The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (The Wicked Horse Series)

by Sawyer Bennett

  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 n
ormal 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.