The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (The Wicked Horse Series)

by Sawyer Bennett

  But then I saw something in Maggie’s eyes. It was probably nothing more than sweet happiness that I’d give her the intimacy she was craving, but my twisted mind chose to see it as triumph. And then I was seeing nothing but her face giving me that evil look of victory. In that suspended moment between amazing pleasure and all-consuming release from orgasm, I became terrified that if I came inside of Maggie and then experienced the disgust and shame I had felt all those times my stepmother made me come inside of her, that I’d transfer those feelings to Mags.

  I wasn’t afraid of Maggie falling for me if I gave her that intimacy.

  I was afraid I would hate her for it.

  So I pulled out, humped her like a horny twelve-year-old boy, and came within the confines of the latex condom while Maggie whispered to me that it was okay.

  My stepmother wasn’t always evil. When my dad started dating her just over a year after my mom died, she was actually quite nice to me. She didn’t try to be a replacement, but she took great efforts to show me I could rely on her. From the ages of seven to nine, we had a decent relationship.

  Then my father died and she was appointed as my guardian, which were my father’s wishes according to his will.

  Her change from suitable stepmother to abusing monster was gradual, although in my heart of hearts, I think she was always a monster. I even believe had my dad lived, she was going to abuse me no matter what. She’d just do a better job of hiding it.

  When my father died, she became cold and distant. The only interaction that came from her was when she yelled at me for the smallest of infractions. By the time I was ten, she was beating me regularly, usually for no reason at all. These beatings were always followed up by ostentatious shows of apology from her, usually in the form of hugs, kisses, and bribery gifts.

  She first started touching me inappropriately around the time I was twelve, using her affection after a beating as an excuse to put her hands on me in a different way. Likewise, she encouraged me to reciprocate. I was old enough to know it wasn’t quite right what she was doing, but I was also scared enough of her and too young to question.

  I remember having my first wet dream when I was thirteen, and my stepmom having a gleam in her eye when she saw the sheets. By this time, she was regularly using drugs, which was sometimes fine by me. When she was so out of her mind on heroin, she’d ignore me for days at a time, and that was when I was happiest. But when she was in between fixes, she came on to me stronger than ever. In fact, I think she considered me a “fix”. One night, after a particularly vicious beating, she gave me my first blow job and I learned to equate the pain of punishment with a pleasurable reward. I still knew it wasn’t quite right, but I also took the good feeling to try to compensate for how bad it was at all other times.

  By the time I was fourteen, my stepmom didn’t need me to fuck up to give me a beating. She had regularly started making it a part of foreplay for me, using ropes to tie me up with the promise that I’d have a bit of pain before my sweet reward. Her favorite tool was the belt—which is an implement I never use in my work—and she spared no part of my body from its fury. I became so conditioned that this was my way of life, I didn’t question it anymore. None of my friends at school would ever believe the horrors that happened in my house, and I was too ashamed to admit I’d reached the point where my stepmom didn’t even have to tie me down. That there were many times I’d get on the bed just from her command, letting her whip the shit out of me before she fucked me.

  Throughout every single loathsome encounter with her, she tormented me by having complete control over my body. And her sick, twisted games included telling me how much she loved having my cum inside of her. She’d ride my dick, taunting me, knowing I’d give it up to her, and then she’d shame me with it afterward.

  “Look, Bridger… look at your cum dripping out of me. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  If Maggie knew all that shit, she’d understand why it’s taboo to me to share that with a woman. Why there’s nothing beautiful about it to me. Why instead, I get a little bit of vindication by denying that to a woman, and in turn, perhaps giving her a little humiliation by marking her with my semen when I come. God, fuck me in the ass as I deserve, but yeah… even with Maggie. I come on her in part so she knows I don’t respect her enough to do otherwise.

  I’m a shameful, heartless fuck, no doubt, but I’m also selfish as I mentioned. As long as Maggie wants me, I’m going to give it to her in the only way I know how, and the reason I’m doing it is because I’ve never had pleasure the way I experience it with Maggie. My orgasms are strong and vibrant and transport me to a place I’ve never been before. I crave that with her so the one thing I vow to myself and to her, although she’ll never know it, is that I’ll kill myself to make it pleasurable for her in return. I’ll go to the ends of the earth to at least make her feel the best she’s ever felt. To make her orgasms forever be unrivaled.

  It’s the very least I can do for her for the amazing pleasure I’m receiving.

  I watch with interest as Macy scoots down Cal’s body, her hands deftly working at the belt to his pants. She gives him smoldering glances as she frees his cock and takes it in hand. He says something to her. She tilts her head back and laughs, and I can’t help but envy their easygoing yet incredibly trusting relationship. What I wouldn’t give to purge every bit of doubt and shame out of me and have the ability to laugh with Maggie like that.

  Macy bends over her husband and takes the length of him in her mouth. Her long hair is pulled into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck, so I have an unobstructed view of her cheeks hollowing as she sucks Cal’s cock. She’s a natural and takes it deep with no gag reflex. Very impressive.

  Cal lifts up on one elbow to better watch her, reaches a hand out, and touches her cheek. It’s sensuous and intimate even as it’s filthy kinky because they’re doing it in front of strangers. I half expect them to start fucking—perhaps even Cal suggests it as he says something to her—but she gives her head a shake before starting to bob over him faster and faster. Cal’s eyes blaze with lust as he gives himself over to the pleasure of his wife’s oral skills, his mouth moving in what I bet are whispers of encouragement.

  Macy sucks and jacks him, every once in a while peeking up at her husband with pure devotion burning in her eyes. It’s their communication between each other that I find sexy, and my cock starts to perk up a bit.

  Odd. I’ve seen a thousand blow jobs and they haven’t motivated me. But watching Cal touching his wife’s cheek while she gobbles up his cock with that look in her eyes like he’s the only man on this earth touches me in some way. It makes me wonder if Maggie would ever look at me like that, and what I would give her if she did.

  Staring at them, I contemplate all these unknowns. I don’t move my gaze once, watching Macy’s cheeks hollow and Cal’s head fall back as he starts to lose himself. I watch his hips punch upward as he shouts in abandon, and I watch Macy’s throat move up and down as she swallows her husband’s gift to her.

  Fuck, I want to have that.

  I know I can’t… afraid it will feel awful, all evidence to the contrary, as I watch Cal coat Macy’s tongue with his cum and the pure pleasure etched on his face as it happens. I suppose that occurs because they have trust between them.

  Trust is not something I give to anyone save for Woolf and maybe Father Adrian.

  I’ve known Maggie less than two weeks, and I certainly don’t trust her. I don’t know her, really.

  Except, she’s never given me any reason to doubt her. She’s shown herself to be an amazingly resilient woman, a devoted mother, and a caring individual who doesn’t hold my deficiencies against me.

  Those things aren’t enough to warrant trust, but maybe they’re enough to warrant me giving a little more of myself and seeing what happens with her.

  Chapter 16

  Maggie

  “Full house. Read ’em and weep, ladies,” Sloane says as she lays her cards down with flourish. An
d yup… three jacks and two nines. The petite blonde with blue eyes flashes a grin as she rakes the large pile of chips in the center of the table toward her staggering pile that’s almost cleaned everyone else out.

  “Damn it,” Callie says as she tosses her cards facedown. “You are the luckiest bitch I’ve ever seen.”

  Callie is absolutely gorgeous with her chocolate-brown hair and eyes that are green like mine but much lighter, so they absolutely pop on her face. She belongs to Woolf, who I’ve come to learn a lot more about tonight as I’m treated to my first girls’ poker night. Bridger had plans with some friends who flew in from New York City. He was going out to dinner with them and then was going to take them to The Silo. I’d lie if I didn’t say I was jealous.

  Jealous that he didn’t ask me to go out to dinner with his friends and jealous he’s going to be hanging out in his sex club tonight, both of which are ridiculous because I’m in hiding and can’t go out in public. I wanted to question him about the club though… get reassurances he wouldn’t fuck someone else, but in the end, I didn’t have the guts. He owes me nothing, and he’s made it clear he has hang-ups when it comes to relationships.

  Besides, it’s not like I could go anyway. I had Belle to watch, and that was fine by me. I couldn’t get enough of her, and I spent most of the day annoying her because I constantly wanted to cuddle when all she wanted to do was play. I had to satisfy myself that at least when she took her afternoon nap, she did it in my arms while I sat happily for almost two hours while she slept.

  Bridger had been doing some work most of the day out in a large, detached shed that sits off the back of the house, but he came in before he got ready to leave for the evening. He advised me he’d invited some friends to come over and sit with me tonight. I was a little pissy that he was going out and I was staying here, and I assured him in what I think was a snotty tone that I didn’t need babysitters.

  He cocked a gorgeous eyebrow at me and said, “They’re not babysitters, Mags. They’re a group of girls I think you’d get along well with so you can have some fun for a change.”

  That made me feel like shit for all of about five minutes, but then I got jealous again when he said he was going to take a shower before he had to leave for dinner.

  Ugh.

  Why does he have to be so complicated?

  Why do I have to fall for a complicated man?

  “Let’s open another bottle of wine,” Cat says as she stands from the table.

  The final member of our girl’s gang, Auralie, also stands up and says, “I’ll help you get it and some more snacks.”

  These women showed up about four hours ago with pizzas, chips, and wine, and I was immediately overwhelmed. It’s clear that Callie and Sloane are very close, and I later learned they’ve known each other the longest. Callie is the governor’s daughter, and Sloane was working undercover for a magazine trying to expose both the governor and Callie for their ties to The Silo through Woolf. Talk about a rocky start, but they both laugh when they talk about it.

  I also learned with interest that Bridger’s best friend, Woolf, left The Silo and gave it all up so he could be with Callie, whose dad is up for re-election. That’s true love, indeed. Sloane ended up falling in love with a man named Cain who is head of security for both The Wicked Horse and The Silo. She was apparently using him to try to get dirt for the story. He’s obviously forgiven her, and so it goes without saying… that’s true love as well.

  Cat and Auralie are a bit more closed off, and they’re not as close to Callie and Sloane, but that doesn’t mean they don’t get along. They all have one interesting thing in common, and it’s that they fell in love with men who worked in The Silo. Cat is an exotic woman with long, dark hair, beautiful brown eyes, and high cheekbones that proclaim some American Indian heritage. She was actually a member of the club until her late husband died. He was apparently an abusive prick, and her man Rand pulled her up by the bootstraps and taught her how to lead a new life. Auralie is the newest to the group, only moving to Wyoming a few weeks ago to permanently be with her man, Logan. She looks all of about eighteen with her porcelain skin, black-as-midnight hair, and innocent blue eyes, but I was surprised to learn she’s actually twenty-six and was a professional con artist prior to meeting Logan.

  Yes, they are a fascinating group of women. Every one of them funny and outgoing, although Cat is the most reserved of the group. They made me feel instantly welcomed. With the help of the first two bottles of wine, I told them my story after I put Belle down to bed.

  And I didn’t hold anything back except for Kyle being undercover ATF. I’m pretty sure Callie knows though, since Bridger had told Woolf that part, and I don’t think those two hold anything back from each other.

  The girls all rallied around me, threatening to castrate Zeke if he came anywhere near me and vowing to kick Kayla’s ass if they ever saw her around town. We then decided to play poker, which was nothing more than an excuse to sit around Bridger’s kitchen table while we gossiped and drank wine. None of us—well, except Sloane—were really into the game, and we were playing with chips and not money anyway.

  Cat and Auralie uncork two more bottles of wine and bring them back to the table along with a new bag of potato chips. Cat tops off all our glasses while Callie grabs the bag of chips from Auralie and pours out a pile right onto the table by her poker chips.

  “Poker chips and potato chips,” she says with a goofy grin on her face.

  Yeah, we’re all slightly tipsy.

  Cat and Auralie take their seats again, and we all take a unanimous sip of wine. When the glasses get set back down, Sloane says, “I’m tired of playing poker. You gals suck and it’s no fun.”

  “You suck,” Callie mutters as she munches on potato chips.

  “I know,” Sloane says with a devilish grin. “Let’s play truth or dare. Maggie can go first. I think you should choose truth, so we can get to know you a little better.”

  My head snaps her way, and I narrow my eyes at her as this game sounds dangerous. “Out of curiosity, what would the dare be?”

  “Um… you have to text a naked picture of yourself to Bridger, right now,” she says deviously.

  “I choose truth then,” I say quickly. No way would I ever do that.

  Except… I’d love to have that type of relationship with someone. Fun and flirty that I could sext with. Drive him crazy until he could get home to me. But Bridger is most definitely not fun or flirty.

  “Okay, truth,” Sloane says as she rolls her eyes up to the ceiling, pondering a good question. When her gaze comes back to mine, there’s a shimmer there that makes me have no doubt she was a good reporter and would delve to find the truth. I brace for it. “Tell us the truth—are you having sex with Bridger?”

  Fuck.

  The other girls all lean forward, interested in my answer.

  I look around at their faces, all eager with something, but it doesn’t look like the need for gossip. Actually… it looks more like a deep respect for this man with an insatiable thirst to know more about him.

  With a sigh, I drop my gaze and fiddle with the stem on my wineglass. “Yes. We’re having sex.”

  “I knew it,” Callie says smugly.

  “How did you know it?” Cat asks.

  “You should have seen the way Bridger fretted over her before he left tonight,” she says. And only Callie would know that because she arrived first and was the only one to see Bridger before he left.

  “Oh, tell us the details,” Auralie says. “Because there’s no bigger mystery than Bridger Payne.”

  Tell me about it, Auralie.

  “Well,” Callie says slyly. “He must have asked her a dozen times if she was okay that he was leaving, even once told her that he’d cancel his plans and stay.”

  “He didn’t say it exactly like that,” I mutter.

  “He said it in those exact words,” Callie argues. “And when you weren’t looking because you were getting some pizza for Belle to e
at, he was eating you up with his eyes.”

  “There’s no way—” I mutter.

  “Okay, tell us details,” Cat says softly as she leans forward. “Auralie and I haven’t had the pleasure.”

  My jaw drops open as my head snaps first to Callie and then to Sloane, who both look at me with flame-red faces. “You two have been with Bridger?”

  A furious wave of jealousy crests within me, and I swear I can feel steam coming out of my ears, although I don’t know why. It’s not like I have any true claim on him.

  Callie holds up her hands. “Relax, Maggie… it was long before he ever met you and it was in a three-way with Woolf.”

  That mollifies me somewhat, but the jealousy still gurgles. My gaze slides to Sloane. “And you?”

  Her face goes redder, but she gives me a sheepish grin. “Also long before he met you and I fell in love with Cain. But it… um… was a five-way.”

  “A five-way?” I blurt out in astonishment.

  I didn’t think it was possible, but her face goes even redder. “Yeah. Me, Cain, Bridger, Logan, and Rand.”

  My head swings in the opposite direction, and I stare agog at Cat and Auralie. “Your Logan and Rand?”

  Cat smiles understandingly at me. “Long before I ever fell in love with Rand.”

  My eyes cut to Auralie, and she admits, “And long before Logan came into my life. But… um… I was sort of with Bridger.”

  “Well, hell, Cat,” I say sarcastically, throwing my hands up. “You should just fuck him when he gets home tonight. Then he’d check all five of us women off his list.”

  “No way,” Cat says with a vigorous shake of her head. “I’m completely satisfied, thank you.”

  “And technically,” Auralie says timidly. “I didn’t fuck him.”

  “Well then, what did you do with him?” I ask hesitantly, not really wanting to know the details but asking all the same.