Wicked Lust (The Wicked Horse #2)

by Sawyer Bennett

  Making out sounds nice and would keep in line with her silly thoughts that I’m a romantic. But time is running out, and I don’t have the patience or fortitude to bear just kissing this woman.

  “I was thinking about fucking you while we watched the sunset,” I tell her as my eyes peer into hers.

  Her mouth rounds in a little “O” of surprise, but her eyes fire hot, and I can tell she likes the idea very much. That knowledge starts my pulse hammering. Her eyes cut left and right, noting the only nod to getting caught is a winding dirt road that someone might come down. Otherwise, there’s not a house or person in sight.

  “Right here?” she asks as she nibbles on her lower lip. “Right now?”

  “I’d need you to get those jeans and your underwear off first, but yeah… that’s what I was thinking.” I follow up with a push to her hips, grinding her down on my erection that started sprouting the minute she climbed onto my lap.

  I expect Sloane to perhaps give this some serious consideration, or maybe even argue with me a bit. Sometimes, she needs a little convincing, but that can be fun too.

  Instead, she scrambles right back off my lap, almost losing her balance and ending ass down on the dirt road. But she catches herself, slapping a hand onto my shoulder to give herself leverage to kick her tennis shoes off.

  She does that quickly, now standing in the dust in pristine white socks that won’t remain white any longer. But she doesn’t care. She undoes her jeans lightning fast, pushing them and her underwear down her smooth legs. I watch her almost in a daze, lust starting to drown me as I realize this woman just hopped off my lap in the middle of nowhere, perfectly willing to fuck me in the shadows of the Teton Mountains. I blink, try to get my bearings, and realize I have work to do as well.

  As she’s shedding her bottoms, I stand over the bike seat and pull my wallet out. I grab a condom, toss the billfold onto the road, hoping I remember to grab it later, and then pop my button fly with one hard pull.

  “That’s right,” Sloane says huskily, and I shoot her a glance. She’s completely naked from the waist down, and my knees almost buckle when I watch her slowly drag a hand down to press her fingers between her legs. “Get that cock out, Cain. I want to go for a ride.”

  I groan and push roughly at my jeans, just enough that my dick springs free, and I sit heavily on the bike seat again. My hand grabs onto my shaft, giving it a few relieving strokes while I watch mesmerized as Sloane fingers herself.

  Standing on a dirty road in nothing but a t-shirt, a denim jacket, and white socks.

  Not sure I’ve ever seen anything hotter in my life, and I’ve seen some stuff in my line of work.

  I release my hold so I can get the condom out. My moves are practiced and efficient, and I’m suited up in no time flat. Holding my hand out to Sloane, I give her silent invitation to climb aboard.

  She pulls her hand out from between her legs, fingers wet and slick as they curl around mine. Her other hand goes to my shoulder, and I haul her back onto my lap. She quickly tugs her hand free. Both hands now rest on my shoulders, and she starts to lower herself.

  “Not yet,” I say gruffly as I put a hand between her legs. “Let’s get you loosened up a bit.”

  She moans as I slide two fingers inside her and goddamn, she’s already dripping. I’m not sure if it’s the bike ride that she found stimulating or just the fact I want to fuck her right now, but she’s not going to need much more prep before she can take my big dick inside.

  I’ve come to know her body very well, and I know exactly how to touch her to produce maximum pleasure. Working her clit fast and hard with my thumb, I keep two fingers deep inside her.

  Sloane’s head tilts back, her blonde hair falling away from her face. I stare at her slender neck and want to sink my teeth into it. She rotates her hips and starts to fuck my fingers in tandem with my own movements.

  I get even harder as I listen to the tiny sounds of pleasure and lust falling from her mouth, and then she’s gasping, “I’m coming, Cain.”

  And she orgasms beautifully, her pussy gripping hard onto my fingers, sucking them in deeper. Her body shudders as I place my lips to the pulse at her throat. I stick my tongue against her skin, and it feels like hummingbird wings, it’s beating so fast.

  When her channel finally relaxes its hold on my fingers, I pull them free and put both hands to her hips. She tilts her head up, looking at me through post-orgasm haze, and says, “I’m going to fuck you now.”

  “No, baby,” I tell her as I help to ease her down on my aching cock. “I’m going to fuck you. Just hang on, okay?”

  She nods, too sated to argue, and then loops her arms around my shoulders for leverage. I use my hands on her hips and my boots pressed into the dirt road to thrust up and into her. A long and stuttered moan comes out of her throat, seemingly never ending as I fuck her from the bottom upward.

  I heave up into her, seeking the deepest of contacts all while I try to suck in oxygen so I don’t pass out because it feels so damn good.

  I want to do this all night and all the next day and the day after that as well. I want to stay right here in this little private heaven with the sun setting behind the Tetons and the best pussy I’ve ever had plastered to my cock for eternity. I want to ignore my job and I want The Silo to burn to the ground because I hate it desperately at this very moment because it’s ultimately going to tear this beautiful creature from my arms.

  I wish I could tell her the truth.

  I wish I could tell her that I have a job to do this Friday night, but it’s nothing but a job.

  In fact, I wish Sloane would just let me do this one job so I can fulfill my promise to Bridger and a customer, and then I’d stop doing any Silo work. I’d just maintain my job as head of security and I’d put my dick on lockdown so it only belonged to Sloane—or anyone else she’d choose to let us play with together as a couple.

  I wish, I wish, I wish.

  All pipe dreams.

  As I fuck Sloane on my Harley, racing toward an even bigger and brighter orgasm than the last one she gave me this morning, I know I’m being an utterly hopeless fool who just happened to fall for the right girl at the wrong time.

  Chapter 22

  Sloane

  Cain pulls me to his body, kissing me again. His fingers go to the edge of the towel I have wrapped and tucked in between my breasts.

  “One more time,” he growls against my mouth.

  “No,” I say as I push back on his chest. “I just got out of the shower. I don’t want you to dirty me back up again.”

  “I like dirtying you up.”

  True enough. We got home from our “bike ride” where our viewing of the sunset was eclipsed only by the fantastic orgasm he gave me while we fucked on his Harley. As soon as he got home, he pulled me into his bedroom and went at me again, except this time he pulled a “Bridger” on me.

  Screwed me from behind with hard, brutal thrusts that I loved very much and then pulled out, whipped his condom off, and came all over my back. It was on shaky legs that I rolled out of bed and hit his shower up so I could get cleaned off.

  Giving another push to his chest, I tell him, “Go get your shower or you’re going to be late for work. I’m going to go cook up those pork chops so you can have something to eat before you leave.”

  His eyes go from hot, raging lust to warm tenderness. With lips curved up in a smile, he gives me a sweet kiss this time and says, “I like you taking care of me.”

  I give him a return smile, but if he could truly see the brightness inside of me when I hear something like that, he’d be completely dazzled. Cain Bonham has opened up to me in ways I never imagined the closed-off, scary, scarred guy ever would. It makes the narrow line I walk between him and my job more precarious as every day goes by. Yet, I can’t let go.

  I most definitely cannot walk away when there’s still a chance I can figure out a way to save him, Callie, and my mother in one fell super-hero swoop.

  Cain
turns and steps into the shower I just vacated. I use the opportunity to go back to his room where I pull on a pair of old sweatpants and a long-sleeve Tennessee Volunteers t-shirt. As I pad down the short hallway, I take stock of my cooking knowledge. I’m not sure I’ve ever cooked pork chops before because I’ve always excelled at eating out. Growing up, we had a cook who catered to us, college was pizza and ramen noodles, and after college, I lived in D.C. where one simply didn’t cook on their tiny gas stove in an overpriced hovel of an apartment. You went out, and you ate well.

  As I enter the living room, I head over to Cain’s laptop. I figure I’ll Google how to cook the pork chops, because while I may not have the knowledge inside me, I can read and follow instructions very well. In fact, I once put together an entire entertainment unit that came in three large boxes with nothing but a set of instructions and a small Allen wrench.

  Sitting down on his cold, plastic desk chair, I rub my hand over the track pad to pull the computer out of sleep mode. It flares bright and I instantly recognize Google mail on the screen, but I immediately start to move my finger to engage the cursor over the Firefox icon so I can access a browser. I start to tap on the pad to choose the icon when certain wording in the subject of an email penetrates my brain.

  Can’t Wait To See You Friday Night!

  My eyes focus on the subject line, sent just this afternoon, not but three short hours ago. To the left of the subject line is the name Amy Mason.

  An immediate buzzing fills my head, and my entire body prickles with apprehension. My heartbeat starts to pound as my body seems to recognize some type of dangerous intent with this email.

  Can’t wait to see you Friday night?

  Jealousy floods my body, and I think back to just this morning when Cain and I were lying in bed, discussing future plans.

  “Are you working this weekend?” I had asked, as our naked bodies lay entwined.

  “Yeah,” he said gruffly, his hand idly stroking my lower back.

  “Want me to stay here?” It was an innocent-enough question, seeing as how he’s wanted me to stay the last few nights.

  He didn’t answer at first, but then coughed to clear his throat. “Not this weekend. Woolf’s asked me to work out on the ranch, and I have to be up really early. I’m actually going to stay in one of the ranch bunkhouses so I can get up and just get to work.”

  It sounded plausible. I never doubted his word.

  Now I’m thinking I know why he didn’t want me to stay here Friday night.

  I don’t hesitate a moment.

  I don’t question the wrongness of my actions.

  I don’t respect a single bit of Cain’s privacy.

  I double click on the email, and I read.

  Cain,

  My address is 3424 Fur Trap Road. I’ll leave the door unlocked, but every other aspect should resemble a nefarious intention on your part to break into my house and take me hard. You said you wanted details, so here they are.

  I fully expect you at my house no later than 10PM.

  I expect you to pull me out of a sound sleep with a gun to my head and your hand between my legs. I kind of like what we did the last time, so put me on my knees and make me suck your cock. I also expect you to stay all night, having your way with me repetitively, so feel free to unload down my throat. We’ll have plenty of time for you to fuck me hard after.

  Please note that ropes or handcuffs are completely acceptable, as well as blindfolds and ball gags. Damn… I’m getting horny just thinking about all the things your big cock will do to me.

  Hope this is sufficient to bring you inspiration and give you the protection you need. This is something I’m requesting and you’re giving me. I’m doing this completely of my own free will.

  XOXO,

  Amy

  P.S. I’ll have plenty of your favorite beer for you!

  The buzzing in my ears got incrementally louder with every word I read, so as of now, I feel like a swarm of bees is taking up residence in my gray matter. My skin flushed hot, then hotter, so as of now, it feels like an inferno. My stomach is coiled with tension, filled with nausea.

  My eyes drop from the screen, and even though the glutton for punishment in me wants to read it again, I simply can’t bear it. The knowledge that Cain has made plans to be with another woman this week is simply unfathomable to me. After what we’ve done together, I thought I could trust him.

  Christ, after what I let him do to me with three other men… I totally fucking trusted him.

  And then it hits me.

  What I did that night with him and his buddies wasn’t something that women who wanted to keep a man for the long term did. Cain is looking at me as just another great lay. His next great adventure. There’s no way he’s going to commit to monogamy with a woman who fucks multiple men in front of his face.

  A surge of nausea rises in me, and I suck in a deep breath to keep it at bay.

  “Sloane?” I hear from behind me, and I slowly turn my head to look at Cain over my right shoulder. He’s dressed, his hair wet, and he’s looking at me blandly. “What are you doing?”

  “I was searching for a pork chop recipe,” I say softly.

  It’s then I notice his shoulders relax.

  So I add on, “I found the email from Amy Mason instead.”

  “Fuck,” he mutters and takes a step toward me.

  I shoot out of the chair and hold both my hands up. “Don’t,” I hiss at him. “Don’t you fucking come near me.”

  “Sloane, it’s not what you—”

  “Fuck off,” I scream as I try to bolt past him down the hallway, intent on grabbing my shoes and my bag. If I hurry, I can be in my car and on the road in twenty seconds.

  Cain’s arm shoots out, and he catches me around the waist. “Just wait a minute and let me explain.”

  I start thrashing in his arms, kicking my legs out. One heel catches him in the shin, but it hurts me more than him. “Let me go, you stupid motherfucker.”

  “Will you calm the fuck down?” he yells at me. “Let me explain what that is.”

  “I don’t need your explanation,” I say, my voice quavering now with emotion. Now that the initial burst of anger has been released, I start filling up with sadness and rejection. “I’m nothing but a cheap thrill for you and your boys. Certainly not important enough for you to keep your promise not to fuck around.”

  “That is not what’s going on,” he says with frustration as I continue to twist in his arms so he’ll release me. “Let me explain—”

  “Let. Me. Go,” I scream at the top of my lungs.

  “Fuck this shit,” Cain mutters and he picks me up, hauling me over his shoulder. He spins so fast that my stomach flops. I hear him grab his keys off the counter, and then he spins again for the door. An acute case of vertigo hits me, and before I can recover, he’s bounding down the steps of his porch, my lower ribs banging painfully on his shoulder. He takes me around to the driver’s side of his truck, opens the door, and tosses me in.

  I immediately scramble across the cab seat, intent on flinging myself out the passenger door, but his hand on my shoulder stops me as he climbs right into the driver’s seat. He reaches down under the front seat, I hear something rattle, and then he slams a pair of handcuffs over my left wrist.

  I start to shriek in outrage but only stunned disbelief squeaks out when he slams the other end onto his right wrist.

  Cain then jams the key in the ignition, cranks the engine, and spits dirt and gravel from under his tires as he peels out of his driveway.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I finally manage to grit out as he drives with my hand cuffed to his. I tentatively give a tug to make sure the cuffs are secure, but they are.

  “Don’t do that,” he snaps as he turns angry eyes at me. “Unless you want us to wreck.”

  Cain is driving at a breakneck speed as he pulls out onto 191 and starts heading in the opposite direction of Jackson.

  “Where are you taking me?”
I ask, my blood still boiling with rage and my heart still battered from the betrayal.

  “To The Wicked Horse,” he says quietly. “I have to show you something, and then I can explain what’s going on.”

  What in the fuck could he possibly show me at The Wicked Horse? Is Amy a waitress there or something?

  And then it hits me.

  He doesn’t have anything at The Wicked Horse to show me.

  He’s going to show me The Silo.

  My mouth stays firmly shut the rest of the ride, and that’s only because I have nothing to say at this point. I have nothing to say because my brain is too busy trying to process everything. I’m not sure what it is about this email that’s prompting this impromptu trip, but Cain just may be getting ready to lay all the evidence I need at my doorstep.

  The inner child in me… the one who’s betrayed… hopes I can use whatever I’m about to see to bring Cain down hard. But the part of me that’s been hurt… that’s the part of me who wants to beg Cain not to take me there, but come up with some other rational explanation for what I saw.

  Because I know whatever is within that round building that looks like a real silo is going to change everything that I’ve come to figure out up to this point.

  Cain pulls into The Wicked Horse and rather than take his customary spot at the part of the lot bordering the road, he drives alongside the building and parks near the rear… forty feet from The Silo.

  Wordlessly, he reaches into the clean ashtray and pulls out a key that he uses on the cuff. He releases the shackles and exits the truck. Coming around to my side, he opens the door and holds his hand out to me to help me down.

  I look down at the gravel parking lot and say dumbly, “I don’t have any shoes.”

  Like he’s a knight in shining armor, Cain gallantly pulls me from the seat and cradles me in his arms. The irony of thinking of him as gallant is not lost on me. He bumps the door shut with his hip and carries me over to a slate path that is lined with solar lighting, leading right up to the silo.