Read Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3) Online
Authors: Sawyer Bennett
Tags: #Romance, #steamy, #Wyoming, #Contemporary, #cowboy, #erotic
Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3)
By Sawyer Bennett
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2016 by Sawyer Bennett
Published by Big Dog Books
ISBN: 978-1-940883-43-4
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living
or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including
information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is
by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Rand
I walk through The
Silo, turning off the lights behind me as I go. Normally, this would
fall to Bridger or Cain, but neither is around tonight. Bridger
is attending a party out at the compound for the Mayhem’s
Mission motorcycle club, which translates into fucking some free
pussy unassociated with The Silo. While this is Bridger’s baby,
I get the feeling that his “duties” here wear on him
sometimes.
There are times it
seems he actually hates “servicing”
some people, but maybe I’m trying to read something into the
situation that isn’t there. Regardless, he’s not here and
neither is Cain.
He just flew back
from Tennessee today, and he’s
shacked up with Sloane. I’m sure he’s still hammering out
the necessary apologies that woman deserves from him.
Cute couple though.
I figured out of all of us dudes, he’d
be one of the last to drop given his history with Rachel, but what
the fuck do I know? I’m definitely unlucky in love, but I’m
okay if it never comes my way again. I’ve got friends, a great
job, and all the kinky fuckery I could ever imagine.
I snicker to myself,
thinking about that.
Kinky fuckery.
Some chick said that
the other night while Logan and I were both doing her, and we thought
it was hilarious. She said it was a term in one of her favorite
books, but whatever.
It totally describes
what happens within the walls of this circular building.
I make my way down
the short hallway to the exit, flipping down the switch of the sconce
lighting and pushing open the door. The air is crisp and smells
refreshing. Cleans the soul kind of good because sometimes when I
walk out of The Silo, I feel like I’m
tainted by the things I do.
But again, whatever.
I might feel dirty at times, but some of the shit I dip my wick into
also feels fucking amazing.
I pull the door
closed and ensure the lock is engaged. Security’s
become more important now than ever given that fuckwad Colton Stokes
blabbed his mouth. Of course, on one hand, you could say it was a
good thing because it brought Sloane Preston to our neck of the
woods. Not only was she a fantastic fuck, and I hope Cain lets me in
on that again, but it’s also made my buddy super happy. So
maybe Colton just deserved an ass whipping instead of the murder I’d
like to dole out to him for threatening our existence.
The parking lot is
nearly deserted, The Wicked Horse having closed about an hour ago.
The Silo is technically open twenty-four/seven for any members who
want to get debauched, but the bartenders go off duty at the same
time The Wicked Horse closes down at two AM. I’m
the last to leave after getting a last-minute cock suck from Carol,
one of the lovely purveyors of fine drinks. She toddled out not
fifteen minutes ago with a tart goodbye. I should have returned the
favor to her, but she owed me the blow job because she lost a bet
last week on the Yankees’ game. She’s a transplanted New
Yorker and I hate the Yankees, so I always bet against them, no
matter the price of the potential loss.
My eyes zero in on
my Suburban parked up near The Wicked Horse in the space closest to
the slate path that leads from the back door over to The Silo. I
click the remote entry fob and the lights flash, indicating the doors
are unlocked. I reach for the handle, pull it open, and just as I’m
about to step in, my gaze falls on a white Mercedes coupe sitting two
rows back and three spaces over. I start to turn away and then do a
double-take as I realize it’s Catherine’s car.
I know she left The
Silo probably about half an hour ago after giving everyone a show
tonight. Since her husband died last week, she’s
been at The Silo every night, indulging in every wicked sex act you
can imagine. Not that she didn’t indulge before, but for some
reason, since the old fart’s death, she seems a bit more
free-spirited in her pursuits. Maybe even doggedly determined to
outdo herself every time.
Tonight, my tongue
was hanging out of my mouth while she occupied a room all to herself
and played with a variety of electrical and mechanical toys Bridger’s
been collecting. She got right up against the glass wall and made
sure everyone could see what she was doing. I bet I watched her come
at least six times before she finally fell into a heap on the floor,
panting with sweat-soaked skin and drowsy eyes. After she collected
herself, she got dressed and sauntered out the door, waving goodbye
over her head. I was so fucking horny after that, it took no time at
all for Carol to wrench an unbelievable orgasm out of me. And
strangely… I was imagining Catherine sucking my cock at the
time, which is a bit weird.
It’s
not like there’s any mystery there. Catherine’s deep
throated me on a few occasions before, and I’ve fucked her on
even more occasions than that. Didn’t think she was really
anything different from all the other sexual encounters I’ve
had, but for some reason, it was her dark hair I imagined clenched in
my fist rather than Carol’s strawberry-blonde curls.
Perhaps Catherine
left her car here and went home with someone else. That must be it.
Just as I start to
turn my eyes back to my vehicle, I see movement within the darkness
of the interior of her car. I peer harder, willing the light from the
nearest security post to reveal the inside, and if I’m
not mistaken, the seat is leaned back and someone’s lying down,
perhaps having just turned from one side to the other.
What the hell?
I close my door and
walk quickly across the lot to her car, my head tilted in curiosity.
As I get closer, I can see better, and it is indeed Catherine lying
in the driver’s
seat reclined all the way back. She’s on her side with her
hands curled up by her face, her back to me. Those long, dark locks
are spread out over her back and shoulder.
I tap gently on the
window, knowing I’m
going to startle her but not being able to help it. She jerks
upright, looking at me with frightened eyes. When she recognizes me,
I can see her give a sigh of relief. She raises the seat up and rolls
the window down. It’s then that I notice her car is running.
“Hey,”
she says, her eyes darting around the parking lot.
“What are you
doing?” I ask, completely perplexed to find her sleeping in her
car. I know she’s not drunk because Catherine doesn’t
drink.
At all.
That’s because
she does some crazy shit in the club, and she doesn’t
want anyone to ever think it’s not of her own free will. She
owns her kinky fuckery… and owns it good. I don’t think
she does drugs, so it’s very confusing to find her here like
this.
“Um… I
just…” Her voice trails off and her gaze falls down to
her delicate fingers, which are intertwined tightly with one another.
“Catherine…
were you going to spend the night out here?”
She lets out a huff
of frustrated air. Looking back up to me with resignation in her
eyes, she admits, “Yes.”
Nothing more.
I cock an eyebrow at
her. Catherine and her late husband reside in Vegas permanently, but
he has a luxury cabin just outside of Jackson that they spent a lot
of time at since he got her a membership at The Silo.
“Is your car
broken down or something?”
She shakes her head
and looks back down at her lap.
“Then what the
fuck?” I ask, exasperated and also damn worn out from the
night’s activities. I want to get home and get some shut-eye.
Work comes early and I cannot miss it. I have to open the tattoo shop
I work for at ten in the morning, and I need the few hours of sleep I
can squeeze in.
She’s
silent and I think she may refuse to answer me, but then her small
voice reaches my ears and it stuns me. “I don’t have
anywhere else to stay.”
“What do mean?
You have a seven-thousand-square-foot home not thirty minutes away.”
She shakes her head,
that dark hair falling in a veil to hide her face. It’s
a gorgeous face, too. High cheekbones, with an exotic slant to her
liquid brown eyes. It’s a face that should be in movies or on
magazines. A face beautiful enough that it landed her a wealthy
husband on death’s door and should have left her swimming in
riches.
“Catherine,”
I prompt, pulling on the handle to her door. It’s still locked
so I reach my hand inside, find the lock, flip it, and then pull the
door open. I step in, squat down, and place my hand on her thigh.
“What’s going on?”
She pulls in a shaky
breath, lifts a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, which exposes
her face again, and then turns to look at me with bleak eyes. “He
didn’t leave me with anything. Just this car, which he had
titled in my name.”
“Excuse me?”
“Samuel left
everything to his two children. Of course, I knew he would leave them
with something. But he always promised me he’d take care of me.
I’d always have a place to live. An attorney showed up at the
Jackson house two days ago telling me that I had to vacate. I was
allowed to pack up my clothes, and that was it.”
My breath hisses out
from between my teeth, and I wish that creepy fucker was still alive
so I could pound his withered, crippled ass into the ground. That
goddamn motherfucker.
I stand straight
after giving a quick pat on her thigh. “You
can crash at my place tonight. I’ll help you figure something
out.”
“Seriously?”
she asks, her eyes wide and her lips trembling. “I mean…
we don’t really know each other.”
“I’ve
been balls deep inside you a time or two, Catherine. I think I know
you a little bit,” I say with a teasing smile.
She blushes, and
fuck…
that’s pretty. I’ve never seen Catherine blush, and she’s
done some things to make even the kinkiest of motherfuckers go red in
the face.
“Are you
sure?” she hesitantly asks.
“Positive. You
can follow me to my place.”
“I’ll be
glad to pay you,” she says earnestly. “You know…
in sex or something. I’ve only got about fifty dollars in cash
left to my name.”
My cock leaps at the
thought, because yeah…
although I’m tired, I would not say no to fucking her tonight.
But instead, I decide to be a gentleman. “You don’t owe
me anything. Let’s get you to my place so you can get a good
night’s sleep. We’ll talk about it more tomorrow and try
to figure out how to take care of you.”
She blushes again as
I put my hand on the door to close it for her. Just before I do
though, she whispers, “Thank
you, Rand. You’re a lifesaver.”
Hmmmm…
I like the sound of that.
Rand
I try to be as quiet
as possible as I creep past the couch where Catherine’s
sleeping. My tiny apartment can be walked from end to end in about
five seconds. Roughly 475 square feet of efficient living. I’ve
been renting this apartment from my buddy, Jake Gearhart. It’s
situated over the garage of his modest ranch house in the town of
Jackson, Wyoming.
It’s
nothing but a large square that has a semi private foyer/mudroom as
soon as you enter. When you round the corner, you have the kitchen
and living room to the left, and my bedroom to the right. The
bathroom sits adjacent to the foyer.