Let's think about all the reasons why.
I have a wonderful man who loves me and thinks I'm perfect, warts and all.
I have a family now... a father, a stepmother, a brother, and a sister.
I live in a beautiful place and have real friends.
I have money... lots and lots of money, thanks to Richard transferring the five million dollars to me even though the estate hasn't been settled. He feels absolutely terrible about what Kevin did and is bending over backward to make things right for me.
What Kevin did...
I jerk upright, pressing my hands into Rand's chest and looking down at him. "Kevin," I practically squeal. "I forgot to tell you about Kevin."
"He was arrested day before yesterday," Rand says blandly as his hands go to my butt where they start kneading into my muscles.
"How did you hear that?" I ask, although I can guess.
"Bridger told me," he says, his fingers inching inward... sliding along the crack of my ass and then downward.
I reach back and push his hands away because he's too damn distracting. "So you know all about them arresting my attacker?"
"Yup," he says with a grin. "It's a small town. You hear things."
Small town, my ass. I'm sure Bridger told him what happened, which was essentially that someone from Mayhem's Mission tipped the police toward Jim March, who was my suspected attacker. He fit the description, including the teardrop tattoo, which was apparently the key to identifying him. The police picked him up and grilled him hard with their suspicions he'd been hired to kill me.
The guy wasn't totally stupid because he hired a lawyer, who then turned around and helped him cut a deal with the DA's office. He rolled on Kevin and provided key details to prove he was hired by him. The next day a warrant was issued for Kevin's arrest and sent to the Vegas police. He was in custody within a few hours and will be extradited back to Wyoming within the next few days.
"It's finally over," Rand says quietly, his arms now coming up to wrap around my lower back.
"Or a wiser person would say it's really just beginning," I counter with a grin.
"Who are you and what have you done with the pessimist formerly known as Cat Lyons?" he chuckles.
I snicker before leaning my face down to kiss him. "Well, she found a guy who's pretty amazing and who taught her to see the good in herself."
"Oh, yeah?" he asks slyly. "Tell me more about this dude."
"Well, he's incredibly hot, fantastic in bed, and he happens to be one of the kindest, wisest, and most caring people Cat Lyons has ever met. He made her sort of look at life from a new perspective."
"She should totally give him a blow job for that," Rand says to me earnestly. "He so deserves that, don't you think?"
I laugh, kiss him again on his lips, and say, "Yes... he totally deserves it."
I push against his chest so that I start to slide down his body. His arms loosen to allow my descent, and I can feel his cock start to twitch against me as my breasts drag down his abdomen.
"Hey," Rand whispers, and I halt... looking up at him.
He brings a hand to my face, pushes my hair behind my ear, and says, "I love you. I mean, I really, really love you, and I cannot wait to show you how fantastic that can be."
I smile, bending forward to kiss his chest before looking back up at him. "I already know how fantastic it is. And I love you too."
"That's my girl," he murmurs before his hands go to my head and he gently pushes on me to get moving again.
Epilogue
Logan
I think this woman may be the death of me.
A dire prediction, but probably true.
Probably true because she's not mine to have and I'd probably take her, even at the risk to my own safety.
I'm fixated on her... obsessed really. That black-as-midnight hair and huge, blue eyes the color of the Wyoming sky. Her skin pale... almost translucent. She looks otherworldly, in fact, and it's no secret that every man in The Silo is obsessed with her as much as I am.
I have to have her, and maybe tonight will be the night. My dick is already hard and aching with the thought, and if I'm given the pleasure of her company, my cock won't even get to touch her pussy, which I'm betting is sweeter than honey. I try to look nonchalant as her "owner" walks around The Silo, chatting up the various patrons and deciding who gets to play with her tonight. He's passed me by on four other occasions. I expect tonight won't be any different because he knows I don't have the type of bank he'll be asking for when he ultimately auctions her off. So many men slobbering to get a taste of her and only one sweet, virginal girl to go around.
That's right.
She's a virgin.
Twenty years old and looking like a porcelain china doll that would break if not handled carefully. But I also know she's stronger than she looks as I've watched her take a mouth fucking like a champ.
She's a contradiction.
She's most likely my downfall.
Like I said, she'll probably be the death of me, but it's a risk I'm willing to take.
WICKED RIDE
(The Wicked Horse Series)
By
Sawyer Bennett
Prologue
Logan
I think this woman may be the death of me.
A dire prediction, but probably true.
Probably true because she's not mine to have and I'd probably take her, even at the risk to my own safety.
I'm fixated on her... obsessed really. That black-as-midnight hair and huge, blue eyes the color of the Wyoming sky. Her skin pale... almost translucent. She looks otherworldly, in fact, and it's no secret that every man in The Silo is obsessed with her as much as I am.
I have to have her, and maybe tonight will be the night. My dick is already hard and aching with the thought, and if I'm given the pleasure of her company, my cock won't even get to touch her pussy, which I'm betting is sweeter than honey. I try to look nonchalant as her "owner" walks around The Silo, chatting up the various patrons and deciding who gets to play with her tonight. He's passed me by on three other occasions. I expect tonight won't be any different because he knows I don't have the type of bank he'll be asking for when he ultimately auctions her off. So many men slobbering to get a taste of her, but only one sweet, virginal girl to go around.
That's right.
She's a virgin.
Twenty years old and looks like a porcelain china doll that would break if not carefully handled. But I also know she's stronger than she looks as I've watched her take a mouth fucking like a champ.
She's a contradiction.
She's most likely my downfall.
Like I said, she'll probably be the death of me, but it's a risk I'm willing to take.
Chapter 1
Logan
I'm in the viewing room again. Three rows of seats, stadium style. I'm in the front row, so I have a completely unobstructed view of what's going on fifteen feet down below us. I've been here before and it's all familiar to me, but not in a way that provides comfort.
But it's familiar in a way that I know I have to see this nightmare through to the end, even if I'm not sure exactly where it's going.
While the lights in the viewing room are bright and astringent to my eyes, the room below is dark and shadowy with only the center being visible because of the round surgical lamps surrounding the operating table. And I know it's an operating table below because I can hear the soft whoosh of a respirator and the faint beeping of the EKG monitor, but mostly because several doctors and nurses clad in scrubs and face masks congregate around it. There are so many of them that they stand with their shoulders pressed against one another, forming a tight ring around the table as they do their work. The circle of medical professionals is so tightly formed that I can't even see who is on the table.
I lean forward in my chair, getting closer to the clear glass. My eyes narrow and I lean left and right in my seat, trying to get a better look. Trying to see past the surge
ons and nurses.
Trying to get just a tiny peek of who is lying on that table.
Maybe if one of them would just move a tiny bit, I could see.
It's so frustrating, and I'm wondering if I'm the only one in this room having a hard time trying to see what's going on down below. The seats are filled to capacity, this I know, but I'm not sure who all is here with me.
I turn my head to the right, see a row of people, but their faces are all blurred and indistinguishable.
To the left, it's the same, but no one is leaning forward the way I am. By their body language alone, none of them appears to be distressed that they can't see who's on the table.
I slide my gaze back down to the surgical room below, my nerves tingling with an awareness that I just can't quite put my finger on. The doctors and nurses work, murmuring words I can't understand.
Then it happens... the doctor at the very end of the table at the patient's feet shifts slightly, and then straightens until his spine is perpendicular to the floor. His head slowly turns, lifts, and his eyes come right to me. I can't see any of his face below said eyes as it's covered by his mask, but I don't need to see what's under that thin, protective covering to know that his lips are flattened in a disappointed grimace.
His eyebrows slant inward and his eyes narrow; I feel the icy disgust permeate every molecule of my being.
Then he moves again... this time turning his body to the right, which creates a slight opening at the end of the table. His gaze is so hostile now that it's not a chore for me to tear mine away, and I cut it to the operating table.
It's a small body on the table, covered in a white sheet, the feet not even reaching to the end. One by one, each of the doctors and nurses step away from the table, creating more space for me to observe what's really going on.
My gaze drifts up the small body that I inherently know is female, covered all the way up to the chest. I first notice the long, dark hair spilled out from under her head, but I can't see her face as it's covered with a large mask attached to the respirator.
I'm so frustrated, not being able to quite recognize who it is.
Then a nurse reaches a hand outward to the patient, puts it on the mask, and slowly pulls it away.
My heart rate speeds up with anticipation... dread... near hysteria. I want to look away, but I can't.
I won't let myself.
Then I see who it is just as the respirator goes quiet and a long, steady beep emits from the EKG machine.
And I scream, and scream, and scream.
I shoot straight up in the bed, my abs clenched tight from the move, but then my stomach turns to liquid as I come awake. My mouth is wide open, but no sound is coming out. I'm soaked with sweat, trickles running down my temples and down the middle of my bare chest.
My lungs are rapidly expanding and deflating, yet it doesn't feel like any oxygen is getting in. I swing my legs to the side of the small mattress, the box spring underneath squeaking, and I place my feet on the floor, slightly spreading my legs. Leaning forward, I dip my head down in between my knees as wave after wave of nausea rolls through me. I suck in deep breaths of air, mentally telling myself it's just a nightmare.
But I'm awake and cognizant enough to know it's not.
Images flash through my head of the little girl on the operating room table. The vague smell of antiseptic remains in my nostrils so vividly, my eyes water in response.
I swallow hard against the vomit threatening to rise up my throat and fling myself back on the bed. Shutting my eyes tight, I conjure up the most pornographic images I can think of to try to redirect my thoughts. I've tried deep breathing, meditation, prescription drugs, illegal drugs, and alcohol. I've tried it all before, but nothing wipes my mind clear of the nightmare quite like refocusing my attention to something that is almost antithetical to the pain that particular dream produces.
So I choose to focus my mind on the extreme pleasures of perversion to wipe out the raw desolation of my sorrow.
It always works.
At least, it has for the past year I've been a member at The Silo. As long as it continues to be my mental Novocain, I'll continue to submerge myself into a cloud of sexual haze to keep the insanity at bay.
I think about last night and the amazing sex I had with Rand and Cat.
So fucking hot.
Tiny, frail body under a sheet.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I remember what it was like to kiss Rand... feel his roughened hands on my cock while Cat fingered herself. I call up the memory of Cat commanding me to fuck Rand and the shiver it sent up my spine, knowing that watching two guys get it on was making her hot.
Long, steady beep from the EKG machine. She's flatlined.
I squeeze my eyes shut harder, forcing myself to recall the image of when I pressed my lube-slicked dick to Rand's pucker and the way it felt when the head popped through that tight ring. As I slide my hand down my stomach, in between my legs, I almost beg my cock to get hard from the memory, but it doesn't.
It refuses and that worries me, because I know from having this nightmare many times, I can usually chase away the dredges of horror by jacking myself off to any number of memories I have stored up from my sexual escapades over the past year. I'm usually able to crudely spit in my palm, wrap it around my shaft, and allow the first touch to completely free my mind. By the third stroke, I'm habitually lost to pleasure and I forget all about that little girl lying on the table. Sex is a drug and I'm possibly a sex addict, but it does wonders at keeping my misery at bay.
But even as hot as last night was with Rand and Cat... regardless of the fact I came hard while lodged balls deep in the tightest of asses, my dick stays limp.
"Fuck," I mutter as I come up to my elbows and look down my body in the early morning light. The memory of last night should do the trick, but I feel nothing but overwhelming guilt and sadness holding my body hostage. For the first time in a long time, I have the urge to get utterly and fantastically shit faced. Drown myself in a bottle of vodka, perhaps preceded by a few Xanax. My palms actually itch, not with the urge to jack myself off, but with the need to shove some pills down my throat or crack open a bottle of liquor.
Not. Good.
I flop back on the small mattress, the sheets all bunched up under me, which is testament to the shitty sleep I had, and breathe out a frustrated sigh. Everything from my mind to my dick seems broken.
Closing my eyes, I wonder what gruesome image will flash before me since I'm utterly wallowing right now, but I'm surprised when a bright and vivid vision pulses before me.
Long hair falling to mid-back... dark as raven's wings. Large, blue eyes blinking with innocence. A luscious, curvy body with an ass made to be held on to tight while I fucked her.
I groan as I think about the virginally sweet Auralie who has been gracing The Silo the last three days, and my cock starts to react.
And it reacts swiftly.
My balls tingle as I wrap my hand around my increasing length, and I immediately start stroking as I think about the woman who has greatly intrigued me these last few days. In fact, while I was fucking Rand last night, who was fucking Cat at the same time, I was actually imagining I was riding Auralie. It was her face I imagined when I came.
She's an enigma, and I'm not the only one whose dick stands at attention when she's around. Her "owner" is a douche-looking asshole who likes to parade her around, letting the men sniff but not touch until he says so. Sometimes, he has her walk around The Silo naked, her large breasts swaying with pert, stiff nipples that make me think she's turned on by the experience. But that only makes her more intriguing, because the rumor is that she's a virgin.
That's not to say she doesn't have sexual experience, but Magnus--her owner--has insinuated to several of the patrons that her pussy is untouched. Therefore, that makes it even more tantalizingly sweet to all the horny men looking to add a virginal notch in their belts.
Me?
I've never cared much for virgi
ns. Too stiff and unyielding, and when I fuck, I don't want to have to worry if I'm hurting her. I want a woman who begs me to ram my cock into her, who won't mind the swift bite of pain it might cause. Doesn't mean I'll give into that desire, because I find just as much pleasure with a slow, sweet, and tender fuck. It's all good to me.
But there's something about Auralie that speaks to me. I don't care she's a virgin, and if I were ever lucky enough to get a crack at her, I'd take great care to ensure I didn't hurt her. I'd make it good her first time, and, when she was ready, I'd give it to her harder the second time if I felt she could take it.
No, that's not what intrigues me about her.
I can't put my finger on it, but there is something in her eyes that I recognize. Call it perhaps one soul possibly speaking to the other through our looks, and trust me... we've shared plenty of looks each night I've seen her in The Silo.
In fact, just last night, I swear we had an entire conversation with each other just through stolen but meaningful gazes. There was a moment last night, just before Magnus picked the lucky bastard who would get a little one-on-one time with her, that she looked at me, and I swear her gaze said, I wish I didn't have to do this. I wish I could be free to pick who I want. I really wish I could pick you.
And I couldn't help it. The look I gave back to her said, I'll help you get out of this. Tell me what you need, and I'll do it.
But then Magnus gave a big, booming laugh that broke our connection, and he was enthusiastically shaking one of the patron's hands. My stomach cramped for a moment, thinking that he had "sold" Auralie to this guy... someone I really didn't know who had started coming to The Silo in the last few months... but then I realized he had merely been chosen for a tiny interlude with her.
Magnus cut his eyes to Auralie and jerked his head toward the man. The chosen patron was older than me by about ten years, which put him about twenty years older than Auralie's rumored "twenty" years of age. But I suppose he was relatively attractive--not that I really looked at guys that way. I mean, sure... I've fucked Rand a few times and he's fucked me, but that's really just me looking for new and innovative ways to get my rocks off. It's all about consuming my mind with the most intense and surreal experiences I can muster, so I don't think about... other things.