Wicked Lust (The Wicked Horse #2) Read online

  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 fascina
tion, 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.