Big Bad Cowboy

by Carly Bloom

  Moonlight streamed through the dirty window, casting shadows. Frogs and crickets performed a raucous symphony that competed with the music floating through the woods from the reception. But it all paled in comparison to the sound of her pounding heart.

  The wolf’s chest rose with each breath, but other than that, he didn’t move. His mask was still on. Menacing sharp fangs, frightening eyes…Maggie backed up slowly until she bumped into an old weathered worktable.

  “Are you still down with this?” the wolf asked.

  So, so down with it.

  “I’m not afraid of the Big Bad Wolf,” she whispered.

  He closed the distance between them with one step. Her breath caught as he tilted her chin up with his fingers. Then that bit of gentleness disappeared, and he pulled her to him by grasping the back of her head. His fingers tangled in her hair as his mouth covered hers. She felt the mask slip up as his tongue slipped in. She opened her eyes, but all she could see were shadows playing off the angles of his face and the waves of his dark hair.

  Her eyes drifted shut again as his hand moved to her neck and trailed down to her collarbone. Breaking the kiss, he followed his fingers with his lips. The mask slipped up on his forehead even higher as he cupped her breast.

  She couldn’t see his face, but that was okay. He was her Big Bad Wolf. She gave in and let herself be swept away by the fantasy. She’d never role-played before. Was this what they were doing? If so, it was fun, thrilling, and turning her knees into jelly.

  With one move, the wolf had the laces of her cheap costume corset free and her blouse lifted. She wanted to cross her arms over her unsubstantial bra, but she resisted. The wolf pulled it up with a single finger, exposing both breasts to the kiss of the cool night air. Her nipples hardened in response.

  “My breasts are small,” she said, hating herself as soon as the words spilled out.

  The Big Bad Wolf’s mask had slipped back down. All she could see was the lower half of his face. He smiled wolfishly and licked his lips. “They’re perfect. They match the rest of you.”

  He brushed both nipples with the tips of his fingers, and Maggie squeezed her thighs together. Her nipples were a Candy Land shortcut to other areas.

  “And besides,” the wolf added, “it’s responsiveness that turns me on.”

  Her nipples were almost painfully hard. Definitely responsive. The wolf ran his tongue along the side of her neck. He palmed her breasts and squeezed. Not too hard, but hard enough to get her attention, and she inhaled sharply.

  “Do you like that?” he whispered.

  Yes. She wasn’t sure if she said it out loud or merely thought it. Forming words wasn’t a priority.

  “I’m a hungry wolf,” he said with a raspy voice. “These look good.”

  He covered a nipple with his hot mouth. The rest of her breast, exposed to the night air, had gooseflesh. But her nipple was on fire. The wolf sucked and tugged, moaning in the back of his throat like Maggie was the best thing he’d ever tasted. When he’d had enough of one, he went to the other.

  The wolf was a wonderful mixture of rough and gentle. He gripped her breast firmly—almost painfully—and stopped sucking to brush her nipple with his tongue like a whisper. Fingers trailed up the inside of her thigh, past the top of her stocking, leaving a path of molten heat. When he bit a nipple, her knees buckled.

  Her knees had never buckled before.

  The wolf clasped her firmly around the waist with his other arm, steadying her.

  “Can I see what Little Red Riding Hood has in her basket?” he asked, skimming the edge of her panties with his fingers.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He pulled her panties aside, but he didn’t touch her. He kissed her mouth softly and lifted her skirt, exposing her fully to the autumn air’s sensual caress.

  But he didn’t look. And he still hadn’t touched. She was desperate for it.

  He leaned over and kissed her again, this time parting her lips with his tongue while he teased the sensitive skin of her inner thighs with his warm hand. Then he gently inserted a single finger.

  She moaned, barely recognizing the sound of her own voice.

  “Is that good?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she hissed. “So good.”

  He moved his finger slowly in and out, and she rocked against his hand. He picked up on her neediness, and his finger moved faster, with less gentleness.

  And she loved it.

  She moved against him, wanting his finger deeper. He obliged, and added a second.

  He stopped kissing her. His face was inches away, mask intact, as he watched her intently, soaking up her reactions.

  “I want to make you come,” he whispered. “Just like this.”

  Orgasms were elusive things and usually required a vibrator. But Maggie didn’t want to burst the wolf’s bubble. And besides, something was building from a place deep inside that had never been touched like this. Not with this force, this rhythm…she moved against his hand and wasn’t even embarrassed. Her need was too great. She wanted to explore this new sensation, this deeper, rougher arousal she’d never experienced before. “Harder,” she whispered.

  She braced herself on the table and let her head fall back. The table creaked from the force of his thrusting fingers. Her entire body shook. She tingled. She buzzed. And still, it wasn’t enough. It left her starving and desperate and wanting more.

  “Come on, baby,” the wolf growled.

  Pressure built. Instead of stilling and pulling her energy in, Maggie pushed, and her orgasm exploded in deep, rhythmic contractions that radiated from her very core. This was a different kind of orgasm. It rocked her entire body until she melted into the wolf, collapsing against his chest. She couldn’t even open her eyes. Her lids were too heavy.

  “You’ve ruined me,” she mumbled.

  The wolf jerked. “Did I hurt you?”

  Maggie snorted into his chest. “No, you didn’t break me with your big, strong man hands. But you just raised the orgasm bar to a ridiculous level. All the orgasms I have from here on out will be disappointments.”

  “Oh,” the wolf said. He stroked her hair, and she sensed a smile in his voice as he said, “I think we can raise it higher if you’re not too…”

  “Too what?”

  “You talked in tongues near the end. Are you coherent enough to move on to the next part of the story?”

  “What part is that?”

  The wolf put his lips to her ear and whispered, “The part where the Big Bad Wolf eats Little Red Riding Hood.”

  Everything below Maggie’s waist woke back up. She wasn’t about to ruin the moment by informing him that the Big Bad Wolf actually eats Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother. No need to be a buzzkill.

  Chapter Six

  Was it the fucking mask? Travis didn’t know and didn’t care. He’d driven a woman wild with just his fingers. He’d never done that before. Maybe Little Red Riding Hood was especially orgasmic, or maybe he was just a badass.

  He wanted to do it again, but without fingers. He pushed her back against the worktable and adjusted his mask to make sure it was still firmly in place. She leaned back on her elbows, smiling contentedly. She might have had her fill, but he sure hadn’t. Her shirt was still pushed up and her perfect breasts were on display. They were an offering he couldn’t refuse. He leaned over and kissed each nipple, which made her gasp. Then he pinched them, which made her gasp harder. The sound set him on fire.

  Little Red Riding Hood spread her legs. Nice.

  He still held her nipples, pinching them both a little harder. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back in response. She liked it.

  He tugged gently, pulling her away from the table by her nipples, which was a huge fucking turn-on, and even though she winced, Little Red Riding Hood raised her head and her glassy gaze told him she was totally on board.

  “Turn around,” he ordered.

  It was very unlike him to order a woman to do anyth
ing, and he almost followed it up with a please. But they were role-playing. That much was clear. And he was the Big Bad Fucking Wolf, and the wolf didn’t say please.

  Little Red Riding Hood turned around.

  “Bend over the table.”

  “I should have known this would be your position of choice.”

  Damn, she was cute. And incredibly sexy as she complied with his request, sticking her perfect little ass out in the process. She grinned at him over her shoulder as he flipped her skirt up. He wanted to give each exposed cheek a hard slap and see what replaced that grin. Where had that come from? He’d never felt compelled to spank anyone before. Wolf was a dirty dog.

  He didn’t dare spank her. He caressed each cheek instead, then squeezed. It opened her up and she gasped. Her panties were still pulled over to the side, and with a single finger he pulled them over farther. He wanted to see. “Spread your legs.”

  He’d lost some of his commanding tone. In fact, he could now barely find his voice at all. But she’d heard him and did as she was told. He dropped to his knees and gazed. Her stockings rose to mid-thigh and had sexy red bows on the backs. Might as well start there.

  He licked from a bow to a sweet ass cheek. Damn, he wanted to bite her. He could just imagine her warm skin between his teeth. He couldn’t do such a thing, though. It might hurt her or frighten her. Hell, it kind of frightened him. Little Red Riding Hood arched her back and spread her legs wider.

  “Good girl,” he said. He had never said good girl to a woman before.

  He threw off the stupid mask because wet-nosing a woman wasn’t sexy. He squeezed her ass again, still wanting to smack those perfect round cheeks. She moaned with that sexy voice of hers. He wished they were in an actual bed with an actual locked door. He’d make her moan all fucking night.

  The sight before him made him weak. He gave her a long, slow lick. Her thighs quivered, and he did it again. And again. Then he sought out the hard little nub with his tongue to give it the special attention it deserved. She responded by pressing against his face, forcing him to behave like a hungry wolf.

  When he couldn’t take it anymore, and he sensed she couldn’t either, he gave her one last lick and stood up.

  She reached for him. He placed a hand firmly on her back and she stilled.

  “Patience,” he said, although he had none at the moment himself. He unbuckled his belt and pulled his zipper down.

  “Condom?” she asked.

  He knew he had a condom in his wallet. It taunted him every time he pulled out money to buy more shit for Henry.

  “I’ve got it covered,” he said.

  His voice sounded solid, but he was a mess, fumbling with the condom wrapper as his pants fell and pooled around his ankles.

  His rested his penis on her lower back, noting the contrast in size between what he had and where he wanted to put it. He was by no means a freak of nature, but larger than average would be an apt description. And Little Red Riding Hood was so tiny. But man, she seemed ready as hell. He had to step out of his pants to reposition his stance and get low enough to reach her.

  Little Red Riding Hood squirmed with impatience. “Please,” she said.

  He edged in slowly with a groan. She opened up like a flower and pressed against him. Everything fit just fine. “I want to hear you,” he said. “Make some noise for me.”

  She breathed raggedly, but that was all.

  He increased the intensity with a forceful thrust, eliciting a gasp. It still wasn’t the reaction he wanted, so he pulled almost all the way out and slammed it home. She cried out and it fed a fire inside him. “Do you want me to do it again?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  “Tell me how you want me to do it, baby.” Holy shit—who the actual fuck was he? He didn’t recognize himself at all.

  Little Red Riding Hood wiggled her ass, but she didn’t say a word. It was very naughty to disobey him. “How do you want it?” he asked again.

  Another silent wiggle.

  Somebody needed to be taught a lesson. He pulled all the way out. “I asked you a question.”

  “Hard,” she whispered. “I want it hard.”

  He obliged, and she responded with the most delightful moans he’d ever heard. Her voice alone could make him come, and he was close. Too damn close.

  He wanted this to last forever. Right now, the back taxes and a million other worrisome details could go fuck themselves. He didn’t have a care in the world. There was just the rhythm of their bodies, the sound of the workbench banging against the wall, and their ragged breathing.

  She stilled, and then he felt her contracting around him, squeezing the last bit of his willpower. He let everything go. The emotional relief that poured through him was as intense as the sexual one. For about ten blinding seconds, he just was.

  His normal senses returned slowly. He was bent over Little Red Riding Hood, panting, skin damp, pulse pounding. The music from the party floated in and out of his consciousness.

  The woman beneath him was warm, still, and silent. She’d had an intense orgasm; he’d felt it. Maybe she was as wrung out as he was. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Mm-hmmm,” she mumbled.

  He stood, peeling his shirt off her damp body. He’d never unbuttoned it, hadn’t even taken his jacket off. He quickly discarded the condom in the trash and pulled up his pants. Little Red Riding Hood flipped her skirt down and started to straighten up.

  “Wait,” he said. He grabbed his mask and slipped it on silently. “Okay.”

  She turned and pulled her shirt down. He almost groaned at the loss. He could stare at her breasts forever. He tucked his shirt in while she went about putting herself back together. He watched, mesmerized by every move. Her short hair was mussed, her makeup was still smeared, and she looked like a woman who’d been thoroughly fucked and had enjoyed the hell out of it.

  “That was…” Every word he came up with—hot, good, amazing—seemed woefully inadequate.

  “Soul shattering?”

  That was it. He nodded.

  They stared at each other. Now what? Little Red Riding Hood seemed almost too good to be true. She was sexy. That much had been established. The little conversation they’d shared had shown her quick wit. She was flirtatious but completely unaware of the effect it had, which charmed the pants off him. Literally.

  Maybe they should exchange names and numbers like normal people. Maybe after what they’d just done, she wouldn’t care that he was a Blake.

  What the fuck. He’d go for it. The worst thing that could happen was she’d say she didn’t date Blake trash. He felt for his phone, quickly patting down all his pockets, including the ones in his jacket.

  “Lose something?”

  “Yeah. Have you seen my phone?”

  “You had it at the bar. Did you leave it there?”

  Shit. Had she had him in such a state that he’d left his phone on the bar? “What time is it?”

  Little Red pulled her phone out of her purse. “It’s about eleven.”

  “Crap.” He’d promised Henry a bedtime phone call over an hour ago. “I need to get my phone.”

  He held the shed door open for Little Red Riding Hood. Cool air rushed in—they’d really made some heat in the small shed. A light fog had settled along the slope of the riverbank, and the full moon created a phosphorescent dreamscape. Travis reached for Maggie’s hand, so she wouldn’t lose her footing in the ridiculous boots. He would have enjoyed the romance of the moment if he weren’t panicked about his phone.

  The music got louder as they approached the party, which was still in full swing.

  “Don’t worry,” Little Red Riding Hood said. “I’m sure Zeke picked it up.”

  “Who’s Zeke?”

  Maggie laughed. “You’d know Zeke if you were from around here. He’s the bartender.”

  Travis swallowed the unease of his deception. But the farther away from the shed they got, the less certain he became about everyth
ing.

  Maggie stopped in her tracks when they came to the parking lot. “You know what? I’m just going to cut out here. It’s getting late.”

  She was right. It was getting late, and he needed to get home. But was it rude to end the night so abruptly? “Are you sure?”

  Maggie glanced in the direction of the courtyard that led to the ballroom. Maybe she was worried their reentrance would come off as a walk of shame. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  They stood awkwardly in the grass. This was the time to ask for her number. To tell her who he was.

  She suddenly stuck out her hand. “Safe travels.”

  Stupidly, he accepted, and they shook. Before he could find the words to steer events away from the awful direction they were headed, Little Red Riding Hood spun on her heels, nearly fell, and then took off at a rapid pace for the parking lot.

  Fuck it. This was for the best anyway. He’d had some fun, so had she, and now everybody needed to resume their usual personas. Little Red Riding Hood glanced over her shoulder at him but didn’t stop walking. He gave a feeble wave, before heading for the bar.

  Zeke held up his phone as soon as he saw him. “Claire handed it in,” he said.

  Relief washed over him at the familiar weight of his phone in his hand. But it was short-lived. He had six text messages, all from Mrs. Garza. They started with Henry woke up with a stomach ache and ended with On our way to urgent care clinic.

  Chapter Seven

  Henry was nestled in the crook of Travis’s arm, breathing deeply and radiating heat. He didn’t have a fever. He was just a little furnace while he slept. Travis had been the same way as a kid.

  The room didn’t look much different than when Travis had slept in it. It still had a stain on the ceiling that looked like a vagina if you squinted. Travis hadn’t been much older than Henry when Scott had decided to dispense a bit of brotherly wisdom and point it out. “That looks like a pussy,” he’d said.

  No matter how hard Travis had tried, he’d been unable to convince himself that the stain resembled a cat. He’d said as much, and Scott had laughed at him. Then he’d pulled a ratty magazine from beneath the mattress and showed Travis a series of pictures that had further complicated matters.