Admittedly, Cain wasn't my immediate target when I moved here to Jackson, Wyoming just a week ago. And he's not really my target now, just a means to hopefully discover something print-worthy. I'm still not completely sold on whether there is, in fact, a story here. The "anonymous" tip the magazine received isn't very promising in my opinion. I spoke to the tipster via phone at the order of my editor, Brant Sweeney. I say "anonymous" with air quotes and sarcasm because I was able to find out the cell phone owner's name easy enough with our background resources.
So I spoke to some dude named Colton Stokes--who still thinks he's anonymous to me. He was fairly tight lipped and would only tell me three things.
First, that there's a private sex club that's owned, in part, by Woolf Jennings, president and CEO of JennCo. This is interesting in that Woolf Jennings is a billionaire with a massive cattle and oil empire, but it's not newsworthy for Revealed magazine.
Second, that Woolf Jennings is dating Callie Hayes, whose father is the governor of Wyoming.
Third, that Callie also is a member of the sex club.
Again, these tips aren't promising in my opinion. I wasn't quite sure what he wanted us to do with the information, so I pushed him on it. My money is on the supposition that this Colton Stokes guy is probably nursing some bruised feelings from a rebuff from the lovely Callie Hayes--yes, I researched her too--and he wants some payback.
He could not, however, tell me how any of this tied to Governor Hayes.
When I pushed him on this, he was at a loss too, except to say Callie would probably be his campaign manager, and that would only naturally lead him to suspect campaign finances were probably tied to the sex club. In addition and way more promising, I also learned through additional research that Woolf Jennings is a major contributor to the governor.
This had possibility. A very slight possibility, but it was one that Brant felt deserved some attention. He had told me in his nasally tone, "People don't want to read about politicians taking payments from lobbyists. They want sex. Dirty, filthy sex. Go find it for me."
And so I moved to Wyoming.
While I don't think there's much of a story here, I'm still here to do my job. If there's something to be found, I'll do it. Besides, this article is pure gold as far as I'm concerned. Plus, again... if Hayes is dirty and I help to bring him down, I can visit my mother and tell her all about it. Not sure she'll understand, but it will make me feel better.
Jasmine kicks me under the table, and my eyes shoot up to her. Garth Brooks is gone, replaced by Luke Bryan, and I realize I've drifted hard. I raise my eyebrows and shoot her a look.
She nods past my left shoulder, and I turn slowly in my chair.
Cain Bonham has just walked in, looking as sinful as ever. Dark brown hair cropped close on the sides but slightly longer on top. I found out he served in the Marine Corps and while it's not military buzzed, it's still pretty short. It only serves to highlight those damn fine chiseled looks, and the stubble he wears on his jawline also lends to his overall rough allure. He's wearing dark jeans and a lightweight black sweater with a crew collar. I can't see what's on his feet because of the crowd, but I'm guessing biker boots, since Jasmine mentioned them before. She loves the biker type of guys.
Cain doesn't look my way but heads straight to the bar, nodding and giving what could pass as a half-smile to some. I turn back in my seat, surprised to find my heart beating so fast.
"You need to get your ass up and go talk to him," Jasmine pointedly says. "I'll go with you if you want."
She's sweet. Really, she is.
As part of my cover, I fortuitously got a job at a small, leather retail store on the town square, courtesy of a favor called in by my editor through the network of publication favors that infiltrates the United States. The woman known as Sloane Preston became Sloane Meyers--in tribute to my mother as that was her maiden name. I then became a retail clerk at Jackson Hole Leather Emporium. Jasmine works there as well, and we hit it off. Especially after I asked her about The Wicked Horse and she got all excited... told me she goes there all the time. The other two girls, Marilyn and Samantha, are local girls, close friends of Jasmine, very sweet but trolling for husbands, and they don't know any other way to do it than to hang out in a bar every night.
The group was my perfect cover for hanging out at The Wicked Horse, and I've been with them here for the past five nights, engaging in some flirty staring with Cain and wondering when I'd get to make my move.
It looks like tonight is the night, but how to go about doing it? I have to be different because I need more than a one-night stand with him. He has to be interested in more than just sex, but from what I've been able to glean just from observing him, he seems more of a loner than anything else.
My choices are to engage his mind to make him interested in me as a person, or give him the absolute best, dirtiest, mind-blowing sex he can ever imagine, so he'll want to come back for more.
I take a sip of my beer and contemplate how to go about setting the hook.
Chapter 3
Cain
I noticed the blonde woman the minute I opened the door to The Wicked Horse because my eyes involuntarily went to the table she sat at with her girlfriends for the past few nights. It's odd to me that I felt a weird sort of elation over seeing her there, and it made me realize how much I was looking forward to hopefully figuring out the mystery of this girl tonight.
My powers of observation are keen. No more than three steps inside the door and I saw her friend across the table raise her eyes my way and tilt her head toward me. The blonde woman started turning her head my way, and I immediately averted my eyes and headed toward the bar. No sense in letting her know right off the bat I'm here for her. Make her work for it a bit, I guess. Otherwise, where's the fun in that?
That little exchange also told me something important. The blonde was waiting for me to come in, and she shared that with her friends. I saw her friend clearly get her attention and nod my way, so that tells me one very monumental piece of evidence.
I'm going to fuck that girl tonight.
It's odd I'm attracted to her, but I'm only talking about her superficial beauty. She's a well-put-together package no doubt, because what red-blooded man doesn't love a blonde with curves? But it's more the way she looks with her hair curled in loose waves down just below her chin, wide-set innocent eyes of baby blue, and dimples to the left and right of her mouth when she smiles.
She looks like a metaphorical piece of apple pie, all sweet and sugary.
That's usually not my thing. I like women who are aggressive and know what they want. With as much dirty fucking as I do on a regular basis, vanilla women are just a tad too boring. Doesn't mean I won't fuck them, but it does mean they're forgotten sooner than the others are. But I have to hand it to the blonde. She's not been handing me shy smiles and surreptitious looks. No, she stares at me like a woman who knows what she wants, and that's just so contradictory to her naive look.
That's what, in fact, makes her such a mystery. I wonder when she's crying out in pleasure, will it be in a wholesomely saccharine way or if she'll pull my hair out by the roots while screaming for me to make her come harder?
It will be interesting to find out.
Now, how to go about getting in her pants?
I decide to drink a beer and ponder the question, because it's still early and what I know about the blonde is that she'll hang here for a good chunk of the night. At least, that's been her modus operandi so far, so I feel confident I don't have to make a move soon. And besides, if I miss the opportunity with her, that's no skin off my back. I've got The Silo sitting twenty yards off the back of The Wicked Horse. I can bust a nut there just as easy.
"Beer?" Ted says from across the bar. Good dude and he's also a fantasy maker at The Silo. He and I have starred together in some group fantasies in the past. The guy will fuck anyone that has a willing orifice, so it makes him a more popular member of the club.
I nod
at him as I take one of the few empty seats and watch as he pours my favorite. After he sets the Hefeweizen in front of me, I slide a ten-dollar bill his way and thus is the extent of our exchange. I'm not an overly chatty dude to begin with, but when I come here, I like to drink, people watch, and keep an eye on my crew.
My back stays turned to the blonde for a few sips of my beer, but then I turn casually around on the stool and gaze out over the club. For a Thursday night, it's fairly packed, although it's still early yet. Give it another hour and it will be standing room only. My eyes first connect on Angel, our DJ, as she sits in a glass booth with a pair of headphones over her glossy, red hair. She's probably the only woman in the world who intimidates me, and only because she enjoys degrading and defiling men. She's a fem-dom, hardcore to the extreme. No matter how much weird shit I've seen happen in The Silo, it still blows my mind the amount of people who will pay to receive pain and degradation as a way to get off.
But to each his own.
I take another sip of my beer and casually move my gaze over to the blonde woman's table. I see it's empty but for their purses and drinks, but then immediately see her and her three friends dancing just a few feet away. Her back is to me and I have to say, it's not a chore watching her dance. Tonight, she's wearing a green floral pattern skirt that comes to mid-thigh and hugs her curves, and damn... she's got a delicious-looking ass too. She's wearing a blue, denim shirt that she has tied near her hips, baring the tiniest sliver of the skin on her stomach. It's unbuttoned to reveal a shadow of her cleavage, and she finishes the ensemble off with a pair of brown cowgirl boots. It's a sweet and sexy look, adding to the dual nature of this woman who is already sweet and sexy by leaps and bounds.
I've watched her dance before, many times. She's damn good, but she's also particular. There's not been a man yet who has caught her eye as she's declined every offer. I hope to God she's not waiting on me to come ask her, because even though I've been told on more than one occasion I have incredible hip action, I do not swing them around on the dance floor.
She doesn't look my way, and in fact, keeps her back to me. Perhaps playing a little hard to get?
Makes me want to spank her ass, if so.
I go to take a sip of my beer as I pin my eyes to her rotating hips, wondering how long she could keep that motion up if she was riding me, when I see a guy move into position behind her on the dance floor. She has no clue he's there, but he's openly leering at her ass, bending his knees and thrusting his pelvis suggestively behind her. Must be drunk, because no woman would ever find that sexy.
Oddly, my first instinct is to stand from my stool and march across the room, right onto the dance floor, where I'll put him in a headlock and drag him off before he touches her, but that would just be silly. What I should do is motion to one of my guys on duty and point out the potential problem, but when I look over at Gary, who's one of two guys in charge of the dance floor, I see he's already well aware and watching.
I ease my posture and try to relax. He'll handle it if necessary.
And necessary apparently comes sooner than later, because the drunken, dancing fool moves right in behind the blonde and puts his hands on her hips. He does a weird, epileptic kind of move and pushes his pelvis into her ass.
I start to stand from my stool again.
Gary moves a step closer.
We both watch to see if the guy backs off, but then I'm sure Gary is as shocked as I am when the diminutive blonde turns around, pulls her arm back, and slaps the shit out of the guy so hard, I can hear the crack of it over the blaring music. I'm momentarily stunned to inaction by this, but then the guy reels around, fury all over his face as he holds a palm to his cheek. He winds his other arm across his chest, indicating a clear intention to backhand the blonde, and I'm flying off the stool toward the dance floor.
I see Gary make the same move, but we are both too far away.
However, I'm brought to a dead halt, right in my tracks, again stunned to inaction, when the blonde pulls her right leg back and, before the guy can even swing his arm, she kicks him square in the nuts.
Holy fuck!
When the guy doubles over, she's not done with him. She balls her little hand into a fist, really so tiny it could never do damage, and lands a right hook to his face. The guy falls over onto the floor, one hand clutching his balls and the other his mouth, which is now bleeding.
Gary is now on scene. Because apparently, the man on the floor needs protecting, he grabs the blonde from behind in a bear hold and pulls her back a few feet. She glares down at him and yells something, which prompts me to move.
The dancing crowd has all halted, pressing in a tight circle around the combatants.
Blonde girl--1.
Douchey drunk--0.
Won't be a second round.
The minute my foot hits the dance floor, the blonde's eyes raise to meet mine. She stares at me with challenge, her face flushed red with fury.
"Let her go," I tell Gary, who immediately releases her.
To my surprise, she bends over the dude, who is now cursing through bloody teeth, and says, "Bet you'll think twice before rubbing your dick on a girl's ass, won't you?"
The guy starts to push up from the floor, glaring daggers at the blonde. "You fucking cunt," he sputters with blood spraying. "You could have just said no."
This infuriates the blonde, who steps toward him menacingly, and the guy isn't a fool. He leans warily backward, holding a hand out to stave off her approach. I have to suppress a laugh as I reach out and take her by the upper arm. Looking at Gary, I jerk my head to the guy. "Get him out of here safely."
"Sure thing, boss," Gary says before grabbing the guy by the back of his collar and pulling him off the dance floor.
"I'm leaving," the blonde says as she tries to shrug out of my hold. "You don't need to throw me out too."
Throw her out? After that glorious display to all drunk men everywhere that they should heed hitting on the wrong woman? No way. I'm not throwing her out, but I am taking her out of here.
"Let's get you cleaned up," I tell her as I start pulling her along. "Your hand's bleeding."
Because I noticed that too. She must have scraped it on his teeth with that punch.
She follows along easily behind me. As we walk past the table, she picks up her purse and calls out to the girls over her shoulder, "I'll be back."
Yeah, that's not going to happen either.
I lead the woman through the bar and toward the main doors. We step out into a mild, mid-July evening, right on the heels of Gary escorting the guy whose ass she just kicked over to a waiting cab. There's usually one or two lurking about waiting to take tourists back into Jackson. I turn in the opposite direction, heading across the wooden, covered porch of the club toward where I parked my truck.
She pulls against me, and I turn to look at her in question.
"Wait," she says in confusion. "You said we were going to get my hand cleaned up."
"We are," I tell her as I turn back around and start walking toward my truck. "I'm taking you to your place, and I'll clean it up there. I'm thinking in your shower would be nice."
Even though you'd never know it by the easy sway of my shoulders or my confident walk, I hold my breath wondering what she'll do. It was a bold statement on my part, but I don't feel like dicking around.
Besides, I just don't flirt well.
I'm immediately relieved when she says, "Sounds good to me."
And I already start to get hard thinking about how easily she just capitulated.
Chapter 4
Sloane
Cain has a beat-up, late 90's model Chevy truck. There's a dent in the front quarter panel, and it's covered in dirt. I'm surprised with his gallantry when he opens the passenger door for me and holds my non-punching hand in his while I navigate the running board.
We pull out and head south on Highway 191 after I tell Cain I live in Jackson. He turns the radio on and adjusts the volume low. An unb
idden smile comes to my face when I hear the sweet sounds of Soundgarden coming out versus a country song.
"So," I say into the gloom of the interior. "We're taking a shower together, huh?"
"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.
Wicked Lust Page 3