a plan to pay Magnus back for making me do this. But for now, I’m stuck in the picturesque town of Jackson. Although I’ve been here a week, I haven’t left the rented house I shared with Magnus except to go to The Silo. I was going stir crazy on top of plain old crazy because of this shit I’ve landed myself into, and now I’m going to spend a nice day just being a normal girl on a very abnormal vacation. Over the next hour, I walk in and out of various shops, most of them geared toward visiting tourists. I spend twenty minutes alone in the studio of a photographer who specializes in native wildlife, wishing I had time to go explore Yellowstone. Maybe tomorrow, depending on how fast Magnus is coming back. I assume he’ll call me at some point today and give me a tentative plan. Until then, he merely told me to stay out of trouble and to keep a low profile until he got back. I walk a few blocks off the town square, passing by a tattoo shop and wishing I had the time or extra money to get one. It’s always been a wish of mine, and I know exactly what I’d get. A pair of rolling dice on my inner forearm. My signature grift. I pass a novelty T-shirt shop with product hanging in the window that says things like “Wyoming: Where Men Are Men and the Sheep Are Scared” or “I Support The Right to Keep and Bear Arms” with a picture of a grizzly holding a rifle.

Past a winter sporting store called Teton Ski and Snowboarding, which even though it’s still fairly warm out, it seems to have a ton of people inside as I pass by. To a shop specializing in cowboy boots— “Auralie?” I hear from behind me. Turning around, I freeze in place as I see Logan walking out of the ski shop carrying a small paper bag in his hand. His expression mirrors mine, I’m sure. I never thought I’d see you again. This we both knew was a truth because Logan whispered it to me last night. While we were getting dressed after that incredible session in the Black Room, he said he wasn’t going to come back into The Silo until after I was gone. It was both a sweet and sad sentiment, and I understood his thinking without even asking him why. I was also grateful he wouldn’t come back, because I didn’t want him to see me on my knees before another man, nor did I want him involved in this farce any longer. “Hey,” I respond in a quavering voice, shaking as he walks toward me. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his head swiveling left and right, I’m betting looking for Magnus. “He’s not here,” I tell him, and his eyes snap back to mine as his shoulders visibly drop into a relaxed posture. “He went to New York for a few days and left me back here.” The very second Logan comprehends that Magnus is gone and I’m here with no one to look over me, something flashes in his eyes that looks dark and dangerous and yet so alluring, a surge of adrenaline courses through me. I almost half expect him to grab me, pull me into a dark alley if such a thing existed in Jackson, and have his way with me. Instead, he reaches out for my hand and says, “Come on. Let’s go get some breakfast.” I don’t hesitate. Don’t even think to deny him. My hand lifts out and clasps his palm to palm because there’s nothing else I’d rather do in this moment. He turns and leads me back in the same direction I had just come from. We walk side by side in silence as he maneuvers us past tourists who clog the sidewalks, across a busy street when the walk sign says we can go, and down another sidewalk, which puts us back on one of the main streets that border the Town Square. He leads me with purpose. The long strides and the way he grips my hand strongly but gently tells me he’s determined to get me someplace where we can sit down and talk. Actually talk. No more intent meanings hidden within the depths of our eyes. While it was an excellent means to communicate when we couldn’t actually converse, I’m looking forward to just hearing more of his deep voice that has just the sexiest of rumbles to it. Logan leads me to a restaurant called “Frannie’s” that looks like a log cabin. It has a flat, wide porch across the front with several rocking chairs where customers can rock away the time while they wait for a table. It’s past the early breakfast rush, and there’s no one waiting outside. Logan leads me in, nods at one of the waitresses, and pulls me through the restaurant to the back where there’s a semi-private table in a corner by the kitchen. He only releases my hand to let me slide into my chair, and then he takes the one opposite me. With quiet speculation, Logan just stares at me, as if he can’t quite figure out what to do with me, except maybe feed me. I’m equally at a loss as to what to say, because talking about what happened between us last night could be extremely dangerous. So I pick up the paper menu before me and start to study it. I don’t look up at Logan, although I can feel the weight of his stare, but I’m also so flustered to even be in his presence that I really can’t see anything on the menu either. “Why are you letting Magnus sell you off?” Logan asks quietly, and my eyes lift until they peer at him over the menu. His visage is troubled and stormy, and I can’t have him incensed on my behalf. He could

easily get me angry over the injustice of it all and convince me to run, and I just can’t do that. “How about we talk about something that doesn’t have to do with The Silo?” I say quietly. “So I can’t tell you how unbelievable last night was?” he asks, his eyes turning practically golden to match the heat of his words. “Since that happened in The Silo?” I squeeze my legs together and duck my head behind the menu again. My privacy from such an intimate question is short lived as his fingertips peek over the top and pull it down. I notice his fingers are rough and nicked with cuts and scars, a hazard, I would guess, of his job as a fly fisherman. My eyes reluctantly go to his, and reluctantly only because I’m terrified of the way he makes me feel. “We really should forget about it.” “I’m pretty sure that’s an impossibility on my part,” he says dryly before leaning across the table so he can murmur. “And I know you can’t either by the way you’re squirming in your chair right now.” Damn. I immediately plant my feet hard on the floor and make myself stay still. “Logan… maybe another time —” “Okay, if we can’t talk about The Silo or the amazing orgasms we gave each other last night, how about telling me a little about yourself? Where are you from?” “Brooklyn,” I say, blinking in surprise at the abrupt change of subject, but with a lingering tingle in my lower spine over the mention of the orgasms. Because last night was the singularly most amazing thing that has ever happened to me in my life. I knew the power of what an orgasm felt like, but it never felt like that before. Never. “Your whole life?” he asks to clarify. “Yes. Born and raised. And you?” I ask politely, not really liking this stilted, demure conversation, but knowing we’re both better off not venturing from this path. “Chicago,” he says with a shrug. “Although I’ve lived in quite a few places since then.” “Like where?” He’s prevented from answering when a waitress comes to our table and places coffee cups before us without even asking if we want some, although she does ask, “Want anything else other than coffee?” Logan and I both shake our heads. “Know what you want to order?” she asks. Logan pushes his menu aside, clearly having eaten here before. “Three eggs over easy, hash browns, bacon—crisp, toast—white not wheat.” The waitress scribbles and then looks to me. “And you, honey?” “I’ll have the same,” I tell her with a smile, not because that’s the easiest thing to do but because that’s the normal breakfast I would order, except sometimes I’d get sausage instead of bacon. Seems our connection transcends to breakfast foods now. “So, where else have you lived?” I ask again after the waitress leaves. I occupy my hands by adding a little milk and sweetener to my coffee, although Logan apparently drinks his black since he doesn’t doctor his up, so I know there are ways in which we differ. “Several places really,” he says in a flat voice. “Texas. Spent a little time in Southern California. Then Washington and Oregon. Landed here a little over a year ago.” “And before you started traveling?” I ask, my elbows resting on the table and my coffee cup held before me with both hands. “I was in Chicago working a dead-end job,” he says, and the flatness in his voice goes so monotone, it’s almost difficult to distinguish the words from one another. There’s so much antipathy for whatever his

life was in Chicago, that it’s clear it’s not a subject he wishes to discuss. So I remain quiet and take a sip of my coffee. “What did you do in New York?” he asks, attempting but failing miserably at the generalized conversation you might try if you were out on a first date. But we are well beyond that. Logan had his mouth on my clit last night, and I let him come down my throat. I shrug, playing it vague and loose with the real truth. “My father does some apartment managementtype stuff, and I help him out with that. But I was in the process of looking at some local colleges I could go to.” “For what?” he prods, his coffee remaining untouched. I shrug again. “I don’t know. Not sure what I want to be when I grow up, but I figured I needed to get started, right?” “Depends,” he says neutrally. “How old are you?” I don’t even hesitate in my lie. “Twenty.” He lowers his head slightly and curses under his breath. “Fuck.” I can tell this displeases him. I’m not sure why, because I know Magnus has propagated the gossip grapevine at The Silo with my “age” and my sexual status—“virgin”. It’s common knowledge to everyone, so this shouldn’t be a surprise. “I would have thought you were older,” he says to clarify. “Why’s that?” I ask, my head tilted. “You just have a wisdom about you that I can’t quite explain. I find most of the younger women I meet to be flighty… unsettled. And here you are, in a pretty untenable situation, and yet, you handle it with a solid backbone. You’re a strong woman, Auralie, and most twenty-year-olds don’t recognize that within themselves.” I hate that he’s so close to the mark, but he’s right. Growing up the way I did made me street smart and gave me wisdom I didn’t ask for at a very early age. But I could say that whether I was fifteen, twenty, or twenty-five years of age. I’ve been more mature than my age for as long as I can remember. “So I ask again,” he says, his voice going hard and demanding. “Why is a woman as strong as you doing this?” Emotions war within me. I’m pleased and warmed he cares enough about me to ask, but also affronted that he’s judging my actions. We may have some sort of connection that can’t quite be explained at this point, but he has no right to be piqued by my choices because he could never understand my motivation. It’s with irritation I snap at him. “You mean debasing myself by sucking unknown men’s’ dicks and letting another stranger eat me out in front of a crowd of sexual deviants?” He jerks back with true surprise on his face, before clarifying in a voice low and rumbling with dissatisfaction over my answer. “I’ll let the stranger comment pass. I’ll also let it pass that you failed to mention I made you come harder than I guarantee you ever have in your life. And if you enjoyed what you and I did, that was in no way debasing yourself. Plenty of people get off on that type of thing, and there is nothing wrong if you enjoyed it. So, again… I’d really like to know why a woman such as yourself—who is strong, confident, and smart—feels the need to do this? And I want to know this because I want to know if I can help get you out of this situation.” I immediately shake my head. There is no way I am involving a good man in my very bad and fuckedup circumstances. “You can’t help.” “Perhaps I can—” “Logan,” I say with a firm voice. “Leave it alone. If you can’t do that, then I’m out of here.” And I don’t want to be out of here, I tell him with a pointed look. I like your company and looking at you and listening to your voice, and hell… even silence is golden between us. So please… don’t make

me leave. His jaw locks tight. I can see the irritation flash in his eyes, along with frustration and some unfulfilled need, but he only holds that for a moment before every bit of it clears out and there’s nothing but understanding left. “Okay,” he says softly. “I won’t ask you why you’re doing this, but just know… if you want to try to figure another way out, I’m ready to help you do it.” I know I just shut him down tight a second ago, but I can’t help it when my mouth opens, my vocal chords engage, and a single whispered and needful word comes out, “Why?” Logan finally picks up his coffee, blows across the top, and takes a sip while looking at me over the rim. When he sets it back down, he says, “Because we’re tethered.” “Excuse me?” I ask, not in a tart, offended way, but in an I’m-completely-confused way. “From the moment you and I first locked eyes on each other, there was an understanding of sorts between us. I don’t know the how or the why something like that happens between two people, and fuck… we spent three days communicating through looks and body language, but you can’t deny it, Auralie… you and I have something that ties us together, and I’m not sure what it is. But it was absolutely confirmed after the way we consumed each other last night.” God, and I know it too. I felt it from the very first time we beheld each other. Call it metaphysical or just a product of my underused imagination, but there is a connection there that I’ve never experienced with another human being in my life. “You with me?” Logan asks quietly. I nod, getting ready to speak the words back to him, but the waitress arrives with our food. The intimate connection is broken as we both lean back a bit so she can set the plates down. After she leaves, Logan picks up his utensils. While he busies himself pulling his eggs over onto his hash browns and cutting them all up together—same as I like to do—he says casually, “I’ve got a fishing trip this afternoon, but I’ll pick you up at six tonight. I’m taking you out to dinner.” I just blink at him, my own utensils in hand and poised to mix eggs and potatoes together. There’s not one part of me that enjoys being bossed around, and I’ve gone most of my life not ever having to withstand that, but for some reason, I like the way he just told me that’s what we were doing tonight. So I just nod and smile, then I pull my eggs on top of my hash browns. Fuck you, Magnus. I’m doing this for me.

Chapter 9

Logan WE WALK INTO the Blue Lion, my hand on Auralie’s lower back as I guide her in. It’s strange… seeing her in normal clothing. By normal, she’s wearing a pair of white skinny jeans with black flats, a graphic tshirt, and a black, blazer-type jacket. The clothing’s not overly expensive, but it is stylish, at least from what I can remember of my days immersed back in a life filled with style and culture. I have to keep mentally barking at my dick to stay down—not that I didn’t need that same advice when she was dressed all virginally sweet in The Silo, but for some reason tonight… the way she looks like a normal, beautiful young woman makes her all the more attractive to my senses. It makes me wish for something I hadn’t thought possible in my lonely existence. I also know this is a fool’s quest, but I can’t fucking help myself from wanting to be around her when I can. I can’t even have the promise of fucking her after dinner tonight, but it just doesn’t seem to matter. I’m helplessly drawn to her like a moth to flame. A hummingbird to sugar water. A bear to honey. And what-the-fuck-ever other cliché you can think of that describes an irresistible need to have something—it’s what I have right now. It’s why I never once hesitated when Magnus offered me a deal to exchange information for a night with Auralie. It’s also why I didn’t bother going to Bridger for advice because even though I was being selfish and taking something I wanted, it was eating at my gut a little to get involved with her. And Bridger could always be counted on for good advice. The problem is that I didn’t want to hear Bridger’s good advice because it would prevent me from being with Auralie, so I stayed away from him. It would be an absolute understatement to say I’ve been obsessing about Auralie since last night. That utterly fucking amazing sixty-nine session in the Black Room, where a woman has never tasted better to me and my cock has never shot off like that. And I’m not going to lie… the fact it was being done in front of all those other men who wanted that same crack at her but would never have it the way I had it last night made it all the better. While The Blue Lion isn’t an overly fancy place as I’m wearing jeans and a nice shirt and that doesn’t offend their dress policy, it is a bit pricey and this is taking a chunk out of my wallet. This says something as I live pretty much hand to mouth, and I might be eating cheese and crackers for a while to compensate, but I wanted to do something “normal” with Auralie. Everything between us so far has been so mystifying; it naturally calls upon the senses to deny it as being real in any form or fashion. Perhaps tonight… I can manage to de-mystify this connection we have. Maybe I can shed a light that would reveal this girl to be nothing more than a hot way to get a nut. Or terrifyingly, it might reveal we really do have something that could be both magical and real. Whatever. The waitress leads us through the restaurant and to the outdoor deck that holds about ten tables. I requested outdoor seating as it was an unseasonably warm day, and I knew the evening would be mild enough. Once we’re seated, a waiter appears with a flourish and asks for our drink orders. I order a local microbrew, but Auralie shakes her head and just asks for water.

After the waiter leaves, I ask, “Don’t drink?” “I’m only twenty,” she reminds me. “Plenty of people still order drinks… have fake ID’s,” I counter. She looks across the table at me, looking angelic from the glow of the crystal-encased candle in the center, and shakes her head. “My mom was an alcoholic. Drank herself to death. Always been afraid, I guess, that the gene ran in me. I never wanted to take the chance.” I manage not to wince at the mixture of pain and determination in her voice, but I ask, “How old were you?” “Ten,” she says with a bitter smile. “Been just Dad and me since.” “That must have been tough.” Her smile grows fond. “My dad did the best he could. We survived it together. But what about your parents? And do you have any siblings?” My stomach tightens, and I realize what a dumbass I am. I invited this woman out to a romantic dinner, hoping to figure out what there was going on between us, and never once did I think she’d turn an eye toward wanting to know about me. I’d gotten so good over the years at keeping a barrier up and making it clear my private life was private, that I’d not had to field a personal question in a long time. I swallow against the guilt over my half-baked truths. “No siblings. My mom and dad are still back in Chicago, but we don’t talk much.” Well, we don’t talk at all. Ever. Not in two years even though they tried and tried to reach out to me with unanswered phone calls. I finally changed my number and that effectively stopped that. While stopping contact with them helped to alleviate my guilt that they were trying to help a son who couldn’t be helped, I was now weighted with guilt that I was hurting them by not talking. Seems hurting people is what I do best. Auralie picks up her menu, I think a bit rebuffed by my curt answer, and my mind spins trying to figure a way to get some normal conversation going without pushing it in a direction that puts a spotlight on me. But then movement from another table three over catches my attention, and I see Rand and Cat standing up to leave the restaurant. I take in the fact that their meals are half eaten and they appear to be leaving early. Cat looks upset. She hurries through the double glass doors and to the left, down to where I know the restrooms are. My eyes go back to Rand. I find him staring at me. With a quick, curious glance to Auralie, his gaze comes back to me. He walks our way. Auralie looks up at him in surprise when he comes to a stop by our table. “Hey man,” I say, reaching my hand out for him to shake. “Just on our way out,” Rand says in what sounds like glum resignation. “Thought I’d stop by.” My eyes slide over to the doors that Cat just ran through, and I ask, “She okay?” Rand brushes a hand through his long, blond hair before blowing out a breath. “Yeah… she’s still a bit rattled, I think.” I nod in understanding. While it was just five short days ago that I had that amazing fuck session with Rand and Cat, it was the night before last that someone attacked Cat outside of Rand’s apartment. I heard this from Bridger. While I had a brief conversation with Rand that night to assure she was okay, I haven’t talked to him since. Which also makes me realize… I haven’t had sex since that night with Rand and Cat. Sure… I’d had all kinds of amazing oral with Auralie last night, and a mediocre blow job the night Auralie sucked another man’s dick, but I haven’t

fucked another woman—or man—since my time with Rand and Cat five days ago. I’ve been content to go home and get my rocks off while thinking about Auralie while I masturbate. So fucking weird. Rand’s gaze cuts down to Auralie and back to me with a pointed look. “Oh, fuck,” I mutter and give an apologetic smile to Auralie. “I’m sorry. Auralie… this is my buddy, Rand. Rand, this is Auralie.” Rand breaks out in a big smile, one that says he’s immensely happy to see his friend out on a date with a normal girl. He reaches a hand out to Auralie. When she takes it, he asks, “Are you local, Auralie, or here on vacation?” I open my mouth to jump in with some immediate lie to help cover Auralie’s reason for being in Wyoming because Rand hasn’t been to The Silo in a while and has no clue about her. But she beats me to the punch. “I’m actually just here temporarily visiting.” “Oh, and how did you two meet?” Rand asks her, still beaming that curious smile of happiness. Auralie looks a little unsure of what to say, so instead, she says, “Um…” She looks to me with a helpless gaze. I shoot her back one that says, It’s okay. This guy is solid. I look up to Rand and say, “We met at The Silo.” I look back to Auralie. I can tell she’s a bit tense to have revealed that, so I try to reassure her. “Rand’s a member. Cat too.” She still looks tense, so I stretch a leg out under the table and slide it up against hers in nothing more than a press of reassurance. She relaxes slightly, but then tenses again when Rand says, “Oh… wait. Are you the virgin who—?” “What the fuck do you know about that?” I growl in a low voice. Rand looks chagrined and says in a lower voice, “Sorry… Bridger told me about her a few days ago.” Auralie’s head drops down, and even though it’s dim and I can’t really tell, I think she’s embarrassed. This really bugs me. So I turn to Rand and say, “Listen… nice seeing you and all, but—” He doesn’t need the hint. “Yeah man… sorry. Good seeing you, and Auralie, very nice to meet you. My buddy, Logan here, is a good man.” Auralie looks up and gives him a polite smile, but it’s guarded. “Nice meeting you too, Rand.” “Tell Cat I said hello,” I say as an afterthought, and Rand nods his head. As he walks away, I watch his retreating back for a moment and realize something that’s very interesting. Usually when I’m in Rand’s presence, I will often think of sex. Not just because he and I have fucked and sucked each other, but because we have had numerous women we’ve shared over the past year. He’s a good friend, yes, but most of our encounters revolve around fucking, and that’s because I use sex as a drug and so I have it a lot. So naturally, whenever I was around Rand, it would only seem to reason that I’d think about sex. And Cat… who couldn’t think of sex when she was around? But when I saw her just a bit ago, and talking now to Rand, I didn’t think of sex once during my conversation with him. Didn’t have a stirring in my pants. No matter how hot our encounter was last week, and I’m sure they’d probably be up for that again, I didn’t have any desire to be with the two of them. For now, they merely felt like good friends. “So, he’s a friend of yours?” Auralie asks softly, and my head swivels to face her. “Yeah, really good friend,” I say, which is sort of true. Well, good as in as long as we keep things simple, we’re good. He doesn’t know shit about me. No one here does. “Did you meet him through The Silo?”

The waiter returns with our drinks and asks if we’re ready to order, but I decline and tell him we need more time. Neither of us has even looked at the menu, and I’m in no rush for this evening to end. When he leaves, I answer her question. “Rand and I both got part-time jobs at The Wicked Horse around the same time to supplement our full-time jobs. We got to know Bridger. He eventually let us in on the secret club behind The Wicked Horse and offered us jobs there as Fantasy Makers.” “You get paid to… to… have sex?” she asks hesitantly. “No,” I say with admonishment but temper it with a quick grin. “That would be prostitution. But we do get a free membership. Bridger even gives out ‘quarterly bonuses’ to the Wicked Horse employees who… shall we say… make the other full-paying members happy.” “So you are getting paid for sex,” she points out but her face is still questioning. It’s asking, What motivates you to do that? So I enlighten her. “I don’t do it for the money although it’s nice and it helps pay the bills, and frankly, I don’t do a lot of fantasies there so I don’t make a lot of money. I just take advantage of my membership, and I use it a lot.” She just stares at me. “I do it because I like the kinky sex,” I clarify further, and wait to see how she takes that. “I’ve seen a lot of weird things go on in that building that I never even knew were possible,” she murmurs, and I don’t mistake the sensual heat in her voice. I can tell she’s both put off and attracted to the debauchery that she’s seen. It makes my dick start to swell at the thought that perhaps we share that in common too. Because while I love sex, even just normal, missionary, fuck-pussy-until-you-get-off sex, I also get off on the perversion of the things that happen in The Silo. Never even blinked an eye the first time I fucked Rand—my first guy. I wanted to be different and drown my misery in the new and exciting world of unrestrained sexual play. “Anything you saw that you liked in particular?” I ask, my voice husky without meaning it to be. She drops her eyes in only the way a virgin would when an experienced man asks what turns her on. This strangely does not turn me on. The one thing that makes my attraction to Auralie very weird is that I like my women experienced, bold, and adventurous. Those are not words synonymous with virgin. “I like watching other people have sex,” she says in almost a whisper. “It’s living porn,” I agree with an encouraging smile. “It’s still shocking to me.” Not so much to me. Most times now in The Silo, I’m not even really paying attention to what’s going on. My mission is simple, and that’s to find an interesting way to have a release. I’m almost numb to the experience. Except last night. An amazing performance in front of the entire club last night with a woman who made me hornier than I’ve ever been in my life. I’d recreate what we did last night, every night for the rest of my foreseeable future, and be happy with it. “Can I ask you a question, Logan?” Auralie asks. I have to blink to orient myself back to the present and this beautiful woman who is having dinner with me, not sucking my cock. “Sure.” “You truly don’t do it for the money? Just because you like ‘kinky’ sex?” Well, isn’t she persistent? Still, I hedge because she’s pushing too close at my personal boundaries. “What’s not to love about kinky sex?” “I don’t buy it,” she says with a shake of her head, her long, black hair falling over her shoulders. “I watch the people in there, and something drives them. It’s more than just feeling good or carefree. It’s

more than just being a libertine. I mean, the men who want a virgin… they want that because it represents something rare and precious that they’ll likely never get another crack at. It’s like someone who collects rare antiques or works of art. There are bragging rights and inflation of ego. Every person in there wants something, and they are being driven by something personal to want it. I want to know what drives you.” I stare at her, my heart thundering so hard in my chest that it feels like it will punch through bone and flesh and race right out of the restaurant without me. She’s asking me the one question that would explain everything about my life in the last two years, and it’s not something I discuss with anyone. Ever. I take a deep breath, will my pulse to calm down, and try to tactfully decline her curiosity into the reasons Logan McKay is the way he is. Besides, she hasn’t offered up any of her secrets to me, and even if she did… I’d still never tell her. I’m not prepared to suffer “the look” that I would invariably get. Not ready to destroy what little bit of attraction and connection she has to me. So I lie to her… yet again, and I try to shock her at the same time so that she gets misdirected. “I’m just a very sexual man, Auralie and that’s all there is to it. I like sex, and I like variety. I’m adventurous. I like trying everything, and The Silo is the perfect place to do so. It’s just as simple as that.” “How adventurous?” she asks, eyes wide with almost a childlike curiosity, and that totally makes my dick twitch. Any further conversation along these lines, and I’m going to have to pull her out of here and do something about it. Maybe drag her in the bathroom and have her suck my dick since she’s getting me riled up. So instead, I pick up my menu as I say, “How about we figure out what we want to order, and maybe keep the sex questions down to a minimum? There’s only so much I can handle with you sitting across from me looking as sweet as I remember you tasting last night.” Her eyes go round and a small gasp slides past those lips that I never did even get to see on my dick last night. I could only imagine them since my face was full of pussy. I grin at her and open my menu, lowering my gaze to check out the salad choices as a starter.

Chapter 10

Auralie THE REST OF DINNER was relatively… normal. I mean, as normal as could be for a girl posing as a virgin for money, who lets another man dictate whose dick she can suck and who put on an oral sex show for a crowd of strangers. There’s no doubt that Logan and I are doing an awful lot of lying to each other. Because we have this weird extra-perception going on with each other, and can have entire conversations with mere looks, we both know we’ve skirted the truth with each other on multiple occasions. While I’ve refused to talk about my reasons for being in The Silo, and so Logan can only guess as to those, he knows I’m being evasive when he’s asked about my background. Likewise, I know there’s something twisted in his past that has driven him to a place where he takes solace in anonymous, kinky sex. We’re hiding things from one another, but somehow, it seems to be okay right in this very moment. We know our time together is limited, so we seem to be okay with the partial truths and banal conversation regarding world events and funny stories from our lives that don’t impact the house of cards we’ve built so far. But overall, dinner was enjoyable. It was not a hardship to spend a few hours with an amazingly gorgeous man who made me feel like I swallowed butterflies or something. It’s a feeling I’ve never had before with a man. Granted, grifting is not conducive to relationships. When you live moment to moment in one con or another, you build a wall around your very human nature so that you never let your guard slip. Grifters are notoriously unromantic creatures, shifty and sly. We can’t open our hearts up to be stolen because we’re too busy doing the stealing. It’s not to say I’m without experience though. I’ve dated here and there, usually people from my world, but we’re territorial and competitive, and always looking for a way to one-up the other. So yeah… meaningless dates and even more meaningless conversation. Nothing more than a way to step outside of my structured little world, blow off some steam, and accept something for just a moment that feels good even if it’s completely manufactured. Logan pulls his beat-up old truck into the driveway of the rented cabin outside of Jackson. He’d picked me up here a few hours ago. I’d come out the door and met him before he even made it to the porch. I didn’t want to feel compelled to invite him in and give him a tour of a home that meant nothing to me. But now… as he cuts the engine off, which rumbles and sputters once before going dead, I wonder if I should invite him in now. We diligently avoided the topic of sex for the rest of our meal, but it didn’t mean we weren’t thinking about it. I would have images of last night pop into my head at the most inopportune times, causing my panties to get wet. Logan seemed to squirm at times in his chair, and once he reached down to adjust himself. Just the two of us sitting across from each other at dinner with simple memories of the previous night, and we were both turned on. Will we repeat it tonight? I know I’m game, but I wonder if he is as he was clear last night that it was a onetime only thing.

“I’m going to offer to walk you to the door,” Logan says into the quiet truck cab. I turn my gaze to him because something about the rumble in his voice causes me to go on alert. “And if you accept, I’m not stopping when I get to the door. I’m coming in with you.” “I can’t—” I start to put him off, because I need him to know that sex is out of the question. I can’t blow this elaborate set up just because I want to feel him inside of me. He shakes his head, cutting me off. “I’ll leave your pussy alone. But that’s all I’m promising.” A violent shudder runs up my spine, producing a full-body shiver. Every detail of last night pulses in my mind. Things he did to me that I have only imagined in my sexiest dreams, and things he did to me I’d never imagined. His finger in my ass… Another shiver. “Okay,” I say in a rush. For a split moment, I think Logan looks almost disappointed. As if he wanted me to decline him so we could say goodbye right this minute and try to move on from each other, because we’re only making the addiction worse by feeding it. But then, just as quickly, his eyes start to shimmer with an almost fevered need, and I know he’s going to wreck me even better than he did the first time.

* “LAST NIGHT,” LOGAN asks me in between soft kisses down my belly. “First time a man’s gone down on you?” “Mmmm. Hmmmm,” I manage to purr from the back of my throat as his lips trail along the waistband of my panties. It was the one and only time I’d had a man do something like that to me, and it was more incredible than anything I could imagine. My orgasm was definitely bigger, brighter, and longer than any I’d ever given myself with my own fingers. It’s like Logan knew my body better than I did. “Tell me how it felt?” he whispers as he uses his hands to drag my panties down, peppering my legs with kisses as he goes along. “My mouth on you. What was that like?” “Warm,” I say, gasping as he spreads my legs wide and crawls in between them. “What else?” “Electric,” I moan as he glides his fingers over the bare skin of my pussy. Two thumbs at my swollen lips, and he peels them apart, making me both self-conscious and apparently wanton as my hips start to move. My body flushes warm all over. When he bends over and rolls his tongue in a circle around my clit, I cry out. “More.” “It felt ‘more’?” he asks teasingly, and I lift my head up from the bed to see him smiling at me lecherously. “Give me more,” I clarify. Well, it’s actually a demand. “Mmmmm,” he ponders thoughtfully. “Giving me orders. I like that. What else do you want me to do?” My pulse starts hammering with the possibilities, but while I’m not without some experience, I’m without the kind of experience that would ever give me confidence. So I mumble, “Do what you did last night.” “Uh-uh,” Logan chastises. “Specifics. Tell me specifically what you want.” I heave with a frustrated grunt, rotating my hips again to try to get his attention there, but when he just stares at me expectantly, I finally tell him, “I want your mouth on my clit.” He nods with a smile. “What else?”

“I want you to suck it,” I say, my voice more firm and with a tiny bit of authority that sounds weird. He apparently likes it because his eyes go dark with appreciation. So I add on, “Hard. I want you to suck it hard.” “Christ,” he mutters and rears up, his hands swiftly pulling his shirt over his head and then whipping his belt open. I watch in fascination as he unzips his jeans and pushes them down slightly, pulling his swollen cock out from its confines. He gives me a sheepish grin as he strokes himself a few times. “Had to get my dick out. It was getting strangled because your dirty talk was making it so hard.” I give a feminine chuckle and try to provoke him further, because I have just found out that turning Logan on is turning me on. “And your fingers… I know you can’t breach… well, you can maybe stick one in a little bit while you’re eating me out.” “Holy Jesus fuck, Auralie,” he groans, stroking his dick harder. “No. I get anywhere near the inside of that pussy and I’m not stopping. But I’ll finger fuck your ass again if you want.” Oh, God. I swear if words could cause a mini orgasm, I think I just had one by the savage shudder that rippled through me. With my breath practically frozen in my lungs, I say, “Logan… I want you to do whatever you want to me. Whatever you think I can take?” The last comes out almost like a question. His hand freezes on his cock and he tilts his head at me for a discerning moment before he tells me, “Baby… I know you don’t have much experience, but I think you could take whatever I handed you. You’ve got the backbone for it.” Oh, geez. Another ripple runs through me as an ache forms between my legs. “Then do it,” I whisper. Logan’s eyes narrow at the challenge in my voice, and I expect him to fall on me like a starving man at a buffet. Instead, I give a tiny shriek as he pushes off the bed and pulls me with him. “What are you—?” I start to ask, but then he’s sitting on the edge of the mattress and spinning me so my stomach comes down over his legs. Suddenly, I’m staring at the carpet. He rests a large, warm palm on my butt and strokes it, and oh… that feels so nice. Then it’s gone. Within a nanosecond, it’s back with a resounding slap to my skin. I cry out, “Shit,” but then his hand is stroking the spot warmed by his palm, and I moan at how good that feels. “Knew you’d like that,” Logan practically purrs at me. “So I’ll tell you how we’re going to start…” The threat in his voice is unmistakable, and I know there’s going to be a sting to whatever he does to me. But I can’t deny I want that more than anything because I know he’ll ultimately make me soar above the stars when it’s all said and done. Logan nudges my legs open a bit before tentatively sticking his fingertips to my wet opening. He drags his fingers through to test my reaction so far, and says, “I’m going to spank your ass. I’m even going to give a few well-aimed slaps at your pussy, because I know a sweet girl like you has never had her pussy slapped. I’m going to do that until you’re dripping, and when you’re wet enough, I’m going to drag that sweetness up to your ass. When it’s slick, I’m going to use at least two fingers on you back there… maybe three. I’m going to get you so worked up that you’re going to beg me to fuck your ass, but I won’t do it. We’ll leave that cherry too, but then I’m going to flip you over and make you come with my mouth on your clit and my fingers in your ass. Sound good?” One last giant, seismic shudder quakes my entire body. All I can do is nod in abject capitulation mixed with dizzy anticipation. “Good girl,” he says just before he brings his hand down on my ass again.

* EVERYTHING FROM MY WAIST down is tingling. Ass, clit, butt cheeks. Hell, even my toes are still curled and prickling after what Logan just did to me. But I don’t let it distract me as Logan silently crawls off the bed to shed the remainder of his clothes. He knows he’s next. I have a lot to give him to make up for what he just gave me. The man has no personal boundaries when it comes to my body, and he’s touched and tasted parts of me that I’ll never know myself. And he was right. I was begging for his cock in my ass, but he only gave a dark laugh when I did. True to his promise, he flipped me over and made me come with his mouth while I ground down on his fingers that were deep inside my tightest spot. “Get on the bed,” I tell Logan with a nod toward my pretty, western-themed comforter that’s all sorts of disheveled. He doesn’t grin at my tart ways or give me a comical rejoinder. Instead, he crawls back over me, fitting his entire naked body against mine, and presses his mouth to me. Logan gives me a blistering kiss that starts to make my core ache again, but then he’s pulling away before rolling to my side and onto his back. His cock is gorgeous. While I haven’t had much up-close experience—my prior encounters being fumbles in the dark and the two men in The Silo being quickly finished with my eyes closed—I am not going to pass up an opportunity here. Logan’s body is beautiful. Tan, hard, and muscled with hair over his chest and right below his belly button leading down to his pelvis. He’s into grooming as his pubic hair is trimmed tight and his balls are hairless, which makes me wonder if guys wax down there. I’d never been waxed before until Magnus dragged me out here, but he told me it was necessary. It was awful and hurt like a son of a bitch. After my hair grows back in, I’m never doing that again. I’ll shave and make sure I’m trimmed, but I’m never having hot wax slathered on my pubes and then ripped violently out again. Nope. Never. But back to Logan’s body, more importantly, his cock. I come up to my knees as I study it. Logan is lying on his back with his hands behind his head. He’s pretty big. Bigger than any other I’ve had. Solid, straight, and dusky colored, with a fascinating vein running up the underside that I think I’ll trace with my tongue. “Said you never had a man go down on you before you came to The Silo,” he says in a voice that sounds like warm honey, causing my eyes to cut from his dick to his face. “Ever sucked a man’s cock before The Silo?” It’s a truth I can give him. “Yes. A few times.” Because I had. His name was August, but he went by “Gus.” We ran a few scams together in our late teens. I guess I sort of fashioned myself in love with him, even though deep down, I knew con artists could never really love. I wasn’t about to give up my virginity at just sixteen years of age, but I did want to please him so I gave him what he wanted. He made fumbling efforts to get me off with his fingers, which didn’t work more often than it did. Definitely not a mutually satisfying relationship, but really… we did our best work on the streets making money in the only way we knew how. By taking it from others. “You okay?” Logan asks, and I noticed he’s come to his elbows, his eyes laced with a bit of worry

over my contemplative mood. “Sure,” I say with a tremulous smile. “Was just thinking the other times… they weren’t good.” “Oh,” he says, tone flat. But I hurry to clarify. “Except last night. Last night was very, very good.” He smiles at me. It’s a smile I’ve never seen from him before. Completely open without one thing hidden in his meaning, fully reaching his eyes and causing two beautiful dimples to appear on his face. It’s a smile that tells me he’s very happy I enjoyed what I did to him last night. “I’d like a repeat,” he says with a low rumble of need. I give him a sexy smile before I turn and bend over him. Putting my hand around the base of his dick, I squeeze tight and descend over the mushroom-tipped head, noticing it is leaking clear fluid from the top just before it touches my tongue. Logan lets out a loud sigh of relief, but then his hand goes to my head. He pulls my hair back away from my face and mutters, “Want to see your mouth on me.” I pull up on him, tighten my lips on the head, and cut my eyes sideways to him. He’s watching me in fascination, his eyes glowing more green than anything with gold flecks sparkling. I go down on him and he groans, his hand tightening in my hair to hold it back so he doesn’t miss a thing. Because I want him to feel as good as I did, I set a moderate pace as I bob up and down, flattening my tongue on the underside of his dick and alternately pumping him with my hand. Logan doesn’t say anything, but his breathing becomes labored and harsh. Every few strokes, I’ll catch a glimpse of his face, which is etched with full-blown lust and pleasure. This makes me happy, that I’m making him feel so good, so I double my efforts and really go to town on him, sometimes going a little too exuberantly and causing myself to almost gag. I’m so into what I’m doing it takes me a moment to realize he’s pulling on my hair and saying, “Hold up, Auralie,” in a rough voice. I pull off him, involuntarily dabbing at the corners of my mouth where a bit of saliva has pooled. His face is stormy, and he looks a bit angry. “Did I do something wrong?” I ask hesitantly, a feeling of gray despair starting to overcome me. “Fuck no,” he says harshly as his hand loosens in my hair. “You’re doing that a little too good, and I’m not going to last.” “Oh,” I say in wonder that I had the power to bring this vibrant and highly experienced man to completion so soon. “Do me a favor?” he asks with a soft smile, his hand now stroking my hair. “Use just your hands on me, okay?” “My hands?” I ask, dumbfounded. “Just your hands,” he affirms. “You can use your fingers too… if you’re feeling really adventurous.” My fingers? Where would I put my—? Oh. My fingers. My eyes slide down to his cock. Logan spreads his legs a little, giving me a better picture of what lays beyond. A quiver of excitement flutters through me. I slide my fingertips over his balls, down past them to the area just behind. “My fingers, huh?” I ask, my eyes gleaming with the challenge. Logan swallows hard and nods. With a voice so roughened by desire, he practically croaks. “Yeah… your fingers.” “I can do that,” I tell him wickedly, and I have to wonder… if Logan and I were to actually have real

sex with penetration, how could it ever be more thrilling than this right here? I probably wouldn’t survive it.

Chapter 11

Logan IT’S BEEN AN utterly perfect morning and I’ve only been awake a few minutes, but it’s perfect because Auralie is spooned into my body. It only complements the utterly perfect night I’d had with her, the sweet, virginal temptress who sucks dick like a sexual goddess. And yes… she ultimately ended up sucking my dick again, but only after she’d gotten me off with her hand and fingers alone. While she’s clearly inexperienced, she is not without adventure. She let me talk her through the mechanics of massaging my prostate with her finger while she jacked me off. I came so hard, my jizz actually hit at the base of my collarbone it’d shot so far up my body, and I roared like a fucking grizzly bear. We both got cleaned up. I took a piss. Then we dozed after she settled into my arms. I woke up a few hours later with her mouth on my cock, taking what she wanted and being assured I’d gladly give it. Of course, I shredded her pussy with my tongue after. I have to admit, my name coming out of her throat as she orgasmed was very nice indeed. After that, we slept hard. I only woke up one more time around three in the morning by a violent thunderstorm that had rolled through. I listened to the rain pelting the roof and the rumble of thunder, seeing flashes of lightning, and I did it all while I held a woman in my arms that I had become completely obsessed with. Not once as I laid there did I think it in any way felt uncomfortable. I couldn’t quite remember the last time I’d held a woman in my arms, and a quick inventory of my memories says not once in the last two years. And prior to that with Donna doesn’t count. Nothing prior to my life on the road counts anymore. When my alarm on my phone went off at six AM, I rolled away from Auralie to shut it off and saw that I had a text from today’s fishing charter. It was sent a few hours ago and only said, Need to cancel. Will we get refund on deposit?

No, fucknut. You do not get a refund. I have a business to run. I quickly send a return text. No refund. I didn’t expect to get an argument back. My clients today were two clearly wealthy college boys here on summer vacation. They apparently had more money than they knew what to do with. When they booked me yesterday through Teton Ski and Snowboard—which isn’t just a winter sports store obviously—the owner, Jake Gearhart, told me they’d been partying when they stumbled in and he wasn’t quite sure they would even show up. Again, it didn’t matter. That was the purpose of a non-refundable fifty-percent deposit on the trip. In my line of business, you couldn’t just reschedule a missed charter at the drop of a dime. I don’t make a lot of money doing this. After Jake takes a small commission for booking the trip, I’m lucky if I clear a hundred bucks on each four-hour trip. I also pack snacks and water for my customers, as well as supply the tackle, which is not inexpensive. During the high season, I can do two trips a day. So on a good week, I can make about twelve-hundred, which is good bank. The problem is you have cancellations either from dicks like these guys or weather, and in a bad week, I could make as little as three hundred. Still, it’s

more than enough for my solitary existence living in a camping trailer, so I don’t go without. So while it sucked losing out on the dough, there was an upside in that I was free today. I had a beautiful woman, who intrigued me greatly and made me feel absolutely amazing to be near her, right beside me and at my disposal. Besides, at least I have an afternoon trip scheduled. Jake told me these were two really wealthy men and would be tipping well. Putting my phone aside, I roll back over and bring my arm over Auralie’s waist, pressing in tight to her backside and bringing my mouth to her shoulder where I kiss it. “Auralie,” I whisper, and she snuggles into me tighter. “Auralie,” I whisper again. Dragging my hand down her stomach, right to her mound, I press a finger just above where her clit lays nestled in her warm flesh. Her hips gyrate against me, and my cock starts getting hard. “What?” she mumbles sleepily. I move my mouth to her ear, bringing my hand back up to lay flat on her stomach. She sighs in frustration. Smiling, I tell her, “Get up. I’m going to take you fishing.”

* IT’S SO MUCH fun watching Auralie fish, and she’s a fucking natural at it too. I spent a few minutes on the bank with her going over casting techniques, and then loaded her into the boat. I made sure she slathered on sun block because I didn’t want to see her pale skin reddened by anything but the palm of my hand, and I gave her a fishing hat I had in one of the storage bins. It flared out wide and had a strap she could tighten under her chin. Then I set us off down the river, watching as she was able to catch fish after fish with just a natural affinity for when to pull up on the rod tip at the moment the trout was breaking the surface of the water to grab the dry fly that floated there. It really is all about timing and instinct. She had a natural intuition about it all that made me proud. By mid-morning, I pulled the boat over to the far bank that had a fairly well shaded patch of thick grass. I pulled out some bottled water and some convenience store muffins I bought after we picked the boat up from the campsite. Auralie’s greatly intrigued that I live in a camper, and she tried to pepper me with questions as to what it was like. I answered them as best I could, but there wasn’t much to it really. It’s just… a humble life and I’m satisfied with it. After I drop the weighted anchor, I help Auralie to jump down, noting proudly she is not worried about getting her tennis shoes wet. I spread a blanket on the grass and we sit down in the shade, watching other boaters as they float by. Some are drift boats like mine with guides teaching tourists how to fish, and others are just lazy tubers floating down in groups while drinking beer. While the Snake River does have portions that have Class IV and V rapids, this section of the river is slow with only a few gurgling riffles that do nothing more than sway the boat. “It’s so beautiful here,” Auralie says as she sits cross-legged and picks at a blade of grass near the edge of the blanket. “It almost doesn’t seem real.” “I know,” I tell her in agreement. “I’ve been here a year. Sometimes, I’ll be on the river and I’ll come around a bend. I’ll see a butte I’ve seen hundreds of times before, and it still takes my breath away.” “Are you happy here?” she asks, and I sense that her question has a deeper meaning. It’s not been hard for her to figure out that I’m solitary and private. She knows I have no relationship with my parents and my friendships with people revolve around a sex club. “I’m happier here than anywhere I’ve been in the past two years,” I tell her carefully, happy to give

her a truth. “Happier than where you were prior to two years ago?” she inquires, and I feel myself shutting down. But I don’t want to retreat from her. Not wholly. But I don’t want to give more of myself to her either. So I use a tactic that worked well last night. I redirect. “I’d be very happy right now if you did me a favor,” I murmur as my eyes cut out briefly to a drift boat with three occupants going by. It’s being guided by Cash Holstead, one of the few local guides here. I know everyone on this river, and most of us are not native to Wyoming. The main reason I came here and how I was easily able to get a job as a fishing guide, which is just not something you can do without experience, is because I worked at Yellowstone all four years I did undergrad. I learned how to fish in the summers, and my father and I would come out for hunting trips in the winter. I had plenty of transferrable skills to be able to get work in this area. While I was probably competent to take a hunting trip out in the non-fishing months, I preferred to make money either taking on bartending jobs or sometimes guidedsnowmobile trips. “What favor do you want?” Auralie asks me naively, as she surely missed the heat in my tone. “Put your hand down your pants… get yourself off while I watch,” I tell her with a challenging grin. “What?” she exclaims and sits up straight. “No.” Mission accomplished. She forgot all about her very personal question to me, and the thought of watching her finger herself is thrilling, especially out here in the open. “Yes,” I insist. “Come on. Live a little.” Auralie narrows her eyes at me before she flat out busts me. “You’re deflecting a personal question, Logan. Not very nice.” And yeah… that does make me feel guilty that I can’t give her what she wants. I should admit defeat and tell her she’s right. I should be a gentleman and change the subject. But fuck… now I really want to see her get herself off. I love watching my shy little virgin come out of her shell and experience the ultimate high of sexual pleasure. So I compromise. “I’ll answer your question if you promise to get yourself off out here… right now… so I can watch.” Auralie rolls her eyes. “We’re out in the open, Logan.” “Not really,” I point out. “We’re in a little alcove. People on the river can’t see us until they’re exactly parallel. Most of them floating by haven’t even looked over this way.” She looks to her right and her brows furrow when she realizes I am correct; she can’t even see the river to her right because of trees and bushes that jut out past us from the alcove we’re in. “And we’ll switch positions,” I tell her. “I’ll put myself between you and the river.” “You’ll answer my question?” she asks for clarification. “Yes.” Her eyes dart to the right again before moving back down to the left, possibly taking note that the current is swift and people are moving past us at a good clip. She is probably also recalling that not many boats or tubes have gone by in the last half hour. Maybe only four total, so there are many minutes in between where there’s complete privacy. She finally looks back to me and says, “Okay. I’ll do it. But first, I want to know if you’re happier now than you were two years ago before you began your travels?” I don’t even bother trying to suck in a breath of fortitude. If I did, it might actually give me too much

pause and cause me to lie to her. So I go ahead and let out the truth as best as I can relay it without giving away why I feel that way. “There were moments where I was happier, but there were moments that were the worst I’ve ever felt in my life. As such, I try not to think of my life before my travels. It’s easier to try to forget all of it.” “Oh,” Auralie breathes out. The sympathy in her gaze nearly undoes me. I can’t stand to have her look at me that way because I have the absolutely insane urge to lay my head on her lap and pour out all the pain I keep locked up tight inside. I shake my head, force fleeting images of operating tables and flatlined EKG machines out of my head, and I call forth the one way in which I know Auralie can bring me peace. “Hand down your pants, baby,” I say roughly, my eyes going down to the button on her khaki shorts as I scoot over on the blanket to put myself between her and the river. She doesn’t move or even say anything for a moment, and I refuse to meet her eyes, terrified she’ll push me for more. But I won’t give it. I answered the question, and I did it truthfully too. Finally, she swings her legs out from her Indian style of sitting and lays down on her right side, facing me. I go ahead and mirror her movement, lying down on my left side, with only about two feet separating us. Because my shoulders are broad and I’m much bigger than she is, I think I’ve got her relatively shielded. At least until they get past us. If some boater happened to look back, they’d get a nice surprise. The prospect of strangers watching doesn’t make me feel guilty in the slightest. I’ve always loved the excitement of voyeurism, both as the watcher and the watched. Auralie takes a deep breath. With one hand, she manages to undo her button and zipper. I’m surprised when she even pushes the waistband down a little to give herself more room. She slides her fingers into her underwear, and they disappear from sight. My eyes are pinned on her crotch, her hand moving under the pink silk of her panties. I know when she touches her clit because she gasps and her hips jerk. That’s so fucking sexy that I feel it straight through to my own nuts. I bring my hand over to rub at my crotch, not relieving anything in the slightest, only creating a deeper ache. “Fuck,” I curse. My hand goes to the zipper on my cargo shorts. In a flash, I have my cock out. I risk a glance up at Auralie, whose eyes are now pinned on my hand jacking my dick. Her cheeks are pink and her lips wet from repeatedly licking at them. “Feel good?” I ask her hoarsely, and her eyes slide from my cock to my face. She merely nods with a feminine grunt as she rubs at her clit and her hips start bucking. “God, baby… that’s so hot watching you do that,” I praise her, and then I push at her. “Rub harder. I want you to come.” Auralie’s hand flies against her pussy, the movements having dragged her panties down so I get little peeps of her wet and swollen clit. “Imagine it’s my tongue on you,” I murmur to her, my hand stroking and squeezing my cock. Pre-cum oozes from the top to help lubricate my palm. “Oh, God,” Auralie moans. Her hand is practically vibrating it’s moving so fast. Then she stiffens, throws her head back, and moans, “Oh, God… Logan… I’m coming.” And fuck, it’s so goddamn beautiful my eyes almost hurt watching her fall to pieces with dappled sun and shadow falling across her. And I think I’m dying, my need for release causing my dick to ache and my nuts to pulse with frustration. Oh, and to have her mouth back on me again. I release my cock and scoot up on the blanket a few feet at the same time, my hand going to the back of

Auralie’s head. Her eyes are glazed as she pulls her hand out of her pants, and she doesn’t resist when I pull her face toward my hips. “Open up, Auralie,” I tell her, pulling her closer to my shaft. “Logan,” she whispers, but she still doesn’t pull back against me. “Someone might see.” “Good,” I growl at her. With one hand on her head and the other on my cock to hold it steady for her mouth, I tell her, “Open that pretty mouth, honey. Take it in deep.” “Oh, God,” she moans, but her mouth opens wide. That first touch of her tongue on the head of my dick, I can’t help it. I grunt like a fucking caveman and slam my hips forward, filling her up. Auralie makes a slight gagging noise, and I mutter “sorry” as I pull back a little. I force myself to hold still. To let her set the pace. To let her finish me off the way she wants. And then her hand is on my hip and she’s pushing me to my back. She surges up and bends over my dick, caught up in the lust of the moment perhaps, or maybe just not giving a fuck the way I don’t give a fuck if we’re seen. No one would recognize her. The most that would happen is some other guys would recognize my boat and give me shit about it later. But whatever. I can’t see Auralie’s gorgeous mouth working me as her dark hair falls all around to shield her face. All I can see is her bobbing head and feel the hot, wet, sucking pull of her mouth, which causes my nuts to start to tighten and my blood to boil. I tilt my head, look downriver, and see a boat in the distance that was probably going by the minute she rolled me on my back. Three men are in the boat, two fishing, one rowing, all three now currently staring at us. I lift my hand up and give a “thumbs-up” signal. One of the guys holds his thumb up high in the air back at me in salute. And oh, yeah… Auralie’s hand is now rubbing my balls. I think about her finger in my ass last night, and my fingers in her ass, and how bad I wanted to fuck it, and how much I want that hot pussy on my cock with her under me or me riding her from behind, or fuck… the best of all… her riding me reverse cowboy. I think of the million different ways I want this woman, and I can’t hold it back anymore. I erupt in her mouth and call out her name as she sucks every drop I give her right down her throat.

Chapter 12

Auralie I STEP OUT of the shower, wrapping the towel around me and tucking it in tight. Another is wrapped turban style around my long, wet hair. I feel refreshed from a long nap I took this afternoon and sparkling clean from my shower. Drifting down the Snake River under the bright sun, casting the line hundreds of times, reeling in fish and sucking Logan’s dick… I was worn out when he dropped me off around noon with a quick kiss as he walked me to the door and promised he’d be back to get me around six PM. We haven’t made full plans, but he suggested perhaps going out to his campsite and cooking something simple like hot dogs over a fire or perhaps he’d bring a pizza and we’d watch a movie. I’m personally hoping for the campfire because I’ve never eaten hot dogs cooked over one before. Hell, I’ve never been camping before. Or fishing. Or had oral sex outdoors for the entire world to see. My face should be burning hot right now for that last one, because I’ve become the type of woman who Auralie Foster just doesn’t recognize anymore. That’s not to say it’s a bad thing… these changes or perhaps they’re awakenings in my sexuality. I’m also powerless to fight these newfound desires because Logan blows through me like the force of a hurricane, completely overwhelming me and battering down what faint resistance I try to keep toward him. He’s getting harder to resist, and I’m extremely worried about tonight when we’re alone. The more time I spend with him, the more I want to ditch my responsibilities. Will I have the power to say no to something more? Or worse yet… will I beg for him to give me something more, despite how careless that would be of me? My phone rings from where I left it on the dresser in my room, so I scurry across the hall from the bathroom to grab it. I see Magnus’ name on the screen briefly before my finger is “accepting” the call. I’ve been a bit worried he hasn’t called me to let me know when he’s coming back, and while I seriously doubt it’s today, because that would have given him mere hours to handle whatever problem my dad caused, I can’t rule that out either. The man is completely unpredictable. “Hello Magnus,” I say with what I hope is a pleasant tone to my voice. Why I’m worried about being pleasant is beyond me, as I’ve made no bones about the fact I despise him? Maybe it’s subconscious guilt that I’m carrying on with a man who could ruin all of our plans, or maybe it’s merely because I’m feeling so great after an amazing few hours with Logan and one tremendous orgasm. “What did you do today?” he asks in an equally cordial tone. I never once consider telling him the truth because he doesn’t deserve it. “Stayed around the cabin. Read a book. Watched some TV. Took a nap. The usual lazy stuff. When are you coming back?” He’s silent a moment before he says, “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe day after. Not sure.” I grit my teeth. He’s doing that on purpose to keep me off balance and ensure I’m a good girl, not knowing if he’ll catch me doing something that will void his obligation to me to keep my dad free from harm. Sadistic prick.

“Okay,” I say like I’m nonplussed. “Just let me know when your flight will be in and I’ll pick you up. Now, I just got out of the shower and I’m dripping everywhere so I’ll talk to you later.” “You’re going to The Silo tonight,” he says briskly, not biting at my push to get him off the phone because I just can’t stand to hear his sanctimonious voice. “What?” I ask in disbelief. “I want you to make an appearance tonight. Don’t want the potential customers getting cold feet or forgetting how hot the little prize is.” “And what exactly do you want me to do there?” I ask through gritted teeth, not making any pretext I don’t like this plan. I don’t like it because it interferes with my normal plans. It also puts me in danger of another man touching me, which I don’t want anyone to do but Logan. “The usual… pick someone new and give him a blow job. Make it nice. Put on a show,” he says as if he’s talking about an ordinary day of business. “Any particular preference as to who I should pick?” I ask sarcastically. It goes right over his head. “Not really. Just someone new who hasn’t touched you. Put on a show and make it good, then we’ll concentrate on the few people I’ve narrowed it down to when I return.” God, I hate him. Hate him, hate him, hate him. My brain immediately starts whirring, trying to come up with something that will get me out of this. He’ll never buy another illness. Perhaps I can just make up something— “And Auralie?” He breaks into my manic thoughts. “Yes?” “I want proof. Have someone take a picture and text it to me,” he says, and I can hear the triumph in his voice. I take a deep breath, fight off the overwhelming urge to hyperventilate, and try to ask my next question as subserviently as possible. “Is my dad okay?” “He’s fine,” he says crisply. “For the time being anyway.” “Anything else?” I ask, my voice hoarse with fury because I’m rising to his bait. “That will be all,” he says pleasantly. “I’ll see you soon.” He disconnects the call on me, and I have to resist the urge to throw my phone across the room. I also resist the urge to call my father and curse at him for getting us in this mess. For even stepping foot into Magnus Albright’s world all those years ago, and dragging me right along with him. And I was almost free of it all. I told my father I was out. I told Magnus I was out. I would have told Gus I was out if Gus was still in the game, but no one had seen hide or hair of him in three months, and this scared the shit out of me because he had been working for Magnus. The word on the street was he double-crossed Magnus and poof—he was just gone. It’s why I wanted out. The further you got sucked in, the bigger the con, the more chance of getting caught. Magnus didn’t like mistakes, and he was brutal in his reinforcement of said dislike. I was afraid I’d one day just poof—be gone—if I messed up. Two months ago, I was almost out. Until I wasn’t. “Dad,” I called out as I pushed open our apartment door, my head bowed down over the mail I’d picked up from our mailbox in the dingy, poorly lit lobby of our building. “I’m home.” “So I can see,” someone who was not my dad said. My head popped up, my eyes immediately narrowing on Magnus sitting on our couch, one leg

elegantly crossed over another. He had on his classic, dark-tailored suit and his dishwater-blond hair gelled over to the side. My eyes immediately took in other people in our small living room, and my eyes snapped to my father sitting in his old, ratty recliner. I looked just like him… black hair and crystal blue eyes, except the main difference I saw now was that he was sporting a split lip and a black eye. One of Magnus’ goons stood behind my dad, and he actually popped his knuckles as he leered at me. “Are you okay?” I asked my dad. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Apparently, I’ve fucked up though.” My eye roll said everything, directing my silent question to Magnus with raised eyebrows. What now? Magnus shifted on the couch, laying one arm across the back as he looked at me with a smile. “Seems your dad was skimming the top off my cream.” My stomach lurched. My dad tried to stand up from the recliner as he proclaimed his innocence. “I wasn’t, Magnus. I swear it. My bookkeeping just got a little out of whack.” The big goon put a hand to Dad’s shoulder and shoved him back down in this chair. Goddamn, Dad, I thought. There was no doubt in my mind that it wasn’t a simple math screw up. My dad was a wizard at juggling a dozen different cons and keeping the money straight. He had been doing it for years for Magnus and hadn’t ever made a mistake. No, he took that money intentionally and I knew why. So I could pay tuition when I enrolled in a community college this week. “How much?” I asked Magnus, because if this wasn’t made right and done soon, Magnus was going to do far worse to my dad than a split lip and a black eye. “I’ll get it for you.” “You’re darn right you will,” Magnus said irritably. “And I’ve got the perfect con that will net us a small fortune. It’ll more than cover your dad’s obligation to me, plus a ‘reasonable’ penalty for his shoddy bookwork. There will even be a little bonus for you. More than enough to help you with some college.” “I don’t want any of the money,” I growled, not even bothering to get the details on the con he wanted me to help him with. “I said I’m out. I’m only doing this one job, and then I’m done. But I want your promise right now if I do this, you’ll leave my dad alone and he’ll be safe.” Magnus smiled an evil smile at me, and I should have taken that as a hint of what was to come. I should have bothered with the details of the con before I committed, because I would have never agreed to this if I’d known how low I’d have to stoop to pull it off. Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? I would have done anything to protect my dad. He may have been a wayward man, and he may have raised me on the hustle, but he provided a roof over my head and more love than I could handle when my mom died, even foregoing his own grief to make sure I was as happy as possible. Yeah… this con isn’t a choice for me. My dad’s life depends on it, and so I’ll see it through to the end.

* LOGAN KNOCKS AGAIN on the cabin door. I shuffle with dread toward it as I know without a doubt he’s not going to like what I need to tell him. Hell, I’m not going to like it either, but I need to pull my big-girl panties up and focus back on the end game.

When I swing the door open, Logan almost takes my breath away. He’d recently showered as his hair is still damp along his neckline, and whatever soap he uses smells crisp and fresh. He’s wearing his usual “Logan” clothes of jeans and a casual shirt—this time plaid flannel with sleeves rolled to mid-forearm— along with a pair of camel-colored hiking boots. And he stands there in the sexiest of poses with one hand holding onto the doorframe and the other shoved in his pocket. He’s big and looming, and his eyes sparkle with excitement to see me. Then they drift down, taking in what I’m wearing, and his jaw goes rock hard. For you see, I’m wearing what I’m thinking of as my “Auralie Virgin” clothes. Tonight’s ensemble is a floaty white skirt with lace edges that comes down to my ankles, along with a sky-blue blouse that sits demurely at my shoulders and cinches at my waist with a chiffon belt. My hair is tousled and then wrapped in a loose bun I’m wearing at the side of my neck with a few wispy tendrils pulled lose. I have no makeup on other than a little lip gloss, and I can read the thunderous expression in Logan’s eyes without him needing to say a word to me. You are not fucking going to The Silo tonight! “I have to,” I say flatly, choosing to use words because communicating with my eyes is too personal. I have to figure a way to build a barrier up between us. I turn and walk back into the cabin, heading into the kitchen to get my purse off the counter where I’d left it earlier today after Logan dropped me off from the fishing trip. “Absolutely not,” Logan says from behind me. Close behind me. I spin on him. “You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do.” He’s so close he runs right into me, his hands going to my arms to hold me upright so I don’t go crashing to the ground. But he uses my momentum to his advantage, walking me backward into the kitchen and right into the refrigerator, which sways backward a few inches before righting itself. “You are not going there by yourself—” “Fine,” I snap at him, because I’m feeling every bit of frustration that he is. “You can come and watch then.” “Jesus fucking Christ,” he yells as he releases me, spins away, and places his hands on top of his head. He looks upward to the ceiling as if it has all the answers, and then my heart breaks a little when he turns to face me with pleading eyes. “No, Auralie. Tell him you’re sick again. I can’t bear to watch you— you—” “I know,” I say softly as I push off from the fridge and walk to him. I lay a hand on his chest, feel the wild gallop his heart, and try to make this easier on him. “I don’t want that either, but Magnus will never accept my excuse of being sick. You have to know I don’t want to do this.” “Then don’t go,” he says as his hand comes to mine, and I can’t handle how lost he sounds at this moment. This man and me… we’ve known each other barely a week, and yet something has forged tight between us. It’s my fault for letting it bloom and develop, and I should have never let him get this deep with me. I thought I was safe though, because while I’m holding much back from Logan, he’s doing the same to me. We may have a connection, but we really don’t truly know each other. Not the bad stuff anyway. I pull my hand away and take a step back. With a firm voice, I tell him, “Logan… I don’t want to do this, but trust me when I say I have to go through with this. I literally don’t have a choice in this matter—” “How do you know?” he interjects with his arms thrown out to the side. “How do you know unless you let me in on—?” “I’ve involved you too much as it is,” I tell him with quiet confidence because this is a truth beyond all truths. “I should have never let it go this far. But you are going to have to let me go and let me do what

I have to do. As I said, there’s no choice and you’re just going to have to accept that.” “Fuck,” he mutters and scrubs his hands through his hair again, his eyes cutting across the kitchen… not really looking at anything but clearly trying to think of something. Anything. He spins on me. “What does Magnus want you to do tonight?” I shrug. “A show. He wants me to put on a show.” “Then I’ll—” “He said it has to be with someone new,” I cut him off, watching his face crumble. My voice quavers a bit. “Said he wants picture proof.” “Goddamn, I want to kick that motherfucker’s ass,” Logan growls, but his eyes look at me with grim determination. “But I have an idea. Go upstairs and change out of that shit.” “But—” “Just do it,” Logan barks at me, and if it weren’t for the frustration and almost near panic in his voice, I’d balk at someone talking to me like that. But I don’t hesitate because if Logan has an idea that will save me from having to put another man’s dick in my mouth, and still let me put on a show for Magnus’ liking, then I’m all for it. I turn around and scramble toward the staircase, mentally putting together a new wardrobe outfit.

Chapter 13

Logan JEALOUS. I’m goddamned jealous. An emotion I don’t have in me. Fuck… I never even got jealous if another man looked at Donna in an unseemly manner. I was such a cocky, egotistical son of a bitch in those days that it never once crossed my mind I should be jealous. That Donna might look back. I mean, she never did. Not that I know of, but still… I never once even had the humble grace to think a woman would want anyone else but me. And now, here I am about ready to commit violence at the thought of Auralie even walking in that Silo. Forget about her sucking strange cock… I don’t even want those fuckers to have their eyes on her. That’s how fucking green this jealousy is. And I don’t have any good way out of this if Auralie truly believes she has to go through with it. She doesn’t need to convince me how distasteful this is. I see it in her eyes and the way she nervously fidgets beside me in my truck as we head to The Silo. I could also hear it in her tone of voice, how very sorry she was to be doing this to me. I read it loud and clear in her expression that this was an emotionless job she had to do and she was by God going to do it, despite how badly it might make either one of us feel. Whatever her obligation is, it’s something that runs deeper than whatever feelings she might have developed for me, and goddamn fuck it all to hell… even that makes me jealous. But I do have something of an idea that might alleviate a bit of stress off Auralie, and possibly off me. It’s not optimal, but I think it’s something I could live with. I think. Maybe. Fuck… I don’t know.

* “YOU WANT ME to do what?” Bridger asks, his eyebrows practically crawling onto the top of his head. “I want you to let Auralie suck your dick,” I say again, my eyes cutting to the office door where Bridger sits behind his desk. I left Auralie out in the hallway, preferring to lay this shit out to Bridger in private. “Has the bright sun reflecting off the Snake River baked your fucking brain?” he asks me with narrowed eyes. I disregard his snarky tone and pin him with a glare. If he’s as adept at reading me as Auralie is, he’ll understand I’ll kick his motherfucking ass if he doesn’t stop fucking with me. But still, I guess I owe the dude some context. Taking a deep breath, I let it out and say, “Okay. Hear me out. You see… I’ve been seeing Auralie—” “Dude, if you popped that cherry, you’ve probably put her in danger,” Bridger cuts in darkly. “That Magnus asshole is bad news.”

I shake my head and hold my hand up. “I didn’t have sex with her. Well, no penetration, but we’ve… well… we’ve been fooling around.” Bridger leans back in his chair, crosses his arms over his chest, and skeptically cocks an eyebrow at me. “Okay, fine,” I grumble. “We’ve been spending time together, and we have this… I don’t know… there’s a connection that I can’t explain. I’ve never felt it with anyone, and so I’m intrigued by it, but it also scares the fuck out of me, you know—” I don’t give him an opportunity to even nod in agreement with me. “—but the thing is, she’s got herself into some bad shit. She does not want to be involved in this… whatever the fuck this is with Magnus selling off her virginity. She sure as fuck doesn’t want to be sucking other men’s cocks or parading around naked like Magnus’ little pet. And man, Bridger… that selling off your virginity… that’s fucked up. Giving that up should be special, to someone who cares about you… not some fucking high bidder.” “Someone like you,” Bridger says with a knowing grin. “Exactly,” I say from more of a reactionary place rather than from within the boundaries of reality. So I start to backpedal. “Well, no… that’s not what I’m saying. I mean, yeah… if she wanted to gift that to me, sure… but it shouldn’t be in some seedy sex club.” Bridger’s face darkens. “Sorry,” I mutter. “Your place isn’t seedy, and you know I love it.” “Really?” he says sarcastically. “Because I haven’t seen you fuck someone in here in almost a full week.” “That’s beside the point,” I snap at him. “No,” Bridger says calmly. “That’s the exact point. I think what you’re trying to say is that Auralie’s in a bad spot, she can’t get out of it, you care for her, and you need some help tonight.” My breath comes out in one long rush of relief. He totally gets me. “Yes,” I say as I walk up to his desk, put my palms on it, and lean in closer. “Magnus is back home in New York, taking care of some business. He demanded she come in here and put on a show, meaning he wants her to bestow a hot cock suck on someone. Can’t be me. Woolf, Cain, and Rand are out of the question now that they’ve gotten tied down. You’re the only other one I trust.” “Trust to do what?” Bridger asks. “You know not a member in here would hurt her.” “It’s not that,” I grumble, my fingers going back to scrape along the back of my neck, which is knotted with tension. “Not to enjoy it?” he asks quietly. “Because I’m sorry, Logan. She sucks my cock, I’m going to enjoy it.” “No,” I growl, frustrated it has to be this way and beyond pissed he’s making me say this. “I know you’ll enjoy it and that’s fine. But I trust you to feel bad about what it’s doing to me.” Bridger is a tough son of a bitch 98.3% of the time. But that other 1.7%, he can surprise you with uncharacteristic displays of caring and compassion. Like right now… his eyes get a little bit soft as he takes in my most embarrassing confession and merely nods at me. “Take Auralie over to The Silo,” he says as he nods toward the door. “I’ll be over in about ten minutes.” I sigh out a breath of relief. Again, this is not an optimal solution, but it’s the only one I have. I turn toward the door. “And Logan,” Bridger says in a low voice.

I turn back around to look at him, my face trying to appear grateful for what he’s doing but still feeling sick inside. “You know this is only putting off the inevitable for one more day, right?” he asks. I nod. “Yeah. I get that.” “Then you get your shit sorted tonight,” he tells me sagely. “You either get her to let you help her or you get the fuck gone. Go find some pussy and fuck it hard, but you walk away after tonight. Magnus is a bad dude. You’re going to put her at risk if you keep up with this jealous bullshit when you may not have any right to be so.” I curse under my breath. “Understood.” “And buddy,” Bridger says in a far gentler voice. “I know you’re here for a reason. I know something drove you to Wyoming and The Silo and that you get something from all this. I suspect it lets you exist as best you know how. But you can’t find happiness in this place. Not for the long haul anyway.” My stomach tightens and I stare at him through hard eyes, refusing to give any credence to his very spot-on assessment of me. I’ve not shared that piece of me with anyone, and it sure as fuck won’t be him. “You can’t outrun your demons,” Bridger says meaningfully, completely at ease in giving me advice I don’t want or need. “You can’t outrun them because they’re inside of you, not behind you. Until you confront that shit, you’ll never lose them.” This takes me aback, not because he’s being nosy as fuck into my life by his uncanny insight, but because his voice holds something more than just a friend giving out a piece of unsolicited advice. It sounds as if he might know a little something about running from demons. I’ve always found Bridger to be coolly aloof and guarded with most everyone except his buddy, Woolf, who used to own The Silo with him. Figured something made him that way. It’s not until this moment when I realize by the tone of his voice, that whatever it is that has made him a very strange man, it’s something that’s caused him great pain. Maybe even a pain as great as mine? I shake my head to clear it, but I still can’t help but ask. “That work for you? Have you made peace with your demons?” It’s an impertinent question to the man who essentially keeps me employed as a Fantasy Maker, and I half expect him to kick me the fuck out of his office. But instead, he gives me a wry smile and shakes his head. “Nah, man. I keep those fuckers around intentionally as reminders of what I’ll never go through again.” I don’t even know what to say to that, but on some level, I recognize the reasoning. It’s why I keep myself reserved from relationships and friendships. Because if you don’t have anything of value to lose, it can’t hurt you down the road. “Thanks for the help,” I tell him quietly as I turn toward the door. “I’ll see you over at The Silo.” Bridger’s silent as I walk out, and I find Auralie waiting there for me, looking far more beautiful and normal in a simple black dress that is cut to reveal a tiny amount of cleavage and black, strappy heels. She still has a clean, fresh face, but at least she doesn’t look twelve, which will probably disappoint those that come to gawk at her tonight. Sucking Bridger’s dick. Goddamn, I hate this, but it’s the only play I have. Auralie’s chewing on her lower lip when I open the door. It pops free, glistening wet. I want to chew on it some more, but instead, I walk up to her and take her hand in mine. “I’ve set it up for Bridger to help us,” I tell her with my mouth near her ear because the country music filtering down the hall from The Wicked Horse is cutting into our privacy.

She pulls back and looks at me. “You want me to—with Bridger?” “Yes,” I tell her, and then fudge a little on my motivation. “He won’t hurt you, and I don’t trust any of those other douches.” She seems to accept that. and I’m glad because I sure as fuck am not about to admit to her the way I did to Bridger that it’s going to kill me to see her lips wrapped around a dick that is not mine. “Let’s go,” I tell her as I pull on her hand and we hit the exit door. This puts us out right at a stone path that leads to The Silo sitting just a stone’s throw. “Bridger’s going to come over in about ten minutes. I want you to go in, wander around, and mingle. It’s not going to be overly crowded since it’s so early, but flirt and hit on some men or something.” Christ, it pains me to tell her to do that. It’s going to hurt like a motherfucker when I watch her actually do that. “Logan,” Auralie says with a tug on my hand. I stop and turn to look at her. “You should go.” “I’m staying,” I grit out. “You need to forget me,” she says in a small voice, but her face says it all. I couldn’t ever, ever forget you. I wish we could just run, run, run and never look back. “Couldn’t forget you,” I mutter back to her in affirmation of all the things she just said with her eyes. “But tomorrow,” she continues on, stepping into me and placing her hands on my shoulders. “I’m going to have to be right back here again. Probably with Magnus. It’s going to happen one way or the—” My mouth descends on hers because I don’t want her to finish that thought. I don’t want to hear about inevitability. I want to focus on right this moment. Tonight, after she gets Bridger off with her mouth— can’t stand that fucking thought either—I want to take her back to the cabin and do as many wicked things to her as I can without compromising her virginity. I want to do this for hours, let it turn into days, and let the future that would lead her to kneel at another man’s feet never arrive. Auralie leans into my kiss, her hands going to clasp at each other behind my neck. She moans against my tongue, and the smell of her sweet perfume makes me dizzy. Reluctantly, I pull away and give her a little push toward The Silo. “Go on in. I’ll be in soon.” She nods at me and walks away, and yeah… I stare at her swaying ass that I’d love to tap one day if I had the time to build her up to that. I wait until she disappears inside, waiting about five more minutes before I walk in. Bridger should be soon on my heels and then we’ll get this travesty of a show over with for the night. When I clear the hall into the main area of The Silo, I see Auralie standing at the bar talking to one of the members. Nondescript dude, doesn’t come in often. Don’t know much about him, but it doesn’t matter. He won’t be touching her tonight. I walk over to one of the black leather couches that sits perpendicular to the glass rooms. From there, I can watch the action in one of said rooms if I want, although they’re empty at this early hour, or I can swivel my head and watch Auralie. With Bridger. Fuck, my stomach hurts. As if on cue, Bridger appears from the entrance hall, his eyes scanning the entirety of the room, although he passes right over me. There are only a handful of people in here. Two bartenders, Auralie and the man she’s talking to, as well as perhaps another five people sitting at the bar. Add Bridger and me and that’s only eleven total, which will at least help to cut down on Auralie’s humiliation, no matter if her sucking Bridger’s dick makes me feel slightly better, she wants no part of anyone’s dick but mine. “Everyone, let me have your attention,” Bridger says with an authoritative boom. I sit straight up from my pouting slouch, completely stunned he’s going to really make a spectacle of

what he and Auralie are about to do. Auralie’s face is even more pale than normal, her lips almost white. Her eyes cut to me with worry, but we both look back to Bridger when he says, “I’ve just gotten a call from the fire department. We had our yearly inspection, and they found some burned electrical. Unfortunately, until that can get fixed, they’ve ordered us to close down immediately. I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to ask everyone to leave. Hopefully, we’ll be opened back up by tomorrow.” My jaw hangs wide open as I watch Bridger shuffle the patrons out while the bartenders start packing away their wares. I look at Auralie, who is saying goodbye to the man she was talking to, and then back to Bridger as he starts to walk toward me. I stand from the couch, unprepared for how jello-like my legs feel from the shock of reprieve I was just given. Not Auralie. No, Bridger gave that reprieve to me so that I wouldn’t have to suffer watching my girl take his cock. My girl? Well, yeah… I think so. Fuck. I have no clue what to do now. “It’s just for tonight,” Bridger says in a low voice as his eyes cut briefly to Auralie, who is walking our way. It drops an octave lower when he says, “I mean it… figure your shit out tonight or get the fuck gone and don’t look back at her. You hear me?” “Loud and clear,” I tell him as I turn and hold my hand out to Auralie. I have some work to do tonight.

Chapter 14

Auralie “MAGNUS CAN’T BE mad,” Logan says as soon as he has me in his truck and we’re pulling out of the parking lot. “Text him and tell him The Silo is closed down.” “Okay,” I say, pulling my phone out of the little clutch I brought. I shoot off a quick text. The Silo is closed down tonight. Burned wires. Fire department shut it down. “I can’t believe he did that,” I say in wonder to Logan. “He must be a really good friend.” “Yeah,” Logan mutters in agreement, but he doesn’t say anything more. While I know he’s relieved that we’ve been given a day’s reprieve, I also know he’s already worrying about tomorrow. If I were strong and really wanted to spare both of us more pain, I’d be a brave girl and turn him away when he drops me off at my cabin. I should cut the string quickly and decisively, and yes… even cruelly if I have to, and let him be free from my bullshit. Because this man does not deserve my shitty life, nor does he deserve to be burdened with my lies and bad deeds that have probably earned me a one-way ticket to Hell. My phone chimes, and I look down at Magnus’ return text. You better not be lying to me to get out of this. My fingers fly over the screen as I respond. Call Bridger if you don’t believe me. He’s the one that just came in an announced it.

His response is just as fast. You’re at The Silo now? It’s not even 7PM. Far too early for you to have gone and put on a good show to the biggest crowd.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I growl at my phone and pull up my screen, punching Magnus’ number. Logan’s head turns to look at me and I shoot him an irritated eye roll, which he knows is not meant for him but for another. Magnus answers right away. “You were supposed to go late tonight. I told you I wanted a show. There couldn’t have been anyone there this early.” “Jesus, Magnus,” I say in irritation. “What does it matter? It wasn’t going to happen anyway since it just got closed down. One way to look at it is if I’d have gotten there a bit earlier, I could have probably sucked a cock and made some inroads for you.” He makes a disgusted sound on the line. “Do you have to be so crass?” “You got to be fucking kidding me?” I ask with astonishment, my voice rising higher and higher. “Crass? Crass? You’re pimping my body out for money… and you call me crass?” “It’s a job, Auralie,” he says smoothly. “Nothing more than that.” My eyes cut over to Logan, who is thankfully only privy to my end of the conversation. I can’t bear for him to know I’m doing this for something as base as money. “I’m hanging up now, Magnus,” I say tiredly. “Any idea when you’re coming back?” “Day after tomorrow,” he snipes at me. “And be ready to get back to work. I want to up our efforts.” “Fine,” I snap. “I’ll be ready to suck dick when you command.” “Auralie,” he chastises me, but I hit the disconnect button and throw my phone on the seat beside me. “I don’t understand why you align yourself with such a douche,” Logan accuses. I turn to look at him, but not before I realize I have no clue where we are as I take in unfamiliar

scenery as the sun hangs low over the horizon. “Where are we going?” I ask curiously. “To my place,” he says. “We’ll cook some hot dogs like I promised, because I figured you’d be more into that than a pizza and a movie. Then we’re going to discuss the real reason you align yourself with a douche like that.” I give a tired sigh. “Logan… I’m not going to—” “Just fucking stop, Auralie,” Logan barks at me. “I’m tired of you hiding stuff from me.” I stare at him, my jaw hanging wide open. “That’s sort of the pot calling the kettle black.” That effectively shuts him up because he knows I’m right, and I find it more than telling that he didn’t offer to trade quid pro quo. I tell him something, and then he tells me something. It’s not going to work that way for Logan McKay apparently, because he stays stonily silent the rest of the drive. So by the time we pull into his campsite—which admittedly is adorable—I’m beyond pissed and ready for a fight.

* LOGAN GETS OUT of his truck the minute it turns off, stomping up to his trailer. I have half a mind to get out and walk out of this little campground to hitch a ride back to Jackson, but I’m just as angry as he is and I want to have it out. I need to purge and get it out. I get out of his truck, slamming the door behind me, and take in the little blue and white camper he just disappeared into. It can’t be more than fifteen feet long. Clearly, it’s old as it’s sporting rust spots where the sides are riveted together and the paint is flaking. The rest of his campsite is neat and tidy with a picnic table, a fire pit that’s currently dead and cold, as well as a canvas-folding chair sitting in front of the pit. I imagine Logan out here, drinking a beer and pondering the flames in his solitary life. Walking up to the trailer, I hear slamming around inside. I hesitantly enter, only to find him angrily getting dinner ready. My brief scan of the interior shows it’s sparsely decorated and minimalist in all other ways. To my right is a tiny bathroom and I can see inside as the door is half-open. It’s so small that it’s nothing more than a shower stall with a toilet. To my immediate left is a small counter with a twoburner stove. Opposite that, a refrigerator about half the size of a normal one. Past that, at the rear of the camper, is a bed that runs perpendicular. Twisted sheets and blankets tell me that Logan can be a restless sleeper. He opens the refrigerator, pulls out a pack of hot dogs, and slams it shut. Throwing the hot dogs on a counter unceremoniously, he reaches into a cabinet above the sink and pulls out a pack of hot dog buns. He slams the cabinet shut just as hard and I wince. “Beating up your trailer isn’t going to make you feel any better,” I say simply. He shoots me a glare that clearly says, You’re not helping matters, Auralie. Good. Because I don’t want to help. I want to rail against the unfairness of it all. “You know, Logan,” I say sarcastically. “You’re not the only one who hates this situation.” “Oh, really?” he asks snidely as he turns on me. In a condescending voice, he says, “Because it looks to me like you just want to sit back and let Magnus shit all over you. You apparently don’t hate it that much or you’d be working with me to try to figure a way out of whatever fucked-up mess you got yourself into.” “It’s not that simple,” I yell at him in frustration. He leans into me, gets right in my face, and yells back. “It is too that fucking simple. You tell me the

problem, and I help you make it go away. Then you don’t have to suck any dick but mine.” He pulls away and gives me a sly smile. “That is… unless you like it.” I gasp and rear backward, knowing he truly didn’t mean that but still letting myself be hurt by his words even as I see immediate contrition in his eyes. “You insufferable, pigheaded lout. I have no clue what I ever saw in you.” “Well, that says a lot,” he says caustically. “Coming from someone who has their head stuck up their ass.” “You asshole,” I seethe. “Bitch,” he counters. “Ooooohhhhh,” I scream out in frustration, turning toward the spring-hinged door that slammed shut behind me not two minutes ago. “I’m leaving.” “Like fuck you are,” he snarls and leaps at me. With one hand on my upper arm, he spins me and then jerks me to him so my body goes slamming into the hard, muscled planes of his. My hands immediately go to his chest to push away, but he slaps one big hand on my butt and the other to my upper back, pulling me in tight until I’m pressed up against his entire frame. It is not lost on me he has an erection the size of a rocket ship pressing into me, and I have no doubt in my mind he’d find me as wet as an oasis. Still, that’s beside the point, and I try to wriggle out of his hold. “Let me go,” I grit out and consider kicking him in the nuts, but no… no way I could harm those precious jewels. He responds with a brutal kiss, forcing my mouth open and shoving his tongue in deep. Mine immediately meets his and twists against him. I turn my head, open my mouth wider, and suck his kiss down like I’ll starve to death without it. Logan turns us, slams me back into the refrigerator so he has some leverage, and grinds his cock against me. A bag of potato chips falls down and glances off his shoulder, and not once does he let up on the kiss. I try again to shove him off me, not because I really want him gone, but because now we seem to be in some sort of hate-foreplay and it’s actually quite thrilling. Logan doesn’t take kindly to me trying to push him away, so his hands go to my upper arms and he spins me again, so fast I go dizzy. Pushing me down the very short hallway past the sink and stove, to the mussed up bed, he gives me a good shove toward it. My knees catch the mattress and I go falling onto my butt. I try to bounce right back up, but he’s on top of me, one arm under my ass where he lifts me up and throws me further up the bed, my head actually grazing against the end wall. He doesn’t even apologize for his rough treatment, but leaps right back off me and tears my sandals off my feet. I gasp when he flips me over so forcefully, the wind is knocked out of my lungs, but I wouldn’t have been able to breathe anyway because he’s jerking the zipper down the back of my dress. I become muddled with lust over his brutally forceful ways. Logan’s breathing is harsh and I can feel energy, venom, frustration, and passion pouring off him in waves. He pulls my dress past my shoulders, reaching in front of me and sliding his hands between my collarbone and the mattress to help jerk it down. It comes along inches at a time, and he curses that it’s not coming off as quick as he’d like. At one point, he pulls so hard to get it past my hips that I hear the stitches ripping. That must excite him, because he starts pulling at it harder. And then my dress is gone and I’m lying facedown on his bed with nothing on but some black lace panties. I didn’t need a bra with the dress as it had a thick lining so I could go without. Logan’s gone, and, for a moment, I wonder what he’s doing. I hear his boots thud, hitting the floor, and

I rise up a little to look over my shoulder at him. He’s glaring down at me, his bare chest heaving as he works at his jeans. He snarls at me as he starts to push his jeans and boxers down his long legs. “Lose the panties or I’ll rip them off you.” For some odd reason, my chest actually swells with elation over the words, because what I truly know is that yes… he’s angry at the situation, but he also wants me so badly right now, he’s on the verge of losing control. That causes a gush of wetness to soak my panties, and I have the temerity to say, “Guess you’ll have to rip them off.” He pauses for a brief moment, one leg out of his jeans, the other almost completely out, and looks at me with narrowed eyes. “Going to fire that ass up.” More wetness seeps out of me. Logan kicks his pants off and flies at me. I expect a palm to come crashing down on my ass, because I very much like it when he spanks me, but he surprises me by flipping me over instead, only to do exactly as he promised. My panties are gone in a nanosecond and flying over his shoulder where I see them land on one of the stove burners. God, I hope we don’t burn the place down. Logan practically slithers up my body. I luxuriate in the feel of his coarse chest hair brushing along my stomach and over my breasts. He gives me a swift, hard kiss that causes our teeth to knock together, then he grabs my lower lip and tugs on it to the point of pain before it pops free. Looking down at me with burning eyes, he says, “Going to eat this pussy. Make you come really hard. Then I’m going to ask you to tell me the truth. If you don’t, going to eat you again. Make you come again. Going to wear your stubborn ass down until you tell me what I need to know. In between, I might fuck your mouth, but before this night is over, Auralie, I’m going to know all there is.” Oh, God. Why did that threat just have to sound like the best thing that will ever happen to me in my life? And why does my heart flop over and then flutter madly because he cares so much about me, that he’s almost driven beyond reason to get to the bottom of my dilemma? I try to push that away, merely responding by cocking an eyebrow at him and spreading my legs a little. Up until now, Logan had been holding the bottom part of his body off me, but in response to my invitation, he lowers his pelvis. I feel the hot, hard length of him press right over my pussy with the tip of his cock resting just above my pelvis bone. He grinds a little against me and mutters, “God, I want to fuck you so bad, baby. You just don’t know.” My pussy absolutely floods over his words, which are said in a low, sexy rumble. Oh, yes, I do know. He has no clue how very close I am to just opening my legs… spreading them a little further and letting him slide right in. But the only reason I don’t is because I still possess enough self-control that’s fueled by a burning desire for Logan not to get sucked into this any further. Because Logan has already laid out what his nefarious plans are—interrogation tactics that equate to something like waterboarding by orgasms—he moves back down my body and puts his mouth where my money is. And oh, Lord. I’ll never get used to how good that feels. The softness of his lips that he will sometimes purse tight around my clit, or the rough way he licks at it. Or when he’ll even flirt with sticking the tip of his tongue inside of me, knowing that’s it’s not really a breach of my “virginity,” but still be respectful of it all the

same. “Yes,” I moan as he works me feverishly, because he has something to prove. One of us is breaking tonight. My hands go to Logan’s head, my fingers slipping in and then curling so I hold him tight. I press him down onto me, something he loves because he gives an appreciative growl, and I let him gorge himself on me. Higher, and higher, and higher he drives me. He’s brutal about it. Determined. A little vindictive in how fast he’s getting me there. I have a feeling he’s not going to stop after just one and ask me to tell him the truth. I think he’s going to go in for an immediate second, and the knowledge of how important this is to him… how important I have become to him… it hits me straight in the middle of my core, causing my orgasm to ripple and spread. “Logan,” I cry out, my hands gripping his head tighter. He lifts his mouth just the tiniest bit so I can understand him. Talking with his lips against my wet flesh, he says, “That’s it, baby. I want you to feel good. Does that feel good? Memorize that feeling because I’m going to do it all over again.” I gasp and moan, writhe against him. He finally lifts up and surprises me by crawling back up my body, once again lowering his cock to my sopping wet pussy, where he just presses the length down over me and holds still. His mouth comes to mine, and I taste myself when he kisses me softly before looking into my eyes. “Tell me how I can fix this.” I shake my head, barely coherent to what he’s saying. Because fuck… I still have little aftershocks of orgasm running up my spine and my pussy is still involuntarily clenching… begging for something more. “Tell me,” Logan demands again. This time, he does the unthinkable. He flexes his hips so the length of his dick slides along my wetness, back and forth. “Oh God, Logan, don’t,” I beg him with a cry of surprised pleasure. My hips automatically lift up for him to give me more. “Come on, Auralie,” he growls, his face hovering over my mine. “Quit fucking around and tell me so we can set this shit straight.” I start to shake my head, but he’s having none of it, intent on rattling and confusing me at every turn. His hips flex again. This time, the length of his cock pushes through my swollen lips, running right over my uber-sensitive clit. My cry is strangled this time as I undulate under him, almost every bit of sanity having left my mind. “Christ, you’re wet,” Logan says. He rears up off me, holding himself up with just one palm braced flat on the mattress at my ribs. With his other hand, he pushes my leg out, opening myself to him, and then he grabs his cock. I watch in shock and wonder as he brings the tip right to my opening and slowly rubs it through the wetness there. In a strangled voice, he says, “Goddamn, I want to fuck you so bad that it hurts.” This bold statement is not new to me, but the level of pain in his voice hits me deeply. I also can’t seem to concentrate because the tip of his dick then comes to my clit, circles, and then goes back to my slit where he starts to rub it faster. “Logan,” I whisper… a simple plea to… what? Stop? Fuck me? Logan lifts his beautiful face and locks his eyes with me, still rubbing the tip of his cock all over me, but mainly in between my wet, swollen lips. “Auralie… you shouldn’t give your virginity to just anyone.

It should be given to someone special. Someone who cares about you.” I can’t think. He’s rubbing that beautiful big cock between my legs, and I can’t think. “You deserve special,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping briefly to watch what he’s doing, and then… oh damn… he thumps his cock a few times on my clit before he brings it down and starts guiding it back through my opening. “Auralie,” he says softly as he lifts his eyes back to mine. “Don’t waste what’s special about you.” And God… I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take the way he feels between my legs or the desire and care in his eyes. I can’t stand his words telling me I deserve more than my shitty, fucked-up mess, and I most certainly can’t stand the devotion to his claim that he will help me out of this. Mostly, I cannot stand wondering what it would be like to be with this man in every sense of the word. I want him everywhere in me, on me, over me, under me. I want him inside every part of me. “I’m not a virgin,” I blurt out. I’m not prepared to see the shock register on Logan’s face over the first lie that’s been revealed to him. I hold my breath, thinking he might push up off the bed and leave me. Probably not only disgusted by this ugly untruth, but also by the fact that I’m not the virgin he desired. But instead, I’m the one who is surprised when he groans, “Thank fuck,” before tilting his pelvis and thrusting right into me. With one solid push, he slides all the way in, and my eyes sting from the tiny bite of pain his girth produces as I stretch to accommodate him. One push and he’s connected to me in a way that should never feel this good, and yet I know it only feels this good because it’s Logan. “You on the Pill?” he growls as he holds absolutely still inside of me. I nod, dragging my lower lip in between my teeth and biting down hard. “Good,” he mutters as he peers down at me. “Because I’m going to fuck you hard, and I’m going to come deep inside this pussy. After that, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do, understand?” “Yes,” I whisper and then wrap my hands behind his neck. “Now fuck me already.”

Chapter 15

Logan I AM PISSED. Beyond pissed. But don’t get me wrong. I am not pissed she’s not a virgin. I’m actually fucking relieved. Partly because I didn’t want to hurt her, but mainly because it was the permission I needed to claim this pussy the way I’ve been wanting. Which she’s getting ready to find out will be done in a hard, deep, and rough manner. I want her too much to go about it gently, and besides… I am pissed she held this information from me. I could have been fucking her sooner. Tentatively, I slide my cock out of her. I do it slowly, not for her benefit but rather to gauge just how good it’s going to feel and how fast I’m going to blow. And f-u-u-u-u-u-ck. My eyes involuntarily close because that feels way too good, and I sink slowly back into her tight, wet cunt. So goddamn good. Never felt anything like it. I’m not going to last, so my mission is to make sure it’s as good for her so I don’t leave her in my wake. Opening my eyes, I find her staring at me with hazy eyes and her mouth parted as she pants heavily. “I want you to come hard, Auralie.” She nods. She wants it too. “I’m going to hit you fast and hard, so I need you to get there with me, okay?” “Okay,” she whispers, and then licks her lips. So fucking sexy. I pull my cock out again slowly, and I have to smile as her eyes roll in the back of her head. Sliding out all the way to the tip, I punch my hips forward… hard. I slam back into her, bottoming out, and her eyes fly back open as she cries out in surprise. Bringing my elbow under one of her knees, I spread her a little wider for me. Pulling out, I ask through clenched teeth, “Did that hurt?” She shakes her head, and I’m guessing the power of speech may be gone for her. Which is fine. We communicate quite well without it. “Good,” I praise her. “Because not sure I could stop even if it did.” Slam. Back in deep and her back arches off the mattress with such force, I’m slightly lifted. “Fuck yeah,” I growl as I realize my baby can take every inch of me as hard as I want to give it to her. I pull out again, thrusting in deeply with a groan of utter satisfaction. Out and in. Harder and rougher than I thought I would originally go, but Auralie pants the words, “yes” every time, and it’s driving me crazy to pound as deeply as I can go. So I can pummel my imprint into her so she never forgets who this pussy belongs to.

Christ, she feels good. Wet and hot, and damn… so tight as her muscles contract around me. My breathing hitches as I race toward a release that I’m pretty sure is going to wreck me completely. “How you doing, baby?” I grunt in between thrusts. “G-o-o-o-o-d,” she stammers, eyes still closed tight as I tunnel in and out of her mercilessly. “Sorry you lied to me?” I ask her through gritted teeth. Her eyes fly open and her lips quirk slightly. “Think it’s funny, do you?” I ask, my eyes flashing with the promise of retribution for her impertinence, and I admit… I get momentarily sidetracked as I note her breasts jiggling all over the place because I’m fucking her so hard. Back to the task at hand. “Think it’s funny… making me suffer… making me obsesses about this pussy? Holding it out there for me to fantasize about?” She doesn’t answer me, but I see lines at the corners of her eyes start to form as she tries desperately not to smile and miserably fails to look contrite. I pull all the way out of her, feeling triumphant when she cries out in protest, then I’m flipping her over roughly. She lands with a slight ooooph and I kick her legs apart, put my hands to her hips, and drag that gorgeous ass into the air. Reaching down, I grab my cock, line it up to her wet opening, and just as I slam in, I bring my other hand down hard on her ass cheek. The crack resonates sharply throughout the little trailer. When my hand pulls back, I smile at the red imprint left behind. Auralie shrieks when I smack that ass again. “Think it’s funny?” I think I hear her snicker. She slams backward on my cock, forcing me to groan, so I smack her again, and I swear to fuck, I feel wetness gush all around my cock. My baby likes this a lot, and if she’s pleased, I’m pleased. I give her three more slaps, each one just as hard. Each time, Auralie chants, “Yes, yes, yes”. The next time I crack my palm down, Auralie’s back bows. She throws her head back, those long, black locks fanning over her back and she cries out, “Oh, Logan… I’m coming.” No need to tell me. I can feel her rippling all around me. This right here… never felt that before. This urges me to go faster, and I start lurching into her body as I get dizzy with the need to come. I’m grunting on every thrust, barely have any oxygen left in my lungs, and yet I don’t want this to end. I want to come, but I don’t want to at the same time. Choice is taken out of my hands though when Auralie takes over and starts pulling herself off my cock and slamming back against me. This causes me to go so deep, I can feel the head of my cock knocking against something inside of her. I force myself to stop, hold my hips still, and with my hands lightly on Auralie’s hips just to hold her steady, I let her fuck me to completion. Watching her throw herself mercilessly onto my cock before pulling herself back off, groaning and hissing out curse words, I’m so fucking turned on right now I might stroke out. “That’s my cock I’m fucking right now,” Auralie mutters as she impales herself over and over again, and I’m so stunned by her dirty talk, especially when just minutes ago I thought she was a virgin, that my body decides to give it up. I start to come as she tries to pull off me again, so I hold her hips tight to me and groan with utter abandon and relief, “Coming, baby. Oh, yeah… my girl fucked her cock and I’m coming so goddamn hard.” I unload jets of cum into her body, streaming hot and filling her tight channel until I can feel it oozing out as I hold myself planted deep. Auralie moans and whispers, “Yes. That’s it, baby.” A huge aftershock of pleasure ripples up my spine, maybe a second orgasm. I groan because I can’t not groan it feels so good, and yeah… that’s never happened before either.

When I’ve stopped… when I don’t think I have anymore, I pull out of her slowly and take my stillhard cock in hand. It’s super sensitive but I wrap my hand around it, stroke upward, and squeeze the head, pulling forth more cum from the slit. I lean forward, rub the pearly liquid right over the fiery handprint that’s going to be there for some time to come, and I muse out loud, “Not going to take me long to recharge, babe. But first, we need to talk.” Auralie flops to her stomach on the mattress and gives me an audible groan of dread. I look back to the handprint practically shining like a neon light at me and feel a measure of satisfaction. Now it’s time for me to hear what the fuck is really happening so I can fix this shit and have this for myself with nothing to interfere.

* RELUCTANTLY, I DON’T force Auralie to talk right away. We haven’t had dinner, and I did promise her hot dogs over an open campfire. It only takes about fifteen minutes for me to get a fire going as I keep a ready supply of dried wood under a tarp. I pull another canvas folding chair out of the storage locker in the back of my truck. Auralie and I sit side by side, the sun having gone down. The dark sky is filled with low-hanging stars. We put the hot dogs on thin, green branches that I’d whittled the ends into points, and we roast them in silence. I’m a patient man as she eats two and drinks a bottle of Coke to chase it down. I eat four and drink a beer, but when that’s done, I stand up from my chair slightly to pick it up and turn it to face her. “Now tell me… all of it,” I demand as I sit back down. I almost hope she hesitates because I would love nothing more than to drag her ass back to bed, spank it lava red, and fuck some obedience into her. But she launches into her story without any qualms. She knows I need the entirety of it because she already exposed her big lie. “I’m a grifter,” are her first words, and I can’t say this surprises me. The minute I learned she wasn’t a virgin, I knew it was a con, but still… “Unbelievable,” I muse, intrigued as I’d never met one. At least, I don’t think I have. “Well, I used to be. Was raised to be one from an early age,” she says with a wry smile. “Wait a minute,” I butt in. “How old are you?” “Twenty-five,” she says with some shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry I lied to you.” “Because a twenty-five-year-old virgin isn’t believable,” I conclude, and again, I’m oddly more relieved than pissed. Somehow, an eight-year age difference is more palatable than a thirteen-year one. “Right,” she says and then continues. “My parents were both con artists, so it’s all I knew. I told you before, my mom died when I was ten, but it’s not like she was a great role model. It was just my dad and me. His name is Mickey, by the way, and we just did what we had to do to survive.” I can’t help it. I’m fucking fascinated. “I don’t understand. I mean… what does a con artist do? Did your dad have a job? You said he did apartment management. Did you work? Or is all you do is scam money? Christ… did you even go to school?” She laughs at me. In the firelight, she’s never looked more beautiful. “We weren’t homeless, and yes… I went to school. But grifting is a hard life, and it’s not a rich one. Well, unless you do it on the level that Magnus does.” “You can tell me about him later.” I wave an impatient hand because I want to know every tiny detail of this little criminal’s life. I can’t figure out if I’m appalled or slightly titillated by the cunning she

obviously possesses. “Tell me what your life was like growing up.” Auralie plays with the lip of her empty Coke bottle. If I were a gentleman, I’d offer to get her another, but I am not and I don’t because I want to hear her story. She blows a puff of breath out and looks at me. “I was rolling trick dice in alleyways when I was nine. By the time I was twelve, I could run a flawless change-raising scam and none would be the wiser.” “Change raising?” I ask confused. “It’s a typical street short con. I go up to someone and ask if they have change for a ten. The con runs by passing bills or change back and forth, confusing the person as to what’s going on. I’d walk away with twenty.” I whistle low through my teeth, and I’m very confused. I am truly appalled and yet oddly fascinated at the same time, but it’s kind of hard to place blame on her. She was a child. “As I got older, the cons got a little more complex. Still short, as I didn’t have the means to run a long con, but my friend Gus and I would often run a mugging scam.” I raise my eyebrows, but before I can ask what that means, she provides me the answer. “I’d see a woman walking, always a tourist and a dumb one at that, who didn’t keep a good grip on her purse. I’d sneak up, snatch her purse, and run.” “Holy shit,” I say in shock that she’d resort to common thievery. “Calm down, Officer,” she mocks me with a wave of her hand. “My friend, Gus, would “play” the Good Samaritan and give chase. I’d duck down a quick alley; he’d catch up to me and wrestle me for the purse. I’d be “overpowered” and then I’d take off running so I didn’t get caught, gladly giving up the purse. He’d return it to the tourist, who would be so grateful she’d give him money for his help.” “You’re fucking kidding me?” I ask, totally in shock that this sweet woman could be so devious. “When I got older—became an adult—I did things that would disgust you,” she says softly, her gaze finally falling. Even though my stomach turns at the thought of what she might reveal, I reach across the expanse between us and take her hand in mine. “I assure you, nothing you can say will disgust me. I’d already figured you were conning someone out of money for fake virginity.” She gives me a sad smile, and with a small voice says, “I’d go into a bar and find a lonely looking guy with a wedding ring…” I have to swallow hard to suppress the growl that wants to come out. “I’d flirt… get him interested. If he were local, I’d flirt harder. He’d have a few drinks and get bold, and then we’d make plans to go to a hotel together, because even though he loved his wife, he was still hot and horny for a young girl he met in a bar.” She stops, plays with the bottle some more, and I realize she’s embarrassed. “Go on, Auralie,” I tell her gently. “Let me hear it.” “We’d go outside… wait for a cab, and I’d let him kiss me. I’d get him in a compromising position, and then Gus would come up on us and start taking pictures. The mark would notice and get upset, asking Gus what he was doing. Gus would admit to being hired by the man’s wife who suspected he was cheating—” “But the wife really didn’t?” I ask for clarification. “No,” she says with a wry smile. “I was just really good at picking marks who I knew had probably cheated on their wives and so it would not seem out of character for the wife to have hired an investigator.” God, that’s fucking insidious. “At any rate, inevitably, the man would offer Gus “more money than the wife paid” in exchange for the

pictures. One time we got five hundred in exchange for the SD card in the camera.” “Damn,” I say in wonder, as I had no clue this shit went on. I mean, why would I? My life in Chicago was charmed. “And you did this every day?” She shrugs noncommittally, I think perhaps feeling she’s said too much and has put me off. So I try to get her back on track to something that would be easier to talk about. “You said you were looking at going to college?” “Yes,” she says with a quavering voice. “I told my dad and Magnus I wanted out. Dad let me happily go. Magnus wasn’t so easy to convince, but he ultimately agreed.” “How does Magnus fit into your life?” I ask. “Well, that’s an interesting story,” she tells me, “but I’d like another Coke first.”

Chapter 16

Auralie I DO NOT get another Coke first. Logan puts the fire out and takes me back into the trailer where he fucks me again. Well, actually, he has me fuck him, rolling to his back and having me straddle him. “Ride me, Auralie,” he commands with glittering eyes. And I do. I sink down onto that gorgeous cock, and I ride him until both of us are gasping and shaking and practically seizing it’s so good. After I come and he comes and our breath regulates—he’s still planted inside of me although I feel him starting to go soft because I don’t feel as full—he says something that surprises me. “We fucked up.” His warm palms resting on my thighs are meant to feel reassuring, but his words are chastising. “What do you mean?” I ask fearfully, feeling the weight of catastrophe hanging over us. “We had unprotected sex,” he mutters. With eyes locked on me somberly, he adds, “I never do stupid shit like that. Twice now… out of control with you and taking risks that are just plain idiotic.” I can’t tell if he’s pissed at himself, me, or both of us, but I hesitantly say, “Logan… I’ve never been tested, but I’ve never had unprotected sex before either, so I’m confident I’m safe. But I’d be lying to you if I said I was out of control like you and didn’t think about it. Because I did think about it… when I told you I wasn’t a virgin, I figured you’d be fucking me pretty quickly. I did nothing to slow this down. I let you slide into me without a worry.” Logan swallows as he understands what I’m trying to say. “You trusted I wouldn’t expose you to anything.” “Yes,” I whispered. “I trusted you.” And I did. Apparently, he trusts me, even though I’ve proven myself to be a liar and exposed myself as someone who routinely cheats in life. But he trusts me because he says as he lifts me off his dick and rolls me to his side, “Then we’re good. We’ll keep fucking without condoms, because I have to say, baby… that was fucking amazing.” I giggle and nod, very happy with this mutual understanding, but then something occurs to me. Logan goes to The Silo, and he does so to fuck random women. Does this mean he’s giving that up? Or will he continue to do that but just wear condoms with other women? The thought of him being with someone else causes my chest to constrict painfully, and yet I really can’t say anything about it because I have a con to pull off. That means I’ll be back in The Silo soon with random dick down my throat. That thought causes nausea to well up inside of me. “Okay, tell me about Magnus,” Logan says as he leans up briefly in the bed to pull the sheets and blanket up over us. He lies back down on his side facing me and waits patiently for me to put this all together. “Probably about ten years ago, my father went to work for Magnus,” I say, telling him how it all

started. “And by work for him, I mean he helped Magnus pull off some longer cons, and yes… he made more money than he was doing on his own. We were struggling, trying to make enough money to survive. By that time, my dad had been living that life so long, he had no real work experience. I wasn’t able to do much with going to school. Going to work for Magnus, who had what seemed like a bazillion cons just waiting to be tapped, just seemed like the natural thing to do. It was like money growing on trees for us.” “You said your dad did apartment management,” Logan points out, and yes, I did tell him that at dinner that first night we went out. I give him a wry grimace. “Yeah… that wasn’t exactly true. He managed an apartment scam.” “Oh-kay,” he says slowly with a disbelieving shake to his head. “I’m going in. What does that mean?” “He’d take an ad out on like Craig’s List, and list an apartment for rent. Take first and last month’s deposits. When the people show up to move in, they find out that the apartment is not for rent and is, in fact, owned by someone else.” “Jesus,” he mutters in astonishment. “The stupidity of people sometimes. Did you ever feel guilt for what you were doing?” “Sometimes,” I tell him simply while holding his stare without an embarrassed lowering of my eyes. “Sometimes not. It was my way of life. It was how I helped pay things like the electric bill and put food on the table. It’s all I knew.” Logan looks at me in such a way… almost as if he’s terribly sad for the way I’ve lived my life. I think he’s conveying to me, I have to wonder what you could have become had you been taught a value’sbased way to lead your life. I answer him out loud. “I wonder all the time what I could have been.” He gives me a soft smile, leaning in to kiss me gently before pulling back. “I still don’t get what Magnus could do for your dad that he couldn’t do for himself?” “Magnus could pull off more complex stuff… that requires set up and time, usually other people involved. It also has a better payout. For example, Magnus had a pretty big mystery shopping con going. He’d send a fraudulent check to a mystery shopper, enough to buy a nice item, but more than the price of said item. Mystery shopper deposits the check. Part of the mystery shopper’s agreement is that they had to return the difference by wire immediately upon purchase and they were being timed on responsiveness. This ensured the mystery shopper would purchase the item quickly and then wire the difference back.” “Money gets wired and picked up,” he hazards a guess, “before the fraudulent check bounces.” “Yup,” I say in a matter-of-fact tone. “Magnus had my dad manage those more complex cons. He’s always been good with numbers and multi-tasking. It was almost like a management position for Magnus. And when I say manage those cons, I mean Magnus had hundreds of grifters working for him all over the city. They paid him commissions, and he got rich from their labor with none of the risk.” “And your dad oversaw all the cons being run and tallied the money for Magnus?” he sums it up. “Yeah… that’s what he was supposed to do,” I affirm bitterly, and that leads us up to what brought me into his life. “What did your dad do?” I shift my body, curl my arm under the pillow where my head is resting, and tilt my head so I can maintain eye contact with him. “I mentioned I wanted out. I was tired of that type of life, and, unlike my dad, I was still young enough I could do something different. I wanted to go to college, but I had no clue what I wanted to be. I just knew I didn’t want to scrape by with that type of life.” “You said they both agreed to let you out.” I nod. “My dad very happily, actually proud I wanted to go to college. Magnus wasn’t so happy because I was good at what I did, but he had plenty of people working for him. I was just getting ready to

enroll in college when I came home to the apartment I shared with Dad and found Magnus and one of his goons there with my dad. Apparently, my dad’s books weren’t quite adding up, and Magnus assumed he stole from him.” “Did he?” he asks. “Yeah… later told me he skimmed just enough to help me with tuition. But he was so good at moving and hiding money, and cooking the spreadsheets to reflect what he wanted, Magnus really couldn’t pinpoint it so he couldn’t know for sure my dad stole from him.” “But I’m guessing he wasn’t letting it go,” he surmises. “Nope. Wasn’t letting it pass. My dad got roughed up, and I immediately offered to make it up to Magnus. I walked right into his trap.” “His trap?” “He had this con already cooked up,” I explain as I shift my legs, which causes my shin to brush against his. His eyes darken just from that slight touch, and tingles shoot up my spine in response. While Logan’s eyes say, I want to fuck you again, I try to ignore it so I can finish my explanation. “Magnus found out about this club and was going to sell off a fake virgin. He needed someone who looked young, sweet, and virginal to serve as shill.” “Did he even know your dad took money or was it a stab in the dark?” he asks in wonder. “I think it was a stab in the dark,” I murmur glumly, but I’m very impressed that Logan’s sort of got Magnus figured out a bit. “But I wasn’t about to take the chance.” “Chance with what?” “That my dad would go poof,” I say simply. “Excuse me?” “My friend, Gus… the one who ran scams with me on the street? Well, he skimmed money off the top before he paid Magnus his share, and poof… he just disappeared.” He blinks at me in surprise. “You’re saying Magnus killed him?” I laugh darkly and try to keep the venom in my voice to a minimum. “Magnus doesn’t have the balls to do his own dirty work, but yes… I’m saying Magnus ordered it. He has plenty of muscle who will gladly carry out those orders.” “And you think he’d kill your dad?” he asks, understanding my need to see this con through to the end in one bright, clarifying moment. “I do,” I whisper. “I think he’d do it. Oddly, I think he’d hate it, but he’d do it. At least, that was his very clear threat to me if I don’t hold up my end of the bargain.” Logan’s silent for a moment, trying to digest what I’ve told him, but it’s really pretty simple in my opinion. My father’s life is at stake, and I’m willing to perpetuate a pretty big fraud to ensure he remains safe. “It’s the only reason I’d ever get on my knees and suck a stranger off, Logan,” I say apologetically, because while I know I’m a rotten person for doing this, I don’t want him to be disappointed in my choices. His eyes jerk to mine, and I hate that they’re holding pain for me. “I’m not that type of girl. I might have done a hell of a lot of cheating and lying in my life, but I’ve never peddled my body like that. I hope you believe me.” He doesn’t speak but rather reacts. His arms shoot out and wrap around me, pulling me in close to him. My face settles in the crook of his neck, and one of his large hands comes to the back of my head to hold me there. “Hey… don’t even go there. I know exactly what type of girl you are, and you’re a survivor. Nothing more.” “I’m sorry I lied to you,” I mumble against him, my lips gliding over his skin. “I never wanted to do

that.” “I get it,” he reassures me, and sadly, I know one reason he gets it is because he’s hidden things from me. But that’s a discussion for another time. We lay silent for a few moments, but then he asks, “How exactly were you going to get past the fact you are, in fact, not a virgin?” “Simple,” I say softly. “Magnus has fake medical records proclaiming my hymen’s intact, and I’m merely going to drug the mark before we can get to the sex part. By the time he wakes up, Magnus and I will be long gone from Wyoming.” “Someone losing that type of money will come after you both,” he points out darkly. Pulling back so he can see my face, I give him censuring look and ask, “You really think his name is Magnus Albright? He’ll never be found because he’s a shadow and he goes by many names.” “Jesus fuck,” he grumbles as he pushes himself up and pull his arms away from me. Logan holds himself up on one elbow and looks down at me, his other hand coming up to push some hair off my face. “I don’t even fucking know your last name. I’ve fucked the shit out of you, going to do that again and again, and I don’t know your last name.” Sadness fills me up, and I shrug. “You don’t know any of the last names of the women you fuck from The Silo, I’m guessing.” He winces and I know that cut deep. Bending down, he drags his lips across mine and cups his palm to my face. “Yeah, but the difference is I want to know yours. Want to know every damn thing about you, and even things you don’t know about yourself.” I blink at him, astonished by the fervor in his tone, yet still on guard as he’s asking something that a good con artist never gives up. “What’s your last name, baby?” he pushes at me, and I have no control over my reaction. I’ve got years and years ingrained in me to hold myself aloof from personal attachments, and I know my eyes go a bit frosty. “It’s never a good idea for someone like me to give my full name,” I say coolly. He jerks in surprise over my refusal, and then narrows his eyes at me. “You still have my cum puddled warm inside of you, but you don’t trust me enough to tell me your last name?” I hold silent. And then he understands why, commanding me. “You are not going through with this con.” “I have to,” I say with a sigh of regret. “My dad’s life is at stake.” “We’ll find another way to get you both out of this,” he responds resolutely as he leans back over me, putting his hand down on the mattress beside my ribs so I’m caged in. He’s displaying his dominance over me, in a classic alpha move to get me to come to heel. “You are absolutely not going back into The Silo to suck cock unless it’s my cock,” he adds on with a grunt. Caveman. “There is no other way,” I say in exasperation. “My dad can’t just walk away. He knows no other type of life. No other way to support himself. This is it for him. He’s stuck in that world. He’s stuck working for Magnus. If I want my dad to live, I have to pull this off and ensure Magnus gets his money.” I’m not prepared for what he says next. “I’ll put in the winning bid.” And I can read the look on his face clearly, and it makes me wince. Why not? Wouldn’t be the first time I’d bought pussy. “Are you fucking out of your mind?” I snap at him, putting my hands to his chest to try to push him

away from me. “You couldn’t possibly have that type of money.” He gives me a condescending laugh. “What are you going to fetch? A hundred thousand? Five hundred thousand?” I roll my eyes at him, but remind him resolutely. “It’s more than a fly fisherman can afford.” He doesn’t debate this with me, but instead says with utter confidence, “I’ll figure something out, but you are not going through with this.” “Yes. I. Am,” I punctuate through gritted teeth. “My father is all I have in this world, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop me from doing what’s necessary to make sure I don’t lose him. You have no idea the type of man Magnus is, and—” Logan moves so suddenly, I can’t do anything but suck in my breath in shock. Throwing his leg over me, he moves to straddle my chest but holds his weight off me. His legs have me pinned at my upper arms. He puts his palms on the pillow beside my head before hunching over and putting that beautiful face all up in my space. “Tired of listening to you tell me we can’t fix this another way,” he growls at me. “Tired of you thinking you’re going to go back in that Silo and let another man touch you.” “Get off—” “Tired of listening to you period,” he says with a grin. He flexes his hips so that his dick, which is now brutally hard, brushes against my lips. My eyes flare wide with surprise, but I restrain myself from opening my mouth to take him in. It’s what I really want to do, but, instead, I give him a loathsome glare that doesn’t come close to hitting the mark because he laughs at me. “Open up, Auralie,” he whispers with a grin, pushing the tip of his cock against my closed lips. “Let me fill that pretty mouth up.” Lust sizzles in Logan’s eyes and I feel myself falling prey to it, but I refuse to give in. Besides, something about arguing with him and the hard fucking that occurs because of it is too good to pass up. So I remain stubborn. “This doesn’t change—” The minute my mouth opens, he pushes forward and fills my mouth with his cock, stopping before he butts against the back of my throat. I suck against him reactively, and he groans his approval. My mouth is stretched wide and I’m rendered speechless—which I think he likes very much at this moment—and God help me, but that excites the hell out of me. I can’t talk, but I let him know what I’m thinking in this very moment. My eyes level warmly on his. I’m going to let you fuck my mouth, Logan, but this conversation isn’t over by a long shot. He grins at me. Rising up on his knees a bit for better leverage, he begins a slow pumping in and out of my mouth. Once he rises, I note my hands are free so I bring them up and sink my nails into his ass— hard. “Fuck that hurts,” he complains, but he doesn’t miss a stroke. And then he smiles down at me almost evilly. “But that’s okay… I’m only going to fuck your mouth for a few minutes… just enough to get your jaw sore. Then I’m going to flip you over and tan your backside for even doubting that I can get us out of this mess.” I moan against his cock, not knowing if it’s because I’m turned on by what he just said or that he cares enough about me to help me through this.

Chapter 17

Logan I’M IN THE viewing room again, my eyes already adjusted to the bright light. Doctors are shoulder to shoulder as they hunch over the operating table. My body leans left, and then right… just can’t fucking see. I know I should know who’s on that table, but it’s just escaping me. I look to my right, immediately frustrated the faces are blurred and unrecognizable. I turn to my left, expecting the same, but instead, I meet a pair of crystal-blue eyes smiling at me sadly. Auralie. I stare at her, confused as to why she’s here. How in the hell did she even get admitted? I look over her shoulder at the long row of people sitting to her left, but they’re all blurred as well. I can tell, however, that they’re all facing forward and watching the procedure down below. With great effort, and because I’m afraid I’ll miss something important, I tear my eyes away from Auralie and look through the glass to the doctors below. The whoosh of the respirator is expected, as is the beeping from the EKG monitor. I still can’t see a fucking thing though as to what they’re doing, but a few words filter up through the speakers mounted in the corners of the viewing room. “… I can’t locate the bleeder. Can I get some more suction?” “…BP’s fifty over forty… heartrate 120… she’s in hemorrhagic shock…” Icy prickles cause my hair to stand up, and my heart starts beating rapidly. My ears strain to hear more because I still can’t see shit below. “…hang another unit of O-Neg.” “…she’s had three already…” “…can I get some fucking suction here…” The doctors move only nominally, still huddled over the table. For as dire as the situation seems, no one seems to be doing much to the patient before them. It’s driving me nuts I can’t get a glimpse… then maybe I could…. What? In desperation, I turn to my left. Auralie is still looking at me sadly. “Can you see anything from where you’re sitting?” I ask her desperately. She gives a slow shake of her head, and I curse at the fates. I start to turn back. Perhaps I’ll get out of my chair and beat on the glass… tell those motherfuckers to move… A warm hand presses down on my thigh, and I feel Auralie’s delicate fingers press into the muscle there. I turn back to look at her, and she leans in to whisper, “You should fuck me, Logan.” “Excuse me?” I ask, my head turning so I can get a quick glance back to the operating table. Still completely obscured. I look back to her. “What did you say?” Her hand slides up my leg, and it feels hot. I mean, really hot, as if it’s lighting the skin under my pants on fire. I want to turn to look back at the procedure below because I’m afraid I’ll miss something, yet I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from her hand that’s creeping steadily up my leg. “Logan,” she murmurs, and I slide my eyes up to meet hers. She gives me an encouraging look.

“You really should fuck me.” Before I can even answer, and before I can take another quick peek into the surgical room, her small hand covers my crotch and she squeezes what I’m surprised to find out is a hard-on I’m sporting. Talk about inappropriate. My hand comes up to cover hers with the intent to remove it, as I have far more important things to do right now. But the minute my palm touches the back of her hand, I find myself pressing her hand down on me harder and forcing her fingers to curl around the outline of my erection. I groan and lift my hips up, because fuck… that feels so damn good. I should probably undo my belt… get my zipper down. “…we’re losing her…” I hear someone yell, and my head snaps toward the glass. “Logan… I need you inside me,” Auralie murmurs, squeezing my cock. I use my hand to make hers start to jack me through my jeans, even as my eyes remain pinned helplessly on the doctors below. “…blood pressure’s falling…” “I want you deep inside me, Logan.” “…she’s gone into cardiac arrest…” “Baby… I can make this all go away if you just fuck me…” A long, slow beep from the EKG monitor. “No,” I cry out to the doctors below. “Logan,” I hear as someone shakes my shoulder hard. “Come on, honey. Wake up for me.” My eyes snap open, and I immediately recognize the interior of my trailer. I know I’m on my bed. I also know that is Auralie’s soft body sitting in the bed next to me with her hand on my shoulder. I’m covered in a thin sheen of sweat. My heart is pounding pretty hard, and I’m keenly aware I have a raging hard-on. “Are you okay?” Auralie asks in a tremulous voice. “I think you were having a nightmare.” I turn my head, but I can’t make out her facial features in the gloom. I can tell by the tone of her voice she’s wigged out. For fuck’s sake… I’m wigged out too, because that was the same old dream that was seemingly mixed with something else. It’s still with me, causing pulsing images of the viewing room, the operating table, the hunched-over doctors to all flash before me. Gritting my teeth, I grab Auralie’s hand and put it to my cock. I make her curl her fingers around and stroke it a few times, then remove my hand and let her take over. She does so without question and I give a relieved groan, my mind instantly focusing only on the pleasure she gives me. “Were you having a nightmare?” she presses me tentatively as my cock fucks her hand and my hips start thrusting into her grasp. I don’t answer but instead roll over her, forcing her to lie back on the bed. She loses her grip on me, and I immediately see the operating room again in my head. My hand reaches out blindly to the window ledge above my bed, desperately seeking the bottle of lube I keep up there. I knock over my alarm clock, fumble over my phone, and finally latch onto it. The doctor on the end… he starts to turn to let me see the table. Coming up on my knees in between her legs, I flip the cap and pour a hefty amount into my palm before using my thumb to latch it shut. The bottle falls forgotten. My lubed palm goes to my dick where I coat it thoroughly. “Logan?” Auralie whispers in confusion.

A small body on the table… covered in a sheet. I fall onto Auralie, her legs spreading for me automatically, and I shove my cock into her with a grunt. She gasps, her entire body stiffening from my invasion, but I’m immediately filled with a warm peace. Her pussy is gripping my dick in such a way that everything else just becomes moot as I start fucking her. Leaning my head down, I kiss her softly as my hips pump away the misery before whispering to her, “Sorry, baby. Just needed you badly.” She answers me with a moan and her hands to my ass, urging me to go deeper. I fuck her so thoroughly that we both come quickly. As I orgasm, I can barely remember my own name much less a stupid dream. Yeah… that’s the stuff that nightmare demolition is made of.

* I CRASHED HARD after I fucked Auralie post nightmare. Banished those god-awful memories good because the only dreams I had after that were of fucking Auralie again, which ensured I woke up with a hard-on and feeling horny but oddly refreshed. Downside was that I didn’t have time to act on my instincts to have her again, but instead, slipped out of bed and quietly put my clothes on. It was barely six AM, but I always wake up early because that’s normally when my workday starts out on the river. After leaving a note for Auralie on the mattress beside her, I crept out of the trailer and got in my truck. The minute I hit Highway 191, I dial Bridger, wincing slightly when it’s clear I woke him up and also clear he’s not happy about it. “This better be good,” he growls into the phone, his voice clogged with sleep and irritation. “It’s Logan,” I told him succinctly, and so he would understand the urgency I boil the circumstances down to the most dramatic facts. “I’ve got to talk to you now about Magnus. He’s a con artist, and Auralie is being blackmailed.” “What the fuck?” Bridger grumbles but his voice is clearer. “Where are you?” “On my way to see you,” I tell him. “Can we meet at your office?” “Come to my house,” he says. I blink in surprise, but I don’t question. I’ve never been invited there before. No one I know from The Silo has, except Woolf, but he warrants the exception since he’s Bridger’s best friend. “Know where it is?” “No clue,” I admit. He gives me directions. I’m not surprised to find his house sits on Double J property, which is owned by Woolf. I have no clue exactly how big the Double J is, but I know the parent company, JennCo, has over three hundred thousand acres spread over three states. The Double J is first and foremost a cattle ranch—largest in the nation—but it also surreptitiously leases a small tract of land to Bridger upon which The Wicked Horse and The Silo sit. But interestingly, his house sits about as far from the Wicked Horse and The Silo as possible, actually putting it closer to the city limits of Jackson. Rather than taking me almost forty-five minutes to make the trip, it will only take me about fifteen. Bridger meets me at the door wearing a pair of loose, black track pants and a white t-shirt. His hair is sticking up all over the place, and he has a cup of coffee in hand. As he closes the door behind me, he walks into the kitchen and I follow. Bridger’s house is really nice and that surprises me. Not that he can’t afford “really nice,” but it’s just that outside of his red Corvette, Bridger never really seems to be moved by money. I know he makes a

shit-pot full between the bar and sex club, but he never flaunts it. He doesn’t wear super expensive clothes, preferring jeans and cowboy boots, and he never takes vacations. While his house is nice, it’s not ostentatious like Woolf’s. I’m guessing about three-thousand square feet, built in the classic western cabin theme with pine logs and large, rectangular windows that look out over the Teton Mountains. The mountain range is so large and sweeping, there are not many places on the Double J where you can’t see the beauty of it. The kitchen is state of the art with granite counters, custom cabinetry, and high-end appliances. Bridger silently pours me a cup of coffee from one side of a kitchen island, pushing it across to me with a nod toward one of the high-backed stools done in wrought iron and reclaimed wood. I park my ass on one and pull the coffee toward me, grateful for it since I didn’t bother to make any before I left. Didn’t want to chance waking up Auralie. “So spill it,” Bridger says gruffly. “Magnus is a con artist and Auralie’s dad works for him. He skimmed some money, pissed Magnus off, and now Magnus is using Auralie as repayment to run a con at The Silo.” I think that was about as succinct as I can make it. “And you know this how?” Bridger asks, not because he doesn’t trust my word, but he’s angling to know what my connection to Auralie is. So I tell him with brutal honesty. “She’s not a virgin. I fucked her after she admitted it to me, and I plan on fucking her for the foreseeable future. She laid the entire story out to me last night.” Bridger cocks an eyebrow at me, and there’s no mistaking the skepticism in his tone. “Logan… hate to point this out because I’m getting clearly that you like this woman, but she’s playing the part really well; she didn’t seem too averse to sucking dick.” I get what he’s inferring. That Auralie is as much into the con as Magnus is, and to some extent, that’s true. She was all in when it came to portraying the innocent virgin, and she didn’t seem reluctant at all to get on her knees to suck strange dick. He’s doubting her endgame. So, I have to be brutally honest with him. “She was raised by a grifter father to be a grifter herself. That has been her life up until recently when she got out. Was going to enroll in college. She’s only doing this because Magnus will kill her father if she doesn’t run this con with him. She’s getting nothing out of this but her father’s life.” “Fuck,” Bridger mutters and leans onto the counter, his forearms flat and hands clasped to support his weight. “So if she doesn’t go through with this, her dad’s in trouble.” I nod stiffly, because that is the real bone of contention I have with Auralie right now. She’s determined to see this through to protect her dad, and I’m determined that she not step foot in The Silo again. Which brings about a startling thought. Am I willing to do the same thing? Am I willing to give The Silo up if I could have Auralie to myself? I have no fucking idea, but my gut instinct tells me I could be wholly satisfied with what she gives me. I think. No real fucking clue, but that’s not what my immediate worry is right now. It’s trying to figure out how I get Auralie out of this mess so the only dick she touches is mine. Her dad isn’t even my real priority, but I know he has to be a consideration because unless his safety can be guaranteed, Auralie will be on her knees tonight—and not before me. This was a calculated risk coming to Bridger. My ultimate hope is that he may have an idea on what to do. Maybe we can reverse con Magnus somehow. Maybe Bridger can pull a fire code violation that

closes The Silo down for the next six months, which I get is really unlikely, but I hold out hope. Mostly, though, I’m revealing this shit to Bridger because I know the minute I spilled the beans on the fraud being perpetrated in his place of business, he was never, ever going to let it go any further. I know Bridger’s initial reaction will be to kick Magnus’ ass and kick him out of the club. My risk in bringing Bridger in on this is if he reacts swiftly and does something like that, Auralie’s dad will be at risk and Auralie will never forgive my rash actions. I am hoping beyond hope that Bridger will put his trademark calm, reasoning, and brilliant mind to task to help me figure out what to do. “How was this supposed to be pulled off if she’s not a virgin?” Bridger asks. “She was supposed to drug whoever purchased her before they had sex. She and Magnus would slip away with the money.” Bridger growls and his face goes thunderous. I hastily remind him. “Remember… she’s only doing this to protect her dad.” “I get that,” he snaps at me. “Doesn’t mean I like the plan or that your girl is involved in a scheme to dupe one of my customers.” “Just,” I start off by saying but my throat gets clogged. I don’t beg and this is as close to it as I’ll come. “Just… can you figure out a way to help her?” Bridger lets out a huff of frustrated breath. “When is Magnus coming back from New York?” “Tomorrow.” “Any idea when he expects to make the sale?” he asks. “No,” I admit with annoyance. “He’s kept Auralie in the dark on everything.” “Here’s the thing,” Bridger says as he pushes up off the counter to a straightened position. “Any type of idea to reverse con him is not going to work as Auralie’s dad will pay for it.” “Agreed. But what if we just spread the word to those thinking to bid that it’s a con—” Bridger shakes his head and glares at me. “We are not letting this cat out of the bag. I don’t want my customers knowing that shit is going on in my club. It will damage the trust people have in the safety of it.” “So we have to bring Magnus down in a way that makes it so he can’t harm Auralie or her dad in the future,” I conclude. “You can’t murder him,” Bridger says, and it makes me realize how menacing my tone just was. But he’s not serious. He knows I wouldn’t do that. Or would I? What would I do to keep Auralie all to myself and never let another man touch her? I’m amazed at myself that I’m even considering these options seeing as how I never thought I’d ever be proprietary over a woman again. Never contemplated having a relationship again. Guess I’ve changed, but the real question is, what have I changed into? “Is he expecting her to go to The Silo tonight?” Bridger asks, and I blink to chase away my thoughts about murder and commitment. “No clue.” Although in my heart of hearts, I’m positive he’ll tell her to go. The question is will I let her? “Well, I can’t close down another night,” Bridger says with that look in his eyes that says don’t even bother to ask. “So you best be prepared to let your girl do what she needs to do until we can figure something out. I have an idea, but it’s not going to happen overnight.” I grimace but nod. I know even as brilliant as Bridger is, he’s not going to fix this shit in a matter of hours. Not even sure he can fix this at all.

Which means I need to prepare myself to accept a few truths. Auralie is going to be pissed as hell I told Bridger all of this. Bridger is not going to let this fraud run its course, although he’ll let it temporarily play out until we can figure something out. The sale of Auralie’s “virginity” is not going to take place, which means Magnus is going to get screwed over. This means that Auralie’s dad could go poof. Which means there’s a good chance Auralie’s going to hate me at some point.

Chapter 18

Auralie I LEAN MY HEAD against the passenger window of Logan’s truck and watch the scenery roll by with a satisfied smile on my face. I’m exhausted as we’ve been driving around Grand Teton National Park all day, taking in magnificent lakes, crystal clear streams, snowcapped mountains, and meadows filled with wildflowers. I had mentioned that day on the river with Logan that I wished I’d had time to see Yellowstone while I was here. We had a free day today—although I suspect Logan’s day wasn’t really free and he’d cancelled his trips for the day to spend it with me—and he told me he was going to take me to see “some things”. This ultimately did not mean Yellowstone, which was at first disappointing to me because hello—Old Faithful—but now, as the day is nearing its end, I’m quite pleased with everything I’ve experienced today. It started with Logan waking me up with take-out breakfast from a wonderful place he called “The Bunnery”. He picked up some gooey chocolate croissants, bagels, and bear claws, which could not possibly all be eaten by both of us, and carried them into the tiny trailer where I was sleeping hard. The sounds of him banging around in the kitchen not five feet from where I was sleeping woke me up, and I stared at him with bleary eyes as he made coffee. So sweet, the way he’d slipped out early while I slept and went into town to get breakfast. Just as sweet when he told me we were spending the day sightseeing. All of this was made infinitely sweeter by the fact he did it less than twelve hours after me admitting to being a fraud, a liar, and a cheat to him. All terrible qualities that he’s apparently chosen to overlook. We did not make it up north to Yellowstone, but rather took some time exploring the Bridger-Teton National Forest, which is 3.4 million acres that sits in between Jackson and Yellowstone. And while I can’t speak for the grandeur of Yellowstone, and truly, the only thing I know about Yellowstone is that it boasts the fame of Old Faithful, I truly can’t imagine more beauty than what I saw today. Logan and I took a four-mile hike around String Lake, which is shallow, and the water so pure from glacial runoff that the water is a crystal blue. The hike brought us out to a clearing where we got a magnificent view of Cathedral Group, which is made up of Teewinot Mountain, Grand Teton, and Mt. Owen, said mountains with deep green trees at the base, and gray, craggy rocks thousands and thousands of feet up with snow still glistening at the peaks even though we were in late summer. My favorite place by far was Oxbow Bend, with the Snake River spread lazy and curving with Mount Moran rising up behind the smooth waters. The sun was perfectly hanging with not a cloud in the sky, and Mount Moran’s mirror image was reflected on the river. I couldn’t even fathom the beauty of it, my mind almost refusing to believe that something so perfect could exist. I think Logan said something to the effect that it was one of the most photographed places in Wyoming, but then my attention got distracted by a family of otters playing along the riverbank and I was laughing at their antics. I only became aware of my surroundings when I heard Logan laughing along with me, and I turned to face him in wonder. Granted, I haven’t known the man all that long and yes, we clearly have a deep connection, but in that moment, I realized there was so much I didn’t know because his genuine laugh was a surprise to me. While I’ve seen him smile and chuckle and even look amused, I had not heard him genuinely laugh until that moment. It amazed me as much as it made me sad that I’m guessing said emotion

is a rarity with him. And now as we make our way back toward Jackson, exhaustion starts to take over because despite how magnificent today was seeing all the grandeur of this beautiful state, there was almost no acknowledgment between the two of us of how fucked-up our situation was. No discussion about my sordid past as a grifter, or that I came into Logan’s life on a pure lie, or that I was still intent on perpetuating a fraud. No discussion about the amazing sex we had the first time, and then the time after, and the time after that. Most certainly, we didn’t discuss what happened in the wee morning hours when Logan was clearly having a nightmare, and I couldn’t get him to wake up at first. He mumbled in his sleep, but I heard pain-filled words such as “no” and “please help her,” and he was thrashing slightly. Finally, with some rough shaking and repeatedly calling out to him, he came out of it. And then he did something that I’m not sure if it repulsed me or turned me on. He came out of a nightmare that was clearly causing him distress with a hard-as-steel erection, and, without a lick of foreplay or even a kiss from him, he poured lube on his dick and thrust it into me so hard, tears stung my eyes. Granted, the sting only lasted a second, and then wow… the way Logan fucked me after was beyond words could even describe, but it was better than all the other times we’d been together. I think it was better—to me at least—because Logan needed me in a way that I’ve never been needed before. I could tell there was something I was giving him, and something he required and hadn’t succeeded in attaining before, and that did nothing more than cement the bond that was already pretty mystically strong to begin with. He didn’t explain his actions. After he came inside me, he held me tight and we fell back asleep. “One more thing I want to show you,” Logan says and I lift my head from the window to look at him. He slows his truck and takes a right turn down a gravel and dirt road that’s narrow and lined to the edge with thick chokeberry and hawthorn bushes. “This is Moose-Wilson Road and will bring us out near Teton Village.” “Not well traveled, is it?” I ask with interest as I sense we are headed into some unchartered territory given the rough nature of the road and the wilderness encroaching right up to it. “Actually, it is,” Logan says to the contrary and points out his driver’s side window. “This road is about eight miles long, but it’s one of the best places to see moose in this area. There are wetlands on this side of the road… a lot of moose around in there.” “But I can’t see anything,” I say as I turn in my seat to get a better look, but the thick vegetation only opens up in patchy areas to provide brief glances of wet, marshy-looking land beyond. “I’ll drive slow. If you see something, I’ll stop, but there are a few open places with some small ponds where we can usually see something.” We’re silent as the truck bumps along. My eyes search for the elusive moose out of Logan’s window. My eyes keep straying from the scenery beyond him to his face, which is in profile to me. He wasn’t wrong… the road is actually quite busy as we pass several other vehicles, all driving slow with heads practically hanging out the window as they look for wildlife. Logan’s face is just as beautiful in profile as he is full on. I can better appreciate the lines that make him so masculine as I take in the almost cocky natural arch to his eyebrow and strong jawline that sits above corded neck muscle made strong by his job. His cheekbones sit high with a slight hollowing underneath, but the angles are sharp so he doesn’t look pretty but handsome. Even last night, with the moonlight filtering into the gloom of the trailer, when Logan was fucking me in almost a furious attempt to banish his nightmare, his face was harsh but beautiful at the same time. Such

an enigma. So much mystery around him. “What were you dreaming about last night?” I blurt out suddenly, and Logan’s head snaps my way in surprise. His eyes are dark but inscrutable. “You were really distressed.” “I don’t remember,” he says so quickly but without any emotion. I instantly know he’s lying. His face turns back to look out the windshield. I’m not sure what compels me to fight him on this, but I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact that I opened up to him about something that was terrible and embarrassing. I almost expect the same back from him, I guess. “I think you do.” That strong, hard jaw locks, and it causes a muscle right at the hinge to thump. I swear I almost hear his teeth grind, not in an effort to prevent himself from divulging to me, but because my question irritates him. He remains stubbornly silent. “Logan,” I say carefully, all thoughts of moose sightings forgotten. “You can tell me anything. I’ve told you the worst about me, and it didn’t send you running. You need to trust the same about me.” He doesn’t respond, eyes remaining locked on the road in front of him and knuckles turning slightly white. So I push, trying to be gently reassuring that I’m here for him. “I know I felt so much better once I told you what was going on with me. I bet you’d also—” “Nothing will make me feel better about my past,” Logan snaps at me, his head turning just enough to pin me with a hard look before turning back. Then, after he takes in a breath, he lets it out with a sigh, his voice losing a bit of the frost. “Look… I left my former life behind, and I don’t think about it. It’s done, and it doesn’t define me anymore.” Oh, but it does, Logan. Surely you can see that because it’s as clear as day to me. Yet, I hold those thoughts. Logan doesn’t want or need me to tell him that whatever has happened to him in the past is directly responsible for the fact that he’s emotionally closed off right this moment, or that he’s clearly not left it behind because it plagues him at night in the form of nightmares. I suspect this man has tried very hard to push the bad down into a place that is not easily accessible, preferring to ignore rather than address. This bugs me to a certain degree because clearly we’ve shown trust in each other on more than one occasion. Neither one of us doubted the other that we could have unprotected sex based on just our assertions to each other that we were clean and I was on the Pill. Most importantly, I trusted him enough to admit I was in the process of pulling off a very serious crime, and yet he gives me nothing in return. Except orgasms but those alone cannot sustain the bond we formed. In fact, him refusing to open up after I have will fracture that bond. However, I also don’t need answers from him right this moment. I asked because I was curious, and I offered to take on his burdens because I want to help him. But those are not things I need to have for myself but rather want to give to him. If he’s not ready for that, I can afford patience. Granted… things are still going to move forward to sell my “virginity” as far as I’m concerned, but I’m hopeful that perhaps once that’s done, Logan and I can continue to see where this goes. There’s no rule I need to go back to New York. I can go to college anywhere, really. I know it’s silly to look that far in advance, but even though this man is irritated with me and his lips are sealed firmly shut against my curiosities, I’m still very much aware that we have something that, despite being new, is deep-rooted and abiding. So I can wait and hope that one day Logan will open up to me the way I have with him. It’s absolutely something I can put off.

But there is one thing we do need to talk about, and I can’t let him put me off anymore. Anytime I’ve brought it up today, he’s distracted me by pointing out something interesting in the landscape or sneaking a kiss or changing the subject. Seeing as how it’s early evening and we’ll be back to Jackson soon, we do indeed have to talk about this. “I think it might be best if you don’t go to The Silo tonight,” I say hesitantly. While I note that Logan’s knuckles go white again against the steering wheel, his voice is relatively calm but no doubt set in stone when he answers, “I’m going with you.” “You do realize—” “That you’re probably going to have to do something that will drive me fucking nuts and make me possibly angrier than I can remember being in recent memory?” he finishes my thought. Because yes… there was a text from Magnus this morning that said he’d talked to Bridger, confirmed The Silo would be open for business tonight, and that he expected me to be there. I was going back on display tonight. No matter how much I hated it or Logan hated it, another man was going to touch me tonight. The thought was utterly repulsive to me because while I can usually do an adequate job of slipping into an acting role to pull off the con, the mere fact that I’ve developed a personal relationship with someone stuck deep within this world I’ve infiltrated is making it hard for me. I can’t even begin to imagine what Logan’s feeling, knowing that while I may say I don’t have a choice to walk in that round building tonight, I actually could refuse to do it. I could choose to put Logan’s mind at ease and not let another man touch me, but I will not choose that. I can’t put my dad at risk, and so perhaps… this is the end of us? “I’m sorry,” I tell him quietly, turning back in my seat to face forward and looking down at my hands clutched in my lap. I have no desire to look for moose anymore. “I’m not sure if this helps, but I’m going to hate every second I’m in there tonight, but I have to do this.” Logan’s hand reaches over and takes mine. “I know. I don’t blame you for doing this. I get why you’re doing it. You and I can both hate it though.” “So maybe you should stay away—” I offer again. “Bridger,” Logan says, as if that one word solves all my problems. “Bridger?” I ask in confusion. Logan turns to look at me. I swear I might even see a little guilt in his eyes, and this confuses me even more. But before I can even analyze what I might have seen, his mouth flattens into grim determination and he says, “Bridger will handle… be with you tonight.” “And I’m guessing there’s not going to be another fire code reprieve, right?” He shakes his head and his voice is strained when he says, “No. Club is staying open.” “So tonight, Bridger,” I say with a shaky voice, not in the least mollified that Logan trusts Bridger. I don’t know this man, and he’s still a stranger to me. “But tomorrow night…” I let that hang heavy on the air, wishing that Logan would fill in the rest of that sentence. Tomorrow night… we run. Tomorrow night… you do what you have to do and I’ll live with it. Tomorrow night… Magnus will drop dead of a sudden heart attack and you’ll be free. Tomorrow night… I won’t come to the Silo and watch you work your con. He says nothing though, and instead picks up his phone resting on the seat beside him. As he drives slowly down the gravel road, moose and beautiful scenery forgotten by both of us, he taps the screen a few times with his thumb and peers at it. When he doesn’t see what he clearly wants to see, he mutters a curse under his breath and throws the phone back down.

I have no clue what type of message he’s waiting to receive, or if it will make him feel better when he gets it, but right now, I can feel the tension vibrating off him in pulsing waves. I feel terrible as I know this is hard on him. It’s just as hard on me. The difference, I’m afraid, is that I intend to push past this and hopefully leave the memories of this far behind. I’m getting the feeling though that Logan isn’t going to let this go, despite the fact he seems to have left a big chunk of his past in the rearview mirror without looking back at it again.

Chapter 19

Logan MY SKIN TINGLES all over as Auralie follows Bridger out of my line of sight to the perimeter hall. When I met with him early this morning, after he assured me he’d put some thought into a solution, we had to have the talk about what would happen tonight. While I don’t think Bridger was overly happy about it, he agreed to take Auralie in hand tonight per Magnus’ demand. He promised he’d do what he could to keep the sensationalism of whatever he had planned to a minimum despite Magnus’ demand that Auralie put on a show. I made sure he understood that while a part of her knew this was a “job” and she was “acting,” that it was still humiliating to her. And now it’s out of my hands and Bridger’s going to have his hands—possibly his mouth—on her. Worse yet, she’s going to most likely have her mouth on him, as Magnus is all about Auralie showing the clientele that although she may be virgin, she very much knows how to give pleasure and won’t be a cold lay. A bark of unbidden laughter bubbles up in my chest, but I suppress it down. Auralie’s as far from a cold lay as humanly possible. I have done so many perverted things in the name of unfettered sexual abandon that the Silo affords, it’s unimaginable that a sweet, ordinary girl like Auralie could light my fire the way she has. But she absolutely has, and I can’t even imagine anything sexier or more fulfilling than what she gives me. And we haven’t even cracked the tip of the iceberg yet. We haven’t even begun to explore all the dirty things I want to do to her, and I want her to do to me. Bridger being with Auralie shouldn’t bother me. I’ve shared women with him before. Fuck… wasn’t all that long ago that Bridger teamed up with Rand and me, and along with Cain, all four of us guys tagteamed Cain’s woman, Sloane. It was hot as fuck. I enjoyed watching Bridger work her over after Rand and I had fucked her. But now I’m not sure how I feel about him having Auralie, even if it’s only in the oral sense. Bridger is an absolute joy to watch with a woman. Never seen a man more in command or more intent on his mission. And one of the reasons it’s amazing to watch him is because he doesn’t do it often. Oh, he fucks often, but it’s usually in the privacy of his office. Only on rare occasions does he play in The Silo, and that’s usually to only hand out pain to a select few members that pay big money for his handy skills with a whip. He would never use that on Auralie, but it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t use his palm on her. And fuck… thought of that makes my cock start to wake up. I guess I’m not as averse to her being with Bridger as I thought I would be. I can do this. I can handle this. I’ll watch Bridger make this as good as he can for her, then I’m going to take her back to my place and fuck her as many times as I can before the sun comes up and I have to turn her back over into Magnus’ care. The thought curdles my stomach. The door to the room that Bridger normally uses to dole out his special brand of pain opens, and he leads Auralie in. Her throat moves, and I know she’s swallowing down against her nerves. The Silo’s

packed and the minute people become aware that Bridger’s going to play, they start to congregate near the glass windows. I want to shove them all away as it’s bad enough someone else is touching her, but to have all the buzzards circling to watch makes me want to do serious violence. So I spin way from the spectacle getting ready to start and walk my way to the bar. I don’t intend to turn my back on Auralie and Bridger permanently, but I do want to put some space in between and slug down a bourbon—or two—for fortification. I’m surprised when I see Cat sitting up at the bar by herself. A quick perusal of the room confirms… Rand’s not here. I find this strange because after our threesome a week ago, I could have sworn those two were well on their way to monogamy-ville and that I’d never see either one of them in here again. I head her way and take the stool next to her, which is empty because everyone is meandering closer to the room holding Bridger and Auralie. A quick glance back shows Auralie standing there with her hands clasped before her, head bowed in nervousness as Bridger goes over to a floor-to-ceiling black and chrome cabinet that houses “implements”. No clue what the fuck he’s up to, but I’m sure Magnus will get the show he wants. Despite how much I’m dreading watching her with another man, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was a little turned on by the prospect too. I’m curious as to how pliant Auralie’s sexual boundaries are given the fact that she knows I’m somewhat okay with this interlude she’s getting ready to have with Bridger. Cat turns to look at me when I sit down. A bartender walks up—a new girl I’ve never seen before— and normally when I first see fresh pussy in this club, I’m figuring out the fastest way to tap it, but oddly… no desire to do so. “What’s up, Cat?” I ask just to be polite and conversational, because that’s what you do when you’ve tapped her boyfriend’s ass while he was tapping her. She gives me a wan smile and turns back to her glass of wine. “Hi, Logan.” “Meeting Rand here?” I ask and then tell the hovering bartender. “Maker’s Mark, neat.” “He was just here,” she says softly… sadly. “Now he’s not.” There’s no mistaking the tone in her voice. Something’s happened to these budding lovebirds. While I’d normally not care enough to delve, I don’t like the idea at all of either of them failing at happiness. “What’s going on?” She shrugs, and even the shrug isn’t so much antipathy as it is desolation. “It’s just not going to work between us. He’s being stubborn about it so I had to make him see…” Oh, hell no. I lean in to her and whisper harshly, “You are not here to fuck around on him, are you?” “No,” she says softly. “But he thinks I am.” “That’s fucked up, Cat,” I admonish, taking a look back over my shoulder to Bridger and Auralie. He’s ordered her to disrobe as she’s unbuttoning the lavender silk blouse she had put on with a pair of skinny jeans. My heartrate ratchets up a notch, and I can barely tear my eyes away. But I do just briefly, turning back to Cat. “Rand’s a great guy. I don’t want to see you fuck with his head or heart. But you’re a great woman too. Don’t turn your back on something good just because you don’t think you deserve it.” The minute the words leave my mouth, I realize I’m talking about myself as much as I’m talking about Cat. I recognize that look on her face, and the forlorn spirit within that refuses to believe happiness is attainable merely because you think you should be punished for all your bad deeds. If only I’d take my own advice. I stand up from the bar as I see the bartender walking toward me with the drink, giving her a shake of my head that I’ve changed my mind. Putting my hand to Cat’s shoulder, I say, “Go home, Cat. Go home to Rand and fix whatever the fuck you think is broken. Don’t waste something beautiful on the ugly you carry around inside.”

She blinks at me, tears misting in her eyes, and I’m astounded once again that I’m giving advice that I’m not willing myself to accept. But I’ve said my piece and now I have something more important to do. I turn away from Cat, the bar, and my drink, and push my way through the crowd until I’m up standing before the glass wall. Auralie’s completely naked, her clothes laying in a pile on the floor. My eyes flick to the blood-red lace panties laying there, a direct thumb of her nose toward Magnus, who wants her to look virginal. My gaze slides up to her and I find her watching me, but then Bridger wraps a large hand around her wrist and leads her over to the St. Andrew’s Cross. Interesting. If he ties her up there, she can’t suck his dick and I’m liking that. Or is that slight disappointment that I won’t see her with Bridger? I shake my head hard, confused at these contrary thoughts. God, I’m fucked up in the head. More than usual. I can’t hear what Bridger’s saying as he leans in close to Auralie and whispers something to her, but I can tell by the subtle relaxing of her shoulders that he’s trying to be reassuring. They drop minutely as he leads her up to the platform the cross sits on, turning her so that her back presses into the center of the “X”. She tenses up again when he lifts a wrist and shackles it in place, then her entire body stiffens when he clasps the other in place. He doesn’t bother locking her ankles in. I have to think it’s so she retains a measure of control, which means Bridger is as adept at reading her discomfort as I am from twenty feet away. And Christ, she looks perfect, even without her legs spread-eagled in the clasps. Naked, pale skin with dark raven hair hanging over her shoulders and to the sides of her breasts. Said breasts heavy with nipples tightened up either from the cool air in those rooms or the scrutiny she’s drawn. Her gaze moves slowly across the crowd standing outside the glassed room and then locks on me. Her facial muscles stay frozen so as not to give away her feelings to these strangers, but I can see it in her eyes. The slight warming of her blue irises so they look like tropical waters. I know it’s meant to be an encouraging look to me that we’ll both survive this. I know we’ll survive it, but I’m not sure my sanity will come out unscathed because I’m dreading what’s getting ready to happen even as my dick twitches with anticipation. Bridger turns into Auralie again, pushing the hank of hair that had fallen over her shoulder and breast back so her body is completely unobstructed. He says something else… too low for any sound to come close to permeating the glass barrier, and then unexpectedly drops his hand to pinch the nipple he just uncovered. Auralie’s entire body arches away from the cross and her head falls back. Her face bears a mixture of pleasure and fear, and her mouth forms a perfect “O”. While the moan I know she just let loose is silent to the rest of the Silo patrons, I know exactly what it sounds like and it’s vivid in my imagination. My cock goes fully locked and loaded, straining against the zipper of my jeans, but I ignore the bastard, instead keeping my attention on Auralie as she raises her head and locks her eyes immediately on mine again. Her cheeks are flushed, but her lips are flattened in silent apology to me. I give her a smile, telling her, It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. Bridger turns from Auralie, leans over, and grabs a short-handled flogger with dozens of wide strips of soft suede hanging from it. I’ve used that same flogger before. I know it doesn’t produce any more sting than my hand on her ass last night, but it looks menacing. Auralie swallows hard when she sees it. Bridger says something to her.

She nods in acceptance. His right arm flies in a backhand sweep, and he whips the lashes across her breasts. They make a resounding crack against her skin that does permeate the glass wall, but I know it hurt no more than my palm because Auralie arches her back again from the cross and cries out in pleasure. When the flogger is gone, pink marks slash diagonally across her chest and her nipples are harder than I’ve ever seen them before. My cock starts leaking. The man next to me is having a similar problem as he reaches down and rubs his dick through his pants. I want to break his fingers. Bridger drops his left hand, brings it right in between Auralie’s legs, and he pushes his fingers in between the lips of her labia. I know what he’ll find there. Sopping wet pussy. With slick fingertips, he drags them to her clit and circles a few times. Auralie’s head falls forward and her hips tilt for more friction with Bridger. His left hand is suddenly gone and his right is sending another backhand whip to the flogger, this time right over her pussy. Auralie shrieks, her eyes glazed with pleasure and her pupils so blown, there’s hardly any blue left in her irises. Bridger’s left hand is back again, massaging her clit, which I’m sure is swollen enough it felt the bite of one of those straps. Bridger does this over and over again. Lashes at Auralie’s pale skin from her collarbones down to her thighs, even a few strikes to the backs of her knees. In between, his fingers go to her clit and massage it. When her hips start bucking and she’s panting heavy, he pulls his hand back and lets the flogger fly again. It’s classic slap and tickle, and it’s hot as fuck as I watch Bridger tapping into Auralie’s love of a little bit of pain with her pleasure. So fucking hot that I am literally salivating with the need to do something… eat her pussy… fuck her brains out. The dude next to me has his pants open, actively working his dick and moaning. I don’t look at the crowd past him as I’m afraid I’ll get pissed at all the people ogling. So I watch Bridger and Auralie, chanting silently to myself, That’s it. Come on, baby. Come hard. And then she does, with a scream and a final arching of her back so her hips press against Bridger’s hand. He pinches her clit and gives it a little twist. She screams again with her head thrown back. The minute she rights herself, her eyes once again lock with mine. Pupils still large but there’s more cognizance there, and I can immediately read her question to me, Are you mad at me because that felt so good? I smile at her and give a little shake to my head. No, baby. But I am going to fuck you so hard when we leave here. Hope you’re ready for it. She smiles back at me, and then I remember something important. I fumble with my phone. I’m able to snap a few pictures of Bridger standing there with Auralie, his hand still between her legs where he strokes lightly at her pussy… helping to gently bring her down. That should satisfy that fucker Magnus. At least for one more night.

* BRIDGER AND AURALIE come back into the main gathering area of the Silo. Several men make moves to talk to her, but Bridger holds them off with a polite shake of his head. He gives me a pointed look and jerks his chin toward the exit door, and I nod with excitement filling me. He wants to talk. It can only be about

my dilemma with Magnus and using Auralie in his con. I turn to look back at the bar, a little bit of worry about Cat still sticking with me. However, she’s not sitting there. I carefully sweep the rest of the Silo, fearful I might find her fucking someone else, but I don’t see her anywhere. Not in the main area and not in any of the glass rooms. I breathe a little sigh of relief that she seems to have wizened up and left, and I hope it’s to go to Rand and fix whatever seems to have broken since I saw them last together. Bridger leads Auralie out of The Silo and I follow, across the slate path to the back door of The Wicked Horse. We all walk single file down the hallway and into his office. The music is booming inside the nightclub, but his walls and door are specially designed to block the noise and all goes silent when we’re closed inside. Bridger walks behind his desk. I come to stand beside Auralie, my hand going to the small of her back where I rest my palm there. She shifts slightly toward me but keeps her head bowed. I lean down, put my mouth near her ear, and tell her, “That was hot, babe.” She pulls back slightly and cranes her neck to look at me with wide eyes, wanting to believe that what she just did… what she just let Bridger do to her… did not change my desire for her. Can’t say as it was entirely easy watching another man touch what I’m inappropriately starting to think of as solely mine, but I was more turned on than turned off. Of course, that’s because I trust Bridger, and I’m not sure I’d feel that with another man involved. Maybe Rand. Possibly Cain. But that’s about it. I nod at her and whisper, “Totally hot.” She gives me a small smile. We turn to Bridger when we hear him rustle some papers on his desk. He pushes aside a stack of documents and pulls his laptop nearer to him, opening it up and turning it on. While it boots up, he says, “I talked to a friend of mine in New York who practices law there. Name’s Cal Carson and while he does mostly civil law, he knows someone at the U.S. Attorney’s office.” My hand drops from Auralie and I step toward his desk, eager to hear where this is going. Bridger continues. “While I didn’t have much in the way of details to pass on to Cal, what little bit I told him about Magnus was enough for him to believe this attorney would be interested in talking to Auralie’s dad. Most likely give him immunity in exchange for spilling his guts on everything he knows about Magnus.” A jolt of pure excitement runs through me as I hadn’t considered the possibility of legal means to get Auralie out of this mess. Here I was contemplating reverse cons and murder. “That’s excellent—” “You told him about Magnus and me?” I hear Auralie ask from behind me, and there’s no mistaking the astonished fury in her words despite the softness of her tone. I turn to look at her, stiffen my spine, and brace for more fury. “Well, yeah. I asked him for his advice… see if there was a way he figured we could shut this shit down with Magnus.” Auralie strides up to me, her fists clenched in anger. She gets right up in my face—has to stand up on tiptoes to do so—and snarls. “I did not ask for you to get involved in this. In fact, I told you the truth about what was going on with the assumption that you would keep that shit secret. It was a confidence I told you, and you went and fucking betrayed that.” I’m taken aback by the venom dripping from her words, but I wave it off. “Auralie… you knew there was no way in hell I was going to let you go through with this.” “Why?” she snarls. “Because it’s illegal? Because it scams someone who won’t miss the fucking money?”

“No,” I yell back at her, leaning down closer to her face. “Because I did not want those beautiful lips of yours wrapped around someone else’s cock.” “Oh,” she says sarcastically. “But it’s okay for your buddy there to whip and finger me to orgasm?” “I didn’t see you complaining,” I bite out, feeling the need to put her on the defensive. Gasping, she steps back from me as if I’d slapped her in the face. She glares at me for a moment, and then turns her gaze slowly to Bridger. “I appreciate your help, but I’m going to decline.” I open my mouth to argue with her because this is the perfect fucking solution as it frees her and her dad, and hopefully sends Magnus to prison. But then she spins back on me and says in a very quiet voice that still packs a sonic punch, “I would like you to take me back to my house.” Turning around, she walks stiffly to the door and exits, pulling it quietly shut behind her. This also packs a punch. I’d have much rather seen her slam it because that would indicate she’s pissed and wanting to at least fight about it. Instead, it seemed like a final closing of the door on “us”. I turn back to look at Bridger. He gives me an empathetic look that says, Sorry, man. Sighing, I turn toward his office door, figuring out how to do damage control on a situation that is completely outside of my control.

Chapter 20

Auralie THE RIDE BACK to the cabin is tense and silent. Tense because this jackass is ruining everything and putting my father in danger, and silent because the minute we got in Logan’s truck and he said, “Auralie… I didn’t mean—” And I snapped at him, “Shut the fuck up and leave me alone.” When he pulls into the short driveway, I snatch my purse and bolt out of the passenger door. I sort of assumed he got the hint and wouldn’t follow me, but I hear him getting out and his door slamming just after mine. “Go away, Logan,” I mutter over my shoulder as I stomp up the porch steps and dig the front door key out of my purse. “Not going to happen,” he mutters back, close on my heels. I slam the key in the lock, twist it viciously, and throw the door open, all while sneering at him, “Let me guess. That little job your buddy did on me at The Silo got you all worked up, right? Want to fuck me, don’t you?” Logan snatches me by the upper arm. I anticipate he’ll spin me around to face him, but instead, he pushes me through the doorway and marches me right into the living room while growling at me, “You’re goddamn right I want to fuck you.” I want to scream at him in frustration that he thinks so little of my anger and all he wants to do is use my body, but that need to scream wars with the insatiable need I have for him to fuck me. While I’ll never admit it to him, what Bridger did to me in that club while Logan watched with hot, needy eyes has my panties still soaked despite how mad I am at him. “Then do it,” I hiss at him. He makes a frustrated sound deep in his chest, but he walks me right around the back of the couch that’s positioned to separate the living area from the kitchen. “Fine. I was going to talk this shit out, but if you want fucked, I’ll fuck you. Never going to turn my nose up at that sweet pussy.” “You asshole,” I seethe at him even as my core clenches. It clenches even harder when he pushes me right over the back of the couch so I’m bent at my pelvis with my ass is in the air. Two seconds later, his palm is cracking down on my jean-clad ass. He mutters, “Ungrateful little snot.” “Arrogant bast—” His hand smacks my ass again, and my traitorous body moans in response. “That’s right,” Logan whispers in a voice filled with lustful excitement as his hands rip my jeans and underwear over my hips and down my legs until they’re bunched tight at my ankles. His hand descends again on my bare cheeks, causing me to jerk and moan and my hands to press down hard into the couch cushions for stability and leverage. I brace, waiting for him to spank me again, but then his face is pressed into my ass and his tongue licking at my pussy from behind as his fingers pull my cheeks apart. “Oh, Logan,” I murmur in abandon, all thoughts of anger and fight going out of me. His mouth leaves me and two fingers press inside. “You’re drenched, Auralie. Is that from what

Bridger did to you?” “No,” I moan as his fingers move in and out. “From us fighting? Want a hard hate-fuck?” he taunts. “No,” I rasp out, shaking my head vehemently. “Not hate.” “Just a hard fuck, then?” he murmurs as he pulls his fingers out of me and slides them up the seam of my ass, causing a full-body shudder. “I can certainly give that to you.” “Logan—” “Shhh, Auralie,” his voice whispers across the back of my neck as he stands to bend over me. He presses the length of his cock against my butt and grinds a little. “Gonna fuck you and then we’ll fight, okay?” I nod frantically, because I really, really need him inside of me. I’ve been carrying that low burn of lust inside of me since Bridger made me come on that St. Andrew’s cross. I expect him to pull back, free his cock, and plunge into me from behind, but that’s just silly, because Logan never does the expected. Instead, he grasps my legs and flips me over the couch, where I twist and land on my back. I come up on my elbows and watch as he prowls around toward me, his hands working deftly at his belt and zipper, pushing his jeans down enough to free himself. He’s thick and hard, the silky skin of his cock angry red, which is fitting… seeing as how he’s angry at me still. I can tell by the way his eyes sizzle with the promise of some type of retribution for me having the temerity to be mad at him. Just the thought causes my blood to race through my veins and my breath to hitch. Logan pulls my legs into the air to make room on the couch. He kneels before me. If I didn’t have my ankles encumbered, I’d gladly spread my legs and wrap them around his waist. But he has other plans. Plans that don’t include taking the time to strip me naked. Instead, he pulls my legs up a bit higher and leverages my calves onto his left shoulder, causing my hips to twist toward the back of the couch. He holds my legs in place with his left arm wrapped securely around them. With a dip of his own hips, he uses his other hand to help guide his cock to me. Not sure how he’s going to do this as my legs are pressed tight to each other, but then… he’s working the head of his cock into my barely accessible pussy. He pushes and grunts and twists his hips this way and that, shoving his way past the resistance of my outer lips until he reaches the wet just inside. The thick head breaches me a few inches before he pulls back, twists his hips again, and punches in and up. He sinks halfway in and mutters, “Christ… that’s tight.” And God… yes, that’s so tight and I feel so full. Ignoring the fact my legs are starting to tingle, and with no way to reach out to hold onto Logan in this position, I let my fingertips clutch onto the chenille-covered cushions as he withdraws again to the very tip. With a mighty heave, he sinks all the way into me. I know it feels good because his eyes squeeze shut and air blows so hard out of his mouth, it flutters all the way down over my face. Logan reaches under my ass, lifts me up, and twists me more to the side so I’m laying half on my side, my body spiraled. He then leans over me, causing me to jackknife. My lungs compress and I can barely breathe, but then Logan starts pistoning in and out of me, the angle and lack of spread to my pussy causing him to grunt with every thrust. And oh… just… oh, wow. This feels good. So damned good. I suck in small pockets of air each time he pulls out, expelling the same in harsh pants when he

punches back in. I’m so wet. The glide is easy and effortless, but it doesn’t stop him from giving me the hard fuck he offered and I accepted. Logan pounds me into the couch, his face etched with pleasure and his eyes darkened to a bronzed mocha. He only ups the sex appeal when he pulls his full bottom lip between his teeth and bites down on it, a clear indication that he’s trying to control himself, but I hate to tell this man… it’s a losing proposition. “More,” I whisper on a forced exhalation. “Fuck me,” he mutters. “My girl wants more.” So he gives me more, fucking me exquisitely and with no doubt that neither of us has ever had it this good. From out of nowhere, my orgasm starts to build before curling inward for one brief, agonizing moment and then exploding so swiftly it leaves my scream far behind by virtue of the sheer force of the pleasure. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I want to tell Logan I’m coming, but really… I don’t need to. He can feel me spasming all around his cock, and I know this because he whispers, “Fuck yeah… my girl comes hard when I’m deep inside her.” I whimper from his words alone, because he said “my girl” twice in the last twenty seconds. Am I? His girl? I’m not sure how I can be anything when he’s thrown my entire life into disarray, but I can’t think about that now. The way he continues to tunnel in and out of me is beyond distracting, and all thoughts completely abandon me when Logan slams deep, holds himself planted, and then shudders hard as he releases inside of me. I carefully study his face, the way his cheek is pressed up against the outside of my leg, still resting on his shoulder and secured to my other leg by virtue of my jeans. Logan closes his eyes… groans… grinds against my ass and then groans again. I want him to tell me how good that feels and how much I mean to him then I want some explanation as to why he went behind my back to Bridger and outted me. Instead, when I sense he’s empty, he opens his eyes and pins me with a hard look. Any sweet words of cherishment that might have been forthcoming during that moment of bliss right after orgasm clearly not forthcoming. Logan pulls out of me, and I feel the rush of his semen running down the crack of my ass. He lets my legs drop unceremoniously to the couch and rolls off, tucking his half hard, glistening dick back into his jeans. “Get dressed,” he says curtly. “We need to figure out the best way to get your dad to talk to this attorney Bridger’s friend suggested.” He did not just say that to me. I sit up, swing my legs off the couch, and pull my underwear and jeans up, wincing over the feel of wetness that runs down the inside of my legs before being sopped up by my pants. I give a hop, pulling my zipper up. As I’m buttoning, I tell him, “Bite me, Logan. You do not dictate my life.” He looks at me warily. “I’m not trying to dictate your life. I’m trying to help.” “By betraying me?” I ask incredulously. “Did it occur to you that you’ve just put my dad in very real danger… getting other people involved?” “Bridger wouldn’t have—” “If you would have just left well enough alone, I could have finished this last job and been free from Magnus forever,” I say, talking right over him. “I was so close to being done with that man and this life. I would have protected my dad in the process, and it would have all been okay. But you’ve screwed it all up.”

“I was trying to protect you,” Logan says as he takes a step toward me, arms stretched out in supplication. “You were trying to protect yourself,” I sneer at him. “You couldn’t stand the thought of me being with someone else. Well, at least not with someone you deem to be unfit, but it was clearly okay to share me with your buddy.” “That’s not—” “You were protecting yourself because you’re being proprietary over what you consider to be your property now, you fucking caveman—” Logan lunges toward me, grabbing me by my upper arms and giving me a little shake before he snarls, “I don’t think you’re my property. I care about you, goddamn it.” I roll my eyes, completely disbelieving his words and the casual way he throws them about. “Oh, yeah,” I taunt him. “You care about me?” “Yes,” he says emphatically, his hands gripping me tight. “Then tell me what happened two years ago that caused you to run from life,” I demand hotly. “Tell me what in the hell happened that caused you to have nightmares so bad you have to fuck me with lube to get rid of them.” Logan blanches and his hands fall away. He takes a step back and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. “Tell me,” I press with desperation. “You care about me so much that you’re practically taking control of my life, tell me about Logan McKay and who he was two years ago.” He gives a shake of his head and his gaze drops to the floor, lips now pressed tight together as an indication of stubborn silence. “You want me to trust that you’re doing the right thing by telling Bridger about Magnus and me. You want me to trust you in this plan to let the law get involved, in a move that could end up putting Dad and me in jail if things don’t work out the way your buddy thinks they will. You want me to have all this trust in you, and yet you can’t even trust me enough to give me anything of you in return.” “I’ve given you—” he murmurs, gaze still pinned to the floor. “You’ve given me your dick and some great orgasms, Logan,” I say quietly. “But let’s be real… that’s about all you’ve given me.” Okay, that’s harsh and not exactly true. He’s clearly given me attention and care, as well as laughter and redirection from my plight. He’s trying to do right by me in the only way he knows how. But I can’t admit that to him right now because I’m too hurt that he’s not giving me the one thing I want. The one thing I need if he wants me to take a very drastic turn in my life. He doesn’t respond to my taunt, so I add on, “I told you the very most secret thing about my life, and I entrusted that to you. I thought we had something… different. I thought you were different.” Logan’s eyes drag up slowly until they’re locked onto mine, and my heart starts to shrivel by what I see. A completely blank, ambivalent, emotionless mask that looks a lot like Logan McKay but is nothing more than a two-dimensional image of the man I thought I had an amazing connection with. There’s no anger. No hardness. No frustration with me. No desire. No affinity. No… nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Logan says in a flat voice. “I’m sorry I messed things up for you, and I’m sorry I can’t be what you need.” Every fiber of my being wants to scream at him in denial. That he could be exactly what I need if he would just give me a little piece of himself. I really don’t need the whole thing, but I need him to show me that there’s something tangible here. I need more than just silent messages that I can read with sure clarity. I need him to show me what we have is real. Instead, he turns away from me, walks to the front door, opens it, and walks out, shutting it quietly behind him. Disbelieving at what just happened, I stare at the door for a few minutes, wondering if this is a joke and he’ll walk back in. Logan McKay has utterly turned my life upside down. This was from the moment I first locked eyes on him in The Silo. I knew deep in my heart my life would never be the same right in that exact moment. I just never imagined it would turn out like this… with him outing me to Bridger, ruining the con, putting my dad in danger, and then leaving me without so much as a backward glance. With me falling for him and him walking out without a goddamn backward glance. When it’s clear that Logan is really gone, I turn from the door and walk over to my purse. I need to head back to The Wicked Horse, because unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of play left. Magnus is coming back tomorrow, and he’s going to be expecting that I’ve kept the con running just fine. He has no clue that it’s been effectively shut down, because no way in hell is Bridger going to let this continue to go on in his club. Which means I now need to get Bridger to work with me on this. The trick to sell my “virginity” is a bust—no pun intended—and the minute Magnus realizes that, he’s going to come after my father and me. I have to make plans to get my dad and me as far away from Magnus as possible and hopefully help the police put him in prison so we’ll be safe. Until that happens though, I’m going to be sleeping with one eye open and moving through the streets of New York, constantly looking over my shoulder. Thanks a lot, Logan.

Chapter 21

Logan I SIT IN my truck and look at the entrance to The Silo. When I left Auralie last night at her cabin, I told myself that today was the day I got back on with living my life the way I should be living it. Reserved and solitary from everyone. It was the safest way for me to be able to live with myself. Of course, that meant I had to give up Auralie and all prospect of something good with her. She drew the line in the sand with me, and it was clear. If I wanted something with her, I had to open up all the way. I had to trust her the way I wanted her to trust me. And fuck that. Wasn’t about to open up my carefully constructed walls that helped keep me protected and my sanity intact. So in order to get back on with my life and not look backward at what could have been with Auralie, I knew that meant hitting the Silo up tonight and getting my freak back on with whatever available pussy was there. I’d go in, choose someone quickly, fuck her good, and blow a nut. Then I’d be back right again. Except I’ve sat in this fucking truck for going on forty minutes now and haven’t made a move to get out. Maybe I’m waiting for my dick to wake up and lead me in there. Perhaps I’m waiting for some sign from above that I’m making the right choice. I’m waiting and waiting, but nothing’s happening. With a sigh, I pull my phone out and flip through Contacts until I find Rand’s number. It’s only ten PM so it’s not too late to call. He answers on the third ring, sounding groggy. “What’s up, man?” “Did I wake you up?” I ask hesitantly. “Nah,” he says and coughs to clear his throat. “Just exhausted. What’s going on?” “Just checking in. Saw Cat at The Silo last night, and you weren’t with her. Making sure everything’s okay.” He’s silent a moment and says, “No clue if anything’s okay, but yeah… I knew she was there.” “She didn’t stay,” I say quickly, so he knows she didn’t fuck around on him. “I know,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Bridger was keeping an eye on her for me and told me she left.” “Dude… what’s going on?” “I’m giving her a bit of space to try to figure out what she wants,” he says in a tired voice. “I’m actually in Vegas right now. Tracked her mom down to see if I could get some info on her dad.” I whistle low through my teeth. “And did you?” “Yeah. Flying out to North Carolina tomorrow.” I digest this, thinking of the lengths Rand is going to for a woman who was sitting alone without him at a sex club last night. Granted, she didn’t do anything, but she was there. Had to be considering it. My gaze goes to The Silo, because seems like I’m getting ready to do the same thing Cat was contemplating just last night. Perhaps making a decisive move to kill the final connection to someone? “Why was she in The Silo?” I ask, thinking maybe Rand has some sage advice on the subject of

people who might want a relationship but think they can’t handle it. “She needs to figure herself out,” he says simply. “Figure out what she wants and what’s most important to her. Most of all, she has to decide whether or not she thinks she’s good enough for me, because she’s got some fucked-up idea in her head that she’s not.” Yeah… I can totally understand that shit. Seems like Cat and I have something in common. Movement in the parking lot catches my attention. I narrow my eyes as Magnus pulls his Porsche into a spot nearer to The Silo than where I sit. He gets out, aims the key fob at the car door to lock it, and walks inside. “Listen,” I say as I get out of my truck. “I’ve got to go, but dude… I hope that shit works out with you and Cat.” “Thanks, Logan. Me too.” I don’t bother locking my truck as I say, “Later,” and disconnect the call. Shoving my phone in my back pocket, I walk into The Silo, my nerves a jangled mess. I have absolutely no idea what I might find when I go inside. I haven’t talked to Bridger all day, mainly because I’m afraid of what he might say to me. I’m pretty sure it would be something like, “Man, the fuck up”. I also have no clue where Auralie is. Magnus just walked in alone, so I know she’s not with him. Unless she’s already in there, but no… no way is Bridger going to let that shit go down when he knows the virginity sale is a scam. Unease slithers through me as I consider the consequences to Auralie of what I’ve done. It’s not the first time I’ve thought about the dangerous repercussions I laid on her doorstep without even bothering to clue her in on what I was planning to do. I’m not sure how she’s going to wrangle out of this mess, and for the most part today, I stuck my head in the sand and just sort of hoped that Bridger would work something out for her. I’m a fucking coward in that respect, and I know it. But it was easier than dealing with my muddled feelings about what I had and what I subsequently lost because I refuse to open myself up fully to a woman. I walk into The Silo. As I come out of the short hall that leads to the interior, I see Magnus stalking toward Bridger, who’s talking to a group of people outside the Black Room. Inside, a woman is on her hands and knees, taking it up the ass. She seems to be enjoying it by the sounds of her moans, which are having no problem permeating the glass wall because they’re so loud. I follow Magnus as he approaches Bridger, so I’m close enough to hear him demand, “I need to speak to you, Mr. Payne.” Bridger cuts a hard look at Magnus for his interruption, but he murmurs an apology to the group and steps toward Magnus. “What’s up?” “Where’s Auralie?” Magnus challenges with as much menace as his prissy ass can manage. “No clue,” Bridger says with a shrug of his shoulders. “I flew in this evening and she’s not at the cabin,” Magnus says, and his voice is near panicked. “All of her clothes and personal items are still there though.” “Did she tell you she was going somewhere?” Bridger asks nonchalantly. “I talked to her right before I got on my plane connection in Dallas,” Magnus says. “She said she’d see me when I got here. She’s not at the cabin so I came here, but I don’t see her.” Immediate dread fills me that, based on what Magnus is saying, Auralie seems to be missing. I’m not sure where I thought she would be, but again… that was part of me being an ostrich and sticking my head in the sand. But the fact that Magnus seems to be worried about her has me worried about her. Bridger shrugs. “Not sure what to tell you, Mr. Albright, but I haven’t seen her since last night. But

you did miss quite the show she put on. I’m interested to see the price of the bids that come in for her virginity once you open it up. I’m more than interested to see what you do tonight… provided she shows up, that is.” I jerk, startled by Bridger’s proclamation. He’s going to let this farce go on? I had underestimated the lengths he’d go to so that Auralie remains protected. Really didn’t think he’d give a damn to be honest. Magnus sighs, looking around the club as if Auralie will mysteriously appear. I do the same, scanning the interior… hoping for a glimpse of her so I know she’s okay, and then I can tell her… What? What exactly would I fucking tell her? Bridger claps Magnus on the back. “Have a drink. Relax. I’m sure she’ll show up. She’s probably just making a grand entrance or something.” Magnus looks disgruntled but nods in agreement before turning toward the bar. Bridger’s gaze comes to me but then slides right past without any real acknowledgment before he starts to walk by me toward the exit of The Silo. “Where’s Auralie?” I mutter as he strides past. “What’s it to you?” he challenges with a quick glance over his shoulder at me, and then he continues on his path without falter. “Cut the shit,” I growl as I turn to catch up to him. “You clearly know where she is. Magnus may have bought that crock you just handed him, but I don’t.” Bridger doesn’t even look at me but walks right out of The Silo, with me following behind him. When the door closes behind us both, he says, “I repeat. What’s it to you? Auralie said you left her last night— that things were over between you two.” “They are,” I mutter defensively, and fuck… why does that make me physically sick to my stomach to even say that? “But don’t begrudge my worry about her.” Bridger opens the back door to the Wicked Horse and steps through as he says in a bland voice. “I don’t begrudge you anything, but why you waste effort on this woman is beyond me. She’s a scammer. A con artist. Apparently a great fuck, but still… plenty of those around here.” Rage strikes me in a hot, blistering wave and I lunge at Bridger from behind, both my hands slamming into his shoulder blades and knocking him forward. He’s not expecting the attack, and he goes flying forward several feet before he catches himself. He spins on me, bracing for another attack, and I don’t hesitate, snagging fistfuls of his t-shirt and spinning him toward the wall before slamming him back into it. His hands come up to grip onto my wrists, but he makes no effort to fight back at me or push me away. “You fucking asshole,” I snarl as I put my face right into his. “You don’t know shit about Auralie or the reasons she had to do what she had to do.” “Then why don’t you enlighten me?” Bridger taunts with a quirk of his lips, and I can tell my shoving him around amuses rather than intimidates. “Because I truly don’t understand why it matters to you. You left her last night. Left her to fend for herself now that you ruined her game. So why the fuck does it even matter to you?” “Fuck you,” I yell as I release him to turn away, my frustration boiling over because I don’t know why it matters to me. I let her go last night. Or rather, I refused to stay and give her something she wanted. Was probably entitled to, actually.

I look down the hallway toward the interior of The Wicked Horse just beyond. It’s not overly packed, but then again, it’s a Wednesday night. An ordinary night where I might be in there myself, drinking a beer and perusing potential fuckmates. Most likely, I wouldn’t indulge because most women in there required work. Conversation, flirting, etc. If it wasn’t an easy lay, I wasn’t interested. So I’d usually head over to The Silo. That would be my ordinary Wednesday night in my ordinary life here in Wyoming. I was satisfied with that. Until a raven-haired beauty with innocent eyes but a fun and kinky side won me over, and I have no clue how it happened. Why we connected. Why I felt something with her I never felt for another woman. Fuck that… for another human being, except for… Nope. Not going to think about that. Except, fuck if I can stop thinking about Auralie and the way she’s made me feel since I locked eyes on her. And I’m not talking about the way she makes my cock feel. I’m talking about the way we connect. The way we can speak silently but still deeply with each other. The natural feeling of ease in her presence. As if I don’t have to prove myself, but she accepts me for who I am. Or the way she laughs, whether it’s because she finds me funny or she’s being mischievous. Or the way she lays in my arms. Or shrieks in excitement when she catches a fish. Or sucks my dick on a riverbank. Or just about fucking anything she does turns me on physically, mentally, spiritually, emotionally… Christ, I’m fucked in the head. Mostly though… I can’t stop thinking about what a survivor she is. To be raised the way she was, and, yet, she found her own moral compass to break away from that life. Granted, she was in the middle of a con when I met her, but she wasn’t doing it for herself and she wasn’t doing it for the almighty sin of greed. She was doing it to protect someone she loved, which made me respect her even more. Auralie’s a woman who has given me every reason to hope for something better in this life. Yet, I’m still too afraid to reach out and grasp onto that with ambitious determination. I’m still hiding from the world because it’s become easy for me to do so. But still… I have to make sure she’s okay. I spin around to ask Bridger again where Auralie is because no matter the bullshit he just tried to hand me about having disdain for her, I could tell that was nothing more than him baiting me. Bridger works with ulterior motive most of the time, and I get what he’s trying to do. He’s telling me to shit or get off the pot. Not really ready to do either, but I need to know Auralie’s safe. Except when I turn around, Bridger’s gone, but his office door is standing wide open. I take this as a clear indication I’m invited in to continue this “discussion”. I walk in, shutting the door behind me to close out the country music blaring in the club. Bridger’s sitting at his desk, flipping through something on his iPhone. He doesn’t even look up at me when I take a seat opposite him, but merely says, “She flew out around mid-morning to New York. Met with my buddy Cal and the federal prosecutor, woman named Dee Switzer, late this afternoon—east coast time, of course. Don’t know anything more than that.” My stomach clenches to know she’s not here in Wyoming because I think I was hoping, deep down, that maybe there was a chance I’d get to see her again. Maybe to fight again—maybe to fuck. Maybe even to find a way to give her what she wanted without destroying myself in the process. It also clenches because now she’s made her break from Magnus. The thing that’s been bothering me

the most about what I did is that I put the wheels in motion to force her to do something dangerous. To turn her and her father against a man who had the clear means to make people go poof. And I know one thing I would never survive is if I caused someone to be hurt or worse yet… killed. I cannot survive that again. There’s no way. “How do you know this?” I ask neutrally, trying to act not all that interested, but I’m not fooling Bridger. I know I’m not fooling him because he cocks an eyebrow at me as he smirks, but then enlightens me without making me feel like too much of an idiot. “Because she came to me last night after you left her. She told me everything. All about her life as a grifter with her dad. How she wanted to break away and almost did, and how she was working this one last con to protect her dad.” “She had no choice,” I say in defense of her actions. Bridger raises his hand to wave me off. “I get it. Not mad at what she was trying to accomplish. I’d do the same thing if I were in her shoes. Which is why I pushed hard at her to take the offer by Cal to go to the authorities on this and put Magnus in prison. It’s her best option.” “Her only option after I ratted her out,” I mutter, wondering why I feel such guilt over betraying her that way. I honestly was hoping to help, but I realize… I should have talked to her about it. For all my prattling on to her about wanting to help her out of her situation, after finally forcing her to let me in on her secret, I should have given her the respect of mutual discussion on how to best attack the problem. I acted like a fucking caveman, brought Bridger into this when really… maybe I should have let her finish the scam so she could be free. But it’s too late to cry over that now. It’s done. “Will the federal prosecutor help her? Protect her and her dad?” I ask hesitantly. “No clue,” he says with a shrug. “Not my problem either. I helped her out best I could. I’m also going to do one more solid to her by putting Magnus off her trail a bit.” “You had her leave all her possessions behind,” I surmise. “So Magnus wouldn’t know she ran.” “It will hold him off maybe a day,” Bridger says with a casual shrug. “But I’m guessing he’s going to go after her come tomorrow.” “What the fuck?” I snarl as I shoot up out of my chair. “You say that as if you don’t give a fuck she could be in real danger.” “I don’t,” he says, pinning me with a hard look. I feel my blood pressure skyrocketing at his further bait tactics. “She’s not my problem.” She’s not mine either. Except… goddamn it all to hell. She is my problem. But not really a problem. More of a miracle actually. And one I didn’t anticipate I’d ever be worthy of, but the thought of that being snuffed out and taken away from me forever spurs me into action, even if I’m not quite accepting of the fact I deserve this. “You’re an asshole, Bridger,” I mutter as I turn away from the desk. I hear him snort behind me before he gives a bark of a laugh. I refuse to smile, but I grudgingly say, “Thanks for helping her out,” as I walk out of his office. “Have a nice flight,” he says, again taunting me, but I deserve it. I deserve every bit of shit he might choose to give me for my pigheadedness. I know I’ve had my head stuck up my ass, and I have to do something to remove it. But that’s a secondary worry. For now, I have to get to New York and make sure Auralie is safe because I’m sure Magnus won’t be

far behind.

Chapter 22

Auralie “DID WE DO the right thing?” my father asks as he sits back in his recliner and sips on a beer. “No crawling out of the rabbit hole now,” I murmur as I sit in the window seat, looking down at my Vinegar Hill neighborhood below. And I use the term window seat loosely. It’s really just a window with a sill that’s larger than average, about a foot wide, and I’m barely able to sit my ass on the splintered wood that’s about fifteen years overdue for a re-paint. But the sun is shining and warm upon me as I rest my chin on my knees and try to shake myself out of my doldrums. “Magnus will be gunning for us hard,” he says pensively, and my stomach knots up. That is an absolute fucking understatement. “We had no choice,” I tell him, trying to sound confident, but I’m far from it. I have no clue if we’re doing the right thing, but as I just said. No choice. Logan saw to that. And yet, I can’t find it in myself to be really mad at him. When it boils down to its simplest form, there were actually three choices we had available to us when my father landed himself in hot water with Magnus. First, and not ideal at all, we could have run. Dad and I could have packed up and moved somewhere across the country. Hoped Magnus wouldn’t want to waste his precious resources trying to find us. It wouldn’t have been hard to set up elsewhere. We could have had a meager but decent life back on the grift. Second, we’ve always had the option of flipping on Magnus. Can’t say as I ever really gave it much serious thought, but as I watched Magnus pull my father deeper and deeper into his web, not going to say it didn’t cross my mind on occasion to rat him out. Of course, I never considered having my father do this as I knew the risk of pissing someone like Magnus off, but still… it was an option. Third, and the option I chose, was to assist Magnus in one last con to get my dad back in his good graces. It was the easiest choice, and I was deluded enough to allow myself to think Magnus would accept this as my final payment to him and that he’d release me forever. Deep down, I probably knew it wasn’t ever going to turn out like I’d imagined it, because people like Magnus never let go of what they considered their rightful property. And no doubt… he felt he owned my dad and me. Ironically, pursuing choice number three ended up ultimately leading us to use choice number two to get out of this pickle, and in hindsight, it’s easy to wish we’d just done that to begin with. But had we gone to the police from the start, then I would have never gone to Wyoming and met Logan. I would have never known a man existed who was probably my soulmate. And while it ultimately didn’t work out between us—a thought that still has me on the verge of tears when I think about how stubborn he is in his refusal to let me all the way in—I can’t regret the time I spent with him and the hard way in which I fell for him. “Where do you think Magnus is right now?” my dad muses, but not in a lighthearted way. I can hear the fear coating his voice, and I know he’s not fearful for himself. He’s fearful for me since I’m the one

who royally fucked Magnus over this time. I didn’t tell my dad all the details, because he has no idea what the real con was, but I told him enough to make it clear the police was our only option. I pick up my phone, flip through my text messages, and see the one Bridger sent me just a few hours ago. Magnus flew out at noon. He’ll be back in NYC this evening.

Bridger has kept in contact with me since I left Wyoming yesterday morning. He’d been instrumental in giving me guidance the night I went to see him after Logan left me. He got me on a plane the next morning, had Cal Carson pick me up at the airport, who in turn swung by my dad’s apartment and picked him up, and then stayed with us all afternoon as we answered Dee Switzer’s questions about all of Magnus’ illegal operations. Cal is great. It turns out, he and his wife, Macy, know Bridger well, but I’m not sure how. Dee is also great; a tough old broad who smokes like a fiend inside her “non-smoking” government-issue office and doesn’t give a shit who it offends. She’s tough on criminals, but she wasn’t judgmental about me and my dad’s involvement in said crime. She’s more interested in pulling a big fish out of the sea of crime in her city, and once my dad told her about the mini-Ponzi scheme Magnus started nine months ago, her eyes glittered like a child on Christmas morning. My father gave Dee enough information, including turning over documents proving Magnus was defrauding investors by giving fake returns from new investor money—classic Ponzi maneuver—and she was preparing an arrest warrant but wasn’t sure when it would be executed. Sadly, while Magnus was in serious trouble over the various fraudulent cons he had going on, he wasn’t so big a fish that we warranted any type of police protection. The most Dee could say was that we needed to be careful and that once Magnus was brought into custody, it would be made clear he would be under very intense scrutiny from the police. We all hoped that would be enough to make him want to keep his nose clean and not add a murder charge to his rap sheet. I did not want my father or me going poof. Of course, there was still the option of us packing up and moving away. Possibly starting over somewhere new. Never thought I’d say that because I love New York and it’s my home. But the time I spent in Wyoming has given me new perspective. Maybe because I was with a man who showed me I could have a really amazing life somewhere else? Well, at least until things went to shit really fast. And my heart got broken in the process. I mean, really broken. “You okay, darlin’?” my dad asks. I tilt my face away from the street to look at him. He has no idea the things I went through to save him. I could never tell him the level to which I stooped, not only because he’d be devastated to know what I’d done for him, but also because while Mickey Foster is a non-violent man, he’d never give up a quest to kill Magnus for the type of con he involved me in. My father may not have had qualms with me cheating, lying, and stealing to make a living, but he’d never forgive the injustice of Magnus forcing me to essentially prostitute myself if he knew the real truth. As it were, I’m just thankful my dad accepted me at face value when I told him that the con was a bust and that our only option was to help the police bring him down. “I’m fine, Daddy,” I say softly. “Just… worried.” “Looks like more than worry on that sad face of yours,” he observes. I take in my dad’s kind face with his laugh lines, and even smile to myself over the inherent sparkle of deviousness in his eyes that is the telltale sign of a lifelong con artist. I love him for his faults and despite

them, and when all is said and done, I can never regret my actions to save the one man in my life who loves me unconditionally and holds nothing of himself back. “Ever think about leaving New York?” I ask him in an effort to not only change the subject away from my sad thoughts about Logan, but also to actually put some thought into the best way to keep us safe until Magnus is put in prison. That was not going to happen overnight, and I was not looking forward to sleeping the next several months with one eye open. “We could start over somewhere. Maybe southern California where it’s always sunny and warm?” “Hate to leave our home, baby girl,” he says morosely. “But like you… I’m worried about what Magnus is going to do. At the very least, you should leave.” “I’m not going anywhere without you,” I rebuke. “We’re a team.” “Always a team,” he says and holds his beer up in salute to me. “So maybe California isn’t a bad idea.” I give him a lukewarm smile and wonder what it would take to start over. Dad has no job skills, but he can grift anywhere. I could help out… maybe still go to school. I give a mirthless internal giggle over that. The College Grifter. I bet I’d be one of a kind. A knock on the door has me freezing in place, my eyes the only things moving toward my father. He lowers the recliner slowly, wincing as it creaks a little, and sets his beer on the table. Reaching down to the side of his chair, he picks up the baseball bat he keeps there. Like I said, he’s generally a non-violent type and doesn’t believe in guns, but living the type of life we do… you have got to have some protection. I swing my legs off the windowsill, placing them on the floor to stand up, but my dad shakes his head at me in silent admonishment. With a jerk of his chin, he motions me to go to my bedroom. I shake my head in denial, considering the large butcher knife in the kitchen. “Get in your room now,” he whispers at me with that stern father look that’s not to be disobeyed. My pulse spikes in fear, but I refuse his order, instead darting into the kitchen and grabbing the knife out of the wooden block. I creep back into the living room, my father giving me a harsh glare before moving to the door. I pad silently behind him on bare feet and watch as Dad puts his eye to the peephole. He stares a minute and turns to face me, giving me a silent shrug to indicate he doesn’t recognize who’s at the door. This relieves me slightly because it’s clearly not Magnus, but it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t send a messenger over to find out if I was here. There’s no way he knows about our involvement with the police yet, but I’m sure he’s more than pissed he couldn’t find me in Wyoming. I push past my father and put my eye up to the peephole, perhaps able to recognize one of Magnus’ henchman or even better yet, the apartment manager who might be here to collect our rent, which always seems to be overdue. Instead, I see Logan’s beautiful face staring at the door and I jerk backward, knocking into my dad. “Who is it?” he whispers to me. “Logan,” I whisper back involuntarily. I look back through the peephole and take note of the swell of joy and anger that sweeps through me. Without another thought, I pull the chain free of the lock and swing the door open, fashioning my most malevolent stare at the man who managed to drive me higher than I’ve ever been in my life, only to drop me from the stratosphere to crash back down to earth. “What do you want?” I ask, my tone appropriately icy. Logan’s eyes roam briefly over my face before looking down to the butcher knife in my hand, and he winces. And because I apparently have some sort of mystical connection to his emotions, I read his guilt loud and clear.

I put you in danger, and now you have to carry a butcher knife around your apartment. But he quickly schools his features and says, “I came to check on you. Make sure you’re okay.” I can’t help the sarcasm. It comes pouring out. I hold the knife up and say, “I’m just peachy, Logan. Just waiting for Magnus to come bust into my apartment and whack my father and me.” I open the door up a little so he can see my dad standing there with the baseball bat and jerk my chin toward him. “See. Dad’s got a bat. I got a knife. We’re fine. So you can just mosey on out of here and head back to Wyoming.” “You’re clearly not fine,” he grits out as he pushes his way past me into the apartment. “Well, make yourself at home,” I mutter as I step back and then close the door behind him. “Don’t mind if I do,” he snipes back. I roll my eyes at his back before asking with resignation, “Seriously, Logan… what are you doing here?” I pretend not to notice how damned good he looks in faded jeans, his hiking boots, and a long-sleeved dark blue Henley, even as I feel my skin tightening all over just from his presence. Logan spins on me, scrubs a frustrated hand through his hair, and admits, “I was worried about you.” I throw my hands out, one still clutching the knife, and say with exasperation, “Well, as you can see… I’m fine. So you can just go.” “I’m sorry I got you into this mess,” he blurts out, his face lined with guilt and worry. “He got you into this mess?” my dad asks from behind me. I wince, because I’d forgotten my dad was witnessing this painful exchange. I also cringe because my dad has no clue who Logan is or that he played a part in our current predicament. All I told my father when I came home was that I couldn’t continue on with the con because I felt it was too dangerous, and that I met someone in Wyoming—that would be Bridger—who had a way to help us out of this mess. To my dad’s credit, he tried to question me on what type of danger Magnus had put me in, but I’d stubbornly refused the details and said he’d just have to trust me. There was no way I could ever tell my father the sordid details of the con, much less how I fell for a man who was trying to help me out but put me in a worse pickle than I already was. I certainly couldn’t tell him that now, or else he’d take that bat to Logan, and I liked his face all pretty the way it was. With a sigh, I say, “Dad… this is Logan. A friend. He had my back in Wyoming… like my friend Bridger.” This was not a blatant lie, because if I were to look at it solely from Logan’s perspective, he did have my back. He just went about it the wrong way. Logan cocks at eyebrow at me, clearly surprised I’d reference him as a friend or that I’d even dare to say he had my back. And then he goes on to make matters worse, when he asks me dryly, “A friend? I think I was more than that.” “Seriously?” I ask in exasperation. “You want to lay that innuendo out like that right in front of my father? Who you just met and who is also holding a baseball bat that he is not afraid to use?” And he did not just quirk his lips up in amusement at me…? Before I can slap the smirk off his face, he steps past me and holds his hand out to my father. “Mr. Foster… I’m Logan McKay. As Auralie said, I’m a friend of hers. And I hope I’m more than that.” I growl low in my chest as my dad’s eyes cut to me with surprise before he looks back to Logan and offers his non-bat-bearing hand to shake. “Pleased to meet you.” Logan nods at my dad before turning back to me. “Bridger told me you met with the federal prosecutor.” “Yes. My dad gave enough information and proof that they’re going to issue an arrest warrant for

Magnus,” I tell him grudgingly. “No clue when they’ll serve it though.” “He’s going to come after you,” Logan states a simple fact I already know. “First and foremost because you ditched him in Wyoming.” “This I know,” I say, sarcastically waving the knife in front of my face again, which is really a childish maneuver but whatever. “Hence the reason we’re armed.” Logan snorts at our pitiful defense system and walks back to my door. I’m stunned for a moment, thinking my sarcasm has driven him off before I can really look at him and get my fill of all his magnificence before he leaves me again. I almost call him back once he opens the door, but he halts there and sticks his head out into the hallway, looking down to the left. “You guys can come in,” he says to someone in the hall. Logan steps back and admits two burly men in their early thirties. Both dressed in street clothes… jeans, t-shirts, and jackets. Fairly non-descript except for the air of menace they both carry about their personas. Logan turns to me. “This is Wade and Wilson. They’re going to be your shadows until Magnus is behind bars.” My eyebrows shoot sky high as I look at the men standing there before me, both with their hands clasped behind their backs as they stand at almost military attention. “Come again?” I ask Logan in shock. “They’re protection for you and your dad,” Logan says briskly. “They’ll switch out with another team for the night shift, but they’re on you until Magnus is taken care of.” “Protection?” I mutter, still not able to comprehend what Logan is doing. Logan’s eyes slide to the knife I’m still clutching. “Yeah… they’re much better than knives and bats.” “I don’t understand. You what… hired bodyguards?” “No,” Logan says sarcastically, but it’s a sarcasm laced with amusement. “I went to St. Margaret’s School for Wayward Children and hired mercenaries.” “Huh?” I ask, completely lost in the conversation, not because it’s confusing as hell, but mostly because my brain has been pure mush since Logan walked into my apartment. “Didn’t you see Deadpool?” he asks me. “No, I didn’t,” I murmur. “Well, never mind… you’re going to have twenty-four-hour protection,” he says confidently. “They’ll stay out in the hallway, but if you need to leave, they’ll go with you. I’ve also hired someone from their agency to track Magnus down to deliver a very strong message that you are under protection and that orders are shoot to kill if someone comes after you.” I blink in astonishment, and my dad mutters, “Holy shit.” Logan turns to Wade and Wilson, nodding toward the door, “You guys can go ahead outside. You’re officially on the clock.” “Yes, sir,” one of them says in response, and I’m not sure if it’s Wade or Wilson, but then they both turn and walk out the door. In a daze, I bend over and place the knife on the coffee table, clearly not needing it right now. When I look back to Logan, I ask with narrowed eyes, “We can’t afford this. And I know you can’t afford it, so who’s paying for this protection?” “I actually can afford it,” Logan says. With apologetic eyes, he adds on, “It’s the least I can do for you.” I do not like that at all, because now I know he’s here only because he’s driven by guilt for putting me in this situation to begin with. It was stupid to think he’d come all this way because he wanted a

relationship with me. “Well, thank you,” I snap at him. “I appreciate the offer, and we’ll accept it. So now that you have that burden off your shoulders, you can go ahead and go now.” Logan stares at me for a moment, and it’s the only time I’ve not really been able to read what his silence says. Finally, he nods at me and then turns to my father. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Foster.” “You too,” my dad says, sounding every bit as shell shocked as I feel. Logan turns to the door. My heart cracks as he turns the knob and pulls it open. Before he steps through though, he turns to me and says, “I also came to tell you my story. Who I was two years ago and why it’s led me to do the things I’ve done.” My jaw drops open wide and my heart squeezes even more painfully. He gives me a wink. “When you want to hear it, I’m staying at the Marriott on Adams Street. Room 4319.” Then he walks out the door and shuts it softly behind him.

Chapter 23

Logan AURALIE ARRIVES AT my hotel room a mere forty minutes after I do. I estimate she took a shower because her hair is still damp and she’s wearing different clothes. The subtle smell of jasmine hits me as I open the door, and I have to suppress the urge to jerk her inside, strip her naked, and feast on her for hours. Hopefully, that will come later. I step aside and Auralie walks in without comment, taking in the small, cramped room that’s typical of New York hotels as the need to cram as many people in as possible eats up the usable square footage. I shut the door and follow her in, shoving my hands in my pockets. It’s a nervous gesture, and I’m not going to lie… my pulse is out of control with fear and dread over what I’m getting ready to lay at her feet. I’m going to tell her the basis for my nightmares. I’m divulging to this woman the part of me that’s a monster and not nearly good enough for the likes of her. But it’s what Auralie wants. It’s what she needs. And I want to give her the world, even if I have to crush myself and possibly her in the process. She’s nervous too, I can tell as she turns around to sit on the edge of the king-sized mattress covered in a blanket done in browns, tans, and lime-green geometric designs. It’s all too contemporary and modern for my taste, but then again… I’ve been happy living in a tin trailer for the last two years with a ratty old blanket I’d picked up at Target when I started my travels. “Want something to drink?” I ask, only to buy time. I haven’t quite figured out how I’m going to start my tale. Auralie shakes her head. “No. I want to hear your story.” “I won’t stop you from running once you hear it,” I tell her, already preparing myself for the end of something that really never got off the ground in a good way. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says quietly. Confidently. It should bolster me, but it doesn’t because she’s naive to think I can be good for her. But still, I give a resolute sigh and walk past her to look out the window at the Brooklyn Bridge. I can’t bear to look at her as I start to deliver the speech I must have practiced a hundred times on the plane once I made the decision to fly to New York for her. The minute I walked out of Bridger’s office last night, I knew I was going to open myself up to her, because I had nothing to lose at this point. Auralie was something I didn’t expect in my life, but once I got a taste of her and then subsequently lost it, I figured… what the fuck do I really have to lose at this point? “I was married once,” I start off saying, and she gives a small gasp of surprise. “I was also a doctor.” Another gasp, this one deeper, and she blurts out, “A doctor?” I look over my shoulder at her and give a wry smile. “Hard to believe, right?” “Actually, not really,” she says quietly. “I mean… I think you’re brilliant so why wouldn’t you be a doctor? But I do have to wonder how you went from doctor to fly-fishing guide.” I turn away from her, looking blankly out the window. “I was a general surgeon in Chicago, where I was born and raised. Returned there after med school and my residency. Joined a prominent practice. Got

married while I was early in my residency—her name was Donna—and we lived a pretty fucking charmed life.” “A doctor,” Auralie says in awe. “I was a jackass,” I say with no small amount of bitterness in my voice. “I was young but had a God complex. Thought I was hot shit because I graduated top of my med school and was head and shoulders above everyone else in residency. Didn’t think there was a problem I couldn’t cure or fix. I had an ego the size of the universe and the track record to back it up. I was just fool enough to think nothing could bring me down.” “What happened?” she whispers fearfully. I swallow hard, fight back the nausea, and tell her, “A little girl was brought into the emergency room when I was on call. Just five years old. She took a bad fall off some schoolyard equipment and landed on a railroad tie, causing a crush injury to her ribs.” “Oh, no,” Auralie breathes out from behind me. “A CT scan showed her spleen was ruptured, but no other major injuries. It was a simple enough surgical fix—quick in and out with a laparoscope to remove it. A procedure I’d done many, many times.” She waits silently as I barrel forward with my story, the words getting harder and harder to get out. My heart thunders, echoing through my brain so I almost can’t hear myself when I admit with crushing defeat, “The other surgeon on call… he told me not to take the case. That he’d handle it, but I wouldn’t listen. God complex and all. I thought I was the best man for the job, despite knowing deep down I should stay away.” “I don’t understand,” she murmurs in confusion. I finally turn toward Auralie, because I need to look her in the eye when I tell her the very worst thing about myself. “It was my daughter… Carrie.” “What?” she asks, and she actually rears backward from my revelation. I can’t maintain eye contact, so I drop my gaze in a cowardly fashion to the mocha-brown carpeting. “Lots of unwritten rules in the profession of medicine, but you never treat a family member. I was told to back away, but I was too much of a conceited asshole to listen. I didn’t trust anyone to do the job right but myself.” “What happened?” Fuck… what didn’t happen is the question? “I screwed up,” I say, managing to drag my gaze back up to hers even though it about kills me to see the pain reflected in her beautiful blue eyes. “Got her spleen out, but I missed a bleeder. Closed her up, watched her in recovery for a little bit, and then left to handle another surgical case.” Auralie’s eyes fill with tears. “Missed a bleeder?” I nod, my own eyes filling up with tears I’ve refused to let fall since the day I buried my sweet girl. “The recovery nurse realized pretty quickly that she was in trouble when her blood pressure dropped. The other surgeon on call opened her back up, gave her blood… but it was too late. Her organs shut down, and she—” Auralie flies off the bed suddenly and slams her body into mine with a cry of dismay. Her arms go around my back and she plasters herself against me—tries to crawl inside of me—as she sobs, “No. Oh, Logan. No.” As I blink, the tears spill down my face. I want to wrap my arms around her. I want to accept her comfort, but I can’t. I have to get it all out. “It was my fault. I killed my daughter. Donna told me so. She reminded me every day after Carrie died, even as we lowered her into the ground. She reminded me when she served divorce papers to me.”

Auralie makes a distressed sound in her throat. “I gave up after that,” I murmur in quiet reflection. “Gave up the practice of medicine. Gave up my life. I just left. Left it all behind and never looked back. It’s why I don’t talk to my parents anymore… because I killed their only grandchild.” “No, no, no,” Auralie chants as I feel her tears soaking through my shirt. “No, it wasn’t your fault. Mistakes happen all the time.” I don’t disagree with her because that’s a basic risk of all medicine. Missing a bleeder can also be a normal consequence of just such a surgery, but fuck if I’ll ever accept anything but full responsibility for my dark-haired angel dying on an operating table. For the pain I caused Donna and her parents and my parents. Now the pain I’ve caused myself? I’ll accept that because it’s my punishment. I’ll bear it until the day I die. Auralie releases her hold on me, reaches back, and grabs my wrists. She pulls my arms up and wraps them around her back. When they go lax in a subconscious move on my part to refuse her comfort, she pulls at them again, squeezing me to insist I hold onto her. I suck in a breath, rapidly blink my eyes again, and when Auralie squeezes harder at me, I finally engage my arm muscles and hold them loosely in place around her. She doesn’t accept that though, burrowing in tighter to me, pressing at my arms to lock tighter around her body. It’s a silent plea, one that I read clear as day because I never miss a message this woman sends to me, that she is offering herself as a rock-solid means of support to me right now. I don’t fucking deserve it, but I’m such a selfish bastard, I go ahead and take it. Pulling her in close to me, I press my nose into the top of her head and breathe in her scent. I listen to her as she starts to cry in earnest, and now I’m the one who wants to console her. “Don’t cry, baby,” I whisper. “I’m not worth it.” “You’re so fucking worth it,” she mumbles into my chest, squeezing me so hard I can barely breathe. “You’re mine and you are worth every goddamn tear I choose to shed on your behalf.” “I don’t deserve—” “Shut up,” she cries as she pulls back and looks up at me with tear-streaked eyes. “You deserve happiness, Logan. I don’t care if you made a mistake or if it was God who decided to take your baby from you. You’re a good man. A righteous man. You are my man, and you are not going to bear this alone. I swear to fucking God, so don’t even think about trying to use this as an excuse to push me away.” “Auralie,” I say, because I’m stunned by the vehemence in her voice. “You forgive yourself, Logan,” she presses on me urgently. “Your forgive yourself right this moment, and if you can’t do it right this moment, then I’m going to remind you every single day for the rest of your life that you deserve some peace. And I’m going to remind you because I deserve some peace and happiness too, and you’re the only one who can give it to me, so I’m not going to let you leave me again because you’ve got some misguided notions about suffering for something that you’ve already suffered enough over.” Fuck… this woman. Goddamn this woman for giving me hope. “When I fucked you that last time,” I tell her slowly. “I saw it in your eyes. You demanded to know about my life, and I knew if I told you, this is what you’d do. That you’d accept the broken and fucked-up Logan McKay into your life, and that you’d forgive me my trespasses because I didn’t have the strength to do it myself.” “I’d forgive you anything,” she whispers before pressing a kiss into the center of my chest.

“I’m not sure I deserve that type of unconditional acceptance,” I tell her truthfully. “But I am giving you what you wanted… to know about the real me.” “I don’t care what you think,” she says, leaning back to look at me. “And I’m falling hard for the real you. I want you to fall with me, okay?” “Already did that,” I murmur, nuzzling into her head… feeling the softness of her hair against my cheek. “Then it’s agreed,” she says. Although I can’t see her face, I can hear her smile. I can feel that fucking smile… soft, sweet, and utterly devoted. “We’ve fallen for each other.” “I’m fucked up, baby,” I say, in a last-ditch effort to put her off. To make her see reason. To save her from a life with a fucked-up man. “Maybe you are,” she says. “But I’m not going to let you stay that way. Like I said, I’m going to remind you constantly that you deserve more. That you deserve me. That right there is saying something because I’m no picnic half the time.” A small chuckle escapes me, testament to the fact that despite the heaviness of this moment and the unburdening that just occurred, I apparently still have room for some measure of happiness. Maybe… just maybe… I have room for even more. “Logan,” Auralie murmurs as she nuzzles against my chest again for a brief moment before pulling back enough to look up to me. Her face is still wet with tears. I loosen my arms from around her waist to bring my fingers to her cheeks so I can wipe them dry. “Yeah?” “I want you inside me,” she says softly, her eyes warm and inviting. “Is that inappropriate?” I smile back at her… my expression tender and full of emotion that I can’t contain. “Not inappropriate.” “Then what are you waiting for?” “For this,” I answer huskily and bend to kiss her. Slow and deep, with nothing but a soft moan against her mouth that hopefully conveys my need for her. Clothes hit the floor. Her body hits the bed. Then I’m inside of her and fuck almighty… how could I have ever have thought to walk away from this? You didn’t walk away, moron, I tell myself. You went after her and bared your soul, and she invited you into her body. She invited you into her soul. Auralie’s hands roam all over me, almost as if she can’t believe I’m real and she’s testing to ensure I’m not a mirage. Every glide of her fingers over my skin fills me with a fullness I never experienced before. Fullness of heart, for sure. But something else. Life. For the first time in years, my life feels… overflowing. Complete. I fuck Auralie slowly and sweetly, a first for both of us. Seems like it’s straight from a fucking fairy tale, but we both come together, groaning into each other’s mouths, which haven’t lifted from the other since I pushed my way inside her body. When I empty myself in her, I wait for that blissfully blank space I normally go to. That place where sex usually leads me. A safe, insulated place where only I exist.

Except now, it feels completely different because I’m not there alone. Auralie is right there with me. It feels so fucking good that I’m not ever going to let it go.

Chapter 24

Auralie Three weeks later…

“WELL, I THINK IT’S okay for Logan to call off his guard dogs,” my dad says in exasperation. “Dad,” I say in warning. “Until Magnus goes to trial—” “He’s in jail, Auralie,” my dad points out. This I already know as he was arrested almost two weeks ago after the prosecutor tallied all the evidence from my dad as well as some other witnesses, including the Ponzi investors. Because of the nature of the white-collar crimes, all of Magnus’ assets were seized by the government at the time of his arrest, so he was without funds to make bail. “Yes, he’s in jail,” I agree. “But he still has contacts out in the world, and you’re the primary witness against him. So keep the guard dogs.” “It’s hard to run a scam with them looking over my shoulder,” he grumbles, and I have to laugh. I mean, it’s not funny that my dad makes his living on the streets, but it’s what he knows. I’m trying to change that though, and Logan and I are hoping to talk him into a move here when he comes out to visit later this week. “Dad, those guys don’t care what you do,” I remind him. “They’re not police. They’re—” “Guard dogs,” he inserts. “Woof-woof,” I bark at him, and he laughs at me. I laugh back, and it’s easy, natural and fun. I can do it because my life is set right again, and I have so much to laugh about. “Okay, Dad,” I say into the phone as I hold it between my ear and shoulder at the same time I’m trying to put new sheets on the mattress. It’s a difficult enough task to do on its own, but it’s nearly impossible when I’m on the phone, because Logan’s little bed extends from wall to wall with no room to walk on either side. Add in the fact I’m trying to carry on a conversation with my dad has me grimacing in frustration as one corner pops off as I try to pull another tight. “I’ll see you in a few days, and we’ll have so much fun when you get here.” “Can’t wait, darlin’,” my dad says. “Love you.” “Love you too,” I mutter, dropping the phone from my shoulder where it clatters to the floor. I then pull the one corner tight, crawl across the bed and pull the other tight, before rolling off and holding my breath, hoping the sheet stays in place. The door to the trailer opens, and Logan stomps inside. I look over my shoulder at him, and he laughs. “What’s up with the look of consternation?” he asks as he comes up to stand behind me. I turn to look back at the bed and warn him, “Don’t move too suddenly… that damn sheet might pop off at the slightest provocation.” Logan laughs again, and oh… I love that sound. “I don’t know,” he says between chuckles. “It looks pretty solid to me.” “You didn’t just spend the last fifteen minutes wrestling with it,” I mutter. “Well, let’s test it out,” he says. Before I know it, I’m hauled into the air, twisted around and then sailing toward the mattress where I

land with a bounce, then another, before Logan is jumping on top of me. He straddles me at my waist and looks down at me with a grin. “See… sheets held tight.” “So I see,” I say dryly. “Let’s give them a real work out, okay?” he says as his hands go to my shirt to whisk it off me. I giggle and make a half-assed attempt to push him away, but then his hands are on my breasts and his fingers are plucking at my nipples through the thin material of my bra. Sighing in contentment, I then start to squirm under his ministrations, which are sadly brief because his hands are at my jeans and they’re being pulled unceremoniously from my legs. I stretch like a cat as he crawls back up my body and lays part of his weight on me, the rest being held up by his strong arms locked at my sides. “Your dad good?” he asks as he peers down at me. I nod as I pull my bottom lip between my teeth briefly, let it pop free, and say, “He’s excited about coming to visit. Thank you for buying a ticket for him and putting him up in a hotel.” “You smile at me like that more often, and I’ll buy you the world,” he quips. Turns out, Logan might not actually be able to buy me the world, but he’s far from a poor Wyoming fisherman. That night almost three weeks ago when Logan came to me in New York, and after he confessed what he deemed to be unforgivable sins, he told me all about his prior life. He was able to talk more freely once we got past the tragic circumstances of Carrie’s death, and he clued me in on a few things. Although Logan had just finished his residency, he had made good money. Add on his wife was also a surgeon and that they were both fairly frugal, and that meant they had a nice savings when they split up. He got half of all assets in his divorce, including the equity when they sold their home and those monies have sat in investment accounts getting bigger and bigger while he led a meager life the last two years. It didn’t make Logan super wealthy but it gave him enough money to hire protection for me and my dad. My heart contracts painfully now as I think about Carrie. After that painful unloading that day, we’ve talked here and there about his daughter. I think if Logan has his way, he wouldn’t talk about it ever again, but I’m not about to let that happen. He needs to remember the good times with her, and he can’t do that when he shuts everything about his past out. I’ve also encouraged him to reach out to his parents and they’ve had some tentative talks via phone. They’re pushing to come here for a visit but I don’t think he’s quite ready for that yet. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to bring it up whenever I can, because he needs to reconnect with them. He needs to have them back in his life. Sometimes he gets frustrated with me for continually pushing him to confront his past, but I’ve also noticed positive changes since I’ve been hounding him. The nightmares for one thing. They’ve dwindled to coming very infrequently, and when they do come, I’m there waiting for him to use me in the way that he best needs. It’s never like it was that one night when he needed me so badly that he couldn’t even take the time to get me wet, but rather, if he has a nightmare, he’ll wake me up first from slumber, then he wakes my body up with his mouth and hands. After that, he fucks me, usually quite urgently but with no less care than he’s given me since that day we reconnected in New York City. That day… it was the start of my new life. Logan’s too. I packed my bags and returned to Wyoming with him three days after he arrived, content to live in Logan’s little tin trailer for the rest of my life, although he’s mentioned a few times perhaps we’ll move to a condo with a bigger bed and better kitchen. While I still could never tell my dad everything that happened between Logan and me, because that would include having to clue him in on the terrible things

Magnus had me do, I told him enough that he was content with the knowledge his daughter was falling in love for the first time. And since I returned with Logan, I’ve continued to fall for my doctor-turned-fisherman. Helplessly, deeply, irrevocably, and forever in love with this man. “Baby… that look on your face makes me want to eat your pussy until you come about fifty different times,” Logan growls, and I focus in on his face. So intent. So serious. Filled with lust and something I think is love, but I’m not quite sure. But one thing I’ve come to realize over these past three weeks living my new life with Logan is that he’s still hesitant to accept the good. He’s still fearful it will be ripped away. He’s afraid to believe that I’m here to stay. So I attempt to make it easy on him. My hands go to his face. I rub my fingers against the bristles of the beard he claims he’s going to grow for the winter months. “I love you, Logan.” He sucks in an astonished breath and his eyes go slightly blank… as if he’s afraid to believe my words and he’s distancing himself from the pain of rejection. “It’s true,” I say, making my tone matter of fact while pressing my fingers into his cheeks to make sure I have his attention. “I’ve gone and fallen right down the rabbit hole of love with you, Logan McKay.” He blinks down at me, and I see a slight flicker of hope in his eyes. “Yup,” I continue on lightly. “No clue how it happened, but now that I’ve given into it, I’m rolling with it. And it feels right, you know?” He gives a slight nod, and I beam back at him. “Be honest with me,” I say to him seriously. “I’m not too crazy to be feeling that, right?” He doesn’t hesitate in the slightest, just shakes his head at me. More hope fills his gaze and it’s almost painful to watch, but I press forward. “And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” I say neutrally. “I can wait for you to—” “I love you,” he blurts out. Giving me a look of fear, he waits to see my reaction. That breaks my heart that he’s so out of tune with his own capacity for love, but I put on a brilliant smile. “Well, of course you do,” I say brightly. “What’s not to love about me?” “There’s everything to love about you,” he murmurs. I watch, spellbound, as all the apprehension finally melts away and he’s staring back at me with nothing but abject devotion and tenderness. My eyes mist up briefly, but I know I can’t make this moment too heavy for Logan. He’s still sensitive to the newness of expressing emotion, and I don’t want him to retreat or think on it too much. So I slide my hands around the back of his neck and press my fingers into his muscles. “Soooo,” I drawl out as I wiggle underneath him. “I think you said something about fifty orgasms.” That’s usually enough to get him focused, but the usual flare of heat my seductive words would cause doesn’t come. Instead, he looks down at me with that same mix of sweet tenderness with a slight bit of unease because we just got done exchanging very important words that cement our bond even stronger. I tilt my head and silently ask him, What’s wrong? “I love you,” he says firmly, enunciating the words so they ring clear and true. “I. Love. You.” I let out a quavering breath. My insides turn to absolute mush as I realize that Logan is not only telling me how he feels, he’s also communicating to me that he is fucking owning these emotions, and he’s doing it so bravely and without fear that it will all get jerked away from him at some point.

“Oh, baby,” I whisper, pulling him down to me. His head goes to my shoulder and his arms lock around me. I hold him tight to my body, and I revel in this man surrounding me. This man who has invaded me and now controls my heart. My life. “Auralie,” he says as he turns his head into my neck. “I’m accepting it.” “What’s that?” I ask, but I already know the answer. “That maybe it’s okay if I have something great in my life.” “Yeah, honey,” I say with a smile on my lips and lightness in my heart. “It’s totally okay to accept that.” We’re silent for a moment, just holding on to each other. Then he shifts, lifts his head, and peers down at me. “Now I think I’ll hand out some of those orgasms we were just discussing.” I smile at him, unable to stop my body squirming at the thought. “That’s something I can totally accept too.”

Epilogue

Bridger I WALK INTO my cabin that sits on Double J property, completely exhausted. I stayed at The Silo until the last customer left because we had a packed house, and when you get a whole lot of people doing freaky fucking, the hormones and pheromones that circulate can make people crazy. As it turns out, I had to break up a fight between two girls over some dude’s huge pierced dick, as well as stop a whipping session that got out of hand because the fucker wielding the whip had no clue what he was doing. He drew unnecessary blood on a woman that she didn’t want and wasn’t prepared for. And although she was fully consenting and it was in fact her idea to let her “date” try some new kink on her, I knew she was going to be in a world of hurt if I let it go on. The dude was pissed and threatened to pull his membership. I grabbed him by the back of the neck, dragged his sorry ass out of The Silo, and before I slammed the door in his face, I told him his membership was revoked. The fucker then had the balls to beat on the door. When he wouldn’t stop, I opened it up, stepped out, and beat his ass. It wasn’t much of a fight as two punches—one to his jaw and then one to his right kidney—had him down moaning like a bitch. I’m sure he’ll be pissing blood tomorrow. I had one of the male bartenders take him home with strict instructions to impart to him he’d get more if he came back on the property again. After, I went back in and fucked the girl he was whipping, because she was all worked up despite his lousy job. Fucked her right in the same room her blood was first drawn with The Silo crowd watching. I did it dispassionately, although I did get her off too. I put her on her hands and knees, ignored the people pressing their faces in on the glass because I really don’t care for public sex but it won’t stop me if the mood strikes, and I banged out an effective orgasm. As per usual, the minute I felt my balls pull up with the need for release, I pulled out of her, whipped the condom off, and shot all over her back. I gave her a sharp slap on the ass at the same time, dragged my thumb through the wetness on her back, and shoved it up her ass. She went off like a firecracker again, and my job was done. Left her on the floor panting as I tucked my dick back in and walked out. So yeah… exhausted and more so than normal. It’s been getting harder and harder to maintain my role as the head of The Silo, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve been doing it on my own for almost six months now since Woolf left or if I’m just losing the taste for all the kink. There was a time in my life that this shit was the only thing that kept me sane and grounded, but I’m finding I’m actually developing a bit of an intolerance for it. It’s why I spend so much time holed up in my office at The Wicked Horse, depending on some of my most trusted Fantasy Makers to make sure things run smoothly. Sadly, those people I can depend on are dropping like flies. First Woolf exited the business when he got involved with Callie Hayes. I don’t begrudge my best friend happiness at all, and I’m still happy for him to this day, although I do miss him as we see each other very infrequently now. Then Cain fell for Sloane, Rand for Cat, and just recently, Logan gave it all up for Auralie. While these guys will always love to mix in kink in their fucking, they’re also the type that once they commit to a woman, they’re giving up the days of debauchery. It’s not unheard of for monogamous couples to frequent The Silo, but while those couples do indeed have an amazing amount of trust to lead this lifestyle, I’ve always known there’s something missing from their relationship that leads them here. Woolf, Cain, Rand, and Logan?

They have everything they could possibly want waiting in bed for them at home, so yeah… their days in The Silo are over, and it’s really just me left. Sighing, I head into the kitchen and pull a beer from the fridge. I twist the cap off, lobbing it into the garbage can before taking my first pull. It goes down nicely, and before I can even take a second sip, I’m craving another beer already. It appears I’m well on my way to getting shit faced tonight. Again. It’s become a habit because I’m finding it harder and harder to fall asleep. Heading into the living room, I sit down on my leather recliner and put my beer down on the table beside it. I take off my boots—cowboy tonight although on any other day, it could be biker boots—and then I kick the recliner back. I pick up my beer from the table, along with the necklace that lays there. It’s silver and tarnished with age with a simple lobster clasp that was broken years ago and never repaired. On the blackened chain rests a silver men’s wedding ring, which doesn’t come off as I ended up tying the ends of the thin chain into a knot. I hold the ring up, which is also changing color with the passage of time, and I let memories take me over. I don’t want them to take me over, but they do anyway. They do every fucking time I look at this necklace and ring, and I look at it frequently. Flat on my back, tied up. Wrists to headboard, but my legs are loose and lying flat on the dirty, stained mattress. I let myself be tied willingly, but I’m not here willingly. I’m there through no choice of my own. She rides my cock slowly, hands to my chest, using it for leverage to slide up and down my shaft. The needle marks on her arm are like bright beacons, and I focus on them so I don’t have to look at that fucking necklace and ring swaying back and forth as she fucks me. “Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” she murmurs in a raspy voice thick with lust, but not drugs. She’s always sober when she wants to fuck because she doesn’t want the sensation of what she does to me dulled. She’ll shoot up as soon as we’re done. I grunt in unwanted acknowledgment because as much as I hate this fucking bitch, my cock will give her what she wants. I concentrate on the feelings… wet slide of flesh, my balls tingling with the need for release—not because I want it or crave it, but only because I want this done and this skank to get off me. “Give it to me,” she moans, moving on me faster. “Come inside me, Bridger, love. Give me that spunk.” I grit my teeth. Her words are foul, grating on my ears, even as they do their job and force my orgasm closer. I want it, and I hate it. I’ll hate myself even worse once I give it up. “Mmmmm,” she taunts me. “Maybe one day, I’ll even let you knock me up. We’d make a beautiful baby together, wouldn’t we?” She recognizes her mistake right away as my eyes go blank and every bit of hated lust that I’m feeling starts to slide away. My dick even starts to deflate, so she backpedals quickly. By that, I mean she reaches out and viciously twists my nipples. They’re already reddened from the belt she used on me before she climbed aboard. The pain fires through me and gives her the intended results, my cock going rock solid again inside her well-used pussy. She bounces harder and faster, and then she taunts me further by grabbing the ring swaying from the necklace in one hand and bringing it to her lips. Pushing it into her mouth, she sucks on it as she looks down at me in triumph before she spits it back out and pants, “You’re so fucking good, baby. I’ll never get tired of this cock, you know.”

I’m on the edge and she knows it, so she propels me along by reaching a hand back and giving a vicious squeeze to my balls. They shrink and harden as the pain drives through me. With utter silence, I unload inside of her. I do it silently because it’s the one way I can show this bitch that my body might react to her—and only because it’s been brainwashed to do so—but that’s the only acknowledgment she gets. She watches me with interest as the orgasm ripples through me, and she comes to a complete rest with my spent cock inside of her. She climbs off, not having achieved her own orgasm, but I’m not sure she’s even capable of it. I’ve never seen it, and she doesn’t fuck me to get off. She fucks me because she’s a sick bitch who likes the power and control. With a calm that shows just how whacked she is in the head, she undoes the ropes around my wrists and releases my bondage. She looks down at me with that smug look of superiority tinged with madness before bending over and placing a light kiss on the tip of my nose. It’s an endearing kiss. I suspect in her own fucked-up world, she’s doing this to show she loves me. The thought causes my flesh to crawl and fury to wash through me. She gives me a condescending pat on my chest and starts to scoot off the bed. Before I can even reason with myself what I’m doing, my hand flies out and catches her around the back of her neck. Her eyes flare wide for a brief moment, sizzling with both anger and lust that I’d dare make such a move. My other hand strikes, grabbing the necklace and jerking it from her body, the weak clasp easily shredding. “Bridger,” she shrieks, making a grab for the necklace. I roll swiftly, using my grasp on her neck to flip her over me and down onto the mattress, where I throw a leg over her wasted body and straddle her. “Get off me,” she yells, and the fear in her eyes motivates me. Motivates me to take my life back. My hands wrap around her neck, the silver necklace wound through my fingers and the ring coming to rest at the hollow in her throat. I squeeze, and, for a brief moment, her eyes flash with lust. This motivates me greatly. I squeeze harder, moving my thumbs to rest over her windpipe, and I press them down. The lust turns to fear instantaneously, and fuck my soul to hell… that motivates me further. Tightening my hands, I start to choke the ever-loving shit out of her. I watch in fascination as she gasps, her hands now scratching and clawing at my hands, her legs frantically kicking underneath me. She tries to buck me off, but the lack of oxygen and the fact she’s weak of body makes her attempts futile. Her face turns a beautiful shade of red… not nearly as red as the belt marks on my chest, but enough to satisfy me. It then turns purple, and her eyes start to bulge as they leak copious amounts of tears. I watch as blood vessels bloom and burst in her right eye, and that fascinates me too. Leaning down, I hover my mouth right over hers, which is opening and closing like a gasping fish, and I whisper to her, “I’m. Done. With. You.” Her eyes are blank, mostly because she’s oxygen deprived. I’m not sure she even understands me. I make my point by releasing my hands from around her neck, taking only a moment to enjoy the red marks there that I know will turn purple as well, and roll off the bed. Bending down to the floor, I pick my clothes up and walk out of the bedroom. Getting dressed in the hallway, I shove the necklace and ring in my jeans pocket. I grab my wallet off the kitchen counter that is stained with dried food and make my way through the living room, where drunk and drugged-out people lay scattered all around, a few of them fucking on the filthy carpet.

I open the door and walk right out of my stepmom’s house. I’m just fifteen years old, and I’m never coming back. A loud banging on my front door jolts me out of the memory, and for a moment, I’m confused as to what the sound is. But it comes again, louder this time. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM. Kicking my legs down, I put the recliner back in an upright position and place my beer and the necklace on the table. I stalk across my living room as pounding that is more insistent reverberates through the house. Without bothering to look to see who is outside, I throw the door open and glare at the intruder, only to have my jaw drop wide open. Kyle Sommerville stands there, holding something cradled in his arms. A woman. An unconscious woman by the looks of it. “What the fuck?” I say in astonishment, but then Kyle is barreling past me and causing me to step backward so he can make an entrance. I shut the door, turning to watch him walk over to my couch and lay the woman down with incredible care. “Jesus fucking Christ, Kyle,” I growl at him, my eyes cutting down to the package he just deposited. He spins on me, his face grim. “I need your help.” I stomp over to the couch and look down at the woman. Her eyes closed, face pale with dark lashes fanning bruised skin underneath. Her brown hair is dirty and matted with what looks like blood, and there’s dirt streaked all over her face. Her clothes are filthy as well. “Who the fuck is that?” I ask as I point down to the woman. “Listen to me,” Kyle says urgently as he steps into me. “I am sorry for fucking involving you, but I had no choice. She is in serious fucking danger, and I need you to hide her for a bit.” “Are you out of your goddamn mind—?” “Bridger,” he shouts. “I’m not fucking around on this. She has one foot in the grave if you don’t take her in.” “You cannot leave her here,” I shout back at him, because I have no clue what this crazy son of a bitch biker has gotten himself into and I want no part of it. “Take her to the police or something.” “I am the goddamn police,” Kyle snarls at me in frustration, and I take two unsteady steps backward. “What?” I ask in bewilderment. Kyle takes a deep breath, scrubs his hands through his long, blond hair, and says, “I’m ATF, and I’ve been deep undercover with Mayhem’s Mission for over three years now. Investigating illegal firearms, drugs, and a sex-slave ring they’re running through all the clubs throughout the Midwest over to the West Coast.” I can’t even comprehend what he’s telling me. This is Kyle Sommerville, badass biker who is yeah… a friend… but not a good one. I know him marginally, and never once did I ever get a whiff that he’s law enforcement. I can’t even begin to process because I’ve seen this fucker do shit that’s highly illegal. I’ve watched him clean what I’m sure are stolen guns and snort coke. Watched him fuck club pussy in the nastiest of ways, and I watched him cut a guy up at a party once because he just seemed to feel like it. “I don’t believe you,” I say uncertainly. “Why?” he mutters. “Because I’m really, really good at my undercover job? When you immerse yourself in this shit, Bridger, you go all in. You have to do the nasty with the people you get in bed with or else they won’t fucking buy the cover.”

That makes sense. Sort of. But shit… I thought that stuff only happened in the movies. My eyes cut back down to the woman, and I must believe some of what he says because I ask, “Is she part of the sex-slave trade?” He shakes his head. “No, she’s part of something bigger, and I need you to keep her hidden.” “Why me?” I ask with narrowed eyes. “Because if I didn’t get her out of there tonight, she was going to be dead by morning,” he says ominously. “And I am not ready for this bust to go down. I’ve got three fucking years invested in this operation, and I’ve done stuff that has ruined my soul. I’ve given up my life to bring these fuckers down, and I cannot let it be ruined. I have to see it through. But I couldn’t let her die, either, so I’m begging you. Just keep her safe until this is over.” “How long?” I ask, completely disbelieving I’m even considering this lunacy. “I don’t know. Weeks?” “What’s wrong with her?” My eyes cut down to the frail woman lying unconscious on my couch. Kyle’s body shifts and his head inclines, and I know he’s looking down at her too. “Everything, man,” he whispers almost fearfully. “Everything’s fucking wrong with her.”

WICKED BOND (The Wicked Horse Series) By Sawyer Bennett

Prologue

Bridger I WALK INTO my cabin that sits on Double J property, completely exhausted. We had a packed house at The Silo, so I stayed until the last customer left. When there are a whole lot of people doing freaky fucking, the hormones and pheromones that circulate can make them crazy. As it turns out, I had to break up a fight between two girls over some dude’s huge, pierced dick, as well as stop a whipping session that got out of hand because the fucker wielding the whip had no clue what he was doing. He drew unnecessary blood on a woman who wasn’t prepared to handle that level of pain. Although she was fully consenting, and it was, in fact, her idea to let her “date” try some new kink on her, I knew she was going to be in a world of hurt if I let it go on. The dude was pissed and threatened to pull his membership. I grabbed him by the back of the neck, dragged his sorry ass out of The Silo, and told him his membership was revoked before I slammed the door in his face. The fucker had the balls to beat on the door. When he wouldn’t stop, I opened it up, stepped out, and kicked his ass. It wasn’t much of a fight as two punches—one to his jaw and then one to his right kidney—had him down moaning like a bitch and I’m sure he’ll be pissing blood tomorrow. I had one of the male bartenders take him home with strict instructions to impart to him he’d get more of the same if he came back on the property again. Then I went back in and fucked the girl he was whipping because she was all worked up despite his lousy job. Fucked her right in the same room her blood was first drawn with The Silo crowd watching. I did it dispassionately. Although, I did get her off too. I put her on her hands and knees, and, ignoring the people pressing their faces in on the glass, I banged out an effective orgasm. I really don’t care for public sex, but it won’t stop me if the mood strikes. As per usual, the minute I felt my balls pull up with the need for release, I pulled out of her, whipped the condom off, and shot all over her back. I gave her a sharp slap on the ass at the same time, dragged my thumb through the wetness on her back, and then shoved it up her ass. She went off like a firecracker again, and my job was done. I left her on the floor panting as I tucked my dick back in and walked out. So yeah… exhausted and more so than normal. It’s been getting harder and harder to maintain my role as head of The Silo, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve been doing it on my own for almost six months now since Woolf left or if I’m just losing the taste for all the kink. There was a time in my life that this shit was the only thing that kept me sane and grounded, but I’m finding I’m actually developing a bit of an intolerance for it. It’s why I spend so much time holed up in my office at The Wicked Horse, depending on some of my most trusted Fantasy Makers to make sure things run smoothly. Sadly, the people I can depend on are dropping like flies. First, Woolf exited the business when he got involved with Callie Hayes but I don’t begrudge my best friend happiness at all. I’m still happy for him to this day, although I do miss him as we see each other very infrequently now. Then Cain fell for Sloane, Rand for Cat, and just recently, Logan gave it all up for Auralie. While these guys will always love to mix kink in their fucking, they’re also the type who give up the days of debauchery once they commit to a woman. It’s not unheard of for monogamous couples to frequent The Silo, but while those couples do indeed have an amazing amount of trust to lead this lifestyle, I’ve always known there’s something missing from their relationship that leads them here. Woolf, Cain, Rand, and Logan?

They have everything they could possibly want waiting in bed for them at home, so yeah… their days in The Silo are over, and it’s just me left. Sighing, I head into the kitchen and pull a beer from the fridge. I twist the cap off and lob it into the garbage can before taking my first pull. It goes down nicely, and before I can even take a second sip, I’m craving another beer already. It appears I’m well on my way to getting shitfaced, but after the crap I had to handle tonight, I deserve it. I head into the living room, sit down on my leather recliner, and put my beer down on the table beside it. After I take off my boots—cowboy tonight, although on any other day, it could be biker boots—I kick the recliner back. I pick up my beer from the table as well as the necklace that lays there so I can examine it. It’s silver and tarnished with age with a simple lobster clasp that was broken years ago and never repaired. On the blackened chain rests a silver men’s wedding ring that doesn’t come off as I ended up tying the ends of the thin chain into a knot. I hold the ring up, which is also changing color with the passage of time, and I let memories take me over. I don’t want them to take me over, but they do anyway. They do every fucking time I look at this necklace and ring, and I look at it frequently. Flat on my back, tied up. Wrists to headboard, but my legs are loose and lying flat on the dirty, stained mattress. I let myself be tied, but I’m not here willingly. I’m here through no choice of my own. She rides my cock slowly, hands to my chest, using it for leverage to slide up and down my shaft. The needle marks on her arm are like bright beacons, and I focus on them so I don’t have to look at that fucking necklace and ring swaying back and forth as she fucks me. “Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” she murmurs in a raspy voice thick with lust, but not drugs. She’s always sober when she wants to fuck because she doesn’t want the sensation of what she does to me dulled. She’ll shoot up as soon as we’re done. I grunt in unwanted acknowledgment because as much as I hate this fucking bitch, my cock will give her what she wants. I concentrate on the feelings… wet slide of flesh, my balls tingling with the need for release—not because I want it or crave it, but only because I want this done and this skank to get off me. “Give it to me,” she moans, moving on me faster. “Come inside me, Bridger, love. Give it to me.” I grit my teeth. Her words are foul, grating on my ears, even as they do their job and force my orgasm closer. I want it and I hate it. I’ll hate myself even worse once I give it up. “Mmmmm,” she taunts me. “Maybe one day, I’ll even let you knock me up. We’d make a beautiful baby together, wouldn’t we?” She recognizes her mistake right away as my eyes go blank and every bit of hated lust I’m feeling starts to slide away. My dick even starts to deflate, so she backpedals quickly. By that, I mean she reaches out and viciously twists my nipples. They’re already reddened from the belt she used on me before she climbed aboard. The pain fires through me and gives her the intended results, my cock going rock solid again inside her well-used pussy. She bounces harder and faster, and then she taunts me further by grabbing the ring swaying from the necklace in one hand and bringing it to her lips. Pushing it into her mouth, she sucks on it as she looks down at me in triumph before she spits it back out and pants, “You’re so fucking good, baby. I’ll never get tired of this cock, you know.” I’m on the edge and she knows it, so she propels me along by reaching a hand back and giving a vicious squeeze to my balls. They shrink and harden as the pain drives through me. With utter silence, I

unload inside of her. I do it silently because it’s the one way I can show this bitch that my body might react to her—and only because it’s been brainwashed to do so—but that’s the only acknowledgment she gets. She watches me with interest as the orgasm ripples through me, and then she comes to a complete rest with my spent cock inside of her. She climbs off, not having achieved her own orgasm, but I’m not sure she’s even capable of it. I’ve never seen it, and she doesn’t fuck me to get off. She fucks me because she’s a sick bitch who likes the power and control. With a calm that shows just how whacked she is in the head, she undoes the ropes around my wrists and releases my bondage. She looks down at me with that smug look of superiority tinged with madness before bending over and placing a light kiss on the tip of my nose. It’s an endearing kiss and I suspect, in her own fucked-up world, she’s doing this to show she loves me. The thought causes my flesh to crawl and fury to wash through me. She gives me a condescending pat on my chest and starts to scoot off the bed. Before I can even reason with myself what I’m doing, my hand flies out and catches her around the back of her neck. Her eyes flare wide for a brief moment, sizzling with both anger and lust that I’d dare make such a move. My other hand strikes, grabbing the necklace and tearing it from her body, the weak clasp easily shredding. “Bridger,” she shrieks, making a grab for the necklace. I roll swiftly, using my grasp on her neck to flip her over me and down onto the mattress, where I throw a leg over her wasted body and straddle her. “Get off me,” she yells, and the fear in her eyes motivates me. Motivates me to take my life back. My hands wrap around her neck, the silver necklace wound through my fingers and the ring—my dad’s ring—coming to rest at the hollow in her throat. I squeeze and for a brief moment, her eyes flash with lust. This motivates me as well. I squeeze harder. Moving my thumbs to rest over her windpipe, I press them down. The lust turns to fear instantaneously, and fuck my soul to hell… that motivates me further. I tighten my hands and I start to choke the ever-loving shit out of her. I watch, fascinated, as she gasps, her hands now scratching and clawing at my hands, her legs kicking underneath me frantically. She tries to buck me off, but the lack of oxygen and the fact she’s weak of body makes her attempts futile. Her face turns a beautiful shade of crimson… not nearly as red as the belt marks on my chest, but enough to satisfy me. It starts to turn purple, and her eyes bulge as they leak copious amounts of tears. I watch as a blood vessel blooms and bursts in her right eye, and that fascinates me too. Leaning down, I hover my mouth right over hers, which is opening and closing like a gasping fish, and I whisper to her, “I’m. Done. With. You.” Her eyes are blank, mostly because she’s oxygen deprived, and I’m not sure she even understands me. I make my point by releasing my hands from around her neck, taking only a moment to enjoy the red marks there that I know will turn purple as well, and roll off the bed. She immediately starts coughing and gasping, sucking in precious air. I bend down to the floor, pick my clothes up, and walk out of the bedroom. I get dressed in the hallway, shoving the necklace and ring in my jeans pocket. I grab my wallet off the food-stained kitchen counter and make my way through the living room, where drunk and druggedout people lay scattered all around, a few of them fucking on the filthy carpet.

I open the door and walk right out of my stepmom’s house. I’m just fifteen years old, but I’m never coming back. A loud banging on my front door jolts me out of the memory, and for a moment, I’m confused as to what the sound is. But it comes again, louder this time. Boom, boom, boom. I kick my legs down, putting the recliner back in an upright position. After placing my beer and the necklace on the table, I stalk across my living room as the pounding reverberates through the house. Without bothering to look to see who’s outside, I throw the door open and glare at the intruder, only to have my jaw drop wide open. Kyle Sommerville stands there, holding something cradled in his arms. A woman. An unconscious woman by the looks of it. “What the fuck?” I say in astonishment, but then Kyle is barreling past me and causing me to step backward so he can make an entrance. I shut the door and turn to watch him walk over to my couch. He lays the woman down with incredible care. “Jesus fucking Christ, Kyle,” I growl at him, my eyes cutting down to the package he just deposited. He spins on me, his face grim. “I need your help.” I stomp over to the couch and look down at the woman. Her eyes are closed, face pale with dark lashes fanning bruised skin underneath. Her brown hair is dirty and matted with what looks like blood, and there’s dirt streaked all over her face. Her clothes are filthy as well. “Who the fuck is that?” I ask as I point down to the woman. “Listen to me,” Kyle says urgently as he steps into me. “I am sorry for fucking involving you, but I had no choice. She is in serious fucking danger, and I need you to hide her for a bit.” “Are you out of your goddamn mind—?” “Bridger,” he shouts. “I’m not fucking around on this. She has one foot in the grave if you don’t take her in.” “You cannot leave her here,” I shout back at him. I have no clue what this crazy son of a bitch biker has gotten himself into, and I want no part of it. “Take her to the police or something.” “I am the goddamn police,” Kyle snarls at me in frustration, and I take two unsteady steps backward. “What?” I ask in bewilderment. Kyle takes a deep breath, scrubs his hands through his long, blond hair, and says, “I’m ATF, and I’ve been deep undercover with Mayhem’s Mission for over three years now. I’ve been investigating illegal firearms, drugs, and a sex-slave ring they’re running through all the clubs throughout the Midwest over to the West Coast.” I can’t even comprehend what he’s telling me. This is Kyle Sommerville, badass biker who is yeah… a friend… but not a good one. I know him marginally, and never once did I ever get a whiff that he’s law enforcement. I can’t even begin to process because I’ve seen this fucker do shit that’s highly illegal. I’ve watched him snort coke and clean what I’m sure were stolen guns. I’ve watched him fuck club pussy in the nastiest of ways, and I watched him cut a guy up at a party once just because he seemed to feel like it. “I don’t believe you,” I say uncertainly. “Why?” he mutters. “Because I’m really good at my undercover job? When you immerse yourself in this shit, Bridger, you go all in. You have to do the dirty with the people you get in bed with or else they won’t fucking buy the cover.” That makes sense.

Sort of. But shit… I thought that stuff only happened in the movies. My eyes cut back down to the woman. I must believe some of what he says because I ask, “She part of the sex-slave trade?” He shakes his head. “No, she’s part of something bigger, and I need you to keep her hidden.” “Why me?” I ask with narrowed eyes. “Because if I didn’t get her out of there tonight, she was going to be dead by morning,” he says ominously. “And I am not ready for this bust to go down. I’ve got three fucking years invested in this operation, and I’ve done stuff that has destroyed my soul. I’ve given up my life to bring these fuckers down, and I cannot let it be ruined. I have to see it through. But I couldn’t let her die, either, so I’m begging you… just keep her safe until this is over.” “How long?” I ask, completely disbelieving I’m even considering this lunacy. “I don’t know. Weeks?” “What’s wrong with her?” My eyes cut down to the frail woman lying unconscious on my couch. Kyle’s body shifts and his head inclines, so I know he’s looking down at her too. “Everything, man,” he whispers almost fearfully. “Everything’s fucking wrong with her.”

Chapter 1

Bridger EVERYTHING’S FUCKING WRONG with her. Kyle’s words are still buzzing in my head as I look down at the unconscious woman. He’s only been gone a few minutes, but already I’m overwhelmed with the enormity of what he’s laid upon me. My first reaction is that this doesn’t sound right. Kyle coming in here and dumping this on me, claiming he’s undercover ATF. I feel like I’m being set up for something, but maybe that’s just paranoia kicking in. Still, it’s just too goddamn hard for me to accept that Kyle Sommerville is anything but a thug who rides with Mayhem’s Mission. Don’t get me wrong… his criminal proclivities never bothered me. I don’t judge, and I sure as shit don’t get messed up in it. Keep that shit away from me and as long as you can do that, I can hang and party with the best of them. And I’ve partied with Kyle on several occasions, no doubt, which is why it doesn’t make sense he’d come to me to conceal this woman. We don’t know each other all that great because sharing booze doesn’t necessarily lend itself to strong bonds of friendship. As such, he has no idea if I’ll keep this woman safe or turn her over to Zeke. Shit, I’ve spent more time with the club president, Zeke, and his old lady, Kayla, doing all kinds of nasties with them, than I have with Kyle. How in the fuck does he not think I wouldn’t have more loyalty to Zeke? Not that I do. I can’t stand that son of a bitch actually. He’s a thug times ten and rules that club with more than an iron fist. If the money he pays me weren’t so fucking awesome, I would never do the kink he hires me for. Sadly, though, selling my services for money is what I know best. It’s where my fundamental value as a human resides, so I’m not likely to turn my nose up at it. The ironic thing is I don’t need the money. I make plenty just off The Wicked Horse and The Silo. But it’s not the same. A dollar earned for an orgasm I can dole out is far more valuable to my fucked-up sense of self than money earned otherwise. While I don’t allow my Fantasy Makers to earn money for sexual services, I don’t have the same qualms when it comes to me accepting it, and that’s because I don’t get off on what I do. It truly is just a job. There’s no real pleasure in it for me, but it is important to me on a level no one could ever understand. Being the one controlling the whip and doling out the pain, while being revered for doing so to such an extent that I’m given true value for my abilities… It’s necessary for me to survive. The woman on the couch hasn’t moved, but I can tell by the steady rise and fall of her chest that she’s still breathing. And it looks strong too, which means there’s no need for me to feel for a pulse. Still, the blood matted in her hair concerns me, and I’m afraid there may be other things wrong with her that I can’t see. Maybe wounds under her filthy clothes or inside her mind… which I’m kind of thinking might be the case. Everything’s fucking wrong with her. “Christ,” I mutter to no one, as she can’t hear me. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I flip through until I find Logan’s number and tap the screen. He answers with a, “Yo, dude?”

My eyes cut down to the woman, and I mutter another almost silent curse before I say, “I need you to come to my house. I’ve got sort of an emergency I need help with.” Logan doesn’t question me but simply says, “I’m on my way. Assume you want me alone?” “Yeah,” I say, my eyes still pinned to the unwelcome visitor on my couch. Logan disconnects immediately without even a goodbye. It’s best Auralie stays out of this, although Logan will probably tell her about it anyway. Those two practically have one step on the altar even though it’s been a little less than a month since she’s come back to live here with Logan. But when Logan finally decided to live in the real world, he jumped into the deep end with both feet and gave himself fully to Auralie. About two weeks ago, Logan stopped by my office at The Wicked Horse, almost timidly knocking on my door in the middle of the day. He came in when I called out the door was open, and by the look on his face, I knew immediately he wanted to unburden. Turns out, the reason Logan was running from his demons was about as legitimate as I’d ever heard. Ranks right up there with my reasons, but Logan has more general fortitude than I do apparently because he decided to confront them rather than cherish them the way I do. He sat in my office for over an hour and told me all about his life in Chicago where he was a successful surgeon. My chest squeezed with pain for my friend when he told me his daughter died while under his care and the incredibly torturous guilt he’d been living under. Why he told me these things, he never revealed, but I suspect it’s because I had made a casual reference to my own demons to him once. I’d given him sage advice and told him that you can’t outrun them because they’re inside of you. He turned it back on me and wanted to know if I’d gotten rid of my own, but nah… they’re still there, very much fluid and alive within me. Like I told Logan… I’m keeping those fuckers around as a reminder to me of all the shit I’ve endured and what I’ll never go through again. What I didn’t specifically reveal to him was the importance of their reminder; it never lets me forget that love is for idiots and trust is for fools. Staying strong behind an iron wall of protection is far healthier to my sanity than opening up to the unknown. There isn’t much that frightens me in this world, but not knowing what’s around the corner causes me heart-pounding anxiety. It’s exactly why this mess of a woman on my couch is wigging me out a bit. It’s destroying my carefully ordered world. While I wait for Logan to arrive, I walk back to my master bathroom, which is where I keep my first aid kit. It doesn’t have much other than antiseptic and bandaging supplies, but I’m guessing it’s going to be needed. I mull over what Kyle told me during his very brief visit, and it clearly wasn’t enough for me to be able to wrap my head around whether or not I can trust him. After he revealed he was undercover and then went all cryptic on me by telling me this woman had one foot in the grave, I pressed him for details because fuck if I was going to keep a half dead person in my house without a little bit more from him. “Dude,” I’d said in frustration. “You’ve got to give me more of an explanation. I do not want to get tangled up in something illegal with Mayhem’s Mission.” Kyle shook his head. “I wouldn’t ask that of you. She’s got nothing to do with any of the illegal stuff.” I took that as solid verification she wasn’t part of the sex-slave ring he’d mentioned. My fate was sealed when Kyle added on, “She’s an innocent in all of this. Got caught up in that shitty world. It was going to cost her life if I didn’t get her out.” “How would it cost her life?” I pressed, because I needed more still. Kyle started walking toward my front door, apparently assuming I was on board with this woman staying with me. I was not, and I wouldn’t hesitate to dump her at the police station door if he didn’t satisfy my curiosity.

“Kyle,” I barked as he grabbed for the door. “I need to know the trouble she’s in before I agree to this.” His shoulders slumped. When he turned to me, it looked like he’d aged twenty years. “She’s Zeke’s property, and Kayla isn’t quite on board with that. Zeke’s on a run and for the past four days, Kayla’s been torturing her. She wouldn’t last another day.” “Torturing her?” I grit out in stunned disbelief. Not disbelief that Kayla could torture someone because that chick is seriously twisted, but that she’d bring it to the point of murder. Kyle’s eyes slide to the woman on my couch, and then back to me before whispering with such pain that it makes my ears feel like they’re bleeding. “I’ve watched some sick shit happen over the three years I’ve been deep. I’ve watched people die. I’ve let people die while I watched. Just couldn’t do it again. I had to get her out. I’m begging you to just keep her safe for a bit until I can get things finalized for the ATF to take this club down.” Jesus Christ. I know all about being unprotected and alone, completely at someone’s mercy. I know all about helplessness, sadistically delivered pain, and the hopelessness that comes with forced isolation and antipathy. Fuck me good and hard, that touched me deeply, although Kyle would never understand the power her plight had over me. “Fine,” I said as I exhaled a long breath. “Just… fine. I’ll keep her.” Kyle merely nodded, then he was gone, and it appeared I was on my own with trying to figure out what the fuck to do next. I carry the first aid kit back into the living room, seeing the woman is still laying in the same position, but I pause a moment to watch to make sure she’s breathing. I don’t get any closer to her, and I’m not sure why other than the possibility that she might stop breathing scares the fuck out of me. Placing the kit on the coffee table, I sit back down in my recliner, but I don’t lounge. Rather, I sit on the edge, feet planted solidly on the floor, and I sip at my beer as I watch the woman slumber in her unconsciousness. I wait for Logan to arrive, which he does not fifteen minutes after I hung up the phone with him. His knock on the door is soft, as if he knows this whole encounter is covert. My socked feet padding across the floor are equally furtive, which is ridiculous really. I swing the door open and step to the side, my head nodding toward the couch. Logan walks in, but then immediately halts when he sees the woman lying there. “Who’s that?” he mutters. “No clue,” I tell him honestly as I shut the door. “And I can’t tell you the details of how she came to be here, but she’s in danger and has been roughed up.” I purposely don’t use the word torture, because I don’t want to freak Logan out any more than necessary. Logan veers off into my kitchen. While he told me the day he stopped by my office that he was never practicing medicine again, I can tell it’s not going to stop him from helping me. “Let me wash my hands first,” he says by way of explanation. I wait in the living room for him, pacing back and forth nervously, my eyes cutting from the woman to my feet as they traverse the hardwood flooring made of reclaimed lumber. When Logan returns, he rolls up his shirtsleeves before taking a seat on the coffee table by the couch so he can get a good look at her. “How long has she been unconscious?” “Not sure. She was like that when he brought her here.” “Which was when?” he asks as he leans forward and takes a closer look at the dried blood on her

head. “About two minutes before I called you,” I verify. Logan nods and says, “I need a flashlight.” Turning from him, I walk over to the large entertainment unit against the wall and pull a flashlight from the drawer. I have them all over the house in case the power goes out. After giving it to Logan, I watch as he uses his thumb and forefinger to open one of the woman’s eyes and shines the flashlight in it briefly, then does it to the other eye. She doesn’t move a muscle or react in any way, which doesn’t surprise me. I’d been observing her carefully since Kyle walked in my door with her, and she was truly unconscious. After handing the flashlight back to me, Logan carefully prods at the bloody and matted hair on her head. He takes her pulse and seems satisfied. “I don’t think this head wound is serious. Her pupils are reacting fine.” “So what’s wrong with her?” I ask. He turns to me and shrugs. “I’m going to have to give her a thorough examination, but Bridger… there’s only so much I can do. I have no equipment. Hell, I can’t even listen to her heart or lungs without a stethoscope. No clue what her blood pressure is. I’m sort of hamstrung here.” “I understand,” I say gratefully. “Let’s figure out what’s wrong with her if you can, and then I can decide what to do.” Logan nods and turns back to the woman. I hover beside him, ready to help if he needs it, but otherwise not having a fucking clue as to how badly my life just got turned upside down.

Chapter 2

Maggie LOW VOICES—MEN, I think—talking quietly. It hurts my head even though they’re not that loud, and I fight the pull my body has to wake up. I don’t want to hear what they’re saying because I’m pretty sure they might be discussing something like the best way to get rid of my body. I don’t want to wake up, because my body has clearly found solace in the state of unconsciousness. I’ve had plenty of experience with that the last few days, my body so overwhelmed with pain and my mind so overwhelmed with hopelessness, that I’m ready to give up. Bright light flares, causes everything to go white before turning black again. I lecture myself to relinquish hold of my increasing consciousness, and feel myself floating back under. Bright light again, and oh… that hurts so much. Even when it’s gone, my brain seems to twist in agony before being left with pulses of electric pain. The voices don’t necessarily get louder, but I understand them a bit more clearly. I hate my body and its clear failure for self-preservation. …don’t think this head wound is serious… …what’s wrong… …have to give her a thorough examination… …then I can decide what to do… A sharp pain jolts from the top of my head, down through my brain, and seems to sizzle down my spine. My eyes fly open, unable to ignore the sensation, and my hands go flying to push whatever it is away from me. “Don’t,” I rasp out, my voice so shredded from hours of screaming that it’s barely audible. Or is that because my eardrums are busted from the blows I repetitively took to my head? The pain diminishes and I blink against the light now assaulting my eyes. It’s not overly burning and I sense I’m in a dimly lit room, but coming out of utter blackness, it still hurts all the same. I try to focus, blinking again several times before I see a man start to take shape before me. Dark hair, olive skin, full beard. My brain is working better than I expected because I can immediately tell by the worry in his eyes and the state of his clothing that he’s not Mayhem’s Mission. No twinkle of appreciation for my pain. No tattoos. No stale beer smell. A button-down blue chambray shirt that no motorcycle gang member would ever be caught dead in. “Who are you?” I ask tentatively, my vocal chords throbbing from the effort as I try to sit up on the couch. More pain throbs, not only from my head but also seemingly from everywhere on my body. I wince, grit my teeth, but still manage to pull myself up and push myself as far away from this guy as possible. He looks “nice,” but I don’t know him. The only thing that prevents me from getting any further away are the back cushions of a couch I’m apparently lying on. The man smiles at me in understanding, but I don’t trust that look one bit. There’s no way he could ever understand the depth of my fear at this point. He turns his head to the right and looks upward slightly. I follow his gaze, my eyes coming to rest on a

terribly large man glaring down at me with his arms crossed over his chest. I shrink back further into the cushions because of the loathsome look on his face. That movement is not lost on either man. The big guy’s facial features smooth out a bit, and I see a hint of guilt in his eyes for scaring me. My eyes skitter back to the other guy, and he holds his palms out in the universal gesture of “calm down, we’re not going to hurt you”. It doesn’t ease my anxiety at all, because I can’t remember the last time I’ve been around someone who didn’t want to hurt me. “A friend brought you here,” the bearded guy says reassuringly. “I don’t have any friends,” I deny in the raspy voice that doesn’t hurt quite as bad the more I’m using it. Now, more than ever, I’m distrusting everything about my circumstances. “Kyle Sommerville,” the big guy provides. His voice is deep, but it sounds like it’s filled with smooth stone gravel at the same time. It has a rumbling sort of effect that causes shivers of—fear, maybe—to ghost across my skin. Now Kyle Sommerville is absolutely a name that instills genuine terror, and the fact he brought me here means these men most definitely cannot be trusted. My body energizes, filling with adrenaline that spikes hard and makes me slightly dizzy. But the great thing about adrenaline is that it also masks pain, and in a surprise move that has both men rearing backward, I fly off the couch in a desperate attempt to escape. My eyes immediately land on the front door across the living room, and my feet hit the floor with a frenzied burst of near hysteria to get away. The door races toward me… or am I racing toward it? Doesn’t matter, because I’m so damn close. Almost there. Just as my fingers brush the knob, large arms band around me from behind, pulling me away and back into the hard, muscular body of who I inherently know is the large man who called Kyle Sommerville my friend. Pain bursts and blooms all over my body, the shot of numbing adrenaline quickly expended. “Stop,” I shriek against the agony in my back, ribs, arms, hips, and legs. I try to twist free, but the pain peaks so severely my head starts spinning and bile rises in my throat. The arms immediately release me the minute the word ‘stop’ leaves my lips, and I fall unceremoniously, my knees jarring solidly on the wooden floor. I ignore that pain because it’s nothing compared to the electrical shocks that seem to be firing from every nerve ending. My hands come to the floor to support my weight and my back involuntarily arches upward as I gag reflexively against the firestorm of torment my body is feeling once again. “Jesus,” I hear the big guy growl from above me. I feel his fingertips delicately pulling at the bottom of my shirt that’s ridden up a bit on my back. “Look at her.” I scramble away from him, fear of his touch—any touch—propelling me forward. My hand slips out from under me and my body twists toward the floor, the muscles and skin around my ribs screaming in protest. Nausea starts to rise again, but mercifully, darkness starts to seep in from the periphery of my vision. And I go under, once again in a protective measure to escape the misery.

* WHEN I START to wake up again, I immediately feel something is different. First, I’m in a bed. I know this because the sensation of soft sheets and pillowy support under my head versus hard concrete under my back feels like heaven. In fact, I can’t remember anything ever feeling this

nice before. I also feel warm. And I don’t feel pain. I hesitantly open my eyes. The room is dimly lit from what appears to be a lamp to my right, although I’m afraid to turn my head to look at it. I fear the pain that might come from such a small maneuver. “First thing you need to understand is that you are safe and no one is going to hurt you again.” The voice is deep, lower and softer than I’d heard it before. Still, I’m scared and can’t help but jolt with awareness as I turn my head toward him. The first thing I notice, because how could I not notice when pain has been a part of my daily—no wait, hourly— existence, is that while I feel a dull throb in my head and from the multitude of bruises all over me, it’s actually manageable. I take a deep breath and focus in on the large man, waiting to see what he says next. “I get by your reaction last night that Kyle Sommerville is no friend of yours,” he says tentatively. “So I need to tell you this so you can at least relax and know you’re safe.” My eyes clear up a bit and I note the man is sitting on a chair beside the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His face, while grim, is also gentle. He’s actually quite handsome, something I hadn’t noticed earlier, but that’s not something I give a shit about. Who cares if he has beautiful brown hair that’s untamed and longish as well as eyes the color of warm amber? I certainly don’t. But the fact those stunning eyes are gentle causes me to stay still. For the moment. “Kyle is not a friend of mine,” the man says carefully. “He brought you to me and told me you were in danger.” “He wouldn’t help me,” I whisper. The man nods in understanding. “He’s a cop—ATF. He’s been undercover for three years.” I shake my head. I don’t buy it. Kyle’s a sadistic son of a bitch. He egged Kayla on when she tortured me. “I promise,” the man assures me, as clearly doubt is written all over my face. “He got you out because he was afraid Kayla would kill you.” A tremor runs through my body because that is an absolute truth. She would have killed me for sure, and I know this because she told me she was going to. After she finished making me suffer. “Who are you?” I ask hesitantly. While I don’t trust this big brute as far as I can throw him, I need to understand why I’m here if I’m going to escape. I need to know everything about my captor. “My name is Bridger,” he says in a voice like a low rumble of thunder that is oddly comforting right now. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to let anyone else hurt you.” That means nothing to me. Trust is earned, not handed out like candy. His few words of reassurance bounce right off, and my mind starts figuring out how quickly I can get away from him. If I can get my battered body out of this bed, that is. I tentatively dig my elbows into the mattress, trying to raise my upper body a bit to scoot up further onto the pillows below my head. My body aches with the movement, but I’m stunned it’s not the excruciating level I’d been accustomed to. This confuses me, so it’s my next question. “Why don’t I hurt the way I was a little bit ago?” The man—Bridger—doesn’t move a muscle, and I understand immediately he’s trying to be unassuming. “I had a doctor friend come and tend to you. He treated your injuries while you were unconscious.” “The man who was just here?” I ask curiously. Bridger shakes his head. “First, he wasn’t just here. That was almost twenty-four hours ago.”

I gasp as I realize I’ve lost almost a day with no recollection, and yet… it’s probably the best twentyfour hours I’ve had in years. “And no,” he continues. “That was my friend, Logan, who has some medical training, but he couldn’t handle what was wrong with you. I had to call another friend in for a favor.” “A favor?” I ask, now suddenly wary again. “Yes. A favor,” he says, and there’s no mistaking the distaste in his tone. “He bound your ribs and cleaned the wound on your head. Although it was too late to put stitches in it, he did stitch up some cuts you had on your stomach. And he gave you a shot of a painkiller. I’ve got some more pills he left. You had some about six hours ago, but I’m assuming you don’t remember that as they’re pretty heavy duty.” No wonder I felt fairly good. I was doped up, but again… was thankful for the reprieve. Perhaps I was actually in good enough shape I could get out of here now. I start to sit up from the bed as I say, “Well… Bridger… I do appreciate your help, but I’ve probably imposed on you enough—” “Lay down,” he orders me, and because the effort of trying to lift myself up is fairly draining, his words and command have me immediately sinking back down again as my head swims with dizziness. “Those were some fairly heavy narcotics he gave you. You’re not going anywhere for a while.” “But… I need to go,” I mumble, the effort of just that small maneuver having seemingly exhausted me. My eyes feel heavy. “No, you don’t,” Bridger says softly, and I’m surprised by the gentleness of his tone. It’s almost as if the gravel in his vocal chords were replaced by velvet. “You’re going to stay here until you’re healed, then we’ll figure out the best way to keep you safe.” I can’t help it. I don’t want to trust a thing he says, but I feel the weight of injury, stress, and exhaustion pressing down upon me. I haven’t slept more than brief snatches of time here and there for the past four days—last twenty-four hours excluded, of course. My eyes start to lower, my body demanding I give in to the drugs and the need for rest. Before I fall back under, I find the strength to look at him for a moment and ask, “Bridger… what’s your last name?” “Payne,” he says simply. Ironic, I think, just before I close my eyes and give in to my fatigue.

Chapter 3

Bridger SCOOPING THE SCRAMBLED EGGS from the pan, I transfer them to the plate next to the bacon I’d nuked in the microwave before turning to the toaster and pulling out two pieces of blackened bread. I curse at my ineptitude when it comes to the simple act of making toast, throwing them in the sink where I’ll jam them down the garbage disposal later. Pulling two more pieces of bread from the bag, I put them in the toaster, adjust the timer to a lower setting, and try again. While that’s in process, I reach across the counter and pick up the bottle of hydrocodone, shaking two pills from it. I then do the same with the antibiotics. It’s time for my mystery guest to wake up, so I can feed and medicate her again. I saw the bruises, welts, and cuts all over her body from the top of her head to her calves, and I know she’s going to need the strength from the food and the numbing effect from the narcotics. It’s going to take her a few days before she’ll be able to move around without these precious drugs. Logan and I were utterly sickened the night before last when we got a peek at her back. We were both stunned when she tried to bolt out of my house, faster than I could have ever imagined anyone in her condition moving. I reacted on instinct, lunging at her and grabbing her from behind in a bear hold. But the moment she shrieked at me to ‘stop,’ I immediately recognized the sound of pain in her voice, not panic, and I dropped her like a hot potato. When she fell to the ground and her shirt climbed up a bit, I had to swallow hard against the bile that was forming after seeing the black, blue, purple, and green that covered her exposed skin. Kyle had said she was tortured, but he clearly wasn’t conveying to me the brutality of what happened to the woman whose name I don’t even know, who is now sleeping in my bed. After she passed out, Logan helped me get her to my room. We unceremoniously stripped her down, taking advantage of her unconsciousness so we wouldn’t hurt her while she was examined. Logan dispassionately cleaned her up as best he could with a warm, wet cloth and antiseptic. Both of us made sounds of disgust low in our throat as we took in the bruises that covered most of her body, and Logan managed to clean some of the blood off her for a better look. But bruises were only part of it as Kayla apparently took a knife to parts of the woman’s body. Mostly shallow cuts that coagulated and crusted over on their own, but one to the middle of her abdomen that was still open and oozing with blood, so it appeared to be fairly fresh. It was patently clear to me without Logan saying a word that this was beyond his capabilities. Well, maybe not beyond his capabilities, but it was beyond his reach. He didn’t have a license and he had no access to the necessary supplies he’d need, not to mention the clear fact that this woman needed medication for recovery. As such, I had no choice but to call someone else to help. I weighed the option briefly, remembering Kyle’s words of warning over the secret nature of his operation, but figured he’d want her to get the help needed. It justified the call to one of The Silo’s patrons, Jared Crossgrave. He’s a doctor who practices general medicine in Jackson and has been a member of The Silo since we first opened. When he arrived, I sent Logan on his way. I then impressed upon him the secrecy I’d require before I asked him for his help and revealed to him the woman in my bed. He promised complete confidentiality, but as I’d told the woman last night, he

wanted a favor in return. After he patched her injuries, then shot her up with something to kill the pain and ensure she’d rest for several hours, Jared asked for his favor. A hard ass fucking, but I wasn’t surprised. The guy is as gay as they come, but in conservative, rural Wyoming, it’s not something he feels he can reveal to the public. So he keeps his oblivious wife happy with fancy cars and jewelry, and he’s managed to fuck her at least on two occasions as he’s got two kids, but outside of that… he gets his gay rocks off in The Silo. I don’t begrudge him this. In fact, I’m pleased he has The Silo to turn to. It’s one of the reasons Woolf and I opened it, so we could provide a haven for people to express their sexual desires. For closet homosexuals, it’s probably more important to them than just people into generalized kink. Jared comes in a few times a week, happily sucking dick and getting his ass pounded as he prefers bottom. Because I know his dirty, dark secret he’s afraid to reveal to the world, I knew I could call him and be guaranteed relative security in obtaining his help. As I said, I’m not surprised he wanted me to fuck him. He’s made no secret of his attraction to me, and he has subtly inquired to others how he could catch my notice. He’d learned relatively quickly that I don’t give my notice to anyone in The Silo unless they had a penchant for some hardcore BDSM and only then, I’ll hand it out without taking anything in return but cash. Jared might like his sex a little rough, but he’s not into the type of pain I would normally hand out. So Jared treated the mystery woman and after handed me two prescriptions written in my name for a painkiller and antibiotics, because he thought the open wound on her stomach looked a little irritated, he primly asked if he could collect his favor immediately. I didn’t care one way or the other and gave him a careless shrug before leading him into one of the spare bedrooms. Because I know Jared is generally submissive and finds thrill in being controlled, I grabbed him by his hair, pushed him to his knees, and made him suck my dick for a few minutes just to get me hard. I did this all with almost robotic precision, putting on a show for this man as much as I would if I was caning someone inside The Silo. I know how important it is to someone like Jared to feel as if I were as into him as he was into me. But the truth is that I wasn’t into him at all. Nope… not into guys, preferring warm, wet pussy, but that doesn’t mean I won’t fuck ass, male or female. I’ll do anything with my cock really, as I see it as nothing more than a tool I can use for personal gain. Not talking about orgasmic gain, although that certainly happens when I let it, but rather as a way to meet my needs, whether they are sexual or not. In this case, I needed a doctor’s services on the sly. He wanted my dick. So he gagged and choked on my cock as I fucked his mouth for a bit, because I knew that’s exactly the way he wanted it, then I fucked his ass. I lubed up good, and I pounded him hard, just the way I’ve watched him take it time and again in The Silo. My mind wandered as I serviced him, worried about what to do with the woman in my room. I’d become adept at multitasking, able to fuck my way to an orgasm without much thought. My cock knows what to do and my body reacts because that’s what it’s been trained to do. I could probably engage in a focused chess match as I was ploughing someone, able to stealthily checkmate my opponent while getting my rocks off. That’s just how good I am at compartmentalizing my sex away from the rest of me. So Jared squealed like a little girl as I tunneled in and out of his ass, all the while his hand worked his own little cock feverishly. It ended satisfactorily to him as he shot his load all over my guest comforter with a moan of relief—which I made a mental note to throw away and buy another—and I pulled out before I came, snapped the condom off, and shot my spunk all over the back of his legs as I wasn’t paying

attention to my aim. As I orgasmed, I had a very brief moment of respite. As with every time I come, it’s not necessarily pleasurable and it’s never earth shattering. Rather, it’s more like a purging of a sickness and there’s a second… maybe two… where I’m numb to everything. It’s the paralysis of all my senses that I enjoy, giving me relief from my existence even if it’s over all too quickly. Probably why I fuck so much, always seeking to extend that moment of oblivion. Whatever shot Jared gave the woman, she was out of it for almost twenty-four hours. Didn’t mean she slept that whole time, and I’m sure she has no recollection, but I helped her get out of bed and to the bathroom twice during the night and once the next day. She mumbled her thanks and once called me Aunt Gayle, but then she slipped back into heavy slumber when I put her back to bed. The reason I knew she needed to go to the bathroom was because I sat by her bed that entire time. I was terrified to leave her—sure she’d wake up at some point completely lucid and ready to bolt. But she didn’t, except for that brief conversation we had where I think I was successful in reassuring her she was safe, and then she was out again. I’m pretty sure she’s sleeping so hard, not because of the shot Jared gave her, because that would have worn off a while ago, but because she was utterly exhausted both in body and in mind. I would like to think that she accepted my assurances of safety and was able to let her body fall into a restful sleep that would help to heal her. But now it’s time for her to get up, and the two pieces of toast popping up brings me back to task. I pull them out, relieved they are lightly browned, and spread some butter, followed by some raspberry jam, on them. No clue if the woman will like it but if she doesn’t, she doesn’t have to eat it. I take the plate along with cutlery and a glass of orange juice back to my bedroom. I put her in there because I wanted her to have the bathroom close by if she needed it, and also because I felt she deserved a nice bed after all she’d been through. Why that matters to me, I can’t figure out, but when I saw her injuries, something within me committed to helping this woman. Just like I’m almost powerless not to equate pain and pleasure together, as well as harboring an extreme desensitization to sex because of my upbringing, I’m also equally as powerless to turn my back on someone who’s been abused. The moment I turn from the hall into the master bedroom, I’m immediately relieved to see she’s awake and sitting up in the bed. She’s wearing one of my t-shirts, which swallows her up, and the blankets are pulled up around her lap. “Brought you some breakfast,” I say as I walk in toward her, and I note with a measure of satisfaction that there’s less wariness in her eyes than I’ve seen before. “I heard you banging around out there,” she says softly, but there’s no humor in her voice. In fact, it’s quite flat. “You must be starved,” I tell her as I sit the plate down on her lap and place the juice on the bedside table, along with the medicine. “And there’s some more pain medicine as well as antibiotics to take after you finish.” Her eyes slide to the pills, and then back to the plate before she gingerly picks up the fork I placed on top of the food with the handle hanging off the side. “Thank you.” “How do you feel?” I ask as I take the chair beside her bed. While I want her to eat, I also want more answers. She gives a shrug and scoops up a forkful of eggs. Before she puts them in her mouth, she says, “Maggie.” “Excuse me?” I ask, confused by her answer.

“My name’s Maggie. Thought you’d want to know.” She places the eggs in her mouth and chews as she stares at me. “Maggie what?” And I feel a little shitty for not having asked that first. She swallows and murmurs, “Waylon. Magdalene Waylon, but my friends call me Maggie.” Interesting she lumps me into the friend category, but I know deep down she doesn’t mean it. She may not have that wariness in her eyes and she may be accepting my food, but I can tell she’s still holding herself out as an island amidst a sea of sharks just waiting for one to take a bite out of her. And because I know a little something about abuse and how to deal with it, I start off with more reassurances. “Just want to remind you about our short talk last night. You’re safe here. No one knows you’re here outside of my friend Logan and the doctor who treated you last night, but they won’t tell a soul.” “And Kyle,” she says, fear edging through her quiet tone. “He helped you,” I remind her. She doesn’t argue, just picks at the bacon, removing a tiny portion and putting it in her mouth. It’s a sweet mouth, actually… now that my focus is drawn there. She has full lips, and I got a peek of straight, white teeth when they parted. Yeah… I know most guys look at lips and think of blow jobs, but I look at them and think of biting. So lips are interesting because they hide the teeth that can cause sweet pain, and I love a soft, generous pair that peel back just before the teeth behind sink into skin. My cock twitches at the thought, but I banish it. This woman is off limits, and besides, she’s not all that attractive. Well, that’s not exactly true. I can’t really tell as she’s still covered in a lot of dirt and some blood Logan didn’t get off, not to mention black and blue all over. But her hair is long and wavy, a pretty shade of brown that has hints of caramel and rust within. And her eyes… very nice… a soft, summer green. Body is definitely to my liking, and by that, I mean she’s soft and curved with a figure I think most women think makes them “fat,” but I find the soft swell of a woman’s belly and an ass I can sink my fingers into hot as fuck. I suspect this has to do with the fact I was abused by a stepmom who was nothing but a skinny sack of bones, and so my attraction is for the exact opposite of that. But whatever. I shake my head and tell her, “I need you to tell me what’s going on so I can figure out the best way to keep you safe. Kyle didn’t say much other than you were being tortured by Kayla and that he had to get you out of there.” “You trust he’s with law enforcement?” she counters, not answering my questions. I’m honest with her. “I’m not sure. I don’t know him all that well.” “You know Kayla though,” she guesses. “I could hear the familiarity in your tone.” Christ, did I know Kayla. I’d whipped and caned her before. Did lots of kinky shit while her husband watched. Still, I’m careful when I answer. “I know both Kayla and Zeke, but I am not friends with them. I don’t owe them any loyalties.” Except I kind of do. Zeke turned over one of his men who’d attacked my friend Cat to the police, and in return, I’d promised to put on some “shows” for his club with the bevy of free and loose pussy there. Not sure when I’d have to fulfill that obligation. If I’m lucky, Zeke won’t call to collect before Kyle can bring the club down. Assuming Kyle is telling the truth. “Can I finish eating, and then perhaps get a shower first?” Maggie suggests tentatively. “Then I’ll tell you everything.” I have no clue if she’s playing me. She could crawl out my bathroom window for all I know, but I

really can’t keep her prisoner here. So I place my hands on my thighs and push up from the chair as I say, “Sure. You can rummage through my drawers. I have some sweatpants and stuff in there. Take whatever clean stuff you want, and we’ll get your clothes washed after. I’ll be waiting in the kitchen.” I don’t wait for her to answer, and I figure she’ll either come in there after she gets cleaned up or she’ll sneak out and run. I find I’m probably okay with either choice she makes.

Chapter 4

Maggie THE EGGS, BACON, AND TOAST fortified me. The shower made me feel nearly human again. There was a brief moment where I considered declining Bridger’s hospitality and just leaving, but I really had no clue where to go. I had no money, which meant no food, transportation, or shelter. I had no friends. I had no family I could call upon, save for one, and no way was I dragging her into this. So I decided my best course was to stay here and recuperate. Hopefully, along with regaining my strength, I’ll come up with some idea on how to save myself first, and then Belle after. I was sore as hell when I got out of bed, the effects of whatever shot I was given having faded long away. But I popped the pills Bridger left by the bed without even once considering they could be dangerous, because that’s what happens when you run out of options and you’re too tired to think about self-preservation. I figured if the worst that happened was I overdosed on some bad drug, at least Belle would be safe and well cared for. As it turned out, the pills dulled the pain again even though they made me a little foggy. The shower also helped loosen my sore and abused muscles, as well as cleaned the dirt and blood from my body. I carefully washed my hair three times with some manly smelling shampoo Bridger had, not feeling guilty at all to be wasteful, and being overly watchful of the scabbed-over cut on the top. It had been days since I’d been clean. I felt I could have scrubbed myself ten times over and still wouldn’t be able to get rid of the complete stench of the Mayhem’s Mission compound. The shower took a long time, but it took even longer for me to comb the snarls out of my long hair. Not only were there knots galore because it had been so filthy and neglected, but Bridger also didn’t have any conditioner—must be a man thing—and I ended up yanking a good amount out of my head by the time it was all said and done. The good news was the cut appeared to be knitted together enough it didn’t bleed again. Almost an hour after my breakfast and cleansing, I pull on a pair of workout shorts I found in Bridger’s drawer. They’re huge, and I have to roll the waistband several times so they’ll stay up. I then pull out a black t-shirt with a logo on the back that says “The Wicked Horse.” The words are in neon blue. I pull the cotton tee over my head without putting my filthy, sweat-stained bra back on. This bothers me a bit because I’m quite large chested, but the t-shirt is massive and swallows me up, so I don’t think Bridger will notice my puppies swinging free. Besides, I’m assuming he’s seen them already since I was already wearing one of his shirts. He’s an interesting man—this Bridger Payne—and I’ve figured out a few things. The furniture in his bedroom is heavy and masculine. The comforter is navy blue with taupe sheets. The drawers of his dresser are filled with only men’s clothing without a scrap of girlie stuff in the bathroom. This tells me he’s single and does not have a woman stay over at his house. His bedroom and bathroom are immaculate. Everything is picked up and orderly. Even his clothes are folded with almost military precision. This tells me he’s disciplined. Finally, the night I was brought to his house, I’m pretty sure I heard him having sex with another man. While my mind was cloudy from the medicine, I have what I believe is a solid memory of a male—maybe the doctor, or maybe the man he called his friend Logan—crying out, “Fuck my ass harder, Bridger.” This

was accompanied by moans and squeals that, while they sounded girlish, were clearly from a man. Definitely not Bridger because his voice is much deeper, and you can tell by looking at him that he’d never squeal or moan. No, he’d be the type who would curse and grunt if something felt good to him. But I know I heard those words. Fuck my ass harder, Bridger. So yes… pretty sure Bridger had sex that night, so that tells me he’s gay, which also explains the lack of anything female in his house. This makes him interesting because he most certainly doesn’t look and act gay, but it really means nothing to me. I don’t care what he is as long as he helps me out like he promised, and I’ve decided to accept his help. While I don’t necessarily trust his words, his actions are speaking to me. He’s gotten me medical attention and fed me. He’s clearly protecting me as Kayla, Kyle, or any other club member hasn’t shown up to drag me back to hell. So I’ve decided that my best course of action is to grudgingly accept his help and hope to God he follows through with his promises to keep me safe. It’s the best course of action. It’s my only one at this point. Gathering my empty plate and glass, I head out of his bedroom and down the hall, which leads me into a living room with an open kitchen just beyond. Bridger sits at a square table set in a nook off to the side, his eyes pinned on me as I walk toward him. With a nod of his head toward the sink, he says, “Just lay those in there. I’ll get them later.” I round the large kitchen island done in distressed gray wood with black granite tops and place the items in the sink. The kitchen is gorgeous, also immaculately kept except for my now-dirty dish and glass, and reeks of money. My eyes glance back to the large living room I’d walked through. It’s filled with high-end leather furniture, an expensive-looking entertainment unit, and a TV more massive than any I’d ever seen before. While his house isn’t overly large, the appointments are luxurious. “Let’s talk.” That gravelly voice floats across the kitchen to me, and the hair stands up on the back of my neck. It’s so deep and masculine. I’m having a hard time reconciling that I suspect he’s gay. Turning back toward him, I keep my eyes lowered as I walk across the tile flooring to the table, taking a chair opposite of where he sits. “Feel better after that shower?” he asks gruffly. I slowly raise my head to look at him. “Yeah,” I murmur, my throat not feeling nearly as shredded. I think it might have to do with the fact I haven’t used my voice much the past two days. “Thanks.” He nods and cuts to the chase. “So what’s the deal? Why was Kayla torturing you?” “Because Zeke wants me.” I tell him the simple truth. I’ve decided to give it to him because seriously… what do I have to lose at this point? A flash of irritation crosses his face. “Try again. Zeke wants and fucks other women in the club, but Kayla’s not the jealous type. She’s his old lady and at the top of the food chain.” “Not true,” I mutter, and he blinks at me in surprise. “I’m at the top of the food chain, and Kayla’s one rung below me.” “Explain,” he says calmly. “Because what I know about Zeke, pussy is pussy to him.” I wince, because that’s so crude even if it’s utterly accurate. But I’ve been listening to crass men for a very long time, and I’m not easily offended. But the truth is, while I was in the shower, I did a lot of hard thinking about what I should disclose to Bridger. My initial fears of this man and my current situation have been somewhat alleviated. While my base instinct is not to trust him, especially since Kyle is the one who brought me here, I finally decided I had to give a little. I deduced this by reasoning it would have made no sense for Kyle to bring me to a man who would just turn me back over to Zeke. It served no purpose. In fact, it would have angered Zeke if Kyle or anyone had dared remove me from the compound, regardless

of what Kayla was doing to me. So I decided I had absolutely nothing to lose at this point by disclosing the truth as to what had happened to me. The worst-case scenario is I’d end up right back where I was if Bridger didn’t want me here. The best-case scenario is I could stay safe until I had a good game plan. “That’s true,” I tell Bridger simply. “Zeke doesn’t care what he fucks, but the difference between Kayla and me is that her ovaries are dead and shriveled, and she can’t give him what he really wants.” “What’s that?” he asks cautiously, but he knows what I’m saying. “A child,” I provide with a direct stare. “And you can?” he asks dubiously. “I already have,” I murmur, my eyes misting up as I think of Belle’s sweet face and her baby fine hair that’s blonde but will turn my color, I’m sure of it. She looks exactly like me when I was a baby and has nothing of Zeke inside of her. I am also sure of that. Bridger jolts from my proclamation. “You had his baby?” “I did, and I have her hidden away from him,” I say with my chin raised high. “And he’s never finding her.” I also decided to be truthful about this, because again, nothing to lose and Belle is not a secret. If Bridger is really friends with Zeke and intends to give me back to him, he’d already know about Belle. I can see as comprehension dawns fully within his eyes, which are actually a shade darker right now… almost the color of a copper penny. They are really quite beautiful. He stands from the table and walks over to the refrigerator. Opening it, he pulls out a bottle of water and holds it up to me. I nod and he reaches back in, pulls another bottle out, and comes back to the table. Setting one of the bottles before me, he opens the other and takes a long pull from it. Rather than sit back down at the table, he walks back to the island and takes one of the stools done in dark gray wood and wrought iron. “Start from the beginning and tell me everything,” he commands. It’s not said in a superior, domineering way, but rather with frank curiosity tinged with worry over my circumstances. I open the bottle of water he brought me and take a few sips, loving the soothing coolness against my raw throat. After setting it back down, I take a deep breath and tell him my story. “I left home about ten years ago.” I start from the beginning as he instructed me. “Nice family, upper middle class. But I was a rebellious kid and thought I knew more than my parents did. Set off at eighteen to see the world and never looked back.” “Where did you go?” he asks. “Everywhere and nowhere,” I reply. “My parents are from Cheyenne, and I’d lived in Wyoming my entire life. Headed west but never made it past Idaho. My grand adventures got sidetracked because I fell in with the wrong crowd. Worked odd jobs, partied, did drugs. Became a complete failure in life… at least that’s how my parents saw it.” “How did you meet Zeke?” he prods. Apparently, he doesn’t need the details of my vagabond years. “I drifted back this way, hoping to find some steady work in the area. Met Zeke in a biker bar. He got me drunk and fucked me. The rest is history.” “How long ago was that?” he asks. I shrug. “About three years ago. He moved me out to the Mission compound, which was great by me. I didn’t have a job, hardly any money, and was one step away from living on the streets.” “You became a club whore?” Bridger asks, his voice tight with tension. “No,” I tell him with brutal honesty. “I became Zeke’s whore. No one was allowed to touch me.” “And how did Kayla respond to that?”

Another shrug. “Like you said, she’s not a jealous woman. She knows and accepts Zeke fucks around. We avoided each other and just sort of existed in that same space together. Of course, she lived with Zeke out of the compound, so I didn’t really see her unless there was a party she came to. Zeke visited me at the compound when he wanted.” Bridger’s lips flatten out in a look of distaste, and it makes me feel dirty. I mean… I am dirty. I let myself become a kept whore, but for some odd reason, I don’t want Bridger to view me that way. He’s the first man to show me a measure of kindness in well over a decade, and that alone makes me respect him somewhat. “You became pregnant?” he asks, keeping the story flowing. “Condom broke,” I tell him in a voice roughened with emotion. “It was the moment my life changed for both the better and the worst.” “Boy or girl and how old?” he asks, cutting even quicker to the chase. “Girl,” I tell him. “Her name’s Belle, and she just turned two a few months ago.” “Where is she?” “That I will never tell you,” I say fiercely. This is where I draw the line and keep the most important truth to myself. “She’s safe and far away from Zeke.” “You ran with her?” he guesses. “Yeah,” I say bitterly. “I ran just after she turned two. I got her to safety. After that, I ran in the opposite direction of Belle, knowing he’d eventually find me.” “And when was that?” “About a week ago,” I murmur. “Found me in Nebraska and dragged me back. Kept me locked up at the compound and tried to force me to tell him where Belle was.” Bridger utters a low curse. “What did he do to you?” “Beat me,” I say in a matter-of-fact tone. “Thought he could beat the information out of me, but that fucker underestimated my resolve. I’ll die before I give Belle up to him.” Bridger nods, and I see a healthy dose of respect in his gaze. He takes another sip of water. After he swallows, he says in a gentle voice, “I’m going to play devil’s advocate here for a moment, but Zeke’s her father. Doesn’t he have a right to see her?” Rage fills every fiber of my being that he would even dare to suggest such a thing. But still, I keep my voice as level as possible. “How well do you know Zeke?” “Not well at all,” he admits. “Been around him a handful of times.” “Well, that should have been plenty for you to get he’s a mean son of a bitch. Runs that club as if he’s Hitler and uses that same mentality on everyone around him, even his baby daughter. He’s rotten to the core, and that sick bastard has no fondness or love for Belle. She’s his property, and that’s all he cares about.” I’m not sure what it is about that last statement, but Bridger’s entire body goes tight and his eyes flame with something akin to hatred. His voice doesn’t rise, but there’s no hiding the thunder of repressed anger. “Why exactly did you run? You stayed there for a few years after she was born.” Shame overwhelms me because he’s forcing me very close to considering the question I’ve asked myself over and over again in the past few months. It’s not the same exact question he just asked, but it’s close enough. Why didn’t I run sooner? “You have to understand,” I whisper in response to what he just asked. “I didn’t think Belle was in any real danger at first. I mean… most of the time, Zeke ignored us both. Sometimes, he’d yell at me to keep her quiet if she was crying, but we were usually left alone. I cared for her, stayed in my room for the

most part, and we sort of flew under the radar.” “What happened?” he prods. As Belle grew, started to walk, and became insanely curious about the world around her, I had a harder time keeping her in the solitary confinement of our room at the compound. I’d carefully take her outside when I knew Zeke was out and about to let her play in the fresh air. We were pretty much ignored, which was good. Until the time when Belle wasn’t ignored. “There was a stray dog that hung around the compound that had puppies,” I tell him with my eyes once again lowered to the table and my voice sounding oddly detached. “Belle liked to play with them. It was the highlight of her day to be able to go outside to be around them. One day, Zeke came out into the yard area where Belle was playing. He was drunk, which always made him meaner. I tried to pick up Belle and get her inside before he noticed us, but she’s two years old and she did what most toddlers would do. She pitched a fit and started crying, wanting to stay with the puppies.” Bile starts to rise in my throat so it chokes my words down. I take another sip of water and hesitantly slide my gaze over to Bridger’s. His face appears impassive, but his eyes are simmering with anger. Yet his voice is surprisingly encouraging when he says, “Go on.” I give a slight cough to clear my throat and press forward. “Her cries got Zeke’s attention, and he came our way. She was struggling to get out of my hold to get to the puppies… you know… in full-blown tantrum mode. Zeke yelled at her to ‘shut the fuck up’. That just made her scream louder. So he reached down, grabbed one of the puppies by the scruff, and held it up for her to see. I’ll never forget the way he taunted his daughter. He shook the puppy and told her, ‘I’ll give you something to cry about,’ and then he punted the puppy like a football. Poor thing didn’t stand a chance against those heavy biker boots. He was dead before he hit the ground.” My body shudders as I say those last words, my mind immediately turning to Belle’s reaction. “She went limp in my arms, her mouth hanging open as her tear-filled eyes watched the limp puppy lying on the ground several feet away. I’ll never forget the tiny little moan that slid past those precious baby lips, then her mouth clamped shut and she didn’t utter another sound. Not for five days.” “Jesus fucking Christ,” Bridger grits out as he pushes off the stool. I involuntarily shrink backward, thinking his anger for the situation is aimed at me. Because let’s face it… it’s my fault Belle was in that environment. I should have run the minute I found out I was pregnant. I knew Zeke, and I knew he wasn’t father material. I knew… something like that would happen one day. “I’m a terrible mother,” I say as he advances on me. I admit my failure to him, having no clue what he’s going to do to me, but by the murderous expression on his face, I know it’s going to hurt. Bridger stalks right to me but rather than raising his hand to strike me, or pulling me from my chair to throw me out of the safety of his house, he drops to his knees by my chair and puts a large hand around the back of my neck, forcing me to turn to look at him. “You are not a terrible mother. You took your child and ran. You protected her.” “Not at first,” I argue, my mind refusing to believe his words. “You did what you had to do, and you did what was right when it truly mattered.” I don’t respond, but I don’t drop my gaze from his either. I study him critically to see if he’s just blowing smoke up my ass or if he truly believes those words. He stares right back at me, and I can see from deep within those orbs the color of molten cognac that he knows a little something of what I’ve been through. In that moment, I realize I was right to trust him with this information. With a soft squeeze to my neck, Bridger releases me and stands up, but he doesn’t move away.

Looking down at me, he asks gravely, “You don’t have to tell me details, but are you sure Belle’s safe where she’s at?” I give a tentative nod. “I think so.” “Well, at least that gives us some time to decide what the best thing to do is,” Bridger says almost absently as he turns from me and reaches for his bottle of water. “For right now, I imagine the only person looking for you is Kayla, but when Zeke returns, he’s going to put all his resources into finding you again.” I nod, because I know that’s true. “Then I should probably leave.” “You’re not going anywhere,” he says gruffly. “You’re going to stay here and recover. It will be the last thing Zeke would ever think… that you’d stay in this area.” His words warm me… fill me with a small measure of hope, but I have to remember the reality of the situation. “Bridger… if he finds out you’re helping me, he’ll…” I can’t even say it. “I know,” he says resolutely. “But fuck if I’m going to let him get his hands on you or Belle.” And by the tone in his voice and the blazing determination in his eyes, I know he’s making me a promise he intends to keep.

Chapter 5

Bridger THE ORGASM IS just beyond my reach, taunting me with its special brand of relief. It’s not something I really want, but it’s definitely something I need. Opening my eyes, I look down at the blonde head bobbing vigorously over my cock. I can’t see her face, but I can feel the warmth of her mouth as she takes me in deep and sucks hard. Carina. One of my bartenders. She gives good head, minimal gag reflex. I should be busting an easy nut, but my body’s not cooperating. Oh, my cock’s hard enough and it feels good, but I can’t seem to get the job finished. For the first time in… well, forever… I’m being sidetracked by worries, and it’s impeding on my ability to blow a hard load. Fucking Maggie. Goddamn gorgeous woman with a shit life and an even shittier future at this point, camped back at my house and completely lost in this world. I don’t want her problems to be my problems, but, for the life of me, I can’t seem to shake them free. I’m obsessing about her healing, keeping her safe from Zeke, and wondering how in the hell I can help protect her daughter when I don’t even know where she is. I’ve taken on her worries because I know how hard it is to break free from a terrible situation. I know what it’s like to have no good options. Most importantly, I understand the overwhelming guilt that gets directed toward yourself for not doing it sooner once you finally do get free. Almost as if you enjoyed the abuse you were receiving. And Christ… the abuse she took. Maggie probably doesn’t understand it, but when I realized all that shit she took… beatings and torture, but she never broke down and gave Belle up? Well, that right there had me respecting the shit out of her. Carina changes tactics, concentrating on just the head of my dick and jacking the base with her hand. Yup… that feels good too, and I try to concentrate on that feeling so I can get it done. Involuntarily, I start to imagine warm, brown hair instead of blonde, with streaks the color of a dark caramel running through. It’s the first thing I noticed about Maggie when she came out of the shower three days ago and I saw her clean for the first time. Her hair was stunning, even still damp, but it dried while we talked. The colors broke through then, and I couldn’t stop checking her out. A tingling starts in my balls. This gives me relief the end is in sight and my dick isn’t broken. Apparently, just the thought of Maggie’s hair does it for me. I wonder what would happen if I imagined those full lips pulled back and her teeth grazing against my cock… “Pull off,” I mutter to Carina as an orgasm starts to build from deep within. Thoughts of Maggie sucking my cock become vivid. In my imagination, she looks up at me with fern-colored eyes filled with lust as her teeth scrape over the head of my cock. Carina doesn’t listen, apparently wanting to show me that her amazing skills include an aptitude for swallowing, and she tries to suck me in deeper. I wonder if Maggie could deep throat me? “Fuck,” I mutter as a violent tremor runs up my spine. I grab Carina’s hair, pulling her off me just as I

start to erupt. Not a single drop lands on her tongue, thank fuck, but instead hits the side of her face as I push her away from me with a low groan of half-hearted release. “For fuck’s sake, Bridger,” Carina complains as she sits back on her haunches and wipes my jizz off her face with the back of her hand. “I was willing to swallow.” “Yeah, well, I wasn’t,” I growl at her as I push out of my desk chair and tuck my softening dick back in my jeans. That was utterly lackluster. The three seconds of pleasure seems almost wasteful, the only redeeming part of the whole experience was imagining Maggie on her knees before me. Christ, I have got to get control over this shit. I’ve got no business even thinking those thoughts. I don’t look back at Carina as she starts to push off the floor, but I do gentle my voice somewhat. “Go ahead and get back to work. There’ll be a little bonus in your paycheck.” She snorts in response but in moments, I hear her walk out the door and pull it shut behind her. Carina likes pretty clothes and designer handbags, and gladly sucks my dick while we both pretend the extra money I add to her regular paycheck isn’t a form of prostitution. It sort of compromises my morals, but those are so tattered to begin with, I don’t obsess about it much. I look back to my desk. There’s no denying I’ve got plenty of work I could do. I have to look over account reconciliations and sign off on inventory orders, but truth be told, I’d rather head back to my house and see what Maggie’s doing. There’s a brief moment of indecision before I think, Fuck it. Grabbing my keys off my desk, I head out of my office and call it an early night.

* I FIND MAGGIE on her usual perch, on my big leather couch, sitting on one end with her feet curled up underneath her. I don’t need to look at the television to know she’s watching The Walking Dead. I know it by the way she has a soft blanket covering her body with the edges pulled protectively up to her neck as she stares at the screen with wide, tension-filled eyes. “Thought you were too scared to watch that by yourself,” I say as I close the front door and lock it. I toss my car keys on the small table sitting to the side of the door. She doesn’t take her eyes off the TV but says, “I can’t help it. I’m addicted.” A lot and not much has happened in the past three days since Maggie came out of her drug-induced stupor and told me about her predicament. She’s slept a lot, and that’s good. It’s the best thing for her healing, and I can tell she’s moving around more easily now and taking less pain meds. She’s quiet for the most part, trying to be unobtrusive in my house because she doesn’t want to be a burden on me. I’m sure she’d be fascinated to know that I don’t find her to be a burden, but I am worried about the situation as a whole. Instead, I find Maggie to be a calming sort of roommate. She’s considerate and keeps her stuff picked up, which includes a ton of new clothes that I went out and bought for her despite her protest. I merely pointed out to her that she couldn’t live in her one outfit. It had bloodstains that wouldn’t come out. I also told her I didn’t mind getting her the clothes, although I’ll admit my thoughts ran on the lewd side as I was picking out her panties and bras in silk and lace rather than practical cotton. Maggie’s cleaned my house, although I’ve asked her not to because I don’t expect it, and I know she has to still be in some pain. She ignores me though, and when I get home from work, my house is sparkling and she’s got dinner cooked. I don’t argue against dinner though as she’s a much better cook than I am. In the evenings, I found myself coming home early from The Wicked Horse, and we’d end up watching TV together. She told me that first night when I introduced her to The Walking Dead that she hadn’t seen a

movie or television program in well over three years as there wasn’t a TV in her room at the compound. The most she’d seen had been some bad porn Zeke would play before he fucked her—a fact I would have rather not known about, but Maggie doesn’t hold anything back. It’s as if once she told me the truth of her past, she wasn’t going to hide the brutal details from me. “Did you eat dinner?” she asks as she pulls the remote control out from underneath the blanket and points it at the TV, pausing it. “Yeah,” I mutter as I walk around the coffee table and sit in my recliner. “Grabbed something at the club.” I told Maggie I owned The Wicked Horse, but I obviously left out the part about me owning a secret sex club attached to it. There’s no way she’s ready to hear about The Silo and everything it entails. I haven’t seen Maggie all day, having left early this morning before she awoke. I’d moved her into the guest room—not the one I’d fucked Jared in as I hadn’t been able to replace the comforter—and she’d been asleep when I’d left this morning to go help Woolf out on the ranch. I’d been wanting to get back on a horse and ride range for a while, something I find myself deeply desiring the more time I spend in my office as I’m a true outdoorsman more than I am a businessman. My eyes quickly roam over her, and I observe, “You look better. Feel okay?” I ask her this each night before we watch TV together. She smiles, like she always does, and nods. “Yeah… I feel a lot better each day. I didn’t even take any pain medication today.” “You should take it,” I admonish gently. She shakes her head. “No, seriously… I’m feeling much better. The bruises are fading, and I’m sleeping a lot. I really don’t hurt very much.” “But you still hurt,” I point out. “Not enough for those pain meds,” she counters with a pointed look. “I don’t like the way they make me feel, and besides… Jared said I didn’t have to take them if I didn’t want to.” I grimace. Fucking Jared. He came to check on Maggie yesterday at my request. He proclaimed her to be healing very well, which was fantastic news. But when I walked him to my front door, he turned to me with expectant eyes. I shut that shit down quickly. “I thank you for what you’ve done and I owed you, but I also paid you. Got it?” He hesitated only a moment before nodding at me with a look of sadness. He started to turn away but stopped when I said, “Jared.” Once his eyes connected to mine, I made sure he understood the situation. “You do not tell a soul about Maggie, you hear?” He nodded again. While I’m pretty sure he’d never say a word, I reiterated. “You’ve got secrets that I protect too. Quid pro quo, right?” “Of course,” he assured me. “Quid pro quo.” Maggie pushes the blanket off her and it draws my attention, snapping me back to the present. She stands up from the couch, and I have to clamp my teeth down hard to keep my mouth from falling open. She’s wearing a t-shirt and a pair of workout pants that I bought her. In hindsight, they might be a tad too small. They look painted onto her. I take notice of how luscious that ass of hers really is and that her tits are huge, which is something I can’t appreciate when she’s wearing my t-shirts. I swallow hard and turn my head toward the TV screen. “I’m going to make some tea and then take a bath,” she says softly. “Want some?” No, it’s definitely not tea that I want. Bath sounds interesting, but she’s clearly not inviting me. “No, thanks,” I tell her with a pasted smile on my face. She smiles back hesitantly and turns toward

the kitchen. I unabashedly stare at her swaying ass as she walks away. When her body is hidden by the kitchen island, I push up from my recliner and make my usual rounds that I implemented the day Kyle dumped Maggie on me. I walk through the house and check all the doors and windows to ensure they’re locked. After, I set the security alarm, and then check my stash of guns. It’s Wyoming and as a native son, I have guns. Lots and lots of them. I use them mainly to hunt and target shoot, but now I’ve got them set up strategically around the house in case I were to need them for… oh, say… Zeke finding out I’ve got Maggie and coming after her. Got a shotgun under the couch, a pistol in one of the kitchen drawers, another taped under my bed, and a fourth shotgun in the middle guest room mounted just behind the door. I asked Maggie if she knew how to use a gun, and she shook her head with a look of extreme fear in her eyes. I assured her I’d find some time to teach her, but she looked positively sick at the thought so I let it go for the time being. Maggie did ask me an interesting question on the heels of that though. “Do you think I should just go to the police right now? Tell them Zeke kidnapped me, beat me, and that Kayla tortured me?” I had to give that some serious thought, but ultimately, I didn’t think it was a good idea. First, he’d probably be arrested and let out on bail, then Maggie would be in more danger than she was right this moment. Also, I didn’t want to do anything to screw up Kyle. He asked for some time, and, as long as Maggie was safely hidden, we could afford to give it to him. As I’m walking down the hallway to head back into the living room, I hear the sound of running water from the guest bathroom as I pass by it. The door’s closed and light seeps out from the crack below. I can tell by the sound that she’s filling the bathtub up, and I sigh with frustration that I want the woman who sits on the other side of that door. But that’s certainly not cool, particularly when I’ve told her she’s safe here and being with me would not be safe. I’m slightly startled when my phone buzzes in my back pocket. I pull it out and see it’s Cal Carson, a friend of mine from New York. I walk back toward my bedroom for some privacy as I answer, “Hey, man. What’s up?” “Just got off the phone with Logan and Auralie, giving them an update. Thought I’d do the same for you.” I enter my bedroom and shut the door behind me. A few weeks ago, Cal helped out Auralie and her father by arranging legal protection for them. He facilitated a deal with a federal prosecutor to help bring down Magnus Albright, a fucking skeevy son of a bitch who was using Auralie to run a con in The Silo. He was peddling her as a virgin to the highest bidder, and she had no choice but to do his bidding or Magnus would kill her father. It was a bad situation, and my buddy Logan got caught up in it, but all’s well now. At least, I think it is. “Everything okay?” I ask hesitantly, and I hope to fuck it is. I’ve got enough worries at the moment. “It’s all good,” Cal assures me. “Magnus is still in jail and can’t afford bail. The prosecutor wants to know if you’re interested in pressing charges since you’re sort of a victim too as the owner of The Silo.” “No way,” I say without needing to think on it. While I’m in no way ashamed of my business, I don’t want it paraded out there in public. “Besides… I’m sure they got more than enough to put him away for a long time.” “That they do,” Cal says with a laugh. But then he gives a cough and says, “Listen… Macy and I want to take a little trip. Figured we’d finally accept your invite to come visit The Silo. That still good?” I smile as I pace my bedroom floor, because I know without a doubt that Cal and Macy will love The Silo. In fact, I’d first met them in New York when Woolf and I were visiting a sex club there called Voyeur. We visited several around the country as we were making plans to open The Silo, getting ideas and taking the best of them to create our own vision. While Woolf and I didn’t participate with Cal and

Macy, we certainly watched each other do some kinky ass shit. After that, we all went out for drinks together. It started a solid friendship based upon a mutual appreciation of the more debauched pleasures in life. Cal had openly admitted he’d had a hard time with the concept of a sex club and didn’t like his first experience there. But since then, he’s indulged Macy. After his third scotch, he even more openly admitted that once he gave his heart to her fully, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her. And if that included indulging in her sexual whims, he would happily do so. He also admitted, after the fourth drink, that once you love someone, the worries and insecurities seem to melt away, and it makes the kinky fucking that much better. Woolf howled with laughter at that, but Macy merely smiled at him with eyes shimmering with love. It was nice. They’re nice. “Sure,” I tell him. “Love to have you. Just shoot me a text when you’ll arrive. I’ll book a hotel room for you at The Wort, and you’ll have VIP access the entire time to The Silo.” “Excellent,” Cal says jovially. “Macy’s been hounding me for months, but I’ve been so fucking busy with work. But it’s a good time for us to slip away and have some relaxation and fun.” “Look forward to seeing you,” I tell him, but my mind starts slipping away and focusing back on Maggie. I can’t put off this talk. “Listen buddy… I’ve got to get going. Text me details, okay?” “Sure thing,” Cal responds. He disconnects the call after a quick, “Later.” Taking a deep breath, I look at my bedroom door, knowing Maggie’s on the other side and just down a short hallway. As soon as she finishes her bath, it’s time we talked. More accurately, it’s time she learned about The Silo and what I do for a living. I have no choice but to disclose it to her now. I look back to my phone, tap on the “text” icon, and pull up my messages. The one on top with the bolded name “Zeke” seems to pulse like neon. I’d received it a few hours ago. It’s what precipitated me to have Carina suck my cock to try to work off some of the tension it immediately caused. Be back in town tomorrow. Be at compound at 11pm. I want a show.

Yeah. It’s time Maggie knew about what I did for a living and how that connects me to her abuser.

Chapter 6

Maggie I KNOW I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t help myself. Bridger looked damn good when he came home a bit ago. He was too damn nice when he asked me how I was doing, the worry evident in his eyes. He’s been an amazing host these last few days, but more than that, he’s given me sanctuary. For the first time in years, I feel safe. And the overwhelming gratefulness I feel for him is now starting to screw with my mind. I’d thought he was beyond handsome the first time I’d seen him, although my fear was too great then for me to appreciate it. But the more I get to know him, and the more time we spend in each other’s presence, he’s become more than just a gorgeous man to me. I’ve become attracted to him in a way I have no business being. He’s gay, for God’s sake. Here I am, lusting after a man who could never feel that way about me, and even shittier, has done nothing but be kind and generous to me. And I feel terrible for it. Sometimes, he’ll be talking to me and all I can think about is having sex with him. This embarrasses me so much, because I’m not one who thinks about sex like that. It’s not ever been about my pleasure. Not ever. It’s been a commodity I use, and it’s gotten me places. Not good places, granted, but it’s provided me with what I’ve needed to survive. But Bridger… he makes me think of sex in a completely different way. Not as a tool or even a burden, but in a way that makes me think it can be sensual, decadent, and mutually satisfying. A foreign concept for sure, but I still fantasize about it anyway, even though I know he’s interested in men and not women. It just fucks with my head, that I could be attracted to someone who would never have an interest in me. A man who’s completely untouchable. Perhaps that makes him even sexier to my way of thinking. Add on the fact he’s become a hero to me in a few short days by taking me in and keeping me safe and I’m completely romanticizing him in my mind. Just like right now as I sink down into the tub just far enough that the warm water laps over my breasts but doesn’t touch the Bose headphones Bridger told me I could use to listen to music. He gave them to me a few days ago when I asked him if he had a stereo I could put on while I cleaned. He said he didn’t and disappeared into his bedroom, but he came back with an iPod and the headphones that I’ve used religiously since then. Bridger has excellent taste in music. I choose one of my favorite songs, “Let’s Make Love” by Faith Hill and Tim McGraw, closing my eyes as the music fills my ears. I immediately start to relax, which is testament to the fact that over the last few days, I’ve given into the security and comfort Bridger and his home have offered to me. It’s the safest I’ve been in a long time, and only because I don’t have to look over my shoulder or worry about being tortured to death by Kayla. While I miss Belle so much my chest continually aches, I know she’s safe and in the best place she can be right now. As the warm water soothes me and Faith and Tim sing about the sexiest of times, I think of Bridger because I can’t help but do so. He’s physically perfect to my way of thinking, his looks more masculine and rugged than any Wyoming cowboy has a right to be. One morning, I found him in the kitchen in just a pair of sweatpants. I stared like an idiot at his torso, which was rippled with muscle and adorned by a

flock of blackbirds flying up his rib cage. But truth be told, it’s Bridger’s eyes that do it for me. Golden brown, sometimes even glowing with a hint of orange like a Wyoming sunset. On more than one occasion, they have been filled with a fierce protectiveness when he talks about keeping me safe from Zeke. Call it hero worship or whatever, but it struck me deep and true and sparked some vivid fantasies that make me want to turn him hetero. Like right now. I wonder if Bridger would be gentle or rough. I’ve had gentle a few times, but it was mediocre at best. Mostly, I’ve had rough. Thankfully, it was over fast. Somehow though, I think Bridger might be both and that causes my hand to slip unbidden in between my legs as I think about how hard he must have been fucking Jared that night based on the sounds of pleasure I heard. And I’ve deduced it was Jared because when he came to check on me, I definitely noticed some gay mannerisms, although I could be wrong as I don’t remember much about Logan at all. A shudder works its way up my spine, and I imagine what his mouth would feel like against mine or his hands on my breasts. An ache develops between my legs. As my fingers gently touch my clit, I fantasize that it’s Bridger’s tongue there. My hips jerk as I press my fingers down, and a long moan slips out of my mouth. I’m immediately mortified because it was loud. I know it was loud because I could hear it over the music in my ears. My eyes slowly open, my heart pounding with fear that Bridger might have heard me, but movement from my periphery startles me. I bolt upright in the tub as I realize Bridger is leaning into the bathroom, the door partly open. His eyes are burning as they stare at me. I rip the headphones off and toss them to the floor while stammering, “What are you doing?” I can feel my face burning hot from embarrassment. As an afterthought, I bring my hands up to cover my breasts as I slouch back down in the water. Bridger’s eyes never waver from mine, but his voice is thickened when he says, “I was knocking on the door, but you didn’t answer. I was worried.” “Well, I’m fine,” I huff out as I lean my head back against the tub, wishing I’d just melt into the water and never have to deal with him again. I can’t believe he caught me masturbating, and I seriously just want to die from the mortification. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he says carefully, but I close my eyes, refusing to look at him. “I’ll let you… um… finish.” “I’m finished,” I blurt out, reaching for the towel I’d put on top of the toilet tank beside the bathtub. “Take your time,” he insists, and my face flames hotter. I still refuse to look at him, but then he says, “When you’re done, we need to talk.” His voice sounds so ominous that all thoughts of embarrassment flee. “Is it about Zeke?” “Sort of,” is all he says, and then he steps backward and pulls the door shut. I scramble out of the tub, my heart racing. I do a half-assed job of drying off, putting on clean underwear and another pair of yoga pants Bridger bought me. He doesn’t know much about women’s fashion, but I really don’t care, as I’m not going out in public. I pull on another t-shirt, foregoing my bra in my haste to find out what he knows, and almost bust my ass as I slip on a wet spot on the floor as I try to bolt out of the bathroom. I take a deep breath as I half walk, half jog to the living room where I find Bridger sitting in his recliner, but he’s perched on the edge of the seat with his elbows to his knees. He nods at the couch. I take my usual position at the end, facing him with my legs crossed Indian-style. Before he can say anything though, I try to diffuse my embarrassment and I’m sure his as well. “I’m really sorry that you saw me…”

Bridger holds his hand up to stop me. “You don’t have to apologize.” “But I do,” I insist. “Maggie,” Bridger says with an admonishing look. “What you were doing is natural and trust me… it was no hardship watching a beautiful woman pleasure herself.” My jaw drops open over his words, which are dripping… yes, absolutely dripping with appreciation, even though his face remains impassive. “But you’re gay… aren’t you?” I blurt out. Bridger blinks at me with a look of stunned disbelief. For a moment, I think perhaps he’s deep in the closet and doesn’t want anyone to know, which makes me feel even more wretched. Then his lips peel back and he lets out a deep laugh, his eyes crinkling with jolly amusement. “Aren’t you?” I insist. “Darlin’,” Bridger says as he chuckles. “I am the farthest thing from gay that there is.” “But… I heard you that night… with Jared. At least, I think it was Jared…” Bridger stops laughing and his jaw hardens slightly. He stares at me a moment, almost as if trying to figure out the best way to drop bad news, and this has me tensing up all over. His voice is rough… not with embarrassment, but maybe with disgust when he says, “You heard me fucking Jared, who is gay. It’s what he wanted in payment for treating you.” My jaw drops again. “You fucked a man to pay him for treating me?” “Do it again if faced with the same decision,” he says gruffly. “It was a fair trade.” “A trade,” I ask in disbelief. “You fucked a man even though you’re not gay so he’d give me medical treatment?” “’Bout sums it up,” he says dryly. I’m so confused and deeply saddened for some reason as I struggle to understand. “So you’re bisexual then?” Bridger pushes off the recliner with a grunt of dissatisfaction, takes two steps, and sits next to me on the couch before turning his body to face me. His hand reaches out, grips me by my jaw, and he leans in before saying in a low voice. “Hear me, Maggie. I’m not gay. I’m not bisexual. I’m turned on by women and not men, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t fucked men in my past, and probably will again in my future if it serves my needs.” “But… but… I hate that you did something like that for me. That you had to do something terrible…” Bridger’s fingers squeeze my jaw. “It wasn’t terrible, Mags.” Mags. He called me Mags. My best friend in middle school used to call me that, and I’d always loved that endearment. “It wasn’t terrible?” He shakes his head and shrugs. “I got off. I mean, fucking is fucking, you know?” “No,” I whisper. “I don’t know.” Because I don’t. It’s hard for me to get off with a man, mainly because no one has ever cared about my pleasure before. Bridger’s hand pulls back. He brings it to his own head where he rakes his fingers through brown locks that look in desperate need of a trim. Yet, I hope he leaves it just as it is. With a sigh, he says, “I need to tell you some stuff about me.” “Oh-kay,” I say cautiously, the tone of his voice putting me on edge. “I own a sex club called The Silo,” he says, and I wasn’t prepared for that at all. Of all the things I thought he might say, that would not have been near the top of any list.

“I thought you owned a nightclub,” I mutter. “I do, as well as a sex club. My life… my career… it’s about sex. It’s always been about sex for… well, as long as I can remember. And I’ve taken that and turned it into something good, not only for me, but also for other people who want a safe place to act out their dirtiest fantasies without fear of judgment or recrimination.” I just stare at him, oddly repulsed and fascinated. With horror, I realize… also slightly turned on now that I know he’s not gay but still fucked a man so that I’d have medical care. And damn… now I wished I’d seen that rather than just heard it because the thought of Bridger… I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. “Why are you telling me this… that you own a sex club? It has nothing to do with me.” “It does,” he says as his eyes cut downward to his lap briefly. It’s an action I recognize… shame. “It’s how I know Zeke.” “What?” I gasp. His eyes snap back up to mine, and they’re filled with resolution. “I was introduced to Zeke by a mutual acquaintance, and I was subsequently invited to some parties out at the compound. I went a few times… met Kyle and got to know some of the other guys as well. I performed some services… for Zeke and Kayla.” “Services?” I ask, my throat tightening up with apprehension. “BDSM,” he says. “Zeke had me do things to Kayla while he watched.” “What kind of things?” I rasp out, not wanting to know but needing to desperately. He’s talking about things of a sexual nature and while he’s maintained to me all along he’s not friends with Zeke, I’m sorry… but sex is personal and I’m starting to feel my spider senses tingle with fear. Bridger’s eyes hold mine captive. “Kayla gets off on pain. So I give it to her. Usually with a whip, sometimes with a cane. I’d hurt her until she came, and then Zeke would fuck her.” “Did you—” I start to say, but my voice cracks. I clear my throat, start again. “Did you fuck her?” “Never,” he says forcefully. “Not once.” “Zeke?” “No, Maggie.” Bridger growls with frustration and launches off the couch. He steps past the coffee table, heading toward the door where he peels the blinds back and peeks outside. I’m not sure what he expects to see, but he quickly turns back to me. “You don’t understand… I don’t get off on handing out the pain. Not in a sexual way. They pay me money to deliver it, and I accept it. It’s what I do, that’s all.” “It’s what you do?” I inquire stupidly, because I’m more confused than ever now. “I have to do it,” Bridger says quietly. “It’s who I am.” I shake my head, look down briefly at my hands clasped in my lap, and then back up to him. “I don’t understand.” “Join the club,” he mutters as he walks back toward me. Rather than taking the couch, he sits down on the coffee table and reaches out. His hands cover and engulf mine, holding them protectively. “I owe Zeke a favor. He’s summoned me out to the club tomorrow night.” “To service Kayla?” I ask with quiet dejection as my eyes fall down to his hands covering mine. “I don’t think so,” he says softly. That makes me look back up, because I hear relief in his voice. “He gave up one of his club members a while back who attacked a friend of mine. Turned him over to the police. That’s the favor I owe him. In the past, he told me he wants me to come out and put on a show for the other members with some of the club girls.” I nod, but I still don’t understand. I mean… I get what Bridger is saying and I’m clear on what he’s done in the past. I guess what I don’t understand is if he still intends to protect me or not. So I ask the

question I’m dreading the answer to. “So… are you going to turn me over to him?” “For fuck’s sake, Maggie,” Bridger practically barks at me, his hands tightening on mine almost painfully. “Didn’t I tell you I’d protect you?” His eyes flash with fury, and there’s no doubt he’s pissed over my lack of faith in him. “I’m sorry… I just… you threw me for a loop, Bridger. And what am I supposed to think? Doing sexual… um… things to someone… for someone… well, that’s sort of a personal relationship. You also owe Zeke a favor. Why not turn me over to him and collect on your favor?” “Because I’m telling you I wouldn’t ever do that,” he growls at me. “I will protect you.” God, can I believe him? I want to believe him so much because I don’t want to give up this safety I’ve been feeling. I don’t want to lose the hope I’ve started to foster that I’ll get Belle back as soon as Kyle takes Zeke down. I’m not ready to give up… Bridger? I mean, damn it… he caught me masturbating to fantasies of him, advised me he wasn’t gay, which seem to make the fantasies okay now, and then proceeded to tell me he whips Kayla while Zeke watches. I’m appalled and turned on all at the same time. I’m so fucking confused. “I’m sorry. I’m just a bit stressed over everything.” Some of the heat dies down in his eyes, but he still looks at me with chastisement. “I’ve got to go tomorrow night so I don’t arouse suspicion, but I’m hoping I can use it as an opportunity to talk to Kyle… see what’s happening. I’m hoping to get some information at the very least that will clue us in on what we need to do next.” I look at him directly in the eye, and I see determination to help me. I can see it sitting there with stubborn refusal to accept anything less than my absolute protection, and God help me… it makes me want to kiss him. “Tomorrow night…when I go to the compound,” Bridger says, his thumb now stroking the back of my hand. “I’m going to have a friend come stay with you.” “Do you think that’s necessary?” I ask with worry. “Probably not,” he assures me. “But in the very off chance Zeke knows you’re here and he’s doing this to lead me away, I want someone looking over you and willing to protect you in my absence.” I nod, because what else can I do but accept this? I don’t want to die, and I sure as hell don’t want to go back to the compound with Zeke. Then Bridger surprises the shit out of me when he leans forward and gives me a quick kiss on my forehead. His lips are warm and dry… soft and gentle. It’s a sweet move on his part, but it’s sexy to me. Bridger pulls away and stands up, refusing to look at me as he turns toward the hallway. “I’m headed to bed.” I don’t want him to go. I want him to stay and continue to talk to me. I want him to kiss me again, this time on my mouth, maybe my breasts, and then on my— “Bridger?” I call out to him, wincing internally at the desperate tone in my voice. It reeks of a pitiful need I have but that I really have no business asking him to fill. He stops but doesn’t turn back to me, his head bowed downward. “Don’t.” “But—” “We can’t,” he says firmly, still refusing to look me in the eye while he denies me. And without another word, he disappears from sight.

Chapter 7

Bridger I ENTER THE front door of the main building of the compound, assaulted by loud music, smoke, and the cacophony of drunk bikers partying. It’s the last place on this earth I want to be, but it has to be done. Woolf came over to stay with Maggie at my house tonight while I do my thing. I told him about her when I was at his ranch the day before, not because I thought I’d need his help to watch over her, but because I didn’t keep many secrets from Woolf and I trusted his wisdom. I thought I had a good handle on the situation, but I wanted to know if he would see things different than I was. Not surprisingly, he felt I was doing the right thing and volunteered to help in any way he could. One way he suggested was going to Kyle’s sister, Andrea. I’d met her briefly when Woolf’s brother, Tenn, got married on the ranch. Tenn knows Kyle, probably better than I do as he had Kyle do some work on his bike. They once rode cross-country together as Kyle wanted to visit Andrea, who lived in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Andrea used to be an FBI agent. Woolf surmised that maybe Andrea knew about Kyle’s undercover operation and could help us get word to the ATF about Maggie and Belle. Maybe they could even put Maggie in protective custody until Kyle could finish his bust, but I really didn’t like that idea because I didn’t want Maggie to leave. Which is fucking stupid because I owe her nothing. I shouldn’t be overly concerned with her protection if it can be gotten from a better source. Still, I declined Woolf’s offer by reasoning there was a chance Andrea didn’t know about Kyle’s undercover work and that it was something he should tell her and not us. He seemed to buy it and agreed. Turning down his offer certainly had nothing to do with the fact I liked Maggie in my house more and more every day. The main building of the compound houses a large room on the first floor that has a built-in bar, several pool tables, and various pieces of furniture for members to sit on. The second floor houses bedrooms for club members to sleep or fuck in, and I know this because that’s where Zeke had me perform with Kayla before. Hitching the strap of my tool bag higher over my shoulder, I wind my way in and out of the partiers. Big, burly men with sweat-stained shirts, worn leather cuts, and reeking of booze and pot. Trashy-looking women in miniscule clothing and garish makeup holding on to said sweaty men in an effort to perhaps elevate from club whore to old lady. Other women, slightly less trashy looking, stand in small pockets talking to each other, without the need to command the bikers’ attention. Those are the old ladies who’ve already captured the interests they wanted. I nod at a few of the members I recognize, pushing my way to the bar. I surreptitiously sweep my gaze around, looking mainly for Kyle but also keeping a lookout for Zeke. I’m handed a beer from a woman behind the bar whose face is pockmarked and teeth rotted from meth, and take a sip before turning around to peruse the situation. My gaze first lands on Kayla, standing with a few other old ladies near one of the pool tables with a cue stick in her hand. Even across the room, I can see the vicious bruise she’s sporting around her right eye and cheekbone, and there’s no doubt in my mind Zeke handed that out to her. If I had to put money on it, I’d bet he was not happy to have returned and found Maggie missing. He probably took it out on her.

Not the first time I’d seen bruises on her. Hell, I’d put bruises on her at his direction. Sweeping my eyes past her, I see Kyle walking in from the door that leads out back where I know the party will be raging around a huge bonfire. He looks at me, our eyes connecting for just a moment, and then he looks right past me. I watch as he walks over to a woman sitting on a low-slung couch that is probably stained heavy from beer and cum. He reaches down to grab her hand and then leads her up the staircase to the second floor. His message is clear. To everyone else in the room who may have watched, he’s going to fuck this woman. To me, his immediate brush-off said he didn’t want to talk to me. I have to assume he doesn’t want to risk anything at this time. A hand claps me on the shoulder, and I turn to see Zeke standing there. He’s an average-built man standing at about five-ten or so, which has me looking down at him as I top him by several inches. Not too muscular but not skinny either. I’d guess he’s in his late forties, early fifties, but it’s hard to tell. His face is haggard and his dark, braided ponytail is streaked with silver, as is his beard. I’ve always thought his eyes were ice cold despite being a warm brown, and the thing that makes him somewhat intimidating is that they are filled with intelligence. He doesn’t rule just with brute force, but he does so using his brain, which makes him a formidable opponent even though I could probably whip his ass with one arm tied behind my back. “Right on time,” he says gruffly, and then turns from me as he puts his forefinger and thumb in his mouth, giving a shrill whistle that’s heard by everyone above the music. They all turn to the sound, but Zeke’s eyes are pinned to a woman across the room who is sitting on a biker’s lap. His hand is massaging her breast. She makes eye contact with Zeke, and he jerks his head for her to come to him. Everyone else goes back to partying. When the woman comes to stand before Zeke, I feel the salaciousness vibrating off her. Her eyes are filled with a pathetic need to be recognized by Zeke. “What’s up, baby?” she purrs, stepping into Zeke and putting her hand on his crotch to rub him. Zeke tilts his head to me. “This is Bridger. I want you to do whatever he tells you to do.” My skin tightens with unease. “Need her full consent,” I tell Zeke pointedly, and we engage in a bit of a staring war. He wants to prove his dick is big enough to order a woman to let me whip her and that she’ll do it with a smile on her face. But I don’t back down, refusing to break eye contact or move until I have her full consent. Zeke finally turns to the woman and says, “Bridger is going to put on a show with you for the boys. It will probably involve a whip. Most definitely is going to hurt. He might fuck you or have one of the boys fuck you. Could be in any hole you got. Could be multiple guys. Now do me a fucking favor… tell him you consent.” The woman turns to me. I note with a measure of relief that her eyes are clear and she appears lucid. She smiles at me. I’m surprised that it’s a pretty smile with straight, even teeth that tells me she had braces in the past. “Darlin’… I’ll take anything you throw at me. Make it hurt good.” “I’ll give you a safe word—” I start to say, but she shakes her head in denial. “I don’t need a safe word,” she says, sliding a brave look toward Zeke, who she’s clearly trying to impress. “You’ll have one or I walk out of here,” I growl at them both, and Zeke laughs. “Fine,” she huffs, looking extremely disappointed I won’t let her shine in front of Zeke. “What’s my word?” “Let’s go with ‘stop’,” I tell her with an incline of my head. “It works universally.” “But that’s so ordinary,” she huffs. “And yet, it works just fine,” I point out and take her by the elbow. “Just don’t say it unless you mean it.”

* I NEVER DID find out her name, but the woman Zeke thrust upon me to do a show is a true champ in every sense of the word. Even now, she continues to take it even though my part is long done. I didn’t do anything all that unusual. Well, at least not unusual for me, but by the hormones and lust permeating this place right now, I’m guessing most here have never seen the likes. I used a cue stick as a spreader bar, tying her ankles securely toward the ends so she was splayed open. I then bent her over the end of one of the pool tables, tied her wrists together with rope, and secured them to the legs at the opposite end. She couldn’t move and she couldn’t escape, the only thing saving her from my flogger was the word ‘stop’. She used many words as I landed blows against her tan skin, but ‘stop’ was never one of them. We drew a crowd all tightly packed in a circle around the pool table three men deep, the women all seeming to melt away who either didn’t want to watch or were too jealous over the attention the girl was getting. I especially noticed that Kayla walked outside as I was tying the woman up. Not five minutes into my performance, one guy crawled onto the pool table and made her suck his dick. It was comical watching him trying to get his pants down enough, while figuring out how to get his dick within reach of her mouth since she was stretched flat against the felted surface with no wiggle room. Even funnier was watching his head knocking against the pool table light as he contorted his body into a painful-looking position. But apparently not too painful as she made him come in like a nanosecond. Then it was a free-for-all, and she was getting fucked in every hole just like Zeke promised her. Guy after guy came up behind her, most not even worrying about condoms, and pounded her pussy or ass. The truly adventurous tried to get their dicks sucked while battling with the pool table light. The woman moaned the entire time. When her mouth was free for a few moments, she would encourage other guys to step forward. She clearly liked being gang banged, and while normally that thing is a turn on to me in the right circumstances, it just wasn’t tonight. I suspect in part because I kept thinking about Maggie and all she’d endured from this hellhole, and also in part because these assholes are nasty. It isn’t about eroticism or sexual freedom to them. It’s about busting a quick, raunchy nut while your buddies egg you on in between belches of cheap beer. Thank God Zeke didn’t demand I partake in the sex because I’m not sure I could have gotten it up. Zeke was the first guy to fuck her, and I wasn’t surprised he used a condom. Kayla’s his old lady, and I’m sure he’s not about to bring some crotch crud home to her. He started with the woman’s pussy, which I have to say was glistening so she was clearly turned on. Like a true gentlemen, he managed to spit on the end of his dick before he fucked her ass. Next guy gallantly came in her ass sans condom, so the lube situation there was taken care of. Yeah… the woman is enjoying it, but there’s no doubt she’s going to be walking funny tomorrow. I don’t feel compelled to stick around now that my part is over, and because I saw Zeke walk outside after he was done, I look around the room for Kyle. A jolt of surprise runs through me when I lock eyes on him. He jerks his head toward the front door of the compound. Without hesitation, I grab my tool bag and walk that way, sensing Kyle on my heels. When we clear the door and step out into the crisp air, Kyle immediately addresses the two bikers who are standing guard. They’re young recruits and probably have to do all the shit work. “You guys want to go inside and jump in on a little gang-bang action, there’s a juicy cunt all tied up and spread over a pool table for you,” he says to the men. I wince over his crudity, making me wonder if this is the true Kyle talking or undercover Kyle. He pulls out a joint from the breast pocket of his leather

cut and lights it. “I’ll watch the door for you.” Both men’s eyes simmer with lust, and they give nods of appreciation as they push past us to head inside. When the door closes, Kyle steps in closer to me so he can talk in a low voice. “That will give us a few minutes of privacy. How’s Maggie?” “She’s fine,” I tell him. “Healing nicely.” “Good,” he says on a genuine exhale of relief. Any doubt I might have had that Kyle is truly batting for the good guys is dispelled. “How long before you bring Zeke down?” He shrugs, not in a careless way, but in a clueless way. “Waiting for confirmation from my handler with the ATF, but I can’t communicate with him regularly. I’ve got a meet set up with him later this week, but we were just waiting for this last run. They’re going to tell me when so I can be ready to assist.” I nod. “And what happened when Zeke came back yesterday and found Maggie missing?” “Not happy,” he said, his voice dropping even lower and sounding more urgent. “He put all available members, even from other chapters, on the hunt.” “Looking for Maggie or Belle?” I ask. Kyle gives a small jerk of surprise, and I’m betting he didn’t think Maggie would share the full story with me. “Mostly for Maggie, but he’s getting desperate. He might start looking at her family. Is Belle safe?” “Supposedly,” I admit with frustration. “She hasn’t shared with me where she is.” “Look,” Kyle says softly. “I’m fairly confident Zeke has no clue I’m the one who got Maggie out of here. I was pretty rough on her, and even acted as if I enjoyed what Kayla was doing to her, and I made sure I was vocal about it so others wouldn’t suspect me. But Zeke is fucking smart and suspicious by nature, so trust me… he knows someone in this compound got her out. So this is the last time we talk, okay?” “Fine,” I say in agreement, but I impress upon him something very important. “But I can’t keep her hidden away forever. She deserves a life, and frankly… I deserve my life back too. If this doesn’t go down soon, I’ve got to be able to do something.” “Don’t do it unless it’s an absolute emergency,” Kyle warns me. “My handler is Joseph Kizner; he’s originally out of Chicago, but he’s been here for the last three years posing as a used car salesman over in Driggs. But do not contact him unless you think you or Maggie are in immediate peril. Understand?” “Got it,” I say just as the front door to the compound opens. Kyle smoothly puts the joint to his mouth and takes a deep hit, holds the smoke in, and passes the blunt to me. He turns casually as he exhales. We see Kayla standing there looking at us with pure suspicion on her face. “What are you two doing?” she asks. I take a hit off the joint, but not as deep as Kyle. I hate this shit and the way it makes me feel. As I blow it out, Kyle says, “Bridger had some good weed he wanted to share with me, so I gave the guys on door duty a chance to get in on that sweet little gang bang Zeke arranged.” Kayla’s face pinches with anger, and I can tell he mentioned the gang bang to rile her up. She tries to school her features into impassivity as she turns to me. “Can I have a hit?” “Sure,” I say as I hand her the joint. She takes three successive drags, burning half of it down into her greedy lungs as we watch her. When she exhales, she passes the joint to Kyle but asks me. “When can Zeke and I expect you for a private show?” “Few weeks,” I answer tersely, but I add on, “I’ve got some traveling to do.”

“I’m thinking Zeke might want it sooner,” she challenges me. “Well, that’s something Zeke will have to get over,” I tell her smoothly, but there’s a hard edge to my voice. I don’t want her to ever think that she or Zeke have a hold on me. My debt to him for helping to identify Cat’s attacker is paid in full as of tonight. “We’ll see,” is all she says, but there’s no denying the silky taunt in her tone. Kyle hands the joint back to me, but I shake my head. “You guys finish that up. I’ve got to head over to the Wicked Horse and check in.” He shrugs, puts it to his mouth, and sucks in a drag. “Later, dude,” he says on an exhale. “Good show too.” “Later,” I say as I turn toward my car, which I had parked across a small gravel parking area that runs the length of the compound. Kayla doesn’t say a word, but I don’t care. My mind is already turned to Maggie and the renewed danger she’s facing now that Zeke is back and on the hunt.

Chapter 8

Maggie THE FRONT DOOR to Bridger’s house opens, and he walks in as the clock is getting ready to strike one AM. He looks exhausted and the lingering flicker of disgust in his eyes tells me he did not enjoy his work tonight. Woolf pushes out of the recliner he’d been sitting on and walks to Bridger, who remains by the door with it still open, a clear indication Woolf can leave. He’s a nice guy… Woolf, but he wasn’t overly talkative. I tried to get him to tell me more about Bridger and the sex club, because Bridger admitted to me this morning Woolf was his best friend and had started it with him. I still can’t believe Bridger has a sex club. My mind ran away last night as I tossed and turned in bed, trying to imagine what all could possibly go on in such a place. And did Bridger partake? Was he with a different woman every night? And what about the BDSM? I don’t know much about it… had a few tie me up, a few others spank me, but Bridger talked about whips last night and I sort of got the impression it’s not something you take casually or lightly. While I don’t mind a hot palm on my ass because it makes things interesting, I can’t even imagine handling the type of pain a whip would cause. I also can’t imagine Bridger being the one to hand out that pain. Everything I’ve come to learn about him the last few days has led me to believe he’s a kind man. He’s provided me with a safe home to live in and promised to protect me. It’s almost inconceivable to me that he would whip a woman. And he told me last night, It’s what I do. I have to do it. What does that even mean? Woolf and Bridger only talk for a few minutes in lowered voices while I hold my usual place on the couch sitting cross-legged. I nervously fiddle with the hem of my t-shirt, which has become almost my standard uniform, along with yoga pants. Finally, Woolf turns his head to me and says, “Later, Maggie. Nice meeting you.” “You too,” I say softly as he walks out the door. Bridger closes it and locks it before setting the security alarm that protects us at night along with his guns. When he turns around, he walks immediately to the couch, taking a seat beside me. He sinks back into the cushion, rests his head there, and sighs as he stares up at the ceiling. “Rough night?” I ask hesitantly. “For the woman I worked over… yeah… it was a rough night.” His statement is pointed. Clearly, it was just another day on the job for him, but it still makes my stomach curdle to think that Bridger hurt someone tonight. And because my imagination has always run rampant, and I am envisioning all kinds of awful things, I push at him to tell me more as I’m sure it can’t be worse than what I’m already imagining, and if it’s better, I’ll have peace of mind. “What did you do to her?” I whisper, wishing my voice were stronger and more demanding so he wouldn’t think to dismiss my need to know. He turns his head to look at me, still resting on the back cushion. “You really want to know?” “I can’t envision you hurting someone,” I murmur in bewilderment. “I can’t reconcile that with the man I know.”

“You don’t know me, Maggie,” Bridger says gruffly. It’s an unkind statement. His eyes are hardened, and it’s meant to put me off. “I know you took in a total stranger, had sex with a man to get me medical treatment, and then nursed me back to health. You’ve provided me a safe environment while I healed, and you’re putting yourself in danger by hiding me. I think I know a little about you.” Bridger’s eyes warm slightly, turning from dark bronze to golden whiskey. “How much do you know about BDSM?” “Not much.” “Well, the people who participate in and like it… they get off on pain. It’s sexually gratifying to them. So yes, while I provide that pain, it’s because they want it and pay for it. I’m good at what I do, and I provide people with something they desperately crave. It’s as simple as that.” “And the woman tonight?” I ask, because I can tell tonight was a bit different. The way he sits on the couch, looking totally defeated, tells me tonight wasn’t ordinary for him. Bridger sighs, turns his face away, and stares back up at the ceiling. “I have no clue what her experience was, but she took what I handed out like a champ. Never used her safe word and orgasmed a few times. I think she enjoyed it.” “Enjoyed what?” I press him, now not really understanding why I want the details. I think perhaps I’m fascinated by the concept that Bridger can make a woman orgasm but takes nothing for himself. At least, I don’t think he took anything for himself. Bridger mutters a curse. Pushing up from his reclined position, he turns to me, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. His look is dismissive of my last question and that’s verified when he says, “We need to have a serious talk about you and Belle.” “What about?” I ask carefully, my heart now pounding that he’s mentioned Belle. He’s not asked me about her once since I told him of her existence and refusal to disclose where she is. “Zeke has all the Mayhem’s Mission chapters out looking for you,” Bridger says, and I go slightly dizzy at the implication. Not only is that a lot of fucking muscle going into this hunt for me, but it means he’s pouring some serious dedication in retrieving his property. I know Zeke, and I know that means he will not quit until he has his hands on me. Before I can even think of a response, Bridger adds on, “Kyle thinks he might go after your family… to figure out where you might have stashed Belle.” “Oh my God,” I moan as I push off the couch blindly, fear making me dizzy. “I’ve got to warn them. I’ve got to get Belle.” Bridger’s hand shoots out, latches on to my forearm, and pulls me back down to the couch. I immediately go berserk, thinking he means to deny me my right as a mother to protect my child. I try to launch back off, crying out, “Let me go,” as I slap at his hand on me. “Just calm down,” he growls. That only infuriates me more. I twist viciously against him and launch a barefooted kick at his shin that only manages to send pain streaking through my bones. Bridger wraps his arms around me and pulls me down onto his lap. I squirm and wiggle, trying to get free. “Mags,” he says roughly into my ear, tightening his hold. “Calm down. I’m going to help you get Belle.” I immediately go still, his words penetrating my fear. I twist my neck to look at him as he shifts me sideways onto his lap. “You will?” “Yeah,” he says earnestly. “If Zeke is going to do that, and assuming she’s with someone your family knows, I think it’s best to move her.”

“Then let’s go,” I say as I try to push up again, but he holds me in place. “Tomorrow,” he says softly. “Well, later today since it’s already tomorrow, but we need sleep. And Kyle’s not even sure Zeke is going to do that; it’s just a worry he has, but right now, no move has been made that way.” “We should—” I start to say, but he cuts me off with another squeeze of his arms. “And I need to get a few things worked out,” he continues on. “We’ll take Woolf’s SUV in case someone is watching me.” “Do you think someone is?” I ask with panic. “No,” he responds quickly and with a reassuring rumble. “I don’t. But let’s just be very safe about it, okay?” “So we’ll go get Belle tomorrow?” I ask to make sure I understand. Bridger nods. “She close by?” “In Idaho… with a great aunt,” I admit. “Then we’ll go get her tomorrow. After that, I think we should come back here,” he says confidently. “Back here? Near Zeke? We should run,” I argue. “Mags,” he says softly, another squeeze from his arms, and my heart trips madly as he uses that nickname for me. “It’s the last place he’ll expect. He’ll expect you to run, and it will spread him thin looking for you. We keep you hidden until Kyle takes the club down, which hopefully will be very soon. I can keep you safe here until then.” His reasoning makes sense, but I’m still terrified to bring Belle so close to Zeke. It’s one thing if he gets his hands on me again, because after what I survived with Kayla, I know he’ll never get me to break and reveal her whereabouts. The big question is—do I trust Bridger and that he can keep us safe? The answer comes to me clearly and swiftly. I trust this man with my life, but more importantly… I trust Belle’s with him. “My family,” I point out. “They need warned.” “No sense in waking them up. You can call them in a few hours,” Bridger says. He finally releases his hold on me, which makes me feel oddly naked and alone. I don’t make a move off his lap, hoping for a reconnection. We stare at each other, but I still make no move to leave my perch. His head tilts at me curiously. “What’s wrong?” I drop my gaze briefly to my lap, take note of my legs draped sideways over him, and think about the fact I’m sitting right on his… “Thank you,” I blurt out as I look back up at him. “I don’t know why you’re doing this for me.” He doesn’t respond, just stares at me. “I mean… why are you doing this for me?” I press him. His eyes flick back and forth between mine for a moment before he answers. “I know a little something about being desperate for help. I had someone help me once, and it’s time for me to pay it forward.” It’s not what I expected him to say. In fact, Bridger is so mysterious sometimes I figured he’d just play off his being a Good Samaritan. But his words are so sincere and full of gratitude, I’m a bit taken aback. In fact, I can tell by the tone of his voice that whatever his desperate times were, they were awful and his savior had a huge impact on his life. I knew there was something elusive I couldn’t quite put my finger on that factored into my attraction to Bridger beside his obvious good looks and sexiness or the mere fact he saved me from certain death. But now I know it’s because we share a past that includes something horrific that molded us into the people

we are today. “What happened?” I whisper as I place my hand on his chest, right over his heart. I feel two steady thumps before the beat picks up and it starts to gallop away. “Nothing I want to talk about,” he says, and there is no mistaking the coolness in his voice. He reaches up, takes my hand in his, and pulls it away from his body, then he starts to move to dislodge me from his lap. A desperate need to hold onto whatever fragile connection we have fuels me, because for some insane reason, I simply have to know what exactly Bridger Payne is made of. “Wait,” I blurt out, my free hand shooting to his chest where I grab onto his t-shirt in a tight clutch. He stills, doesn’t release his hold on me, and gives me a slight pause so I can continue. “You never answered my other question,” I say in a lame attempt to keep this conversation going since he doesn’t want to talk about his past. “What other question?” he grits out. “The woman tonight,” I whisper, relaxing my grip on his shirt and flattening my palm back over his chest. “What did you do to her?” I brace, expecting him to dislodge me from his lap, but I don’t get what I expect. In fact, I get something quite different in the form of an erection starting to grow under my butt. Bridger’s eyes flicker with heat, his eyelids going to half-mast, and the corners of his mouth curving upward in a sensual smile. “Why… does that type of stuff turn you on?” His voice is taunting, and I realize even though he’s getting extremely hard underneath me, he’s annoyed with my question and is trying to shame me for it. He’s daring me to give up this quest for information, and I have no doubt if I press him, what he’ll share may not be pretty at all. But I’m desperate to understand this man who has cloaked me in his protection. “Maybe,” I answer truthfully. “But I don’t know because I can’t envision it.” His eyes gleam with what one could consider malice, and I know he’s going to give me the cold, hard facts about his kinky life. I also inherently know he’s doing this to push me away, thinking I’ll be disgusted. I brace yet again when he says, “I stripped the woman naked and tied her down to a pool table with her legs spread wide. I then took a flogger and whipped her with it, not enough to draw blood but enough to leave some pretty nasty welts.” Bridger pauses and studies my reaction, and I can see he’s disappointed I’m not scrambling away from him. His eyes go a shade colder, and he growls, “She was so turned on by what I did to her that her pussy was dripping.” Oh, God… his voice sounds so sensual that I can feel an ache start to form between my legs, even as the common sense within me knows this is him merely trying to turn me off rather than on. “Then I let all the men fuck her,” Bridger murmurs, and I feel his cock actually jump underneath me. I have to control myself not to squirm on his lap. “They all lined up and fucked her mouth, her pussy, and her ass until she was raw and filled with loads of cum and covered with their sweat and spilled beer.” I swallow hard and feel a tiny wave of nausea as I envision the scene. It disgusts me to think of that happening, and I’d seen other lewd shit happen at the compound during my years there, so I don’t doubt what he’s telling me is true. But at the same time, I’m turned on by the erotic sensuality of Bridger’s voice and the thick shaft pushing against my butt, as it’s clear he finds some beauty and appreciation in the scenario he’s laying out to me. Almost as if he can sense my warring thoughts, he leans his face in close to mine and murmurs, “Turn you on, Mags? Or does it thoroughly disgust you what I do?”

Both, I want to answer him, but I’m sidetracked by the swirl of colors in his eyes that tells me he might be torn too. Golden yellow competing with burned copper, which clues me in that he’s just as conflicted. I’m further sidetracked by the feel of his breath on my face and his lips so damn close to mine. Without thinking to answer him, and without acknowledging he’s pulling my emotions in a hundred different directions, I merely lean into him and place my mouth on his. I immediately feel his entire body stiffen in shock before his hands come to my shoulders to push me away. And I almost let him too… push me away, that is, but I also immediately feel his erection swell bigger and harder than I would have thought possible underneath of me. So I press my lips against his and open my mouth, forcing his to open in turn, and letting my tongue dart in for a slow swipe against his. A growl rooted deep in his chest rumbles. I think it’s in approval, but then his hands tighten on my shoulders and he does, in fact, push me back so our mouths break apart. I stare at him in confusion, because I know he’s turned on and I know he wants me. But it doesn’t fit in with the chill in his gaze and his unwillingness to kiss me. “That stuff turns you on?” he asks coldly. I’m losing the connection and I can see him retreating, so I tell him the only truth I’m sure about right now. “You turn me on.” Bridger stares at me, his eyes going from glacial to muddy confusion. “What do you want from me?” he practically croaks, and there’s no denying the tinge of fear in his eyes. My heart plummets that I make this man scared because I was pretty sure he feared nothing. I want to cry because he’s petrified that I want him and for the life of me, I can’t imagine what happened to Bridger to make him fear a woman wanting him. “I want to kiss you again,” I say breathlessly, wanting to push past his fears and have him give me something back in return. Something that lets me know I’m not the only one imagining this spark that’s pulsing between us. Bridger’s body seems to lock tight, and he glares at me like I’m a complete annoyance. But then… his eyes drop down to my lips and he lets out an almost wistful sigh. I hold my breath, waiting to see what he does.

Chapter 9

Bridger GODDAMN HER. Goddamn her for kissing me and making my dick hard and telling me she’s turned on. Goddamn her summer eyes and luscious ass pressing on my erection; those sweet fucking lips that felt so good on mine I was on the verge of a major freak-out; and finally, goddamn myself for not pushing her off me and ending this catastrophe in the making. Push her off, Bridger. Just push her off, man, and put her out of your mind. You do not need this dangerous complication in your life. Goddamn her. My eyes stay pinned on her mouth and her words rattle around in my brain, taunting me. I want to kiss you again. My own lips fucking tingle from the brief touch she gave me moments ago, and my balls actually ache with the need to come. I think about that blow job Carina gave me last night and how long it took me to get relief, and I know without a doubt that if Maggie just barely whispered her lips against my dick, I’d fucking blow like an unruly volcano. I almost resolve in my mind to push her off my lap, then she does the unthinkable and nervously licks her lips. So now they’re not only soft, but they’re also shimmering… fucking begging me to have at them. “Bridger,” Maggie whispers and my gaze slides up to meet hers. Expectation, hope, and desire swirl within those fern-green irises and the ache moves from my balls to the middle of my chest. Goddamn her. My body is not my own to command because rather than pushing her away, I use my grip on her shoulders to pull her to me, crushing my mouth down onto hers. Maggie’s sweet moan strokes over my tongue, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never tasted anything as good in my entire life. I bet her pussy is even sweeter, and that makes me feel something I’ve never felt in my entire life. From a mere kiss, a low groan starts in the bottom of my chest as a shudder of desire shoots up my spine, and then tears free from my throat to explode in her mouth. The sound is guttural and tormented. It shames me because it clearly speaks to the depth of need I have for her right now, and I’ve never needed someone before. Never. But it doesn’t shame me enough to push her away and end the kiss. How can I when it feels this damn good? I sure as hell have fucked a lot of women in my life, but I’ve never been much of a kisser. Never been much of a face-to-face kind of guy now that I think about it, preferring to stare at a woman’s back while I fuck her or the top of her head while being blown. Rather look anywhere than in a woman’s eyes because they’ll inevitably morph into hers, and I’ll read triumph and power in them even if that’s not really what I’m seeing. I’m not sure what makes this different from any other woman I’ve been with, but for the first time, I get a pure thrill from the simple intimacy of kissing. It’s as erotic to me as if I were to pull her onto my face and have her ride my tongue. Her sweet, soft lips and tiny moans, and the way her tongue tentatively

swipes at mine but otherwise prefers to let me have my way with her mouth. Even her hands that are now both clutching onto my t-shirt as she twists in my lap makes this kiss seem like the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Which is fucking ridiculous. I should stop it. So I kiss her deeper, one hand slipping behind her neck to hold her in place so she’ll never go away. Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m so fucking fucked. Maggie squirms some more, starting to pant. My cock turns so hard it starts to hurt as the backs of her legs and ass rub all over me. I bring a hand down to her thigh and grip her tightly, trying to hold her still, but that does nothing more than cause her to moan in protest. It’s like torture to me that she needs something, and, apparently, I’m the one to give it to her. Ripping my mouth away from hers, I pull my head back so I can look her in the eye and tell her this cannot go any further. I am not going to fuck her, because if her kiss is this dangerous and has the power to cause me to lose all sense of myself, then what the fuck will her pussy do? Except her eyes are shut tight, brow furrowed in consternation. She gives a rumble of protest and slowly opens her eyes, which are fogged over with lust. It takes her a moment to focus on me, but when she does, her eyebrows draw in even closer with confusion. “Bridger? Why did you stop?” “We can’t do this—” “Yes,” she exclaims, her hands moving from my t-shirt to slide behind my neck where she holds me tight. Tilting her head to the side, she presses her lips to corner of my jaw before whispering, “We can do this. Please don’t stop. I’m begging you not to stop.” “Mags,” I whisper consolingly, because the emotion and need in her voice slays me. She tilts her head back so she can look at me. With a swiftness I didn’t think was possible, she grabs one of my hands and shoves it in between her legs, spreading them so my palm presses right against her core. Heat sears my skin and I groan again… and what the fuck is up with the God-awful sounds of need that are popping out of me? I’m simply out of fucking control, and I hate it. “Please, Bridger,” she whispers plaintively, and rather than sound annoying and whiny, it appeals to some deep-seated need within me to give this woman everything she craves. “Goddamn you,” I mutter and rather than push her away, which would be the best thing for my selfpreservation, I roll us until she’s on her back and I’m on top of her. Her legs part willingly and my cock comes to rest right over her pussy. She gasps, rolls her hips, and starts to writhe in an attempt to create friction between us. I hiss… another fucking God-awful sound I apparently can’t help but make when I’m touching Maggie, and because that felt too goddamn good and I have no intention of fucking her, I shift us to our sides so we’re facing each other on the couch. Maggie mews like an abandoned kitten and tries to scoot closer to me, her hips flexing inward for contact. “Not going to fuck you, Mags,” I tell her harshly. She goes still, her eyes flaring wide with surprise, and focuses on me intently. She opens her mouth to argue, but I beat her to the punch by shoving my hand between her legs and giving her pussy a rough squeeze. She cries out in almost pained pleasure, hips twisting and seeking more from me. She’s so fucking turned on and rabid for me that I almost feel dizzy from wonder. No woman has ever responded to me like this, but granted… I’ve never kissed a woman the way I kissed Maggie. “Not going to fuck you,” I reiterate as I slide my hand to the waistband of the stretchy-type pants she’s

wearing that fucking fit like a glove and make me hard whenever she’s wearing them. “But I am going to take care of you.” “What?” she says, her voice sound slightly slurred from lust and confusion. I don’t answer. Instead, I show her, sliding my hand down the front of her pants, past her lace panties that I bought her, and right through the cleft of her pussy where my middle finger grazes over her clit on the way to the wetness I’ll find just beyond. “Oooooohhh,” Maggie cries out, her back arching hard, which causes her to press against my hand, making it so easy to sink my finger into her. And goddamn traitorous body of mine, another fucking groan rips out of me as I feel the tight, wet heat surrounding me. I have a moment where my mind actually sort of blanks, and the overwhelming need to rip her clothes off and bury my cock deep inside her makes me go dizzy with confusion. In this moment, I’ve never wanted to fuck someone so bad in my life. Blinking a few times, I try to clear my head. I focus in on Maggie’s delicate neck that’s bare and exposed as her head is thrown back and pressed hard into the cushion. Mouth parted, she’s panting like she just ran a marathon. Her eyes are squeezed shut tightly, and her teeth are pressed down into her lower lip. The expression is as clear as day that she’s dying for me to make her come. I’m dying to give it to her. Leaning my head down, I press my lips to the middle of her throat as I start to pump my finger in and out of her slowly. Maggie makes a strangled sound that has my lips curling into a smile as I graze them to the side and move lower until I’m just above her collarbone. Lifting my mouth briefly from her skin, I ask her, “Want to come, Mags?” “Y-e-e-e-s-s-s,” she stammers, and then screams when I pull my finger out of her pussy and start to circle it around her clit. So goddamn responsive. Goddamn her. I give her an openmouthed kiss at the side of her throat near the base, and then I suck against her tender skin while I alternate between finger fucking her and stroking her clit. I suck against her neck like a goddamn vampire, but not with the need to draw her blood. More with the insane need to mark her in some way. Maggie starts thrashing, hips moving so violently against me that she’s doing most of the work and riding my fingers. I lift my mouth from her skin and look down at her face again. Eyes are still shut tight, but now she’s biting down on her knuckle in an effort to not scream. It’s sexy and fucking adorable and just… goddamn her. I push my middle finger back in her, feel her reflexively tighten around me, and then pull it out. I shove two back in and she grunts… which shouldn’t be, but it’s fucking adorable too. Pull both of those out, put three together, and push them inside, feeling the stretch of her tender skin and wondering what that would feel like against my cock, which is now in utter agony. I fuck her with those fingers, knowing the fullness feels good because she writhes and thrashes harder as she moans. “So close,” Maggie pants, her hand falling away from her mouth but her eyes staying closed. “So close. Please, Bridger.” God, I want her to come, and I want her to say my name again when she does. I’m immediately disgusted with myself for wanting something so… so… ultimately useless to me. So as I pull my fingers from her tightness to circle back around her clit, I lean forward and kiss her hard, my teeth knocking against hers in a desperate attempt to distract her from saying my name when she

comes and keeping me protected from this foolishness. My tongue overwhelms and captivates her mouth, so when I flick my thumb against her clit and she starts to break apart on me, any word that could possibly resemble my name gets swallowed down my throat as she cries out. Maggie bucks against my hand as she starts to shake from the force of her orgasm. I work her clit through the downfall, gently circling the edges until she comes all the way back, all the while kissing her in a more leisurely but no less dominating fashion. When she finally stills under me, I lift my mouth from hers and pull my hand from her pants. Maggie’s eyes flutter open, immediately capturing mine, and she gives me a tremulous smile. Raising a hand, she places it against my chest and whispers, “Let’s go to your room.” My cock jerks in agreement and my chest aches, but I shake my head, pushing up and rolling over her to get off the couch. I don’t look back at her as I walk to the door. “You need to get some sleep. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.” “Bridger?” she calls to me, clearly perplexed and hurt. I don’t turn around, knowing that will hurt her even more, but I do issue a gruff, “I’ll be back later.” “Bridger?” she calls again, this time in desperation. The tiny quaver in her voice causes my chest to squeeze with brutal force. I ignore her and walk out the door, shutting it behind me. Without thinking, I trot down my porch steps and get in my Corvette, cranking it up and doing a quick turn around on my double concrete driveway so I can head down the long, paved road that leads back out to the main highway. My hands grip the steering wheel tight as I think about Maggie calling my name, and the way she thrashed like a hellcat just from my fingers and fuck… I can smell her on my goddamn fingers and my cock starts hurting again. It’s still hard as a rock and with a growl of frustration, I slam on my brakes and come to a screeching halt. After slamming the gearshift into neutral and pulling up violently on the emergency brake, my hands immediately work at my jeans to get the fly open. Then my cock is out and in my hand. I’m stroking hard with pure agony that it’s not Maggie’s hand on me but with relief I can make this pain go away pretty quickly. I jack myself viciously, twisting hard at the top and when I close my eyes, I remember how wet Maggie was and the way she begged me to make her come. My balls draw up tight and start to tingle, and with three more pumps of my hand, I’m barking out a hoarse cry of release as I shoot my wad all over the steering wheel of my car. Fuck, that felt good. Way better than the blow job Carina gave me, but not as good as it would have been to fuck Maggie. Poor, abused, and frightened Maggie. Dropped on my doorstep and wiggling her way into my worries. Beautiful Maggie with the curvy body, tight pussy, and a mouth that was made for kissing. I look around my car helplessly for something to clean the steering wheel and myself, seeing nothing in sight. I watch the pearly cum sliding down over the Chevy symbol, and I feel utterly defeated. Because for the first time in my life, I want something I can’t have, and I can’t have it because I don’t deserve it.

Chapter 10

Maggie MY FINGER ABSENTLY strokes over the reddish-purple mark on the side of my throat. It’s too high for my sweatshirt to hide it, but it’s low enough a turtleneck would do the job. Sadly, I don’t have one. When I saw Bridger this morning, having sleepily stumbled out of my room at six AM when he woke me up, I was cognizant enough to see his eyes immediately drop to the mark on my neck. I may have been imagining it, but I swear I saw a look of triumph in his eyes. Which is weird, because Bridger clearly doesn’t want me. Not the way I clearly want him, and my face heats up with embarrassment as I think about the way he made me lose utter control in his arms before turning around and walking out on me. I struggle to suppress a tiny snort that wants to come out. Despite this strange and enigmatic man who I don’t think I’ll ever be able to figure out, I find it comical he left a bruise on me. A hickey really, and it doesn’t hurt at all, but it is vivid. It’s funny to me because as my other bruises left by Kayla are fading, he puts a practically neon sign on me that says, “Bridger Was Here”. It also makes me want to laugh, because this man… who hands out pain to women with whips, left a mark on me that was neither painful nor scary. Talk about irony. In fact, his mouth on me felt too damn good. Even as he was sucking on my skin, I knew it would be visible to everyone, I couldn’t find it in me to care last night. While his fingers were in me and on me, and his mouth was on my neck, I didn’t have one single worry in my world. He made me forget everything. Except this morning, those memories are dulling and I’m left with the brutal reality that Bridger doesn’t want anything from me in return. I was positive last night after the last rumbles of my orgasm faded, he’d fuck me… make love to me… whatever. It totally stung in a humiliating way that he walked out. I didn’t wait up for him to return, knowing when Bridger draws a line in the sand, he sticks to it. It’s been evident all morning as we drive northwest across Idaho. It’s not been a silent and tense ride so far, but it’s been absolutely devoid of any conversation that would even remotely come close to what we did last night. I am too afraid to bring it up, and he’s clearly not going to. Bridger had me pack an overnight bag as it is a good eight hours to Coeur D’Alene, Idaho where Aunt Gayle lives, and his plan is for us to stay the night after we pick up Belle before heading back. He ushered me into his sleek red Corvette I’ve seen but never ridden in, as I’ve been in hiding. We then drove a back road made of dirt and gravel that scraped on the undercarriage of his car, through the Double J Ranch, and came out at Woolf’s house, which was a massive monstrosity set atop a butte. I stared at it with my jaw hanging open and asked, “I assume ranching is a profitable business?” Bridger gave a snort, not quite a laugh, and said, “Double J is the largest cattle ranch in the U.S. and he also owns oil fields. Woolf’s pretty fucking rich.” Woolf was waiting on the front veranda of the house, and he met us at our car when we pulled up. When we got out, he handed Bridger a set of keys. “It’s in the first garage bay.” Bridger grabbed our bags from the tiny trunk space in the Corvette and led me over to a detached garage done in pine logs that matched the house and held several bays. We walked in and Bridger went straight to a black Range Rover that was backed in. “We’re taking Woolf’s SUV, not only so we can fit Belle’s car seat, but also because if someone’s watching me, they won’t be expecting it.”

“You think someone’s watching us?” I asked tensely. “You mean Zeke?” He shrugged as he opened the door for me. “I don’t think so, but last night, something about Kayla put me off. She saw Kyle and me talking to each other and looked skeptical about it. We’re just being safe. There’s probably nothing to worry about.” And even as he said those words, he reached into his overnight bag and pulled a handgun out. Opening the glove compartment in front of me, he slid the gun in and snapped it shut. “Nothing to worry about?” I asked skeptically. He flashed me a tight smile. “Not with that gun I’m not.” Bridger snaps me out of my memories by handing me his cell phone as he keeps one hand on the wheel. “It’s a decent hour. Call your parents.” I’ve been dreading this. I need to do it, but my relationship with them is complicated and messy. I haven’t talked to them in almost six months. I send them periodic cards with pictures of Belle, but I never provide a return address because I’m too ashamed to have them see me living at some motorcycle compound with their only grandchild. They don’t approve of my lifestyle—what little they know of it, anyway—and now as a new mother who understands the worry a parent has, I can’t say as I blame them. My calls to them have always been stilted, awkward, and so very short. They always took the time to remind me of their disappointment, but they would also invite me back home. I never accepted, and it’s probably something I’ll regret for the rest of my life. My mom answers on the second ring. “Hello?” “Mom… it’s Maggie,” I say hesitantly, wondering what type of reaction I’ll get. Surprised delight or resigned disappointment. “Maggie,” my mom says, almost in disbelief, and then a long pause of silence before she says, “How are you doing?” “Not so well,” I say in a tremulous voice, and I have to give a slight cough to clear my throat. Bridger’s head swivels my way, but I don’t dare look at him. “Um… listen… I’m in some trouble and—” “Honestly, Maggie,” my mom says in a brusque voice, and it’s clear I’m getting resigned disappointment today. “You’re always in some sort of trouble.” “I know,” I say, and there’s no hiding the shame in my tone as I look down at my lap. “But this time it’s pretty serious, and it might involve you.” “Oh no, you don’t,” my mom snaps. “We are not cleaning up a mess you’ve made. Are you in jail?” “No, Mom,” I say with swift frustration, curling my free hand into a fist. “I’m actually in some danger, and so is—” “For heaven’s sake, Magdalene,” my mother says in that “mom” tone. “You can be so dramatic sometimes—” “Mom,” I grit out, my voice rising slightly. “I need you to just listen to me for a minute so I can—” “Jim,” my mom calls out to my dad. “You need to get on the line… it’s Maggie. I’m not sure I can handle her latest—” “Mom,” I yell at the phone. “This is serious—” “Maggie?” my dad says as he picks up on the other line. “What have you done now?” “She says she’s in trouble,” my mom interjects. “Well, of course she is, Cindy,” my dad says dryly. “Mom… Dad,” I say now in a pleading tone. “I really need you to—” “Let me make this clear, young lady,” my dad says in a harsh tone. “You go months without contacting us, and when you do, you really have nothing to say. You keep our granddaughter from us, and you refuse to act like a responsible person.”

“That’s not true,” I whisper, but he rolls right over me. My hands start shaking. “We can’t keep cleaning up your messes,” my mom adds. “I’ve never asked you to—” I try to defend myself. But he cuts me off again, going off on a rant about personal responsibility and a failure for me to abide by my moral upbringing. I listen to my father laying into me when what I really want to convey is that he needs to pack up and get out of the house before danger comes knocking on his door, but he’s on a roll now. My eyes mist up with tears at the futility of it, but before I can try to interject anything else into the conversation, Bridger snatches the phone from me while growling, “For fuck’s sake.” I turn to face him, my jaw hanging wide open, and he puts the phone to his ear. “Mr. and Mrs. Waylon… this is Bridger Payne. I’m a friend of Maggie’s.” His jaw locks hard when my father clearly interrupts him, but he can’t get more than a word or two in because Bridger says, “With all due respect, Mr. Waylon… I need you to shut the fuck up and listen. Your daughter and granddaughter are in very real danger by a man who’s being investigated by the ATF for all sorts of vile criminal activity. Now, you can save your soapbox rant on all the ways in which Maggie has failed to live up to your expectations for another time, but this call is just a courtesy to you to tell you that this man… who is the president of a very large and very dangerous criminal organization… could very well be on his way right now to extract whatever information about Maggie and her whereabouts that you may have. So, it would behoove you and your wife to heed this advice, pack a bag, and go somewhere for a few days. Hopefully, the ATF will be taking them down soon, and if you can just stay under the radar until then, everything should be okay.” I’m astounded over the way in which Bridger has commanded this conversation, and the succinct way he gave my parents the relevant information they needed to know. Bridger listens for a few seconds, and then nods in agreement with whatever my mom or dad are saying to him. “That will work. I’ll call you on your cell phone a bit later so you’ll have my number. We’ll stay in contact about the situation.” Another pause, shorter this time. “I’ll call you tonight,” Bridger says, clearly winding the conversation down, but then he adds, “And for what it’s worth… you need to cut your daughter a break. She’s not the same woman she was when she left your home ten years ago. She’s survived something incredibly horrific and she’s an amazing mother, so you should really look at the positive things in your daughter for a change.” Bridger doesn’t wait for a response. He just disconnects the call, calmly setting the phone in a center console tray. He puts both hands back on the wheel and says, “Your parents are going to pack up and take an impromptu vacation to Florida until this dies down.” I continue to stare at him, perplexed over his swift defense of me to my parents, because I have not been a good daughter. Fuck, I haven’t been a good mother in all possible ways to Belle as I let her live her first two years in a shitty motorcycle club. “Why did you do that?” I murmur in confused wonder. He gives me a brief glance before turning back to look at the road before us. “Because you don’t need to hear whatever shit they were handing you. You made mistakes. You’re paying for them. You’re moving on and making things right. They need to grow the fuck up and move past it themselves.” “Well, thank you,” I say hesitantly. “I’ve never had anyone defend me before.” Bridger snorts but doesn’t say anything, a clear indication he doesn’t want to hear my gratitude, and I’m thinking that’s because he wants to maintain the distance he put between us last night. “I’m going to call Aunt Gayle again,” I tell him as I reach for his phone. I’d called her as soon as we hit the road a few hours ago, but there was no answer. I left a voice mail

but we haven’t heard from her, and of course, I’m imagining the worst. I shouldn’t be though. There’s no way Zeke could know about her if he hasn’t talked to my parents, and that is where Zeke would go first. I don’t have any siblings, so they would be the ones he’d want to pump for information. And the minute he applied any pressure to them—a thought that makes me nauseous because his pressure would hurt—they would give up Aunt Gayle. My great aunt Gayle is the one family member I do have who loves me unconditionally. Even during all those years I partied, fucked up, and got into trouble, she never gave up on me. When I was in between jobs and had nowhere to go, her home in Coeur D’Alene was always open to me. I’d stay for maybe a few weeks, vow to get my life together, and then let the lure of the next great adventure pull me away from her. She never chastised or judged me, but always accepted me back with open arms. It’s why I knew she was the one who would need to keep Belle safe. I dial her number and listen to it ring, each successive one causing me more anxiety when she doesn’t answer. My stomach flips when her answering machine comes on, and I have to leave another message for her. “Aunt Gayle… please call me as soon as you get this. It’s really important.” I rattle off Bridger’s number and hang up, not leaving any more details than necessary. Placing the phone back in the center console, I turn to Bridger and say, “What if Zeke—” “Just stop,” he says gruffly. “No way Zeke knows about her when he’s not even been to your parents.” “But what if—” “Mags,” Bridger says softly as he takes one hand off the wheel to grab onto one of mine. The gentleness and confidence in his voice immediately settles me, even if my heartbeat picks up a fraction from his touch. “Stop worrying. Why don’t you just assume she’s out shopping or something?” “I guess,” I grumble, and then immediately regret capitulating on my worries because Bridger gives me a quick squeeze and puts his hand back on the steering wheel. I gaze down at my hand, almost longingly, wanting that warm reassurance coating me again. Wanting Bridger to want something more from me in return.

* I DIRECT BRIDGER through Aunt Gayle’s small neighborhood that’s made up of mostly single-story homes built in the seventies. Her husband, who was a Coeur D’Alene native, died before I was even born, and Aunt Gayle’s lived here ever since in their marital home. She’s seventy-four years old but acts about half her age, and while her arthritis can limit her at times, she’s strong as an ox. I had no qualms that she could care for an active two-year-old when I begged her to take Belle. Of course, she begged me to stay, but I couldn’t. I knew Zeke would put all his energy into finding me, so I ran in the opposite direction, hoping I was leading him as far away from Belle as I could. I had no long-range plan when I decided to run. Just figured I’d always be on the run and foolishly believed Belle would be safe forever. It was shortsighted on my part, and I consider it a tremendous stroke of luck that Zeke is in the middle of a huge criminal investigation. Hopefully, he’ll soon be put away and no longer a threat to us. “It’s right there… on the left.” I point to a small two-bedroom house done in tan plywood siding with dark mocha shutters and an open carport attached to the side. The yard is pristine with late-blooming fall perennials bordering a walkway from the driveway to the front porch. The first thing I notice is that Aunt Gayle’s car isn’t in the driveway, and this gives me some small measure of relief that I’m not going to walk in and find her dead on the floor. Bridger pulls into the driveway, parking just beyond the edge of the carport. I hop out of the Range

Rover and scurry to the front door. As there is no doorbell, I knock, and then put my ear to the door to listen. I give a tiny twist to the knob and find it locked. Absolute silence greets me, so I knock again… louder this time. Nothing. I turn to see Bridger walking up the steps to the porch. He cuts right to look in the front window that goes to the living room. The drapes are pulled shut, but there’s a small gap that he peers through for a moment before turning back to me. “She’s obviously not here,” he says. “But everything looks fine… nothing out of place I can see.” “Let’s go around back… see if we can get in.” He nods and walks to the far end of the porch, hopping off and heading around the back of the house. Before I can even jump down, I hear a man’s voice “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Without any regard for my safety, I jump off the porch and turn the corner of the house where I see an old man with a shotgun trained on Bridger, who is standing tensely with his hands in the air. “Jesus, Randall,” I say in exasperation as I look at the spritely man who tops out at just a little over five feet holding the monstrous Bridger Payne at bay. “Put that gun down.” “Well, hey, stranger,” Randall says with obvious delight and he thankfully lowers the gun. “Assume this guy’s a friend of yours?” Bridger’s hands drop but he remains in place… seeing how Randall is still holding the gun with his finger on the trigger. “Yes, he’s a friend… Bridger, this is Randall, Aunt Gayle’s neighbor,” I say as I walk up to him. “Pleasure,” Randall says to Bridger with a wily smile, finally taking his finger off the trigger. “Friend of Gayle’s?” Bridger asks dryly. “Oh, I’m Gayle’s sweetie,” Randall says and cackles, showing off his gleaming white dentures he proudly told me about when I was here a few weeks ago dropping Belle off. “Randall lives next door,” I explain. “They’ve been neighbors for years.” “More than neighbors,” Randall says proudly, but then leans in to Bridger and whispers, “We’ve been sneaking over to each other’s houses quite often since my wife passed a few years ago.” I give a cough and look at him pointedly. “Well, of course not while she’s looking after little Belle, you understand,” he says with an unapologetic grin. “Where is she?” I ask with worry. “Oh, she went off with a group of her church ladies to Spokane. Some kind of book signing for a romance author they all like. Took Belle with her, of course, although I would have been right happy to watch the little monkey. I mean… that author they were going to see… she writes some really sexy stuff, if you know what I mean, and I wasn’t sure Belle should be tagging along.” Bridger manages to suppress a laugh, and I roll my eyes. “When’s she coming back?” “Tomorrow morning,” he says affably. “In fact, since you’re here… maybe Gayle and I can go out on a date. It’s been a while since we had some alone time since Belle’s come to stay.” I cock an eyebrow at him. “Well, not to say I begrudge Belle being here, you know,” he says quickly with another unapologetic grin. “But we have to be… you know… respectful of the situation with the little monkey always around.” “Let’s go get checked into a hotel,” Bridger suggests to me. “We can come back in the morning.” “Aaahhh,” Randall says with a waggle of his eyebrows. “You two taking advantage of some alone time as well, I see.” “No, it’s not like that,” I say quickly, despite the fact Bridger fingered me to orgasm last night.

“We’ll have separate rooms,” Bridger says tersely as he turns back toward the Range Rover. My heart sinks with disappointment, and I stare after him for a moment. “So,” Randall says and I turn my attention back to him. He nods toward Bridger. “Y’all not together then?” “Nope,” I say in a matter-of-fact tone, hoping it hides my disappointment. “Just friends is all.”

Chapter 11

Bridger I PACE BACK AND FORTH across the hotel room, my head tilting every so often to look at the door that connects my room to Maggie’s. It’s fucking torture knowing she’s lying just on the other side, nothing more than that door and probably a flimsy pair of panties separating us. I know her resistance isn’t what’s separating us because I remember the need in her voice as she called out to me last night as I was walking out of my house. She could be mine for the taking if I just knock on that door and let her know I’m willing. Except I’m not. Because as much as I suspect sex with Mags would probably ruin me for any other, I’m too much of a chicken shit pansy to act on it. I’m too insulated in my little cocoon of protection, hiding behind a whip, a sex club, and whatever desperate female is willing to suck my dick without so much as a thank you after. It’s all I know, and it’s comfort to me. Maggie Waylon is the opposite of comfort. She’s intrigue, danger, and possibly redemption wrapped up in one killer, sexy package that makes my dick act on its own accord. Just like now… half hard ever since I imagined her in panties on the other side of the door. “Fuck,” I mutter as I stop my pacing and flop down on the bed. I put my hands behind my head and stare at the ceiling, trying to think of something else. Does no good. Maggie’s face flashes before me, eyes closed, chewing on her knuckle… on the verge of orgasm. Goddamn her. I should just go over there, open the door, and fuck her. Get it out of my system. It’s probably not as great as I’ve built it up in my mind anyway. Except that’s not true, and I know it’s not true because the minute my mouth touched hers last night, it was a kiss that completely disturbed me as much as it compelled me. Those feelings were too intense to forget. The thought of just that kiss has my dick getting harder as much as it causes anxiety to rocket through me, and perhaps I just need a hot shower where I can jack off once… maybe twice… and then I’ll be able to let her go from my mind for at least a good night’s sleep. A soft knock sounds at the connecting door. Even as a zing of adrenaline spikes through me, my cock goes fully hard and presses painfully at the zipper of my jeans. I should ignore it. She’ll think I’ve already gone to sleep and leave me alone. “It’s open,” my traitorous voice says loud enough to carry to her. Goddamn her. The door pushes open, and Maggie sticks her head in just enough to look at me. “Did I wake you up?” “Nah,” I say as I push off the bed to stand up. “What’s up?” Maggie’s gaze drops to the floor as she steps in before looking up at me with uncertainty. “Um… I was thinking… this might all be over soon if Kyle’s close to taking the club down, and I’m trying to figure out what I should do after.” She steps in further and closes the door, looking utterly gorgeous in the stupid pajamas I bought her that are white fleece with a sushi print on them. They’re a little too tight which yeah… I have shitty

judgment when it comes to women’s sizing, but I can’t help but admire the way the soft material molds to her ass or how her fantastically big tits push against the button-up top so that it gaps a little bit to show me a peek of cleavage. My dick, which is also enjoying the view, jumps in my pants. “So,” she says slowly as she walks to the edge of the bed I’d just vacated and sits down. I take a step back and sit on the other bed, facing her. “I don’t want to impose on your hospitality any longer than necessary. Hopefully, this will all go down quickly with Zeke, so I need to come up with a plan for Belle and me.” “You’re not any imposition,” I say quickly, and then mentally kick myself in the ass. Of course she’s an imposition. She’s driving me fucking nuts in my desire of her. She gives a soft laugh, and it’s like a punch to the gut. I’ve never been swayed by a woman’s laugh before. Never. “Well,” she says, still chuckling, “you’ve clearly not been around a two-year-old. You’ll be begging us to leave.” “I wouldn’t,” I say softly. But then, with a slight cough, I say, “I mean… it’s not like you have to leave the minute he’s arrested.” She nods with a smile. “Yeah… I’ve thought about going back to my parents, but I don’t know that they really want me there.” “I’m sure they do,” I say, even though based on what little interaction I had with them and what I heard of Maggie on the phone, it’s probably not true. “Maybe I could come here to stay with Aunt Gayle until I get on my feet,” she posits. “Could be a good choice,” I agree, even though my stomach cramps at the thought. What. The. Fuck? “Or,” she says carefully. “You could give me a job, and I could stay in Jackson.” My heart leaps with a joy that feels foreign and invasive, and I immediately quash it. I force myself to lie. “I don’t have any bartending or waitressing openings right now.” Her eyes drop to the floor, and she nervously plucks at the blanket on the bed. When she looks back up to me, she says, “No. I mean, maybe at your sex club, you could give me a job. I’m sure it’s way better money than waitressing or bartending.” “What?” I growl in disbelief, coming to stand from the bed where I hover over her. She swallows hard but pushes past my obvious anger. “I’m sure I’d be good at… well, whatever it is the girls there do. I mean… if there’s one thing I’ve learned over these last several years is that my body is at least good for something. It doesn’t mean that much to me, really—my body that is—and I could provide for a really good life for Belle, you know?” My mind goes white with fury, and my blood pressure spikes to the point of dizziness. How dare she think she could just give her body to anyone, and how dare she fucking think it’s not worth anything? Without really knowing what I’m doing, I bend over and wrap my hand around a fistful of her fleece top, pulling her from the bed. Her eyes flare wide, and a small gasp of what might be fear pops out of her mouth. I lean in, put my face right in front of hers, and grit out, “You are not working in a sex club.” “Why not?” she asks with her head tilted but her chin lifted up, eyes flashing with stubborn defiance. “I’m good… I swear I am. I’ll please your customers.” “You did not just fucking say that to me,” I practically spit out in disbelief, giving her a little shake from my hold on her shirt.

Maggie’s eyes burst with anger, turning from summer green to dark emerald, and she tries to dislodge my hold on her top by pushing against my chest. I don’t budge, and she makes a growl of frustration. “Why the hell would that even bother you, Bridger? For God’s sake, you deal in the sex business. It’s not like what I’m suggesting is weird or anything. It’s a way of life, right? You apparently hand out orgasms like party favors and make a good living from it, so what the hell is wrong with me doing it to try to provide for my daughter and me?” She’s got a good fucking point. I struggle to find something reasonable to divert her from this path, but I’m coming up empty. I certainly can’t tell her she can’t do it because I couldn’t bear to see another man’s hands on her. So I hedge on a semi-truth as I release her from my grip. “I don’t pay the people who work in the club, Maggie. That would be prostitution under the law.” “Oh,” she says softly as her head bows down and her body seems to deflate before me. She tugs on her pajama top to straighten it out. “Perhaps it’s best you come back here to stay with your aunt,” I suggest, my stomach again twisting hard over the thought of her being so far away. She nods absently without looking at me, turning toward the door that leads to her room. I want to reach out and snatch her back, my hand actually starting to reach toward her. But I go utterly still when she murmurs maybe more so to herself than to me, “Yeah… staying with Aunt Gayle would be good.” I don’t say a word because I’m afraid if I open my mouth, it will be to beg her to stay with me, which is beyond insane. She reaches the door, hand on the knob, but before she turns it, she looks over her shoulder at me. “Bridger, it might be best if I just stay here with Gayle now. I think we’re relatively safe. I mean… my parents are packing up and leaving their house for a bit until this dies down, so that’s really the only way Zeke would learn about my aunt. So honestly… this is probably the safest place for Belle and me.” “What?” I rasp out, my throat threatening to close on me. “Yeah,” she says a little more confidently, her shoulders actually relaxing. “I think that’s probably the best thing. So maybe you can just give me a ride to Gayle’s house in the morning and head back to Jackson after.” “Mags,” I say… and fuck… is that pleading in my voice? “You’ll be safer with me.” She gives me a sad smile. Turning from the door, she pads over to me and places both hands on my chest. Looking up at me, those green eyes now bright and clear, she murmurs, “Bridger… I’ll never be able to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. You’re an amazing man, but—” “Maggie… what’s really going on here?” I interrupt her, because this isn’t making sense to me. “Nothing,” she says quickly and turns toward the door again. “I just… we should part ways now—” I lunge at her, grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her toward me. The movement is so fast she goes reeling and falls right into my chest. Not a hardship at all, but I take her upper arms to push her back just enough so I can look her directly in the eye. “What’s going on?” I repeat more firmly. “Noth—” “Maggie,” I growl at her, one of my hands moving to slide my fingers along her jaw, curling around the back of her neck. I grip her gently. “Talk to me. With a strength that surprises the shit out of me, Maggie pushes hard against my chest and steps back, dislodging my grip. Her eyes flash with anger as she blurts out, “I can’t be around you anymore, okay? So I just want you to take me to Aunt Gayle’s tomorrow and leave me there.” It’s suddenly clear to me what this is all about, and guilt floods my entire system. I can’t be around you anymore.

Because I walked out on her last night when she opened herself up to me and invited me into her bed… her body. I rejected her, and she’s hurt by it. “Maggie,” I say apologetically, and it’s apparently the wrong tone to take with her. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me,” she says furiously as she backs up two more steps toward the door. “I’ve survived far worse than you.” That slices me deep, and there’s no way I can let her feel as if she’s not worthy of the likes of me. Hell, she should know it’s the opposite. I’m not worthy of the likes of her. “Maggie… come here,” I order and reach a hand out to her. She shakes her head quickly in denial. Takes another step backward to the door. “Maggie,” I warn in a low tone, making it clear she’s not getting through that door and to the safety of her own room. We stare at each other a moment, each of us drawing our line in the sand. Her foot moves slightly to take another step away from me, and I lose all patience with the situation. I lunge once again at her in a move so fast, she shrieks in fear as my hands grasp her face. I pull her roughly toward me, bend my head, and slam my mouth down on hers. She makes a tiny sound of protest that fades into a soft moan before she slams herself into my body. Winding her arms around my neck, she goes to her tiptoes and opens her mouth to give me unfettered access to the sweetness of her tongue. God, it’s just as good as the first time I kissed her. No, it’s better. It’s better because I never thought I’d have this opportunity again, and I know I should feel like a shit for playing with her feelings like this —for using her attraction to me against her to get something I’m desperately craving—but I can’t. I want this too much and fuck all the consequences. I spin around and push her onto the bed where she lands with a jarring bounce. “Don’t move,” I order. Maggie watches with half-mast eyes as I take my clothes off, her gaze roaming all over my naked body as each part is revealed and finally settling on my rock-hard cock standing straight up. I grab my wallet from my jeans, pull a condom out, and throw it on the bed beside her. She doesn’t even flinch or look at it, eyes still pinned on my dick. Maggie licks her lips and a thrilling ripple of anticipation courses through me, making my skin prickle and my balls tingle. Stepping to the bed, I reach a hand out and wrap it around the back of her neck again. I pull her from the bed into a standing position and lean down for a brief kiss. She sighs and goes lax, but I release her and she wobbles a bit. Taking two steps backward, I sit down on the opposite bed, take my dick in hand, and start to stroke it. “Get undressed for me, Mags. Let me see that beautiful body.” A quavering breath flutters out of her, but her fingers go immediately to her top and she unbuttons it slowly. My mouth waters as she reveals her breasts and drops the fleece shirt to the floor. Her hands go to the waistband of her pants, tucking her thumbs in. She bends over to push them off, stepping out of them carefully. I grip my cock hard as I stare at her naked body, her curves and soft skin beckoning. Want to put my mouth to those nipples and rub my shaft all over that softly rounded belly that has faded stretch marks right across the bottom. Fuck… when had that ever turned me on? But it does for some reason, and I think it’s because she stands there proudly as a mother who bore a daughter and doesn’t give a fuck what it did to her body. It’s a perfect imperfection in my mind. “Come here,” I murmur. She obeys instantly, taking the few steps across the carpet to stand between

my legs. I release my cock, put my hands to her waist, and lift her so she’s straddling my lap. She immediately pushes down to rub her pussy on me, but I hold her tight. She squirms, uttering a moan of protest. “Slow down,” I tell her, my fingers lightly brushing over her lower stomach… right over her scars, and then down between her legs. I push my fingers through the lips of her sex, feeling the slick wetness and she fucking purrs in satisfaction. I can’t decide what I ultimately want to do to her, but I know first thing on my agenda is to get her off. Want to hear my name when she comes. I know my fingers can do the trick, but that’s already been done. I drop my torso down to the bed, my hands gripping her thighs, and look up at her straddling over me. She looks down at me, her caramel-streaked hair falling over her shoulders but not hiding those magnificent tits peeking through. She’s stunning and for a few moments, she feels untouchable, and that makes me doubt. Then, an immediate feeling of foreboding courses through me, and Maggie’s face morphs into hers. She bounces harder and faster, and then she taunts me further by grabbing the ring swaying from the necklace in one hand and bringing it to her lips. Pushing it into her mouth, she sucks on it as she looks down at me in triumph before she spits it back out and pants, “You’re so fucking good, baby. I’ll never get tired of this cock, you know.” My fingers dig into Maggie’s thighs, and I blink my eyes rapidly to dispel the memory. My eyes drop to her stomach to see the stretch marks. I start to get my bearings, and I know this is Mags, who’s been abused and tortured, just as I was once, and I know she’s not the same woman who destroyed me all those years ago. My stepmother never experienced the miracle of birth, and that’s only because she was too fucking selfish to share her body with another creature. In my heart of hearts, I know Maggie isn’t her. Still, her position on top of me causes anxiety to squeeze my chest so I slip my hands around the back of her thighs and pull on her. “Get up here,” I tell her gruffly. “Want you to ride my face.” “Oh, God,” she mutters as she crawls her way up my body. My eyes drop to that pussy getting nearer and nearer. Saliva floods my mouth, and that’s something new. While I’m no stranger to handing out oral, I only do it for the benefit of the woman, never for me. It’s no different from me striking a nipple with a whip. But for some insane reason, my tongue tingles with the need to taste her and to experience the flavors of this woman. Maggie places her hands on the bed above my head and with the urging of my hands on her ass, I pull her down to my mouth.

Chapter 12

Maggie BRIDGER’S MOUTH ON ME is like fire and ice all at the same time. Searing heat, chilly tingles. A violent shudder rockets through me as he shoves his tongue inside, only to pull it back out and close his lips on my clit. I let out a horribly guttural groan that seems to fuel Bridger, as he starts to flutter his tongue over the sensitive knot in rapid succession. I can feel myself leaking all over him, but I can’t find it within me to care, because this feels better than anything I’ve ever felt in my entire life. My fingers dig down into the bedspread and my hips start to tilt and flex against his mouth. Wet sucking sounds fill the air along with approving groans from Bridger as I do, indeed, start to ride his face. I dip my head down, looking past my swaying breasts, but I can see nothing but the top of his head as he works his tongue against me. His hands massage my ass muscles, creeping inward with each flex and release on my butt. Pursing his lips around my clit, he starts to gently suck against me and a jolt of pleasure bursts between my legs. His clever fingers burrow down in between my ass cheeks and he rubs them in alternating patterns right over my sensitive hole which puckers involuntarily because it’s an incredible sensation. Zeke took my ass on occasion and I always hated any touch back there, but God… Bridger’s touch is gentle yet commanding. He clearly knows how to make ass play pleasurable. I consider what his cock would feel like, but that’s for another time. Right now, he’s feasting on me in a way that no man has ever done. I feel my orgasm already starting to gather, and I’ve been on his face probably less than thirty seconds. His tongue starts lashing against my clit again, and he maneuvers one hand in between my legs to push two fingers into my pussy. “Oh, God… Bridger, wait…” I cry out, because that is causing sensory overload and I don’t want to come yet. This is too good to just let it come and go so fast. He chuckles against me, pulling his fingers out, and I sigh in relief that I can enjoy this a little longer. But just as he decides to suck on me again, lips gathering tightly around my clit, his fingers, now wet with my desire, push back against my ass. I tense up as he pushes a single digit against my hole, and then go almost rigid when he pushes the tip of his finger in. At the same time, he bares his teeth and bites at my clit, and stars burst in my head as my orgasm rips through me. “Fuck,” I cry out, involuntarily mashing my pussy down hard on his face. His finger slips further into my ass, and my hips start gyrating to force more friction against his mouth. Poor Bridger’s probably suffocating down below, but I can’t stop myself from rubbing myself all over his face while his finger starts to fuck my ass. Tremors peel up and down my spine, igniting every nerve within me. Bridger gives a hard suck again on my clit, which fires off a second orgasm before the first even fades away. “Bridger,” I scream as it all becomes too much and I actually fling myself off him, coming to rest on the mattress beside him. He growls in disapproval over the loss and rolls my way, pushing me right onto my back and coming to rest on top of me. I get a brief peek at his eyes, which are turbulent and swirling with dark desire as he stares down at me, then he’s crushing his mouth against mine in a brutal kiss that tastes like Bridger and me.

We’re like two horny teenagers at this point, our hands roaming roughly over each other’s body. Bridger starts rocking against me. His cock is massive and emanates heat while he rubs it over my pussy. His fingers pinch and twist at my nipples. My hands go to his ass, and I try to press him harder against me, while we kiss and pant into each other’s mouths. Finally, Bridger rears up, comes to his knees in a straddle above me, and looks blindly around for a moment before locating the condom he had thrown there earlier. His fingers frantically tear at the package and when he frees it, his tongue actually sticks out of the corner of his mouth in a look of pure concentration as he rolls it over his thick shaft. “Need to fuck you bad,” he mutters, still watching his progress with the condom and once he’s fully sheathed, he pulls my legs up and spreads me wide. With a quick dip of his hips, the thick head pushes against my opening, and I suck in a huge lungful of oxygen in anticipation of what I’m betting is going to be an amazing experience. He’s going to fuck me. He’s not going to leave me. He really, really wants me. Bridger’s eyes slide up my body and his look is tortured when it meets mine. “This might be a little rough,” he grits out. “I’m sorry.” Before I can say anything, he plunges all the way into me and my back arches off the bed as I moan my satisfaction out to the heavens. “Christ fuck, that feels good,” Bridger groans. “So good,” I agree as I tilt my head back to look at him. His gaze is so intent as he looks down at me before he drops his elbows to the mattress to press his stomach and lower part of his chest against me. He doesn’t kiss me again, but merely stares at me almost in confusion as his hips start to move. He pulls out of me to the tip, pushing back in with a shocking force that causes me to grunt. Oh, God… that feels so damn good. I just don’t think I can… Bridger’s hips start moving fast, pumping his cock in and out of me. I can hear the sounds of wet skin sucking and slapping as he fucks me. He closes his eyes, biting down on his lower lip, and his face morphs into a beautiful visage of pure pleasure. It’s so stunning in its transformation that I bring my hands to his cheeks to touch him. He moans at the touch but his eyes remain shut tight. God, he’s incredible. Beautiful and strong and heroic. My hands slip to his temples, my fingers brushing through his soft hair. He makes a sound… of pleasure? Of protest? I can’t decide, but his hips start moving faster and his cock is punching into me with abandon. My fingers curl inward, grabbing hunks of hair. He fucks me harder, hitting against a spot inside of me that starts another orgasm to brew. I can’t help it. I pull on his hair, a silent urging to go even harder if he must because if feels that damn good. Bridger suddenly rears backward, pulling his dick all the way out of me and my hands dislodge from his hair so I don’t rip it out as he puts distance between us. He kneels in between my spread legs and my pussy is aching over the loss of him inside me. He stares down at me with a mix of anger and bewilderment. “Don’t pull my hair like that,” he mutters almost to himself, but I know he’s addressing me. “I’m sorry?” I ask in confusion. “Never mind,” he growls. Then his hands are at my waist and he’s flipping me over to my stomach. I can feel the bed dip as he scrambles off it, and then he’s pulling me backward until my knees are resting right on the edge.

I don’t even have time to process the sudden change of positions or the pervasively uneasy feeling I have that I’ve disappointed him somehow before he’s slamming back into me from behind. My pleasure is immediately reengaged as I groan from the fullness, and he starts to fuck me again. “Much better,” Bridger groans as he tunnels in out and out of me, his breathing ragged and harsh. And yes… this feels amazing. Maybe not better, but just as good in a different way. But something about Bridger’s tone sets me on edge, because I don’t think he’s talking about the way this feels different to our bodies. I crane my neck so I can get a look at his face. I need to know what’s on his face so I can try to make sense of what feels to be a barrier between us now, but his large hand clamps on the back of my head and he stops me from turning. Then his fingers curl inward, grabbing a large hunk of my hair, and he holds me tight so I can’t look at him. Something’s wrong. I know it. I almost demand he stop and talk to me, but then he takes his other hand, slides it to my front, and then down between my legs. He starts to rub at my clit and mutters, “Want you to come again, Mags.” Okay, that right there… he’s fully engaged with me. He’s back. And because his fingers are magic and his cock is overwhelming me from this new angle, I start to fall under a fog of lust again. I concentrate on the amazing feeling he produces within me, and my heart starts a triple-time beat. Air seems to be a precious commodity as I pant like a dog on a hot day, and I start to pull and push my body against his, making his cock go deeper into me. Bridger groans. “That’s it, baby. Fuck me like I’m fucking you.” His words titillate and thrill me, because it sounds like he needs me the way I need him. His fingers rub furiously against my clit, and he urges me in short, staccato bursts of words. “Come on. Mags. I’m close. Gotta come.” Oh, this man… doesn’t want to leave me behind and the knowledge he wants me to have the ultimate pleasure again before he does sets me off. I go still, my back bowing from the force of the orgasm that tears through me, and once again, I cry out, “Bridger.” He pulls his hands from between my legs, confident my orgasm will continue to fire on its own, and puts both hands to my hips where he starts an all-out assault on my body. He lurches in and out of me, breath sounding like it’s being ripped from his body, and then… he’s suddenly gone. His cock is gone and the last tingles of my orgasm fall immediately flat. I swivel my head and my heart clenches when I see the look on his face. Pure agony and disgust. Bridger isn’t looking at me though. He’s looking down at his cock where he rips the condom off and starts jacking himself. Three quick pumps and he starts to come, thick, pearly jets shooting out and hitting me on my ass and lower back. Bridger head flies backward. He groans and squeezes his eyes shut as his hand flies over his shaft, viciously pulling and stroking… milking himself until every last drop is unloaded onto me. I’m stunned as I watch his hand slow down. He strokes a few more times, squeezing the head one last time to pull a few more drops out. He even flexes his hips and wipes those drops clinging to his dick right onto my ass. His eyes finally open as he looks down at his handiwork of painting my backside. Blank. His eyes are flat, empty, and blank as they stare down at my ass, and a sense of anxious dread starts to fill me. Finally, he gives a deep sigh of… relief? Or is that regret? I can’t tell.

Then his gaze slowly climbs up my body and locks with mine as I look at him from my position on my hands and knees. The cold flatness of his look melts away. He smiles at me sadly. “I’m going to get something to clean you up.” He turns away and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. No post-sex cuddles. No sweet words. No soft touches or affirmation of what we just shared. Just his cum on my back and ass now turning cold as the air flows over it, and I flop down to my stomach, incredibly confused and feeling utterly alone. After a few moments, I hear the toilet flush, and then the sink running. My body braces when the bathroom door opens and I tilt my head, resting my cheek on the pillow to watch Bridger as he comes out. His gaze immediately comes to mine as he walks toward the bed, a wet washcloth in his hand. I stay still as he climbs onto the bed, leaning on his haunches as he comes to rest beside my body. My eyes close as he gently takes the washcloth, which is coarse, but also warm, and wipes the evidence of our union from my skin. “All clean,” he murmurs as he pulls it away and cool air immediately causes a chill to race up my spine. My eyes open and meet with his once again. No mistaking the look of contrition on his face, and I have to wonder what he feels sorry about. For fucking me? For being connected to me, not just physically but mentally, and then ripping it away from me midorgasm? “What was that?” I ask softly. His face is a mask of shrewd calculation as he looks at me. “It was sex.” “But that’s all it was?” I ask for clarification, already bracing for the answer I know is coming. “That’s all it was,” he confirms, and his eyes fall away… not able to meet mine as he lies to me. “No,” I say firmly, pushing up to my knees and turning to face him. His gaze snaps back to mine with surprise. “It was less than sex.” “Excuse me?” he growls. I scramble off the bed and bend down to my panties, tugging them on. Without looking at him, I grab my pants and put them on too. “Sex implies there’s some level of intimacy between two people. And I think there was… to start. But then it became less than that. It wasn’t anything more than a release for you by the time you finished.” “Seems to me you got off too,” he snaps as he rolls from the bed. “Three times as I recall.” I don’t even look at him though, gathering my top and shoving my arms through the sleeves. I don’t take the time to bother buttoning it, just overlap the two sides of the opening over my breasts and wrap my arms protectively around myself to keep it closed. “That’s right,” I sneer at Bridger, my anger starting to bubble and froth at the way he’s discounting my feelings. “Three orgasms that were amazing—until they weren’t. The only thing I remember about that experience is the look of disdain you had for me when you jacked off onto my back.” “Not for you,” he growls as he stands before me naked and unabashed. “Not ever for you.” “Then who?” I shout in frustration as I throw my arms wide, my pajama top falling open. To Bridger’s credit, his eyes don’t drift down to my breasts but hold me pinned in place. “For me,” he says softly. I can’t help it. The pain those words cause propel me across the carpet until I’m right before him, my palms to his cheeks. He flinches but never breaks eye contact as he stares down at me.

“For you? Why?” I ask in bewilderment. His hands come up, take my own, and pull them away from his face. He cradles them gently when he says, “I don’t come inside of a woman. Not ever.” “I don’t understand. Is that some kind of fetish or something? Like… I know it can be hot for a guy to come on a woman.” He gives me a soft smile. “Yeah, that can totally be hot and I like that, but that’s not what I mean.” “What then?” I push at him, taking advantage of his willingness to open up to me. “Mags,” he says, giving a squeeze to my hands. “You’re a very sweet woman, and I don’t want to hurt you. But I’m going to tell you something about myself that people only suspect about me.” My stomach drops over the ominous tone, but I nod my head to give him permission to possibly hurt me further. “I am beyond fucked up in the head when it comes to fucking and intimacy,” he says in a flat voice. “They are two entirely different things to me. One I crave… that’s the fucking… and one I cannot stand… that’s the intimacy. Coming inside of a woman—inside her mouth, her pussy, her ass—it’s just too much for me. I can’t do it.” “Can’t or won’t?” I ask, because I get the sneaking suspicion this may be a cop out. “Won’t,” he admits with a hard glint in his eye. “Not ever again.” “That’s… that’s… ridiculous,” I sputter. “Every man who has sex will eventually come inside of a woman—or a man as the case may be.” Bridger’s hands release mine as he steps back. “Well, I don’t. I don’t like it, and I never will.” “So you’ve done it before… orgasmed inside of a woman?” I press, because we’re clearly getting to the root of the issue. Finally, he looks away from me, searching the floor for his clothing. I can see an invisible wall being raised between us, and I feel like I’m losing him. I can’t for the life of me figure out what happened to this beautifully fucked-up man to make him feel that way, but it breaks my heart in two. I lunge forward, taking his forearm just as he starts to bend over for his jeans. “Wait.” He goes still, straightens, and turns to me, a look of wariness on his face. “Was this a one-time only thing between us?” Bridger’s entire body locks tight and his lips flatten out. “That was the plan. I can’t give you what you want.” “Maybe I’m willing to accept only what you can give me,” I counter, stepping in closer to him, desperately offering myself in the only way I can apparently be united with this man. “We’re going to be stuck with each other a little bit longer. What if I’m okay with how things just played out? I mean… you do give good orgasms, and I know what to expect now.” He cocks a skeptical eyebrow at me. “Mags… come on. You’re an incredibly warm and open person. You don’t want what I can offer.” My lips tingle with the out-and-out lie I tell him. “You’re wrong. I’m okay with some raunchy, impersonal sex if that’s all this is. Truth be told… even you pulling out and coming on my back was a lot better than what I’ve had in my life. I’ve lived in a world where men just use women for their own pleasure.” “Isn’t that what I just did to you?” he replies sardonically. “No,” I say matter of factly. “You had me ride your face and gave me three massive orgasms. Doesn’t sound like you were using me at all.” Bridger remains unconvinced, still staring down at me with a healthy dose of reluctance on his face. “I’ll use you up and spit you out when I’m done, Mags.”

His warning holds no punch, because he made the mistake of calling me Mags, which he uses like a term of endearment every time he says it. “I can accept that,” I tell him with my chin lifted. But I won’t. I will not ever accept that from you, Bridger, and I’m going to make you see that there’s more to sex than your narrow little world defines for you. “I’ll hurt you,” he says as a last-ditch effort to put me off. I give him a sensual smile, step in closer to his body, and drop my hand down to grasp his cock. It’s still quite large even in its softened state, and my heart leaps with satisfactions as it starts to swell in my grasp. “Maybe I’ll be the one who hurts you,” I whisper to him. “Do you want me to hurt you, Bridger?” He takes in a ragged breath, flexing his hips so my hand moves against him. “Yes,” he growls, and I can’t tell if he’s talking about right now in this moment, perhaps some pain the way he likes to dole it out to other women, or if perhaps he’s secretly hoping I can hurt him on a deeper level to prove to him that he’s not as insulated as he likes to believe.

Chapter 13

Bridger MAGGIE IS ALMOST bouncing with anticipation as I pull into Gayle’s driveway and she sees her sedan under the carport. This is a change from the mellow and relaxed Maggie I had dealt with this morning when we rolled out of bed. It wasn’t my intent to sleep with her all night, and in fact, I had told myself I was going to kick her out after we’d had sex for the third time. But I was exhausted after having blown three successive nuts and given her twice as many orgasms while we frantically fucked all through the night. There would have been a fourth time, but I didn’t have any more condoms on me. I thought perhaps I’d just fuck her without one because I knew she was clean. Jared had run a full blood panel on her when he first examined her, and I had him include an STD test in the workup. Not because I was thinking about fucking her then, because no… that was nowhere on my mind, but she had been held hostage in a biker compound and I knew those guys didn’t take safe sex seriously. I figured she’d want to know if she was carrying anything, but apparently, she wasn’t. I suspect that’s because Zeke was the only one who touched her, and I knew he always wrapped up when he fucked pussy that wasn’t Kayla’s. But after that third time, we’d both collapsed on the bed side by side, Maggie clearly not caring I’d come all over her stomach that time. I had also proved to myself that I could fuck her face to face with no impunity. Well, that’s not quite right. I was completely affected by kissing her the entire time and watching her face as she came with my cock wedged in deep, and I was barely able to pull out in time to avoid the dreaded “coming inside of a woman”. But I’ll never admit to myself that I kept wondering… what if I tried it just once to see what would happen? Regardless, I didn’t give in to that insane curiosity and we both fell asleep on top of the wrinkled bedspread and stayed that way until the light peeked in through the curtained windows. I found Maggie curled into my side, sleeping like the dead, and a not exactly unpleasant feeling of belonging pulsed within me as I took stock of her warm skin pressed against mine and the way her breath feathered over my chest. I relished it for a moment, completely accepting that this was an intimate moment, but not being entirely too wigged out by it. I was way too sated and mellow from great, all-night sex, which is something I’ve never had because I’ve never stuck around that long to go more than once. “God, I think I’m going to pee my pants,” Maggie says in an almost whispered squeal, and I can’t help but laugh. I also can’t help but be a little envious as she bounces up and down on the passenger seat, her tits jiggling, and I wonder if I could handle her riding my cock. I don’t ever let a woman on top because bad memories and all that, but for some reason, I’m very curious as to what it would be like to have Maggie riding stick and letting me palm those beauties at the same time. Shaking my head, I bring the SUV to a stop and put it in park. The front door opens and a little girl comes flying out, followed by an older woman who is rail thin but carries her posture in a way you know there’s strength—both physical and mental—within. She stands on the porch with her iron-gray hair in a bun and watches with a smile as Belle jets down the front steps. Maggie’s out the car door in a flash, and my throat turns dry as I watch her fall to her knees on the ground just as Belle slams into her, screaming, “Mommy.”

My hand involuntarily rises, and I rub my knuckles across the ache right in the middle of my breastbone. I don’t have much experience with moms and little kids. None of my friends have children, and my only experience is what I’ve seen on TV or in the movies. But I can tell you… I never had a reaction to a moment of parental bonding like I’m having right now. I remember those stretch marks on Maggie’s stomach, and I look at the way she buries her face in Belle’s neck. For the first time in my life, I have a true glimpse of what being a mother is all about. This is shocking to my senses because to me, mothers sexually abuse their boys and brainwash them into thinking beatings and pain enhance the sexual experience. I mean, my stepmom didn’t bake me cookies but she got me off regularly, and that was something, right? I feel a dark bitterness start to overtake my senses, and I force myself to push those thoughts aside as I step out of the SUV and onto the driveway. Glancing up at Gayle, I see she gives me a little wave of her hand to join her in the house while Maggie plops her butt on the browning front yard grass and pulls Belle onto her lap without even looking at me once. I smile and walk past them, following Gayle into the tiny brown house and into the little kitchen decorated with cheery yellow curtains over the windows and the faint odor of lemon cleaner and freshbrewed coffee. She turns her head and smiles at me over her shoulder, pouring a cup of coffee from a half-empty pot. “I’m Gayle, Maggie’s great aunt, and you must be the man that my Randall held a gun on yesterday afternoon.” I chuckle as I accept the cup from her. “Yes, ma’am. Bridger’s the name.” “Well, welcome to my home, Bridger,” she says with a grin and I find myself instantly connecting to this little spitfire of a woman. She’s wearing faded jeans, a pair of worn crocs on her feet with white socks underneath, and a plaid, button-down flannel about three sizes too big for her. Gayle pours herself a cup of coffee and then heads to the small, round table that takes up at least half of the tiny kitchen space. She inclines her head and I follow suit, taking the chair opposite her. “So, what type of trouble is Maggie in now?” Her voice is not judgmental or admonishing, more worried than anything, and that puts me at ease. I would not take kindly to anyone placing any blame on her shoulders at this point of Maggie’s torturous journey out of captivity. And that’s so weird… this all-encompassing protective instinct I have where she’s concerned. I take sip of coffee, put it down on the table, and tell her the truth. “Belle’s father, Zeke, captured Maggie after she brought Belle to you.” “Oh, my God,” she gasps, bringing her hand over her mouth. “What did that animal do to her?” I decline to tell her the truth, because I don’t want to cause any anxiety or stress on this woman. So I merely say, “She’s fine. She was able to escape with the help of a friend, and I’ve been keeping her safe.” Gayle narrows her eyes at me and her voice is pure forged steel when she says, “Now you listen here, young man… don’t you sugarcoat things with me. I want to know what happened to my Maggie.” Her ferocity is adorable and equally respectable, and I see a strong backbone and fortitude emanating from this woman. So I give her the truth. “He beat her. Tried to get her to tell him where Belle is.” Gayle swallows hard, but otherwise doesn’t flinch. “Then he left, and his old lady, Kayla, tortured Maggie,” I continue, because for some reason, I just know this woman needs to be fully apprised of the situation so she can give the proper guidance and support to her great niece. “It was bad, Gayle. I mean, really bad.” “But she’s okay now?” she asks fearfully, and I’m grateful she doesn’t want more details than what I just gave her.

“Yes,” I tell her with a reassuring smile. “She’s fine, strong, and now very happy to have Belle back.” Another delicious squeeze of joy deep within my chest as I recall Belle flying into Maggie’s arms. “So everything’s all settled?” Gayle inquires. “Zeke’s not a threat anymore?” “No, he’s a very big threat,” I tell her bluntly. “He’s doubling up his efforts to find them both, and we’re afraid he might start targeting her family. I’ve talked to her parents… they’re going to leave town for a bit.” “Oh, dear,” she murmurs, her eyes sliding to the front door where Maggie and Belle are reuniting on the other side. “Should she be here?” “I think it’s best she come back to Jackson with me,” I tell her bluntly. “But that’s where Zeke is.” “And it’s the last place he’d think they’d be. I can keep her safe until he can be taken down.” “And just who is supposed to do that?” she asks skeptically. “There’s a guy who’s undercover ATF. Been inside the club for three years. He’s the one who rescued Maggie and got her out of there. Brought her to me. I think a huge bust is going to be going down very soon from what I’ve been told. Once that happens, they’ll both be safe.” Gayle nods, instantly looking relieved. She stands up from the chair and heads to the refrigerator. “I’m going to make breakfast for everyone so you can have full bellies for the trip back.” I watch in silence as she pulls eggs and bacon from the refrigerator, and then a bag of frozen hash browns from the freezer. She gets out an electric griddle and loads it up with the bacon, takes another skillet from a cupboard, and heats oil in it on the stove. As she moves efficiently around her kitchen, she says, “Maggie’s a good girl.” Oh, Gayle… if you knew the things she’s let me do to her, you wouldn’t say that. “Yeah… she is,” I agree softly, a secret smile hidden deep within me. “Her parents are too tough on her. They never understood that children could be stubborn, rebellious, and willful, and that they just sometimes need to find their own way. She made a few mistakes, and they’ve pretty much written her off… made it impossible for her to return home, so she really didn’t have a home. That’s never a good situation to be in.” “But she kept returning to you,” I point out. “You were her home.” Gayle nods as she takes a fork and starts flipping the bacon. “That child knows she’s always welcome here for as long as she wants. I tried to get her to stay when she brought me Belle a few weeks ago, but she didn’t want me in danger. I assured her Randall’s gun was plenty of protection.” “I don’t think Zeke could find you if he can’t get to her parents, but maybe you should go stay with Randall just in case,” I suggest. Gayle snorts. “That randy old toad would love to hear you say that. He’d tie me to his bed if he got the opportunity.” Wincing, I try to mentally scrub out my ears. I don’t want to know these things about dear Great Aunt Gayle. She spins on me, holding a fork up as she stabs it in my direction. “You promise me you’ll protect them with your life if it’s necessary.” “It won’t be,” I assure her, because I’m pretty confident Zeke has no clue I’m helping her and that he’s going to jail soon anyway. “But I promise… he’s not getting anywhere near Maggie and Belle.” She stares at me a hard moment, either trying to determine if she believes me or she’s trying to convey some brutal message that she’ll castrate me if I let her down. Finally, she gives me a smile and says, “You’re a good man, I can tell. Strong and with character.” I drop my gaze from her so she doesn’t see the cowardice within. That I’m not strong or else I

wouldn’t let the ghosts of my past dictate how I treat Maggie. I have no character because I’m unwilling to trust that Maggie just might be different. I’m definitely not good, having done things in my life that would turn her gray hair pure white if she knew. The front door swings open with a resounding bang. Gayle jumps about a foot high, and then brings her free hand to her chest as if she’s staving off a heart attack. She glares at Belle, who comes flying into the kitchen. “Aunt Gayle… Mommy says I go with her. Go with Mommy. Go with Mommy. Go with Mommy.” The little girl, who is the spitting image of Maggie, runs straight into Gayle’s legs and wraps her arms around them before lifting her face and beaming her happiness upward. Gayle’s weathered hand goes to Belle’s fine, blonde hair that sits just below her shoulders. It’s pinned back from her face with a pink bow, and Gayle strokes the top. “Gonna miss you, child.” “Miss you,” Belle says with a grin on her face, but you can tell she doesn’t really know what that means and is more parroting her aunt. I feel Maggie’s presence behind me before I see her, and then feel her hand come to my shoulder where she squeezes me briefly before walking past. She leans down, picks up Belle, and turns to face me. “Bridger… this is Belle. Belle… this is my friend, Bridger.” Belle puts her hand in her mouth and lowers her face shyly without looking at me. “Belle,” Maggie says softly, tickling at her ribs a bit. “Can you say hi to Bridger?” She finally looks up at me. I get an up-close look at the same fern-colored eyes as Maggie’s. “Hi, Bwidg-uh,” she says, and I actually feel my insides go a bit gooey. I think this may be the first conversation I’ve ever had with a two-year-old, and she’s fucking cute as all get out. “Hi, Belle,” I say as I reach out and hold my hand up in front of her. “Got a high five in there for me?” She looks at me in confusion before looking to her mom, and then back to me. I lean forward in my chair, take her hand, and gently flattening it out before I slightly smack it to mine. “See… that’s a high five.” I let her hand go, and she automatically slaps it to mine again. “High five,” she says with a laugh. “Or,” I say as I curl my hand into a fist, taking hers to do the same. I then bump my knuckles against hers. “You can do a fist bump.” I let her go, and she knocks her fist against mine on her own. “Fist bump.” Laughing, I look to Maggie and say, “Smart kid.” “Gets that from her mommy,” she replies tartly. My phone chimes with an incoming text. Maggie sets Belle down so she can pour a cup of coffee for herself. The little girl immediately scrambles up on one of the kitchen chairs beside me where I feel the weight of her stare. I give her a smile as I pull my phone out, and then glance down at the text. It’s from Cal. We are flying in tomorrow. Already booked room at Wort. Like to do club Sunday night. “Fist bump,” I hear Belle say and I look up to see her little hand hovering in midair. I make a fist and knock it to hers. She giggles, and I can’t help but laugh. There’s a smile lingering on my face as I bend over my phone and shoot a quick response back to Cal. Sounds good. Let’s do dinner first.

“Fist bump,” Belle says, and I look back up. She’s looking at me expectantly, fist hovering in the air. I touch my knuckles to hers, and she starts giggling uncontrollably. “You’ve created a monster,” Maggie says, and my gaze slides to hers. But she’s not looking at me. She’s looking at Belle with such uncontrolled love in her eyes that it makes me want to start crying for some reason. “Fist bump,” Belle says, and I give it to her again.

She laughs and laughs, and that makes Maggie laugh, and I realize I’m feeling something I’ve never felt in my entire life. For the first time… ever… I feel charmed, and I get the distinct impression that there isn’t anything Belle would ask of me that I wouldn’t give her. Little brat.

Chapter 14

Maggie I PULL BACK the covers and place Belle in the middle of the bed in Bridger’s guest room where I’d been sleeping. She normally sleeps in a crib, even though it was a ratty old one that Zeke had one of the guy’s get for her from some yard sale, but Aunt Gayle assured me she’d been sleeping in her bed just fine without falling out. Besides, Belle has gotten to an age where she’s climbing up and down on furniture and seems to have a little better grasp of gravity and such. I’m not so much worried about her falling out of the bed as I am of her waking up in the middle of the night and slipping out to roam the house where she could get in all kinds of trouble. Bridger actually had the same worries. As soon as he carried our bags inside while I carried a sleeping Belle, he went around the house and removed all the guns he had hidden around, locking them up in a cabinet in his bedroom. I could tell this weighed on him a bit, but he told me he truly felt the greater danger was in Belle messing with a gun than Zeke ever showing up here, so he felt the smart thing to do was secure them. That warmed me… that his first thought was of Belle and nothing else, and that’s exactly as it should be. I know he met her only about nine and a half hours ago, but those two just clicked. I know I shouldn’t read anything into it, but Bridger… the man who holds himself so removed from intimacy that he has to come on my stomach or my back has had no problem in letting Belle walk all over him. The entire drive from Coeur D’Alene to Jackson, Belle made Bridger sing songs with him. I was surprised he even knew some of the basics, because I can’t begin to imagine what his past is like given some of his social hang-ups right now. But his childhood apparently revolved around some kid’s songs because he easily pulled forth awesome renditions of “Bah Bah Black Sheep”, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, and “The Wheels on the Bus”. Now, granted, those were really the only three he knew, so they got sung over and over again on the drive, but Bridger didn’t seem to mind. While I was getting sick of hearing the same tunes repetitively sung, they’d finish a song and Belle would cry out from her car seat in the back, “Again.” And Bridger would sing with her again. I’m not sure I’ve ever been as grateful as when Belle fell asleep after we stopped for a quick lunch at McDonald’s—where Belle insisted on sitting in the booth beside Bridger—and I eagerly turned on the radio so I could listen to some adult music for a bit. Pulling the covers up to her chest, I lean over, kiss her head softly, and whisper, “Goodnight, sweet pea. I love you.” She’s so exhausted from the long trip that she doesn’t even stir. When I step out into the hallway, I glance down to Bridger’s room and see his door is shut. He’d said he was going to take a shower and that actually sounds like a good idea. I head across the hall into the bathroom I use. Within moments, I have my clothes shed and I’m standing under a steady spray of hot water while I consider everything that’s happened during the past thirty-six hours. Mostly, I think about Bridger and me and what transpired between us last night. The bridge we crossed when he finally fucked me, only to find myself standing across a chasm from him when it was all said and done. He said he’s fucked in the head, and that his ideas of sex and intimacy are twisted. My heart aches when I think of him pulling out of me before he comes, because he says he doesn’t like it, and that makes me feel wretched about myself because I know I’m not imagining the connection I have with

him. He says he hates intimacy, yet he shows it to me all the time. I feel it in the way he kisses me or runs his fingers over my stretch marks while he stares at me with unbridled lust. The way he makes me come… like it’s vital to him that I feel pleasure. Even the way he gently cleans me off after he spills himself onto me is an intimate act, but he doesn’t seem to get that. Regardless, I am not giving up on him. The man has the potential inside of him, I just know it. He’s saved me, and now I want to do the same for him. I finish my shower and take a moment to blow dry most of the dampness from my hair. After slipping into a pair of clean panties and a tight t-shirt, I make my way down to his room. He hasn’t invited me there, but he didn’t say he didn’t want me either. While our trip today was filled with clean conversation in between “The Wheels on the Bus”, I could still feel the current of attraction running between us. I don’t bother knocking on his door because I am not ready to hear him tell me to go away, so I open it gently and peek my head inside. His room is lit in a soft glow from the bedside lamp he has on, and Bridger lays there totally naked on his bed, propped up against some pillows and his headboard. My heart stops beating in my chest as I see him stroking his cock, his eyes heated with lust as he looks at me. “’Bout damn time you got in here,” he growls. “I wasn’t sure if you—” “Don’t ever doubt my want for you,” he says in a low voice, like smooth stones are tumbling within his throat. “Now get over here.” My panties immediate get soaked just from the naked need in his voice, and I hurry into the room, leaving the door open slightly so I can hear if Belle calls out to me. “Ditch the shirt and panties,” he orders me, his hand slowly working his hard shaft. I scramble to comply, totally looking awkward and not sexy in the slightest, but the desire in his eyes doesn’t dull and he looks like he wants to attack me. When I pull my panties clear, he holds his hand out for them. I don’t hesitate; I just place them in his palm. His fingers rub along the crotch, and he gives me a feral smile as he feels the wetness there. “Did you know it was torture all day today, sitting next to you in that car… smelling you… but not being able to touch you?” See… that’s intimacy, Bridger, whether you admit it or not. I shake my head and he gives a dark laugh, crooking his finger at me to come closer. My feet obey and my heart feels like it’s going to burst from my chest. Before I reach the bed, Bridger pushes off it and reaches into the drawer of the bedside table. “Get on the bed. On your hands and knees.” My stomach flips when he turns to me, a bottle of lube, a butt plug, and my panties held in his hands. My throat goes absolutely dry. “What are you going to do with those?” “I’m going to shove these panties in your mouth so you don’t wake up Belle when you scream, then I’m going to slide this plug into your ass before I fuck you,” he says with dark promise. “And I promise… it’s going to feel really good.” A cramp of longing hits me square between my legs, but I don’t get on the bed as he demanded. Instead, I ask, “That the kind of kinky stuff that goes on at the club?” He laughs, and it sounds amused and sinister all at the same time. “This doesn’t even come close to the kink that happens at the club, Mags. Now get on the bed.” I let out a rush of nervous breath and do as he commands, not because I don’t have the fortitude to say no, but because I most definitely want to say yes. I crawl onto the mattress, facing away from him, and raise my ass into the air as I go down to my elbows. I bow my head, look at the navy comforter, and wait to see what he does.

The first sensation is the soft glide of my silk panties across my ass just as the bed dips and Bridger comes up behind me. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Mags,” he whispers, and my heart flutters. Then a hand is sliding down my butt, in between my legs, and his fingers softly rub against my pussy. He just circles them lightly against my damp flesh, driving me crazy for more of his touch. Finally, he dips a finger inside of me, easily sinking in because I’m soaked, and then pulls it back out. Dragging it up the crease of my ass, he taps the tip against my tight hole. I gasp and squirm, both nervous and excited to see what he does. “Open your mouth,” he tells me. I don’t hesitate, raising my head and turning it to him so he has access. In goes my panties and I have a moment of panic that I won’t be able to breathe, but he doesn’t push them in far, only enough to muffle my screams. “Only thing that would be better is if I had the time to tie you up, but we’ll save that for some other night,” he murmurs to me. I lower my head again, staring at the comforter, and my skin starts to prickle with apprehension when I hear the click of the lube cap and then feel a warm stream right over the crack of my ass. Bridger’s finger is next, pulling the slick gel down and massaging it all around my hole. I can’t help that my body pushes back against him… seeking more. “Is your ass cherry, Mags?” Bridger whispers as he pushes the tip of his finger in. I shake my head frantically, thinking of the times that Zeke fucked me there. He always used lube, thank God. “Good to know,” he mutters, pushing his finger all the way in. I gurgle against the panties, the feeling of his finger far too good and causing a burning need in me for more. “I would fuck your ass right now,” Bridger says, voice dark. “But I want that pussy too bad. I want that sweet, wet, tight Maggie pussy wrapped around my cock.” Oh, God. Oh, God. Bridger’s words are like ear porn, and I can feel wetness leaking out of me between my legs. I start panting against the silk in my mouth and if I were able to, I’d scream at him to just fuck me already. But he has something else to do first. Bridger removes his finger, and it’s immediately replaced by the cool tip of the butt plug. I’ve never had one of those before, but as he slides it into me, my tender flesh stretching and then forming around it, I think to myself that I’ve not led a very full life without experiencing this. It feels amazing as he slides it into the hilt and then taps his finger against it a few times. That action makes me squirm and moan against my gag. “Fucking beautiful,” Bridger mutters, and his voice sounds strained. I hear him rip into a condom and in my mind, I can see him rolling it on that long, thick cock of his. My mouth would be watering hard right now if the silk weren’t sucking everything up. I wait for it… for him to slam into me from behind, but instead, he flips my body over until I’m lying on my back and he’s looming over me. He leers down at me, in a totally sexy way, and taunts, “Want to watch your face while I fuck you… want to see how good that plug feels in your ass while I’m doing it.” Oh, God. Oh, God. I have never in my life had a man so focused on making me explore my kinky side and wanting to make sure it feels good to me. My experience with men is that it’s all about them, and they couldn’t give a fuck if I enjoyed it or not. All they cared about is if I moaned at the appropriate times and stayed wet throughout.

Bridger spreads my legs, uses a hand to guide the head of his cock to my pussy, and then he sinks into me slowly. His eyes stayed pinned on me the entire time, and mine immediately water from the overload of sensations. His cock stretching and filling me, rubbing against the plug that’s separated by the thin veil of tissue in between, and pressing it further into me once he bottoms out. My forehead furrows, and I blink my eyes to dispel the moisture. Bridger’s own eyes become worried as he asks, “You okay?” I nod my head frantically, lest he thinks I want him to stop. I try to say, “I’m good,” against the panties in my mouth, but it’s absolutely unintelligible. Still, he accepts my nod and his face smoothes out. “Good,” he praises, lowering his elbows to the mattress by my ribs. “I’m going to fuck you so slow, you won’t know where time has gone. Not going to touch your clit. Going to just make you come with the power of a slow fuck from my cock and that plug deep in your ass. Think you can do that for me?” I nod vigorously again. He smiles so beautifully at me that the wind is knocked from my lungs. Bridger bends down, places a kiss on my cheek, and then starts to move inside me. And oh my word… nothing has ever felt like this. Every nerve in my body seems to fire, and the sensation of his cock sliding in my pussy, rubbing against the plug, jamming it into my ass every time he sinks to the hilt… He’s only about five strokes in and I already feel my entire body tightening with the need for release. Bridger’s hips swivel and gyrate, sinking into me from various angles. He stays slow and steady, and I marvel at his control and power. But for the sheen of sweat that immediately breaks out onto his forehead, I wouldn’t know he was affected at all by this sensuous fuck. But then he pulls out, and instead of a slow slide in, he punches his hips and drives into me hard. The plug jostles in my ass, his pelvis presses on my clit, and stars explode behind my eyes because the feeling is so intense. I scream against the panties, but it stays locked in the top of my throat with no means to escape. A flash of triumph spreads across Bridger’s face as he increases the power of his thrusts, seemingly forgetting that he promised me a slow fuck. I watch as his eyes start to flutter closed. He bites his lower lip, and I know he’s starting to get lost to the pleasure along with me. “Christ, Mags,” he whispers in between panting breaths. “Why in the fuck do you feel so good to me?” He sounds so wondrous and lost all at the same time. It makes my heart hurt a little. Bridger leans down and places his forehead against mine, his rough breathing feathering across my face. “So good, baby,” he whispers and starts to fuck me harder. My orgasm brews… bubbles… churns hotly at the base of my spine. Bridger rotates his hips again, pressing down on my clit once more, and the pleasure jolts through me so hard that my hands fly to his head. I burrow my fingers into his hair. As he slams into me again, I scream against the panties and yank viciously at his hair without thinking what I’m doing. Bridger’s movements slow and he pulls his head up, twisting his neck and dislodging my hands as he pushes up and places his hands at the back of my thighs, giving him better leverage to start pounding at me again. My orgasm curls inward… pulses a few short times as if it’s gearing up to break free of a starter’s gate, and with another slam of Bridger’s cock into me, it springs forth and decimates my entire body. The minute I start shaking, Bridger quickly pulls out of me. I think he’s going to come too, but, instead, he reaches down and jerks the plug out of my ass. I shriek against the silk in my mouth, my orgasm going from a mere burst outward to a nuclear explosion. Then Bridger’s cock is back in me. As I shudder and shake and lose all control of while the world’s strongest and longest-lasting orgasm rages through me, Bridger raises my legs and almost folds me in half so he can fuck me even harder.

He pounds my body brutally, but it hurts way too good. I can feel him everywhere, with every stroke… even deep in my heart as crazy as that sounds. His face becomes pinched, and I realize he’s close to coming. I stare at him, his eyes lock with mine, and I beg him with just the power of my gaze to stay inside me. I tilt my head, raise my eyebrows, and grip desperately at his ass with my fingers to hold him to me. And I think he may do it. I see a flash of determination bolstered by some out-of-this-world fucking, and my heart starts to feel like it’s going to have its own bursting orgasm. Bridger’s breath becomes choppy, his face looks almost pained, and just when I think he’s going to plant deep and let loose, he jerks all the way out of me as he starts to come. He orgasms so hard and fast, he can’t even get the condom off. Instead, he just falls on me where he dry humps the outside of my pussy while he shudders and groans his release. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles with his face pushed into my neck, his hips still gyrating slowly against me as he trembles. “I’m sorry.” I pull the panties out of my mouth and let the flood of saliva coat my tongue. My arms wrap around his broad shoulders, and I press my fingertips into his shoulder blades. “It’s okay.” “I thought I could,” he mutters, his breath still coming out in short bursts, which seem more panic filled than sex filled. “It’s okay,” I say again softly, my hands flattening and stroking the skin on his back. “It’s okay.” Eventually, his breathing evens out and he finally lifts his head to peer down at me. “Maggie… that’s all I’ve got to give you.” I smile at him, and I make it an accepting smile so he doesn’t feel worse than what I already see deep in his eyes. “Then I’ll gladly take it if that’s all there is.” “It won’t be more,” he says almost sternly, making sure expectations will never be failed. Stupid, foolish man. “It’s already more, Bridger,” I reprimand him. “You’re already more than what I ever had.” “You deserve more than that though,” he whispers harshly. “I’ve had so much less,” I remind him with brutal honesty. That doesn’t reassure him as I see him wince and pain fill his eyes. He stares at me a moment more before rolling off me and heading into the bathroom to get cleaned up.

Chapter 15

Bridger I OPEN THE front door of The Wicked Horse, the loud music washing over me. Cal and Macy follow me in. Turning to them both, I lean in and speak loudly. “This is the main club area. We have a full-time DJ but a live band on the weekends. Full-service kitchen over there.” “It’s amazing,” Cal says back with an appreciative smile as his eyes roam. “Maybe we can try to two-step later, honey.” Macy laughs as she snuggles into him. I’m not sure if that was a serious offer by Macy or that’s a euphemism for fucking, because they’re not here for the nightclub. No, they flew from New York City to see the kinky grandeur of The Silo. We’d just arrived from having dinner in Jackson with Logan and Auralie, and while I invited them to the club with us tonight, they both declined. Again, no surprise. All my best Fantasy Makers falling to that crazy little thing called love, and while I don’t think any of them are necessarily adverse to what goes on here, I think they’re just so far up each other’s asses right now with the newness of their relationships that The Silo has no appeal for them. Not so with Cal and Macy apparently. While I get the impression they don’t do this often, they still keep their sex life spicy by doing things like this. I lead them through the throng of nightclub patrons, down the back hallway, and out the rear door. We navigate the stone slate path aglow with landscape lighting to The Silo that sits a few dozen yards behind. The Silo is exactly what it sounds like. A tall, round building done in white concrete staves with an authentic grain elevator running up the outside. Inside is a little different though. I check my security fob, punch in the random key code it assigns, and pull the door open for Cal and Macy. They enter, walk down the short hallway to the interior, and Cal gives a low whistle of appreciation as they look around. It’s a far cry from the sex club where we met in New York, which was a huge mansion filled with elegantly decorated, private rooms. The Silo is a bit more open and transparent. A huge, circular space with glassed rooms around the perimeter so everyone can watch the action inside. Macy’s head turns to the left, taking in the closest set of glassed-in rooms. It’s still fairly early at ten PM, so the crowd is a bit light, but the rooms are already sporting some major action. The first room to her left is occupied by a couple fucking on a mattress with black silk sheets. It’s a spotlight display room and only meant for a twosome or threesome who want to keep the group intimate but still be seen. The next room houses the stockade I’d built for Cat when she was an active participant here, and I’m surprised to see Jared Crossgrave in there. He’s shackled tight in the stockade. One of the patrons is fucking his ass while another one has his dick shoved down Jared’s throat. Again, not interested in guys, but there’s no denying it’s a hot setup. Macy must agree because she reaches back to squeeze Cal’s hand when her eyes land on the scene. Finally, she cranes her neck and takes in the next room, which is the Orgy Room. There are probably ten or so people in there, all naked and engaged in various stages of fucking. “You two want a drink?” I ask, but Macy shakes her head without taking her gaze off the orgy room. “I think my girl found the room she wants,” Cal says with a husky voice. “We’ll join you for a drink… after.” I laugh and clap Cal on the back, then turn toward the circular bar in the center of the room. Finding an

empty stool near the Orgy Room so I can watch, I sit down and order a beer from one of the bartenders. When she sets it in front of me, I throw a ten-dollar bill down and tell her to keep the change. I may own the place, but I pay for everything here, just so my staff knows nothing is free. After taking a sip, I swivel the stool and look toward the Orgy Room. Cal and Macy are already inside, but they are doing nothing more than reclining on a double-wide lounge chaise and making out. They don’t look to be in a hurry to do anything, and I watch them with interest. I learned a lot more about them personally at dinner tonight. Cal’s best friend and law partner, McKayla Connover, is also Macy’s best friend. Apparently, Cal and Macy used to hate each other, and then became passionate secret lovers before falling in love. Macy was an heiress turned practically penniless when her father was convicted of so many white-collar crimes that he’s spending the rest of his life in prison. But you’d never know it from looking at her or talking to her. The statuesque redhead is sweet, humble, and works full time for a non-profit outreach program. Cal, of course, is a distinguished attorney, and now the two of them are getting ready to get their freak on in front of a crowd of strangers. It’s titillating, no doubt, the things that go on inside this club. But I rarely feel anything as I watch the action. It’s business to me. So I can look with a somewhat dispassionate eye as I watch Macy roll over on top of her husband, her red silk dress riding high up a pair of spectacular legs. Not as spectacular as Maggie’s but still… not a hardship to look at. I don’t even chastise myself for thinking of Maggie because I’ve just accepted that’s the way things are. I can’t go five minutes without seeing her face, remembering how fucking fantastic her pussy feels, or the way she carried a sleeping Belle into the house last night with the look of such pure completeness on her face. It made me a little jealous I’m not the cause of that look. So I’ve given up trying to banish her, and I’ve decided to accept things for right now. She’s in my house. She’s in my life. She has said unequivocally that she accepts what I can offer her—which isn’t much in my opinion—but she seems to think it’s enough for her. Selfish bastard that I am, I’m going to take her at face value. I’m going to continue basking in the goodness of Maggie while I can. I know she’s not a permanent fixture, and I know I can’t offer her a happily ever after, but I can give both of us a happily for right now kind of existence. Memories of last night wash over me as I keep my gaze pinned on Cal and Macy. She’s now pulling her dress over her head, dropping it to the floor, and Cal’s hands go to his wife’s breasts. She throws her head back and I can imagine the moan he’s provoking. I’d done the same to Mags last night, although most of her sounds were muffled by the panties I’d stuffed in her mouth. Last night, Maggie made me feel things that were horrible and wonderful all at the same time. Once I’d pulled the plug out of her ass, I marveled at what I believe to be the strongest orgasm I’ve ever seen a woman have at my hands. For a moment after I shoved my cock back inside of her, I wanted to experience it all. For a brief but insane moment, I thought to myself that perhaps my demons weren’t worth fighting. As Maggie dug her fingernails into my ass in a silent plea to stay inside of her, I resolved that I was going to do it. I was going to say to hell with my past, my bitter memories, and most of all my shame, and I was going to come deep inside that beautiful pussy. I held strong and true and I slammed into her hard when I felt my orgasm starting to break free. But then I saw something in Maggie’s eyes. It was probably nothing more than sweet happiness that I’d give her the intimacy she was craving, but my twisted mind chose to see it as triumph. And then I was seeing nothing but her face giving me that evil look of victory. In that suspended moment between amazing pleasure and all-consuming release from orgasm, I became terrified that if I came inside of Maggie and then experienced the disgust and shame I had felt all those times my stepmother made me come inside of her, that I’d transfer those feelings to Mags.

I wasn’t afraid of Maggie falling for me if I gave her that intimacy. I was afraid I would hate her for it. So I pulled out, humped her like a horny twelve-year-old boy, and came within the confines of the latex condom while Maggie whispered to me that it was okay. My stepmother wasn’t always evil. When my dad started dating her just over a year after my mom died, she was actually quite nice to me. She didn’t try to be a replacement, but she took great efforts to show me I could rely on her. From the ages of seven to nine, we had a decent relationship. Then my father died and she was appointed as my guardian, which were my father’s wishes according to his will. Her change from suitable stepmother to abusing monster was gradual, although in my heart of hearts, I think she was always a monster. I even believe had my dad lived, she was going to abuse me no matter what. She’d just do a better job of hiding it. When my father died, she became cold and distant. The only interaction that came from her was when she yelled at me for the smallest of infractions. By the time I was ten, she was beating me regularly, usually for no reason at all. These beatings were always followed up by ostentatious shows of apology from her, usually in the form of hugs, kisses, and bribery gifts. She first started touching me inappropriately around the time I was twelve, using her affection after a beating as an excuse to put her hands on me in a different way. Likewise, she encouraged me to reciprocate. I was old enough to know it wasn’t quite right what she was doing, but I was also scared enough of her and too young to question. I remember having my first wet dream when I was thirteen, and my stepmom having a gleam in her eye when she saw the sheets. By this time, she was regularly using drugs, which was sometimes fine by me. When she was so out of her mind on heroin, she’d ignore me for days at a time, and that was when I was happiest. But when she was in between fixes, she came on to me stronger than ever. In fact, I think she considered me a “fix”. One night, after a particularly vicious beating, she gave me my first blow job and I learned to equate the pain of punishment with a pleasurable reward. I still knew it wasn’t quite right, but I also took the good feeling to try to compensate for how bad it was at all other times. By the time I was fourteen, my stepmom didn’t need me to fuck up to give me a beating. She had regularly started making it a part of foreplay for me, using ropes to tie me up with the promise that I’d have a bit of pain before my sweet reward. Her favorite tool was the belt—which is an implement I never use in my work—and she spared no part of my body from its fury. I became so conditioned that this was my way of life, I didn’t question it anymore. None of my friends at school would ever believe the horrors that happened in my house, and I was too ashamed to admit I’d reached the point where my stepmom didn’t even have to tie me down. That there were many times I’d get on the bed just from her command, letting her whip the shit out of me before she fucked me. Throughout every single loathsome encounter with her, she tormented me by having complete control over my body. And her sick, twisted games included telling me how much she loved having my cum inside of her. She’d ride my dick, taunting me, knowing I’d give it up to her, and then she’d shame me with it afterward. “Look, Bridger… look at your cum dripping out of me. Isn’t it beautiful?” If Maggie knew all that shit, she’d understand why it’s taboo to me to share that with a woman. Why there’s nothing beautiful about it to me. Why instead, I get a little bit of vindication by denying that to a woman, and in turn, perhaps giving her a little humiliation by marking her with my semen when I come. God, fuck me in the ass as I deserve, but yeah… even with Maggie. I come on her in part so she knows I don’t respect her enough to do otherwise.

I’m a shameful, heartless fuck, no doubt, but I’m also selfish as I mentioned. As long as Maggie wants me, I’m going to give it to her in the only way I know how, and the reason I’m doing it is because I’ve never had pleasure the way I experience it with Maggie. My orgasms are strong and vibrant and transport me to a place I’ve never been before. I crave that with her so the one thing I vow to myself and to her, although she’ll never know it, is that I’ll kill myself to make it pleasurable for her in return. I’ll go to the ends of the earth to at least make her feel the best she’s ever felt. To make her orgasms forever be unrivaled. It’s the very least I can do for her for the amazing pleasure I’m receiving. I watch with interest as Macy scoots down Cal’s body, her hands deftly working at the belt to his pants. She gives him smoldering glances as she frees his cock and takes it in hand. He says something to her. She tilts her head back and laughs, and I can’t help but envy their easygoing yet incredibly trusting relationship. What I wouldn’t give to purge every bit of doubt and shame out of me and have the ability to laugh with Maggie like that. Macy bends over her husband and takes the length of him in her mouth. Her long hair is pulled into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck, so I have an unobstructed view of her cheeks hollowing as she sucks Cal’s cock. She’s a natural and takes it deep with no gag reflex. Very impressive. Cal lifts up on one elbow to better watch her, reaches a hand out, and touches her cheek. It’s sensuous and intimate even as it’s filthy kinky because they’re doing it in front of strangers. I half expect them to start fucking—perhaps even Cal suggests it as he says something to her—but she gives her head a shake before starting to bob over him faster and faster. Cal’s eyes blaze with lust as he gives himself over to the pleasure of his wife’s oral skills, his mouth moving in what I bet are whispers of encouragement. Macy sucks and jacks him, every once in a while peeking up at her husband with pure devotion burning in her eyes. It’s their communication between each other that I find sexy, and my cock starts to perk up a bit. Odd. I’ve seen a thousand blow jobs and they haven’t motivated me. But watching Cal touching his wife’s cheek while she gobbles up his cock with that look in her eyes like he’s the only man on this earth touches me in some way. It makes me wonder if Maggie would ever look at me like that, and what I would give her if she did. Staring at them, I contemplate all these unknowns. I don’t move my gaze once, watching Macy’s cheeks hollow and Cal’s head fall back as he starts to lose himself. I watch his hips punch upward as he shouts in abandon, and I watch Macy’s throat move up and down as she swallows her husband’s gift to her. Fuck, I want to have that. I know I can’t… afraid it will feel awful, all evidence to the contrary, as I watch Cal coat Macy’s tongue with his cum and the pure pleasure etched on his face as it happens. I suppose that occurs because they have trust between them. Trust is not something I give to anyone save for Woolf and maybe Father Adrian. I’ve known Maggie less than two weeks, and I certainly don’t trust her. I don’t know her, really. Except, she’s never given me any reason to doubt her. She’s shown herself to be an amazingly resilient woman, a devoted mother, and a caring individual who doesn’t hold my deficiencies against me. Those things aren’t enough to warrant trust, but maybe they’re enough to warrant me giving a little more of myself and seeing what happens with her.

Chapter 16

Maggie “FULL HOUSE. READ ’EM and weep, ladies,” Sloane says as she lays her cards down with flourish. And yup… three jacks and two nines. The petite blonde with blue eyes flashes a grin as she rakes the large pile of chips in the center of the table toward her staggering pile that’s almost cleaned everyone else out. “Damn it,” Callie says as she tosses her cards facedown. “You are the luckiest bitch I’ve ever seen.” Callie is absolutely gorgeous with her chocolate-brown hair and eyes that are green like mine but much lighter, so they absolutely pop on her face. She belongs to Woolf, who I’ve come to learn a lot more about tonight as I’m treated to my first girls’ poker night. Bridger had plans with some friends who flew in from New York City. He was going out to dinner with them and then was going to take them to The Silo. I’d lie if I didn’t say I was jealous. Jealous that he didn’t ask me to go out to dinner with his friends and jealous he’s going to be hanging out in his sex club tonight, both of which are ridiculous because I’m in hiding and can’t go out in public. I wanted to question him about the club though… get reassurances he wouldn’t fuck someone else, but in the end, I didn’t have the guts. He owes me nothing, and he’s made it clear he has hang-ups when it comes to relationships. Besides, it’s not like I could go anyway. I had Belle to watch, and that was fine by me. I couldn’t get enough of her, and I spent most of the day annoying her because I constantly wanted to cuddle when all she wanted to do was play. I had to satisfy myself that at least when she took her afternoon nap, she did it in my arms while I sat happily for almost two hours while she slept. Bridger had been doing some work most of the day out in a large, detached shed that sits off the back of the house, but he came in before he got ready to leave for the evening. He advised me he’d invited some friends to come over and sit with me tonight. I was a little pissy that he was going out and I was staying here, and I assured him in what I think was a snotty tone that I didn’t need babysitters. He cocked a gorgeous eyebrow at me and said, “They’re not babysitters, Mags. They’re a group of girls I think you’d get along well with so you can have some fun for a change.” That made me feel like shit for all of about five minutes, but then I got jealous again when he said he was going to take a shower before he had to leave for dinner. Ugh. Why does he have to be so complicated? Why do I have to fall for a complicated man? “Let’s open another bottle of wine,” Cat says as she stands from the table. The final member of our girl’s gang, Auralie, also stands up and says, “I’ll help you get it and some more snacks.” These women showed up about four hours ago with pizzas, chips, and wine, and I was immediately overwhelmed. It’s clear that Callie and Sloane are very close, and I later learned they’ve known each other the longest. Callie is the governor’s daughter, and Sloane was working undercover for a magazine trying to expose both the governor and Callie for their ties to The Silo through Woolf. Talk about a rocky start, but they both laugh when they talk about it. I also learned with interest that Bridger’s best friend, Woolf, left The Silo and gave it all up so he

could be with Callie, whose dad is up for re-election. That’s true love, indeed. Sloane ended up falling in love with a man named Cain who is head of security for both The Wicked Horse and The Silo. She was apparently using him to try to get dirt for the story. He’s obviously forgiven her, and so it goes without saying… that’s true love as well. Cat and Auralie are a bit more closed off, and they’re not as close to Callie and Sloane, but that doesn’t mean they don’t get along. They all have one interesting thing in common, and it’s that they fell in love with men who worked in The Silo. Cat is an exotic woman with long, dark hair, beautiful brown eyes, and high cheekbones that proclaim some American Indian heritage. She was actually a member of the club until her late husband died. He was apparently an abusive prick, and her man Rand pulled her up by the bootstraps and taught her how to lead a new life. Auralie is the newest to the group, only moving to Wyoming a few weeks ago to permanently be with her man, Logan. She looks all of about eighteen with her porcelain skin, black-as-midnight hair, and innocent blue eyes, but I was surprised to learn she’s actually twenty-six and was a professional con artist prior to meeting Logan. Yes, they are a fascinating group of women. Every one of them funny and outgoing, although Cat is the most reserved of the group. They made me feel instantly welcomed. With the help of the first two bottles of wine, I told them my story after I put Belle down to bed. And I didn’t hold anything back except for Kyle being undercover ATF. I’m pretty sure Callie knows though, since Bridger had told Woolf that part, and I don’t think those two hold anything back from each other. The girls all rallied around me, threatening to castrate Zeke if he came anywhere near me and vowing to kick Kayla’s ass if they ever saw her around town. We then decided to play poker, which was nothing more than an excuse to sit around Bridger’s kitchen table while we gossiped and drank wine. None of us —well, except Sloane—were really into the game, and we were playing with chips and not money anyway. Cat and Auralie uncork two more bottles of wine and bring them back to the table along with a new bag of potato chips. Cat tops off all our glasses while Callie grabs the bag of chips from Auralie and pours out a pile right onto the table by her poker chips. “Poker chips and potato chips,” she says with a goofy grin on her face. Yeah, we’re all slightly tipsy. Cat and Auralie take their seats again, and we all take a unanimous sip of wine. When the glasses get set back down, Sloane says, “I’m tired of playing poker. You gals suck and it’s no fun.” “You suck,” Callie mutters as she munches on potato chips. “I know,” Sloane says with a devilish grin. “Let’s play truth or dare. Maggie can go first. I think you should choose truth, so we can get to know you a little better.” My head snaps her way, and I narrow my eyes at her as this game sounds dangerous. “Out of curiosity, what would the dare be?” “Um… you have to text a naked picture of yourself to Bridger, right now,” she says deviously. “I choose truth then,” I say quickly. No way would I ever do that. Except… I’d love to have that type of relationship with someone. Fun and flirty that I could sext with. Drive him crazy until he could get home to me. But Bridger is most definitely not fun or flirty. “Okay, truth,” Sloane says as she rolls her eyes up to the ceiling, pondering a good question. When her gaze comes back to mine, there’s a shimmer there that makes me have no doubt she was a good reporter and would delve to find the truth. I brace for it. “Tell us the truth—are you having sex with Bridger?” Fuck. The other girls all lean forward, interested in my answer.

I look around at their faces, all eager with something, but it doesn’t look like the need for gossip. Actually… it looks more like a deep respect for this man with an insatiable thirst to know more about him. With a sigh, I drop my gaze and fiddle with the stem on my wineglass. “Yes. We’re having sex.” “I knew it,” Callie says smugly. “How did you know it?” Cat asks. “You should have seen the way Bridger fretted over her before he left tonight,” she says. And only Callie would know that because she arrived first and was the only one to see Bridger before he left. “Oh, tell us the details,” Auralie says. “Because there’s no bigger mystery than Bridger Payne.” Tell me about it, Auralie. “Well,” Callie says slyly. “He must have asked her a dozen times if she was okay that he was leaving, even once told her that he’d cancel his plans and stay.” “He didn’t say it exactly like that,” I mutter. “He said it in those exact words,” Callie argues. “And when you weren’t looking because you were getting some pizza for Belle to eat, he was eating you up with his eyes.” “There’s no way—” I mutter. “Okay, tell us details,” Cat says softly as she leans forward. “Auralie and I haven’t had the pleasure.” My jaw drops open as my head snaps first to Callie and then to Sloane, who both look at me with flame-red faces. “You two have been with Bridger?” A furious wave of jealousy crests within me, and I swear I can feel steam coming out of my ears, although I don’t know why. It’s not like I have any true claim on him. Callie holds up her hands. “Relax, Maggie… it was long before he ever met you and it was in a threeway with Woolf.” That mollifies me somewhat, but the jealousy still gurgles. My gaze slides to Sloane. “And you?” Her face goes redder, but she gives me a sheepish grin. “Also long before he met you and I fell in love with Cain. But it… um… was a five-way.” “A five-way?” I blurt out in astonishment. I didn’t think it was possible, but her face goes even redder. “Yeah. Me, Cain, Bridger, Logan, and Rand.” My head swings in the opposite direction, and I stare agog at Cat and Auralie. “Your Logan and Rand?” Cat smiles understandingly at me. “Long before I ever fell in love with Rand.” My eyes cut to Auralie, and she admits, “And long before Logan came into my life. But… um… I was sort of with Bridger.” “Well, hell, Cat,” I say sarcastically, throwing my hands up. “You should just fuck him when he gets home tonight. Then he’d check all five of us women off his list.” “No way,” Cat says with a vigorous shake of her head. “I’m completely satisfied, thank you.” “And technically,” Auralie says timidly. “I didn’t fuck him.” “Well then, what did you do with him?” I ask hesitantly, not really wanting to know the details but asking all the same. “He… um… sort of used a flogger on me,” she says with her cheeks also turning pink. “And he um… got me off with his fingers.” I push the chair back from the table to stand up, pick up my full glass of wine, and chug it down. When it’s empty, I set it back on the table, grab the nearest bottle, and fill it back up. I grab it, intent on getting shitfaced drunk, but Sloane reaches over and pulls it toward her—out of my reach.

I glare down at her and then around the table in succession. “This is messed up. And I know messed up. I’ve been held captive in a biker compound for three years, and I’ve seen all sorts of fucked-up shit. But this… you people are all friends and sleeping with each other, and no one seems to be bent out of shape about it.” “We don’t all sleep with each other now,” Auralie points out. “That was in the past, but I’ll maintain to you… there’s nothing wrong with it if we did decide to do that. As long as everyone is consenting and understands the consequences.” “We’ve all felt what you’re feeling,” Callie adds on softly. “The jealousy and guilt that comes with sexual freedom and exploring your desires. It’s hard when your heart belongs to someone, but if there’s trust and care, you can explore those freedoms with other people who are within your circle of trust.” “I’d never share Bridger with anyone,” I say vehemently. Sloane cocks an eyebrow. “Even if he asked you to? Said it would turn him on? That it would be a special gift if you’d agree to it?” Would I? Would I give that to Bridger if he asked me? I yearn for a connection so badly with him. What would I do if he came to me and asked me to have a three-way with another man? Or another woman? Could I do that? The answer comes to me with utter clarity. Absolutely not. No way. “I may have made some poor choices in my life, but I’ve always been loyal to the man I’ve been with,” I say with my chin held high. “I just couldn’t.” “And that’s a fair statement,” Cat says softly. “But maybe you could try to understand that some couples are so secure within their bond that it’s not a breach of loyalty. It’s actually quite an intimate experience.” My head hurts from the implications. I sit back down in the chair, actually slumping down. “Do you think Bridger’s going to expect that of me?” I ask in a quiet voice. A warm hand covers mine, and I look up to see it’s Callie’s. She gives me a confident smile. “I don’t know what’s in Bridger’s head, but I can tell you… each one of the experiences we’ve had with him have come at the request of our men. It wasn’t Bridger’s idea. He was only accommodating his friends’ requests. But what I do know is that Bridger has never shown interest in a woman before in the way he has you. He clearly has feelings for you.” “I don’t know about that,” I mutter, thinking of the fact he can’t even stand to come inside my body. “Well, I do,” Callie says firmly. “I know Bridger better than any of you, except maybe you, Maggie. You might actually know him better, but if you think that man isn’t interested in you, you are truly blind to what’s right in front of you.” “It doesn’t matter,” I say glumly. “He’s made it clear he has limitations, and that what we have now is about all he has to give.” “I don’t believe that,” Cat says, and I turn to look at her. “I may not have been intimate with Bridger, but I know him quite well. I’ve talked to him a lot, back when my husband was parading me around The Silo as his sex toy on loan to anyone who wanted to fuck me. He’s a good man. I mean, he’s really deep down decent. He is devoted to those he cares about, and I think he’s shown he cares about you based on how he’s helped you. I think people see Bridger as this mystery because he’s intimidating and withdrawn. But I think he probably has the biggest heart out of all of us. He just keeps it locked up for some reason. If I were you, I’d figure out that reason and then how to bust that lock.” A small flicker of hope burns bright in the center of my chest. “Do you really believe that?”

“I do,” Cat says with an encouraging smile. “Me too,” Callie says. “He’s an amazing man, but I think you’re an amazing woman. He’s lucky to have you.” A key rattles in the front door lock. We all freeze as if we’re caught robbing a bank, and then slowly turn toward the door as it opens. Speak of the devil, Bridger walks in with Woolf right on his heels. “Now there’s the hottest man to ever grace the Teton mountain range,” Callie says in surprised delight as she gets up from the table and saunters over to Woolf. He puts a hand behind her neck and pulls her in for a slow, hot kiss that makes me yearn for that type of reaction from Bridger when he sees me. As it is, he looks at me sternly, eyes taking in the wine and chips spilled all over the place. When Woolf lets Callie up for air, she places her hands on his chest and asks, “What are you doing here, babe?” He nods over to Bridger. “He asked me to come over and take you ladies home. Figured you’d all be too tipsy to drive.” “But we’re having fun,” Sloane says with a devilish smirk. “Bridger can just haul himself off to bed and us girls will hang out. We can all crash here, right?” “Wrong,” Bridger says curtly. “Now clear out.” “Mr. Grumpy Pants,” Callie challenges him, and then bats her eyelashes. “Come on, Bridger. You can party with us. I’ll get you a glass of wine. You can hang out with the girls tonight.” “The only one I want to hang out with is Maggie,” Bridger says with his eyes narrowed at Sloane. “And I’d like to do it alone, so you ladies get your purses and your half-empty wine bottles and get home to your men.” Callie snorts but then Woolf is pulling her toward the door. “Come on, girls. Let’s get going.” Callie jerks away from Woolf, and says, “Wait a minute. I need my purse.” She hurries over to the table where her purse is draped over the back of her chair and leans in to whisper to me excitedly. “He wants to spend alone time with you.” “Yeah, I got that, Callie,” I say dryly, but I’m not denying the butterflies zooming around my stomach when he said that. She gives an excited little squeal and gives me a hug. It’s obvious to everyone, including Bridger, that she thinks there’s a love match occurring. While I want to share her enthusiasm, I remember all too well how firmly Bridger sets himself apart from me, unwilling to give himself to me completely. The girls all grab their purses, stepping up to give me hugs and whispered words of encouragement. Bridger watches all of this with an impassive face. He doesn’t even flinch when Woolf walks by him and punches him in the arm, stating, “Have fun, dude.” When they’re all cleared out, he locks the door and sets the alarm code. “Been talking about me, I see,” is all he says when he turns to face me. I shrug, although my heart is racing. I don’t know if he’s mad or what, but he’s making me incredibly nervous. “Women drink wine, we talk.” Bridger saunters up to me until we’re standing almost toe to toe. He looks down at me, taking a lock of my hair and rubbing it between his fingers thoughtfully. “And did you learn anything new about me?” “Only that you’re a seriously complex man who has apparently been with every woman who was just in this house,” I say tartly. His eyes slide up to mine lazily, and he smirks at me. “Not Cat,” he says without apology about the other women. “That’s all you have to say about it?” I ask in disbelief.

He drops my hair, but the smirk stays in place. “What do you want me to say, Maggie? Should I apologize to you for every woman I’ve been with before you? Or should you be happy in the knowledge I haven’t been with anyone since you and I were together?” “No one?” I ask suspiciously, because he did just come from spending several hours in a sex club. “No one,” he affirms, although he adds on in a move I’m sure is meant to test my resolve to be with him. “Well, I did get my dick sucked by one of my bartenders after Kyle dumped you on my doorstep, but it was before I ever touched you. But if it helps, I was thinking about you the entire time she was getting me off.” Emotions rage within me. I’m ecstatic he’s not been with anyone since me, but a little put off that he talks about casual sex so… so… casually. It’s just another reminder that he’s so far removed from the intimacy of it that I fear he can’t be reached. I could argue with him about this, and I could act like a bitter shrew who has lost her footing and doesn’t know where she stands, but it won’t do any good. Bridger is comfortable in who he is and no amount of unease on my part will change that. So instead, I step into him and put my hands on his hips. In a husky voice, I remind him, “You said something about wanting to be alone with me. What did you have in mind?” He leans down and gives me a soft kiss before he says, “I’ve got something I want to try with you. Got a little inspiration at The Silo.” “Whatever you want to try, I’m all in,” I tell him as I flex my fingers into his hips. His eyes flash hot, and then he pulls me toward his room.

Chapter 17

Bridger “WHATEVER YOU WANT to try, I’m all in.” Maggie’s words continue to echo in my head as I lead her by the hand back to my bedroom. She pauses at the room she shares with Belle, peeking in on her. A soft, luminous smile graces those perfect lips when she sees her daughter, and I wish I could capture that look. It speaks everything about motherhood that I don’t understand but find deeply touching. I’m extremely happy Maggie has reason to smile like that. The minute we cross the threshold of my room, I turn to Maggie and kiss her. It’s as wondrous and volatile as the other times my mouth has been on her—fueled by desire and sheer lust for her taste. She moans, reciprocates, but before we can get going, I pull away and start to remove her clothes. It takes me no time at all to get her naked, and then I swiftly dispose of mine. Maggie unabashedly looks at my body, eyes roaming all over. Her eyes hesitate over the flock of blackbirds flying up from my rib cage before turning in toward the center of my chest. Her eyes linger on the one near the center that explodes in a puff of black feathers, and then her eyes drag downward, following the inked feathers that float down the front of my abdomen. Her eyes travel even further down. She stares with no shame at my cock, which has been in a state of semi readiness since I walked in the door and laid eyes on her, and then went fully hard when I kissed her moments ago. “I want your mouth on it,” I say in a low rumble of need, and Maggie’s eyes snap back up to mine. “You just want a blow job?” she asks incredulously, as if she was expecting me to ask for so much more. Yet, she has no idea. I step up to her, slide my fingers around the back of her neck, and pull her in closer to me. I lean down and place my lips near her ear. “No, Maggie. I want your mouth. Your tongue. Your throat. I want all of that on my cock, and I want your eyes on me as you suck it. And if there’s a God who’s willing to give me this, I want to come on that pretty tongue and watch you swallow me down.” Maggie’s eyes round in shock, and she whispers, “Oh, God.” She actually sways a bit, and I tighten my grip on her neck. “Wanna give it a try?” “More than anything,” she whispers, and she punctuates that desire by licking her lips. The head of my dick starts leaking at the promise in those words. I kiss her again, very briefly, just to get a measure of control before turning to the bed. After I grab a pillow, I turn back to her and drop it on the floor. I flash a grin. “Don’t want your knees to get sore.” She manages to smile, but I can tell she’s not falling prey to my little bit of levity to lighten the situation. It’s just as well. My attempt at humor was nothing more than a way to help distract me from the curl of fear deep in my belly. There have been times in my life where I’ve been scared… mostly when I was younger. But most things in adulthood don’t cause me much pause. Except right now. I’m terrified this could disastrously spell the end of us. It’s one thing for me to hold myself back from Maggie because I’m too scared I’ll be disgusted by coming in her mouth. It’s an entirely different prospect that I might have the figurative balls to shoot down her throat, but if I’m disgusted by it, I won’t look at her

the same way again. If that happens, I’m quite positive it’s all over for us. “I’m scared,” Maggie admits to me in a whisper. “What if I’m not good enough… to you know… make you want to…” I reach out and jerk her softly to my body, my need to assuage her fears more powerful than trying to talk me out of my own. I wrap my arms around her and press a kiss to the top of her head. It’s the single most intimate thing I’ve ever done with a woman, and I’m bolstered by the fact that it doesn’t feel strange, just right. After a moment, I release her to peer down at her again. “Mags… anything you do to me will be the best I’ve ever had because it’s you. If there’s any failure tonight, it’s on me… not on you, okay?” She nods with quiet acceptance, but then says with a bashful smile, “It’s a lot of pressure.” I grin at her, for real this time. “There’s a lot of pressure in my dick right now. I bet you could alleviate it if you’d just get down on your knees.” Her smile widens and I see mischief in her eyes for a moment before they sober a bit. “No matter what, Bridger. Promise me that if this isn’t something you can do, you just pull out and do what you need to do. It doesn’t change how I’ll feel about you.” I brush my cheek against her face, and I lie to her. “I promise.” But if this doesn’t work, I’m done. I can’t continue to torture myself by wanting something desperately that I can’t have, and I can’t continue to hurt Maggie by not being able to give her what she so needs and deserves. Maggie leans into me, placing her hands on my chest. My pecs jump from the contact and a bolt of lust courses through me when she places her lips right over my heart and gives me a soft kiss. Then she slides that mouth down my stomach, nibbling and licking at my skin as her fingers travel right along down. When she gets to my pelvis, she veers around my dick, which is bobbing in front of her and angled to the ceiling, kissing my hipbones while her fingers press into my thigh muscles. She slips a hand in between my legs and fondles my balls, and fuck yeah… that feels damn good. My arms stay loose at my sides but my fingers curl inward, mainly to prevent myself from grabbing onto her head and demanding she give my cock some attention. I stare down at her as she works slowly with her mouth, tasting and exploring my body. Her hair shimmers, streaks of chocolate, honey, and caramel, and my fingers also itch just to slide into that softness I know smells like the pear shampoo and conditioner I bought her. Maggie pulls her lips away and focuses in on my cock, which hovers in front of her face. Her delicate hand circles the base. A rumble of lust ripples through me as she sticks her tongue out and laps at the clear liquid seeping from the end, wiggling it against the slit. Electric pleasure shoots through my dick and travels up my spine from that tiny touch, and a deep groan slips out of my mouth. Maggie looks up at me, those green eyes shining with desire, and whispers, “See… you’re already on my tongue now, and I have to tell you… you taste amazing, Mr. Payne.” Pure joy radiates through me as I realize she’s right. My cum—pre as it may be—has touched her tongue, and I liked it. No, I loved it—that soft feeling like heaven against me. My hands reach up and grasp the sides of her head. In a voice hoarse with lust and tinged with a bit of fear that this will still result in failure, I barrel forward and say, “Let’s get more of that mouth on me then.” “My pleasure,” she says, her voice raspy with sex and promise. Then her mouth opens, and she pulls my cock into her soft warmth. My legs almost buckle at the first contact… the pure, unadulterated feeling of skin-on-skin contact with Maggie. She pulls me straight back until my head bumps against the back of her throat. She opens up, makes a swallowing motion, and takes me back even further.

“Goddamn.” I groan at the sensation of her throat accepting my cock. She moans, sending vibrations of pleasure through me, and my fingers tighten against her head unintentionally. I have to force them to relax and fight against the overwhelming need to hold her tight and plunge further down her throat. Maggie pulls back, her tongue massaging the underside of my dick as it slides free. She sucks greedily on the tip, pulling more pre-cum into her mouth, and I’m astounded that the thought I’m passing my liquid into her body is turning me on rather than off. She spends moments working the head of my dick, licking furiously against the sensitive underside and prodding my slit with the tip of her tongue while her hand squeezes and strokes the base. My balls tingle and rage with the need for more. I need more from her now. I need it with a blazing intensity that is threatening to unravel me. Maggie’s eyes peek up and I’m not sure what’s written on my face, but I think it might convey the fact I’m on the very edge of losing control because she immediately pulls her mouth off me and asks, “What do you need, Bridger?” God, what do I need? I need everything from you, I want to say, but no way I’m letting her that far in. My voice practically croaks. “I want to fuck your face, Mags. You can clearly take it deep, and I want to possess that throat. Give me the control.” So what if that sounded like begging? Maggie smiles at me, her eyes shimmering with lust, relief, and adventure. No triumph though. I don’t see a flicker of that anywhere, and that makes me even hornier for her. “Take it,” Maggie whispers before opening her mouth and sucking me down deep. I give a bark of relief, my hands holding her head steady, and I start to move my hips. Slowly at first, to gauge her level of flexibility, going a little deeper with each stroke. Maggie hums against me, her eyes looking up and telling me to go harder. Deeper. Faster. Her throat opens up, takes the head of my cock on one stroke, then takes another inch on the second. Maggie sets an easy routine, sucking in air through her nose in perfect synchronicity to my thrusts. I am fucking that beautiful face in perfect harmony with her body’s acceptance of my cock. Soft tongue grazing the underside. Tightness as I push into her throat. Her hand squeezing and twisting my shaft as I pull back. The complete acceptance of me into her while letting me dictate how this is being done. Best. Fucking. Blow Job. Of. My. Life. I move faster, my body giving all signs that it’s ready for release. My lower back muscles get tense, my balls tighten, and the blood in my veins races with every furious pump of my heart. I actually go a little dizzy with the need to come, and yet the desire to prolong this exquisite face fuck of beautiful, sweet Maggie wars within me. She hums again in appreciation, taking my cock deeper than ever, and puts her hands to my ass to pull me even deeper than that. “Christ,” I mutter as my hips pick up the pace, not wanting to choke her but also desperately needing to get to the finish line. It’s in sight, and I know I can do this. I look down at Maggie, find her eyes on me as I told her to put them, and I see encouragement and tender care in that gaze. It’s the only thing I see, and it gives me renewed desire to coat her mouth with my semen.

“Going to come, Maggie,” I groan as I hold her head and pump in and out of her mouth. Her fingers flex into the muscles of my ass, and I feel the sting of her nails. My balls tighten further, aching with the need to give it all up to this woman who is starting to worm her way deeper into my life. Into my heart. I falter over that thought, actually causing a stumble in my measured strokes, and I go a little too deep. Maggie makes a slight gagging sound and I immediately pull back, grazing my thumbs over her cheeks in apology. I slow my thrusts a bit, making sure she’s able to breathe. Her eyes are warm as she stares at me… my veined cock pushing in and out past those swollen lips. But is that…? Begging I see in her eyes? Is she begging me to give it up to her? Confusion courses through me as I try to forget that she used to beg me to give it up to her. She really didn’t need to, knowing my body would ultimately betray me, but it always made me feel that it was my choice to give her what she wanted. With that came extreme humiliation after the last shudder left my body and I plummeted from the sexual high. I stumble again, pull almost all the way out of her mouth, and Maggie senses my turmoil. She takes the base of my cock again, squeezing it gently. She pulls her mouth free, licks her lips, and whispers, “Stay with me, Bridger. This is just me, and this is all about you.” I stare down at her, my cock aching with need. I could easily jack off my conclusion and bathe her face, or I could barrel past this fear and take mine and Maggie’s fates in my hands. She looks at me patiently, with no recrimination if I don’t choose her, and that makes my final decision. She’s giving me the control, and that makes all the difference to me. “Open back up,” I order her and she does so quickly, latching that gorgeous mouth back onto my dick. I set back up a quick pace, and she falls in with me, sucking and licking and letting that throat work tight magic on me. Maggie’s eyes shimmer with reassurance, and they never give up their hold on mine. We stare at each other while I pump into her mouth and I willingly give myself permission to orgasm while lodged deep inside of her. Pure passion erupts and I pull back slightly so the head of my cock sits against her tongue as I start to come. I don’t want it in her throat. I want her to taste it. I want her mouth awash with my semen, and I want the knowledge I’m giving it up freely with no fears holding back a single, precious drop of my lust. I spend myself in Maggie’s mouth, and it is utterly fucking divine. “Mags,” I groan as my entire body quakes with release and her hands come back to my ass where she lovingly presses against my muscles, indicating for me to give her more. I push further into her. She swallows down the head of my cock and the mouthful of cum. She swallows my fucking soul. Everything goes still around us and I focus in on her face, my dick still stuffed inside of her. Her eyes are aglow with respect for me. You did it, Bridger. And I loved every drop you gave me. I pull free from her warm hold, tingles still rippling through me, and haul her up from the floor. My mouth crashes on to her and I swipe my tongue inside, seeing if she left any part of me behind. I get a vague taste of my cum, and she swipes her tongue against mine as if she’s claiming every last bit of it back. I feel sated and energized all at once, knowing something monumental has just happened to me. I’ve spent years fighting against invisible chains that have held me back, learning to live an unrealized existence. But tonight… Maggie’s busted those chains and I eagerly wonder what else I can willingly give to her without destroying myself at the same time.

Bending down, I lift Maggie into my arms and carry her to the bed. I lay her down and climb onto her, holding my weight so as not to crush her body. She puts a hand to my cheek. “That was beautiful.” “You’re beautiful,” I tell her honestly. I’ve never said that to a woman with such brutal truthfulness before. “I hope we can do that again,” she says with a shy smile, and I realize a travesty is occurring. Sweet, beautiful Maggie is left wanting. “I have something else I need to do first,” I tell her with a promising glint in my eyes. “What’s that?” I push down her body and spread her legs. My only answer is when I put my mouth on her pussy and dive in. Maggie moans and her hands go to my hair, and for the first time, I don’t seem to mind. Maybe I’m too sated by that amazing orgasm or I’m on a metaphorical victory lap since I just battled and persevered over some pretty fucked-up demons. Regardless, I let Maggie’s fingers grip into my hair and I let her push my face down into her sweetness, while I lick and suck her like a starved man. “M-o-o-m-m-m-m-m-y,” Belle cries from her room down the hall. Ordinarily, nothing would distract me once I was on a mission for some great sex, and I’ve fucked my way through all sorts of attention breakers. But the minute I hear Belle’s voice, I rear off Maggie and scramble off the bed. She does the same, deftly grabbing my t-shirt from the floor and throwing it on as she runs out the door. I manage to hop into my jeans and have them zipped and buttoned by the time I make it to Maggie and Belle’s room. I find Maggie on the bed with Belle cradled in her arms, her little face pushed into Maggie’s neck. The bedside lamp casts them in a warm glow, and my chest aches at seeing Mags comforting her daughter. She turns her head and gives me a smile. “Nightmare.” Part of me feels like I’m intruding, and yet part of me feels the need to offer assistance. Belle’s been in my house less than two days and I’ve already fallen for the little brat, my first real experience with a kid. She’s terribly funny for a two-year-old and smart as hell, and she could easily provide me ceaseless hours of entertainment. I never knew I could be so easily captivated by a kid. I push past any uneasiness and walk into the room, setting my ass on the edge of the bed near Maggie’s bare legs. Luckily, my t-shirt swallows her and she’s adequately covered. I place a palm on the mattress on the other side of her hip and lean in to look at Belle’s face. She stares at me with luminous eyes the same shade of green as her mom’s. “You okay, kiddo?” I ask as I touch the tip of my finger to her nose. She nods up and down at me, but she doesn’t give up the clinging hold she has on her mom. My gaze slides to Maggie, who peers at me over the top of Belle’s head. Her eyes hold a look of amused frustration for our interruption. I answer her by moving my hand and grazing my thumb down the side of her hip, letting her know it’s okay. I’ll make it up to her. “Need anything?” I ask her as I stand from the bed. She shakes her head at me before laying her cheek on top of Belle’s head and closing her eyes in blissful happiness that she can provide comfort to her daughter. “Okay,” I say, hating to leave Maggie’s side but also sensing this is a moment that she and Belle should have alone. “Goodnight.” “Goodnight, Bridger,” she says softly. I go back to my room and shed my jeans before crawling into the bed. The taste of Maggie is still on my lips and I’d give anything for her to come back in here after Belle falls asleep. I wait, wondering if she’ll want me to finish what I started, and then I wait some more. After about half an hour, I creep down

the hallway, the soft glow of light spilling out from the room. When I turn the corner, I see Maggie on her back, sound asleep, with Belle curled into her side. My cock is sadly dejected even as my heart warms. Stepping into the room, I pull the covers over both of them before turning out the light and returning to my room. I go to sleep with the memories of me coming inside of Maggie’s mouth.

Chapter 18

Maggie BRIDGER PULLS THE Ford truck to a stop before a massive barn weathered gray from the elements. I see Woolf standing out front in a pair of well-fitting jeans, a plaid western shirt, and cowboy boots. He looks good, but not as good as Bridger who is in the same attire. When he came out of his room this morning, he was dressed like a true cowboy, even carrying a cream-colored Stetson in his hand. I’d never seen him dressed this way, as he tends to wear dark jeans with fitted t-shirts along with heavy, biker type boots. I was in the kitchen feeding Belle some cereal when he walked in and advised us he was taking us horseback riding. I didn’t argue because I was getting sick of this house and Belle who has far more energy than me was going stir crazy as well. I didn’t know Bridger had a truck as he kept it parked behind the work shed, but it totally fits him, way more than the flashy Corvette. He’d even had Belle’s car seat strapped in, which meant I had to sit beside him on the drive to the Double J. We took the same back road we’d taken the morning we’d left to get Belle. As the truck bumped and lurched over the gravel and dirt road, I tried not to get too hot and bothered by the way my leg pressed against Bridger’s. To say last night was a miracle realized is an understatement. Bridger totally gave into intimacy. The moment we shared when he came in my mouth was beautiful and wondrous. Granted, the evening didn’t end on a perfect note as Bridger was well on his way to giving me an orgasm when Belle woke up from a nightmare, but regardless… it was one of the best nights of my life. Bridger’s different today as well. He seems more open and laid back. He’s wearing a smile, and I wonder how much of that is to my credit or his own. I also wonder when we’ll be able to explore his new adventurous side again, and if he is willing to take it even further. After putting the truck in park and cutting the ignition, Bridger hops out and rounds to the passenger side to get Belle out of her car seat. I get out on the driver’s side and wave to Woolf as he walks toward us. When I turn back to the truck, my breath hitches as Bridger shuts the door and carries Belle perched on his hip. She’s chattering away at him in that new language she’s developed that’s filled with clearly annunciated words mixed with babble. He smiles at her and says, “Oh, really? I had no idea.” I put my hand over my mouth and suppress my laugh, as he clearly has no idea what she’s saying but is valiantly trying to carry on a conversation with her. We all come to a stop at the front of the truck. Woolf leans his face into Belle’s and says, “Hey pumpkin… what’s your name?” “Belle,” she says with a giggle. “Pretty name for a very pretty girl,” Woolf says, and that makes Belle go all shy. She tucks her face into Bridger’s neck to hide, and my breath hitches again when Bridger’s hand comes to the back of her head to hold her there. Woolf smiles at me. “Hey, Maggie.” “Hey, Woolf. Thanks for inviting us over.” “Sure thing,” he says as he turns and heads into the barn, but he speaks to Bridger over his shoulder. “I

saddled Lucy for you.” “Perfect,” Bridger says, clearly at ease with the horse chosen. He told me on the way over here that he works on the range for Woolf sometimes, so he truly is a cowboy as well as a sex club owner. Again, complex man. Inside the barn, a dove-gray horse stands placidly outside of one of the stalls. The barn is long and has at least ten stalls on each side. Every one appears to hold a horse. Bridger walks up to Lucy, and Belle’s eyes go wide with wonder. “Ho-sie,” she says as she points to it. “That’s right,” Bridger tells her and sidles up closer to her head. “Her name’s Lucy, and you can pet her.” Bridger puts his hand on Lucy’s muzzle, encouraging Belle to do the same. She hesitantly reaches out and strokes the horse with a bright smile on her face. “Want to go for a ride?” Bridger asks Belle. For the first time, a moment of doubt courses through me. I mean… this isn’t a little pony but a fullsize horse. And my daughter is only two and is oh so very small. “Bridger,” I say hesitantly. “Um… I’m not sure she should…” “She’s going to sit in my lap,” Bridger says, shooting me a glance and then looking back to Belle. “Want to ride with me?” Belle nods her head furiously, but I’m still uneasy. I reach a hand out to touch his arm, and he turns to me. “She’s only two,” I say with obvious worry. “And if she were to fall… I just… I don’t know if she should…” My words trail off, torn between wanting to give in to that look of delight on my daughter’s face and my need to protect her from danger. Bridger takes his free hand and puts it behind my neck. His fingers grasp me gently and his thumb strokes the back of my neck. “Maggie… I promise it’s safe. Lucy is the gentlest horse known to mankind, and I swear I won’t let her fall. I’ll only walk around the paddock and I won’t do anything crazy, I promise. She’ll be totally fine.” I chew at my lip, my gaze going back to the large horse and then back to Bridger, who waits for me to make a decision. I can tell he’ll abide my wishes, but I can also tell he really wants to get on that horse with my daughter. Ultimately, I decide to trust in Bridger, knowing he’s been our protector from the start, and he wouldn’t ever do anything to harm a hair on her head. “Okay,” I say with a tremulous voice. His eyes soften. He then shocks the hell out of me by leaning in to give me a soft kiss on my lips. I’m shocked he does this in front of Belle and I’m even more shocked he does this in front of Woolf. I just didn’t think Bridger was in to public displays of affection, because hello… man averse to intimacy. I gasp in surprise as his lips graze against mine and let out a sigh of sweet joy. When he pulls away, he turns to hand Belle to Woolf and then with one hand on the saddle horn, he hauls himself up into the saddle. And damn… no man should ever look that fucking sexy. Bridger shoots me a grin and it’s knowing. He can tell by the look on my face I’m lusting after him at this moment, and if he were so inclined to check, he’d find my panties wet. He then turns to Woolf, who hands Belle up to him. He actually sets her sideways on the inside of his thigh where he can wrap one large arm protectively around her. Then he takes the reins. With a soft cluck and tap of his booted heels to

Lucy’s flanks, the horse starts plodding out of the barn. Woolf and I follow them, watching as Bridger directs the horse into a grassed paddock whose gate is already open. Woolf and I stand at the fence, resting our forearms on the top as we watch Bridger patiently walk the horse in a large circle while Belle laughs and giggles in unrestrained glee. By the second lap, the knot of anxiety in the middle of my chest starts to loosen and I actually start to enjoy watching them together. “I’ve never seen Bridger with a kid before,” Woolf says out of the blue. He doesn’t turn to look at me but keeps his eyes on the horse and its riders. “He’s damn good at it.” “Total natural,” I agree. “I’ve also never seen him kiss a woman before,” he observes. “Really?” I ask, turning my head to Woolf. “Well,” he says with a sly glance at me before turning back to look at Bridger. “I’ve seen him kiss a woman with the expectation of blowing a nut after, but never seen him kiss a woman just because he wanted the kiss and nothing else.” I don’t know what to say to that, but my heart flip-flops over the implications that the kiss I just got was apparently very special indeed. I watch Bridger slowly walking a horse around in circles to entertain my daughter, and I realize how lucky I was to get that kiss. “Maggie,” Woolf says softly and I turn to look at him. His face is somber, and something bottoms out in my stomach from that look. “Bridger has some seriously dark demons. His past is… well, it’s really bad. I never thought there would be a woman who would have the ability to push him past that, but I think that might be you.” “You do?” I whisper, wanting to believe him because it’s what I want. “I do,” he murmurs. “But it’s not going to be easy. You’ve clearly made some breakthroughs with him, but it’s going to get harder before it gets easier.” “What happened to him?” I ask, hoping a clearer understanding of the mystery of Bridger Payne will let me help him. Woolf shakes his head. “Not for me to say. But I’m just telling you… if he slides back into that closedoff person… have patience with him, okay?” “Of course I will,” I tell him reassuringly. “He knows I’ll accept whatever he can give me.” “Well, I hope that’s not true. I want you to push at him for more, but just be cognizant of the fact that he’s got a lot of years of being a certain way, and what you’re offering him is probably as terrifying as it is thrilling. Bridger’s happiest in his darkness, and while he might be enthralled by the light you’re casting, he’s going to be distrusting of it.” I turn back to look at Bridger, his smile even wider than it was minutes ago. My daughter secure in his arms. I see perhaps a future there in that paddock and wonder if I have the fortitude to grasp onto it. “What’s the best way I can help him?” I ask Woolf without taking my eyes off my daughter and the man who may be what dreams are made of. “Let him lead the way. Let him be in control. And don’t push him too hard.” “I can do that,” I say with resolve. “Even if it takes forever,” Woolf adds on. “Even if it takes forever,” I agree. The commitment is made. I’m in this for the long haul. Bridger continues to walk Lucy around the paddock, a few times even breaking into a little trot that caused Belle to shriek first in terror and then uncontrollable laughter. I almost shrieked too the first time he did it, but I luckily maintained my composure. Finally, Bridger walked the horse back through the gate and handed Belle down to Woolf, who sets

her on his hip. She looks over his shoulder at me and exclaims, “Mommy… you see me on ho-sie?” “I did, baby,” I tell her with clear pride in my voice. “You were so brave, and that was amazing. Can you tell Bridger thank you?” Belle looks up to Bridger and says, “Tank you, Bwidg-uh.” “My pleasure, darlin’,” he says. He even tips his hat at her, and oh man… I swear my ovaries just combusted. Bridger turns his eyes to me and holds his hand down to me. “Come on. Your turn.” “What?” I ask, taking a step backward. “No way.” “Yes,” he says, snapping his fingers before holding his palm out again. “Get that gorgeous ass up here.” Woolf turns and walks away with my daughter, calling over his shoulder. “I’m going to take Belle up to the house. Callie will have lunch ready in about an hour.” I look at Woolf’s retreating back as he walks to Bridger’s truck and puts Belle back in her car seat. “But… but…” “Come on, Mags,” Bridger says in a low voice. I chew on my lip again, all the same fears I just had for Belle coming to the front of my mind. Except this time, it’s me I imagine falling off the horse and getting trampled to death. “I’m scared of horses.” “You’re scared of nothing,” Bridger says with a pointed look. “And I’ll go just as slow as I did with Belle. I promise.” With a pained sigh, I give him a nod and say, “Okay… how do I get up?” Bridger considers me for a moment before he dismounts. “I was going to just swing you up behind me, but now that I think about it, I’d rather have you in front of me. Means I get to wrap my arms around you.” Oh, swoon. Did he just say that? Now all of a sudden, I’m dying to get on that horse. Bridger comes up behind me and with hands to my waist, helps to lift me easily into the saddle. The horse stands completely still and then Bridger’s hauling himself up behind me. Two of us can’t really fit in the saddle so with an arm around my waist, he hoists me up a bit and sets me down right over his crotch. This, of course, makes me think lewd thoughts. They’re immediately driven away when Bridger clucks and taps the horse’s flanks with his boots, and the horse starts walking. My hands go to the saddle horn. I latch a death grip on it as Bridger leads the horse away from the paddock and onto a trail that starts on the far side of the barn. The Teton Mountains loom straight ahead with gray, craggy peaks covered in snow. Bridger chuckles and tightens his arm around my waist. “Ever been on a horse before, Mags?” I shake my head. “Nope. It wasn’t high on my bucket list.” “Well, try to relax. You’re stiff as a board.” I try to relax, but I can’t seem to remove the steel pole out of my spine. I try to concentrate on the sway of the horse so I can make sure I counter sway and maintain the best stability. “You need an orgasm,” Bridger whispers in my ear. “What? Huh?” I ask, startled, my hand gripping onto the saddle horn even tighter. “I was going to tell you to put on your jeans when you got dressed this morning, but I couldn’t resist the easy access these little stretchy pants you wear would provide,” he says, and then his hand is slipping down the front of said stretchy pants. “Bridger,” I hiss at him. “Stop. Someone might see us.” “So,” he says dismissively as his finger scrapes against my clit, but I know he’s being dismissive

because my concern is ridiculous. There’s no one out here, and Woolf has already left with Belle. My head immediately falls back onto his shoulder, but I don’t give up my death grip on the saddle horn. “That’s it,” he urges me. “Just relax and let me make you feel good.” The tip of his finger dips into my pussy, which is flooded, and he pulls that wetness back up to my clit, rubbing in quick circles. Then comes the ear porn. “Wanted to do this last night,” he growls near my ear. “With my mouth. Wanted to lick this clit and suck you absolutely dry until you couldn’t possibly give me another orgasm. Then I’m pretty sure I was going to fuck you after and make you come again.” “Oh, God… just damn, Bridger,” I say in a complaining voice. “You are way too good at dirty talk.” He laughs darkly and flutters his finger over me faster. I give into the sensation, let the sun warm my face and I listen to his continued filthy talk while he finger fucks me to orgasm. It doesn’t take long and Lucy, God love her gentle soul, doesn’t even flinch when I scream out my release. Bridger pulls his hand out of my pants and licks it clean. All I can do is lean back into him, utterly relaxed and ready to enjoy the rest of the ride. We’re silent for a moment, but because I’m feeling so mellow and Bridger’s in such a good mood, I ask him, “So last night… it was good?” “You mean am I good after coming in your mouth?” he asks, and I don’t miss the humor in his voice. “Something like that,” I mutter. “I’m good, Mags,” is all he says, but he doesn’t elaborate. So I push forward with another question that’s been eating at me. “The tattoo… the birds on your torso. Those have special meaning?” “They do,” he says, but then nothing more. “Will you share the meaning?” I ask hesitantly, fearing his rejection. It comes swiftly and simply. “Nope.” That should be enough to dissuade me from trying further intimate conversation, but I’m not going to give up. I promised Woolf I wouldn’t, and I’d rather not wait for “forever” to break through to him completely. “Then tell me about The Silo. Why did you open a sex club?” I hold my breath and brace myself for his rejection. He’s silent for a long moment but finally, he takes in a deep breath. When it’s released, he says, “You already know I’ve got some screwed-up ideas when it comes to sex, so I guess the easiest way to explain The Silo is that it’s able to sort of bring order to my thoughts about sex.” “Like how?” “The Silo is about freedom. About doing things that make you feel good with no guilt or shame. It’s about expressing desires, passion, and lust, and doing it in a way that lets you sleep soundly at night because there’s no judgment.” “Have you been judged?” I hazard a tentative guess. “Not for expressing my sexuality,” he responds confidently. “Ashamed?” I whisper. “Every fucking day,” he says. I sit straight up because I’m so stunned. Craning my head to look at him, forgetting my fear of falling, I ask him, “Why? Why would you ever be ashamed?” His eyes bore into me, and I immediately regret asking him such a personal question. I expect him to

tell me to mind my own fucking business, but he doesn’t. But he also doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he asks one of his own, “Would you ever go to The Silo with me? You know… after this shit with Zeke gets sorted?” “Sure,” I say with a quaking voice as I turn around and face forward again. But the thought of going to a sex club terrifies me. I’m terrified of what I’ll see… namely that Bridger might like the things that go on there better than he likes just plain old sex with me. “Would you let me fuck you in The Silo?” he presses me, arm tightening around me again. “In front of all those people?” “I… I…” The words won’t come out, lodged deep in my throat. But he moves on, and I’m starting to understand he’s trying to make a point to me. “Would you let me lock you in a stockade, fuck you in front of everyone, and then invite all my friends to come and do the same?” My stomach rolls. “Or maybe I can put you on my St. Andrew’s cross, and I can stripe your skin with a whip? How about that, Mags? Would you let me do that?” “Bridger,” I say with dismay. He growls low in his throat and puts his lips near my ear, causing a shudder born of fear and anxiety to ripple through me. “I’m ashamed, Mags,” he murmurs in my ear. “Ashamed because I want to do all those things to you, and I want you to love it. I’m ashamed because I want those things, and I know you can’t ever give them to me because they’d cause shame in you. And mostly, sweet Maggie, I’m ashamed that I’m even torturing you with this, because when it boils right down to it, I’ll never act on these desires. You and I are just too different, so it’s all moot.” “No,” I automatically say in denial, because I don’t want to believe we can’t have common ground even though what he wants to do to me is beyond my comprehension at this point. “I could try.” “I wouldn’t want you to try, Mags,” he tells me with brutal honesty. “I’d want you to beg for it.” “Why are you telling me this?” I ask him with a hard edge to my voice. “Truthfully, Bridger… why are you saying these things?” “Because, babe,” he says before nipping my ear. “I’m trying to make you see that while I’m enjoying you immensely right now, The Silo is my life. It’s how I survive, and that makes us too different in the long run.”

Chapter 19

Bridger I ADD A little more chili powder as well as some cumin and give the chili a stir. I’d put the pot on not long after we got back from Woolf’s, figuring that would feed us for a few days. Of course, Belle wouldn’t eat it as I’ve figured out she’s a picky little eater. So the fridge is stocked with some deli turkey, yogurt, and raspberries, three things that she can apparently eat for every meal. My eyes keep flicking down the hallway to Maggie and Belle’s room. Maggie had put Belle down for a nap over an hour ago and had lain down beside her for a bit. When I went to check on them a few minutes ago, I saw Maggie was fast asleep. I watched her like a certified creeper for a few minutes, my heart torn in a million different directions while my mind kept interjecting its own opinions. I want Maggie like I’ve never wanted another woman. I want her so bad my teeth hurt, and I’d probably give my right nut for her. But fuck if I wasn’t telling her the truth today… in the long run, we’re too different. Or rather, I’m too fucked up to ever really have a chance at a normal relationship. I might have gotten past a sexual hang-up by coming in her mouth, and I want to come in other places in her body too, but that’s all it is. A hang-up. Poor Maggie would still have to deal with my entire fucked-up state of mind. That’s just not something that’s solved with an orgasm in the right place. Coming in her mouth, her pussy, or her ass if she gives it to me isn’t going to stop me thinking about my stepmom every day. I think about the things she did to me and how I caved to those things on a daily fucking basis. They are a part of me. The shame is a part of me. The nightmares are a part of me. Just like The Silo is a part of me. I need The Silo like I need air. I need that place to constantly remind me that sex is good and real and should be enjoyed. I might not partake in much fucking that goes on there, but I need the existence of it to ground me. I need it to help ease the shame that seems to be immersed into my very skin. Why did I say those things to her today? I could easily blame it on her and the way she pushed at me for personal information, but truth be told, I knew I had to say those things to her when I was giving Belle a ride on the horse. I happened to glance over at Woolf and Maggie as they stood at the fence and watched us, and I knew they were talking about me. I know Woolf well enough to know he was probably giving her advice on how to handle me, and what I saw in Maggie’s eyes about slayed me. I saw hope and determination, and I knew Woolf was egging it on too. So I had to say those things so I could keep her expectations realistic and hopefully cut down on some of the hurt when she realized her ultimate efforts would be futile against someone as twisted as me. I did it because I wanted to save her pain and humiliation, two emotions I’ve felt plenty in my lifetime and would never wish on her. But mostly I said those things so I could ground myself. I need a reminder that I couldn’t let things get out of control with her. I had to temper this insane need I seem to have for Maggie with the brutal truth that I ultimately don’t deserve her brand of beauty and light.

I hope I have her on track. I feel like I’m back on track. Doesn’t mean I’m still not going to have her though. I told her today, as we rode the horse up to Woolf’s front porch, that while we were too different for the long run, I was by no means finished with her yet. Because I’m not. Not ready to give her up until I’ve had my fill of her, and that’s the Bridger Payne who’s the selfish bastard coming out to play. But at least expectations are clear and my line has been drawn in the sand. I’ll just have to tread carefully with her heart and make sure I never forget who I truly am. I put the lid back on the chili pot, set the spoon down in the sink, and turn to the fridge for a beer. But then my body freezes as I hear a low rumble of what sounds like thunder at first. Then I realize it’s not thunder—it’s motorcycles. Harleys to be exact, and my blood pressure spikes. I run through the living room, peer out the front blinds, and count three Harleys coming down the driveway, kicking up a slight blowing of dust that’s settled over the pavement. Leading the trio is unmistakably Zeke Powell, President of Mayhem’s Mission. “Fuck,” I mutter as I quickly turn the stove off and haul ass through the living room to the hallway. Maggie meets me, holding Belle in her arms with a look of utter fear on her face. “My bedroom. Now.” Maggie turns and flees into my room with me hot on her heels. I go to the gun cabinet and unlock it, pulling down a shotgun. I quickly load two shells, cock it, and hand it to her. “Get in the bathroom. If anyone comes through that door that’s not me, you shoot first and ask questions later, okay?” She nods furiously in agreement, and I see a determined gleam in her eye. It’s of a mother protecting her daughter and I know if Zeke makes it past me, Maggie sure as shit isn’t going to let him get his hands on Belle. Reaching back into the cabinet, I pull out a pistol and quickly slam in a cartridge. I pull the slide back and chamber a round before tucking it into my waistband at my back. I turn toward my bedroom door, but Maggie calls, “Bridger.” I turn to her and she whispers, “Please be careful.” “I will,” I tell her. Then I race down the hallway and through the living room. I can hear the bikes come to a stop and the engines cut, making the air heavy with the silence. I take a deep breath, let it out, and open the door to step out on my front porch. Zeke dismounts his bike and removes his sunglasses, hanging them from the collar of his black t-shirt. The other two guys, who I recognize from the club but don’t know their names, remain on their bikes. Zeke walks to the bottom of the porch and looks up at me. “Bridger.” “Zeke,” I say in acknowledgment. “What can I do for you?” He looks off to the side of my yard, taking in the work shed before turning back to me. “Looking for Kyle… seen him around?” “Nope,” I say and it rings with truth because it is the truth. “Kayla seems to think you’re pretty buddy-buddy with him,” Zeke says as if he’s just attempting some casual conversation with me, but I don’t buy it for a second. “No more than I am with you,” I tell him. Zeke nods, glances back at the two other bikers, and then raises a booted foot to rest it on the bottom porch step as he looks back up at me. “Something was taken from me… something very precious, and it seems that maybe Kyle had a hand in it.” My fucking stomach cramps and sweat breaks out on my forehead. Still, I try to keep a level voice when I say, “Got nothing to do with me.” “Kayla says you were in a fairly private conversation with Kyle the other night at the compound,”

Zeke says, his eyes boring into me with cold calculation. “I shared a joint with him on my way out to my car, Zeke,” I say with annoyance. “Would have done the same with you if you’d been there.” He makes a low hum in his throat and gives me a tight smile. I’m not sure if he’s buying my shit or not, but I’m tensed and ready for a battle if need be. “Alright,” Zeke says, putting his sunglasses back on his face. “You see Kyle… give me a call, will you?” “Sure thing,” I say as my stomach unclenches slightly. Zeke nods and turns toward his bike. Then, as if he has a second thought, he turns back and says, “You know… I could stand a stress reliever now that I think about it. Why don’t you come out to the clubhouse tonight… work Kayla over a bit?” Every instinct in me wants to tell him to go fuck himself, but I know I’m walking a very dangerous line right now with this man. I give him a nod. “What time?” “About eleven,” he says and turns away, satisfied with my answer. I stay on the porch and watch Zeke mount his bike. All three men kick start them to life. They carefully back their bikes up, maneuver them into turns, and then head back down my long driveway that winds at least a full half mile before it connects to the main highway. As soon as they’re out of sight, I turn back into the house and call out to Maggie as I close the door behind me. “Mags… it’s all clear,” I shout as I walk back toward my bedroom. She comes out of the master bath, Belle toddling behind her, and hands me the gun with the barrel pointed downward. I uncock it but leave the shells inside. “Go get packed up. Two separate bags, one for you and one for Belle,” I tell her as I lay the gun on the bed and go to my closet to pull out a large duffle bag. “Why?” she asks fearfully. “What happened?” “He knows,” I tell her as I go back to my gun cabinet and pull out three more guns. I put them in the duffle and head to my dresser to grab clothes. “Knows what?” she whispers. “He knows I know where you are,” I say confidently. “He might even have a clue that I have you.” “Then why didn’t he just bust in and take me?” she asks, and it’s a good question. But I saw how Zeke was checking out the landscape and figuring out how it would look to find my dead body and possibly Maggie’s once he had Belle. He wasn’t going to risk that move right then. “He wants me to come to the club tonight,” I tell her. “He wants to lure me there; I’m sure he thinks it’s better to kill me on his turf rather than mine. They can dispose of me quietly and then come get you.” “Please tell me you’re kidding me,” Maggie begs. I stop pulling clothes out and turn to face her. “I’m dead serious, Mags. Just trust me on this. Now, we’re leaving immediately, so go get bags packed.” She hesitates only a moment before she races out. I throw the clothes in the duffle and grab several boxes of ammunition from the cabinet. When I turn to toss them in the bag, my eyes lock on Belle still standing there, watching me curiously. My heart fucking squeezes at the thought of Zeke getting his hands on her, and I double my efforts to get packed. “Don’t worry, Belle,” I murmur more to myself than to her. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you or your mommy.” I zip the bag, grab it and the shotgun with one hand, and then bend to scoop up Belle. Her little arms go around my neck, and I’m amazed at her trust in me. I hope to fucking God I don’t let her down.

I pause just outside of Maggie’s bedroom door, noticing her zipping up a backpack before grabbing a small tote from the bed and turning to me. She looks determined but fearful, and I want to kiss her to reassure her, but we don’t have time. For all I know, the entire club might be rumbling down my driveway in seconds. I lead Maggie out the back door of the house and we trot to the truck, throwing our bags in the back. I get Belle quickly buckled into her seat while Maggie scrambles in from the driver’s side. No more than five minutes after Zeke left, I have the truck pointed down the back road that leads to Woolf’s house on the Double J. He’s the first person I call and he answers on the second ring with a, “What’s up?” “I’m headed to your house now. I need you to take Belle and head to Cheyenne,” I tell him, my voice conveying the urgency of the matter. Maggie’s hand grabs my arm and she says, “What? No. I’m not leaving Belle.” I shrug her off and ignore her, continuing my instructions to Woolf. “I’m pretty sure Zeke knows I have them, so I need you to take Belle in one direction and I’m taking Maggie in another. They’ll hopefully follow us if we’re spotted.” “I’ll be ready when you get here,” is all Woolf says before he disconnects the call, and that is the power of true friendship right there. I know he’d lay down his life for me if I asked, and he’d do it for someone I care about too. “Bridger,” Maggie says in a panic. “I don’t want to be separated from Belle.” “Mags,” I say softly, taking my hand and putting it on her thigh to squeeze reassuringly. “I can’t protect you both, and if we’re being actively hunted, I’d rather lead those fuckers as far away from Belle as I can get them. That means you’re bait.” I look over at her and I see awareness dawn on her face as she understands what I’m saying. I hate myself for calling Maggie “bait” to her face, but I knew she’d understand me. Maggie will do anything to protect her daughter, and she withstood torture in doing so. She would have no qualms about leading an entire gang of bikers on a chase if it would put distance between them and Belle. “Okay,” she says with a shaky voice. “I understand.” “Good,” I say with another squeeze to her thigh and I about lose it when she leans her head on my shoulder. “Thank you,” she says quietly. I don’t take my hand from her thigh. “Wheels on the Bus,” Belle cries out, and Maggie and I burst out into nervous laughter. Then we sing “The Wheels on the Bus” three times on the way to Woolf’s house. As promised, he’s waiting in front of the detached garage with two bay doors open. Maggie wrestles Belle out of the seat while I collect the bags from the back of the truck. Woolf walks into the garage and around the back of a vintage Hummer. It belonged to his dad and sometimes we’d take that bad boy out four-wheeling on the ranch. “You take the Hummer,” Woolf says. “If those fuckers come after you, you run them right over.” “What are you taking?” I ask as I throw the bags in the back, and then walk out to the truck to get Belle’s car seat. Callie’s already out there, holding a large duffle bag in her hands, so clearly she’s going with Woolf and Belle. “I’m taking the G550,” he says stoically. “It can run motorcycles over too.” I unlatch the car seat and tug it out, walking in long strides to the G550. Woolf opens the back door while Callie, Maggie, and Belle follow. As I’m putting her car seat in the back on the passenger side, I tell Woolf, “I probably bought some time so I don’t think they’ll follow us. I’m just being more safe than

sorry.” “How’s that?” Woolf asks as he watches me work. “Zeke invited me out to the club tonight to work on his old lady,” I tell him as I maneuver the seatbelt to secure the car seat. “Kill you deader than a doornail if you went,” Woolf posits. “Yeah,” I agree. “Figured that much. Just hope he believed me when I told him I’d be there. If he does, we have a good head start. It’ll also help we’ll be in vehicles they don’t know and coming out of the Double J main entrance versus my driveway.” “Where are you going?” Woolf asks as I finish and turn toward him. “Salt Lake City,” I tell him. “Long, flat roads in between so I can see what’s coming.” “Good idea,” he agrees. “You locked and loaded?” I ask him. “To the hilt,” he assures me. Woolf owns as many guns as I do. It’s what Wyoming men do. “Thank you, brother,” I say, my voice getting a little choked. Woolf studies me for a moment before he pulls me into a hug. He claps my back roughly a few times before holding me tight. I’m not weirded out in the slightest and return the hug hard. “Do me a favor,” he mutters so only I can hear him. “Try not to get killed. I think you might finally be on your way to a fulfilled life, if you know what I mean.” I do know what he means. He means Maggie, but I’m not about to tell him I have serious doubts about that. Instead, I clap him on the back a few times and pull out of his embrace. Woolf turns and holds his arms out to Belle. Maggie hugs her fiercely for a moment, and then kisses her cheek. “I love you, Belle.” Belle smiles back at her mom and says, “Chee-chew.” It’s Belle talk. I love you is “chee-chew,” strawberries are “joppies,” and for some weird reason, cereal is “bee-boss”. I hope to fucking God I get to hear more Belle talk in my future.

Chapter 20

Maggie WITH MY ELBOW propped up on the passenger window ledge and the side of my head resting against the glass, it’s easy for me to keep my eyes on the passenger side mirror and look at the long road behind us as we drive through Idaho. We could have cut south through Wyoming on our way to Salt Lake City, but the road tends to be more winding around the buttes. Cutting southwest through Idaho wasn’t as direct a route to Salt Lake City, but the terrain was flatter with wide-open spaces so you could see if someone was following you. We’ve lapsed into silence, part hypnotized by the bland terrain and flat roads as well as being lost within our own thoughts. I wasn’t expecting this to happen. I’d been lulled into a false sense of security thinking that Belle and I were safe at Bridger’s and that it was just a matter of waiting until Mayhem’s Mission could be taken down. I’d forgotten the hours of torture that Kayla put me through, and the beatings I took from Zeke when he first caught me without Belle. It was all so easy to put that shit behind me because I had the bright, dazzling persona of Bridger Payne distracting me. That, of course, makes me feel incredibly guilty. I should have been more worried about Belle and less worried about whether Bridger would ever fully open up to me. I should have never gotten involved with him on a sexual level and just accepted his hospitality and protection until I had Belle firmly in hand, then I should have taken off and gotten far away from Zeke and Kayla. Except I know deep down that wasn’t a plausible scenario. I had nowhere to go. No money. No credit. No car. I had no way to support my daughter and ensure her safety. I was stuck depending on Bridger for my entire well-being and that of Belle’s. Which brings me right back to the beginning, and that is living in Bridger’s home, seeing what I want right there in front of me, and acting on it. Of course, there is the tiny little fact I need to consider that just this morning as we were riding Lucy together, he was essentially telling me he’s not in this for the long haul. He specifically told me that we were too different for this to work out in the end. Is he right about that? Are his demons better controlled with the way he lives his life now, or can I chase them off? Does he really need The Silo the way he says he does, and if so, could I ever reconcile that fact? Could I share him with that lifestyle? Bridger doesn’t seem to think so, and that’s really the reason he laid things out for me so clearly today. I sigh, cut my eyes forward for a few moments, and then gaze back into the side view mirror. “You’re a very brave woman, Mags,” Bridger says softly, and my head swivels to the left to look at him. He has his right hand gripping the top of the steering wheel and his left arm casually resting on the window ledge. He looks so calm and in control right now, and I feel like I’m going to splinter into a million pieces. “I don’t feel it,” I murmur, directing my gaze back out the windshield. “You could have insisted on going with Belle,” he says softly. “You would have been safe at the governor’s mansion.” I didn’t understand at first why Bridger told Woolf and Callie to head to Cheyenne, but he told me as

soon as he got in the Hummer and we were heading out of town. He’d told me that Belle would be protected by the governor’s security detail. As long as she was inside that house, no one was getting at her, and I marveled at Bridger’s brilliance and quick thinking. We didn’t see one single biker as we left Jackson, and once we crossed over into Idaho, it was pretty clear no one was following us. Still, it was a wise decision for us to split up from Belle because if we’d stayed together and were followed, we were all unsafe until we got to Callie’s father. At least this way, there’s a very good chance they’ll come after me, assuming Belle would be in the back of the Hummer and not well on her way to Cheyenne in the back of a G550 that would never be on Zeke’s radar. “What do you think’s going to happen?” I ask him curiously. “Well, if Kyle’s ATF handler will call me the fuck back, we’ll have a better idea, but you and I will lay low until we figure it out.” Bridger’s first course of action after we crossed into Idaho was to try to get up with Kyle’s ATF handler. He’d told Bridger his name was Joseph Kizner and he was working as a used car salesman in Driggs. It only took Bridger a few phone calls to locate the dealership he worked at, as well as a crafty message on the man’s voice mail, and we were hoping to hear from him at any time. I nod in acceptance. He’s basically telling me what I already know, and that is we don’t know jack shit. We’re flying by the seat of our pants and have no clue if we’ll stay hidden for two days or two weeks. So that discussion is out, but I might as well turn the discussion back to something we could at least air out. “What do you think will happen with us?” I ask him. He doesn’t even flinch, but just turns his head lazily to look at me. “Haven’t given it much thought.” I grimace and look away from him. Nice to know I plague his mind so much. I open my mouth to tell him I should definitely move to Coeur D’Alene, but he’s apparently not done. “I have no clue what your expectations are, Mags,” he says softly as he reaches across the interior and gives my thigh a squeeze, all while keeping an eye on the road. “But I’m not ready to give you up yet. Haven’t even begun to get my fill of you. So I guess for the immediate future, I’d like you to consider staying around Jackson.” “In your home?” I ask bluntly. “Me and my two-year-old daughter… you want us to stay?” I can tell he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t given it much thought because he sort of blanches at the thought of us being there permanently. In fact, he doesn’t even need to answer my question as I see his lack of commitment to that deep of a relationship written all over his face. “I’ll think about it,” I cut in before he can say anything, turning my gaze back to the side view mirror after leaning my head against the window again. “Staying in Jackson, that is. But I’d have to find a job and a place for Belle and me to live.” I can almost see feel his body exhale with relief, and yeah… that hurts. He wants me close enough to fuck me but not so close as I become a burden on him and his single lifestyle. But life hurts sometimes, and I’ve got bigger things to worry about than whether or not Bridger cares enough about me. Right now, he’s doing right by Belle and me by keeping us safe and protected. I owe him the world for that, but at the least he deserves my respect. Said respect will cost me some chunks of my heart being carved out the more I come to realize he’s a tougher nut to crack that I’d supposed originally. Bridger’s phone rings, and he picks it up from the center console. “It’s him,” he says after looking at the incoming number. “Him” being Joseph Kizner. After he connects the call, Bridger hits the speakerphone button so I can listen to the conversation. I sit up straight and lean toward the phone as Bridger holds it up in between us. “Bridger Payne,” he says by way of identifying himself.

“Yeah… Mr. Payne, this is Joseph Kizner, calling you back.” When Bridger had left a voice message, he’d didn’t bother to make up a story about selling a car. He needed something a little more enticing to induce Mr. Kizner to call him back as quickly as possible. So his voice mail merely stated he was trying to reach a high school friend by the name of Kyle Sommerville and that he’d heard Joseph had served with him in the army. All completely fictitious, but it got Kyle’s name out there. Anyone in the office who might have listened to the message wouldn’t be any the wiser that Mr. Kizner was not a salesman but was in fact an ATF agent. “Do you know who I am?” Bridger asks him. “Has Kyle mentioned me?” “He has,” Kizner affirms. “Mentioned you several months ago as someone we could potentially use to gather further info on Mayhem’s Mission.” “Yeah? Well, I would have declined had you approached me,” Bridger says dryly, “but Kyle got me messed up in this shit all the same.” “What do you mean?” Kizner asks with obvious worry in his tone. “Zeke was keeping a woman prisoner at the club… name of Maggie Waylon. She and Zeke have a two-year-old daughter together named Belle. Maggie escaped with Belle and got her to safety, but Zeke caught Maggie. Had been beating her, and his old lady took matters into her own hands when Zeke went on a run here recently. Was torturing her and was going to kill her. Kyle got Maggie out and asked me to take care of her.” “Jesus fuck,” Joseph growls into the phone. “I take it you didn’t know any of this?” Bridger asks. “We don’t meet often. It’s too risky, and we were supposed to meet yesterday, but he never showed. Wasn’t anything I would be worried about though. We’ve had meets before where he doesn’t show because something came up, but I figured I’d hear from him soon.” “Well, something may be wrong,” Bridger says somberly. “Zeke showed up at my house a bit ago looking for Kyle—said he hasn’t seen him. I can’t tell you why, but it didn’t sound right to me. It’s like I got the impression he knew exactly where Kyle was but was trying to figure out what I knew. I think he knows Kyle took Maggie out of there, and I think he knows I was hiding Maggie and her daughter, Belle.” “Do you think he knows Kyle is working undercover?” Kizner asks, his voice now on full alert. “I don’t know, but my gut says no,” I tell him. “If he suspected that, wouldn’t he be getting the hell out of dodge?” “Good point. Where are you?” “We’ve only been on the road a few hours. Heading to Salt Lake City, but we’re not far from Montpelier, Idaho. I’ve sent Belle to Cheyenne with a friend whose father is the governor. She’ll be well protected.” “Okay,” Kizner says, his voice now taking charge and brooking no nonsense. “We’ve got Zeke under constant surveillance as well as his higher-ups in the club. I’m going to check in with them, see where they are.” “I don’t think they’re following us,” Bridger supplies. “Then go ahead and pull off in Montpelier. Get a hotel and wait to hear from me.” “What are you going to do?” Bridger asks pointedly. “Because we cannot stay on the run. I’ve got a business… Maggie wants to get back to her daughter.” “I get that, and things are going to move fast. We’re actually ready to take them down. All supporting agencies are in place, and we have enough agents ready to go. We were just waiting on this last meet with Kyle for the go-ahead. But if you think he’s in danger, then we have to move now.” “Like as in ‘now’, right now?” Bridger asks, his eyes cutting to me briefly.

“As in a few hours,” Kizner says. “It will go down tonight probably, after it gets dark. Probably let them party a bit… get relaxed.” Bridger nods in understanding, but he adds on for Kizner’s planning benefit. “Zeke invited me to the club. Expects me there at eleven PM. If you don’t do it by then, he’ll send some people out for me, I’m sure.” “Then we’ll have it go down before then,” Kizner says. “This number I’m calling you from is my cell. Text me the hotel you’re at and I’ll let you know as soon as we have the club members in custody. We’ll need you to come back and give a statement and such, but we’ll worry about that later.” “Got it,” Bridger says, and then adds on, “And just so you know… if they are following us and come anywhere near Maggie or me, I’m going to shoot.” “Wouldn’t expect otherwise,” Kizner says. “Talk later.” And then he hangs up. Bridger draws his phone to his face, rubs the edge thoughtfully against this chin. “I wonder if Zeke knows Kyle is undercover or he just thinks he helped you escape?” “I don’t know,” I tell him. “But I can tell you this… Kyle was good in his act. I would have never thought he was a cop. He was an asshole, and like I said… he egged Kayla on when she was torturing me.” “You know he was doing that to maintain his cover,” Bridger points out. “Yeah, I get it,” I say with a smile. “And I will totally give him a hug when this is all over.” Bridger doesn’t respond but puts his blinker on as the exit for Highway 30 looms ahead. He then holds his phone back out, chooses a contact, and dials, also putting it on speakerphone so I can listen. Woolf answers almost immediately. “Just checking in,” Bridger says. “Where are you?” “About half an hour outside of Rock Springs,” Woolf says. The trip to Cheyenne is over six hours in length so it will be at least four more before I know Belle is to safety. “Anyone following you that you can tell?” Bridger asks and I hold my breath waiting to hear his answer. “Nope,” Woolf responds casually, and then adds on the best news I’ve heard yet. “Callie called her father and filled him in on what was going on and that we were heading his way. He arranged for the state police to escort us county by county to Cheyenne, so you don’t have to worry about Belle.” “Oh, thank God,” I murmur, but Woolf apparently hears me loud and clear. “I’ll take good care of her, Maggie. I promise,” he reassures me. “Listen,” Bridger says. “I just got off the phone with Kyle’s ATF handler. Filled him in on what was going down, and they’re concerned about Kyle. They’re going in tonight to make the bust.” “Thank fu—” Woolf starts to say, but then he stumbles and says, “Fudge.” Bridger turns to me and we smirk at each other, because yeah… sometimes you have to watch your mouth when you have a two-year-old in the car. “At any rate, at his suggestion, we’re stopping in Montpelier,” Bridger continues, “but you should head on to Cheyenne. It’ll hopefully be over by tomorrow, and then you can start back.” “Sounds like a plan,” Woolf says. “Later,” Bridger says. He disconnects and puts the phone back in the console, his hand going to the top of the steering wheel again to resume his casual pose. Now that I know Belle is utterly safe and has police protection even as we speak, all of the tension I’d been carrying just melts away from my body. I don’t care if I’m bait and Zeke comes after me, but

knowing that Belle is safe right now makes me incredibly happy. “We’ll Facetime with Belle once they get to Cheyenne, okay?” Bridger asks, glancing at me again. “Sounds good,” I say as I lean back in my seat and look straight ahead. I don’t bother looking at my side view mirror anymore, because it seems we’re good. We’re safe. Zeke’s going down tonight. Belle and I will be reunited. And then I’ll figure out what to do about Bridger.

Chapter 21

Bridger MAGGIE DOESN’T SAY a word as I pull the Hummer around the back of the Clover Creek Inn to the room I’d secured for the night. I handed her the magnetic key when I got back into the vehicle, wondering if she cared that I only got one room. I wondered because I’d laid my speech on her earlier today about us being too different from each other to survive in the long run. I figured my proclamation would send Maggie scurrying away from me, which is not something I wanted, but something I figured would happen since well… she’s a woman. Women take more stock in the future and looking past a single night—or just a few nights—of pleasure. But it made sense, only having one room, because there was still a danger presented from Zeke. Granted, I didn’t think it was a big danger and it’s pretty obvious we weren’t followed. But still, it was a good excuse to insist we stick together. And I do want to protect Maggie. Wasn’t lying to Kizner. I will shoot anyone that comes through that door after we get inside. But my ulterior motives are more because while I certainly will see to Maggie’s protection, I want to be in the same room tonight because I intend to fuck her. I stand by my words to her. There are certain things I need in my life. I have certain demons I’ve learned to live with rather than abolish. Those things are probably not going to change about me, and Maggie is too sweet to have to deal with them for her future. She’d be hurt by me eventually, so I wanted to start getting her expectations set that this… whatever it is we have… has an expiration date on it. I’m just not sure what that date is right now. But it’s not expiring tonight. We’ll be staying here for at least the next twelve hours, and I intend to fuck her more than once. Belle’s safe, we’re safe, and the next logical priority for me is seeing how far I can take it with Maggie. I am way more excited and turned on by the prospect than I am fearful of it, and this is pushing me forward. Can I do in her pussy what I did in her mouth? I’m definitely bolstered by past success, and I’m not going to lie… I’m dying to feel her wrapped around me when I release. I want to feel the electric moment I felt when I was in her mouth. The orgasm was glorious, long-lived, and almost brutal in its power. Not like the flatlined orgasms I usually have that give me two to three seconds of mind paralysis at best. As much fucking as I do in my lifetime, I want it to be spectacular rather than ordinary just once. I pull the Hummer into a parking spot and get out of the vehicle. Maggie follows suit but waits for me while I get the bags out of the back. I then follow her to the room and wait while she unlocks the door. I stand close enough to her backside that I can smell the faint smell of her pear shampoo and the very vague odor of saddle leather from our ride this morning. When the door opens, she jets inside and heads straight to the bathroom, which tells me she’s nervous. More importantly, she knows what my intentions are. I drop the bags on one of the beds and remove the guns. I do a quick check to ensure they’re all loaded and ready, then I take my clothes off. I’d considered doing a slow seduction of Maggie, but then immediately discarded it. She knows I want her, and she wants me too. It’s a waste of time, so I did away with it. I wait by the bathroom door patiently. She finally opens it to find me looming there naked. I expect her to jolt or even scream, but instead, she lets her eyes roam down the length of my body almost

dispassionately before coming back up where she cocks an eyebrow at me. “So, that’s how we’re playing this?” “You mean by jumping right into bed and fucking? Yeah, pretty much.” I wait to see how she’ll take this. Will she smile, give me a small laugh, and jump into bed, choosing to show me a bit of levity over my brashness? Or will she be disappointed? Fearful? Disgusted? She grimaces at my remark, and there it is… an obvious flash of disappointment in her eyes. Fuck if that doesn’t feel a lot like guilt brewing at the center of my chest, but I push it away as I wait to see what she does. I swear to fucking God, if I see a glimmer of a tear over my somewhat callous treatment of our relationship, I’m going to throw my clothes back on and just sit outside the hotel door all night, keeping myself far away from Maggie. “Fine,” Maggie says pertly as she pushes by me, giving a slight elbow to my ribs so I’ll move out of her way. She starts jerking her clothes and shoes off until she’s as naked as I am. She then crawls onto the bed that doesn’t hold our bags, and lies on her back, staring at the ceiling. In a voice that sounds intentionally robotic and uninspired, she says, “Oh, Bridger. Come and do me, you big stud. I can’t wait.” I don’t know how to take that. Is she teasing me? Is she making a point? I walk across the room and hop on the bed, straddling her waist. She glares at me, although her eyes do drop to my dick, which is hard and ready, before peeping back up to me. She waits for me to make a move, and although she’s acting put out, I can see the pulse in the base of her neck jumping and her nipples are beaded tight so she’s not as unaffected as she wants me to believe. “Any chance you’re on some form of birth control?” I ask her. “I know you’re not on the Pill.” She looks confused for a moment and then nods her head. “IUD. I got one after Belle was born. Wasn’t about to give Zeke another child and tie me to him further.” “Then we’re fucking without a condom,” I announce to her and wait to see her reaction. “What the fuck, Bridger?” she says in exasperation, but there… right there… I see her eyes flame with lust. But she retains a little bit of common sense when she says, “You don’t even know if I’m clean.” “You realize you didn’t even bother asking if I am,” I point out. “Well… I assume if you said you didn’t want to use a condom it meant you were clean. I don’t think you’d do anything to ever intentionally put me in danger.” Fuck… that admission right there. It’s exactly what I was seeking when I broached this subject. I wanted to know the depth of her trust in me. No particular reason for it, other than to stroke my ego where Maggie’s concerned, because even though I have a connection with her that’s different from all others, I still sometimes wonder exactly how she feels. And, of course… I couldn’t do something as simple as just ask how she feels. No, that would be way too easy. “And you trust me?” she asks in what is a sweet, hopeful voice that lets me know right there… in addition to wanting me, Maggie is not taking my proclamation that we’re too different to heart. But I fall prey to the tone of her voice, not wanting to hurt her. Never wanting to hurt her. “Mags,” I say softly, placing my palm right over the middle of her chest. “If you were to sit here and tell me to my face that you’re clean, I’d believe you wholeheartedly.” Her eyes go round, but then slide off to the side to stare at the bedspread. In a small voice, she says, “I’m not sure. I mean… Zeke always used a condom, but that one time it broke. I’ve never been tested, but I’ve also never had any symptoms of anything.” That right there is the truth, and she gave it to me point blank. Something shifts inside of me, and my respect for Maggie grows. “Well,” I say carefully. “I do happen to know for sure you’re fine. Jared ran a full workup on you

when he first treated you, and I had him include an STD panel. I had no clue what your backstory was at that point, and I wanted to make sure you got proper medical attention.” “Oh,” she says as her eyes come back to mine. “Well… thank you.” “So, the condom issue is dispensed,” I tell her with a pointed look. “But we have one other thing that we need to talk about before we get started.” “You make it sound like we’re getting ready to start a board meeting or something,” she mutters, but there’s a pouty tone to it and it lightens the mood somewhat. “It’s true what I said in the car a bit ago,” I tell her as I move both my hands to the mattress by her head and dip my face down over hers. “I haven’t given much thought to what you and I are, or what we’ll do going forward. But it seems like things with Zeke are going down fast, and come tomorrow morning, you might not need me anymore.” “Agreed,” she admits, but fuck… it kills me how sad she sounds. “So I’m thinking about it right now,” I explain my rationale. “And the one thing I know right now is that I really want to fuck you, and I hope it’s going to be just as amazing, if not more so, than that stellar blow job I got last night. I expect I’m going to come deep in your pussy and I’m going to love that feeling, so I expect I’ll do it again. I also expect I’ll want you tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. But truthfully, that’s as far as I’ve gotten, Maggie. I just don’t have it in me to look too far into my future. I’ve got doubts and insecurities just like anyone. So if you want to keep on with me, to see where it goes, that’s great. But if you don’t want to, because I can’t give you more than what I did just now… I’ll back off and put my clothes on. The choice is yours.” She doesn’t say anything right away, just looks at me without breaking eye contact. Finally, she says, “That’s quite a speech, Mr. Payne.” “Did it make sense?” I ask. “It did, and as it stands… I can appreciate you not knowing what you want. I can also appreciate your doubts,” she says coolly, and my chest gets tight with anxiety that she’s going to tell me to put my clothes back on. But then she gives me a sassy grin and her eyes sparkle playfully when she says, “I can appreciate those things as much as I can appreciate that fabulous cock that you’re practically waving in my face right now, and I’m really wondering what it will feel like inside of me without a condom.” Every bit of tension drains right out of me. At the mention of my cock, it stands a little straighter as if it’s preening, and then starts to weep for her with eagerness. My chest also squeezes with the realization this woman is trying to make this easier on me. “You’re just saying that to let me off the hook, aren’t you?” I ask her. “I’m saying that simply because I understand your limitations, and right now… I’m okay with that. I’m also very okay with us having sex and seeing what happens after. It’s just that simple.” I smile at Maggie, immediately stretching my body down the length of hers. Her legs part for me and my hips settle in between, my dick laying heavy over her pubic bone. I look down into Maggie’s green eyes as I hold myself off her somewhat by my elbows digging into the mattress. “I want you so bad, Maggie. When I came in your mouth last night, it busted me out of some shackles for sure. I want to know if they’re completely banished.” “Then you should probably get on with fucking me,” she says impishly, and I appreciate her attempt to further lighten the mood. But I need her to know one more thing. “I think I’m good, Mags. I think I can do it. Hell, I want to do it so bad… come inside you. But same warning as before… it might not happen.” “And I’m good if that’s the case,” she assures me with a smile. “All right then,” I say with a return grin. “Let’s proceed to the fucking.”

“Let’s,” she says saucily. “But first,” I say before pressing my mouth against hers and giving her a slow kiss. “Lots of foreplay.” I kiss her again, and she mumbles against my mouth. “Sounds good.” And so I spend a very long time getting Maggie worked up for me. Well, hell… getting myself worked up. I roll us to our sides and we kiss and make out like two horny teenagers in the back of a car. Our legs intertwined together, my dick pressed in between our bodies, and some humping as well. But then I get down to business, sliding my hand to her pussy and engaging her clit. I move my mouth down to her breasts, lick and bite at her nipples—which I know would look amazing with some clamps on them—and finger fuck her to a quick orgasm. I think about bringing her to a second orgasm, but then her hand is on my cock and she’s stroking me a little too good and getting me a little too worked up. I briefly consider flipping her on her stomach and riding her that way, but determine that would make me a pussy. If I’m going to confront my fucking cum demons, I’m going to do it face to face with her so I can look into her eyes and assure that Maggie’s motives are pure. Pushing Mags onto her back, I position myself over her, knocking her hand away from my cock. She spreads her legs wide and raises them high, opening herself before me in silent invitation. I look down at her cunt that’s wet and swollen with need, and it seems to call out to me. This is it… it’s where I bust past my reservations and make this pussy mine. It’s where I take back a little bit of what she took from me. I fist my cock and bring the tip to her slit, rubbing the head up and down a few times. The feeling is exquisite and my nerve endings so receptive that the pleasure is almost unbearable. But I also remember this feeling from my past… this completely bare and undulled feeling of flesh on flesh, and I flashback to her on top of me. Her sinking down on my cock and the terrible groan she’d always produce from within me because it felt so fucking good even as it all felt so very wrong. Nausea wells up inside me and I pull away from Maggie so my cock’s not touching her. “Bridger?” Maggie murmurs, and I feel her palms on my cheeks. “We can stop if you want.” I shake my head, blink my eyes, and stare down at Maggie. I take in her beautiful face… her gorgeous hair all fanned out. Those green eyes sparkling with desire and understanding, and, most importantly, with acceptance of whatever I’m able to give her. Despite how little it may actually be. Before my fears can get the better of me and before I can change my mind, I put my cock back at her entrance and with one slow but very assured move, I sink into her until I bottom out, all while maintaining eye contact with her. Pure, electric bliss sears my entire body from the inside out, and a massive rumble of pleasure bolts up my spine. I go absolutely dizzy from the overwhelming physical sensations assaulting my body, and I feel something pulling at me to let go… to become an animal and take what my body demands. Maggie’s eyes flutter, but she forces them to stay open so she can keep my gaze. I hold absolutely still, taking in everything about this moment and trying to control an urge to unleash myself on her. Maggie’s warm eyes filled with desire and acceptance. Hot, wet flesh tightly wrapped around my cock. Immense pleasure. Eagerness to come. Not a single bit of shame. No nausea. No guilt. Balls already tingling because I want to come really fucking bad.

I want to come inside of Mags. Tentatively, I pull my cock back and fuck… what a feeling. The bare sliding of her flesh against mine and the tightness almost refusing to let me go. It feels so good it’s almost unbearable. I don’t want her to let me go. Slowly, I slide back in… that hot, wet channel sucking me back and squeezing my dick deliciously. I groan over the sensation… all these feelings just beautifully raw and completely overwhelming. I feel like I’m falling into a deep ravine of lust and pleasure mixed with complete gratification, and the only fear I hold at this point is that once I make that fall, I’ll never want to crawl out again. Maggie watches me, her lower lip held between her straight white teeth. Her hands rest at my shoulders, lightly waiting to either grip me in pleasure or console me in failure. “Feels fucking good, Mags,” I tell her in a gruff voice, and I see instant relief flood her face. “Will feel better if you move,” she says with a smile, her hands wrapping around my neck and her knees pressing into my ribs as if she’s gearing up for a ride that she knows she’ll need to hang on hard to. I know it will. Feel better. Feel better than anything I’ve ever felt, and I think I’m ready for it. I hope to fucking Christ I’m ready for it. I push up and brace my hands on the mattress, using the leverage to start a rhythmic dance of my hips by pulling out and then punching back in deep. Holding a few seconds so I can savor the tremors of pleasure it produces, then I repeat, but a little faster with the next successive thrust. With each push back into Maggie’s sweet pussy, she moans and pants and her fingers press into my neck muscles. With each thrust of my cock, my pulse fires hotter, faster, more erratic as the pleasure builds inside of me. I fuck her harder, and harder, and then harder yet, until I feel like I’m trying to throw myself deep into her. My chest heaves, my throat works overtime to swallow the grunts and curses that try to escape, missing far more than it contains, and my balls actually start to ache with the need to come. I want to hold it off, but there’s no putting a lasso on this runaway train. My body has taken over, and it wants to know what this buildup is all about. It’s demanding to experience the explosion that it inherently knows is going to be brutal and transcendent all at the same time. My body begs me to give it up to Maggie. Give her my offering of my own free will. Watch as she accepts, not because it gives her power but because she revels in me. I pick up the pace, fucking her deeply… completely. I fuck her on my terms. “Bridger,” Maggie breathes out on a moan as I hit her sweet spot over and over again. “Feels so good. So damn good.” A weird pulse of tension knots in my chest. “Give me more, Bridger,” Maggie says, her hands sliding into my hair and fingers curling to grab hold. Give it to me, Bridger. Give it up to me. You know you want to. My thrusting falters, my head twists on its own accord to dislodge her hands from my hair, and I pull my hips back too far, causing my cock to come all the way out of Maggie’s sex. Immediate relief I’m out of her. Immediate hell that I’m out of her. My body wars with the need to finish and the compulsion to scramble away. I shake my head to clear my thoughts, but my body takes over and my hips thrust forward involuntarily to sink back into her wetness. I groan because the pleasure from her pussy gripping tight is beyond amazing, and the knot of

anxiety lessens somewhat. With a quick pulling back of my cock and another punch in deep, the pleasure sizzles hot again and the remaining anxiety melts away. I’m okay. It was just a stumble. Let it go. I start thrusting in and out of Maggie, the euphoria once again grabbing hold of me and urging me to completion. My pace is fast, my thrusts deep. She looks at me with a touch of trepidation clouding her normally bright eyes. Her hands come back to my shoulders, her touch tentative. I don’t want her to be tentative. But I don’t want her to be controlling. I want her to want me like no other woman has, yet it has to be a genuine desire and not born of a selfserving, sociopathic need for dominance. But no… that’s not Maggie. It could never be sweet Maggie. Bending down, I place my mouth on hers, giving her a kiss that says how much I love the feel of her under me… around me. I tell her from the depths of the kiss that she is amazing, gorgeous, and sexy, and she is rocking my world right this moment. I fuck her hard, feeling her breath quicken as she pants into my mouth and her body starts to tremble. I heave my body against hers, lurching almost so that my cock can grind deeper and deeper into her. My own head spins from the dizzying heights I’m being propelled to, and my entire being aches with the need to give it all up right here and now. I thrust in particularly deep. Maggie’s mouth tears away from mine as she throws her head back and screams her release. I’m amazed that I can feel her pussy rippling all around my cock as she comes, and that right there ignites my own orgasm. I don’t even suspect it coming up on me, but rather it seizes me blindly and takes my entire body hostage. I stiffen, one moment suspended in time where I see Maggie’s lust-glazed eyes smiling at me and I feel her body’s tremble, and then I start to come viciously inside of her. I shoot so hard, my vision darkens for several moments. The pleasure that bursts outward from what seems like every molecule in my body robs me of my breath… to the point where I don’t think I’ll ever be able to breathe again. But that’s okay, because as good as this feels, I don’t need oxygen to survive. I can survive on sex with Maggie alone. My head drops to her shoulder, and I close my eyes to enjoy the lingering pulses of pleasure that seem to be without end. If my prior orgasms during sex seemed gray and lackluster, these feel like the burst of color that occurred when Dorothy stepped out of her house in Oz. Maggie’s soft hands stroke my shoulders, and I lift my head up to look at her. “Hey,” she says with a soft smile. “Hey,” I mumble back to her, my heart still beating frantically. “Good?” she asks hesitantly. “The best,” I tell her truthfully. “Really?” she asks, her smile now wider than the Wyoming prairies. “Wouldn’t lie,” I mutter. But I won’t elaborate either, because I’m afraid of what a pussy I’d sound like if I tried to wax poetic about that transcendental experience. Instead, I roll us to our sides, keeping my cock still wedged inside of her. It still has little tingles of pleasure coursing through it, and I’m completely fine by that. “What do you want to do?” Maggie asks as she wraps her arm around my waist and burrows into me

closer. I don’t even hesitate. “Want to get a second wind, and then I want to do that again. Then maybe we’ll grab some dinner, and then I definitely want to do it again after that.” “Insatiable,” she murmurs, leaning in and pressing a kiss at the base of my throat. With you, Maggie, I think to myself. Absolutely with you.

* THE CALL COMES in at 3:10 AM and wakes me from an exhausted sleep. I’d fucked Maggie four times in this hotel bed, the last only about two hours ago, and that, coupled with the stress of our situation and the travel, had me falling into a slumber that resembled a coma. It’s why my voice is hoarse and my speech is a little slurred when I answer, “Hello.” “It’s Joseph Kizner,” I hear and I sit straight up in bed, instantly awake. “It’s done—went down a few hours ago. Zeke’s in custody as well as several members of the club. Raids went down in several other clubhouses across the United States. Would have called earlier but I’ve been slammed with getting all the arrests processed and everyone booked properly.” I let out a sigh of relief and scrub my hand through my hair. Maggie doesn’t even stir beside me. “I’ve got to go; got a shit ton more paperwork. Just wanted to let you know,” Kizner says. “You should head back to Jackson once you both get up and moving. We’re going to need you and Maggie’s statements.” “Will do,” I murmur into the phone before disconnecting. The relief that this nightmare for Maggie is finally over and my sheer exhaustion compels me to sink back down beside her. After placing my phone on the bedside table, I roll over and curl my body around Maggie’s. We’ll sleep for a few more hours, but then we need to hit the road. It’s time to get my life back on track again.

Chapter 22

Maggie JUST AS THE CLOCK hits three PM, I hear the scrape of tires on asphalt and shoot up off Bridger’s couch. I race to the front door, throw it open, and fly down the steps before Woolf can even get the G550 to a complete stop. I’ve been a bundle of nerves waiting for them to arrive from Cheyenne, because although I logically knew Belle was safe, I had to see it for myself. I also had to feel it, and by that, I needed to hold and squeeze her to death. Bridger and I got back to his house around ten AM as we were only a few hours away. Woolf, Callie, and Belle had a lot further to travel, of course, so it’s been a waiting game through the morning and early afternoon. Which sucked because that left me way too much time to think about Bridger and where we stood. Last night was unbelievable. The most prolific and sublime sexual experience of my life. I almost don’t want to ever have sex again because I don’t think what we did last night can be topped. Sure, we got off to a rocky start and Bridger had a few stumbles that first time, but after that, he was a man on a mission. He’d just discovered the holy grail of sex, and he was determined to reach that pinnacle again and again. If I can believe the man as he muttered the fourth time he came inside me, “Get’s better every time; can’t wait to do it again,” I’d say Bridger was now a fan of coming inside of a woman. Well, I hoped his fandom was really reserved for coming inside of just me. So yes, I replayed those memories over and over in my head today. Bridger went into his office for a few hours late this morning, so I may have used my fingers on myself while I replayed those memories. I was in a constant state of arousal around the man, knowing what he could do to my body, and I couldn’t wait to be with him again. Sadly, I thought he might take me again this morning when we woke up, but he just hurried me into the shower, stating he wanted to get on the road. This bothered me because I was there, I was warm, and I was ready for the taking. But his desire to get on the road trumped his desire for me, and I’m not sure that bodes well. Regardless, the G550 comes to a stop and I pull at the back passenger door, opening it and staring at Belle’s beautiful face. Her eyes light up with happiness and she yells, “Mommy” as she stretches her arms out to me. I practically tear at the harness restraint to free her, and then I’m pulling her out and squeezing her to me. Her little arms go around my neck and she lays her head on my shoulder. It’s the best feeling in the world. Yes, better than being with Bridger, but that’s the second best feeling in the world. I spin around and around, holding my baby, vaguely taking in Bridger as he stands on the front porch and watches our reunion. When I stop spinning, I see Woolf walking up to Bridger, clapping him on the back as they talk quietly. Then Callie’s arm comes around me, and she gives me a side hug, “It’s over, toots. Time to finally relax.” And she’s right. Zeke is in jail, and Belle and I are free. It is definitely time to relax. Except even as I think that, I hear more scraping of tires on asphalt. I turn to see a clichéd black Suburban coming down the long driveway that’s clearly government issue, and as it gets closer, I can see blue lights on the dashboard.

“About time,” Bridger mutters from the porch. Bridger called Kizner today when we hit the road to find out when they wanted to interview us, but got his voice mail. He didn’t call us back, but sent a terse text that said, Sorry—slammed with processing and transport of prisoners. Someone will be out this afternoon.

And that was it. We didn’t hear anything else from him, and we certainly hadn’t heard anything from Kyle. Bridger and I just assume Kyle’s more slammed than Kizner, since he’s the guy who brought the entire club down. We imagined he’d have debriefings upon debriefings and wouldn’t surface for a while. In fact, I wondered if I’d ever get to see him again and thank him for saving me. The Suburban comes to a stop beside Woolf’s vehicle. A tall, gaunt man with thinning dark hair streaked with silver gets out. He’s wearing a black windbreaker, jeans, and what looks like a buttondown dress shirt underneath in pale blue. I start walking toward the porch as he does, and he gives me an uncertain smile. “I’m guessing you’re Maggie?” When I nod, he reaches his hand out to me. I shift Belle up higher on my hip and shake with him. “I’m Joseph Kizner,” he says before turning his attention to the men on the porch. Bridger steps forward and introduces himself, and then Woolf and Callie, before inviting Joseph into the house. We all trek inside and Bridger offers Kizner something to drink, but he declines. Callie sidles up to me and opens her arms. “Why don’t you let me take Belle back to the bedroom to play while y’all talk?” I nod and hand Belle over. She doesn’t need to hear any of this. After Callie disappears down the hall, I go to my usual place on the sofa, and Bridger sits down beside me. Kizner takes an armchair on the opposite side of the coffee table, and Woolf stands behind the couch, maybe in a show of solidarity and support. I don’t care if he hears the details of my story. Kizner said he’d want our statements so I’m going to have to disclose what happened to me. He protected Belle with his life and I owe him everything, so he’s more than earned his right to hear the entire story. Kizner dispenses with any small talk and gets right to it, “The raid went down quickly. They never saw it coming, never suspected. We had twenty-three arrest warrants for that clubhouse alone. Similar raids went down at clubhouses across the United States. We were able to serve eighteen of the twentythree warrants, but that did include arresting Zeke Powell as well as his number-two guy, Arden Hayes.” “What were the charges?” Woolf asks from behind me. Kizner looks at Woolf when he answers. “Murder, drugs, illegal guns, extortion, slavery. Charges that will ensure Zeke Powell goes away forever, and the other members for a very long time.” Kizner then slides his gaze down to me, as I’m sitting just below Woolf on the couch. “And I want to get your statement, Miss Waylon, and we’ll amend charges to add kidnapping.” “And torture,” Bridger growls. “Zeke’s old lady, Kayla, beat her and cut her, deprived her of food and water, and threatened to kill her.” Kizner nods and takes out a recorder from a pocket in his windbreaker. “There are no arrest warrants for Kayla Powell at this time. She was there when the arrests went down though. Let me get Miss Waylon’s statement, then yours, Mr. Payne, and we’ll go from there.” And so I tell Agent Kizner everything. How I first came to Mayhem’s Mission and that Zeke claimed me as his property. I was embarrassed and ashamed to think of myself in those days, down on my luck but still loving to party and content with being someone’s fuck toy so I’d have a roof over my head and booze in my gut. About getting pregnant and how it took me two years to get inspired to run with Belle. I tell him about Aunt Gayle and then how members of the Omaha chapter of Mayhem’s Mission found me in Nebraska because I stupidly holed up with a girl who used to be one of the club whores here in Jackson,

but wised up and got out. I naively felt it would be safe since she wasn’t in that environment anymore, but she betrayed me. Kizner asks me some follow-up questions, and then focuses in on what they did to me to induce me to give up Belle’s whereabouts. I hear Woolf mutter a curse when I tell Kizner the brutal details of what Zeke did. Beatings with his fist and then a frustration fuck—which, let’s face it, was rape because I didn’t want it even if I was too beat down to say so. And how Kayla beat me with her own fists, or the handle of a broomstick, which is where I got the gash on the top of my head. I grit my teeth when I tell him she used a knife on me, and I even admit with shame that’s when I almost broke and told her what she wanted to know. “And how did you escape?” Kizner asks. I shrug. “I don’t know. I passed out from the pain during one of Kayla’s sessions. I was in the basement and had lost track of time—didn’t even know if it was day or night. I woke up here in Bridger’s house. He said Kyle brought me here. I didn’t believe it at first because Kyle watched what Kayla did to me, and he laughed. He even egged her on once when she was punching me. But I understand now that he was playing a role and he saved me.” Something flickers across Kizner’s face, and I’m pretty sure it’s guilt. I don’t miss it, and neither does Bridger, who I can literally feel tense up beside me. He leans forward and asks Kizner, “Where’s Kyle? I get he might be tied up, but I’m sure Maggie would like to see him… to thank him for helping her.” There’s another flash of guilt across Kizner’s face followed by extreme sadness as his shoulders sag. He looks down at the floor and says in a low voice, “Kyle didn’t make it.” “What?” Bridger growls in disbelief as I feel tears well up in my eyes. Kizner looks up to me before sliding a morose gaze to Bridger. He clears his throat. “We found his body during the raid. It was at the back of the property. Single bullet to the back of the head—execution style.” A heavy silence fills the room. My head spins with the implication that the man who saved my life gave up his. That he was most likely killed because Zeke suspected he’d helped me. I know this because Kizner said the raid went easy; that they had no clue ATF was coming down on them. I feel myself starting to fracture. Start to break into a million pieces. But then Bridger shoots off the couch with a muttered curse and stomps down the hallway to his bedroom without another word to any of us, leaving behind a physical wake of sorrow and anger. His bedroom door slams with such force, the house shakes. I immediately stand from the couch and jet down the hallway. I don’t bother with a knock. When I open the door, I immediately see him standing at the bottom of the bed, his chest heaving and his hands curled into tight fists. He emanates danger and raw fury, and I don’t think twice before I run to him and slam my body into his front while wrapping my arms around his waist. I press my cheek to his chest and whisper, “I’m sorry. I know he was a friend of yours.” “He wasn’t a friend of mine,” Bridger growls, his arms staying tense at his side rather than returning my embrace. “I drank a few beers with him. Fucked a few club whores with him.” I flinch, not just because of the crudity of his words, but because there’s no doubt in my mind Bridger mentioned fucking other women because he’s using this as an opportunity to remind me that he’s not a long-term commitment kind of guy. He’s also taking out his pain and anger on me, and I choose to think he does so because he trusts I will see it for what it is and not hold it against him. So I just squeeze him harder and say, “He may not have been a friend, but he saved me. He was a good man, and it’s okay to mourn him.”

Silence except for the beating of Bridger’s heart against my cheek. Then his arms come around me and I feel him rest his own cheek on the top of my head. “He should have known they were onto him. He should have gotten out of there.” His words are gruff and although on their face they place blame on Kyle’s shoulders, I know he says them merely out of disbelief that he’s gone. Bridger only holds me for a few moments before he pulls away. His hands come to my shoulders. and he says in a low voice, “Get back in there. I’m sure Kizner has more questions. I’ll be in there in a minute.” I study him, wondering if I should refuse. Should I stay and console him more? But I see a certain aloofness there now, and it’s clear Bridger’s taken all he will from me right now. I can only hope he doesn’t use this as an excuse to freeze me out. I nod and turn away from him, but his voice stops me at the door. “Mags?” So confused and unsure. Filled with need for something, and I turn around expectantly. Bridger swallows hard and looks at me with frustration. I wait patiently. Finally, he just shakes his head and mutters, “Never mind. I’ll be out there soon.” I don’t press it. Bridger isn’t a man to be pushed. He has to find his own way, and while I’ll gladly provide whatever gentle encouragement I can, I also know there are boundaries with him that he’s not ready for me to cross. When I get back into the living room, I see Kizner holding a cup of coffee and Woolf doing the same, except now he’s sitting on the cushion that Bridger vacated. I take my spot on the couch, sitting next to Woolf. He looks at me expectantly. “He okay?” “Sure,” I say with a confident voice, but I can tell by the look on Woolf’s face he doesn’t believe me. “Just needs a minute.” Woolf stands and without a word, he walks down the hallway to Bridger’s room. I’m glad… that he’s a close enough friend that he looked past my false proclamation about Bridger and is going to offer his support as well. “Miss Waylon,” Kizner says and I turn my head to look at him. “Kayla Powell… what was her motivation in torturing you?” “Well, I think she was taking up where Zeke left off. When he went on a run, she took it upon herself to continue to work me over to give up Belle. Or maybe he even asked her to do it, I don’t know. But mostly, I think she did it because she hates me. I think she wanted to find Belle for Zeke, because she loved that bastard and couldn’t give him a child, but I think mostly because she was jealous that I gave Zeke something she couldn’t.” He asks me a few more questions before turning the recorder off and slipping it back in his pocket. “This is more than enough for an arrest. It will be the local authorities though, and I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you as well. Could take a few days as they got their hands full right now with the club members and waiting for the US Marshall’s to fly in and take custody of them.” I nod before looking down at my hands clasped tightly together. When I look back up, I ask, “Did Kyle have family?” Kizner nods. “A sister… in North Carolina. She’s already been notified.” A lump forms at the base of my throat, and I swallow past it. “I’d… um… when the time is proper… I’d like to reach out to her. I want to let her know what Kyle did for me.” “I’m sure that would be a comfort to her,” Kizner says, but I have to wonder if that’s true. She may hate me because my predicament ultimately led to his death. Still, I need to express my gratitude and condolences to her.

Kizner leaves, telling me on the way out that the local authorities will get up with Bridger about a statement, mostly to nail down the facts about Kyle bringing me here and the condition I was in when he did. I tell him that’s fine. He pulls out of Bridger’s driveway, leaving behind a household filled with a mixture of relief that our ordeal is over and heavy sorrow that someone gave his life to ensure our safety.

Chapter 23

Bridger I SCAN THE last page of the payroll summary report, feel satisfied it’s in order, and then sign off on it. That task complete, I put it aside and my thoughts immediately go to Maggie. I growl in frustration, because I don’t want to think about her. I grab the inventory order sheet that my senior bartender, Ted, had placed on my desk last night before he headed over to The Silo. In addition to being a fucking fantastic bartender, he’s one of my best Fantasy Makers as well. All the ladies and men love Ted and his eight-inch cock. He doesn’t discriminate where he’ll stick it. Perusing the inventory sheet, I make a few notations in the side column, noting our stock of white wine has been depleting faster than normal. Must be a run on tourists or something, but my mind involuntarily thinks of Maggie again because she likes white wine. This is something I learned about her just last night after I fucked her. And what a spectacular fucking it was. I’m sure we were both overly sensitive to emotion based on learning about Kyle’s death that day, but I rode her hard from behind, that same animalistic need overtaking me and causing me to practically try to crawl my way inside of her because it felt so good. But when I felt myself getting close, I flipped her over, because I really wanted to suck on those perfect tits because I’d come to realize they are very sensitive. I figure if I can ever get to a point where I can control myself around her, I’d want to see if I can make her come just by working her nipples over. So I hammered into her, my teeth biting at her nipples before I’d suck on them, and it was well on its way to being another existential experience for me until she grabbed my hair again. Maggie wasn’t kidding. She’s a hair puller. I, however, am not a hair pullee. Never will be simply because she got off on grabbing a fistful of my hair, which I’d always worn long as a kid, and she’d hold me there while she would alternate blows to my face with kisses. When I was twelve, she once dragged me through the house by my hair as I tried to madly scramble on my hands and knees to keep up with her. She dragged me right into the bathroom where she slapped the shit out of me repetitively before she put me in the bathtub and bathed me with apologies. When Maggie grabbed onto my hair, my hips never missed a beat in their jackhammering and my hands pulled hers away from me so I could hold them pinned above her head until I came inside of her with a loud groan of stupendous relief. After, I was feeling mellow and because I’d loved the way Maggie’s body felt against mine the night before when we slept in the motel bed together, I was content to let her cuddle into me. As she stroked my stomach, she said, “Sorry about the hair thing.” “It’s okay,” I muttered, my own hand stroking her hip. “It could be a repetitive problem,” she said, humor in her voice, but I didn’t reply. And when I didn’t reply, she asked me somberly, “Why does it bother you?” I could have given her a million different answers. I could have lied a million different ways. But instead, I told her the truth. “My stepmom used to beat me. She often did so while holding me in place by my hair.” Maggie gave out a cry of protest. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s in the past,” I mumbled as I reached for her hand and moved it from my stomach to my cock to distract her unwanted pity. I’d just got done coming in her not fifteen minutes prior, but the minute I made her fingers curl around me, I started to come alive again. Because my body wants Maggie in a way that it’s never wanted anything before. I actually believe it needs her, because the thought of me getting this anywhere else is like shoving rancid meat down a starving man’s throat. So she got me hard with her hand, and then harder yet with her mouth. She gobbled my cock up and swallowed me whole, after which I ate her beautiful pussy still leaking with my cum. It was a beautiful experience. Would have fucked her again this morning given the opportunity, but when I woke up, she was gone. I assume she slept with Belle, and I’m not sure if that relieved or irritated me. Regardless, I found them both in the kitchen when I came out, and Maggie served me eggs and bacon. We all three sat at the table together and ate breakfast. I smiled appropriately and teased Belle. I helped Maggie clean up after. And the entire time, I analyzed every feeling running through me. Bodily repletion from amazing fucking. Companionship from a beautiful and kind woman. Joy from an energetic toddler who is cute beyond words. And fear that I don’t deserve a single minute of it. I want Maggie, no doubt. For sure in my bed. My heart? Not so sure. She’s so many wonderful things to me, but she’s still a complication. My life is orderly. I have certain proclivities. I have unbearable demons that are well controlled with the very structured life I lead. The Silo gives me comfort, and it’s a part of me. I know for sure I cannot let this carefully ordered world deconstruct on me. Maggie has the ability to tear it all apart. Ultimately, I had no great epiphany as to what to do. My cock was winning my war of indecisiveness, and I left the house after breakfast to get some work done. I didn’t kiss Maggie goodbye, but I did tell her I’d see her at dinner. It sent a message as mixed as my feelings. I want you, but I don’t. I like having you here in my house, but I’m just not sure I’d want it forever. I didn’t go straight to The Wicked Horse though. Instead, I drove into Jackson and went straight to my barber. Anyone who knows me knows I don’t give a shit about my appearance. I’ll often grow my hair long, and when it becomes a nuisance, I’ll shave it all off and let it grow back again. My hair is long, but not quite to the point where it’s bothering me. Still, I didn’t hesitate a moment parking my ass in that barber’s chair and telling him to take it all off. Took no more than ten minutes and some sharp electric blades before I had nothing but stubble over my entire head that looked like an early five o’clock shadow. I killed two birds with one stone. Got my haircut out of the way and ensured that Maggie’s hands would never grab hold of my hair again. Finishing up the inventory sheet, I put it on the edge of my desk. I’ll walk out and hand it to Ted a little later. He’ll call in the new stock order. I turn to my email, relishing in the minutes it gives me of Maggiefree thought. There’s one from Cal, letting me know again how much he and Macy enjoyed The Silo. I feel bad I didn’t spend more time with them, but it was a quick in and out trip for them. Still, I should be the one thanking them. They inspired me to get up the courage to come down Maggie’s throat and forever changed the way I would have sex. At least I think. Not sure I’d want to come inside another woman.

Not sure I could. My phone rings. I grab it from the desk where it sits next to my laptop. Flipping it over, I see it’s from Kizner. “Payne,” I answer the phone brusquely. “It’s Joseph Kizner,” he says, although it’s not needed as he’s in my Contacts now. But still, in just those three words, my body goes stiff with alertness because there is no mistaking the urgency and concern in his voice. “What’s wrong?” I immediately ask. “Local authorities still haven’t processed a warrant for Kayla Powell’s arrest, and probably won’t until they actually interview Maggie,” he says, and this doesn’t surprise me. I didn’t expect it to move fast. But his next words send a cold shiver of fear up my spine. “I interviewed Zeke today, and he made some threats against Maggie and Belle.” “What kind of threats,” I ask thickly, my mouth suddenly dry. “When we told him we’d be amending the charges against him to add kidnapping and assault, he didn’t take kindly to it. When we told him we were going after Kayla, he just laughed at us. Said we’d have a hard time proving that against his old lady without any witnesses. Threw it in our face that Agent Sommerville was dead and couldn’t testify.” “But Maggie’s a witness,” I rasp out. “I’ve got cops headed there now,” Kizner says, but I’m already shooting out of my chair and running for the door. “I’m closer,” I tell him before I disconnect. I careen through The Wicked Horse and fly to my Corvette parked right at the front door. Kizner calls me back as I toss my phone on the passenger seat, start the car, and peel out of the parking lot, leaving lots of rubber behind. When my phone goes silent, I grab it and dial my house phone. It rings repetitively five times until the answering machine picks up. It’s a model that has a speaker on it so you can hear the person leaving the message. “Maggie,” I say in a voice that I struggle to keep calm so I don’t freak her out. “Zeke has made some threats against you, and I’m headed there now. I want you to take Belle and go into my room. I have a shotgun on the top shelf in my closet. Lock yourself in the bathroom until I—” The message cuts off. With a curse, I dial back. She doesn’t answer this time either, and I hope to fuck she’s just outside playing with Belle. I continue my message. “I’m sure it’s all fine, but you never know with someone fucked in the head like Zeke. He has members who weren’t arrested and were loyal to—” The machine cuts off again with an offending beep. “Fuck,” I yell and throw the phone down into the passenger foot well. It rings again. I almost drive off the highway trying to lean over and grab it because it might be Maggie. After I get it in my hands, I curse again when I see it’s Kizner. I connect the call. “I can be there in about fifteen minutes. Where are the cops?” “At least twenty-five out,” he says. “You armed?” “No,” I say, cursing myself for assuming Maggie and Belle were safe. “If you can tell someone’s in that house with them when you get there, you do not go in. You wait for the cops to get there,” he orders me like an overbearing father. “Not gonna fucking happen,” I tell him. He sighs into the phone, and I can hear the worry in it. “I’m headed that way too,” he says softly. “Just in case.” “Got it,” I mutter, and then disconnect. I put both hands on the wheel and bear down on the gas.

The fifteen-minute drive seems to take thirty, but in reality, I made it in eleven thanks to the power of my Vette and my erratic driving as I passed people on the highway without prejudice. I barrel down my long driveway and my house comes in to view, my stomach sinking when I see a dark gray Dodge charger parked in front. I don’t know the car and have never seen it before. It could be an undercover cop car for all I know, and that would be a welcome scenario. It could be one of Zeke’s guys who didn’t want the rumble of a Harley to scare Maggie off. I pull my car up, turn the ignition off, and get out. I consider sneaking around the house and peering in windows so I can verify the house occupants. But that would take time and would also keep Maggie and Belle in danger longer. Besides, I’ve never been one for subtle. I gingerly navigate the front porch steps, skipping over the third one that creaks, and walk right into my house like a man on a mission. I’m not prepared for what I find. My eyes first land on Belle, who sits in the corner of the living room near the back door. She has tears streaming down her face. My gaze slides to the right, five feet from Belle, and Maggie is sitting in a kitchen chair with Kayla in front of her. Kayla’s back is to me, but the minute the door opens, she swings around. My heart lurches when I see she has a gun in her hand. I want to look back at Maggie, ensure she’s okay. I want to go pick up Belle and comfort her. But I don’t dare take my eyes off the gun that Kayla is now pointing at me. “Oh goody,” Kayla sneers. “I can knock two people off my list now that you’re here, Bridger.” I slowly raise my hands up and to the side in a message that clearly conveys, Just calm the fuck down and don’t do anything hasty. “Come on, Kayla,” I say in a calm voice that I hope is soothing in nature. “You don’t want to bring this down on yourself, do you? Zeke’s going down, but you don’t have to.” “Do you think I’m stupid?” she hisses at me, waving the gun erratically around but still pointed in my general direction. “You don’t think I haven’t figured the cops are coming for me, too?” And they should be here in hopefully about ten minutes, I think to myself. But I tell Kayla, “You don’t want murder on your shoulders, Kayla. You’ll go away forever.” “Think I give a fuck?” she yells at me. “Zeke’s gone. He ain’t comin’ back. You think I give a rat’s ass what happens to me?” I take a moment to let myself look at Maggie. Just a moment so I can assure she’s okay as I try to figure out how to talk this crazy woman off the ledge. And in that moment, I see everything clearly. Maggie’s eyes, which reflect to me the very depths of her soul, shoot a quick glance at Belle before looking back to me, and I see exactly what she’s saying. I am not going to sit back and let this bitch get her hands on Belle. I give a slight nod, which is intended for Kayla to see that I’ve just had a very important communication with Maggie. As I hoped, Kayla twists her neck to look at Maggie behind her. The minute her attention is off me, Maggie kicks her legs out viciously and catches Kayla behind her knees. Her legs fold and she starts to go down as the gun aims upward. A piercing shot rings out, and a flutter of dust from my ceiling comes down. I take the opportunity to charge, just as Kayla starts to stand straight again. I jump right over the couch, the quickest way to my destination, and I lower my shoulder like an enraged bull going after the matador holding the bright red cape.

I see Kayla lower the gun and swing it my way. It goes off moments before I crash into her. A hot, burning flash of pain hits the outside of my right shoulder just as it plows right into Kayla’s stomach. We go flying right past Maggie and into the heavy sliding glass door that leads onto the back deck. I’m immediately thankful it just shudders and doesn’t shatter, as I’m not sure either of us would have survived that. Kayla lets out a whoosh of breath as the gun goes flying out of her hand. Her head flies backward and slams hard into the glass, and she literally starts to sag downward. I don’t trust the murderous bitch, so I grab her shoulders, pull her away from the glass door, and slam her back into it. Her head hits against the window with brutal force, and she doesn’t even make a sound of pain as her eyes roll into the back of her head. I let her go, and she slumps to the floor, out cold. Maggie scrambles out of the chair and runs to Belle while I grab the gun, removing the clip and chambered round before tossing it across the room. My hands go to my belt where I quickly pull it off before squatting down and rolling Kayla onto her stomach. I don’t feel an ounce of sympathy when I see the back of her head was cracked open and is leaking blood. No clue if I damaged her severely. Don’t care. I pull her hands behind her back and secure them with my belt. When I stand up and turn to Maggie, she’s as pale as a ghost as she tries to console Belle. My hands are shaking as I reach them up out of habit to run my fingers through my hair, only to have them hit the bristles on my head. Blowing out a breath of terror-filled air, I come to the realization that I almost just lost Maggie, and it scared the fuck out of me. Scared the fuck out of me because I’ve never had anything matter to me that much, and I don’t like the heavy burden of responsibility that weighs down upon me in this moment.

Chapter 24

Maggie BRIDGER’S HANDS SHAKE as he drags the pads of his fingers over his buzzed-cut head. His hair is gone. All that beautiful, warm brown hair that was soft, silky, and slightly wavy… just, gone. Here I am, having just narrowly escaped death—because there’s no doubt that Kayla was here to kill me—and all I can think about is that Bridger’s hair is gone. He’s utterly magnificent, of course. With the hair gone, the golden hue of his eyes pop against his dark lashes. His cheekbones seem sharper, his jaw more squared. His lips. Those lips are fuller… more sensuous. I just narrowly escaped death and all I can do is stare at Bridger with a dark shadow of bristles on his head, and think… he cut that all off because of me. Belle’s cries soften and she gives a small hiccup as she holds onto me tightly. Thank fuck Kayla didn’t touch her as it was going to be hard enough moving her past this trauma. “You okay?” Bridger asks gruffly as he raises his shoulder and peers at it. My eyes drift there, and I gasp as I see his olive-green Henley dark with blood. “Oh, my God, Bridger,” I cry out as I rush over to him, Belle bouncing on my hip. “You’re shot.” “Grazed,” he says through gritted teeth as he fingers a jagged tear made by a passing bullet and tries to peer inside. With a grunt of frustration, he pulls his shirt off and tosses it to the floor where it lands beside Kayla’s head. I don’t even spare her a glance. I scoot closer to Bridger and stand on my tiptoes so I can get a look at his wound. It’s about a two-inch groove cutting through his skin that’s about half an inch wide and oozing with blood. It’s not deep. As he wipes a finger over it, I can see pink skin underneath before more blood oozes. “Goddamn, I’m a lucky son of a bitch,” he mutters as he barely gives me a glance and pushes past me to walk into the kitchen. I watch as he grabs a kitchen towel and presses it to the wound before walking back into the living room and calling 911. I watch in shock as Bridger calmly tells the dispatcher what happened, and I’m surprised when he mentions that there are other police already on the way. I’m not sure how they knew what was going down, but before Bridger can even finish telling the full story, I see a police car pulling up behind Bridger’s Vette through the living room window. A flurry of activity ensues as uniformed officers come in and take stock of the situation before checking on Kayla. Joseph Kizner arrives on their heels and goes immediately to talk to Bridger. Another car arrives, more local police, who, after talking to the first ones to arrive, stand around watching as one of the EMT’s attends to Kayla, who is still unconscious. The other EMT goes to Bridger. After giving him a quick examination, he cleanses and bandages his wound. There’s some words exchanged. Bridger gives a sharp shake of his head, and I hear him say, “I’m not going to the fucking hospital. It’s a scratch.” Typical man. The EMTs examine Kayla, who’s still out cold, but then quickly load her up and cart her off to, I assume, the hospital in Jackson. The second set of cops leave to presumably follow the ambulance and the

first set split apart, one going to Bridger and the other asking to talk to me in the kitchen. Even though Belle witnessed firsthand her mother getting attacked by Kayla, held at gunpoint, and then her scream at me in the craziest of fashions, I don’t want her to have to hear any more of this. So I set her on the couch, give her a glass of milk, and I put Paw Patrol on for her to watch. She seems fine right now, but I want to hurry up and get this interview over so I can get her back in my arms so she knows everything is going to be all right. Maybe after that, I can ensure that Bridger is okay, too, because as of right now, I’m sensing that he’s not.

* A HAND ON my face, pulling my hair back and then stroking my cheek. I come awake slowly, blinking against the glow of the lamp I’d left on beside Bridger’s bed. I knew I was overstepping boundaries when I came in here to lie down and wait for him. I knew he might be pissed to find me here. But damn it… he’d spent most of the day looking at me like I was a fragile glass ornament that could break at any moment and completely avoiding any personal talk. After the police left, so did Bridger. I know the only reason he felt safe in doing so was because he’d had his chief of security, Cain Bonham, come and stay with Belle and me. All he’d said was, “Gotta go into work,” and then he was gone. And I was left staring at Cain, who I didn’t know other than what little I’d learned from Sloane on poker night. That consisted of the fact that he’d let Sloane have sex with Bridger, Rand, and Logan, as well as himself, which was still beyond my comprehension. I cooked dinner, and Cain ate quietly with Belle and me. While he prowled around the living room and kitchen, checking doors and locks, I put Belle to bed and snuggled with her for a while before finally deciding to wait in Bridger’s bed. No clue what Cain did. I felt his presence was unnecessary. Kizner felt pretty confident that Kayla was acting alone in her attack of me, and I felt confident in that as well. I mean, her exact words to me had nothing to do with protecting Zeke from further charges of kidnapping, or even protecting herself from criminal charges. No, she’d said, and I quote, “Think you could fuck my man all those years, spawn his hell brat, and not think I was going to get some payback?” Yeah… today was personal, and it was all about Kayla. I didn’t think anyone from Mayhem’s Mission was coming after me, but Bridger couldn’t be talked out of having Cain come stay with me so he could “go to work”. And now he stares down at me, his hand falling away from my face. I sit up in the bed and give a slight yawn as I look at the bedside clock. Almost one AM. Work must have been hopping. “What are you doing in here?” Bridger asks gruffly. “Waiting on you,” I tell him testily. “Figured you couldn’t avoid me if I was lying in your bed.” “Not avoiding you,” he says as he pulls his shirt off and tosses it aside, then brings his hands to his belt buckle to work at it. He removes it swiftly. Of course, I can’t think to argue with him. Not with his glorious chest and abs on full display, not to mention the erection clearly outlined against his jeans. Turning, he sits on the edge of the bed. Bends over to take his boots and socks off. Bridger angles toward me, sliding his hand around the back of my neck, and then he’s pulling me into

him. His mouth meets mine in a kiss that rivals a firestorm, all hot and consuming. He groans in my mouth, pushes me back onto the bed, and brings his big body over mine. I think about all the things I want to talk about with him. How I need to know where we stand. How I need to reassure him I’m okay and won’t break. Most importantly, how I really believe we could have something together if he’d just take the chance on me. But none of that comes out because my mouth is occupied with his, and then his hands are stripping me bare, and then he’s got his jeans open and he’s inside of me. “Oh, Bridger,” I moan as I tear my mouth away from his and stare with glassy eyes at the far wall. He’s hot and huge and filling me so completely that there is no rational thought to be had. It becomes only about the way he feels inside of me right now and the way he’s going to make me feel even better. He moves his hips in luxurious strokes, taking his time and content to let us both build slowly. His mouth is everywhere… my lips, my earlobes, my throat, my nipples. One hand snakes between us, and he fingers my clit in agonizingly slow circles. My hands snake around his neck, sliding to the base of his scalp where I feel nothing but the prickles of stubble. “You cut your hair because of me,” I whisper. Not a question. A statement. His answer? His mouth comes back to mine and he’s kissing me again, so he doesn’t have to answer me. So he doesn’t have to admit that something I did was so awful, he had to ensure I never did it again. An overwhelming wave of sorrow flows through me, and I know this is the beginning of the end. Any self-respecting woman would push a man such as him off her, knowing he’d never be able to fulfill what she truly needed deep down. But I’ve got no respect for myself. Not where Bridger’s concerned. So I accept his slow lovemaking. I let him continue to kiss me and flutter his fingers against my clit while his cock thrusts deep and true. I let him build me up to the ultimate pinnacle, amazed when he bursts apart at the same time I do. He comes inside of me with a long groan right into my mouth, grinding his hips hard and setting me on fire again. And as I fall back down to earth, I can’t say as I’m shocked when he pulls out of me, rolls off the bed, and tucks himself back in his jeans. He bends over, picks his shirt off the floor, and turns to me. “Listen… I’m wiped. I’m going to take a shower and hit the bed. Why don’t you head back into your room with Belle, okay?” “Sure,” I say, my voice betraying me as it cracks with emotion. To give him credit, Bridger actually winces before he turns away and walks into the bathroom. The minute the door closes, the tears start flowing as I hastily gather my pajamas and underwear, putting them on with jerky movements. I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from letting out a sob. I’m losing him before I even ever really had him. As I turn toward his bedroom door, the sound of his voice stops me. He’s talking to someone from inside the bathroom. Without any regard to his privacy, I pad over to the bathroom door and place my ear against it. “…so if it’s okay and you’re up for a visit, I’d like to come see you,” I hear Bridger say. A long pause. Then, in a soft, caring voice, he says, “It’s been a long time, I know.” Another pause, then, “Thanks, Adrienne. See you soon.” I quickly back away from the door, my heart literally cracking in two. He’s leaving. Not sure when, but he’s leaving. And his voice was soft and gentle. Her name’s Adrienne.

The tears start pouring again, and I have no fight in me. As I said, no self-respect where Bridger’s concerned. He just fucked me and kicked me out of his bed, then quite possibly called a woman so he could go and see her. I spin and run out of his bedroom, then crawl into bed with Belle. I wrap my arms around her and silently let my tears fall as I realize I’m nothing to Bridger at all.

* I WAKE UP early, hear Belle breathing deeply, and look at the alarm clock. 5:45 AM. Slipping out of bed, I change out pajamas for jeans and a t-shirt before heading into the kitchen to make coffee. I slept fitfully last night, sometimes for maybe a half an hour at a time, before I’d dream about Bridger. Or were they nightmares? As the coffee brews, I start putting things in order. First, I need to call Aunt Gayle once the sun fully rises. My only choice is to go stay with her. Perhaps if I had a job, or a place to live, I could make a home here, but I have none of those things. I’m sure she could wire me some cash for bus tickets, or maybe she and Randall could come get us. Second, I need to sit down with Bridger this morning after he gets up and let him know of my plans. While I’m clearly not within his, he needs to know I’ve decided that he can’t be in mine. I’m cutting out before he has the balls to finally tell me to my face that what we have has run its course. The coffee finishes brewing so I pour myself a cup before heading back to check on Belle. She’s still sleeping. I head back into the living room and glance out the front window, do a double take, and then look harder. Bridger’s car is gone. Setting my coffee cup down on an end table, I pad back to his room. His door is open and the room is dim since the blinds are all shut. But it’s light enough for me to see the note on his bed. With my chest feeling like there’s a cinder block on it, I walk to the bed on shaky legs. I pick up the note and see it’s brutally short. I’m sorry. Bridger My fingers curl inward, and the note crumples in my hand. Tears sting my eyes over the unfairness of it all. It’s not fair that he left me like this, without an explanation. It’s not fair that he’s crushed me and that he doesn’t even have the balls to sweep the mess left of me out his door. Most of all, it’s not fair that my heart is so tied up with a man who can’t give me back what I so desperately desire. I drop the note to the carpet and head back into the living room. After I grab my coffee cup, I walk to the phone, intent on calling Aunt Gayle and begging her to come get me. I’d talked to her just last night and filled her in on everything that had happened, assured her I was fine, and I know she could hear the hope in my voice that maybe I could have a good life here with Bridger. Just as I pick the phone up, movement out the window catches my eye. For a split second, I think it might be Bridger coming back to tell me he made a terrible mistake, but then I see it’s Woolf walking up the porch steps, his black Range Rover parked in the driveway just behind him.

I walk over, open the door before he can knock, and say flatly, “He’s not here.” Woolf surprises me by nodding. “I know. And I need to talk to you.” “Oh,” I say with surprise as I step back from the door. He walks past me. “Want some coffee?” “That would be great,” he says softly. We settle down at the kitchen table after I make him a cup of java and I check one more time on Belle. She’s sleeping later than usual, but yesterday was pretty damn traumatic and she had cried so much, she was just exhausted. Of course, I cried a lot last night too after Bridger kicked me out of his room, and there’s no denying the zombie-like feeling I’ve got going on right now. After he takes a sip of his coffee—he takes it black—Woolf sets the cup down, rests his forearms on the table, and his expression goes troubled. “Bridger went to stay with a friend for a while.” “I know,” I cut in bitterly. “I heard him on the phone last night after… Well, last night I heard him talking to a woman named Adrienne. He said it had been a long time and he wanted to visit.” Yeah, I let Woolf in on the fact that Bridger is two-timing me. Well, wait… can he be two-timing me if he’s not even one-timing me anymore? Are we officially over? Is that what the note was about? So fucking confused. So heartbroken, but I refuse to let it show. I look at Woolf with my chin held high, and I expect his expression to turn even darker as he knows that I know about this other woman. Instead, his lips peel back and he gives a bark of laughter, followed by more laughter, and then on to dwindling chuckles. “What’s so funny?” I demand. Woolf looks at me and the chuckles die instantly when he hears the anger in my voice. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he does sound truly apologetic. “It’s just… Adrian’s not a woman. It’s a man. He’s an Episcopalian priest in Cheyenne that Bridger’s close to.” My brows draw inward, knitted in confusion. “I don’t understand.” “I didn’t mean to laugh at you, but your jealousy got to me. It also confirmed to me that you’ll fight for Bridger.” “No, I won’t,” I proclaim firmly. “Yes, you will,” he says just as staunchly. Before I can open my mouth to argue, he continues on, “Bridger’s fucked up in the head. No better way to say it. And while it’s not up to me to tell you the root cause of that, I can assure you that his issues run deep and stem from some horrific shit. He left so he can try to get that shit sorted.” While I want to be heartened by this… while I want to have hope… I can’t find it within me. “He left me a note that sounded pretty much like a final goodbye.” “Maybe it was,” Woolf says with a shrug of his shoulder. “Maybe it was just a temporary goodbye.” “Well, he could have been a little clearer,” I snap, the frustration and heartbreak crashing down on me. “He could have told me to my face. He could have given me some indication of what he’s feeling. Instead, he fucks me, kicks me out of bed, and then skulks off in the middle of the night. Well, fuck you very much, Bridger. I don’t need that shit.” Woolf actually winces, jerking slightly in his seat. “Maggie—” I can’t stand the pity in his voice, so I stand from the table and move to the coffee pot to keep myself busy so I don’t shatter. I give a slight cough, clear the shakiness from my voice, and tell Woolf, “I’m going to go live with my Aunt Gayle in Coeur D’Alene. I’m hoping she’ll come pick me up, so Belle and I should be cleared out hopefully by tomorrow.” “I think you should stay,” Woolf says, and I spin around to look at him. “Bridger wants you to stay.” “What?” I ask in surprise.

Woolf nods. “He called me on his way out of town. Asked me to keep an eye on you and Belle. Told me to extend the invitation to stay here at his house for as long as you wanted, and for me to help get you set up with some type of job. He’s having me set up a bank account and transferring some money for you to use for living expenses and stuff until you can get your first paycheck.” “Oh, how magnanimous of him,” I mutter as I pour another cup of coffee. “He’s coming back, Maggie,” Woolf says confidently. “And then it will be time to figure out shit between you two.” I snort in disbelief because I’m still ruled by anger and betrayal. He’s coming back. But when? And is there even anything left between us that makes me want to try to figure shit out? I don’t know the answer to that, but I have some decisions to make.

Chapter 25

Bridger One week later…

I PUT A LOG on the chopping block, raise the ax over my shoulder, and swing it in a perfect arc so the blade hits true. The log splits in two, falls to the ground. I take another and do the same. I do this three more times before tossing the ax to the ground, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from my forehead by rubbing it against my right arm, hiss because I hit right over the grooved, burned flesh from the bullet that’s still healing and tender, and then immediately start picking up the firewood and stacking it up along the back wall of the rectory. “At that rate,” Adrian says from behind me, “I’ll have enough firewood to last me through to retirement.” “You’ll never retire,” I mutter without looking at him before picking up another log and placing it on the chopping block. Adrian watches me silently, sitting on the back stoop and sipping a cup of tea. He’s aged a lot since I last saw him almost thirteen years ago. His dark hair that he always shaped into a tight, neat cut is liberally streaked with gray now. I know I shouldn’t be surprised as he’ll turn sixty in March, but I wasn’t prepared to see the lines of age across his face and the brown spots starting to appear on the backs of his hands. Or that he gets up a little slower from the kitchen table, or that his voice sounded a bit frailer when he gave his sermon on Sunday. I haven’t seen Father Adrian in thirteen years, but it didn’t mean I left him behind. We talked regularly, usually by phone once a week and via email and Facebook even more often. Other than Woolf, he’s the only person in the world I trust. Well, except maybe Maggie, but not going there. Adrian has never held it against me that I didn’t come back to visit. He knows Cheyenne holds all of my bad memories—except the ones with Adrian—and that it’s difficult for me to be here. It’s not only the city where my stepmom robbed me of my innocence, but it’s also where I was kicked out of college when I took the fall for Woolf’s slight indiscretion of fucking the dean’s daughter in the ass in a three-way. When I finish the last log and have the split pieces stacked, I cover them with a tarp and secure it with rope. Only then do I wipe the sweat from my face once more—left shoulder this time—and take a seat next to Adrian on the stoop. He reaches behind him, grabs a bottle of water he’d brought out for me, and shoves it my way. “Thanks for doing all that chopping,” he says as he stares out over the small backyard of the rectory. “I would have done it myself, but…” I laugh. “Shut up, old man. You can barely lift that teacup.” Adrian snorts. “I could take you over my knee if I wanted to.” I snort too. Because Adrian would never raise a hand to me or even dare think about spanking me. I can still remember with brutal clarity when he found me on the streets. I was barely conscious behind a dumpster after five street kids jumped me for the measly twenty bucks I’d just made sucking some fuckwad’s dick in a back alley. Even though I was big for a sixteen-year-old, could pass for eighteen for

sure, five against one was not good odds. Father Adrian, who had been handing out meals to the homeless, had tears streaming down his face as he helped me to my feet. My life was not pretty after I walked out of my stepmom’s house. I didn’t go to the police because I was too ashamed of what I let her do to me for so long, and I wasn’t about to go into foster care, or, worse yet, get sent back to my stepmom. So I spent almost seven months on the streets, turning from fifteen to sixteen. I learned fast the only way I had to make a quick buck was to sell my body. Unfortunately, there aren’t many women—none really—who will prowl the known prostitute streets looking for a young boy. It’s all closet gays like Jared, who have unsuspecting wives at home, who are out to get their quick fix. Mostly it was blow jobs because that could easily be done in a dude’s car, but I took some ass fuckings too. Those usually occurred in dark alleys with me bent over the hood of a car. On the lucky occasion I got a bottom, he’d be bent over the car and he’d have the well-used ass when I was done. I’d at least have the benefit of getting off then. Actual sex over blow jobs was how I made my best money, and a sore ass was a small price to pay for the ability to rent a seedy motel room for a night and have a hot meal. I survived, no doubt. It was awful, also no doubt. But it was a far cry better than submitting to my stepmom’s cruelty and abuse. It was better because I made the choice to let a man fuck my throat or my ass rather than being forced to have sex. But even though I survived for seven long months without getting caught by the cops once, I don’t think I would have survived it for very long. I was either going to get picked up for prostitution, or I was going to get killed when someone jumped me. Father Adrian rescued me that night and brought me back to the rectory that sits just beside his church. He let me shower, lent me clean clothes, and fed me. Most importantly, he didn’t call the police, a concession he granted me after I threatened to bolt if he did. Instead, he put me to sleep in a guest room with soft sheets and a fluffy pillow, promised again he wouldn’t call the police, and left me to sleep better than I ever have in my life. Even to this day. That’s not where my street story ends though. I couldn’t stay at Father Adrian’s for long because he’d be forced to turn me over to child protective services. He very reluctantly let me return to the streets as long as I promised to reach out to him if I needed help. We became friends, and I came to visit him often, every once in a while accepting his hospitality to stay the night. I was still acting like a trapped animal at times, and I was terrified of being sent back to my stepmom. Over the course of the next few months, I slowly opened up to him. This was accomplished without him pushing me to do so, but by treating me with respectful distance in a consistent pattern so that I learned to trust him. It also came from listening to his sermons. Although I wasn’t then, nor am I now, an overly religious person, Father Adrian always taught from the scripture in such a relatable way that I learned something and took it to heart. Father Adrian’s sermons helped develop me into the man I am today, albeit with a shit ton of emotional baggage to screw it all up. Although there are a million things Father Adrian has done for me and a million ways in which he saved me, the most important thing he ever did for me was help me to get my emancipation from my stepmom. He hired an attorney—a parishioner who gave him a very good price—and a carefully orchestrated plan to convince the courts I was able to take care of myself ensued. This also came at the price that I had to give up my stepmom. It meant I had to tell the truth of what happened to me, and the only person in the world who knew about the atrocities was Father Adrian. I told him everything one night over bowls of French onion soup he had made and served with crusty bread he’d baked. I had to choke the story out and to this day, I can’t eat French onion soup.

But that started the ball rolling. My attorney got an emergency order giving temporary physical custody to Adrian while legal custody was controlled by the state. I was interviewed by the police, and then they went to have a chat with my stepmom. Only problem was, she’d apparently vacated the house she abused me in right around the time I’d walked out, and she was nowhere to be found. I guess dear stepmom was afraid when I’d left that I’d go straight to the cops, and she hightailed it out of town. To further the plan to get my emancipation, Adrian got me a job at a local restaurant as a bus boy, although I had to spend a certain amount of hours each day doing homeschooling with him. The one thing he remained staunch about was that I had to graduate high school. I was almost a year behind given my time on the streets, but with Adrian’s patience and the fact I was a pretty bright kid, I ended up graduating before my peers did. Just three days before my seventeenth birthday, the judge ordered my emancipation. Just three months after that, my stepmom was found dead in Illinois from a heroin overdose. That news meant nothing to me. Still means nothing to me. “How much longer you going to loaf around here?” Adrian asks slyly, mainly to get my goat. “Loaf?” I ask with mock offense. “I’ve been busting my ass since the day I got here a week ago.” Adrian laughs softly and nods. “You’re the hardest working person I know.” It’s true. After I became emancipated and because I graduated high school just a year after starting homeschool with Adrian, I took on three jobs. The first was at the restaurant where I moved from bus boy to waiter, which was slightly better pay because of the tips. The second job I obtained was in a bakery where I worked early morning shift and helped to make bread and pastries. The third job was on the weekend, and I did odd jobs for the parishioners of St. Paul’s. By the time I turned eighteen and was ready to start college, I’d had a nice-sized nest egg to help me get there. I met Woolf at University of Wyoming and my life changed yet again for the better. Even though I got kicked out of college when I took the fall for Woolf, I never let it affect my feelings for him. I’d do it all again in hindsight because that’s what true friends are for. Of course, Woolf sent me to the Double J where I worked range for his father until Woolf graduated, and then we worked range together while he learned how to take over the entire JennCo company. We were, and still are, the tightest of friends. Have built and opened a sex club together. Hell, he chose me to fuck Callie so she could experience a three-way. He has my absolute trust and I know I have his. “But seriously,” Adrian pushes at me. “How long you going to hide out here?” “You love having me here,” I say evasively, but then affectionately, I add, “It’s been thirteen fucking years so I’m figuring you’d kill to have me stay a bit with you.” Adrian doesn’t even bother correcting my language. It’s something we fought about early on in our relationship, and I ultimately won. I remember the convo like it was yesterday because it showed me true grace and love. “I wish you’d stop cursing,” Adrian had snapped at me one day. “I wish you’d stop telling me not to curse,” I’d retorted, and then slammed my point home. “I think after all the things I’ve been through, I’m entitled to use foul language.” Adrian had blinked at me in surprise, and then his eyes filled with sorrow. He’d laid a hand on my shoulder and said, “Bridger, after the all the things you’ve been through, after all the joy you’ve brought me despite all the bad things, I think you’re entitled to live the remainder of your life in peace. Curse all you want if that makes you happy.” I uncap the water bottle and take three huge swallows, wipe the back of my mouth on the flannel sleeve of my shirt, and tell Adrian, “I’m not ready to go back. Need more time.” “You know my door’s always open,” Adrian says sincerely. “But don’t be static in trying to figure

things out. Your problems aren’t going to go away.” I grunt in acknowledgment. That’s true. “When are you going to nose around in my business and ask what my problems are?” “From the moment I first saw you,” Adrian says with quiet reflection, “I knew you were a man who would get to where you’re going in your own time. My ears are open when you’re ready.” I’ve never held a single thing back from Adrian. He’s the only person in the world who knows everything about me. Even Woolf, who I love more dearly than a brother, doesn’t know all the details of what happened to me with my stepmom. But Adrian knows everything. The good and the bad. He knows all the pornographic details of her abuse—and he always prayed for her soul before we found out she was dead—and he’s celebrated all of my accomplishments. Adrian even knows about The Silo and while he doesn’t approve, he doesn’t disapprove either. He understands with absolutely no judgment that I need The Silo and the whip in order to maintain peace with what’s happened to me in my life. But for some reason, my tongue feels glued to the top of my mouth at the thought of sharing Maggie with him. I’m not afraid he’ll judge me for my cowardice, shame me for the hurt I put on her, or even chastise me for using her in the way I did. No, I’m terrified he’s going to push me to go back and grab hold of all of Maggie’s goodness. God, I miss that fucking goodness. “Her name’s Maggie,” I say quietly as I fiddle with the cap of my bottle. “And it’s entirely possible I’m in love with her.” Adrian’s head snaps sideways and when I dare to look at him, his mouth is hanging open in stunned surprise, which lasts only seconds before his eyes light up with joy. It pains me to knock the joy out though, for I say, “But I don’t think I deserve her and I’m scared I’ll hurt her worse than I already have.” Adrian merely nods, lays a comforting hand on my shoulder—a move he’s done many times in my life —and says, “Start from the beginning, Bridger. Tell me everything.” And I do.

Chapter 26

Maggie 5 weeks later

I BREEZE INTO the front doors of The Wicked Horse and immediately shrug out of my heavy coat and gloves. We got our first snowfall last night. It was only two inches and the roads are already cleared, but it’s cold as fuck outside. It’s only 10:30 AM and I’m half an hour early to start my shift, but I wanted to give myself time because I wasn’t sure what the roads would be like. Turns out it was fine, but the air is brisk, the ground covered with a sheen of fine powder, and it makes me unbelievably happy for some reason. Maybe it’s because I love the freshness of winter. Woolf stands behind the bar, stocking beer in the coolers as he watches me saunter up to the bar and then hop onto a bar stool, dumping my coat, gloves, and purse on the one beside me. “What are you smiling about?” Woolf asks with good nature. “You’ll never guess what Belle did last night.” “What’s that?” he says with interest although he continues to stock. “We were cuddling on the couch—watching Frozen for like the bazillionth time and I wish she’d just ‘Let It Go’ if you get my meaning—and Barney jumped up and snuggled up on my other side. Belle turns to him, pushes him away, and says, ‘Go away, Barney. That’s my mommy.’” I break out into laughter remembering how affronted Belle was that our rescue dog, Barney, wanted to impede in on her mommy time. I also go warm all over as I remember the feeling of utter joy as she said those words. It’s confirmation to me that Belle thinks I’m great, and I sure as fuck need that after all the crap I let her see those first few years of her life. Woolf chuckles as he shakes his head, his lips curved upward in amusement. “That kid. She’s got a personality the size of Wyoming.” “Right? I swear she’s going to be a comedian one day. Or a lawyer. That kid is learning how to negotiate. Trying to get her to go to sleep at night is a major pain in my ass. She has to negotiate how many songs I’ll sing for her, and trust me… I’m getting a little tired of singing “Twinkle, Twinkle” four times in a row.” Woolf doesn’t respond, although he’s still smiling. He merely opens another box of beer and starts putting the bottles in the cooler. He’s part of a brotherhood of guys who have all stepped up to the plate since Bridger left town almost a month and a half ago. Woolf has been handling the operations of The Wicked Horse, while Cain, Rand, and Logan have been keeping an eye on The Silo. My face still burns as I remember what Cat told us the other night during our regular girls’ poker night we instituted. What she and Rand did at The Silo. Apparently, it was his night to sort of watch over things, so, of course, Cat was with him. Apparently, they’d both gotten so horny watching all the action that they joined in on the fun. Camped themselves out in the orgy room and played with another woman. I know my face was beet red when she was telling the story, although Callie, Sloane, and Auralie all leaned forward and listened with avid interest and what may have been envy on their faces. Cat chatted away as if it was nothing, sipping wine and talking about how Rand and the other woman took turns going

down on her. I was affected by her story for sure. A tiny pang of desire in between my legs, but not for another woman to do the same to me. Not even the thought of the uninhibited freedom of doing something so naughty. No, the pang was pure desire for a solid, trusting, and reliable relationship with a man who would make me feel like a queen the way I’ve observed firsthand how Woolf, Cain, Rand, and Logan all do for their women. A man who would put me first, protect Belle and me at all costs, and would give me the world. Who gets off by me getting off. Sadly, I don’t know anyone like that. Bridger’s been gone almost six weeks. At the one-week mark, I kept waiting with baited breath for him to walk through the door. At two weeks, I thought, Well, maybe this is an extended vacation. Three weeks, I called it a sabbatical. At four weeks, I crossed the point of no return because I realized I was a fool for holding out hope and holding up my life. To pine any more for him past that would just be plain pathetic. So I moved on. These last two weeks, I’ve concentrated on setting up a stable home for Belle and settling into the Jackson community. And I’ve settled in marvelously, becoming closer than ever with my poker girls and learning more about their men. It wasn’t even awkward in the slightest when we all gathered at Woolf and Callie’s place for Thanksgiving, and I didn’t feel like odd man out without a man because I had Belle. Yeah, I wished I had Bridger there, but he wasn’t, and it was lovely all the same. Meaning… I was moving on. Woolf had told me the morning after Bridger left that Bridger said I could stay in his house. I actually accepted that offer, because yeah… during that first week even though he’d crushed me, I still expected him to come through that door and make it all right. Woolf put me on to work at The Wicked Horse as a waitress, and I started saving all of the money I earned. It was hard work and my feet ached at the end of the night, but the best part of that was I usually fell into an exhausted sleep each night and couldn’t pine over a certain man. I worked mostly night shifts, which meant I could spend my days with Belle. In the evening, Callie, Sloane, Cat, and Auralie all took turns watching her until I could find a reliable babysitter. When the third week rolled by and Bridger didn’t return, I went ahead and used some of the money he left me to put a deposit down on a small apartment for Belle and me. I was still using Bridger’s truck for transportation and had no qualms with continuing to do so. I was fronting the gas for it, and from every paycheck, I put a small amount aside to pay Bridger back for the money I’d used for the deposit. After he’d been gone for a month, I decided to move on. I have no clue if Woolf has heard from Bridger because I didn’t ask. I assume so, since he still had a business to run, but I wasn’t about to let anyone know how crushed I was. It meant I smiled as I moved on. I had new friends, a new place to live, and a good, solid job. Kayla and Zeke were both in jail awaiting their trials, although the federal prosecutor did tell me that Kayla’s attorney might assert a psych defense. Not sure how that makes me feel. I sort of believe that woman is bat shit crazy, but I’m pretty confident she’s going away for a long time, so I choose not to worry about it, just as I choose not to worry about Zeke coming after Belle or me. He’s history and word on the streets is that Mayhem’s Mission has crumbled from the inside out with the arrest of the key players from all the major chapters. I did take care of one important thing that didn’t give me full closure, but it made me feel somewhat

better. Joseph Kizner passed me the contact information for Kyle’s sister, Andrea. She lives on the coast of North Carolina, and I reached out to tell her how grateful I was for what her brother did for me. It was an emotionally raw conversation, and I was afraid she’d hate me for putting her brother in jeopardy, but she was really quite proud of his work even though she was grieving deeply. “Everything going okay with you?” Woolf asks. I blink my eyes, pulling out of my thoughts. “Yeah,” I say brightly. “I found a car I’m thinking about buying. Maybe you could take a look at it. One of the customers here is selling it. It’s about six years old, but it has low mileage.” “Sure,” he says amiably. He’s become almost like a big brother to me. “Where’s it located?” “I guess at his house, but he said he’d drive it up here one night if I wanted to check it out.” “Just let me know when and I’ll come by,” Woolf says as he empties the last box and sits it on the stack of empties. “And now that I think about it, why are you in so early? I know I saw you on the schedule for tonight.” “I could use the extra money,” I say vaguely. “For what?” Woolf pries… quite nosily too I might add. “To buy the car,” I admit grudgingly because I’m not going to lie to him. “Bridger left you plenty of money to do that,” Woolf points out. I consider getting into this with Woolf, but something holds me back. He’s not said a word about his friend to me since the morning after Bridger left. I also have been quite silent on the matter. I think I want to keep it that way. “Well, I better get ready to start my shift,” I say with complete avoidance of his question as I hop off the stool. “Sit your ass back down,” Woolf growls at me and I freeze in place, looking at him warily. When I don’t move, he growls again, “I’m your boss and I could fire you, so sit your ass down.” I hop back up on the stool and try not to pout as he lean his arms on the bar. Woolf stares at me intently for a moment, and then asks gently, “Why aren’t you using the money Bridger left you?” Well, looks like we’re going to talk about it. “Oh, you mean his guilt money? That pile of money he left because he didn’t have the balls to say goodbye to me and tell me it was over? That pile of money left to soothe his conscience that he wasn’t abandoning me? Or maybe it would help him sleep at night since he so royally fucked me over.” Woolf doesn’t even flinch once during my tirade, but his eyes do grow soft with understanding. All he says is, “I understand.” His gentle voice and the compassion almost embarrass me because I don’t want him to feel sorry for me. Like I said… I’ve moved on from Bridger and I don’t need him giving me those looks of pity. I flash Woolf a brilliant smile. “Well, it’s been nice chatting, but I’m going to get ready for my shift.” I start to hop off the stool again, but the front door of The Wicked Horse opens. I can’t lie to myself; I always get a jolt of awareness, wondering if this will be the time Bridger comes walking through. Even though I’ve moved on, I can’t help but still wonder… what if. It’s not Bridger though, just the senior bartender, Ted McKeon. When the door closes behind him, his eyes slide behind the bar to Woolf, to whom he gives a lift of his chin in greeting, and then to me, where they light up with genuine surprise and delight. “What are you doing here, sexy girl?” Ted asks. I give a quick glance to Woolf and see his eyebrows shoot up high. I almost want to laugh with glee because this is exactly what I needed to wipe that look of pity off Woolf’s face. I don’t want him to think I’m still stuck on Bridger.

Because I’m not. Much. I slide off the stool and step up to Ted, giving him a huge smile. “Hey, stud. I’m picking up an extra shift today.” Ted looks upward and holds his hands out. “Thank you, Lord, for answering my prayers. Beautiful Maggie is here for me to stare at all day.” I giggle because it’s cute and because Woolf is watching. Ted flirts with me all the time and has been doing so since the day I started working here. I’d engage him in a friendly, fun way, but I always held myself in reserve so he knows I didn’t mean anything by it. He’s a smart guy. He got it. But it didn’t stop him from repetitively asking me out. I was honest with him the first time I declined, telling him I’d been in a relationship that had ended recently and it was too soon for me. Ted understood, but he also told me straight up he’d keep asking until I said yes. And I figured there would come a time I would say yes. I mean, why not? He’s gorgeous with sandyblond hair, a ripped physique, and a rumor floating around that his cock is at least eight inches. Not that I’m interested in that though. I’m just saying. Still, maybe I should just bite the bullet and do it. Take the plunge into the dating waters and see what else is out there. Ted’s clearly interested in me. He’s very nice, knows I have a daughter, and often talks about his nieces in a really sweet way. He could be not only a nice start to my new life, but maybe something real could also develop. This sounds very good, even though my heart is screaming that Bridger is my soul mate and I shouldn’t give up. I give a quick glance to Woolf, see he’s still watching with avid interest, and reach out to hook my index finger through one of Ted’s belt loops. I give a playful tug before I release it and bat my lashes. “Come on, McKeon. Might as well get it over with and ask me out again.” Ted blinks in surprise because I’ve never initiated flirting or brought up us going on a date. He steps into me, reaches a hand out, and gives a lock of my long hair a playful tug in return. Not going to lie… my heart beats a little faster. “Going to finally make my day, Maggie, and tell me you’ll go out with me?” he murmurs, but I know Woolf heard it. I lift up on my tiptoes, place a hand on Ted’s chest—which is very nice—and tilt my face up to his. “You know, I do believe I will.” “That’s fucking awesome,” Ted says with a brilliant smile as he kisses my cheek and then pushes past me. But he looks back, points a finger at me, and says, “We’ll talk details later.” I wave at him, still smiling. “Can’t wait.” I watch until Ted disappears into the staff room, and then turn back to Woolf. I level him with a nononsense stare, and he looks back at me with calculating eyes. Lifting my chin, I tell Woolf, “As I was saying, I don’t need anything from Bridger.” “So it appears,” Woolf says thoughtfully, and then gives me a nod of respect. “And that makes me very happy indeed.” He turns away from me and walks through the swinging door to the kitchen. I stare after him, not really sure how to take his last words. I made a date with a hot guy right in front of him and then told him I didn’t need anything from Bridger. He said that made him very happy and he actually looked like the cat that swallowed the canary.

Not sure how to take that, but I guess it just means he’s happy I’m moving on. He’s fond of me, I know, and yeah… I’m sure that’s it.

Chapter 27

Bridger I STARE DOWN at the small, plain headstone that says nothing more than “Levi Payne” and the years that encompassed his life. There were thirty in total. It sits five rows back and three plots over from my mom’s headstone. It merely says “Abigail Payne – Loving Mother and Wife”. She died when I was six, a tragic accident where she apparently slipped trying to get out of the tub, hitting her head on the edge hard enough to crack her skull and damage her brain. She lingered for almost a week before she died. I don’t remember much about it… just bits and pieces of the ambulance there and Dad trying to keep me away from it all. Sadly, my memories of my mom are just as dulled, not because I want them to be, but just because I think that’s what happens with the passage of time. Still, I hang onto a few memories that are vivid to me—like her helping me with homework or cheering for me at soccer practice. I’ll visit her grave when I’m done here with Dad, but I have no clue why they’re not buried near each other. I assume she had something to do with that. My dad’s death was just as tragic as my mom’s, maybe even more so since he left me all alone with a monster, yet he went much quicker than my mom. Head-on collision with a drunk driver. Instantaneous death. I stare at his grave impassively. I want to hate him for leaving me with her and trusting her to take care of me. But if I’m being fair, and I know I should be, she didn’t show any nastiness while they were together. She was kind and attentive to me. She had me snowed, so I guess it’s only fair to assume she had Dad snowed as well. I wonder if he loved her. I wonder if she loved him. I’ll never know, but really… how could I? I don’t understand the concept of love. Not between a man and a woman, anyway. I’ve never had any role models by which to learn. I can barely remember my mom and dad together, and my dad and stepmom were only together a few years. I spent many of my formative years where my only familial relationship was my stepmom beating and fucking me, always in that order. After, I spent some time on the streets, and then with an Episcopalian priest who was single and apparently content to be so. While Adrian is kind, loving, and paternal, he could never teach me about the type of love that I’m so fucking confused about right now. That’s not to say I’m without some guidance. I’ve watched over the past year as each of my friends fell deeply in love. I mean passionately—will die for you, am nothing without you, together to the ends of the earth type of love. I can’t say as I know what each of these dudes are feeling, but I see the things they’ve sacrificed to be with their women, the lengths they go to make them happy. I’ve seen each of them give up The Silo because whatever was leaving them unfulfilled in life before has been filled and is being continuously replenished by whatever fucking love mojo those women bring to their lives. Most importantly, I see my buds happier than I’ve ever known them to be. Turning from my father’s headstone, I cut over five rows and then turn right, walking past two more plots before I look down at Abigail Payne’s little concrete stone. It’s not fancy marble, but I expect my dad couldn’t afford much better. He was a blue-collar man, working for the city water department as a meter reader. My mom worked part time as a cashier at a grocery store, but she was always home in the

afternoons when I came home from school. Or so I seem to vaguely remember. At any rate, he couldn’t afford fancy marble. I consider now that perhaps I should upgrade both of their stones. Better yet, maybe I should have them both moved so they can have side-by-side plots. I squat down, reach out, and pull a few tall weeds from the base of the stone. My fingers brush against the cold surface, and I grimace. I don’t have a pair of gloves. I regret not breaking down and buying a pair. It’s fucking twenty-seven degrees outside and while I had the foresight to pack a heavier coat when I decided to come “visit” Adrian, I sure as shit forgot my gloves and a hat. But even as the temperatures continued to drop over the last few weeks, I kept telling myself, You’ll be headed home soon. No sense in buying gloves when you have a perfectly good pair at home. Except, I never did go home, and here I am freezing my digits off as I pay my respects to my parents. I look at the grave marker for a few more minutes, and yeah… I think it will be nice to arrange for my parents to rest beside each other. When I’m done, I stand up, feeling my knees crack as they straighten back out again and turn to see Adrian patiently waiting for me in his car. I trudge across the cemetery, cutting diagonally across the rows until I reach his olive-green Ford sedan and climb into the passenger seat, immediately putting my hands up to the vents to let the heat warm them up. Adrian puts the car into drive and slowly drives through the cemetery to the exit. “All good?” he asks after he turns back onto the main road and heads back to the rectory. “Yeah,” I say with a smile. “I think I’ll move them so they can be beside each other. Maybe next spring.” “There are some plots available in our parish cemetery if you’re interested,” Adrian offers. I smile in appreciation. “I’d like that a lot. You can look over them in my absence.” “Let me guess,” Adrian says dryly. “It’ll be another thirteen years before you come back to visit.” I laugh. “That sounds an awful lot like whining to me, and here you’ve been bitching and moaning at me every day to go back to Jackson. You can’t have it both ways, old man.” Adrian snorts at the old-man comment, but then he goes straight for my throat. “But seriously, Bridger, when are you going back? It’s past time.” “Can’t believe you’re sick of me already,” I grumble. “Oh, cut the shit,” Adrian snarls. I jerk in my seat, my head snapping to the left to look at him. I think that may have been the second time I’ve ever heard Adrian cuss, the other time being when he was trying to drive a nail into a two by four when we were building a garden box one summer, hit his thumb instead, and dropped the unholy of unholies… the dreaded “F” word. “Damn,” I say with a low whistle. “I’ve pissed you off, haven’t I?” Adrian’s lips flatten out in a grimace but when he turns to glance at me before turning back to watch the road, I see a wealth of exasperated affection in his gaze. “Bridger… I love you like a son, but you are wasting your time here. Your life is back in Jackson. You have friends there who are like your family. You have a business to run. You need to go back.” Yeah, but I also have a Maggie there who I’m terrified to confront. It’s been six fucking weeks since I left my “I’m sorry” note—a fact Adrian chastised me severely over —and I’m pretty positive any remaining splinter of a bridge has been burned. Demolished. Obliterated. “Bridger,” Adrian says somberly. “What can you possibly be afraid of?” “Not afraid,” I tell him assuredly. “Just unsure.”

“You’ve been unsure for weeks,” he reminds me. “Surely, you’ve gotten some clarity.” Not really. I mean, I’m as clear as I ever was. From the day I told Adrian everything about Maggie, I’ve been pretty clear in my head about things. I love her. I fucking love her so much. But I have no clue how to go about accepting that about myself. I have no clue if she feels the same. And let’s just say we are both on the same page—I am beyond confused about how my life will play out because I don’t understand how to be committed. I don’t understand how to be monogamous. Well, that’s not hard to figure out. Haven’t wanted anyone since Maggie, but still… how do I be a good man for her when I am completely and utterly fucked up in the head when it comes to sex and intimacy? What if I end up hurting her because I can’t be what she truly needs? “Still running through all the self-doubts in your head?” Adrian asks, and it goes to show how well he knows me. I sigh. We might as well hash this out again and see if I’m ready to really listen. “I don’t know that I can be everything Maggie needs.” “Do you even know what she needs?” Adrian asks. “Ever bothered to ask her?” “No,” I say sullenly. Because we hadn’t been big on deep conversation. “Then I suggest you ask her,” Adrian says simply. I push that aside, because yeah… that’s easy enough. “Okay, let’s say I can give her what she wants. She wants me and accepts me warts and all… what if I end up closing off? What if I decide I just can’t hack being in a relationship? What if I hurt her?” “What if a comet strikes the earth and incinerates us?” Adrian points out. “What if you get hit by a bus tomorrow? What if, what if, what if? Come on, Bridger… don’t let the unknown scare you. You’re far braver than that.” Am I? Am I really brave enough to do this? I sure as hell have felt like the world’s biggest pussy these last few weeks, not even able to make a move one way or the other. I’ve been content in just knowing Maggie and Belle are safe, well cared for, and seemingly happy. Well, that’s at least what Woolf is reporting to me, and I don’t hesitate to ask him during every phone call how she’s doing. He happily reports with details if he can, but it’s not every call. He goes days without seeing her at times, but it seems like she’s definitely adjusting nicely to life outside of Mayhem’s Mission. My phone rings, cutting into my thoughts, and I recognize Woolf’s ring tone—Ozzy Osbourne’s “Bark at the Moon”. Get it? Woolf. Moon. Bark at the Moon. I answer the call because Woolf has graciously watched over The Wicked Horse for me, and I need to be available to him in case he needs something. It’s been several days since we talked. While I know he’d do it if I asked, he has stayed away from The Silo. I asked the other guys to watch over that instead. With Callie’s dad coming into an election year, Woolf has to keep his nose well beyond clean. It’s no worries him helping to oversee a bar. A sex club, not so much. “What’s up, man?” I answer the phone and look out the driver’s window as Adrian navigates his way to the rectory. “Just checking in,” Woolf says. Every time I hear his voice on the phone, I get a pang of loneliness. It’s been hard being away from

Maggie for sure, but I also miss the shit out of this dude. “Want to let you know everything’s running smoothly at The Wicked Horse, and Cain says The Silo is fine too.” “Appreciate it,” I say in return, a rumble of guilt coursing through me that he’s running my business while I’m sitting on my indecisive ass. “Everything else going okay?” “As in?” Woolf hedges. “Well… you know. How’s Callie?” I stammer. “She’s fine,” he says, but offers no more. “The guys?” “Fine.” “The girls?” “Which girls?” Woolf asks. “Jesus, dude,” I grumble into the phone, but I immediately shoot a guilty look at Adrian for taking the Lord’s name in vain. He ignores me thankfully. “How are Maggie and Belle?” “Well, Belle’s doing fantastic according to Maggie. I told you they got a rescue dog, right? At any rate, that kid is so damn smart. Not even two and a half and can already say her ABCs and count to ten. Plus, she can sing any song after she’s heard it only a few times.” Christ, I miss that little monkey. “And Mags?” I ask after clearing my throat. “She’s doing great, Bridger,” he says gently. “No need to worry about her.” This is usually where our conversation ends. The minute Woolf assures me I have nothing to worry about, I become a fucking pussy and take him at his word. I choose to put her out of my mind as best I can and trust in Woolf that she’s doing okay without me. But for some reason, I decide to push it a little further. “How’s she doing at work?” I did know Woolf put her on at The Wicked Horse, because he told me so. I’d asked him to help her find employment, and I wasn’t bent out of shape she’s at The Wicked Horse. It might make it awkward if I eventually return, but it’s fine for now. “She’s doing fantastic. Works mostly night shifts, but sometimes she’ll pick up extra shifts when she can.” “Why’s she doing that?” I can’t help but ask. I’m too fucking curious about any news about Maggie. Like does she still smell amazing, is her hair any longer, or does she talk about me at all? “She… um… she rented an apartment and is looking at buying a car, so she needs some extra cash,” Woolf says cautiously. “What the fuck?” I growl into the phone. “I left her plenty of money. She couldn’t have blown through it already, and why would she rent an apartment when she can stay at my place?” Woolf’s voice is completely chastising, as it should be. “Come on, man. Did you really think Maggie was going to live on your generosity? Or, as Maggie refers to it, your ‘guilt money’.” I wince. “That’s harsh, dude.” “It’s the truth, Bridger,” Woolf says candidly. “You did it to ease your conscience.” “Whatever,” I mutter, completely pissed that Maggie is struggling. Well, not really struggling but totally refusing my help. Woolf is silent, and I’m quite sure he’s afraid to poke the bear. “Is she… has she moved on?” I ask, my words practically clogged in my throat and barely able to get out. More silence, but then he finally says, “She says she has. She’s going on a date soon, so I guess that’s

moving on, right?” “A date?” I wheeze out. It feels like someone just took a sledgehammer and hit me smack in the middle of my chest. “With who?” “Ted,” Woolf says quickly. Almost too quickly. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I practically roar into the phone, and Adrian’s head snaps my way again. I ignore him. “He’s a fucking Fantasy Maker at The Silo, Woolf. He’s got a big fucking dick, and he knows how to use it. You do not let him take her to The Silo, you hear me? Better yet, you do not let him take her on a date. You go and tell him that—” “You go and tell him yourself,” Woolf says softly. Even though it’s said softly, his words pack a resounding punch. “What?” “If you don’t want Maggie to go out with him, stick your hand down the front of your pants, fondle your balls to make sure they still work, then get your ass home and tell him yourself. Better yet, if those balls do still work, drag Maggie off, fuck her, and make her yours again, but do not ask me to do your dirty work for you. Man the fuck up, Bridger.” I blink in surprise over his harsh words and the frustration in his voice. I look sideways at Adrian, feeling slight mortification that Woolf just threw my balls into our conversation, and even though Adrian didn’t hear him, I’m sure God did. But Adrian just sits there, looking out the windshield with a smirk on his face. I figure he knows I just got my ass handed to me. Taking a deep breath, I let it out. “Woolf…” “Bridger,” Woolf says, now in a gentle voice but no less firm. “Get off your ass and get home. Profess your love to Maggie or let her the fuck go, but get your ass back home. You have a life here, and it’s passing you by.” Maggie’s going on a date. With fucking Ted McKeon. I’ve watched that dude in action, and he seriously knows how to fucking please a woman. If she has sex with him, she’ll totally forget all about the asshole who ditched her six weeks ago with an “I’m sorry” note. Am I going to let that happen? Am I going to risk losing Maggie forever? Up until now, I’d been able to rationalize that I’m sort of on a hiatus from life. In my mind, I chose to reason that meant everything else was just staying status quo until I could figure out what I wanted. Even though I know it’s ridiculous to even think Maggie wouldn’t move on, it was easier to let myself believe she would always be there if I ever got off my ass like Woolf suggested. But she’s moving on, and she’s doing it in a bold way. If I want her, it’s time to shit or get off the pot. “Okay,” I tell Woolf impulsively. “I’m heading back. But you do not let her go on a date with him, you hear?” “Sorry, man,” Woolf tells me, and I can hear the laughter in his voice. “Means that much to you, I suggest you get your ass here fast.” “Asshole,” I grumble affectionately and disconnect the call, tapping the phone against my chin in thought. “Your girl forcing your hand?” Adrian asks quizzically, but I can hear the amusement in his voice. “Something like that,” I mutter. “Well, let’s just pretend I didn’t hear that part about big… um… appendages and stuff, but the gist of

what I got was that Maggie’s going on a date with someone and that finally got you motivated to do something?” “Appears that’s the push I needed.” This I also mutter because I know Woolf and Adrian are taking perverse joy in how quickly the tables have turned on me. “Then let me impart one more piece of advice,” Adrian says wisely. “Do not give up. She isn’t going to make it easy on you, I suspect, and I think I’ve come to learn a lot about Maggie from you. So if she denies you, don’t give up. Keep groveling. Apologize, accept responsibility, be genuine in your feelings, and be kind. Don’t hold anything back. Be honest.” It all sounds like fantastic advice, and I’m going to need it. Still, I can’t help but give him a little ribbing. “What could you possibly know about this stuff? You’re the eternal bachelor.” “Accept responsibility,” he repeats. “Be genuine. Be kind. Be honest. That doesn’t just pertain to love, Bridger. That should be how you live your life every day to every person you meet.” Damn… Adrian is still and will always be the wisest person I’ll ever know. He amazes me. Reaching out, I put my hand on his shoulder, just like he’s done for me so many times. “Thank you, Adrian. For everything you’ve ever done for me. I’d be dead without you.” Adrian snorts in a self-depreciating way. “You would have survived just fine.” “That’s up for debate.” It’s all I’m willing to concede to him. “But plan on me coming back soon with Maggie and Belle. I really want them to meet you.” Adrian laughs with delight. “That’s the spirit. Don’t expect you to come back without them.” Damn right. I’m going to get my family.

Chapter 28

Maggie OKAY, I CAN do this. The restaurant is lovely. Dimly lit with a flickering candle on every table. White linen tablecloths and a menu filled with fancy food and expensive wine. Soft music plays in the background and the waiter is unobtrusive. It’s the most romantic setting you could possibly envision, but it’s making me slightly uneasy. Ted is pulling out all the stops, and I’m nervous about what he’ll expect after. This week, he’s continued to flirt with me and yeah… I engaged back even flirtier than ever. It was a way to make myself remember I’m moving on with my life. It’s an important step that has to be made, not because I’m eager to jump into a relationship and have a man in my life, but because I have to keep pressing down that tiny bit of hope that Bridger will come back. The waiter appears at our table as if out of thin air, brandishing a bottle of wine Ted ordered. He holds it out for Ted to inspect. After his eyes roam over the label, he gives a nod of acceptance. I watch fascinated—because honestly, I’ve never been on a date like this—as the waiter deftly opens the cork top and pours a tiny amount in Ted’s glass. He picks it up, swirls it, and then takes a small sip, seemingly holding it on his tongue a bit before he swallows. “That’s perfect,” Ted tells the waiter, who then pours two glasses, sits the bottle on the table, and disappears just as quickly. Leaning slightly inward, I have to ask, “What happens if you don’t like the way it tastes?” Ted shrugs with a playful smile. “I don’t know, to be honest. Wine tastes like wine to me. Never had one that was bad.” I laugh, because he’s funny and cute, and I need to relax and enjoy this. Ted’s eyes brighten when I laugh. He picks up his glass of wine and holds it up in front of him. I stare stupidly for a minute, but then his eyes shift down to my glass. “Oh,” I say with embarrassment and take my glass in hand, holding it up just like he does. Any dates I’ve ever been on have been in bars where only beer or liquor is served, and you know it’s good if it’s cold and it’s bad if it’s warm. Either way, you would never send it back. Ted gives a little clear of his throat and says, “To you, Maggie… the prettiest girl in these parts. Thank you for finally agreeing to go out with me.” That’s sweet and I feel like I should say something back, but the words are stuck in my throat. It shouldn’t be this hard to make conversation, but it feels a bit stilted. So all I do is take a sip of my wine and smile at him over the edge of the glass before I set it back down on the table. I force my mind to find something to talk about, to fill the awkward silence, and then it hits me… music. Ted loves music, and we talk about it all the time when we’re at work. “So, have you heard the newest album by…?” My words stop in mid-sentence as movement behind Ted catches my attention. No… it can’t be. I blink my eyes hard, ignoring Ted when he says, “Album by who, Maggie?” and focus in on the large man walking through the restaurant with his eyes pinned on me. Oh my God, he’s so beautiful. He’s let his hair grow. It’s maybe half an inch in length now and looks

darker than it did when it was longer. Again, I marvel at how his shortened hair makes the beauty of his face shine through, including the hard set to his jaw as his gaze flicks down to Ted before coming back to me. He’s so classically Bridger in jeans, heavy biker boots, a dark gray shirt, and a black leather jacket, completely inappropriate for this type of restaurant. Ted actually wore khaki pants, a white dress shirt, and navy blazer with a red-and-blue striped tie. It’s so boring compared to the man coming up behind him. And that’s when the reality sets in, and I realize the hard set to Bridger’s jaw has everything to do with Ted sitting at this table with me. “Maggie?” Ted asks curiously, and because I’m still looking at Bridger behind him, he finally turns around in his seat to see what has my attention. “Dude,” Ted says affectionately when he sees Bridger, clearly disregarding the menacing look he’s getting. Ted stands from his chair, puts his hand out to Bridger, and says, “Welcome back, boss. What are you doing here?” Bridger ignores Ted’s hand, brushes right past him, and comes to stand at the table beside me. I vaguely notice Ted sitting back down in his chair, but it’s only from my periphery as my head is tilted way back to look at Bridger towering over me. “We need to talk,” he says gruffly. “Let’s go.” I’m absolutely humiliated and pissed off at myself when my first inclination is to bolt out of the chair and follow Bridger out of this restaurant. But I’m redeemed in my own eyes when I just as quickly feel my spine stiffen and a flush of anger go through me that he would dare demand me to do anything. He doesn’t own me, nor does he have any say so in my life whatsoever. “I’ll pass,” I say politely before turning my attention back to Ted. I give him a reassuring smile as I pick up the menu. “Let’s figure out what we’re going to eat.” Ted’s not falling into line though. His gaze cuts between Bridger and me, with his face awash with confusion. “Mags,” Bridger says in a warning tone. “I need to talk to you.” I put the menu down and my head snaps up to look at him. “Then you can wait until an appropriate time to do so. As you can see, I’m on a date. It’s not the best time to talk.” “Take off, Ted,” Bridger growls, and Ted’s butt comes off the chair. I snap my attention to Ted. “You… stay in that seat. We’re on a date.” His ass hits the seat. My eyes cut back up to Bridger and narrow. “Now you’re being unbelievably rude. You should leave.” “Not going to leave until we talk, Mags,” he says, and fuck… his voice is now all gentle and mellow. Hypnotizing. And my name… I’m still Mags to him. With a sigh, I give Bridger an understanding look. “Listen… I’m on a date. Ted is not going anywhere —” I’m stunned when Bridger turns away from me, glances around, and then takes two steps to the nearest table that seats four with only three people sitting there. “Mind if I borrow this?” Bridger mutters and grabs a chair, sliding it over to our little table for two. He pulls it right up to the edge, him on my left and to the right of Ted, but he angles the chair so it faces me slightly. “What are you doing?” I hiss as I lean toward him. “Talking to you,” Bridger says simply, and I want to slap him when his lips tilt up in an amused smile. “Ted can listen for all I give a fuck, but I have to talk to you right now.” “Bridger,” I say in exasperation.

“I love you,” he says at the same time. My eyebrows shoot sky high, and Ted mumbles, “Okay, that’s awkward.” My jaw drops, and I tilt my head. Did I just hear that? Ted pushes his chair away from the table, and my head snaps his way. “Maggie… I’m going to go…” “No,” I exclaim, reaching a hand out even though I don’t really mean it. I want to hear more of what Bridger has to say. “Yes,” Ted says firmly. His eyes cut to Bridger, who hasn’t even spared him a glance. He’s staring at me expectantly. When Ted looks back to me, he gives me an understanding smile and nods his head. “That dude right there loves you. You need to hear what he has to say.” “But…” I start to say, but my words die off. He’s right. I need to hear this. Not sure what I’ll do with it, but I have to listen. Because for him to walk in, bust up a date, and publicly proclaim he loves me after ditching me six weeks ago demands a little of my attention. Ted gives me a small smile. Before he turns away, he says, “You two enjoy that wine. I’ll pay for it on the way out.” I watch him walk out of the restaurant and feel guilty as shit while I do. Finally, I turn my face back to Bridger and give him an admonishing look. “That was seriously rude.” “Do I look like the type of man who gives a fuck?” he asks. “No,” I say primly as I pick back up my wine and take a large swallow. When I set the glass back down, I say, “You look like a ghost from my past—one I really never expected to see again.” “Come on, Mags,” he says softly. “You had to know I’d come back.” “Maybe,” I admit grudgingly. “But I didn’t think our first conversation would go this way.” “Never thought you’d hear me say ‘I love you’?” “Yeah,” I admit with my eyes lowered. “It’s kind of shocking. And quite possibly a little too late.” “You don’t mean that,” Bridger says confidently, and my eyes slam into his while flaming with anger. “Bridger… you left me behind weeks ago. Six fucking weeks ago to be exact, with nothing more than a measly note that said ‘I’m sorry’. I’ve not heard a word from you, but you come waltzing back into my life as if nothing’s changed. You don’t think you might have missed your opportunity?” He looks appropriately chastened. “Fuck, I hope not, Mags. I really hope to fuck you give me another shot.” “Why should I?” I grit out and fold my arms over my chest. Bridger opens his mouth, clearly ready to convince me, but we’re interrupted by the waiter. He looks completely confused but graciously says, “Sir… can I get you something to drink?” “No, I don’t want anything to drink,” Bridger growls. “Leave us the fuck alone for five minutes, okay?” The waiter nods stiffly and scurries away. Bridger’s eyes follow him for a moment, and then he turns back to me with a frustrated sigh. “Look… can we go somewhere else? My car would be fine, but we should talk in private.” I arch an eyebrow at him. “You had no problem spilling your guts in front of Ted.” “Mags, please,” he says. I’m convinced that’s probably the first time Bridger’s ever begged for anything in his life. “Okay,” I say with a nod and stand up from the table. Bridger stands along with me, his eyes shining with immense relief. Bridger and I walk out of the restaurant, his hand at my lower back. Just that little touch and I feel my resolve where he’s concerned weakening. He gently steers me to his Corvette and opens the door for me. When I settle in, he shuts it gently and walks around to the driver’s side. I take a moment to look at him in

the glow of the parking lot lights. He’s walking with his shoulders hunched and his head hung low. And fuck me if that doesn’t break my heart a little. But then again, I knew there were a million things about Bridger that could break my heart. When he situates himself in the driver’s seat, he turns and angles himself toward me. I wait patiently as he looks down at his hands, clasped loosely in his lap, and then up to me. “Telling you I love you should have been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life, but I just found out that it was one of the easiest. Trust me, Maggie… I’m kicking myself about a hundred different ways for not doing this a lot sooner.” I don’t know what to say to that. He’s twice now said he loves me, and the overwhelming sensation of joy and peace that fills me is surreal. But I’m also hurt, and I don’t understand anything. I need to understand. “Why now?” I ask hesitantly. “Honestly?” I nod. “Woolf told me you were going on a date,” Bridger admits without an ounce of shame in his eyes. “It was the motivator I needed to make the decision to grab a hold of what I really wanted. It was what made me push past the fear.” “Fear?” Bridger looks slightly uncomfortable, but he leans in a little closer to me. Reaching out, he takes my hand in his and looks down at it, his fingers stroking softly over my skin. With his face lowered, he murmurs in a low voice, “I had a terrible childhood, Maggie. It was so horrible, I’m afraid to tell you about it because I don’t want you to be hurt, and I know you’d hurt for me.” The hair at the back of my neck prickles as Bridger raises his face, his eyes locking on mine. “But I am going to tell you,” he says softly. “Because you need to know everything about me. Only one other person in the world knows what I’m getting ready to tell you.” “Adrian,” I say knowingly. “Yes, Adrian,” he affirms. Then, he leans in even closer, his hand never letting go of mine. In a pained murmur, he tells me all about his childhood. My stomach rolls as I listen to his words. Tears fill up my eyes. On the first blink, they course down my face. Bridger reaches up with a free hand and wipes them away as soon as they fall. He repeats this four times while he tells me about what his stepmom did to him, how he almost killed her, and how he lived on the streets prostituting himself. I smile when he tells me about Adrian and becoming emancipated, and then smile more when he tells me about meeting Woolf, but then cry again when he tells me about getting kicked out of college. Bridger tells me about coming to Jackson and working on the Double J for years while Woolf finished college, and about how they hatched the plan to open The Silo. Without any shame or apology, he tells me what The Silo means to him and why it’s so important. “And the BDSM,” he says in continuation of his story. “I really got into that in college and found an affinity for that type of kink. I enjoyed being the one to hand out the pain, but it was healing in a way because the other person truly wanted it and got sexual gratification from it.” “It was the opposite of what you’d experienced as a kid,” I whisper. He nods. “Yeah… the BDSM and the debauchery that goes on in The Silo. I needed that so much. It was affirmation to me every day that sex is good, beautiful, and without shame. That I can fuck, get sucked, whip a woman, or any other manner of kink I wanted, and still hold my head up high at the end of the night because I was in a place where it was accepted. It was what I needed so I could believe I’d

survived what she did to me and wasn’t completely and utterly fucked up.” “Then I’m glad you have just such a place, Bridger,” I say with an understanding smile. “I’m glad it helped you heal, and that you have it now so you will always have that affirmation.” Bridger shakes his head. “No, you see… I may have needed that before, but I don’t anymore. The minute I said I love you, and realized just how fucking easy it was, I’m pretty fucking sure the only thing I need in my life is you. With you comes Belle, and I love her too.” “What are you saying?” I ask hesitantly. “I’m saying I’ll give up The Silo. Sell it or close it down, as long as I have you. You are what makes my life complete, not the shit that goes on in that building.” “I… I… I don’t know what to say,” I tell Bridger honestly. He’s laid so much on my doorstep, and he had me hook, line, and sinker until he said that last part about giving up The Silo. I know down to the depth of my soul that I can accept everything Bridger just told me about his life. I’ll grieve for that little boy and all he’s lost, but I would take Bridger with every single piece of dirty baggage that comes with him. Except… I don’t know if giving up The Silo is really the right thing. It’s an integral part of his life, and I think he might still need it. I’m also not sure how I feel about it. It’s his place of work, but could I really accept that? Could I let him work in that environment day in and day out and not have my doubts? “Bridger,” I say as I gather both of his hands in mine and squeeze them. “Thank you for telling me the truth about your life. The fact you’d share something like that with me… that you’d trust me with that… speaks volumes. But I really need some time to digest all of this. I’d just reconciled myself to give up on you, and now here you are laying an overload of stuff on me.” With a small nod of understanding tempered with slight disappointment in his eyes, he says, “I get it. And I’ll give you time, but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to keep pestering you about this. I want you, Maggie, and I’m not giving up until you agree to be mine. I want you and Belle to be my family, and I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. I’d even gladly hold onto every shitty memory I have in my life if it means I can have you there to temper it. I can do anything with you by my side, Mags. I need you.” God… my heart fills with so much happiness that it actually compresses my lungs so I can’t breathe. He looks at me so earnestly and with such naked devotion in his eyes that I go dizzy from the wealth of emotion coursing through me. Still, I manage to say, “Give me some time.” He nods again, squeezes my hands. “I will. But you are not going out with Ted, right?” “Right,” I promise him. “Good,” he says with a smile. “Now… let me take you to your place.” He then drives me home, giving me just a kiss on my cheek after he walks me to my apartment door, and then leaves with a soft, “Don’t forget, Maggie. I love you.” My heart sighs with abandon, and I’m pretty sure its mind is already made up. I just have to figure out if that’s really the best thing for me.

Chapter 29

Bridger IT’S BEEN THREE DAYS since I drove Maggie home from the restaurant, and I felt it went about as good as it could have gone. I did something that was scarier than anything that’s ever happened to me in my entire life. I bared my soul to Maggie and then I offered it to her. I offered every bruised and sliced piece of it, as well as the parts that had already healed, and I hope to fuck she accepts it at some point. As Adrian advised, I’m not giving up. I have indeed pestered her the last few days. First order of business was to get her cell phone number. That was easy enough by accessing her employment records. It’s good to be the boss. I sent her a text the day after I told her I love her, and I reminded her in case she forgot. I love you. Smart-ass that she was, she texted back almost immediately. Ted? Going to spank your ass if you give me a second chance, I wrote back. She only sent me a smiley face, and that was good enough for me because let’s face it, she has every right to tell me to go fuck myself. And yeah, Ted was not going to be a problem going forward. I confronted him the next day when I made my way into The Wicked Horse by jerking my chin at him and then toward my office. He got the hint and followed me straight back. And when I say confront, I wasn’t an ass or anything. In fact, I didn’t have to really say anything at all as Ted spoke first and said, “You don’t have to say it, Bridger. I’m backing down.” “Good,” I said with a smile. “Prevents me from firing you.” “You’d never fire your best Fantasy Maker,” he scoffed. And he’s right about that. He’s given up on Maggie and keeps plenty of people happy at The Silo, so I’m not firing him. The second day, I actually called Maggie from my office at the back of The Wicked Horse and was surprised when she answered with, “I can’t talk now. I’m at work.” “You work for me,” I reminded her as I pushed out of my desk chair and walked to my office door. “Even more reason why I can’t talk because clearly… the boss is onto me,” she said impishly. By this time, I’d made it down the hallway to the main portion of The Wicked Horse, scanning the interior for Maggie. I saw her standing at the end of the bar, phone to her ear and smiling at me. I smiled back and said, “Just wanted to remind you that I love you.” And fuck… the sigh I heard on the other end and watching her chest heave before relaxing punched straight through to my cock. I disconnected and turned around. Went back to my office and jacked off to the memory of the first time I came in Maggie’s pussy without a condom. Today, I decided to up my game. Clearly, Maggie was not pissed at me, as evidenced by the humor that came through in our communications. But I needed to press harder. Since she hasn’t rolled over yet and proclaimed her love for me, that meant she was still thinking things through and I didn’t want her

getting stuck in her head. So I dial her number and wait for her to answer. She’s not on duty right now, so no clue where she is when she answers breathlessly, “What’s up?” I then hear her huffing and puffing into the phone. “What are you doing?” I ask curiously. “Having sex with Ted,” she quips. “Not fucking funny,” I growl, and she bursts out into laughter that’s stilted because she’s breathing heavily. I can’t help the smile that breaks out on my face. “No, seriously… what are you doing?” “Belle and I just got done rolling the biggest snowball in the history of snowballs,” she explains. “It’s the base to our snowman, and I’m about to die.” Fuck… the image of Maggie and Belle, dressed in their snow gear, cheeks all rosy from the cold and laughing with delight as they played in the snow… yeah, that causes an ache in the center of my chest. I want to demand she tell me where they are so I can come and play with them too. But instead, I play it cool and say, “Belle is exactly the reason I’m calling. Was wondering if I can take her horseback riding again?” “Really?” Maggie asks with surprise. “Well, yeah, Mags,” I say with a touch of exasperation. “I told you I wanted both you and Belle in my life. And because you’re being so stubborn, figured I’d work on Belle from here on out. I’d have her like putty in my hands in no time at all.” “You’d bribe her with horseback rides,” she accuses with a laugh. “I could bribe you with something,” I say, my voice dropping lower and turning husky. “What would you want me to give you, Mags?” She groans on the other end, and that sends a punch of lust straight to my dick. I palm it through my jeans, knowing I’m going to need to whack off again at the end of this call. “Goodbye, Bridger,” Maggie taunts me with good nature, and then has me smiling when she adds on, “and of course you can take Belle horseback riding.” I hang up with a satisfied feeling in my heart but not my dick. I take care of that problem immediately before I get back to work.

* A KNOCK ON my office door causes my head to jerk up. I was engrossed in the quarterly profit and loss statement for The Silo, as I continue to think about selling it off. I truly don’t need it, and I want Maggie to feel comfortable in her life with me. “Come in,” I call out and speak of the devil, Maggie pops her head in. “You busy?” she asks. “Not at all,” I say as I push out of my chair but I have to physically restrain myself from grabbing her and kissing that mouth. The door opens all the way, and she steps in but doesn’t close it. She’s not working tonight and looks gorgeous in a pair of boot-cut jeans and a dark brown turtleneck. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail and she has little gold studs in her ears, which is the only adornment she has. She doesn’t need anything else though. “I want to go to The Silo,” she says abruptly, and I jerk in place. “What?” “I want you to take me to The Silo,” she says calmly.

“Why?” “Because I’m not comfortable with you giving it up, but how can I really know unless I know what it is?” she says simply. “Maggie… that’s not a good idea,” I say hesitantly, because fuck… do I want her exposed to the shit that goes on there? Not going to lie—the thought of it both repulses me and turns me on a bit. Well, that’s totally fucking confusing. “It is a good idea,” she argues. “I’ve been talking to Callie about all this, and she’s helped me to get a better understanding of things. I mean… I’m not a prude, Bridger, but I’m also not sure how I feel about it. So I want to go see.” What to do? Deny her this request and she doesn’t get the understanding she needs to make a decision about me, or give into it and possibly turn her off beyond repair if she hates it. “Bridger, please,” she says, her eyes pleading with me to give her this. Decision made. “Let’s go,” I say as I grab her hand and pull her out of my office. When we enter The Silo, I’m immediately tuned into the sounds of sex all around. It’s a Saturday night, it’s late, and The Silo is filled. There will be some kinky ass shit going down once we clear the hallway. I have an overwhelming urge to try to sugarcoat some of the things she’s going to see, but then we enter the circular room and Maggie gasps as she takes her first look around. There’s a couple on a low-slung couch ten feet from where we stand, the man sitting with his legs stretched out and a woman reclined over him, sucking his dick. She turns her head, taking in the various glassed-in rooms. Every one of them is filled with endless fucking. She walks along the exterior of the glass, watching everything from vanilla missionary sex to Angel pegging a man up the ass to one of my Fantasy Makers using an industrial-sized dildo on a woman. She turns and looks out over the patrons who fill the interior, some chatting while having a cocktail, others kissing and stroking, and one man fingering his date while she spreads her legs lewdly from her perch on a barstool for everyone to see. Maggie turns to me, her cheeks red but her green eyes brimming with curiosity. “Do you have sex here?” “What?” I practically choke out, but before she can repeat the question, I tell her, “I have in the past. Not frequently, but I have. I prefer to be more private. And I mostly only do the BDSM stuff here, but then I don’t get off on that.” “Would you ever want to experience that with me… here where people can watch us?” “Sex or the BDSM?” I ask hesitantly. “Either,” she says with a slight shrug of her shoulders. “I honestly don’t know, babe,” I tell her truthfully. “We’d have to tread those waters carefully. I definitely wouldn’t practice BDSM with you. Not the hardcore stuff anyway. Might take a soft flogger to you, or my hand on your ass, but that’s about it.” Fuck if my dick doesn’t turn to stone when Maggie shudders over my proclamation. She steps into me, putting a hand on my chest. “But what if I want to experience it from the prospective of being just a girl with a really gorgeous guy who can engage in some guilt-free passionate sex in a very debauched way? What if I want to feel what it’s like to do it and walk out of here without an ounce of shame?” “Or you could be overwhelmed with shame,” I point out.

“Maybe,” she says, but then almost destroys me when she says, “but because I love you so much, I think I could give that to you if you wanted it.” My knees almost buckle on me and my heart nearly bursts open at her words, but before I can even think too hard on what that means, I feel the need to clarify to her. “Mags, I honestly don’t know if I want this for us. Maybe, but again… we’d have to really talk about it.” “That sounds like a plan,” she says with a brilliant smile as she goes up on her tiptoes. I bend down to her, and she gives me a soft, sweet kiss. “You love me?” I ask when she has her heels back on the ground. “Yup,” she says with a smile, but she doesn’t elaborate, merely points to the exit door. “Now, we should head to your house. We have some making up to do.” Gripping her hand tight, I turn and lead her back to the hallway, out the exit door, and back through The Wicked Horse. I pull her through the crowd of dancers. The loud music doesn’t even penetrate because I’m so focused on getting Maggie in my bed that I can’t see straight.

* I’M ON HER as soon as I have her in my bedroom. Spinning her around, I grab her by the ponytail and force her upward so her mouth meets mine in a fiery crash of lust and love. She groans at the first contact of my tongue against hers, and then our hands are flying at each other, trying to stroke and pinch and pull at clothing. When we’re both naked, I kiss her again, my hand once again finding that ponytail. I slip my free hand down her stomach, to her pussy, and push my middle finger into her. It slides in easily, and she grips me tight as she moans from the sensation. I pull my mouth from hers, look down at her glazed eyes, which stare at me a moment, and then I tell her, “You’re never going to regret giving me a second chance, Mags.” She must like that sentiment a lot because her hips buck against my hand. With my finger still lodged in deep, and my hand gripping her ponytail, I walk Maggie backward to my bed. Every step she takes rocks my finger inside of her, and she whimpers in frustration. I force her backward until the mattress is at the back of her knees and push her down to the bed, my finger never missing a stroke inside of her. She looks at me, her green eyes dark shades of forest green now, and mewls like a kitten when I pull out to circle her clit. Fuck, that’s sexy, but I want her to get off quickly because she’s strung tight as a wire right now. I fall onto her body, scooting back until I’m kneeling on the floor, and I pull her body down to me. Mouth to pussy, I eat her out, spreading her wide with my fingertips and attacking her clit hard. Maggie’s fingers graze my temple, and I peek up at her to see her looking down at me. I freeze, sense her hesitancy, and then reach up in a move so fast that she gasps. I grab her wrist, force her hand to my head, and push her fingers into my short hair. I lift my mouth from her pussy and whisper, “It’s short, Maggie, but there’s enough to pull.” Her eyes widen at the implication. “Pull it hard,” I growl at her before I latch my mouth back onto her. Maggie cries out when I hit her clit again, and both hands go into my hair. She strokes the pads of her fingertips over my scalp for a bit, but when I purse my lips around that bundle of nerves and suck on her, she grips my hair in between her fingers as best she can and pulls when she comes. Fucking beautiful. I gentle her down with a few flicks of my tongue over her flesh before I crawl my way up the mattress, pulling Maggie up with me with an arm around her waist. I know exactly how this is going to play out, and

I flop onto my back, pulling her on top of me until she’s straddling my lower abdomen, just out of reach of my aching dick. My hands go to her thighs, and I look up at her. “Maggie.” Her hands come to rest on my chest. “Yes?” “I want you to ride my cock,” I say thickly, and not just because my throat is clogged with lust. It’s also filled to capacity with emotion. She tilts her head to the side with curiosity. “I’ve never let a woman ride me before… before she…” Maggie’s eyes go warm with understanding and she leans over me, pressing her lips to mine. When she pulls back, she looks deeply into my eyes and whispers, “Are you sure?” “As sure as I am that I love you,” I tell her with naked honesty, and I realize… I don’t feel one single ounce of fear, disgust, shame, or indecision. In fact, I’m quite decisive in the fact that I want Maggie bouncing on my cock. Now. My hands push at her thighs, urging her back a little so she’ll get to work. The tip of my dick bumps against her ass, and fuck… can’t wait until I have that too. But first things first. Maggie rises up, her knees digging down into the mattress, and she takes me in hand, maneuvering until the fat head of my cock presses against her wet folds. “Christ,” I hiss through my teeth, because that feels fucking amazing. I hope I don’t fucking shoot my load too quick. Maggie’s eyes flutter closed and she rotates her hips a bit, the motion sucking my dick up into her as she starts to sink down on me. My eyes drop down as I watch my cock disappearing into heaven. My balls are already starting to tingle before she gets fully seated. Her eyebrows furrow inward with concentration as she pulls up a little, and then pushes down again. Another circle of her hips, and I get sucked in deeper. Maggie moans a little as she rises, and then finally pushes all the way down until I have her fully impaled and her pussy lips are molded around the base of my dick. My gaze slides up and I find Maggie’s eyes now open, staring down at me with pure love mixed with electric desire. “Feel good?” she asks. “You have no idea,” I tell her, my voice husky and thick. Her hands come to my stomach, and I feel the pad of one fingertip tracing my skin. I look down and see her touching the wing of one of the blackbirds as her eyes travel up as the others take flight, straight toward the center of my chest, where one explodes in a burst of feathers before it can touch my heart. She looks back to me and before she can ask, I tell her, “It’s just a general symbolism. Many things have come my way, but nothing has ever penetrated my heart before.” She nods. “Not before you, Mags.” She smiles and nods again. “I love you.” Emotion courses through me. I have to focus on the feeling of my cock in her cunt so I don’t cry, and I give her a nudge so she’ll move. Maggie complies, rises up, and sinks back down on me again. “I love you.” I groan from the sensation. “So much.” “Then we’re agreed,” she pants as she starts to move faster on me. “You’re keeping The Silo.” I can barely comprehend what she’s saying because all the available blood in my body is congregating in my cock, which I’m pretty sure has never been this hard before. “Wait! What?” I groan after she slams down onto me.

Then I go dizzier as she starts riding me up and down harder. I can’t concentrate, my eyes now pinned on her tits bouncing and her nipples puckered. My fingers pinch at them, and I go dizzier yet when she adds in some type of gyration on her down strokes. My balls shrink… harden… and I bite down on my tongue to try to hold my shit together. But then Maggie goes absolutely still on a hard slam down onto me, her back arching as she cries out, “Oh… Bridger…” As her pussy spasms all around me, a fiery orgasm bursts and I punch my hips upward as I start to come. “Fuck,” I curse as I practically hold Maggie off the bed as I arch into the pleasure. My hips fall back to the mattress as my entire body trembles with release. Maggie falls forward, collapses against my chest, and her lips go to my neck where she mutters, “Just… damn.” I chuckle and wrap my arms around her back, squeezing her tight. “So, I’m keeping The Silo, huh?” She lifts her head, smiles down at me, and nods. “Baby… I just heard and felt how much you love me. So yeah… we’re totally keeping The Silo.” “We—as in you and me?” I ask, just to make sure. “As in a team,” she confirms. “Although I’m expecting we’ll make that official at some point.” “Are you proposing to me, Mags?” I ask her with a grin. “I do believe I am,” she says with an answering smile of her own. “Then I accept,” I tell her as my hand goes behind her head to pull her mouth down to mine.

Epilogue

Maggie Five months later…

OH, WOW. Bridger in a tuxedo. Just… wow. In my past life—the one before I fell in love—I would have never had the confidence to envision this moment. A small country church swathed in gardenias and white tulle, only two rows filled with people because my circle of friends is small but fierce, and a gorgeous man who looks at me like I hung the moon and the stars for him. He stands there waiting for me with Woolf at his side. Both men are impossibly handsome, although Bridger is far sexier to me. His hair has grown out a bit more. It’s shaggy and in need of a trim, but it’s oh so much fun to pull. Yes, Bridger has overcome nearly every hang-up he’s wilted under in the past. I can pull his hair to my heart’s content and ride his cock whenever I want. Doesn’t mean that the nightmares are gone forever, but they don’t happen often and when they do, I’m there to talk him down. The biggest change for my soon-to-be husband though is the fact that he’s almost like a different man since he declared his love for me. So easygoing and laid back. He smiles and laughs often, my favorite being when he’s smiling and laughing with Belle. About a week ago, he came home from work overly excited as he whipped off his shirt. I stared at the huge bandage across the center of his chest, gasping in horror that he’d been hurt. “What happened?” He rolled his eyes, peeled the bandage off, and I got a look at his new tattoo. The blackbirds are still there, still undisturbed in their flight toward his heart. Even the one that almost makes it and bursts apart before it can make contact. But to the left of that spray of black feathers are two new tattoos that converge right over where his heart is in his chest. Two white doves, one larger than the other, rising up with wings spread to hold a hover over his heart. The larger one holds a golden banner in its claws that says “Mags” and the smaller one mimics it with the word “Belle”. “Oh, Bridger,” I’d said in wonder, not wanting to touch the irritated skin but wanting some contact. I put my hands on either side of the fresh tat and just stared at it in wonder. “Didn’t change those blackbirds, Mags,” he whispered. “Before, they represented ways in which my heart would repel, but now… I choose to think of them as all the bad things that couldn’t destroy my heart. And of course… the doves are kind of self-explanatory.” “I love it,” I choked out, my voice garbled from emotion as the tears started to flow down my face. Yes… that tattoo is very special and so representative of just how much Bridger has transformed. He waits for me at the base of the altar, his dark golden eyes eating me up while he tenderly holds Belle on his hip. The grand plan today was for her to walk me down the aisle, but just as the music started, she had a minor freak out and tore out of my grip. Belle ran down the aisle, dropping her little bouquet of gardenias and wild sage at the midpoint, and hightailed it straight to Bridger while everyone in the pews laughed.

I merely watched with tears stinging my eyes as he squatted down to receive her and she threw herself into his arms. When he lifted her and she laid her head on his shoulder, I almost lost it. Almost, but not quite. I blinked furiously and pushed those tears aside. I didn’t want anything to mar my vision of Bridger and Belle, my two loves, waiting for me. Life is very, very good. At Bridger’s insistence, I’ve “retired” from waitressing at The Wicked Horse. He doesn’t want me there on my feet all night. He’s offered me the option of staying home with Belle, finding a job more suitable for his woman, or going to school—a prospect I’d never considered before. I chose school. Cosmetology school to be precise. Our girls’ poker night has turned into girls’ mani-pedi night as I practice my newfound skills on my girls. More often than not, Bridger lurks around on girls’ night and that’s because he lurks around most nights. He’s given up keeping a careful watch over The Silo, preferring to let Cain take over, and he has actually been talking about bringing him on as a partner. But even though Bridger doesn’t go there often, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t go there. He does. With me. We don’t go a lot, but we do pop in every once in a while, and let me tell you… the things that man does to me when his imagination is fueled by such a deviant atmosphere is almost too overwhelming to handle. It’s why we don’t go often, as I just don’t know that my heart could take that type of excitement on a frequent basis. For the most part, Bridger and I have become homebodies, preferring to spend our time quietly hiking on the ranch with Belle, cooking together, or reading the paper over a lazy breakfast. Every night is when we really come together, just the two of us, and in every touch given and every word spoken, we reaffirm our love for each other. Just like I’m getting ready to do in front of our family and friends. I take a step toward Bridger and Belle, measuring my stride to the tune of the “Wedding March”. Bridger and Belle look at me as I walk down the aisle. I watch as he inclines his head to my daughter, whispering something that’s meant only for her to hear. She grins from ear to ear. He turns his focus back on me and his eyes are blistering with excitement, love, and pure happiness. I smile back at him and hold his gaze the entire time I traverse the distance between us. When I reach him, he switches Belle to his opposite hip, never once thinking about putting her down, and steps in close to me, his arm snaking around my back. He gives my ass a quick squeeze, causing everyone behind us to snicker, and then pulls me tight to his side. Adrian stands in front of us and gives Bridger a chastising look before he looks past us and says, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together…” Bridger turns his head and looks down at me, the same exact moment I turn and look up at him. He grins and whispers. “Love you, Mags.” “Love you too.”

* Bridger I WATCH AS MAGGIE tears up the dance floor with her girls—Callie, Sloane, Cat, and Auralie—and Christ,

my wife has some moves. I shouldn’t be surprised because the things she can do with those hips are beyond astounding. My wife. Doesn’t seem strange at all to me. In fact, it feels rather perfect. Someone moves into my line of sight. I look up to see Aunt Gayle standing there, holding a sleeping Belle. I stand up, lean my head to the side to see her little face, and grin at how peaceful she looks as she slumbers away on Gayle’s shoulder. “Randall and I are going to take Belle back to your house,” Gayle says in a whisper, despite the fact that some loud dance pop bullshit is playing right now. “We’ll see you there later tonight.” “Okay,” I say, putting my hand on Belle’s head before I lean in and kiss her cheek. Then I give Gayle a wink. “But don’t wait up for us.” Gayle laughs before she turns to the dance floor and heads over to break up the dance party so Maggie can say goodnight to her daughter. Well, strike that… our daughter. I’ve got an attorney working to get Zeke’s parental rights terminated so I can adopt her, but regardless if that happens, she’s my daughter too. Gayle and Randall volunteered to stay with Belle so Maggie and I can take a real honeymoon. We’re heading to Hawaii tomorrow for ten days of sun, surf, and a whole lot of dirty fucking. I sit back down in my chair and watch as Maggie stops dancing to give Belle a kiss before doing the same to her aunt. Her parents didn’t come to the wedding, and that’s because they weren’t invited. Maggie made overtures to them, but they’re being a little unforgiving that she would dare to have done something so stupid as to put them in danger. Maybe they’ll come around, maybe not. Doesn’t matter because she has a new family now. I turn to see Adrian taking a seat beside me. We’re silent for a while, watching the girls dancing again, but now they’re joined by their men. Cain, Logan, Woolf, and Rand all out there boogying without any dignity or skills. Maggie turns to look at me and waves cheerily, but she doesn’t beckon me out there. I told her I’d give her whatever her heart desired for a wedding—turns out she wanted a traditional church service with Adrian marrying us and a small party after—but I told her the one thing I absolutely would not do was dance except for slow songs with her. She immediately granted that wish, more than happy to get her church service and me stuffed into a tuxedo. “I’m so proud of you, Bridger,” Adrian says beside me. “I did good, didn’t I?” I ask, my eyes drinking in Maggie. He knows I’m talking about Maggie, and Maggie alone. “She’s your soul mate in every sense of the word,” Adrian says, but then in a wise voice that Adrian has perfected on me over the years, which means I straighten up and really put on my listening ears, he says, “But I mean I’m proud of the man you’ve become. You’re caring, generous, and loyal to your friends. You’re fair, honest, and protective of what’s yours. If I were to have a son, I’d want him to be just like you.” And fuck… that gets me choked up. I turn to look at him, not even abashed by the wet in my eyes. “We may not be related by blood, Adrian, but you’re the father who was taken away from me too soon. God gave me a second chance with you.” Adrian’s own eyes mist up, and he nods at me. “I love you,” I tell him, and I’m surprised it’s the first time I’ve laid those words on his doorstep. Just

like when I told Maggie that for the first time and it was oh so fucking easy, I have to marvel that it’s taken me this long to say it to the man who saved me in every sense of the word. “I love you too, Bridger,” he says, and then his eyes cut back to Maggie. “So, how about you two get started on giving me another grandchild?” He means “another” because he already considers Belle to be his granddaughter. “Already ahead of you,” I say without taking my eyes off Maggie. I’m only forced to tear my gaze away from my wife when Adrian’s hand clamps down on my shoulder. He stares at me with shock and awe on his face. “She’s pregnant?” “Yup,” I say, beaming. “Two months.” “No wonder you wanted a fast wedding,” Adrian says with a grin. “Nah…” I wave him off. “I would have married her a hell of a lot sooner, but these things apparently take some planning. The pregnancy wasn’t a big surprise because we got rid of her IUD pretty soon after we got back together.” “A baby,” Adrian says in wonder. “I hope it’s a boy.” “I hope it’s like Maggie,” I add on, and he laughs. As if she can sense she’s being talked about, Maggie abruptly stops spinning and turns our way. I crook my finger at her, and that’s all it takes. She leaves her posse on the dance floor, picks up her dress, and runs barefoot to me. She ditched her high heels an hour ago. Maggie throws herself onto my lap, swinging her legs toward Adrian so she can look at him. “Thank you again, Adrian. The ceremony was everything I’d hoped it would be.” “My pleasure, Mags,” he says, and I love how Adrian has picked up my special nickname for her. “I told Adrian you’re pregnant,” I say as I lean in and kiss her neck. It’s moist with sweat from dancing, and I flick my tongue against her skin. She shudders and leans into me, but addresses Adrian. “If it’s a boy, we’re going to name him Adrian.” I lean my chin on Maggie’s shoulder and watch as Adrian’s eyes get wet again. “And,” I say, reaching a hand out and gripping his shoulder, “if it’s a girl, we’re going to name her Adrienne.” With a choked voice, Adrian stammers, “I’m honored.” I start getting choked up myself again and squeeze Maggie harder. As if sensing that the men folk are the ones who wear the panties in this conversation, Maggie jumps off my lap. She spins and gives me a quick kiss before she pulls Adrian out of his seat. “Come on, Adrian. Come dance with us.” Adrian laughs and follows her out on the dance floor, proceeding to show all the young ones just how it’s done. Maggie bumps and grinds and twirls around with happiness, her eyes coming to rest on me more than once. I smile back at her, imagine more than once peeling her out of that dress, and not for the first time since Maggie took me back, I utter up a small prayer of thanks to God for seeing fit to give me an amazing life. Thank you for visiting The Wicked Horse! If you enjoyed reading this series as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider leaving a review. The Wicked Horse is expanding! You are cordially invited to the attend the grand opening of The Wicked Horse Vegas with the release of Wicked Favor (The Wicked Horse Vegas, Book #1) on June 5, 2017. Keep reading for the synopsis and an

exclusive look at the prologue of Wicked Favor.

Click HERE to pre-order Wicked Favor now. As the owner of The Wicked Horse, an elite sex club located along the Vegas Strip, Jerico Jameson never spends the night alone. Gorgeous, ripped, and totally alpha, Jerico doesn’t grant favors and will rarely give you the time of day—unless he wants you in his bed. So when the sister of his sworn enemy shows up asking for help, saying no should be easy. But when Jerico takes one look at her and sees an opportunity to help this beautiful woman while exacting revenge on her brother, he’s not about to pass that up. Beaten and bruised, Trista Barnes is running out of options, and Jerico is her last chance to get out of the mess she’s in. She doesn’t know why Jerico despises her brother so much, but as long as he can help her, she doesn’t care. Jerico offers her safety while opening her up to a sinful world she never knew existed. As she succumbs to Jerico’s erotic charm, Trista lets herself fall into the wicked world of guilt free pleasure with no regrets. Under his strong alpha hand, she blooms, and so does Jerico’s possessiveness. But what happens when Trista finds out she was a pawn in Jerico’s game all along, and that the price for his favor was steeper than she ever imagined – her heart. Prologue

Jerico “LOOKS FUCKING UNBELIEVABLE, Jerico,” I hear Cain say from behind me and I turn away from the bar where I’d been sipping at a bottled water while I waited. Cain Bonham is a good friend, and we’ve been tight ever since we served together in the Marine Corps. He’s been living in Wyoming since he got out but we keep in frequent contact. The other man walking beside him I don’t know all that well, but what I do know, I like. Bridger Payne would be a scary looking motherfucker if I was actually afraid of anything. He’s got that look in his eyes like you would never want to cross him, which is a good thing I don’t intend to. On the contrary, we’re in business together now and so his success is my success and vice versa.

His gaze moves left and right and back again as he takes in the Social Room. It’s the first place you walk into when you walk into The Wicked Horse Vegas. It’s long and rectangular with a bar running along one wall done in Brazilian rosewood trimmed in chrome. There are no stools at the bar but there are several velour seats and couches done in muted colors of taupe, cream, gray and brown. This room is sedate, elegant and designed to encourage conversation over a cocktail or two, however I’ve imposed a three drink maximum. I don’t like dealing with drunks and this isn’t a club where you come to party. Bridger’s eyes come to mine and I can tell he’s impressed. It’s confirmed when he reaches a hand out for me to shake and says, “The drawings and pictures you sent don’t do it justice.” “Good to see you,” is how I reply, shaking his hand. We’ve had several in person meetings with me either flying to Wyoming or him flying to Vegas to discuss the club. Then I turn to Cain who I greet with a manly clasping of hands as we pull into each other and give slaps on the back. A bro version of a hug. “Sloane and I are so coming here to play once you open up,” Cain says with a grin. I’ve not met Sloane but Cain’s talked about her enough that I know she’s got a sexually adventurous spirit and that they play together at the Wicked Horse in Wyoming. Lucky man to have a partner like that. “You haven’t even seen the fun stuff up close,” I tell him with a laugh as I turn to a set of heavy, wooden double doors that separate the Social Room from the rest of the complex. Beyond these doors, hedonism awaits. The Wicked Horse Vegas is a sex club, pure and simple. It’s membership based and there is no exchange of money for sex. Rather, you pay a membership fee which entitles you to entrance to the club. Finding someone to fuck is up to you, and when you do, there are a variety of places to do so as well as certain rules to obey. Once you walk through the double doors, you come to a semi-circle foyer that has the same heavy paneled walls and Italian marble as The Social Room. Cain and Bridger follow me, commenting on the artistry of the decor I’d chosen. I’d been to Bridger’s original Wicked Horse in Wyoming and this is a far cry from that place. From the foyer, there are five hallways branching off like spokes on a wheel, each closed off by a carved wooden door. There are signs above each door that read Waterfall Room, Deck, Orgy Room, The Silo—which is a nod to the original Wicked Horse. The fifth hallway’s sign says “Private” and that houses my office, the entrance to my apartment and the employees’ locker room. “The Wicked Horse takes up about sixty percent of this floor,” I tell the men as I take them through the door to the Waterfall Room. “The other forty percent is my apartment and our offices.” The Wicked Horse Vegas sits on the 46th floor of The Onyx casino. It also happens to be the top floor, and while not the tallest casino on the Strip, it’s tall enough that from the outdoor deck you can get an amazing view of the city. We’re leasing this space from the owner of the casino, who is a friend of Bridger’s named Woolf Jennings. He owns this casino through various subsidiary corporations put in place to distance his name from the sin of Las Vegas while availing himself of the huge amounts of money the house makes from gamblers thinking they can win. The hallways to each room are short, also paneled and laid with Italian marbled tile, but when you reach the room you seek, that is where the sophisticated elegance stops and a different sort of vibe is presented. We reach the Waterfall Room and Cain whistles through his teeth in appreciation as he takes it in. The room itself is circular with a pool in the center, also circular. In the center of the pool is a platform about fifteen feet in diameter that hovers right above the water and from which a warm cascade of water pours down from the ceiling. What makes the waterfall so spectacular is that it actually falls through and past a

sleek crystal ceiling light which is nothing more than long strings of lit crystals that hang down in various lengths above the pool. The water sparkles with a million refracting lights as it passes by the clear sparkling gems. The waterfall is a beautiful centerpiece to the room but it’s functional as well. The platform can hold up to four people on it that might want to fuck under the spray of warm water. Around the edge of the pool, the flooring is black cement done in a super fine texture with silver sparkles in it that prevents slipping but doesn’t hurt the feet. Most people in the waterfall room wear bathing suits or nothing at all. No one ever wears shoes. Set around the pool are a variety of lounging areas which consist of two L-shaped low backed couches set together to form a U-shaped but not touching so there is room to walk in between them. The open end of the “U” faces the pool so you can choose to walk down sloping steps from your couch into the water for a refreshing dip. The room itself is richly colored. The couches are done in water repellent vinyl of deep purple that shimmers. While some people choose to just lounge and watch what’s happening, most of the time those couches are used for sex. Vinyl is the name of the game as it’s easily cleaned in between uses. There are silver pleated curtains draping the double glass doors that lead out to the Deck, and swags of fabric in the same silver hang in arcs from the center of the ceiling starting just outside the waterfall to the perimeter. It sort of reminds me of what the inside of a tent would look like that belonged to a grand Sheik or something. Or just a really fancy circus tent, which the things that will go on in here could be considered circus-like. We walk around the pool to the glass doors and as I step through I say, “You can access the outer deck by either the Waterfall or Orgy rooms, or the hallway off the foyer that runs in between the two rooms. The only room that you can’t get to it is from The Silo. I’ll show you that last.” The Deck is so much more than just an outdoor deck. It’s a place where you can get a drink or a snack at one of the two large cabana stands outside. What really sets your teeth on edge when you step out is that the entire deck is made of a thick, clear acrylic like flooring that lets you see forty-six stories down. There are also clear acrylic chaises to fuck on and let me tell you, there’s nothing like fucking a woman on her back while you are seemingly floating in the air. It’s also not for the faint of heart or those with a fear of heights. The perimeter of the deck has a ten foot plexiglass wall that is two way. The people on the Deck can see out, but those in Vegas can’t see in. While The Onyx isn’t the tallest casino in Vegas, the way it’s situated on the strip, no building stands over it thus privacy is pretty much guaranteed unless a chopper flies over. Still, the two-way glass provides the necessary cover so we don’t violate public nudity laws. The bottom side of the clear deck is covered with reflective material which also has a two-way effect, so someone on the ground with binoculars can’t get a free peep show by looking up. A lot of thought went into this Deck before we had it built out. “Jesus,” Bridger mutters as he steps out tentatively. “I think I might puke.” Laughing, I walk across the deck toward the Orgy Room noting that Bridger stays near the interior wall with his hand on it and isn’t looking down. Cain struts casually, not affected by the height. “There are plenty of other places inside you and your wife could try out,” I tell Bridger. “The Deck sure isn’t for everyone.” He grimaces and shakes his head. “Nah… we don’t do that stuff publicly. We’re quite happy keeping the kink in our bedroom.” “But she’s okay with you owning these types of clubs?” I ask curiously. “More than okay,” Bridger says and I don’t miss the adoration in his voice when he speaks of his wife, Maggie. I’ve not met her yet but the few times he’s talked about her, I know she sounds like a really

cool chick. “That’s the hallway that goes from the foyer straight to the Deck.” I point to the right, and when we pass that, I reach another set of glass doors that lead into the Orgy Room. “Very nice,” Bridger says as he steps inside to look around. I also sweep my gaze from corner to corner, taking in what is probably my favorite place here. It’s how I imagined the Roman orgies of Bacchanalia festivals occurred among the elite but with a more contemporary twist. Vinyl beds and lounges set into black acrylic and chrome frames, sitting low to the floor, and spread all around the room in what appeared to be a haphazard design. The floor is made up of large square frosted panels sent into steel supports and run at a diagonal across the room. The colors change from a dusky rose to a cream color which can enhance the mood of the music playing. From the ceiling, massive silk lampshades colored an ice blue and formed into quirky shapes hang down. There are so many of them they touch at the sides, but some are wider than others and some are longer than others. The lampshades are fitted with muted light bulbs to keep the atmosphere intimate but not completely dark. You definitely want to see what’s happening in this room. What you won’t be able to see among the multitude of the lampshades hanging from the ceiling are very small but very bright spotlights that are aimed in critical fashion to the beds and chaise lounges to provide a spotlight on any action that might occur there. When a couple or group is done with that piece of furniture, the light goes out and that indicates to the staff that the furniture needs cleaned. I have very discreet employees whose sole job is to sweep in like a ghost and sanitize and dry the furniture. When it’s clean, the spotlight is turned back on and opened for more fucking. “This will be the most popular room by far,” Cain observes. “People tend to feel more comfortable having sex in public when it’s done with a group of people.” “Agreed,” I say, and although I don’t know much about the sex club business, I do know a lot about human nature. “Now, let’s go see The Silo and then we can sit down and talk last minute logistics before we open up next week.” I lead the men down the hallway to the foyer, then back down the next hall to The Silo. They don’t spend much time in here as it’s a replica of Bridger’s club in Wyoming. Circular room with smaller rooms on the perimeter done all in glass. Some rooms cater to fetishes, BDSM or other kink and some are just if you want to be star in your own personal porn show. The main difference between this Silo and the one in Wyoming is that two of the rooms here offer privacy by long curtains that can be closed along the glass. This is usually done by a couple that comes in together, and wants to perhaps have a threesome. Their kink is the threesome and not in being watched, so I thought that was a nice touch that was added on. After the tour concludes, we head down the last hallway that is private. There are several doors on the right hand side that belong to staff including one I use for business. But the door at the end is to my private residence and that is where I take Cain and Bridger. “Make yourself comfortable,” I say as I take off my suit jacket. I had dressed like I normally do when it comes to business, which is an expensive tailored suit. Cain and Bridger were both in jeans, buttoned up shirts and cowboy boots. “Want anything to drink?” “Beer,” Cain says and Bridger says, “Same.” I grab us three beers from the fridge and head into the living room. The apartment isn’t large by any means but it is sumptuous. It has an outer wall made of glass that looks out over Vegas and there is a partition on the outside that separates my deck securely from those attached to the club. Outside of the living room and kitchen that blends in together, there’s a master suite on one side and a guest room on the other with an attached bath. After I hand out the beers, I join Cain on the camel color leather couch, each of us taking an end.

Bridger takes an arm chair designed with reclaimed wood and steel pipes but upholstered in cream linen and stuffed to be immensely comfortable. He sits on the edge and looks at me seriously. “You did a damn good job getting this set up, Jerico.” “I have a personal interest,” I tell him with a smile, and he laughs as he knows the truth of that. When Cain and Bridger approached me about running The Wicked Horse Vegas, I was highly interested. I was at a point in my career where I was tired of the frequent missions and traveling, and wanted to morph into more of a strictly managerial role. Since my business was based out of Vegas, this seemed like a good cover for what I really do for a living, as well as a good investment. Of course, Bridger had me checked out thoroughly. And of course, I had to divulge to him the nature of my business. When I’d told him that I ran an organization of mercenaries for hire, he quickly covered his stunned expression with one of intense curiosity. I could see he wanted to ask questions that I’d never be able to give him the answers, but the most I could do was assure him that my organization was on the up and up and was contracted by our government to help out in sticky situations that our military was prevented from handling. My team was comprised of men and women I’d served with in special ops or that had been recommended to me to join the team by our government oversight manager. This apparently appeased him other than a slight worry he’d had about me being able to devote time to The Wicked Horse. I assured him a I had fantastic crew, they were easy to manage and I was not actively participating in missions anymore. As far as I was concerned, I’d do some nominal oversight of my mercs, offer them free memberships so they could fuck as a perk to the job, and then I’d be devoted entirely to the club. The only hitch in the plan was over compensation. While Bridger offered me a very generous salary, I wasn’t interested in just that. I wanted an ownership stake because I wasn’t stupid. This operation was going to make millions. So we haggled and negotiated but ultimately, we agreed I’d get a 30% interest with an increase in options each year if warranted, but not to exceed 50%. In return, I had to help finance the construction and opening costs, which was no problem because I make a shit ton of money doing the contract work for the government. “We’re scheduled to open next week?” Bridger asks. “It’s been a long year of design, construction, permits and upfitting, but yeah… we’ll be opening next week,” I assure him. “The staff have all been through extensive training and were vetted heavily before they were hired.” “Any sense the authorities will target us?” Cain asked, because while what we were doing was entirely legal in Vegas, we’d be a prime operation to infiltrate with some undercover cops hoping to maybe make a prostitution or underage bust. The Wicked Horse doesn’t engage in prostitution but is merely a social club whereby after paying your membership, you are allowed in the doors to do whatever you want. Within kinky reason. “No, and I’ve got plenty of contacts with the department,” I tell him. “Our screening process to admit members is rigorous, even the ones that only buy daily passes.” “How many memberships have been pre-ordered?” Bridger asks. I ticked off the numbers as I’d reviewed them this morning. “Almost a thousand yearly memberships and a little over five hundred have signed up for monthly memberships with a three month commitment. But the big money is going to come from tourists who want daily or weekend passes. Doing some demographic research and looking at the other clubs in the area, we can probably count on an average of at least a hundred people a night coming on a daily pass. It will be higher on the weekends, maybe lower in off season, but still… that’s major cashola every day.”

“And your projections for the first year of business?” he prods. “Minimum seven million,” I tell him with a level look. “But I’m thinking more as word of mouth gets around.” “Excellent,” Bridger says as he flashes his teeth at me. “I look forward to seeing what you can do with this.” “I guarantee you I’ll make it into the most sought after club in Vegas and we’ll be rolling in money when it’s all said and done.” Cain chuckles. “You always were a cocky son of a bitch.” I smile and have to agree with him. Whether you call it cocky or confidence, it’s gotten my butt out of a lot of scrapes just having a strong and inherent believe in myself. “Cain will come quarterly to check on things and review the books with you,” Bridger says but we’d already agreed on that. I never mind someone looking behind me but I wouldn’t be micromanaged. So far, though, I don’t think that’s the vibe I’m getting from either of these guys. Cain I trust deeply. He’d be on my merc team if he wasn’t tied down in Wyoming, and I’m going to have to trust his recommendation of Bridger. Just as Bridger had to trust Cain’s recommendation of me. I believe going into this business is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made in my life. I’ll make killer money and there will be a variety of beautiful women I could fuck every night. I mean… what job could be better than that? If one trip isn’t enough, stop by and visit the Wicked Horse Vegas to fulfill your Wicked Wish and to make your darkest desires reality. Wicked Wish (The Wicked Horse Vegas, Book #2) is coming August 15, 2017.

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Since the release of her debut contemporary romance novel, Off Sides, in January 2013, Sawyer Bennett has released more than 30 books and has been featured on both the USA Today and New York Times bestseller lists on multiple occasions. A reformed trial lawyer from North Carolina, Sawyer uses real life experience to create relatable, sexy stories that appeal to a wide array of readers. From new adult to erotic contemporary romance, Sawyer writes something for just about everyone. Sawyer likes her Bloody Marys strong, her martinis dirty, and her heroes a combination of the two. When not bringing fictional romance to life, Sawyer is a chauffeur, stylist, chef, maid, and personal assistant to a very active toddler, as well as full-time servant to two adorably naughty dogs. She believes in the good of others, and that a bad day can be cured with a great work-out, cake, or a combination of the two.