“Lovely to meet you,” I mutter dryly.
He moves towards me, and my breath catches as he leans in close, bringing the lip of the jar to my lips.
“Open wide” he purrs, making me blush fiercely. My lips part, and when he pours the liquid across my tongue, I swallow.
Fire burns like diesel through me, sending lightning crackling through every single inch of my body as I swallow the stuff back. Holy shit it’s like drinking a thunderstorm. But then, the taste comes through, and my brows shoot up.
It’s actually delicious.
“I think she likes it,” he drawls out, chuckling this rumbling laugh that makes my cheeks burn as our eyes meet. “You want another taste?”
I nod, and he brings the jar back to my lips.
This is a bad idea.
I’m drinking moonshine with my captor — the man who kidnapped me. That’s bad enough, but when that captor happens to be carved out of marble, gorgeous, and panty-meltingly hot with those eyes that just light a fire between my legs?
Well, then it becomes a terrible idea.
This is a mistake.
…So why is it that I can’t wait to make it?
Chapter 4
Silas
I’m not trying to get her drunk, I’m trying to get her to relax. No, not for that. If I were that man and I wanted things to go that way, well, it wouldn’t take much.
I’m much bigger than her, and much stronger. Those pretty little legs look like she runs, but they’re not so strong that I couldn’t pry them apart and wrap them around my waist. Not so strong that I couldn’t pin them back with my hands as I drove my cock into that tight little pussy until I emptied my cum deep inside of her.
But again, I’m not that man. “Touched,” perhaps. A beast of the hills, perhaps. A devil, even. But not that. No, I need her to relax because she has to be in on this with me. There is no ‘or else’ threat here. If she doesn’t go along, I’m up shit’s creek without a paddle. I’m no negotiator, but I know enough to know I can’t tell her all of that. If she knows the kind of leverage she’s really got here, well, this could go bad.
So I need her relaxed. Pliant. I need her wanting to do this thing tomorrow. She can’t feel coerced into lying to Uncle Mort’s slimy little lawyer, because as much of a shitbag as that guy is, he’s no idiot. And if he smells bullshit, he’s going to take that will and fuck on off with it. No, she needs to feel at ease.
I understand that having her tied up isn’t exactly ideal to that end, but I don’t see another way. I want to think she’ll stay — that she’ll just sit back and play ball with me on this. But hell, as much as I’ve stalked her the last two nights, and as much as I’ve lusted after her, and felt my body react to her, and felt my blood burn hotter for her, I don’t know her.
I don’t know if I can trust her not to run. And there’s too much at stake. The money, for one. But also her. Having her tied up here means she stays here with me. Exactly where I want her. I suppose having her tied up naked doesn’t really help things much either. But that? Well, there’s no tactical advantage to that, I just prefer her with no clothes on.
…My cock does too.
I can feel it throb, pulsing at the front of my jeans, my balls aching for release as we sip on the cherry moonshine. We’re passing the jar back and forth, making small talk. But shit if I can even concentrate with those mouthwatering tits bare before my eyes. With those creamy thighs pressed together with the hint of honeyed pink treasure nestled between them.
With those fierce eyes looking up at me — those pouty soft lips wet from the liquor and begging to me claimed.
“So tell me about Lyle.”
Her brow furrows, her lips pursing together. “Stalker much? How the fuck do you know about—”
“By stalking you online.” I shrug. I don’t care if she thinks it’s weird. If it’s weird to want to know every fucking detail about the girl you’re quickly becoming obsessed with, well, then I don’t know what to say. Maybe it is, but I don’t give a shit. Hell, I want to know every damn detail of her life. Where she grew up. Her favorite movie. Which side of the bed she faces. If she’s ever had a pet.
…What her cunt tastes like.
You know, basic shit.
“So, he left you.”
She clenches her jaw. “Yeah, he left me. Happy?”
I shrug. “Yes.”
Winona blushes, looking down. Fuck, of course I’m happy. I’m not happy that the dickless piece of shit hurt her, but I’m happy he took a fucking hike. Him leaving brought her out here.
To me.
“You want to know about losing my job? About my landlord offering me a job stripping to pay my rent?”
I don’t say anything, making a mental note to find this landlord of hers someday and break his arms.
“Well how about you, huh?” she hisses. “How about we talk about your fucking shortcomings in life, huh?”
“You think your dipshit ex leaving you is a shortcoming on you?” I frown, kneeling down and resting on the balls of my feet in front of her, shaking my head. “Nah, that one’s all his, sweetheart. Trust me.”
She blushes again, and when I offer the jar, she nods, opening up that tempting little mouth to take another sip. I watch her lick her lips, my cock twitching, a growl catching in my throat. I watch a single drip of the moonshine trickle down her chin, dripping down onto her tits and running in a little glistening rivulet between them.
Fuck. Me.
I almost snap. I almost just lunge into her and let my tongue catch that drop, and then linger there to taste her skin. I want to feel those soft, wet lips wrap around my cock or open up for her tongue to tease over my heavy balls.
I take the jar back quickly, my blood roaring in my ears as I take a big slug. I should slow down, but I can’t. Something about her brings out the fierceness in me. I take another slug, the liquor and the fire roaring through me. My eyes linger on her bare body, and I growl — audibly. Winona’s eyes go a little wider, her cheeks a little redder as I shamelessly drink her in with my gaze.
Good. Let her know I’m looking at her. Let her know how much I fucking want her. Tomorrow’s little farce is just for the lawyer. After that though, she’s for me.
For always.
Because I know now, this isn’t going to just be about the money. Not a chance. She’ll help with that. But afterwards?
Well, afterwards, I’m keeping her, whether she knows it or not.
“You watched me sleep.”
She says it matter-of-factly, chewing on her lip as she eyes me with that cute little pinkness to her cheeks.
“Yes.”
“Some might call that creepy.”
“Are you some people?”
Winona blushes deeper. It’s a look the says no, she ain’t.
“So, what, you came into my tent and just looked at me? Went through my wallet? That how you know so much about me?”
“Maybe that was the plan, but once I took a look…” I growl lowly, moving closer to her as her breath catches. “Once the nearness of you made my cock swell up…”
Her eyes go wide, her lips parting slowly as that pinkness spreads across her cheeks and her neck.
“Once you made me want you,” I growl. “Well, a man can only take so much temptation.”
Her brow shoots up, her lip catching between her teeth. “Did — did you…”
I frown. “No. Fuck.” I shake my head. “Do I look like that guy?”
“I don’t know you,” she says quietly.
“Uh-uh, sweetheart,” I groan lowly. “When I — and I do mean when, not if — I slide my cock between those soft, swollen pink pussy lips of yours, you’ll be wide awake.”
Winona’s breath catches sharply as I lean in, watching her swallow thickly as her wide eyes take me in.
“Wide awake and begging for more.”
She gasps.
“You can’t talk to me like that.”
“I can talk to you any
way I please, you’re tied to chair.”
She swallows again, the flush throbbing on her cheeks. “What did you do in the tent?” she whispers.
“What I had to,” I groan. “What I couldn’t deny myself.”
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips.
“My panties,” she says softly.
I grin to myself. She knows. She didn’t want to think it was real, but she knew when she woke up that morning with her panties all sticky with me. Maybe she thought she had a very nice dream. And maybe she did, but that was me. And I wonder if part of her deep down knew it was a man.
“Watching you got my big cock all nice and swollen, sweetheart. So fuckin’ big all I could do was stroke it,” I growl quietly, my muscles tensing. “All I could do was make it explode, and let some of all that hot cum building up in my balls out to relieve the pressure.”
Winona pants quietly, eying me with this fierce, fiery look.
“You’re—” She shakes her head. “No you didn’t.” She looks at me quizzically. “You didn’t, I mean…”
“Make myself cum in your spare panties that first night?” I groan. “Or all over the ones you were wearing last night.”
She blushes, gasping quietly.
“I could show you.”
She whimpers.
I stand.
“You want that, sugar?” I purr. “You want to see how fuckin’ big you make me? How thick you make my cock? Fuck, the fact that you don’t know that you do that to every fucking man who sees you on the street is a crime. Except, you’re mine now,” I groan. “Mine alone to make my cock so big and aching. You want me to show you, darlin’?”
Her face is all flushed. Her eyes wild. Maybe a little buzzed from the moonshine, but that’s all heat. That’s all need, and raw want all over her face.
And slowly, almost so subtle that I don’t see it, she nods.
It’s so tiny a motion, like she’s trying to convince herself she’s not actually nodding. But she does, and my cock fucking throbs at the motion.
“Good girl.”
Chapter 5
Winona
I pant, my skin tingling as the heat roars through me. Silas stands, his muscles rippling, his body coiling like a tiger. It's’ so hot in here that there’s this sheen of sweat on him — a slickness that’s on my skin as well. The whole place smells like whiskey and earth — like something sweet and something manly.
It’s fucking with my head is what it’s doing.
Silas brings a hand up, his arm muscles bunching as he rakes his fingers through his hair. I swallow, my face burning as I watch him, unable to look away. He moves slowly, his hands sliding down to his belt, and I feel a hungry ache inside of me. Jesus, this is like the real version of Chippendale’s, or Thunder From Down Under or something. A private, hillbilly version of Magic Mike.
He moves closer, a hand over the edge of his jeans. Fuck, I can see the bulge there — this huge, throbbing tent in his denim. Obscenely large, really.
…Mouthwateringly large.
I blush even deeper, biting my lip as the forbidden heat pulses through me. His fingers push under the edge of his denim, and my pulse skips a beat.
“You wanna see how hard I am, baby?” he purrs. “You want to see what you do to me? Why you drove me to take you and bring your here?”
My mouth is dry, my head spinning. He pops his belt, and I moan.
He tugs his zipper down. Denim peels way, shoving his grooved lower abs, those chiseled lines that run down in a v-shape by his hips. A little happy trail of dark hair teasing lower. He takes another sip of moonshine, some of it escaping out of the corner of his mouth and trickling down his chest and his abs.
Fuck this is so hot. So forbiddingly, inappropriately hot.
“You wanna see?”
And I answer before I can even stop myself.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Silas grins. He reaches back, and when he whips a big, sharp looking knife out of the back of his jeans, fear jolting through me. But he just winks and lowers himself in front of me.
“First, you gotta show me.”
I swallow again, heat thundering through me. “Wh-what?”
“I want to see my prize, sweetheart,” he growls.
He cuts my ankles loose, and my skin tingles at his touch before he moves back.
“Spread your legs.”
I shake my head, and he eyes me darkly
“Spread them. Spread those pretty thighs and show me what I want to see. Spread those thighs and show me that sweet, tight little pink pussy. Show me that tasty treat. Show me how wet you are for me.”
“You— you’re crude.”
“You’re stalling.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re dripping wet for me.”
I whimper. He’s right, too. This is fucked up. And wrong. And insane. But I can’t stop my body from reacting. Maybe it’s being this close to rock bottom in my life. Maybe it’s a dry spell. Maybe it’s the moonshine. Maybe it’s that I hit my head hiking and didn’t realize it, and this is all just a filthy dream.
“Now, sweetheart.”
He growls, leaning into me, and when I feel his hands slide up over my legs, I know damn well this is no dream. And slowly, I do what he says.
I spread my legs.
Silas growls, like an animal. Fuck, for a second he looks like an animal too — his teeth flashing and a fierceness in his eyes that has me gasping. His muscles ripple and clench, like he might pounce on me. My pulse is roaring through me; so is the moonshine.
Silas hands me the jar.
This is a terrible idea. A terrible…
I take a sip, and he grins. My hands are still tied tight behind me, and here I am, legs spread for the man who kidnapped me.
His hand slides down his abs, slick with sweat as he pushes it into his jeans. I whimper, watching his forearm clench, like he’s grabbing something tight.
Something like his cock.
His arm moves, and I know he’s stroking himself. And God, I’ve never been this turned on. I’ve never had a man look at me like he does, like he wants to devour me.
Eat me whole.
Consume and dominate me.
Silas pulls his hand free of his pants, holding the knife — flipping it and catching it over and over. He moves closer to me, so close that the heat of him burns across my skin as he reaches around behind me. I can feel the cool steel of the blade against my skin, but he doesn’t hurt me at all as he cuts the rope free and pulls back.
“Touch yourself for me,” he says quietly.
I stare at him.
“What?” I breathe.
“Touch yourself,” he groans. “Play with a that messy, slick pussy for me. I know you’re dying to — to relieve that ache. So go ahead, angel. Play with that pretty little cunt for me.”
I’m panting, blood roaring through my body and my skin on fire at his filthy words and at the way he looks at me. And I’m doing it. I’m not thinking, or maybe I’m insane, but I’m doing it. My hands slide over my body, teasing down my belly. Silas’s eyes flash fire as he reaches for his jeans, peeling them back open and slowly pushing them down over his muscled hips.
Fuck.
The base of his cock slowly comes into view — dark hair around it, throbbing, and so fucking thick.
My God is he thick.
His cock pulses, a vein throbbing on it as he pushes the denim further down, inch after inch, and my God it’s still not out yet. I don’t realize my hands are sliding further down until I feel my fingertips tease over the little triangle of hair above my lips.
I hesitate, panting, whimpering.
“Show me,” he growls. “Spread those lips and show me that sweet sugar.”
His jeans drop, and his cock springs free.
And I moan.
He’s huge — this thick, throbbing, gorgeous cock. Like someone took a census, came up with the best cocks on earth, and then made a model of them
all using only the best pieces.
Yeah, that’s him. That’s the big, juicy, swollen dick pulsing between his muscled thighs. My fingers slide further down, and when they tease over my clit, I gasp.
“There we go,” he groans. His hand wraps around his cock, stroking it — jerking off slowly. Thick precum leaks from his fat crown, trickling over his fingers and his shaft. I moan as I touch myself, knowing I’ve lost it completely but not even caring anymore.
This is insanity. This is Stockholm Syndrome or something.
And I don’t care.
Silas takes a swig of moonshine, his eyes locked on me as he strokes that big cock right in front of me while he watches me play with my pussy.
Shamelessly.
Wantonly.
Eagerly.
I whimper, melting into the chair, feeling my slick heat drip all over my fingers. He slowly kneels, his hand still wrapped around his cock as he uses the other one to push my legs wide apart.
“You know what they call me, right?”
“The Sugar Devil.”
He frowns, shaking his head.
“The other name, darlin’,” he purrs.
“The Liquor King?”
He grins, winking. “Open wide, sweetheart.”
He moves in, his breath hot on my thigh, his hand tight on my skin. His mouth opens, and those perfect lips part for his tongue. And suddenly, I’m melting as he drags it ever so slowly over my aching clit.
The scream of pleasure is silent as my head drops back, my whole body engulfed in liquid fire. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before — nothing even close to anything I’ve ever known. It’s something that burns so deep inside of me, a place I never knew it existed.
His tongue drags so slowly over my lips, until it bumps over my clit again — teasing me, drawing out the pleasure slowly. He drags it lower, parting my folds before he slowly brings it back up, millimeter by aching millimeter. And by the time it slides over my clit once again and brings a cry to my lips, I’m already lost.
Swept away.
Gone.
He’s a devil, but that tongue is heaven.
Country Liquor: Sugar County Boys: Book 4 Page 3
