Wicked Lust (The Wicked Horse #2) Page 13

  “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 somethi
ng 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.