by Becky McGraw
Ryan grabbed her arm. “Twy—what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Her eyebrows lifted, then fell over her angry blue eyes. She jerked her arm from his grasp and stepped closer to Boss Hog. “I’m working,” she grated through her teeth, then glared at him. “And you’re about to go to jail!”
“Working!?!” Ryan screeched, waving his hands at her half-naked body. “Is this what you do for a living now? If it is, I sure wouldn’t be calling the cops if I were you.”
Boss Hog grunted and took a step toward him, but Ryan pinned him with a hot look. He lifted his hands and backed up, which was a damned good thing. Ryan’s hands fisted at his sides as his gaze swung back to Twyla. “How much is he paying you and what for?” he demanded, angrier and more disgusted than he’d ever been in his life. He definitely didn’t know the woman standing there dressed like a whore with half-a-pound of makeup caked on her face, the one who obviously was half of the main course on Boss Hog’s menu tonight.
“A thousand dollars, and you’re not about to make us lose that,” Heather said giving Ryan’s shoulder a push. Her other hand flew up out of her purse, but this time he was ready for it. He grabbed her wrist and shoved her hand aside, just as a stream of liquid shot out of the end. He inhaled a little of the mist and coughed, his eyes burned too, but at least he didn’t get the full brunt of the spray like he had the other night.
Ryan squeezed Heather’s wrist until her hand opened and the canister clattered to the ground. He kicked it over the edge of the balcony with his boot, then let her hand go to wipe his on his jeans. Pinning her with a glare, he grated through his teeth, “Lady, that’s the last time you’re going to spray me with that stuff, or I’ll be the one calling the cops. Now, you go do whatever you were going to do with Boss Hog here, but Twyla is staying here with me.”
“I’ll go where I damn well—” Twyla started, but Ryan shut her up with a glare.
Heather took a step back and rubbed her wrist. “He paid us both, and she agreed to go.”
“Well, she’s not going,” Ryan said flatly, then nodded at Twyla. “Give him the money back, Twyla.”
Twyla folded her arms over her barely covered breasts. A damned sports bra with pushup pads was not outerwear, but Twyla Taylor didn’t seem to know that. She was about to find out, because this crazy cowgirl and him were about to come to a meeting of the minds, even though it was obvious she’d lost hers.
“Heather has a check.”
“Then tear it up, and write her another one,” he said to Boss Hog who didn’t seem to be inclined to get in the middle of this situation. A very smart move on his part considering Ryan’s mood.
Twyla unfolded her arms, and stomped her boot. “I need that damned money, Ryan! I’m going! We’re just dancing, it’s not like we’re…um….”
“Having a threesome?” Heather supplied with a lifted brow and a smug smile for Ryan. Twyla didn’t know the term, but Heather sure did. That woman was experienced. She knew exactly what Ryan had been thinking. And that made it even worse that Twyla was staying with her, being influenced. The sly look in Heather’s cat green eyes said this woman had been there and done a lot of things in her lifetime. She could probably teach Ryan a trick or two.
Boss Hog cleared his throat, then stepped around Heather. “I’ll be in the truck. Y’all decide what you’re going to do.” He eyed Ryan warily as he sidestepped him, then his boot heels echoed as they struck the concrete on his way to the stairs.
“You going or stayin?” Heather asked Twyla.
Her eyes slid to Ryan then back to Heather. “I need the money.”
Twyla took one step toward the stairs, but Ryan grabbed her arm. Desperate and beyond angry at her, Ryan said, “I’ll pay you twice the money to stay here with me.” He had that much in his wallet and couldn’t think of a better way to spend it.
Twyla snorted, and with a challenging look said, “Since when do you have a thousand bucks in your wallet?”
“Since I won and left after my last ride to come here and save your crazy ass. I haven’t had a chance to go to the bank.”
Twyla lifted that stubborn chin of hers. The one with the little notch in the center that always made him want to lick it. Her eyebrow lifted, over her heavily made up eyes. “I don’t need saving. I’m perfectly fine…and I don’t want your money.”
“Well that’s too damned bad, sugar, because you’re getting it.” Ryan grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the door as she dug in her heels trying to stop. He twisted the knob and flung open the door. “My money is as green as his, and I’m a lot better looking. Should be easier on you fucking me than him.”
Heather laughed loudly, but Twyla fought harder, pulling against his grasp with all her might. Ryan grabbed her around the waist and dragged her inside. As he slammed the door, he heard Heather say, “Y’all have fun, I may not be home tonight,”
He rounded on Twyla, who was standing near the sofa looking like a mad, wet hen. Shoving his hand into his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet and rifled through it. He pulled out ten, crisp hundred dollar bills and tossed them on the floor at her feet. Ryan was about to teach Twyla a valuable lesson. One he hoped she remembered for a very long time.
Twyla wanted to be that kind of woman? Well, he was going to show her what that really meant. What she would have faced if she had gotten in the truck with that asshole. If she chose to live this kind of lifestyle. At least he was a safer way for her to learn that lesson. Considering his mood though, that might not be the case.
“Get naked,” he grated coldly as he flipped the locks on the door.
“I’m not getting naked,” she said indignantly, as she stomped toward the front door. I’m leaving.”
Ryan grabbed her around the waist and carried her back toward the sofa. He set her on her feet then sat on the sofa. “I paid you the thousand bucks, remember? Now you’re going to give me my money’s worth.” He took off his hat and tossed it on the side table, then unbuttoned his jeans and stroked himself. “You want to dance? Do it. For a thousand bucks, you’re going to do that naked. I want to see what I paid for.”
Twyla stood there still as a statute, her eyes as wide as saucers.
“What’s wrong, Daisy?” Ryan asked snidely, as he unzipped his jeans. “You feel cheap?” Her eyes got wider, and her lower lip trembled, but he was determined not to let it affect him.
Twyla needed this lesson, and he needed some fucking stress relief. This woman had him tied in knots for ten years. He’d just paid her a thousand bucks to work out some of those knots. “Trust me when I tell you you’re not. I’ve been here and done this many times, and you are about as expensive as I’ve ever had. Now get to it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ryan notched his chin at the bills. “Pick ‘em up—they’re yours.”
Her eyes dropped to the bills and seemed to be fixed there. “I don’t want your money, Ryan,” she said in a deflated voice.
“You wanted Boss Hog’s…you said you needed it,” he growled. “Show me how bad you need it, Twyla. Pick ‘em up, and get undressed. Earn your money. I’m getting tired of waiting.”
He knew he was being rough and cold with her, and doing it made him sick at his stomach. Treating her like the dancers he’d paid at those strip clubs he visited on the road, made him sick. But that was the only way he was going to get through to her. To treat her exactly how she was acting. His heart wasn’t in it, but his body damned sure was. The thought of having her hover over him, her heat teasing him, made his dick grow thick under his palm.
Excitement buzzed along his nerve endings as he stroked himself, waiting for her to move. Her eyes shot up to his and there was fear there now. Her face was a mask of embarrassed shock. Good, she needed to be ashamed. Maybe Twyla finally realized exactly what she’d been doing by dancing at that bar, the life she was buying into. There was no way Ryan was letting her off the hook that easily though. He wanted to make damned sure she didn’t forget this lesso
n tomorrow morning.
She gnawed her lower lip, then finally bent to gather up the money. She stuffed the bills into the pocket of her almost non-existent shorts, then stood. Spearing him with her eyes, she folded her arms over her chest, and the corner of her mouth kicked up smugly. “That should be insurance enough that I don’t tell Zack about this and get your ass kicked.”
Blackmail? Well, two could play her game. She had more to lose than he did, really. “And I’m paying you for something I could get for free if I threatened to tell your folks what you’re up to…to tell Zack,” he challenged with a lifted brow. “If I were you, sugar, I’d be thankful. I’d also get undressed and start dancing, before I change my mind and make that call.”
Twyla didn’t move, but her body tensed as she thought about it. It looked like he needed to up the ante some, and Ryan knew just what button to push. “And then there’s always Grandma Sibley. I’m sure she’d be extremely interested in what her precious granddaughter is up to here in the big city.”
Twyla gasped and her face went chalk white. “You wouldn’t…”
“Oh, yes I would. All of the above,” he said calmly, with a smug smile of his own.
Twyla wasn’t smiling now. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the button on her shorts. She shot him an angry glare as she jerked the two inch zipper to the bottom then shoved her shorts over her hips. His eyes followed the worn denim down her long legs until they reached her ankles. Slowly his gaze glided upward until he met her hurt, angry eyes. “That thong isn’t going to do you any good. Drop it.”
“I’m not taking off my panties,” she said firmly, covering her lower body with her hands.
Ryan leaned up on the sofa and shoved his hand into his pocket. When he pulled his hand out holding his cell phone, she growled and hooked her thumbs into the thin black elastic at her hips and pushed them down. Ryan couldn’t stop his eyes from locking on the soft blonde fluff at the apex of her thighs. He also couldn’t help his body going rock hard as the need to see her soft, wet center slammed into him. She stood there staring at him with accusation and hatred in her icy blue eyes. If they were laser beams he’d be frozen solid where he sat.
Swallowing hard, he tried to regulate his uneven breathing, slow his galloping heart. “Take your top off,” he instructed, cringing at the rusty quality to his voice.
“I don’t have on a bra,” she informed gruffly.
“I know that. You’re wearing it as a damned top. Take it off. I think you know what naked means, Twyla. You were halfway there before you started undressing.”
Her hands shook harder as she grabbed the band of the sports bra. She stopped and the shaking encompassed her whole body, even her lower lip trembled. “Don’t make me do this, Ryan,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.
“This is what I paid you for, Twyla. What you were willing to do for Boss Hog’s money too. There’s no difference. Now, take your damned top off!” Her eyes filled, and Ryan fought the sickness in his gut. She spun around giving him a nice view of her round ass, while she fought to get the top over her head. She finally got it and tossed it to the side.
“I can’t dance without music,” she said, and he heard the wobble in her voice.
Twyla Taylor was one of the strongest women he knew. He had never seen her cry before, and didn’t want to see it now. It would kill him to be the cause of it. Ryan didn’t want to break her, he just wanted to teach her a lesson.
“Suck it up buttercup. This is what you choose to do for money. I paid you, now act like a professional and shake your ass for me,” he said coldly as he got up from the sofa. He picked up the remote for the television. He turned it on and scrolled down until he found the country music channel, then tossed it back on the table and sat back down.
And wasn’t it just appropriate that Luke Bryan’s Country Girl was playing?
Ryan pushed the button on the remote to turn up the volume, so he didn’t have to hear her sniffling. He had to get through this, and he wouldn’t be able to if he heard her crying.
“Nice ass. Now turn around and show me your tits,” Ryan ordered, flinching at using that term with a woman he used to have the ultimate respect for. Never in his life had he ever said that to a woman, especially in that way. But Twyla needed to know this is what she could expect from paying customers if she didn’t get the hell away from here. Ryan was determined to get her out of here. If this was the only way he could make that happen, then he would do it. “Do it, Twyla,” he growled then held up the cell phone. “Or if you want to back out I have Grandma Sibley on speed dial.”
She spun around to face him, but her hands covered her breasts. Her eyes shot icy blue daggers at him, as her hips found stilted time with the music. She wasn’t dancing, she was swaying, and that just wasn’t enough. The need to see her pert little breasts, the beautiful mounds he’d fantasized about seeing for ten years, hit him in the center of the chest. This would probably be his only chance. “Move your goddamn hands, Twyla. I said I want to see your tits!” he shouted angrily, one hand squeezing his cell phone tighter, while the other stroked his cock.
Twyla whimpered, her hands fluttered down to her sides, and she closed her eyes. His eyes locked on her pink areolas in the center of perfect, handful-sized mounds. Perfect mouthful-sized mounds he corrected, as his mouth watered for a taste of her. His tongue tingled to feel the raspy roughness of the rigid berry-colored buttons at the center. She finally danced now, popping her hips, and her breasts bounced as she danced. Ryan’s heart was pounding in his chest and he fought for breath. His fucking palms burned to test the weight of those peaks, to tease her nipples until she screamed. God, he wanted to hear her scream his name. To make her come for him, so he could see her face.
That would be the ultimate turn-on, his ultimate satisfaction, but Ryan knew it wasn’t happening. This was a lesson, not a prelude to sex, he reminded himself. He had no plans to satisfy the desire clawing at his insides. But damn if that wasn’t just what he wanted to do, Zack and the Taylor family be damned. The orgasm building inside his body was like a lava flow from a dormant volcano that was long overdue due to erupt. The ultimate satisfaction would be burying himself in her tight body and finally knowing how damned sweet she was as he found his release.
Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy followed the previous song, Ryan’s balls tightened and he bit back a groan. He wondered if there was some cosmic DJ picking the music for that station, because that’s exactly what he wanted this long, tall cowgirl to do to him right then. He’d have to settle for the next best thing. “Come over here and give me a lap dance, and it better be good.”
Twyla’s movements stuttered then stopped. “I can’t do that,” she said in a raw voice. Ryan refused to look at her eyes, because he knew he’d find tears there again.
“Oh, yeah you can. I know you probably do that at the bar for tips too. You’d have done it at that party.” He finally dragged his eyes to hers. “I paid you a thousand bucks, and you’re going to give me a fucking lap dance. And it better be a good one, Twyla. The best one I’ve ever had, or I’m calling Granny.”
Ryan stood and shoved his jeans and underwear down, he toed off his boots, then stepped out of the jeans. When he stood back up, Twyla was staring at his engorged dick, gnawing her lower lip. Her chest heaved with her breaths, and her fists were curled at her sides. Ryan fisted himself then sat back on the couch. He didn’t want to see her face while she did this, and he didn’t want her to see him come. It would be too weird. And he knew he was going to come when he imagined himself sliding up into her tight, wet heat, as her hips moved over him while she danced.
He was almost there already.
“Turn around and show me your ass. Bend over when you dance like you did at the bar. I want to see your wet pussy.”
Her eyes flew to his. “Stop being vulgar! I am not doing that!” she said, her tone rising an octave with each word.
Ryan shrugged with a helluva lot more nonchalance than
he was feeling. “Won’t be anything I haven’t seen, Twyla, and you’re a pro at this remember? I could almost see the goodies at that bar in those shorts anyway.”
“I am a dancer, not a stripper or whore!” she shouted, then held out her hand. “I’m not letting you treat me this way! Give me your damned phone and I’ll call Zack and tell him!”
“Dancer, stripper, whore. Half a dozen of one or six of the other,” he replied calmly meeting her angry gaze. “I don’t think your family would like to hear that you’re doing any of them,” he challenged, and sat his phone on the sofa beside him. “What do you think?”
Her face fell, and she looked down at her hands, which were now twisting in front of her.
“You think they’d be proud of what you’re doing here, Twy?” he repeated, wanting her to admit what she was doing was wrong. “Are you proud of yourself?”
A big fat teardrop landed on her hands followed by another, then it was raining on her hands, and her body shook violently. He thought her knees might give out she was shaking so hard, so he pulled her to him and onto his lap. His arms closed around her and she buried her face in his shoulder. It wasn’t long before her tears soaked his shirt. He held her tight and rocked her, until the tremors became intermittent, then he kissed her hair. Guilt swamped him, when she whimpered. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to talk to you like that…but you needed to see.”
She sat up and dragged in a shuddering breath, then scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hands and came away with black streaks. “You are a bastard,” she ground out, then pushed off of his lap. She started to walk off toward the bathroom, but he grabbed her wrist.
