Prologue
Cain
I follow Woolf out of his office at The Wicked Horse.
No… correction… that would now just be Bridger’s office.
I cannot fucking believe Woolf sold out completely to Bridger. I mean… he seemed so invested in this club, and not just monetarily. As head of security and a longtime friend of Woolf’s, they both wanted me to be the first to know. They apparently signed the purchase documents last week, but they had to get some other things in order before they made the announcement to everyone else. I got the news first, but they’re going to have a staff meeting tomorrow to let everyone else know, and I suppose some type of email will go out to the sex club patrons.
Just… damn.
Woolf Jennings went all legit and vanilla on us.
I watch as he walks over to the bar and slips his arm around the waist of Callie Hayes. There’s no shame in admitting it… they make a gorgeous fucking couple. I’ve known Woolf a long time. I’ve seen him at what I’ve thought was his pinnacle of happiness when we opened the doors to The Wicked Horse, but fuck, when I look at him right now… The way he looks at Callie with such unfettered love and reverence actually makes my chest constrict a bit with overt happiness for my friend. It’s at this moment I realize he’s doing the absolute right thing.
I smile to myself because ever since I caught Woolf fucking her outside The Silo and watched how he tried to protect her so I couldn’t see… well, I just knew then he was a goner. And you know what? Good for him. Everyone deserves a chance at love, I suppose.
I mean… if that’s your thing.
Woolf catches my gaze and lifts his chin up to me in acknowledgment. I give him another congratulatory smile, watching as he takes Callie by the hand and leads her out of the club. I expect the only time I’ll be seeing him now is on the days I work out at the Double J ranch. I’ve been working there on and off since high school as it’s a good way to make some extra cash. While Woolf—I mean Bridger, now—pays me well, I’m on a mission to become debt free as quickly as possible. That means I work my ass off and live frugally, because I can’t stand being constricted by financial obligations.
Making my way out into the main nightclub, my eyes do a quick sweep around. I have between four and six security men on duty each night to keep everything under control and running smoothly. There’s no mistaking them in their black BDUs and form-fitting black t-shirts with The Wicked Horse logo on the front and the word Security on the back. I want them to be obvious to the crowd, so they know I don’t fuck around when it comes to the safety of the patrons here. It’s obvious I don’t tolerate any shit on my watch.
I’ve got my black BDUs on tonight too along with my combat boots—product leftover from my days in the Marine Corps. Instead of my Wicked Horse Security shirt, I’m wearing a long-sleeve, black athletic shirt that fits my skin like a second glove because my job tonight is a little different from the normal security oversight I usually provide.
As I walk through the club to the front door, I continually scan my eyes back and forth. Old habits—those where I’m waiting for an ambush by Taliban insurgents while sweeping the Zabul Province of Afghanistan—die hard, and I suppose that will never go away.
Except, my gaze slams in an abrupt halt on her.
This is the third night in a row she’s come in, and I don’t necessarily like how she rattles my focus at work. I wish I could tell you what it is about her that caught my attention, but I’m ashamed I can’t. It’s a blow to my ego that my intuition and street smarts are failing.
She’s pretty, for sure.
Not gorgeous, but really pretty. Wavy, blonde hair that is midway between her chin and shoulders, with bright blue, eyes. On the petite side, but with plenty of curves. I noticed this when she dances with the three girls she comes in with.
She only dances with those girls. She’s turned down every man who asks her to dance. I’m also ashamed I notice this because I have better uses of my time than watching a pretty girl get hit on in a bar.
I suppose the reason she caught my eye is because it seems she’s been trying to catch it. While she sits at a table, talking and laughing with her friends, her gaze will roam around The Wicked Horse. She’ll watch the dancers or the band if we have one going. She’ll sometimes focus in on other tables of people, but she never rests her gaze in one place very long.
Except when it lands on me. Then she’ll hold my stare if I just happen to be watching her, which is often. Sometimes, she doesn’t look away for an almost unbearably long time. She’s always the one who breaks eye contact though, and it’s always with a wistful smile.
She’s never approached me though, even though women do that all the time despite the scary-as-fuck scar that slashes across my face and the menacing glare I seem to give off most of the time. It’s true… I’ve been hit on more times than I could ever hope to remember, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say this job wasn’t without perks. While I’d never leave my post while on duty, I’ve taken plenty of those women home and fucked them after work hours.
Hell, sometimes, I just take them up against the side of the building after I lock everything up.
My security team always shakes their heads with amusement at the amount of female attention I get, and I assure them it’s not because of my charm or good looks, but rather the rumor floating around—which just happens to be true—that I’ve got a massive cock and I’m a god in the bedroom with it.
They all tell me to fuck off when I point that out to them. Jealous pricks.
I’ve never approached the blonde woman; although, I get the sense she wants me to. Again, when I’m working, I’m working. I don’t have time for flirting or fucking. But maybe I should come in on my next night off and possibly talk to her. Try to figure out what’s going on underneath those pretty, pale curls because she fascinates me. While I get hit on all the time, women have a hard time holding my gaze the way this one does. They’re content to stare at my feet while they try to flirt because my eyes are sometimes too cold and my scar is too angry looking.
But not this woman. She looks me dead in the eye, and it’s a goddamn turn on as much as it is a mind fuck to me.
I think she senses my gaze, because hers slides away from one of the girls at her table who seems to be telling quite an animated story, and she locks irises with me. We engage in the same staring war for only a moment, but I’m the one who has to look away this time as I reach the front door of The Wicked Horse. Things to do… people to see.
I nod at Peter, one of the security detail, who opens the door for me, and I step out into a warm July Wyoming night.
***
I look inside the glass panes of the back door. The living room is empty. People are so stupid sometimes when it comes to their safety.
First, they have their porch light off and with my black clothing, I blend well into the night. Second, they have flimsy glass panes that would be easy for me to break and unlock the door with a quick flick of my wrist.
Morons. Haven’t you ever heard of double dead bolts?
But what I find to be insanely more stupid is the fact that these idiots left the back door unlocked.
Turning the knob, I sneak stealthily inside.
I can hear noise from the bedroom down the short hall… late evening news. The harsh quality of blue, flickering light into the hallway tells me the occupants are in bed with the lights off.
Possibly asleep.
So fucking easy.
I hold the gun in my hand down at my side as I sidestep quietly down the hall. These new construction homes are solidly built and not a floorboard creaks. Just before I reach the door, I pull the black knit mask down over my face, assured that the holes cut out for my eyes and mouth will not reveal my identity.
I take a deep breath… and then I step into the bedroom.
Husband and wife, lying side by side on the bed, watching TV. Mid-forties, I suppose. The guy has a bit of a belly on him, but the woman isn’t too bad on the eyes. Dark brown hair cut into a bob and long legs pouring out from a silky, pink nightgown that barely covers what I’m betting are matching panties.
I’m a sucker for lingerie, and I start to get hard.
Raising my gun, I hold it sideways in a gangster sort of pose, which is not the way you should ever handle a gun. I just find the sideways tilt is more menacing, and it lets them know I mean business.
The woman sees me first, and a tiny scream pops out of her mouth. The man comes flying out of the bed, wearing only a pair of white boxers, and stops the minute I swing the gun toward him. His hands come up in an immediate pose of surrender.
“Turn the light on,” I rasp out to the man. He reaches a shaky hand back and flips on the bedside lamp, coating the room in a soft glow.
“TV off,” I command. I don’t want anything interfering with my concentration.
He turns the TV off with the remote control laying on the table.
The woman has sat up in bed and is breathing erratically. It draws my attention down to her breasts, which are large and obviously fake. I see her nipples are pebbled against the pink silk, and it makes my cock swell further.
I turn the gun on her and make a motion with it toward me. “You… get over here.”
She looks to her husband with wide eyes, and he tries to give her reassurance. “It’s okay, honey. Just do what he says and I’m sure everything will be fine.”
He turns back to me. His voice quavers. “Please… we have money… jewels. Whatever you want?”
“What I want,” I say darkly as I cock the gun, “is for your wife to get the fuck over here.”
“Okay,” the man all but shrieks and actually makes a shooing motion toward his wife. “Amy… darling… just do as he asks.”
He turns those somber eyes my way and begs. “Please don’t hurt her.”
I chuckle and don’t give him another thought as Amy stands from the bed and tentatively walks toward me. Her large breasts barely sway with the motion and the rounded edges definitely tell me they’re fake, but fuck… they’re nice.
Very nice.
When she’s standing in front of me, lower lip trembling, I lower my gun and with my free hand, stroke her cheek. She flinches but otherwise lets me have my way with her.
I slide my fingers through her hair, to the back of her head, and I grip her tight. “Now, Amy… I want you to get on your knees and suck my cock for a bit.”
She lets out a whimper as I start to push her down.
“And if you bite me, I’m going to blow your husband’s head off,” I add on as I raise the gun back at him. “Are we understood?”
She nods her head vigorously and tears pool in her eyes.
“Good girl,” I say with a grim smile. “Now… get my cock out and get to work.”
She fumbles with the button and zipper of my pants, but makes quick headway because I’m not wearing any underwear. My dick comes out locked and loaded, swollen hard and ready for action. My eyes cut quickly over to the husband, but he’s not moved a muscle, I’m sure worried that I’ll shoot him. I’m not sure what he thinks watching this, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from his wife on her knees before me.
The minute those lips wrap around the head of my cock, my eyes flutter closed just for a moment and I groan. “Fuck yeah, baby. Just like that.”
Apparently, Amy’s got skills.
Mad, mad skills.
She bobs up and down on my cock, with a perfect amount of friction, and has this wiggle move with her tongue underneath the head that almost causes my knees to buckle. When I feel my balls start to tingle, I push her off, noting the faint spill of drool from her swollen lips.
“Panties off and get on the bed,” I tell her curtly. “Spread your legs so I can see that pretty pussy.”
Amy looks to her husband pleadingly, but he just nods his head.
She does as I ask, shimmying out of the tiny scrap of pink silk. She lies in the middle of the bed, and as instructed, spreads her legs wide for me. My cock actually bobs up and down in anticipation, but I got to suit up first.
Stepping forward, I lay my gun on the bed, right between her legs. I give her a devious smile and taunt her as I reach into my back pocket for a condom. “I dare you to go for the gun. Think you’re faster than me?”
She squeezes her eyes shut and doesn’t answer me. But I know she’s also too chicken shit to make a grab for it. While I rip the foil packet open, I add some further shame to her situation. “Touch yourself, sweet Amy. Let me see if you’re wet for me?”
Her eyes snap open, and she actually glares at me. “You go to hell.”
I laugh at her as I roll the rubber on my cock and pick my gun back up. Rubbing the tip of it through her pussy lips, I bring it up to inspect. It’s glistening with her juices, just as I knew it would be.
Fear doesn’t stop the thrill of excitement.
I don’t spare Amy’s good husband a look as I lay the gun back down on the mattress, this time out of her reach. I’m getting ready to put some concentration into my work, and I can’t risk her making a grab for it. As soon as my hands are free, I snatch her by the ankles and pull Amy roughly to the edge of the bed. I actually pull up hard on her legs, lifting her hips off the edge, and I slam my way inside of her.
She lets out a yip of pain, because even though she’s wet as all get out, I’ve got a big fucking cock—which is truth, not rumor—and I know that hurt. I stay lodged in her deep, letting her get accustomed to my size. I wait for her to open her eyes and when she does, I start fucking her.
I go deep and steady, but no need to go too hard. I’m going to make sweet Amy come hard around me, and I hope it fucking shames her.
Damn… she’s so fucking wet; I slide so easily in and out. Feels amazing.
My eyes cut over to her husband and widen with surprise when I see he’s got an erection tenting his boxers. That’s interesting. Apparently, Mr. Amy is a little turned on by me fucking his wife.
“Get over here,” I rasp out at him, and he jerks his gaze toward me. It had previously been pinned on my dick ramming in and out of his wife.
He moves forward, his eyes sliding back down to watch what I’m doing, and his cock peeps right out of the hole in his boxers.
“Fuck, dude,” I pant as I keep moving in and out of her. “You’re turned on by me fucking your wife.”
He flushes red over my statement, and Amy doesn’t even bother to look at her husband. Her eyes are squeezed shut and her fingers are grasping onto the bed covers.
“Jack off,” I tell him.
“What?” He gasps in astonishment.
“Get on the bed, kneel by your wife’s head, and jack off while I fuck her.”
He makes a choking sort of sound, but he doesn’t argue. That’s because he doesn’t forget there’s a gun on the bed only inches from my hand.
Amy’s husband kneels beside his wife and without any further direction from me, pushes his boxers down and starts jerking at his dick, his eyes pinned on my cock claiming his wife the entire time.
Yeah… this is actually kind of hot. Wasn’t what I imagined, but I’m digging it.
I start tunneling into Amy a bit faster, and now she’s making mewling sounds. Reaching a hand down, I pluck at her clit lightly, then press down on it so she can feel me moving in and out of her just on the other side of that sweet bud.
She gasps.
Cries.
Then screams as she starts to come.
“Oh, fuck,” her husband groans. He starts to come as well, shooting all over Amy’s big, round breasts and soaking the lovely, pink silk.
As I pound harder inside of her, my balls tighten. I grit my teeth, my neck muscles straining, and I start to come. I slam into her hard… brutally actually, and she gives a startled yip as I grind against her pelvis, unloading buckets inside the condom.
“Fuck, that’s good,” I croak, and then praise my captive fuck. “Amy, of the sweet pussy.”
When I’ve expelled every fucking drop I have, I pull out and pluck the condom off. Amy’s husband sags down on the bed beside her, and she scrambles over so they can hold each other.
Awww… that’s sweet.
I throw the condom on the floor, tuck my dick away, and snatch the gun from the bed. Giving them both a nod and a toothy smile, I say, “Not one word of this to anyone. I so much as hear you’ve told someone, and I’ll come back and I won’t be so nice. Are we clear?”
“Yes,” they both simultaneously say. “We won’t.”
I stare at them, my eyes promising all kinds of retribution. When I’m satisfied we’re good, I turn and walk out of their bedroom.
Down the hall, and right out the back door. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I pull the black knit mask off and take a deep breath of the fresh Wyoming air. I swivel my head, the cervical bones in my neck popping.
I feel loose and relaxed.
I actually sit on the bottom step and look up at the stars hanging low and heavy in the sky. Beautiful. The porch light flicks on, bathing me in a yellow glow. The door opens, and I turn my head to see Amy standing there.
She’s holding a bottle of Hoback Hefeweizen out to me and gives me a smile. “That was excellent, Cain.”
“I thought it was some of my better work,” I say with a grin and hop up to accept the beer, which is my favorite from the Snake River Brewery.
Amy’s husband appears over her shoulder and pulls the door open. “Want to come in while you drink that?”
“Sure,” I say and trot back up the steps, walking back into one of the fantasy cabins that belong to The Wicked Horse. This wasn’t the first fantasy I’ve played in involving Amy and Charles Mason, but this was a special one. It’s their wedding anniversary and, as members of The Wicked Horse’s sex club, Bridger wanted to do something special for them.
As the door closes behind me, I wonder if the blonde girl is still back at the club. I’m technically off duty, and I consider for a moment finishing my beer and going back to check it out.
But then Amy’s hand is on my crotch and she’s rubbing my cock, which is eagerly responding, and I know the party here isn’t quite over yet.
Blonde woman is forgotten.
For now.
