Acres, Natalie - Sex Club [Cowboy Sex 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (5 page)

“It’s called self-preservation. From the moment I saw you, I wanted you…thought of all the ways I’d soon have you.”

“I don’t know if you’re honest, cocky, or just plain stupid.”

Raising a brow, he said, “You’re my type, and that scares the hell out of me, but admitting it? You may be right. That was dumb on my part.” After a moment of silence, he added, “But I won’t apologize for what I said, just like I won’t ask for forgiveness for future actions.”

Oh God, she couldn’t deal with this right now. She wanted to kick that blasted door wide but thought twice before she tried her hand at superwoman powers again. She’d land on her ass and wouldn’t walk for days. With Tristan’s recent declaration, she might need her bottom sometime soon.

No
.
Don’t go there.

Instead of swooning at Tristan’s feet, she held her head high. With all the arrogance she could manage, she finally said, “What type of woman do you think I am, exactly?”

He massaged his jaw. After thoughtful consideration, his expression changed into a full face of mischief. “I took you for the kind of gal who’d stare right at a man’s dick when he brought his assets to your attention. You didn’t prove me wrong.”

“Assets. That’s funny,” she said, forcing a “ha, ha, ha” giggle. “Why is it that every man I’ve ever met believes his true worth is in his pants?”

Tristan winked. “Sounds like you keep Doms for company.”

“And if you have blue balls, it isn’t my fault,” she said, returning to the original reason she looked at his crotch. She wasn’t about to address the Dom reference. She knew better. They worked in a lifestyle club. Naturally, she was familiar with the scene. Why verify the obvious?

“Want to argue that point? I could unzip and show the proof, if necessary.”

“You’re bound and determined to drop those pants, aren’t ’cha?”

His tongue tapped his upper lip. “When the time is right.”

“When that moment arrives, give me a little warning. I’ll be sure to have a microscope handy so I can locate each minuscule vein and barely traceable line.”

He tossed his head back and chuckled. “You love insulting the men you find attractive.”

“Did I say I thought you were handsome?”

Leaning forward, he replied, “You didn’t have to, Ansley. It’s obvious. You’re so tense when I’m around, you practically become an ice sculpture where you stand.”

Her nerve endings danced then. A hard kiss of arousal puckered her pussy lips, and she shivered as she thought of incredible possibilities, all the ways she could enjoy herself in the chilly oversized locker.

In the limited time Ansley had known Tristan, he’d seldom uttered much more than a hello or good-bye. He’d kept to himself. He was mysterious in every way, but since his return, things had changed for both of them. She couldn’t wait to go to work and hated leaving after the final call for alcohol. He often lingered wherever she was, groping her with those deep-blue eyes, acting as if she already belonged to him in all the ways that mattered to a man.

Now, all of a sudden and at a most inconvenient time, Tristan wanted to entice her into a game of vocal foreplay. Ansley always enjoyed a provocative verbal sparring. Still, since she was raised around men like Tristan, she was aware of a possible, no, probable outcome. Bantering could lead to seduction, and hanky-panky with this man could mean an acquisition, an outright personal claiming.

Yes, she should probably run like hell. Right this second. Only…they were trapped.

She might as well settle down and enjoy Tristan’s company. They wouldn’t leave there anytime soon unless someone freed them. She should take the time to work on employee relations, become better acquainted with one of the men responsible for increasing their female customer base.

Ansley flopped down on the cardboard box located next to her handsome employee. She crossed her left leg over her right. Realizing her body language suggested she was interested, since she crossed toward him rather than away, she started to shift positions.

On second thought, no. With time to kill, why not play?

Propping an elbow on her knee and resting her breasts against her forearm—a premeditated act to enhance her cleavage for show—she rotated her foot, acting as if the motion intrigued her enough to focus on nothing else. “So you’ve served some time in here before, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Why didn’t you say something about this? The Restaurant Supply House has a repairman. I could’ve called in a request.”

“I assumed Bailey mentioned it.”
      

“Bailey leaves Post-it notes when he needs something ordered or fixed.”

“Maybe you should read them.”

“I haven’t seen one about the cooler.”

“It’s on the door.”

Ansley groaned. This was one argument she couldn’t win. Actually, she could try a little harder. Just because a memo was posted didn’t mean it was visible. “Why the hell would I look for a note? There should’ve been a service order on the equipment in need of repairs. My arms are usually loaded down when I start this way. Nine times out of ten, I can’t even see where I’m going.”

“That’s a shame. Maybe if you’d look up every now and then, you’d pay attention to what’s right in front of you.”

“Are we talking freezers and memos or men and solicitation?”

“You’re quick, aren’t ’cha?”

Apparently not fast enough. “You’re interested,” she pointed out without batting an eye. “I’m not asking.”

“I told you that much already,” Tristan reminded her.

Oh boy. Tristan became very brave behind closed doors. “Well anyway, I must’ve been thinking about something else. I didn’t see the blasted thing.”

“Let me guess. You were running through your personal checklist? Had too many other things on your mind?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stood and paced right in front of her. She wasn’t one to complain. In matters of vantage points and viewing angles, she occupied the best crate in the house.

“Go ahead. Tell me about this list, Tristan.”

“I don’t know if you could stand the scrutiny.”

“Try me,” she dared him. “I’ve yet to find a man I can’t handle.”

“I don’t need handling.”

“Hmm,” she said, staring right at his cock. “Could’ve fooled me.”

A visible twitch in his pants made her as wet as she’d been in a month of Mondays, Sundays, too, for that matter. Even her nipples hardened at the sight.

This was not good.

“Let me see if I can’t find a box to cover up the vents. It won’t warm the place, but it may help some,” he said, going to the back of the cooler.

Ansley watched him. He was exactly the kind of character she didn’t need in her life. He was the type of fellow she’d seen in action at the club. Those men were rare breeds. They could train a woman, bring her to her knees. Ansley had watched many good women fall head-down and butt-up faster than the speed of light.

Why? Well, it was simple, really. A man who could work a woman’s body better than his predecessors could almost guarantee a successor would never follow him. A Dom demonstrating confidence and interest in his sub could own his woman’s heart almost from the very beginning.

As a lifestyle-club owner, Ansley had witnessed the start of several lasting Dom-sub relationships. Prior to taking over Clink, she’d learned countless life lessons watching her friends succumb to love under a powerful Dom’s hand.

The old adage grandmothers used to tell their granddaughters about winning a man’s hand—by feeding him well—didn’t hold weight at Clink. Among lifestylers, the way to a man’s heart was through eager submission, and the way a Dom earned his sought-after trust and admiration was through a woman’s legs. If he could manipulate her pussy, he could worm his way into her heart. And that was just the way it was, at least according to Ansley. She dared a man to change her mind.

“Is that better?” he asked, trying to maneuver a couple of pieces of cardboard over the largest vent.

“Much,” she replied, not really noticing a difference.

Her heart skipped a few beats as she watched Tristan’s eyes darken as he stalked her. Thank God he couldn’t read her mind.

Realizing she did in fact melt under his inviting eyes, she tore her gaze away from his. Okay, now what? Obviously, she was interested. Her reactions frightened her.

Without meaning to, she shivered. Tristan chuckled and took a seat beside her again.

Correction—he terrified her.

Tristan had been back a week. His first stint at Clink lasted around four months. Was it time to unleash the ravenous beast within?

She was afraid so. Sure enough, this was one man Daddy Kane should’ve handled. Then again, if Daddy Kane were in the business of running off men, he would’ve gotten rid of Brock Sheldon before Trixie up and married him. Now there was a man worth his salt.

After a quiet minute, Tristan rose again. He reached above the top shelf in an effort to redirect the smaller fan vents. His biceps bulged under his T-shirt, and his firm buns? Oh heavens, her palms burned hot enough to light a stove as she thought of squeezing those tight cheeks during the throes of passion.

Apparently Brock wasn’t the only fellow worth his salt.

She reminded herself of her true feelings about her brother-in-law. Her sister’s husband was a real pain in the ass. He was sexy, but he belonged to Trixie, which made him totally off-limits. Still, she couldn’t help but think of what she once told Trixie—“One of these days, I’ll marry someone just like Brock.”

Then again, after she was old enough to pursue men like Brock, she’d spent her time screwing the daylights out of them and then running from them. Tristan wasn’t a man a woman used.

With the entire parental team out of town, maybe Brock would do the honors of running Tristan off before she fell for him. Perhaps on a favor, he’d play the big brother.

As if Tristan could be shooed away.

Psht.
She wasn’t a teenager anymore. She was a full-grown woman, a gal who knew precisely what to do with a guy like Tristan.

She observed him as he worked with the fan unit. His muscles rippled in all the right places. His shirt stretched across his chest as if the material he wore provided a second layer of skin.

Yes. She knew precisely what to do with Tristan. That was the problem.

She was a full-blown female with raging hormones and insatiable needs, desires not just any man could sate. The average guy had a hard time keeping up, which was one of the reasons Ansley refused to settle down. Then again, Tristan wasn’t average. He fit the Dom MO. If he took her to bed once, he’d ruin her for all future experiences.

Ansley’s internal conflicts caused her to zone out. When she snapped out of her gradual stupor, Tristan squatted in front of her.

He studied her face without cracking a smile. Extending his arm, he reached for her, acting as if he fully intended to touch a lock of hair. As if the mere act of feeling the texture of her curls might break down his defenses, he balled his fist and dropped his arm. “Not a hair out of place. Check. Perky boobs and cleavage pushed together to make a man think there’s more there than he’ll actually find. Check.

“Painted lips with a bit of a pucker, oh yeah, you’ve got that covered. Tight pants clinging to lean thighs and a shapely ass, something you probably carefully studied in the mirror before you marched in here today. Check again. Check times two.” A beat later, he rose to an erect position once more. “There’s my list, sweetheart.”