Stud for Hire

by Sabrina York

  She would. At least, she hoped she would.

  She didn’t know this guy from Adam. He could shoot her down in a heartbeat. She stiffened her spine as she made her way down the stairs and through the deserted foyer of Cody’s ranch house. She had to give it a shot. She had to try.

  She desperately wanted to know what she was missing—before she sank into marriage.

  And she had to work fast.

  Before the alcohol wore off.

  Chapter Four

  “Hi.”

  Logan’s heart stilled and then shot into a rapid beat. He dropped the heavy bale on the ground. It landed with a dull thud and a plume of dust. Slowly, he turned, trying to ignore the shivers running over his skin at that low, sultry voice.

  And yeah. There she was, backlit by the sun in the yawning barn door, a tantalizing silhouette.

  “Ma’am.”

  He tipped back his hat so he could see her better. Wiped the sweat from his brow. Damn, she was beautiful. Her red hair was down, flowing over her shoulders like a rippling stream, teased by the breeze. The buttons of her plaid shirt strained against the curves of her breasts. He loved the way her skinny jeans clung to her legs, disappearing into a pair of well-worn boots.

  She wasn’t supposed to be here. The women were supposed to be settling in, dressing for the evening’s festivities. A Hunky Hoedown. Logan was supposed to be preparing for that too—but he’d decided to work off his simmering energy here, in the barn.

  He hadn’t really expected her to take him up on his offer and find him here. Never dared hope.

  But . . . here she was.

  His knees went a little weak. He tightened his muscles and forced himself to remain where he was, watching her every move. Every breath.

  Though he suspected why she’d come, he wasn’t sure. It would be wise to let her make the first move.

  God help him.

  Because he wanted to pounce.

  “So . . .” She wandered deeper into the barn, pretending to study the tools hanging on the wall. Her fingers drifted over a harness; the sight made a shudder walk through him. When Gotham poked out his head and sprayed her with a welcoming snort, she patted his snout, but not like a city girl. Not with a tentative pat as though she were afraid he’d bite.

  Logan swallowed the pool of drool in his mouth. He’d like to take a bite. Of that.

  “So . . .” she repeated. “Is this a working ranch, or only a weekend bordello?”

  Logan stiffened. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was a flirtatious tone. She flicked a look at him from beneath amber lashes and his gut clenched. Shit. It was.

  His heart lurched. His cock swelled. Sudden sweat beaded his brow.

  This was Hanna. His Hanna—well, the Hanna of his dreams. The woman he’d wanted forever, the woman who’d never seen him.

  And she was flirting. With him.

  Inexorably drawn to her, he stepped closer. “Oh. It’s a working ranch.” A low rumble, infused with meaning. Yeah. He’d like to work her. Work her over.

  “I see.” She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. It took every ounce of concentration in him to keep his gaze on her face. Oh, it was a fascinating face, but the cleavage her action created was even more mesmerizing.

  His brain fizzled and popped at that hint of a shadow. He said the only thing that came to mind—the only thing fit to say, at least. “Cody has over two hundred head.”

  “I see. Do you . . .” Her attention trickled over his bare chest. He was covered in sweat and bits of hay. She didn’t seem to mind. Her lips pursed. Then she licked them. “Do you work here?”

  He snorted. “No.” His days working as a cowpoke for Cody were long gone . . . unless he lost a bet.

  “Ah.” Her gaze flicked up to his. The muscle in her cheek tightened. “I didn’t think so.”

  The words skimmed over him in a hot rush, her tone low and woven with implication. His breath hitched at the look in her beautiful eyes.

  And then it plunged to his toes.

  Because he could tell, from every line of her face, from the way she held her body, from the way she looked at him. She didn’t recognize him.

  She had no idea who he was. No idea they’d gone to high school together. No memory of what he’d done, how he’d risked everything for her. And nearly lost.

  Nope. She thought he was just a random stripper. Manflesh brought in for the sole purpose of providing pleasure to the lady guests.

  On the one hand, that pissed him off.

  But on the other hand . . . hell, she thought he was a stripper. Probably one willing to make himself available to Cody’s guests should the right offer arise.

  A mix of annoyance, need and lust warred within him.

  Lust won.

  Hanna Stevens, the prim and proper princess of Snake Gully, thought he was a stud for hire. And she wanted him.

  This could be fun.

  He stepped closer to her, adopting a gait, an attitude he assumed a man of lesser morals might employ. “I’m just here for the weekend, ma’am. Just here to make sure you ladies have a . . . good time.”

  “I—I see.”

  “My name is Logan.”

  “Hanna.”

  Yeah. He knew. He knew her name.

  She tipped up her head as he neared. Her eyes went wide. Pupils dilated. Lips parted. Damn, she was a tiny thing. Heat gathered low in his belly. He fought back the urge to yank her into his arms and kiss the shit out of her. “I . . . ah . . . and . . .” She glanced away and then slowly forced her gaze back. “And what would that good time entail . . . exactly?”

  Everything in him stilled.

  First, because . . . hell, was she propositioning him?

  And second because, hell! She was propositioning him.

  “That’s . . . negotiable.” He hated that his voice cracked on the words. But he really couldn’t help it. It was all he could do to keep control of his raging emotions. Okay. His raging lust. His cock was hard. Tight in his jeans. Thudding with every beat of his heart. And his pulse thrummed like an out-of-control jackhammer. “W-what do you like?”

  He was pretty sure gentlemen of the evening didn’t stutter, but he couldn’t help himself. He held his breath, waiting for her answer. God, he wanted to know. He’d always wanted to know. Ached to know.

  She drew her finger along the leather harness dangling from the wall and his cock jerked in sympathetic reaction. “I don’t know. Something . . . improper.” The look she flicked at him set his soul on fire. A dark wind screamed through him like a violent summer storm on the range.

  “I can do improper.” Could he ever.

  She stepped closer. Her scent engulfed him, clouded his brain. Something feminine and light, like powder. She tipped her chin and met his gaze as she set her palm flat on his chest. He nearly winced at the touch. Their first real touch. His muscles bunched at the effort to hold back that involuntary reaction. Her hand was tiny. She was tiny. He wanted to scoop her up, find a nice soft pile of hay and roll her in it. Hard.

  Her lashes flickered. “Something . . . very improper.”

  He swallowed. “I can do very improper.”

  “Something naughty.” A whisper. As though some deep part of her was not allowed to hear.

  “I can do naughty,” he whispered back. “I’m very good at naughty.”

  A sizzling energy passed between them. She licked her lips again and this time he saw it for what it was. An invitation.

  To take.

  What he wanted.

  What he’d wanted for years.

  Forever.

  And he did.

  He kissed her.

  ***

  When his lips brushed against hers, so softly, almost reverently, Hanna nearly swooned. He was big and sweaty and thrummed with a dominant energy. He
tasted of mint and lust and man. He didn’t smell like the other cowboys, no cologne and fake pheromones here. This man smelled like hard work and sweat, some musky combination that swirled through her and settled heat in her core.

  Yeah, he was a stripper, a stud for hire.

  But she’d spent her entire life locked in a sterile cage. Fettered by expectations and social mores. She needed, yearned for something wild and decadent and utterly improper.

  This man could give it to her.

  She didn’t care what it cost her. If he would just help her shake off the coils of her own constraint. If he could let her feel, for once in her life, like her true self. If only for a while, she’d be happy.

  She could never ask Zack for what she really wanted. She was too afraid of what he’d think of her. And, perhaps, of what might happen. But she’d always, secretly, craved it.

  But this man? A man she could hire? A man she could control?

  A man who was bound by a contract of employment to please her?

  He could be safe.

  And later, he would walk away. She’d never have to see him, look at him, talk to him, again.

  Before her fears—or reason—could rise, she just blurted it out. “I want to be tied up,” she said.

  It horrified her to speak the words aloud. Trepidation coiled and heat prickled her nape. What would a man think of a woman who wanted such a thing? Even a stripper who had certainly seen it all? But damn it all, if she was going to pay good money for a fantasy, she wanted the real thing. She wasn’t going to pussyfoot around about it.

  Sure enough, he stiffened. Every muscle in his body clenched.

  She forced her annoying shame and mortification away. Steeling her spine, she pulled back and looked up at him, readying herself for his rebuff.

  But that was not shock or revulsion in his eyes.

  Not by a long shot.

  “I can do that.” His voice was as rough as gravel. Excitement scored her, and not just at his words. At the intensity, the avid interest, the savage passion on his features. He looked her up and down and asked, “How deep do you want to go?”

  The way he said it made her pulse fizzle and surge. Filled her mind with the image of her bent over a fence post, splayed before him, tied, helpless as he positioned his cock. And in her fantasy, as he prepared to thrust, he murmured, “How deep do you want to go?”

  She swallowed. “H-how deep?”

  “Do you want the full sub thing or just a little slap and tickle?”

  She blinked. She had no idea what the full sub thing was. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “You’ve never done this before?”

  She shook her head.

  “Never?”

  “No.”

  “Well then, ma’am,” he said with a lazy grin. “We’d better take it slow and easy.”

  Slow and easy? She frowned. That wasn’t what she had in mind at all. But when he tipped her chin and settled his mouth on hers again, she couldn’t complain. Oh, it was a slow and easy kiss, but beneath the surface, a skulking heat simmered, leashed, but not too tightly.

  He groaned when she threaded her fingers through his hair, knocking off his hat, but he didn’t stop. In fact, he deepened the kiss, pulling her hard against him, wrapping those muscular arms around her.

  It was wonderful, exquisite, being locked in his embrace, hard against the warm wall of his chest. He was hot. Feral. Raw. He worked her lips, laving and licking, teasing her sanity. And then he covered her mouth and consumed her like a man starving.

  Passion rose, flared. He groaned again, a deep rumble in his chest; it vibrated through her. Into her.

  He lifted his head and stared down into her eyes for a scorching moment, then whipped her up into his arms as if she weighed no more than dandelion. He carried her toward the back of the barn to the tack room and set her on a cot in the corner.

  Her pulse fluttered at the look he shot her as he turned away, heading for the sink on the wall. He meticulously washed and dried his hands, never once lifting his steamy gaze from her.

  He drew the towel over his chest, bringing her attention to his well-sculpted pecs, his tight, ripped abs, the flex of his biceps. The breath whooshed from her. What a man.

  Gorgeous, built. Beautiful eyes. Wicked smile.

  And he was going to tie her up.

  Holy God.

  “Are you . . . ready to begin?” His voice rumbled through her, piercing the slick fantasy bubbling in her brain. He lifted a loop of leather from the nail on the wall and her heart lurched. It was a long leather strip with hooks at both ends.

  Reins.

  “Are you?” He cocked his head to the side, a hint of hesitance, a trace of tenderness breaking through his dominant mien. He knelt beside the cot and cupped her chin, holding her gaze on his. “This is your show, sweetheart.”

  “My . . . my show?”

  He nodded. “You’re in control.” He waited for her nod, and then repeated, “Are you ready to begin?”

  “I . . . Yes.”

  He stood in a rush and wrapped the reins around his fist. The abrupt shift back into his dominant persona surprised her, thrilled her. His features stark, he faced her. “Unbutton your top,” he said, his voice a low growl, barely contained.

  “I . . . what?”

  His expression darkened. “Rule number one. Do as you’re told.”

  Hanna bristled. She’d done as she was told her whole life. Look where it’d gotten her. But still, the glint in his eyes, the tightness of his features as he stood here, towering over her, made her want to do as she was told.

  So she did.

  Slowly.

  He studied her with avid attention as she undid each button and then spread the lapels of her shirt and let it fall off her shoulders. She liked it. Liked the intensity in his eyes. Zack had never looked at her like that. Not ever.

  Her hot cowboy reached out and skated a warm palm over her torso. Shivers skittered up her spine. When he cupped her breast and thumbed a hard nipple, she winced, but didn’t back away. She had to be brave. This was a new Hanna. One who was bold and took what she wanted.

  “Nice,” he murmured. “Very nice. Now your bra.”

  This time she didn’t hesitate. She undid the front hook and slowly released the material. His eyes flared. A muscle ticked in his cheek. He stared.

  His breath came out in a gust. “Your jeans.”

  God. He was nearly fully dressed and he was making her strip naked.

  Well, what had she expected?

  She stood, unbuttoned her jeans and slid them off.

  His Adam’s apple worked.

  “And the panties.”

  Yes, she dropped those too.

  His fingers flexed over the reins. They jingled a bit.

  She resisted the urge to cover herself as he studied her naked form, circling her like a wolf scenting a female in heat. Motes of dust danced in the muted sunlight. Goose bumps rippled on her skin.

  When he touched her, a tender teasing caress up her spine and into her hair, she winced, trembled, willed herself to hold still. He reversed the caress and made his way down her back, this time with a full palm. He cupped her ass. Squeezed.

  “Lie down.” He gestured to the cot.

  Excitement scalded her. She did as he asked, trying very hard to appear elegant and jaded, although she was not.

  He knelt beside her. His gaze was scorching. “Are you ready for this?”

  Was she? “Y-yes.”

  “If you want me to stop—whatever I’m doing—just say ‘whoa.’ Okay?”

  She swallowed. Nodded.

  “You’re in charge here. No matter what happens. Understand?”

  She nodded again.

  His expression darkened. “Say it.”

  “Yes. I u-
understand.”

  He leaned closer. His breath skated over her cheek, warm and fragrant. Heat rolled from his body. Intensity thrummed. She had the sense they were stepping through a door at that moment. But they were stepping through together. “You respond, yes, Mr. Landry.”

  Her breath caught. An unholy sizzle zigzagged through her body, setting every nerve on fire. “Yes . . . Mr. Landry.”

  The words had a strange effect on him. His features tightened as he took on a suddenly harsh and authoritarian mien, but he shuddered as well. Even to her untrained eye, it looked like a shudder of dominant pleasure.

  “Give me your hands.”

  Without a word, she held her arms out to him. He wrapped her wrists with the reins and then hooked the ends to a loop on the wall so they were pulled tight. His gaze raked her. “T-test them.”

  She tugged.

  “Can you get free?”

  “N-no.”

  Oh God, something inside her wailed. She was naked. Tied. Oh God.

  Perhaps he saw her flicker of panic. His lips tightened. “If you need to, just release the tension. The reins will fall away. But if you want to feel the restraint, keep them taut.”

  She appreciated the advice. The leather was simply looped around her wrists, not tied. Still, she kept them taut.

  Because she wanted this. Ached for this.

  She closed her eyes, relaxed into the sensation of being helpless. Before him. That wild, rangy man. A man she knew—knew, deep in her soul—was safe.

  Would he take her now? Wild and hard? Would he cover her and fuck her and make her feel like a woman?

  Something touched her breast. A sharp, prickly sensation. Her eyes flew open and she gasped. He was drawing patterns on her skin with a piece of straw. Nothing but a piece of straw.

  He chuckled. “Close your eyes. I don’t want you to see.”

  She sucked in a breath and complied, quivering as she waited for the next touch, the next caress.

  It did not come.

  She dared a peep at him. He was watching, waiting, his features tense.

  “I told you to close your eyes.” A dark thrum.

  “But—”

  He silenced her with a warm finger on her lips. “Hush, now. Half the game is the thrill of anticipation.”