Big Bad Cowboy

by Carly Bloom

  This was more than three or four years’ worth of back taxes. Their dad hadn’t paid up during the final years of his life. Why hadn’t Travis known anything about this?

  Because you ran, dumbass. And never looked back.

  “Brother, you better get your money from the Army and pay—”

  “It won’t be enough,” Travis hissed. “How much do you think an enlisted man makes?”

  “Don’t you have a job waiting in Austin? Call that buddy of yours and ask for an advance.”

  “An advance of more than an entire year’s pay? Are you kidding me?”

  “Well, you’d better do something. Otherwise we’ll lose the whole place. You realize that, right? But we’ll both be rich if you can sell Happy Trails. Make sure it happens.”

  “You’re going to set aside a chunk for Henry, right? This could take care of college for sure, and probably set him up pretty well with some proper investing.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Did that social worker lady ever find a family for him?”

  “You and I are his family.” Poor kid.

  “I’m not really daddy material—”

  “No shit.”

  “It might be better for Henry if I just terminate my rights.”

  Travis let that sink in for a moment. The bastard didn’t want to share his piece of the pie with his own kid. That’s all it amounted to. Without another word, Travis softly touched his phone and hung up.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Maggie lay in her darkened room, propped up on one elbow, replaying the day in her head. It was like a stupid broken record.

  She couldn’t shake the look on Travis’s face when he realized she’d brought Norbert and Alex to help. She should have known he’d bristle. He was stubborn and hellbent on doing everything himself.

  He’d practically ignored her for the rest of the day.

  He hadn’t ignored Anna, though. Maggie had felt small and invisible, the total opposite from last night when the world had shrunk to just her and Travis. When she’d looked into his eyes, and it hadn’t felt like remembering someone from her past. It had felt like looking into a future she hadn’t seen coming but had always known existed. Those blue eyes behind the lenses of his glasses…they’d felt like home.

  And they’d avoided looking at her all day.

  But that kiss, though. It had been so hot. So sweet. And it had sent familiar shockwaves coursing through her body, which had initially cried, Wolf! But she hadn’t needed a sexy costume to get a rise out of Travis. Unlike the wolf, who wanted a fantasy in fishnets, Travis had desired her.

  Until today.

  She rolled over, getting twisted up in her nightie, before flopping onto her back, lifting her ass, and dragging the hem back down where it belonged. She’d bought the stupid thing—black and lacy—at Cathy’s Closet in town. Cathy had been curious, and Maggie had told her it was a gift for a shower. She’d been too embarrassed to admit it was for herself. That she’d bought it because the Big Bad Wolf had asked her to wear sexy lingerie last night, and the truth was, she hadn’t had any.

  Now it was serving as a torture device. She’d never get to sleep tonight, not with her nightgown trying to kill her.

  She eyed the nightstand drawer. Five minutes with her silver bullet vibe—endearingly nicknamed Mr. Tatum—would take care of at least some of her restlessness. She slid open the drawer and dug around. Aha! He was hiding beneath Bound and Determined, the paperback she’d checked out for book club. She’d barely started the silly thing, and book club was next week. She squinted at the cover—a woman’s near-naked ass and bound wrists. She might as well read it since she would soon be forced into idle chitchat about it. Maybe it would take her mind off things.

  Leaving Mr. Tatum behind for Plan B, she pulled out the book, leaned back, and opened it to page twenty-seven, which she’d dog-eared. There were probably library rules against dog-earing pages, so she tried to un-dog-ear it by bending the corner back the other way. This made the whole situation worse, possibly permanent, and she’d just flunked book club with what the other readers would consider a crime against humanity.

  With one more fluff of the pillow, she began to read:

  Celeste didn’t have time to ponder her predicament or how she’d managed to land herself in Ethan’s bedroom. She needed to talk her way out of this, and she needed to do it quickly. She wasn’t some drunken sorority girl who couldn’t look out for herself. She was Celeste Harrington, CEO of Harrington Inc.

  “Ethan, I demand you take these handcuffs off this very minute.”

  “Or what?” Ethan said, easy smile on his lips, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As if he didn’t have to return to work the next morning, hoping he still had a job as Celeste’s assistant. “Are you going to fire me?”

  “I’d love nothing more than to fire your ass,” she spat.

  Ethan moved closer, but Celeste didn’t flinch. “And I’d love to set fire to yours—with this paddle.”

  “You are so out of a job.”

  “Time to show you who’s boss, Ms. Harrington.”

  Why were her panties so wet?

  Surprisingly, Maggie related to that question. The book was effective. Unless, of course, you were trying to go to sleep. She could turn to Mr. Tatum. But he wasn’t much of a talker. And right now, she wanted somebody to talk to her the way Ethan talked to Celeste Harrington.

  Forget Mr. Tatum. She pulled out her phone.

  Full moon tonight, Wolfie. Are you in control of yourself?

  She counted the seconds. When she got to ten, she picked up her book.

  Ping!

  She dropped the book like she’d been caught with porn. Because she basically had.

  Total control. As usual.

  A chill went down her spine. When it hit the end of the road, it raced back up as a thrill. She should respond with something awesome. She waited for a brilliant bit of witty banter to materialize out of thin air. It didn’t, so she typed out a very clever Ha.

  Her wolf responded immediately.

  I’m sure you’re texting me in the middle of the night because you want to discuss lunar cycles. Not because you’re horny.

  Her thumbs hovered, hesitating. But then she went for it.

  Up late reading erotica.

  The phone was silent. She’d stunned it. Shocked it. It was probably dead. Then finally, Is it a fairy tale? I like those.

  A fairy tale would be convenient. But alas, Maggie was reading plain old smut.

  BDSM tale.

  Seconds ticked by before the wolf finally spoke up.

  ???

  Could it be he didn’t know what BDSM was? Come to think of it, Maggie didn’t even know what all the letters stood for. And it wasn’t as if most guys had read Fifty Shades or the latest issue of Cosmopolitan. Not that she had, either, but didn’t everyone know about this currently popular kink? Time to school the wolf.

  The heroine has been a very bad girl. She’s bending over for a spanking.

  There. That should do it. She’d spelled it out for him.

  Children’s book?

  Or not. How was she supposed to sext with the wolf if he thought she was reading Anne of Green Gables?

  No!

  The wolf responded with a devil emoji. He’d been messing with her. Wolves do not sleep in clothes. How about LLRH?

  Oh! She wouldn’t even have to lie.

  Black lace nightie. Very short. Very sheer.

  She rubbed her legs together and waited.

  I want to do some very big bad wolfish things to you.

  Now they were getting somewhere.

  Like what?

  Discipline first. You’re wearing a naughty nightie.

  The wolf wasn’t as naïve as he’d seemed.

  It is so naughty. You can see everything.

  Was she really doing this?

  Like your hard nipples?

  Maggie shivered. Her nipples were rock hard and rubbing
against the lace.

  Yes.

  Bad girl. Are you wet too?

  Maggie gasped. She should have seen that one coming.

  Maybe.

  She couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth, which was yes, of course she was. The tiny strip of satin that barely covered her bits felt cool and damp against her skin.

  Take off your panties.

  She could keep them on and say she’d taken them off. The wolf would never know.

  NOW.

  Maggie jumped at the sight of the all caps. The wolf using all caps was hot. Quickly, she slipped her panties down her thighs, past her knees and ankles, and then kicked them to the floor.

  Okay! I did.

  She couldn’t believe she’d done it. She should feel incredibly silly, but she didn’t. She was a bit embarrassed, though. But she could always fake it. She could pretend to do what he asked. He wouldn’t know.

  Don’t even think about faking.

  Geeze! He was good. She sent an awkward “thumbs up” and waited. He didn’t respond. The thumb probably killed his boner. If he’d even had one. What if he was the one faking? What if he was sitting on the couch in a pair of dirty sweats watching television and drinking a beer and pretending to sext?

  Spread your legs. Nice and slow.

  Okay. He was good at pretending. She obeyed. And it felt so very dirty.

  Wider. Pull your knees up.

  It felt like the wolf was watching her. Heat spread across her cheeks as she pulled her knees up and did as ordered. Then she picked up her phone.

  Somebody’s an impatient puppy.

  But you’re the one in obedience training. Pull up your gown and expose your breasts.

  The room was chilly, but Maggie was on fire. She slowly pulled the lace up her body, shivering as it brushed her nipples. The light sheen of perspiration on her chest turned into gooseflesh when the cool air kissed her skin. Her nipples puckered as if touched by the wolf’s breath.

  Lick your finger and brush it over your nipples.

  Oh God. They couldn’t possibly get any harder, but she did as he said. She was completely under his control now. The day spent ordering people around and making decisions melted into a hazy bliss as she became the wolf’s pliable puppet to do with as he pleased. Her muscles relaxed beneath the surrender, yet at the same time every nerve in her body was hypersensitive. Her blood warmed the surface of her skin and flooded to parts that swelled with need. She felt like a flower that had just opened under the sun. Without waiting for the wolf’s orders, she arched her back and pulled her knees up higher.

  Ping!

  It took all her concentration to see what he’d ordered her to do now.

  If I were there I’d check to see how wet you are. Since I’m not you have to do it yourself.

  She didn’t need to check. But she knew what he wanted her to do, and she did it. As soon as she touched herself, she dang near had an orgasm.

  Don’t you dare come.

  The man was psychic.

  I’m very wet.

  Hard nipples. Dripping wet. You need a spanking.

  Just like Celeste Harrington!

  Yes. I’m a bad girl.

  As soon as she sent the message, she realized the silliness of it. The difference between her situation and Celeste’s was that there was nobody in Maggie’s bedroom to administer punishment.

  Three slaps LRRH. I’m going easy on you.

  She couldn’t very well spank herself, now could she? Were they going to pretend?

  Did you do it?

  Do what? Maybe he really did expect her to do it herself.

  I’m not in the right position. Also, you’re killing the mood with junior high ass slapping dance moves.

  Who said anything about your ass? And you’re in the perfect position.

  The perfect position…What? He wanted her to spank herself there? Even poor Celeste hadn’t been asked to do that.

  Maybe this was the place where she’d lie—Sure, I did that. It was great. Bye now!

  Ping!

  Maggie jumped and shamefacedly looked at her phone.

  A picture popped up. Lower abdomen with a thumb hooked inside the waistband of a pair of black Hanes briefs, pulled down low enough to show off one side of his “V” and a nice leftward leaning bulge. She was weak with need and impatient for that waistband to dip lower.

  Need some encouragement? I go lower after you’ve done it.

  It was all so very encouraging! Maybe she would consider it—Ping!

  NOW. Three slaps because you’re a bad girl.

  She closed her eyes. Could she do this? More important, why would she do this? Because she was a bad girl, that’s why. And because the wolf had told her to. She braced herself for the possible sting and definite embarrassment and then: Slap! Slap! Slap!

  Okay, so it wasn’t very hard. But it still stung. Maggie let out the breath she’d been holding just as the sting was replaced by tingling warmth. Ooh. She didn’t want to wait for further instructions. She couldn’t wait for further instructions. Her fingers brushed the spot where her nerves were lit up, where she was swollen with the need for release. Without the wolf’s permission, she reached lower, rocking her hips. Her own breath filled her ears as she sought the perfect balance of touch and imagination—and oh, how her imagination went into overdrive. Those abs. That bulge.

  It didn’t take long. Mr. Tatum had just been put to shame.

  Ping!

  WHAT DID YOU JUST DO?

  How did he know? Still panting and engulfed in flames, she fumbled with her phone.

  I only did what you asked.

  Plus a bit more.

  I think you did too much.

  No! He couldn’t possibly know.

  Her pulse had just begun to slow down but now it raced back up. Did she accidentally have FaceTime on? Had he been watching? Listening? She frantically checked. Nope. The wolf was just guessing.

  Took way too long Little Red Riding Hood.

  I’m a slow spanker. Do I still get another pic?

  What you get is another punishment.

  Ooh! That sounded like a decent idea.

  Give me a minute to recover from this one.

  A minute was probably all it would take.

  Not tonight LRRH. This was fun but I’ve had a bad day. Should probably call it a night.

  This was jarring. She’d nearly forgotten the wolf was a real person. A man she’d teased with, danced with, had actual sex with…and he’d had a bad day.

  Want to talk about it?

  Maggie stared at the phone for nearly five minutes before the wolf texted back.

  No. And you already made it better. Get some sleep LRRH.

  Her phone stayed quiet, and Maggie turned off the light. The wolf had had a bad day. He hadn’t told her about it, per se. But he’d shared something personal. A weird thing was cropping up between them. It felt like trust.

  Maggie rolled over and snuggled into her pillow. She was fully sated and pleasantly sleepy. But then her eyes popped open.

  How could she trust a man in a mask who hadn’t even told her his name?

  Chapter Twenty

  Travis sat bleary-eyed at his kitchen table. He’d just returned from driving Henry down the lane to catch the bus. He had about ten minutes to chug down some coffee and scarf a Pop-Tart. His eyes darted to the clock on the wall. Make that five minutes.

  He’d snagged only a couple of hours of sleep last night, thanks to Little Red Riding Hood. He felt as if he’d been smacked by a train and then run over by a semi. Come to think of it, that’s what he felt like most of the time lately—a wreck. But this morning’s exhaustion didn’t carry the usual tension associated with the single working parent gig. His muscles felt like putty and he almost had a buzz going on. He had that wrecked, exhausted, loopy feeling that followed a good massage. Or a night of amazing sex.

  It hadn’t been real sex. But close enough. Without it, he’d have been up all night clenching
his jaw with worry over the back taxes. He appreciated the distraction.

  He took a gulp of coffee and leaned back in his chair, grinning. Maggie had absolutely zero self-control. He was glad he hadn’t sent the second promised photo. It required some artful maneuvering to keep his tattoo out of the frame, and dick pics were generally a bad idea anyway. Last night he’d been like a drunken teenager, thinking everything sounded like a good idea, including using his only phone to carry on an incognito sexting conversation with the woman who was basically his boss.

  He hadn’t expected things to go so far. A couple of jokes or a few sexy comments were all he had in mind. But Miss Mary Margaret had surprised him. Who would have guessed she was into erotica? More specifically, who knew she was into BDSM erotica? And since he’d still been a little heated over her bringing her own guys in to finish the rocks, the Big Bad Wolf had doled out some punishment. And she’d liked it.

  He laughed, thinking about her sleepwear. Black lacy nightie, his ass. She’d probably been wearing her basketball pajamas. Although, on second thought, she was honest to a fault. He swallowed. Damn. She’d been wearing sexy lingerie.

  There were so many sides to Maggie, and he wanted to get to know them all. His Pop-Tart popped up. He grabbed it and licked some cherry goo off his fingers, thinking about how Maggie’s fingers had surely dipped between her legs. Had she really done everything he’d asked? Had she really spanked herself in that way?

  Yep. She had.

  It was as if they’d been physically together in the room. The energy connecting them had been tangible. Real. All his problems had disappeared, and he’d been right there with Maggie. Watching her. Touching her. Wanting her.

  He crammed half the Pop-Tart into his mouth and shifted in his seat. There was absolutely no way for a decent outcome. He could never fess up about being the Big Bad Wolf now. Not after what he’d made her do. How could he look her in the eyes?

  There would be no next time. He meant it. If nothing else, he was going to fuck up and call her Maggie instead of Little Red Riding Hood. And there was the phone situation. It was sheer luck that they hadn’t already exchanged numbers.

  He mentally made a note to get a new phone—like today—then crammed the last bit of Pop-Tart into his mouth before standing up and grabbing his sack lunch off the counter. There was absolutely no part of his day he was looking forward to…except for one.