Wicked Lust (The Wicked Horse #2), Page 4

  “To clean your hand, of course,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Of course,” I murmur, turning in the cab to face him with the little play allowed in the seatbelt. “I’m Sloane, by the way. Sloane Meyers.”

  I’m proud of myself that I don’t even stumble over my fake last name.

  “Cain Bonham,” he offers, and then says, “But I think I might just call you Right Hook.”

  I laugh and turn back in my seat, giving my hand a tiny shake. I can’t see what it looks like due to the lack of light, but it throbs like a bitch. However, I’m not about to let that interfere with my plans tonight. When I decided I needed something to get Cain’s attention outside of flirty looks or a direct come-on, which wouldn’t distinguish me at all, it’s like God sent that drunken leech to hit on me. I didn’t even really have a plan, just knew a spectacle would get Cain’s attention, and I struck hard and fast.

  I figured it would get me thrown out of the bar, which I hoped would lead to some conversation with him, but never in my wildest dreams did I think he’d take me home.

  And tell me he was going to take a shower with me.

  I press my legs together as a different sort of throb starts to beat a bit further south than my hand. I have no clue if this half-baked plan to get in good with Cain will do anything for my story that I’m not even sure is a story, but I know one thing… tonight will be damn good regardless.

  “You didn’t seem surprised by my offer of a shower together,” Cain says in an off-handed manner.

  I could play this a hundred different ways. Most women in my position would want to solidify their status with a man such as this—do something that would stick in his memory for a long time. The best way to accomplish that at this given moment would be to take off my seat belt, crawl across the expanse of the cab, and undo his jeans. A hand job or blow job would be memorable, no doubt.

  But I have a feeling it wouldn’t surprise Cain Bonham, nor would it be out of the ordinary to a man such as this. The guy who did Jasmine an apparently amazing favor by fucking her in the parking lot between beers. A man who is potentially embroiled deep within a fantasy sex club has probably seen and done it all.

  It’s at this moment that, even as adventurous as I am in bed, I realize I might be out of my sexual element. There’s probably not anything I can do to cause this man’s eyebrows to raise and say, “Hey… this girl right here… she’s special.”

  So I simply answer, “Well, there’s an attraction there for sure. I’m personally glad we aren’t wasting time on lame come-ons and you buying me cheap beers to get me drunk. I’d like to remember this night, personally.”

  Cain gives a husky laugh of appreciation and promises, “Oh, you’ll remember tonight. I promise you that.”

  The throb between my legs gets insistently stronger, and I press them tighter together.

  The minute I pull my key from the lock and step into my tiny apartment, I’m immediately filled with broiling tension. Do I just strip out of my clothes and head to the shower? Or will he pounce on me?

  “Got anything to drink?” Cain says from behind me as he shuts the door.

  When I turn to face him, I find he’s turning the deadbolt and closing the short set of blinds over the glass panes in the door. Locking us in and away from prying eyes.

  A tiny shudder runs through me.

  “Maybe some whiskey?” he asks, and I blink at him. When he notices confusion on my face, he gives a chuckle and steps toward me, tapping his index finger on my nose. “Did you think I was going to fuck you the minute we walked in?”

  “The thought had crossed my mind,” I mutter as I turn away and head to a cabinet above the sink. I pull down a fifth of Jack Daniels, because I’m a Tennessee girl after all.

  “Need your first aid supplies too,” Cain says. “Might as well get that taken care of sooner rather than later. That dude you punched looked like he could have rabies or something.”

  “That’s all in the bathroom,” I tell him by way of explanation as I set the bottle and two shot glasses on the kitchen table and turn toward my short hallway. I hear the scrape of a chair indicating Cain must be pulling it out to sit in and I imagine he’s twisting the bottle open as I step into the bathroom.

  After I turn on the light, I immediately look down at my hand. I must have projected my middle knuckle in the punch because it’s slightly swollen. There’s also a tear in the skin. It’s the only open wound and didn’t bleed that much; just a welled-up, large drop of blood that ran in between my middle and index finger before it started to clot.

  As I reach toward the mirrored medicine cabinet above the sink, I catch my own gaze in the mirror. I study myself for a moment, noting the hint of determination in my eyes and the tiny flush to my cheeks that is indicative of my excitement.

  Am I really going to do this? Am I really going to sleep with a man to try to gain a foothold on a story?

  My blue eyes blink back at me without a clear-cut answer.

  I mean, it’s clear that I am going to sleep with him. I was attracted to him in that way long before I ever considered him a pathway to my end goal. But am I really going to use that intimacy to further my own agenda? Do I care if he gets hurt in the process?

  I stare back at myself, and I know I don’t have any answers to those questions. Shaking my head, I open the cabinet. After grabbing some peroxide and Band-Aids, I head back out to the kitchen.

  I find Cain leaning back in the chair with his hands folded and lying right over his belt buckle. It’s not a country-western type belt, but a plain, thick black one with an unadorned and unremarkable buckle. He does indeed wear black biker boots. On the table is a roll of paper towels he took from the holder over the sink, presumably to clean my hand. I can’t imagine anything kinky we could do with that.

  My eyes flick to the bottle, which remains unopened. “Thought you wanted a drink?”

  “Lot of things I want.” His voice is rich, low… rumbling. I feel it in my gut. “But there’s a proper order to things.”

  “Let me guess,” I say with a smirk as I pull the chair out adjacent to his, turn it to face him, and sit. “Fix my hand first?”

  “Exactly,” he says with a wink and takes my hand, pulling it toward him to inspect. He turns my hand before prodding at the swollen middle knuckle. “Hurt?”

  “A little,” I tell him with a shrug.

  “Can you move it?” He holds his hand, palm up, and spread wide under me to cradle my hand.

  I give him an answer by curling and stretching my fingers. “All good.”

  He nods and then silently cleans my hand. Peroxide, a good wiping and drying, and then a Band-Aid over the middle knuckle. I’m silent as I watch him and when the wrist on his right hand turns, I see all four of his knuckles are scraped open.

  “What happened to your hand?” I grab it just as he finishes pressing the Band-Aid onto my skin. I turn his hand palm down, lightly running my index finger over his knuckles, which are already scabbed over with tiny cuts.

  “I might have a right hook of my own that got used today,” he says with a mischievous grin as he takes his hand away. He reaches over, grabs the bottle of Jack, and twists the cap. I watch as he pours two shots, and then he slides one my way. “Now, let’s have a drink.”

  “What are we drinking to?” I ask curiously as I pick up the glass and hold it out.

  “How about right hooks?” he says with a laugh as he taps his glass to mine.

  “To right hooks,” I agree and shoot the whiskey back. As expected, it burns and then settles into a nice, warm glow inside my belly. It also helps to settle my nerves a little.

  “You know,” Cain says as he sits his glass down and picks the bottle back up. He pours another shot for himself. I hold my glass out, and he refills it. “You’re a conundrum.”

  Tilting my head to the side, I ask, “How so?”

  Setting the bottle down, he picks his shot up, waving it in a circle toward me. “You’
ve got this whole innocently shy and sweet-looking package going on. Like you should be sitting at an afternoon tea dreaming of white picket fences and discussing some romance novel with like-minded friends. But now I’m not so sure… you turn around and beat the shit out of some guy for humping up against you.”

  “And that bothers you, I’m guessing.” I slug back the second shot as I await his reaction, setting the glass on the table.

  His brow furrows, and he scratches at his chin thoughtfully with his free hand. “I’m just not normally attracted to your type.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Your chances of getting laid are dwindling.”

  Cain gives a bark of a laugh before shooting down his second whiskey. He sets the glass down on the table, and I’m startled when his hands jet out to latch onto my wrists. With a sharp tug, I’m pulled from my seat and straight toward him. Sitting forward in his own chair, he releases my wrists only to bring his hands to the backs of my legs, just underneath my ass, and he’s hauling me up onto his lap. My green, flowered skirt is made with mostly spandex and just a touch of cotton so it expands to capacity before sliding up my legs.

  Cain flicks a glance down. I know from that angle and how high my skirt has pulled upward that he can see my panties. Of course, I knew this was my potential goal, so I dressed appropriately in a sexy, black G-string, thankful I had my Brazilian wax done just last week.

  He readjusts my weight, slides his hands up to my bare ass under my skirt, and presses his fingers into the muscles. My hands come to his shoulders for balance, and I look down at him.

  When his gaze rises back up to meet mine, his eyes are glittering with challenge. “I didn’t say I wasn’t attracted to you. Just that I’m not normally attracted to your type.”

  “You don’t even know what my type is,” I assert, leveling my stare back at him with defiance.

  “Only one way to find out,” he says, and my pulse skitters out of control.

  Leaning forward, my fingers digging into his shoulders for balance, I place my lips near his ear. Throwing down the gauntlet, I whisper, “Bring it.”

  He lets out a gust of air that I can feel brush my face as I pull back to look down at him. I expect to see lust, because I certainly started feeling him get hard underneath me as I sat on his lap. And that’s there, for sure, but I also see something that sets me on edge… in a sexy way. His eyes are calculating… as if he’s going to test me.

  “Let’s see,” he ruminates as his fingers stroke the skin of my butt. “Shy or bold?”

  “I’m bold,” I say automatically, because I know it was a direct question. And I’m prepared to prove it by pulling his jeans down, climbing aboard, and hopefully rocking his world.

  God, I want to rock his world. He’s so damn confident and suave about all of this. I think most guys would have pounced on a willing girl the minute we walked in, but he doesn’t mind building slow, playing cat and mouse, making me work for it. It makes me assume that whatever he’s making me work for is going to be well worth it.

  “We’ll see,” he says with a smirk as he picks me up and sets me back on my feet before him. When he releases me, his hand goes to adjust the hard-on in his pants a bit to the left of his zipper. “Now, if I told you to sit back down in that chair, put your hand down your panties, and get yourself off while I watched, would you have any hesitation in doing it?”

  He studies me carefully, awaiting my reaction. His eyes even flick to my cheeks to see if I’ll blush.

  I don’t, although my pulse goes incrementally faster over his dirty talk. “No hesitation,” I say as I tilt my chin up proudly, actually surprised I didn’t flush from just the mere thought of it. “Sounds kind of hot, actually.”

  Cain’s lips curve upward, and he gives me an appreciative stare. He nods his head toward the hallway and reaches for the bottle of Jack. “Good. Go into your room. Get naked and lay on your bed. I’m going to have one more drink, and while I’m doing that, I want you to play with yourself. Make yourself good and wet for me.”

  I’m not going to lie. I’m completely stunned for just a moment. Not that he’s asking me to do anything that weird. I totally masturbated in front of a former boyfriend before, and I know he thought it was hot. I’m just surprised he wants me to do that while he sits out here having another shot of Jack.

  And then it hits me. He’s in control right now, and he’s seeing how I’ll react to it. He’s also still trying to see if he can shock me—still trying to gauge what type of woman I am, because honestly… he’s still just as confused as ever.

  And that makes me feel powerful. It also makes my desire for this man increase tenfold to where I feel as if I might combust if he doesn’t hurry up and do something to me.

  But I hold my shit together, because I need to prove I am not so innocent and sheltered that I can’t take what he has to dole out.

  I give Cain a wink. “Better not take too long. I have some really great toys that get the job done pretty fast. Hate for you to miss out.”

  I am now the one carefully studying him. It’s barely perceptible, but I see it… a hard swallow as he considers what I just said. His gaze drops from mine to the bottle of Jack that he picks up, and he murmurs, “I’ll be along sooner rather than later then. Don’t let the train leave the station without me… and that’s an order.”

  Spinning on my booted heel, I head toward the bedroom, unbuttoning the denim top. I give him a sultry laugh and call back over my shoulder, “Sorry, babe. But God gifted us women with the ability to have multiple orgasms, and I’m not about to waste that gift.”

  Chapter 5

  Cain

  I pour a shot, down it quickly, and then pour another.

  My hand goes down to rub at my aching dick, which started actually hurting the minute she mentioned toys. If you had asked me not ten minutes ago if it were possible this sweet-looking girl had sex toys in this apartment¸ I would have said no way. I would have put money on her being a missionary-type of girl who considered getting fucked from behind the height of sinfulness.

  But she’s thrown me a few surprises tonight, and I find that it makes me even more curious about her. Makes me want to fuck her longer and harder too, and I’m glad I made the decision to come to her apartment. I’m quite sure I could have gotten both of us off nicely in the back storage room at The Wicked Horse or maybe in my truck, but now I get the distinct impression I’m going to need all night to try to peel the layers away from this girl.

  Ordinarily, I wouldn’t care two shits about what lays beneath the pretty exterior, but I can’t help the pull she seems to have. Maybe I’m just getting tired of the same ol’ pussy… women spreading their legs for the sake of spreading. Maybe I’m getting… bored?

  Shaking my head, I give a laugh and down the glass of Jack.

  Bored with pussy?

  Yeah, never going to happen.

  But I am greatly intrigued by hers.

  As if to add another aching punch to my nuts, I hear a tiny moan come out of the bedroom and realize she’s already gotten started. Hell, I figured it would take her several minutes to get “freshened up”. Figured she’d touch up her makeup, fluff her hair, put on something sexy.

  Stand in front of the mirror and give herself a pep talk that she could do this… masturbate in front of a man.

  But in just under thirty seconds, she’s already started and well on her way to a multiple, and I definitely like that she wants to achieve that tonight. I have no problems helping her along the way.

  I quickly pull my boots and socks off, leaving them lying underneath the kitchen chair with the socks folded within. Old habits from living in the Marine barracks, I guess. As I walk down the hallway, I undo my belt buckle and start to pull it free of the loops.

  When I enter the room, I freeze in place, my belt halfway off, and just stare at the vision in front of me. I didn’t think it was possible, but my cock swells further… so much so it feels like it’s going to burst out of my pants. I can
feel the distinct pulse of blood thumping in that large vein that runs on the underside.

  Sloane is lying on her bed, which is neatly made with a quilted light blue blanket. She’s completely naked, her clothes strewn across the floor with that tiny, black G-string laying on the corner of her bed. Because her hair isn’t overly long, really just past her jawline, it fans out in almost a halo-like affect around her head in big, barrel waves. Or rather like the rays of the sun.

  I’m stunned to find her overhead light on. Figured she’d go with some mood lighting with a table lamp, but under the harsh glare of the three bulbs in a rickety old ceiling fan fixture above, I can actually see that she wears very little makeup. Porcelain skin that is clear and makes her blue eyes pop. I think they might be ringed with a little mascara, but nothing else. Her cheeks are a little rosy, but I’m thinking that might be from the fact she has a vibrator between her legs. And yes… that makeup-free face and shorter, sassier hair is what helped lend to that overall sweet and innocent vibe I was getting.

  My eyes drag down her body—fantastic tits by the way—and I see her swirling a small, pink bullet between her legs. My eyes glide slowly up again, and I find her staring at me with her lids half shut and a sexy smirk on her lips. She has her free arm laying casually above her head on the pillows, one leg straight and the other bent at a slight angle. I notice pale, pink polish on her toes.

  Sweet innocence with a vibrator between her legs and putting on a show for me.

  Fucking amazing.

  Sloane gives a breathy moan—must have hit something good, I’m thinking—and her hips give a tiny punch off the bed. This spurs me into action. Whipping my belt free of the remaining loops, I toss it on the end of the bed. I quickly pull my t-shirt off, dropping it to the floor and unsnap the button of my jeans. The entire time, Sloane watches me through those heavy-lidded eyes while she circles the bullet around and around her clit. Her moans are soft, breathy, and because her movements are slow, I can tell she didn’t want a quick climax, but was content to just get wet as I instructed her to do.