The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (The Wicked Horse Series)

by Sawyer Bennett

  We’re like two horny teenagers at this point, our hands roaming roughly over each other’s body. Bridger starts rocking against me. His cock is massive and emanates heat while he rubs it over my pussy. His fingers pinch and twist at my nipples. My hands go to his ass, and I try to press him harder against me, while we kiss and pant into each other’s mouths.

  Finally, Bridger rears up, comes to his knees in a straddle above me, and looks blindly around for a moment before locating the condom he had thrown there earlier. His fingers frantically tear at the package and when he frees it, his tongue actually sticks out of the corner of his mouth in a look of pure concentration as he rolls it over his thick shaft.

  “Need to fuck you bad,” he mutters, still watching his progress with the condom and once he’s fully sheathed, he pulls my legs up and spreads me wide. With a quick dip of his hips, the thick head pushes against my opening, and I suck in a huge lungful of oxygen in anticipation of what I’m betting is going to be an amazing experience.

  He’s going to fuck me.

  He’s not going to leave me.

  He really, really wants me.

  Bridger’s eyes slide up my body and his look is tortured when it meets mine. “This might be a little rough,” he grits out. “I’m sorry.”

  Before I can say anything, he plunges all the way into me and my back arches off the bed as I moan my satisfaction out to the heavens.

  “Christ fuck, that feels good,” Bridger groans.

  “So good,” I agree as I tilt my head back to look at him. His gaze is so intent as he looks down at me before he drops his elbows to the mattress to press his stomach and lower part of his chest against me.

  He doesn’t kiss me again, but merely stares at me almost in confusion as his hips start to move. He pulls out of me to the tip, pushing back in with a shocking force that causes me to grunt.

  Oh, God… that feels so damn good. I just don’t think I can…

  Bridger’s hips start moving fast, pumping his cock in and out of me. I can hear the sounds of wet skin sucking and slapping as he fucks me. He closes his eyes, biting down on his lower lip, and his face morphs into a beautiful visage of pure pleasure. It’s so stunning in its transformation that I bring my hands to his cheeks to touch him. He moans at the touch but his eyes remain shut tight.

  God, he’s incredible. Beautiful and strong and heroic.

  My hands slip to his temples, my fingers brushing through his soft hair. He makes a sound… of pleasure? Of protest? I can’t decide, but his hips start moving faster and his cock is punching into me with abandon.

  My fingers curl inward, grabbing hunks of hair. He fucks me harder, hitting against a spot inside of me that starts another orgasm to brew. I can’t help it. I pull on his hair, a silent urging to go even harder if he must because if feels that damn good.

  Bridger suddenly rears backward, pulling his dick all the way out of me and my hands dislodge from his hair so I don’t rip it out as he puts distance between us.

  He kneels in between my spread legs and my pussy is aching over the loss of him inside me. He stares down at me with a mix of anger and bewilderment. “Don’t pull my hair like that,” he mutters almost to himself, but I know he’s addressing me.

  “I’m sorry?” I ask in confusion.

  “Never mind,” he growls. Then his hands are at my waist and he’s flipping me over to my stomach. I can feel the bed dip as he scrambles off it, and then he’s pulling me backward until my knees are resting right on the edge.

  I don’t even have time to process the sudden change of positions or the pervasively uneasy feeling I have that I’ve disappointed him somehow before he’s slamming back into me from behind. My pleasure is immediately reengaged as I groan from the fullness, and he starts to fuck me again.

  “Much better,” Bridger groans as he tunnels in out and out of me, his breathing ragged and harsh. And yes… this feels amazing. Maybe not better, but just as good in a different way.

  But something about Bridger’s tone sets me on edge, because I don’t think he’s talking about the way this feels different to our bodies.

  I crane my neck so I can get a look at his face. I need to know what’s on his face so I can try to make sense of what feels to be a barrier between us now, but his large hand clamps on the back of my head and he stops me from turning. Then his fingers curl inward, grabbing a large hunk of my hair, and he holds me tight so I can’t look at him.

  Something’s wrong.

  I know it.

  I almost demand he stop and talk to me, but then he takes his other hand, slides it to my front, and then down between my legs. He starts to rub at my clit and mutters, “Want you to come again, Mags.”

  Okay, that right there… he’s fully engaged with me.

  He’s back.

  And because his fingers are magic and his cock is overwhelming me from this new angle, I start to fall under a fog of lust again. I concentrate on the amazing feeling he produces within me, and my heart starts a triple-time beat. Air seems to be a precious commodity as I pant like a dog on a hot day, and I start to pull and push my body against his, making his cock go deeper into me.

  Bridger groans. “That’s it, baby. Fuck me like I’m fucking you.”

  His words titillate and thrill me, because it sounds like he needs me the way I need him.

  His fingers rub furiously against my clit, and he urges me in short, staccato bursts of words. “Come on. Mags. I’m close. Gotta come.”

  Oh, this man… doesn’t want to leave me behind and the knowledge he wants me to have the ultimate pleasure again before he does sets me off. I go still, my back bowing from the force of the orgasm that tears through me, and once again, I cry out, “Bridger.”

  He pulls his hands from between my legs, confident my orgasm will continue to fire on its own, and puts both hands to my hips where he starts an all-out assault on my body. He lurches in and out of me, breath sounding like it’s being ripped from his body, and then… he’s suddenly gone.

  His cock is gone and the last tingles of my orgasm fall immediately flat. I swivel my head and my heart clenches when I see the look on his face.

  Pure agony and disgust.

  Bridger isn’t looking at me though. He’s looking down at his cock where he rips the condom off and starts jacking himself. Three quick pumps and he starts to come, thick, pearly jets shooting out and hitting me on my ass and lower back.

  Bridger head flies backward. He groans and squeezes his eyes shut as his hand flies over his shaft, viciously pulling and stroking… milking himself until every last drop is unloaded onto me.

  I’m stunned as I watch his hand slow down. He strokes a few more times, squeezing the head one last time to pull a few more drops out. He even flexes his hips and wipes those drops clinging to his dick right onto my ass. His eyes finally open as he looks down at his handiwork of painting my backside.

  Blank.

  His eyes are flat, empty, and blank as they stare down at my ass, and a sense of anxious dread starts to fill me. Finally, he gives a deep sigh of… relief? Or is that regret? I can’t tell.

  Then his gaze slowly climbs up my body and locks with mine as I look at him from my position on my hands and knees. The cold flatness of his look melts away. He smiles at me sadly. “I’m going to get something to clean you up.”

  He turns away and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

  No post-sex cuddles.

  No sweet words.

  No soft touches or affirmation of what we just shared.

  Just his cum on my back and ass now turning cold as the air flows over it, and I flop down to my stomach, incredibly confused and feeling utterly alone.

  After a few moments, I hear the toilet flush, and then the sink running. My body braces when the bathroom door opens and I tilt my head, resting my cheek on the pillow to watch Bridger as he comes out. His gaze immediately comes to mine as he walks toward the bed, a wet washcloth in his hand. I stay still as he
climbs onto the bed, leaning on his haunches as he comes to rest beside my body. My eyes close as he gently takes the washcloth, which is coarse, but also warm, and wipes the evidence of our union from my skin.

  “All clean,” he murmurs as he pulls it away and cool air immediately causes a chill to race up my spine. My eyes open and meet with his once again. No mistaking the look of contrition on his face, and I have to wonder what he feels sorry about.

  For fucking me?

  For being connected to me, not just physically but mentally, and then ripping it away from me mid-orgasm?

  “What was that?” I ask softly.

  His face is a mask of shrewd calculation as he looks at me. “It was sex.”

  “But that’s all it was?” I ask for clarification, already bracing for the answer I know is coming.

  “That’s all it was,” he confirms, and his eyes fall away… not able to meet mine as he lies to me.

  “No,” I say firmly, pushing up to my knees and turning to face him. His gaze snaps back to mine with surprise. “It was less than sex.”

  “Excuse me?” he growls.

  I scramble off the bed and bend down to my panties, tugging them on. Without looking at him, I grab my pants and put them on too. “Sex implies there’s some level of intimacy between two people. And I think there was… to start. But then it became less than that. It wasn’t anything more than a release for you by the time you finished.”

  “Seems to me you got off too,” he snaps as he rolls from the bed. “Three times as I recall.”

  I don’t even look at him though, gathering my top and shoving my arms through the sleeves. I don’t take the time to bother buttoning it, just overlap the two sides of the opening over my breasts and wrap my arms protectively around myself to keep it closed.

  “That’s right,” I sneer at Bridger, my anger starting to bubble and froth at the way he’s discounting my feelings. “Three orgasms that were amazing—until they weren’t. The only thing I remember about that experience is the look of disdain you had for me when you jacked off onto my back.”

  “Not for you,” he growls as he stands before me naked and unabashed. “Not ever for you.”

  “Then who?” I shout in frustration as I throw my arms wide, my pajama top falling open. To Bridger’s credit, his eyes don’t drift down to my breasts but hold me pinned in place.

  “For me,” he says softly.

  I can’t help it. The pain those words cause propel me across the carpet until I’m right before him, my palms to his cheeks. He flinches but never breaks eye contact as he stares down at me.

  “For you? Why?” I ask in bewilderment.

  His hands come up, take my own, and pull them away from his face. He cradles them gently when he says, “I don’t come inside of a woman. Not ever.”

  “I don’t understand. Is that some kind of fetish or something? Like… I know it can be hot for a guy to come on a woman.”

  He gives me a soft smile. “Yeah, that can totally be hot and I like that, but that’s not what I mean.”

  “What then?” I push at him, taking advantage of his willingness to open up to me.

  “Mags,” he says, giving a squeeze to my hands. “You’re a very sweet woman, and I don’t want to hurt you. But I’m going to tell you something about myself that people only suspect about me.”

  My stomach drops over the ominous tone, but I nod my head to give him permission to possibly hurt me further.

  “I am beyond fucked up in the head when it comes to fucking and intimacy,” he says in a flat voice. “They are two entirely different things to me. One I crave… that’s the fucking… and one I cannot stand… that’s the intimacy. Coming inside of a woman—inside her mouth, her pussy, her ass—it’s just too much for me. I can’t do it.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” I ask, because I get the sneaking suspicion this may be a cop out.

  “Won’t,” he admits with a hard glint in his eye. “Not ever again.”

  “That’s… that’s… ridiculous,” I sputter. “Every man who has sex will eventually come inside of a woman—or a man as the case may be.”

  Bridger’s hands release mine as he steps back. “Well, I don’t. I don’t like it, and I never will.”

  “So you’ve done it before… orgasmed inside of a woman?” I press, because we’re clearly getting to the root of the issue.

  Finally, he looks away from me, searching the floor for his clothing. I can see an invisible wall being raised between us, and I feel like I’m losing him. I can’t for the life of me figure out what happened to this beautifully fucked-up man to make him feel that way, but it breaks my heart in two.

  I lunge forward, taking his forearm just as he starts to bend over for his jeans. “Wait.”

  He goes still, straightens, and turns to me, a look of wariness on his face.

  “Was this a one-time only thing between us?”

  Bridger’s entire body locks tight and his lips flatten out. “That was the plan. I can’t give you what you want.”

  “Maybe I’m willing to accept only what you can give me,” I counter, stepping in closer to him, desperately offering myself in the only way I can apparently be united with this man. “We’re going to be stuck with each other a little bit longer. What if I’m okay with how things just played out? I mean… you do give good orgasms, and I know what to expect now.”

  He cocks a skeptical eyebrow at me. “Mags… come on. You’re an incredibly warm and open person. You don’t want what I can offer.”

  My lips tingle with the out-and-out lie I tell him. “You’re wrong. I’m okay with some raunchy, impersonal sex if that’s all this is. Truth be told… even you pulling out and coming on my back was a lot better than what I’ve had in my life. I’ve lived in a world where men just use women for their own pleasure.”

  “Isn’t that what I just did to you?” he replies sardonically.

  “No,” I say matter of factly. “You had me ride your face and gave me three massive orgasms. Doesn’t sound like you were using me at all.”

  Bridger remains unconvinced, still staring down at me with a healthy dose of reluctance on his face. “I’ll use you up and spit you out when I’m done, Mags.”

  His warning holds no punch, because he made the mistake of calling me Mags, which he uses like a term of endearment every time he says it.

  “I can accept that,” I tell him with my chin lifted.

  But I won’t.

  I will not ever accept that from you, Bridger, and I’m going to make you see that there’s more to sex than your narrow little world defines for you.

  “I’ll hurt you,” he says as a last-ditch effort to put me off.

  I give him a sensual smile, step in closer to his body, and drop my hand down to grasp his cock. It’s still quite large even in its softened state, and my heart leaps with satisfactions as it starts to swell in my grasp. “Maybe I’ll be the one who hurts you,” I whisper to him. “Do you want me to hurt you, Bridger?”

  He takes in a ragged breath, flexing his hips so my hand moves against him. “Yes,” he growls, and I can’t tell if he’s talking about right now in this moment, perhaps some pain the way he likes to dole it out to other women, or if perhaps he’s secretly hoping I can hurt him on a deeper level to prove to him that he’s not as insulated as he likes to believe.

  Chapter 13

  Bridger

  Maggie is almost bouncing with anticipation as I pull into Gayle’s driveway and she sees her sedan under the carport. This is a change from the mellow and relaxed Maggie I had dealt with this morning when we rolled out of bed.

  It wasn’t my intent to sleep with her all night, and in fact, I had told myself I was going to kick her out after we’d had sex for the third time. But I was exhausted after having blown three successive nuts and given her twice as many orgasms while we frantically fucked all through the night. There would have been a fourth time, but I didn’t have any more condoms on me. I thought perhaps I’d just fuck h
er without one because I knew she was clean. Jared had run a full blood panel on her when he first examined her, and I had him include an STD test in the workup. Not because I was thinking about fucking her then, because no… that was nowhere on my mind, but she had been held hostage in a biker compound and I knew those guys didn’t take safe sex seriously. I figured she’d want to know if she was carrying anything, but apparently, she wasn’t. I suspect that’s because Zeke was the only one who touched her, and I knew he always wrapped up when he fucked pussy that wasn’t Kayla’s.

  But after that third time, we’d both collapsed on the bed side by side, Maggie clearly not caring I’d come all over her stomach that time. I had also proved to myself that I could fuck her face to face with no impunity.

  Well, that’s not quite right. I was completely affected by kissing her the entire time and watching her face as she came with my cock wedged in deep, and I was barely able to pull out in time to avoid the dreaded “coming inside of a woman”. But I’ll never admit to myself that I kept wondering… what if I tried it just once to see what would happen?

  Regardless, I didn’t give in to that insane curiosity and we both fell asleep on top of the wrinkled bedspread and stayed that way until the light peeked in through the curtained windows. I found Maggie curled into my side, sleeping like the dead, and a not exactly unpleasant feeling of belonging pulsed within me as I took stock of her warm skin pressed against mine and the way her breath feathered over my chest. I relished it for a moment, completely accepting that this was an intimate moment, but not being entirely too wigged out by it. I was way too sated and mellow from great, all-night sex, which is something I’ve never had because I’ve never stuck around that long to go more than once.

  “God, I think I’m going to pee my pants,” Maggie says in an almost whispered squeal, and I can’t help but laugh. I also can’t help but be a little envious as she bounces up and down on the passenger seat, her tits jiggling, and I wonder if I could handle her riding my cock. I don’t ever let a woman on top because bad memories and all that, but for some reason, I’m very curious as to what it would be like to have Maggie riding stick and letting me palm those beauties at the same time.