Country Liquor (Sugar County Boys Book 4), Page 2
Madison Faye
I’d pulled it to the side, my eyes fixing on the slick, pink folds of her pussy. The soft little triangle of hair covering her mound. The glistening stickiness of her dream making her pussy shine in the moonlight as she breathed quietly. I’d groaned, brushing my cock head over it, just shy of sliding inside. No, for that, I wanted her awake.
This was just a taste — a taste of her for me. And a taste of my cum on her little pussy, because soon, she’d be getting more of it. Hell, soon, she’d be getting all of my hot cum.
I’d stroked my cock, pumping my fist up and down the throbbing, pulsing shaft as I’d teased her clit with my swollen head. And I’d done that until she’d whimpered in her sleep, her core tightening and more of her slick wetness trickling over my cock. I’d growled as I’d come across those lips, my hot sticky load blasting across her pussy and her panties.
I’d slid them back into place, and slowly slipped back into the night. But fuck, that was then, and this was now. I was done wasting my cum like that. I was done spilling it not inside of her.
I’d stumbled across her at the perfect time. The lawyer is coming back tomorrow. Tomorrow, I need a wife. I suppose anyone would have done. Any other woman in the world could have posed for the interview and played along for a small cut of the cash.
But no other women in the world is Winona Trace.
No, I found her that first time, and I watched, and I became obsessed — ruined for any other woman, hopelessly addicted.
I saw her, and I knew one thing: she was mine.
The money will be a nice bonus, but the real prize is already in my hands. She squeals as I climb through the woods, her perfect, tight little body writhing against me.
And now it’s time to claim my prize.
Chapter 3
Winona
I keep screaming, but I get the impression he doesn’t care. That or he knows no one can hear me. But just the same, I keep hollering, and I scream again. And again. Until finally, I pause, gasping for air.
“Get that out of your system?”
“Fuck you.”
He chuckles deeply, this rumbling sound that vibrates through my core and reminds me yet again that I’m naked. I blush, feeling both terrified and this insane, bizarre feeling of excitement.
…God there must be something wrong with me.
Or its the fact that even though he’s just stolen me, snatched me away, and is now manhandling me completely naked over his shoulder, the man doing it is gorgeous. Muscles and tattoos ripple across his back and his shoulders. His firm hands leave lingering and mortifying heat on my skin. Or that flash of his face that I saw… good lord.
Handsome, chiseled, sexy as all hell. Rough but beautiful, and totally masculine.
He stomps through the trees and up the side of the hill, up from where I’ve been camping. To me, it seems like we’re wandering aimlessly into God knows where, but something tells me he knows exactly where we’re going.
…And that sends a shiver up my spine.
Suddenly, he pushes the branches aside and steps out of the trees into a clearing. There’s a small house tucked between the trees, a little stream running past it. And there, next to that and half sunk into the steep hillside, is a barn.
“Where are w—”
The barn is camouflaged, too. My pulse jumps.
Oh God, this is it.
This is where this handsome psycho skins people alive. This is where he’s going to murder me and wear my face or something, or whatever other terrifying end horror movies have left in my head.
The stranger heads for the camouflaged, half-into-the-earth barn and kicks the door in. The inside is dark and steamy and warm, and when we step into that hazy darkness, I start screaming again. If only because I am not going down without a fight.
He hauls me across the floor and suddenly swings me off of his shoulder, sitting me down in an old metal and wood chair.
“Please!”
I lash out with a heel, catching him in the side before I scramble free, lunging for the door. Strong hands grab me before I can even make it three steps though, and I shriek as he yanks me back.
God he’s so fucking strong.
He snatches me up and plants me back in that chair, the wood and metal warm against my bare ass. He growls as he holds me out with one hand, the other reached next to him for a coil of nylon rope. My eyes go wide, and the adrenaline spikes through me as he loops the rope around my wrists, tugging them back behind my back and tying them firmly. I’m panting, looking wildly around the room and somehow unable to even speak as he ties me up tight, my whole head spinning.
He pulls my legs to one side, binding my ankles together — as opposed to apart, thank God — before tying that loop to one of the chair legs, leaving me trussed up and totally bound to the warm chair, there in his lair.
The man gives the ropes a tug before he stands and steps back, nodding like he’s approving of his own work. His eyes drag back over me, his fierce gaze leaving teasing heat in its wake. As he moves, his eyes move over my bare body. I squeeze my legs together, but there’s no hiding my bare breasts, thrust out for his eyes with my arms pulled back like this. My soft pink nipples harden under his gaze — the little traitors — puckering to points in the dark, steamy room.
“What—” I blink, my tongue darting out to wet my lips. I can hear my own pulse thundering in my ears.
“What do you want with me? Who are you? And where the hell are w—”
“Okay, stop,” he growls, shaking his head with his eyes locked on mine. “You get one question at a time.”
I hate how fucking good-looking he is. Out in the world, he’s the type of rough-around-the-edges model-type who’d turn heads at your local coffee shop, or give the yoga class something to giggle about as he walked by on his way to the treadmill.
In our current situation, that genetically perfect hotness is infuriating. It’s not fair. It’s psychological warfare is what it is.
Those piercing, ice-blue eyes lance into me, somehow making me feel like he’s tearing my clothes off with that gaze even though I’m already naked. His brown hair is wild but in that “I just fell out of bed like this” look that models and musicians spend hours perfecting for that drool-worthy tousled look. With him, it just looks like he really did just shove his finger through his hair.
His jaw is chiseled, his lips perfect, and even that fierce roughness in his look just does something to me.
I swallow, eying him.
“Where are we?”
“My place.”
He goes silent. That’s it I guess.
“Who are you?”
“The man who took you.”
I frown, gritting my teeth. But he grins, like he knows damn well he’s being infuriatingly vague. His eyes dart over my bare breasts, and I shiver, my nipples aching even harder as this fierce look flashes over his face.
“Anymore questions?”
I nod. “What— ” I almost don’t want to even ask. Like asking will seal my fate. “What do you want with me?”
He grins, hungrily. “Ahh, now we come to the real issue.” He winks. “That one’s easy.”
He moves closer, learning into me. I gasp, pulling back against the chair, but he moves so his eyes are level with mine, his lips inches from mine. He brings a hand up, and when his fingers stroke over my chin, I blush.
“I want you to be my wife.”
My jaw drops.
“Wha— what?”
“My wife,” the dark, rough kidnapping stranger purrs. “You’re gonna be it.”
I blink as he pulls away, his finger trailing over my chin before it too slips away.
“I’m sorry, what? Your wife?” I spit.
“Yep.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“You’re right, I’m not serious at all. I just yanked you out of your life, brought you up here, and tied you up naked to a chair in a windowless barn to keep things light.”
He grins.
“How do you know who I am?”
He smiles slowly. “Now that’s another easy one.” He leans close again, his lips brushing my ear, and I gasp at the teasing hint of contact. And goddamnit, my body shivers.
Not in fear.
Not in revulsion, like it should.
No, in heat.
“Because I’ve been in your tent the last two nights.”
My breath catches, and I swallow thickly, my pulse quickening.
“What?”
“Watching you sleep. Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he growls lowly. I shiver once more, and again, in heat.
…I think I’m broken.
“You— you can’t just marry people,” I hiss quietly.
“Normally, no,” he shrugs. “But this is a special circumstance.
“Special, huh?”
“Special like there’s money involved,” he mutters, shoving a hand through his thick brown hair. “Don’t think I gotta tell you how that changes things.”
“Yeah well, you can’t pay me to marry you, you fucking psychopath,” I spit back.
He grins. “See, I’m thinking I can.”
“Let me promise you, there isn’t a dollar amount in the fucking world that would make me marry a psychotic, dirty, kidnapping hillbilly like—”
“A million dollars.”
Everything goes on pause for one second, and I blink.
“What?”
“Oh, you heard me.”
“I did, but you’re lying.”
“Am I?”
I look around, at the broken down, dusty barn — pipes everywhere, with this weird oven thing burbling in the corner. The barn looks like it’s set into the hillside for a reason, as it extends back into the earth, lit with dim bulbs hanging from hooks in the rock ceiling further down. It’s like a barn that turns into a cave. Shelves line some of the far walls of the cave, covered with glass bottles.
I turn and look at his dirty jeans, his scuffed up boots, and the dirt-streaked muscles of his chest and arms.
A million dollars? Yeah, bullshit.
“Yes, you’re lying,” I hiss back. “You don’t have a million dollars.”
“Yet,” he growls. “I don’t yet. Tomorrow, you’re going to help with that though.”
“The hell I am.”
He chuckles darkly. “You gonna pretend you weren’t thrilled to have a man pick you up and carry you off like that?”
“Are you demented?”
“Slightly. But you didn’t answer the question.”
I glare at him. “I was most certainly not. And I have a boyfriend you know,” I hiss.
“No you don’t. I’ve checked. You’re single as can be.”
My eyes narrow, something twisting inside of me.
“You’ve checked. What the fuck is that supposed to—”
“Who left who by the way?”
My lips purse shut, my eyes narrowing at him as something shivers up my back.
“He did, for another girl.”
My stranger’s smile drops, and a shadow crosses is eyes.
“Well that makes him a fucking idiot.”
“Gee, thanks for the sympathy. Now cut me loose.”
“Nah,” he grins. “No can do. I need you to promise first.”
“I am not going to marry—”
“A million bucks, darlin'’,” he drawls, shaking his head with his eyes never leaving mine.
“And you really expect me to believe that shit?”
He chuckles. “You got a mouth on you, you know.”
“I’ve been told.”
He grins, his piercing eyes dragging over me again as his jaw tightens.
“Fine. Here’s the deal. I’ve got an inheritance coming my way. A sizable one. But to get it, I need to be married and on my way to having a family.”
I bark out a laugh. “Yeah, kidnapping girls and dragging them into the woods to your little Dexter hideout here is a great way to get them to marry you.”
He smirks, folding his muscled arms over his bare, chiseled chest. I swallow.
“I’m not about to drop to my fucking knee and propose, sweetheart,” he mutters. “I just need you to pretend. Play the part for the damn lawyer tomorrow, and you walk with a million dollars. Period.”
I purse my lips, my bare, exposed skin prickling and buzzing under his fierce gaze.
“It’s not a hard choice, darlin’,” he mutters. “You meet this lawyer tomorrow, you smile and tell him that you can’t wait to have kids with me—”
I laugh a cold, brittle laugh, and he glares at me.
“You smile, you lie, and you walk with more money than you’ve ever seen before. I don’t think that’s a hard choice. There’s no catch.”
“Aside from you having just kidnapped me.”
He shrugs, but doesn’t say anything.
“Or aside from you sneaking into my tent?”
“Had to figure out who you were, and if you’d fit the part.” He shrugs, raking his fingers over that chiseled jaw. “Look, have I hurt you? Tortured you?”
“You tied me up.”
“You would’ve run.”
“No shit.”
He just shrugs again. I swallow, letting his words seep in — letting them mull around in my head.
“What’ve you even got to lose?”
I want to scream at him, and yell out exactly what I’ve got to lose. Except, embarrassingly, I’m coming up short. I mean shit, what do I have to lose? I’ve got no job, no significant other, a nonexistent social circle thanks to both of those things, and a dwindling bank account. I cringe, thinking of my last run-in with my disgusting landlord, who also happened to open a seedy strip club not far from my crappy apartment back in Atlanta. A seedy strip club he gleefully offered me a job at “to help with my money problems” as he’d glued his eyes to my tits.
I wrinkle my nose at the memory, and at that being my fate if I can’t come up with something soon.
…A million dollars. It’s too good to be true, but then, he’s right. What do I have to lose? If he was going to murder me, something tells me he’d have done so already, or at least started the process if he’s the “doing it slow” type of psychopath. And that’s just it too — he might be rough, and a little scary, and dangerous looking, but he doesn’t seem like he’s actually touched or insane. Maybe a little crazy, but not dangerous-crazy.
And slowly, maybe because I really am crazy, I open my mouth.
“Fine.”
I almost can’t believe I’m saying it, but I am.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
The beautiful psychopath grins. “Good.”
He leans closer, those eyes flickering over mine, and those perfect lips of his looking like sex as they form words.
“Now kiss me.”
I blink, my pulse jumping as my eyes go wide. “Um, no?” I croak out.
“Tomorrow has to look real, darlin. You’re not just going to say lines, you need to convince this lawyer that we’re really a couple.”
“I am not kissing you,” I huff, trying to hide the flush on my face at the thought of giving in to this beast of a man. “You smell like a distillery.”
He grins. “Darlin’, we’re in a distillery.”
I blink, frowning as I turn to take in the big barn and the cave behind it with the shelves of glass bottles. The pipes running the length of the ceiling, the weird glass tubes and beakers. The little metal oven thing over to one corner.
“Well I don’t know what this shit is!”
“Well, that’s what it is. This is a still, for moonshine.” He smirks. “You want some?
I make a face as he turns and walks over to a shelf, grabbing a mason jar of clear-ish, slightly brown liquid before strolling back over to me. “Is it poisonous?”
“Probably a little.”
He winks as he unscrews the cap, brings the jar to his lips, and takes a swig. He mak
es a hooting sound as he drinks, shaking his head as he pulls the jar away.
“Damn,” he whistles before dragging those eyes back to me. “Here.”
“No fucking way.”
He chuckles. “Suit yourself.” He takes another slug.
“Is this your plan, creep? To get me drunk?”
“For what exactly?” He grins. “So that I can kidnap you?” The man winks. “Too late. Didn’t need you drunk for that.”
“You have serious issues.”
“I know.” He smiles. “But one of them gets solved tomorrow. And if you play nice, you get a big chunk of it too.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You’re gonna wanna play nice.”
I purse my lips, our eyes locked as something fiery blazes between them. Slowly, I take a deep breath.
“Can you untie me?”
“No.”
I glare at him, and he shrugs.
“I’m not convinced you’re not going to try and make a run for it. You know, pull some heroics or something and whack me over the head.”
“You’re like twice my size.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
He winks, and my face goes bright red.
“You seriously think I’m going to overpower you and run?”
“I think I’m not chancing my inheritance on whether or not you try.”
I groan, gritting my teeth. “Well do I have to be naked?”
“No, but I’d prefer it.”
He chuckles as my face goes bright red. And dammit if that teasing heat doesn’t tingle through my body again.
“When is this stupid lawyer coming?”
“Tomorrow.”
“And you’re going to keep my tied up naked to a chair until then?”
“It certainly sounds like my idea of a good night.”
I glare at him again, and he winks. And goddamnit, I can feel my body reacting to it, as I shiver heatedly, and squeeze my legs together.
“You want that drink now?”
I groan, hanging my head. “Fine.”
He grins. “This batch tastes like cherries. You’re gonna love it.”
“Just give me a drink, hillbilly.”
Something flashes over his face, but then he rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Oh, at your service, uptight city brat. And my name is Silas, not hillbilly.”
