Wicked Lust

by Sawyer Bennett

  Each orgasm stronger.

  The connection deeper.

  It means I'm fucking screwed.

  And now... having her on the back of my bike as I take advantage of a warm early August day... I can't imagine anything feeling more right in my life.

  The Harley rumbles gruffly as I slow down to turn into Mom and Walt's driveway. They live just outside of Jackson on the opposite side of the Elk Refuge, about twenty minutes from my house. But it was the perfect day for a ride, and I wanted Sloane pressed up against me. I wanted to take every advantage of feeling her because time was running out for us.

  Five more days is all I had, and I wasn't going to waste a second of it. If I couldn't be balls deep inside of her, I at least wanted her touching me. If she couldn't be touching me, I at least wanted to see her. Which is why I asked her to hang at The Wicked Horse last night while I worked. I actually breached my own rule about not mixing business with pleasure.

  And it was a pleasure to be able to look at her whenever I wanted while I also let my gaze roam around the club, checking for trouble. I didn't pull any time over at The Silo, of course. Asked one of my other crew to handle sweeps through there, and I didn't miss it for a second. Normally, I got a thrill walking through while on duty, listening to the passion permeate the air, watching bodies undulating against each other, knowing that I couldn't partake just then, but when I got off duty, I would more than make up for the lust I let build inside of me. Delayed gratification has its benefits and all, but I couldn't have cared less last night. I was completely happy letting my lust build just by watching Sloane dance, and while my intention was to wait until we got to my house to have her, I couldn't control myself when we got out to my truck. Sloane didn't even put up a fight, letting me lower my tailgate, bend her over, and hike her skirt up so I could fuck her in the shadows.

  As if she could sense my trip down memory lane, Sloane presses in tighter to me, giving a squeeze to my waist with her arms. I pull the bike up beside J.C.'s truck, engage the kickstand, and kill the engine.

  "That was so much fun," Sloane says as she jauntily stands and swings her leg up and over the back of the bike to dismount. She does so with her hands pressed into my shoulders for leverage, and I hate the thickness of my leather jacket dulling the feeling.

  Sloane and I take our helmets off, place them on the seat, and head up to the house. Her hand slips into mine, and I like that feeling too. I never much cared for PDA. Never held hands with Rachel, but again... this just feels right.

  We trot up the steps and I open the front door, pulling Sloane inside, through the living room and straight back to the kitchen where we always hang out. The aroma of roasted chicken fills the air, and my stomach grumbles. My mom is a hell of a cook, and I try to make most Sunday dinners she holds after they all go to church. Mom, Walt, Claudia, J.C., Carrie, and Tucker all attend Sunday services at the Methodist church. I don't, usually because I work late and I'm too tired to get up that early, but mainly because I've just never felt the connection.

  However, for a brief moment as I walk in and see everyone in their Sunday finest, I have a fleeting wonder of what it would be like if Sloane and I had gone together. We'd sit with my family, taking up one long pew. Probably hold hands the entire time as we listened to the minister and sang songs. I can't believe I'm even fucking thinking about something like this and I push the thought away because that smacks of something deeper and more infinite than I could have ever hoped to have with someone, and it can't be Sloane.

  Not at this point in my life.

  "Cain... Sloane," my mom says in a happy voice as she sees us. "Come in... we're about ready to eat."

  My sister is already at the table with Carrie on one side, Tucker on the other. She moves her hands in quick fashion, communicating to Tucker to put his napkin on his lap. Carrie watches, gets the message, and does the same.

  J.C. is carving the roast chicken at the counter, and Walt is pulling a beer out of the fridge. They all turn around and levy warm smiles as we walk in.

  I make quick introductions. "Everyone... this is Sloane. Sloane, you know my mom, but that's J.C. on chicken duty, my stepdad, Walt, and that's Claudia sitting in between the rugrats, Carrie and Tucker."

  Sloane sweeps her gaze across everyone, nodding with a smile. Then she walks over to the table, and sits down opposite of Claudia. Beaming at Carrie, she says, "Hey cutie... I love that dress you're wearing."

  Carrie gives her a toothless grin, but she lowers her eyes in shyness.

  Sloane turns to Tucker, and I jump in to explain. "Tucker's dea--"

  But I'm stunned silent when Sloane's hands start moving quickly, using sign language to say, Hi Tucker... I'm Sloane. It's nice to meet you.

  Tucker gives the quick sign back for, Hello.

  "You know sign language?" I ask, and her head turns slowly to me.

  She answers me but signs directly toward Tucker to explain her knowledge. My brother Kent is deaf so I know sign language, although I'm a little rusty.

  Turning to me, she says, "He got a cochlear implant when he was about twelve, so we didn't really use it that much afterward unless it was around his other friends."

  "Well, you're still perfect at it," Claudia says, and then reaches her hand across the table. "It's really nice to meet you."

  I stare at Sloane in amazement. It's not that knowing sign language is a big deal because plenty of people do, but it's the fact I keep finding things in this woman to endear me to her more. They showcase that despite the fact I thought she was my opposite because of her sweetly innocent ways, we actually have other things to bond us besides sex.

  The mere fact that she can carry on a conversation with my nephew just makes me more enamored of her.

  Our family dinner is exactly as it always is, and maybe even better. We spend a few hours at the table, the food quickly eaten but the conversation, laughter, and jokes taking far longer to dissipate. It's made even better with the addition of Sloane. Tucker took to her quickly, as usually he's the one who sadly gets left out of conversation with new people he meets because they simply can't communicate with him.

  It was late afternoon by the time we were ready to leave. I had to be at work in about three hours, and I wanted some alone time with Sloane before then. I had asked her to come hang at The Wicked Horse tonight while I worked, but she begged off, stating she wanted a good night of sleep before work the next day. I did get her to promise to stay at my house, and we even packed up a bag with a few essentials for her. If I have my way, she'll be in my bed every night this week.

  Until I let her go.

  "What are we doing?" Sloane asks as I bring the bike to a stop and cut the engine. I put the kickstand down but don't bother to dismount.

  "Watching the sunset," I tell her. "This is a great place to watch it from as it sinks below the Tetons."

  "Ooooh." She gives a girlish squeal as she hops off, tugging at her helmet straps. "I knew you were a romantic."

  When both her feet are on the ground, I reach out and snag her by the waist. I pull her toward me so fast that she drops the helmet onto the dirt road I had taken that winds behind two large buttes with a protected, private view of the Tetons. It's a public road, used by fisherman to reach a nearby stream, but no one is parked out here now.

  Perfect.

  "Get up here," I say gruffly, urging her on my lap, facing me in a straddle. I dig my boots into the ground for leverage additional to the kickstand.

  Sloane doesn't argue or waste time. She scrambles up and wraps her jean-clad legs around my waist. Her hands go to my chin strap and she removes my helmet, dropping it into the dirt beside the bike. After, her hands come to my face where her thumbs smooth along my chin and she says, "Are we going to make out while we watch the sunset?"

  Making out sounds nice and would keep in line with her silly thoughts that I'm a romantic. But time is running out, and I don't have the patience or fortitude to bear just kissing this woman.

&nbs
p; "I was thinking about fucking you while we watched the sunset," I tell her as my eyes peer into hers.

  Her mouth rounds in a little "O" of surprise, but her eyes fire hot, and I can tell she likes the idea very much. That knowledge starts my pulse hammering. Her eyes cut left and right, noting the only nod to getting caught is a winding dirt road that someone might come down. Otherwise, there's not a house or person in sight.

  "Right here?" she asks as she nibbles on her lower lip. "Right now?"

  "I'd need you to get those jeans and your underwear off first, but yeah... that's what I was thinking." I follow up with a push to her hips, grinding her down on my erection that started sprouting the minute she climbed onto my lap.

  I expect Sloane to perhaps give this some serious consideration, or maybe even argue with me a bit. Sometimes, she needs a little convincing, but that can be fun too.

  Instead, she scrambles right back off my lap, almost losing her balance and ending ass down on the dirt road. But she catches herself, slapping a hand onto my shoulder to give herself leverage to kick her tennis shoes off.

  She does that quickly, now standing in the dust in pristine white socks that won't remain white any longer. But she doesn't care. She undoes her jeans lightning fast, pushing them and her underwear down her smooth legs. I watch her almost in a daze, lust starting to drown me as I realize this woman just hopped off my lap in the middle of nowhere, perfectly willing to fuck me in the shadows of the Teton Mountains. I blink, try to get my bearings, and realize I have work to do as well.

  As she's shedding her bottoms, I stand over the bike seat and pull my wallet out. I grab a condom, toss the billfold onto the road, hoping I remember to grab it later, and then pop my button fly with one hard pull.

  "That's right," Sloane says huskily, and I shoot her a glance. She's completely naked from the waist down, and my knees almost buckle when I watch her slowly drag a hand down to press her fingers between her legs. "Get that cock out, Cain. I want to go for a ride."

  I groan and push roughly at my jeans, just enough that my dick springs free, and I sit heavily on the bike seat again. My hand grabs onto my shaft, giving it a few relieving strokes while I watch mesmerized as Sloane fingers herself.

  Standing on a dirty road in nothing but a t-shirt, a denim jacket, and white socks.

  Not sure I've ever seen anything hotter in my life, and I've seen some stuff in my line of work.

  I release my hold so I can get the condom out. My moves are practiced and efficient, and I'm suited up in no time flat. Holding my hand out to Sloane, I give her silent invitation to climb aboard.

  She pulls her hand out from between her legs, fingers wet and slick as they curl around mine. Her other hand goes to my shoulder, and I haul her back onto my lap. She quickly tugs her hand free. Both hands now rest on my shoulders, and she starts to lower herself.

  "Not yet," I say gruffly as I put a hand between her legs. "Let's get you loosened up a bit."

  She moans as I slide two fingers inside her and goddamn, she's already dripping. I'm not sure if it's the bike ride that she found stimulating or just the fact I want to fuck her right now, but she's not going to need much more prep before she can take my big dick inside.

  I've come to know her body very well, and I know exactly how to touch her to produce maximum pleasure. Working her clit fast and hard with my thumb, I keep two fingers deep inside her.

  Sloane's head tilts back, her blonde hair falling away from her face. I stare at her slender neck and want to sink my teeth into it. She rotates her hips and starts to fuck my fingers in tandem with my own movements.

  I get even harder as I listen to the tiny sounds of pleasure and lust falling from her mouth, and then she's gasping, "I'm coming, Cain."

  And she orgasms beautifully, her pussy gripping hard onto my fingers, sucking them in deeper. Her body shudders as I place my lips to the pulse at her throat. I stick my tongue against her skin, and it feels like hummingbird wings, it's beating so fast.

  When her channel finally relaxes its hold on my fingers, I pull them free and put both hands to her hips. She tilts her head up, looking at me through post-orgasm haze, and says, "I'm going to fuck you now."

  "No, baby," I tell her as I help to ease her down on my aching cock. "I'm going to fuck you. Just hang on, okay?"

  She nods, too sated to argue, and then loops her arms around my shoulders for leverage. I use my hands on her hips and my boots pressed into the dirt road to thrust up and into her. A long and stuttered moan comes out of her throat, seemingly never ending as I fuck her from the bottom upward.

  I heave up into her, seeking the deepest of contacts all while I try to suck in oxygen so I don't pass out because it feels so damn good.

  I want to do this all night and all the next day and the day after that as well. I want to stay right here in this little private heaven with the sun setting behind the Tetons and the best pussy I've ever had plastered to my cock for eternity. I want to ignore my job and I want The Silo to burn to the ground because I hate it desperately at this very moment because it's ultimately going to tear this beautiful creature from my arms.

  I wish I could tell her the truth.

  I wish I could tell her that I have a job to do this Friday night, but it's nothing but a job.

  In fact, I wish Sloane would just let me do this one job so I can fulfill my promise to Bridger and a customer, and then I'd stop doing any Silo work. I'd just maintain my job as head of security and I'd put my dick on lockdown so it only belonged to Sloane--or anyone else she'd choose to let us play with together as a couple.

  I wish, I wish, I wish.

  All pipe dreams.

  As I fuck Sloane on my Harley, racing toward an even bigger and brighter orgasm than the last one she gave me this morning, I know I'm being an utterly hopeless fool who just happened to fall for the right girl at the wrong time.

  Chapter 22

  Sloane

  Cain pulls me to his body, kissing me again. His fingers go to the edge of the towel I have wrapped and tucked in between my breasts.

  "One more time," he growls against my mouth.

  "No," I say as I push back on his chest. "I just got out of the shower. I don't want you to dirty me back up again."

  "I like dirtying you up."

  True enough. We got home from our "bike ride" where our viewing of the sunset was eclipsed only by the fantastic orgasm he gave me while we fucked on his Harley. As soon as he got home, he pulled me into his bedroom and went at me again, except this time he pulled a "Bridger" on me.

  Screwed me from behind with hard, brutal thrusts that I loved very much and then pulled out, whipped his condom off, and came all over my back. It was on shaky legs that I rolled out of bed and hit his shower up so I could get cleaned off.

  Giving another push to his chest, I tell him, "Go get your shower or you're going to be late for work. I'm going to go cook up those pork chops so you can have something to eat before you leave."

  His eyes go from hot, raging lust to warm tenderness. With lips curved up in a smile, he gives me a sweet kiss this time and says, "I like you taking care of me."

  I give him a return smile, but if he could truly see the brightness inside of me when I hear something like that, he'd be completely dazzled. Cain Bonham has opened up to me in ways I never imagined the closed-off, scary, scarred guy ever would. It makes the narrow line I walk between him and my job more precarious as every day goes by. Yet, I can't let go.

  I most definitely cannot walk away when there's still a chance I can figure out a way to save him, Callie, and my mother in one fell super-hero swoop.

  Cain turns and steps into the shower I just vacated. I use the opportunity to go back to his room where I pull on a pair of old sweatpants and a long-sleeve Tennessee Volunteers t-shirt. As I pad down the short hallway, I take stock of my cooking knowledge. I'm not sure I've ever cooked pork chops before because I've always excelled at eating out. Growing up, we had a cook who catered to us, co
llege was pizza and ramen noodles, and after college, I lived in D.C. where one simply didn't cook on their tiny gas stove in an overpriced hovel of an apartment. You went out, and you ate well.

  As I enter the living room, I head over to Cain's laptop. I figure I'll Google how to cook the pork chops, because while I may not have the knowledge inside me, I can read and follow instructions very well. In fact, I once put together an entire entertainment unit that came in three large boxes with nothing but a set of instructions and a small Allen wrench.

  Sitting down on his cold, plastic desk chair, I rub my hand over the track pad to pull the computer out of sleep mode. It flares bright and I instantly recognize Google mail on the screen, but I immediately start to move my finger to engage the cursor over the Firefox icon so I can access a browser. I start to tap on the pad to choose the icon when certain wording in the subject of an email penetrates my brain.

  Can't Wait To See You Friday Night!

  My eyes focus on the subject line, sent just this afternoon, not but three short hours ago. To the left of the subject line is the name Amy Mason.

  An immediate buzzing fills my head, and my entire body prickles with apprehension. My heartbeat starts to pound as my body seems to recognize some type of dangerous intent with this email.

  Can't wait to see you Friday night?

  Jealousy floods my body, and I think back to just this morning when Cain and I were lying in bed, discussing future plans.

  "Are you working this weekend?" I had asked, as our naked bodies lay entwined.

  "Yeah," he said gruffly, his hand idly stroking my lower back.

  "Want me to stay here?" It was an innocent-enough question, seeing as how he's wanted me to stay the last few nights.

  He didn't answer at first, but then coughed to clear his throat. "Not this weekend. Woolf's asked me to work out on the ranch, and I have to be up really early. I'm actually going to stay in one of the ranch bunkhouses so I can get up and just get to work."

  It sounded plausible. I never doubted his word.

  Now I'm thinking I know why he didn't want me to stay here Friday night.

  I don't hesitate a moment.