by Jade Allen
“Your client doesn’t sound all that much better than my CEO,” she said finally. Johan shrugged.
“He’s putting you up pretty well,” Johan pointed out. “He isn’t a great guy, but he’s decent enough to want you to testify because it’s the right thing to do, not because you’re being forced into it.” Johan smiled wryly. “And before you ask, no—I didn’t have orders to seduce you. You’re just too good-looking to pass up.”
“Unless I’m drugged.”
Johan snorted. “Yes, unless you’re drugged.” Chelsea pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying at it for a long moment as she considered.
“What about the other guy?” she asked. “The business partner and all that?” Johan shrugged again, standing and moving onto the couch next to her carefully.
“He’s getting put up, too,” Johan said. “It’s a don’t-ask-don’t-tell kind of situation.” Chelsea sighed.
“So, what happens after the trial?” Johan reached out and closed his hand around hers.
“You’re free to do as you want. I could probably persuade him to let you keep the house; give me the car as a bonus. If you need rehab for your injuries, obviously, that’s something he’ll cover.”
“But—I had a whole life.” Johan brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her palm delicately.
“So, you'll rebuild it, once we’re over the hump.”
“We?”
Johan grinned. “Oh, you’re not losing me until after the trial,” he said, his bright eyes warming. “And even then, you’ll have to tell me to leave.” Chelsea smiled weakly.
“Well I guess at least I won’t have to do it all alone,” she said, leaning against him as the stresses of the week—and especially the acute stress of the last several minutes—weighed on her. “I want another Vicodin. A whole one. Standing up was really dumb.”
“You have to eat first,” Johan said firmly. “And then I’ll give you a pill and get you tucked into bed.”
“You sound like my mom,” Chelsea complained. Johan brushed his lips against her ear.
“After you wake up, I will prove to you that I am nothing at all like your mom,” he promised, his voice low and slightly rough with desire.
****
“Chelsea…wake up, sleepy-head.” Chelsea turned over in bed, for a moment uncertain when she had gotten into the warm, soft sheets. She rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms, shifting and stretching—and then, as a flicker of pain crackled through her, remembered everything: eating an early dinner with Johan, taking a Vicodin, watching a little TV and dozing off. She had barely awakened when Johan had carried her into the master bedroom.
“Mm, what time is it?” Chelsea opened her eyes, blinking quickly as light flooded into them.
“Morning,” Johan said, slithering under the blankets and sheets next to her.
“I seriously slept—what? Ten hours?”
“Twelve,” Johan told her with a little grin. He wrapped his arms around her carefully, avoiding her bruised rib.
“I thought you were going to show me about—something, something, you’re not my mom.” Johan chuckled lowly, his hands beginning to wander over her body slowly.
“That is, in fact, why I’m here,” Johan said, cupping her breast in his palm. He turned her face towards his and kissed her on the lips, his tongue darting into her mouth, exploring and probing. “How’s the knee? And the ankle?” he asked, breaking away for just a moment. Chelsea shivered as Johan’s caresses teased, lingering at her breasts one moment and then drifting down to her hips, slipping between her legs to stroke her lightly.
“Better,” Chelsea said when her lips were once more free. Johan’s lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, dragging along her throat. “How—how are we going to…” Chelsea gasped as Johan’s fingers slipped and slid along her already-slick labia, rubbing slightly. She shivered, twisting her hips as Johan’s touch deepened, his fingers finding her clit unerringly.
“I’ve been giving that a lot of thought,” Johan said, his voice rough with desire. “Gave me something to…while away the time you were asleep.” Johan kissed her lightly on the lips, and slowly, carefully maneuvered himself on top of her, holding himself up as he withdrew his fingers from her soaking wet vulva. “First, I’m going to make you come,” Johan murmured, pulling Chelsea’s legs apart gently. “And then… well, you’ll see.” Johan grinned at her, and then began to trail kisses down from her lips, along the column of her throat, past her collarbones. Chelsea shivered as Johan lingered at her breasts, claiming each of her nipples in turn, licking and sucking each one. Johan’s fingers stroked just between her labia as he worshipped her breasts with lips and tongue, sending tingling jolts of pleasure through her body.
Just when Chelsea thought she couldn’t stand any more teasing, Johan continued downward, kissing and nibbling along her ribs, past her abdomen. He nuzzled her hip, nipping sharply at the sensitive skin there, and Chelsea gasped, reaching down to tangle her fingers in his hair. Johan slithered down between her legs, spreading her thighs just slightly wider, careful to support her injured knee. Chelsea moaned out as Johan buried his face against her soaking wet pussy, sucking and licking hungrily. He pulled her labia into his mouth as he flickered his tongue up and down along her folds, tasting her thoroughly.
Chelsea’s hips bucked and twisted as Johan brought his tongue up to her clit, barely swiping against the bead of nerves before moving down to the well of her pussy once more. She tugged at Johan’s hair without thinking, grabbed at his shoulder, too wrapped up in the pleasure of his mouth against her to remember where he was injured or even try to avoid it. Johan nuzzled against her, focusing his efforts on her pleasure center, and even though she tried to hold back, to savor the sensations coursing through her, Chelsea found her self-control slipping every moment, until she felt the growing knot of tension between her hips unravel, sending wave after wave of pleasure through her. Johan continued his worship even as Chelsea pitched and writhed, forgetting all about her own injuries, lost in the sensations coursing through her nervous system.
Johan began to pull back as the spasms of pleasure began to abate, lapping up her fluids more slowly and then retreating, leaving Chelsea shivering in the aftershocks for just a moment before he slithered on top of her once more. “Are you ready for more?” Johan asked her, kissing her lightly on the lips. Chelsea struggled to catch her breath, draping her arms limply around his broad shoulders.
“Not really but keep going anyway,” she said, smiling breathlessly. Johan chuckled and Chelsea felt him shifting her body around, moving above her even as he held himself up to keep from putting pressure on the parts of her body that still ached. She could feel the heat and hardness of his cock pressing against her, and even though Chelsea was still hovering in the haze of orgasm, she felt a ripple of renewed lust.
Johan carefully brought Chelsea’s injured leg up, resting her calf against his shoulder, and Chelsea bit her bottom lip, briefly uncertain; but as he thrust into her slowly, filling her up inch by inch, any worry about hurting herself evaporated. Johan rocked his hips, pushing deeper and deeper inside of her as Chelsea began to move with him. Hot and cold flashes of sensation crackled through her, and she reached out, carefully stretching to touch Johan everywhere. He held her leg on top of his shoulder, his free hand trailing over her body, stroking and caressing her, teasing her nipples one moment and then drifting down between their bodies to rub her clit the next. Chelsea arched and writhed, moaning out as the friction between them built up.
She could feel Johan’s cock twitching inside of her, feel the tension in his body as they continued to move together; Chelsea forgot even the memory of pain as more and more pleasure coursed through her, bringing her swiftly to the edge of orgasm, grabbing and clutching at Johan’s body as if for life itself. They both reached orgasm at almost the same moment—Chelsea felt her self-control give way, and then felt the first hot, sticky-slick splash of Johan’s come rushing into her
as they moaned together, crying out in pleasure.
Johan carefully fell to the bed next to her, letting her leg slide from his shoulder as he draped his arms around her. Chelsea trembled, turning onto her side to cuddle close to Johan as they both panted and gasped for breath. “Okay,” she said, smiling slightly as she looked up into his face. “You’re definitely not my mom.” Johan laughed out loud, his arms tightening around her.
“I would hope not!” Johan kissed her eagerly. “How do you feel now?” Chelsea considered the question.
“Like I want half a Vicodin, breakfast, and then some more of this.” Johan chuckled.
“I mean about your life,” he told her, tousling her hair playfully.
“Well it could be all the pleasure chemicals in my system, but I’m pretty optimistic, on the whole,” Chelsea said. “You’re not just going to leave me when this is all over, are you?” Johan shook his head.
“I told you yesterday: you’re stuck with me until you tell me to leave.” Chelsea smiled.
“What are we going to do until the trial? I mean, I can’t work…” Johan brought her face up to his and kissed her hungrily.
“Well, personally my plan is to keep you fed, keep you from getting hurt again, and regularly fuck your brains out, as long as you want to fuck me.” He nibbled along the column of her throat. “I seem to recall you having an issue with me ‘bullying you’ into fucking on my schedule.” Chelsea laughed, and clutched at her bruised rib as the movement sent a ripple of pain strong enough to cut through the haze of pleasure and painkillers.
“Okay, okay,” she said, breathing carefully. “No more complaints about that.” Johan pulled her closer, nuzzling against her neck.
“Then I think we’ll be just fine.” Johan kissed her again. “No more tantrums until you’re healed up, got it?” Chelsea nodded.
“Got it. Now when are you going to feed me?” Johan guided her hand down along his body, and she laughed, half-groaning as she realized he was starting to become hard again. “One more time. Then we eat and get some drugs in me.”
“We have nothing but time,” Johan murmured, and they began to move together once more.
****
Chelsea managed to walk into the courtroom without limping, although the high heels the attorney had insisted she should wear for her stint on the witness stand made both her knee and ankle ache. She was healing—and Johan’s client had generously covered the expenses of her physical therapy, as well as the continued visits to the doctor—but it was slow.
She was grateful to have Johan at her side; Chelsea glanced in the direction of the defense table and saw her former employer, Aaron Rosen, glaring daggers in her direction. There was no doubt in her mind that if Rosen somehow did manage to avoid conviction, he would continue to send people after her—only it would be for the pleasure of revenge rather than the desire to keep her silent. She had mentioned that possibility to Johan the night before, as she lay awake in bed, worrying about her first day of testimony. “If he gets off,” Johan had said, pulling her around and on top of him, “then I will take you with me to Sweden, and we’ll live there. He’s small time, Chelsea-baby. He doesn’t have the resources to follow you outside of the country.” The prosecutor had told her that with her testimony—and the evidence that she had provided—it was practically no contest. The trial would end, and Rosen would be convicted and spend the rest of his days serving out consecutive sentences—to which the district attorney had added murder and attempted murder.
Whatever happened, Chelsea thought as she gave Johan’s hand a brief squeeze, glancing at him for support, she knew that the man who had come into her life so unexpectedly, and who she had fought against so hard, would stand by her and support her.
THE END
Alpha Cowboy Romances
Wrangled By Two Cowboys
I was finally starting to come to terms with the fact that my long-time boyfriend left me for my former college roommate—and got engaged a mere three weeks later—but then, Bryan and Angela decided to host their Jack and Jill party at the bar I've been going to every Friday night for the last five flippin' years.
As I attempt to drown my sorrows and have a pity party with my best friend (and terrible bartender) Patrick, a delectable cowboy with eyes like hot chocolate saddles up beside me.
Damian brings me out of my awkward hell and into his world, where he introduces me to the equally gorgeous Remy. These two have been playmates since they were young, and now, these very grown men are looking for someone new to play with.
Hell, I'm game... ;)
"I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. Drop dead."
Patrick reached forward carefully and withdrew the glass from in front of Nixie, pulling out the picks she had thrown into it with each exclamation.
"Honey, it's lovely that you have reached the point of aggravation and, apparently, intoxication at which you feel free to express your emotions, but you are using up all of my little plastic swords and I need those for my sissy mixed drinks."
Nixie sighed and slumped down onto the bar, resting her head on her folded arms and squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that had been threatening them since she sat down. She actually wasn't drunk. She wished she was because it would probably help her get through the night more easily, but the drink that she filled with picks had only been her second and Patrick had confiscated it before she was able to take more than a sip.
"What's wrong with me, Patrick?" Nixie asked, lifting her head from her arms and digging her fingers back through her hair.
"Nothing's wrong with you. You have completely legit reasons to be upset right now. Your boyfriend broke up with you because he said he needed to work on himself and wasn't ready to make any major commitments and then got engaged three weeks later to your former college roommate who, incidentally, introduced the two of you in the first place, and they are having their joint bachelor-slash-bachelorette party tonight."
"Thank you for that rambling run-on sentence of a recap."
Patrick tilted his head and looked into the distance like he was going back over what he had just said.
"No, that was actually completely grammatically correct. Wordy as hell, perhaps, but grammatically correct."
There was a loud cheer from the small private room at the back of the bar and Nixie rolled her eyes, sagging back down onto the bar.
"I guess he could have been more tactful than to hold the party at the bar he knows you have gone to every single Friday night for the last five years," Patrick said, glancing over at the room and then back at Nixie, "Speaking of which, why are you still here?"
"I am showing how positive and strong I am, and that he can't get me down," she replied, not bothering to lift her head from her arms.
"Yeah," he said, sounding unconvinced, "You show them, girl." Nixie felt him pet the back of her head awkwardly, "Not that this whole situation you've got going on here isn't effective, but do you know what would really make an impact on Bryan?"
"What?"
"Dancing with someone like that delicious piece of man candy that has been eyeing you for the last hour."
Nixie raised her head to look at Patrick.
"How many times have I asked you not to use that phrase? It makes me uncomfortable." She turned around to look in the same direction as Patrick, "Damn."
"I told you. Man candy."
Nixie turned back to Patrick.
"Where the hell did he come from?" she asked, glancing back over her shoulder at the gorgeous man across the bar.
"I don't know, but he's looking at you. Maybe he's looking at me." Patrick struck what Nixie could only assume was meant to be a subtly sexy pose, held it for a few seconds, and then relaxed again, "No, definitely you."
"Great. I've had an audience for my emotional breakdown."
Patrick suddenly picked up a rag and started randomly wiping down any surface he could reach without moving from his spot.
"I don't think that's why he's been looki
ng at you. Perk up, Fancy, he's on his way over here."
"What?" Nixie half-shrieked, half-whispered, but before Patrick could respond, she felt someone step up beside her.
She glanced up and saw the man from across the bar standing close to her, gazing down at her with eyes the color of chocolate and lips that looked like they were just as sweet.
"Hi," he said and the smooth, silky rumble of his voice rolled through her like thunder.
"Hi."
"Is there anyone sitting here?"
He rested his hand on the back of the barstool beside her and Nixie shook her head.
"No."
"Can I join you?"
There was a strange yip sound from Patrick and Nixie looked over to see him suddenly extremely invested in cleaning and arranging the glasses in the ceiling racks that likely hadn't been touched in several years.
"Absolutely," she said, turning back to the man.
He settled his denim-clad body onto the barstool beside her and looked at Patrick.
"Is he ok?"
Nixie let out a long breath.
"He's fine. He's just not very good at his job."
Patrick shot her a disgusted glance over his shoulder and the man beside her laughed.
"I'm Damian," he said, extending his hand to Nixie.
"Nixie," she said, tucking her hand into his.
He didn't so much shake her hand as give it a gentle squeeze and Nixie felt a flutter in her belly.
"So, what are you doing sitting here all alone tonight?"
There was another cheer from the private room and Nixie cringed.
