Big Bad Cowboy

by Carly Bloom

  She couldn’t speak.

  “The question is, works for what?” he said.

  He let go, and she crumbled inside. Her wrists and ankles had been so secure in his grip, and now she felt unanchored.

  “Let’s keep reading,” Travis said, snatching the book up.

  Maggie hesitated to move. Should she hold her position? No, now that he’d let go, that would look stupid. She stretched out her legs and clasped her hands over her stomach, feigning relaxation. Like she was just chillin’. While Travis read erotica out loud.

  Travis cleared his throat again. “He pushed her knees open, displaying her for his pleasure, and she shivered in excitement.”

  Travis’s voice had become distinctly lower. Raspier. She glanced at his cheeks—what she could see above his beard—and they were pink. Bright pink. She crossed her ankles and tried to look casual. She remembered this scene. Next Ethan would—

  “He firmly grabbed the spreader bar—”

  Travis lowered the book, and Maggie quickly averted her eyes to examine the ceiling in great detail. “Oh, look,” she said. “There are cobwebs up there.”

  “Maggie, what’s a spreader bar?”

  She really didn’t want to admit to knowing what a spreader bar was. “How would I know?”

  “Haven’t you read the book?”

  “What? Oh, well yes, obviously. But I don’t remember every single detail and I don’t remember a mention of spreader bars.”

  Except that she totally did. She’d broken out in a light sweat, even though it was cool inside. And she could hear her pulse in her head. “There’s a moth hanging up there,” she said, pointing at the ceiling.

  Travis looked up. “I don’t see anything.”

  Oh. It seemed her dilated pupils improved her vision. She now had special horny powers.

  Travis looked down at the book again.

  “He firmly grabbed the spreader bar and pulled her wrists and ankles up. Celeste was startled by this move. Slowly, Ethan pressed the bar over her head, lifting her ass up with his other hand, until the toes of her feet came to rest just above her head.”

  He set the book down and squinted at Maggie in concentration. “I think I know what a spreader bar is now. But this seems like an advanced move. Not real sure I have a firm grasp of how she’s positioned.”

  Maggie knew but she wasn’t saying.

  “I guess we’ll keep reading.” Travis turned the page.

  He was really playing this up. It was adorable, sexy, and infuriating.

  “Ethan held the bar close to the ground—no chance for Celeste to break free. She was exposed, open, and Ethan’s face was so close to her—”

  Maggie faked a sneeze.

  “Gesundheit.”

  “I think I’m catching a cold. You should go now so I can get some rest.”

  “We can’t stop here, and you know it. Also, that was the worst fake sneeze I’ve ever heard.”

  “It was the best I could do on short notice.”

  Travis shook his head and looked back at the book but then stopped and chuckled. “Jesus Christ, Maggie. Y’all read this with Miss Mills?” He was grinning from ear to ear.

  “She loved it. Said it made her think of Mr. Hymes. Remember him?”

  Travis’s mouth dropped open. “That teacher who looked like a mortician—the guy with the paddle?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Travis closed his eyes. “Oh God,” he said. “It’s in my head. It’s seared into my brain and I’ll never ever get it out.”

  “Just imagine Miss Mills bent over Mr. Hymes’s lap—”

  Travis moved his hands to cover his ears. “I’m warning you, Maggie. Stop it or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” She lightly shoved his knee with her foot. “What are you going to do, tough guy? Give me a spanking?”

  She regretted it as soon as she said it.

  Travis dropped his hands from his ears, having obviously heard every syllable she’d just uttered. He gave her a crooked grin. “You sure as shit deserve one.”

  “Me?” she asked innocently. “I deserve no such thing.”

  Travis narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know about that,” he said, rubbing the palms of his hands together as if gleefully contemplating the sound they would make on her bare ass. Her heart sped up at the thought of it. So, she quit thinking about it.

  Travis picked the book up again. “Where was I? Oh yeah. He has her in a complicated martial arts situation. I’m not sure I understand the scene at all. I mean, where the hell are her feet?”

  “What’s wrong with you? Do you have to have every little thing you read explained?”

  “It’s just that—unlike some people—I’m completely innocent when it comes to this stuff. How long is a spreader bar?”

  “No idea,” Maggie said. “A foot maybe?”

  Travis pulled out his phone.

  “You’re Googling it?”

  “Yes.” A few seconds later he looked up. “There’s a lot of stuff on here.”

  “I bet. How long is the spreader bar?”

  “This one is twenty-five inches. And forty-nine dollars.”

  He did a couple of finger swipes on the phone and then put it down. “It was Prime.”

  “You did not just buy a spreader bar.”

  Travis waggled his eyebrows before picking the book back up. “Okay, so we’ve got her ankles by her ears and her ass in the air. Sounds like yoga.”

  Maggie laughed. “X-rated yoga, for sure.”

  “I bet you can’t even do it,” Travis said.

  Was he serious? She could do it. She wasn’t going to, though. She had nothing to prove to Travis Blake.

  “You’d have to be pretty fit and flexible to do this pose.”

  Maggie sat up. “I’m fit and flexible. And when I lived in Fort Worth, I even took a yoga class. I was so flexible I had to quit because I made everyone else feel inferior and it messed up their zen.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “You are not tricking me into putting my feet by my ears.”

  “Okay.”

  “Seriously. I’m not doing it. I could, though. And that’s what matters.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  Travis didn’t answer. Just gazed at her calmly.

  “Fine,” Maggie huffed. “Watch this.”

  She sat up, curved her spine, and then shoved off to give herself some momentum. Up and over she went—easy peasy. But she couldn’t stay that way without supporting her lower back with her hands.

  “Ha! I told you.” She held her position like a pro.

  “Not really,” Travis said. “You’re supposed to have your wrists connected to your ankles, remember? You’re holding your butt up with your hands like that lady on the senior fitness channel.”

  “That’s just to get me started,” she said. “Hold on. I got this.”

  She tried four or five times to remove her hands and to place them up by her ankles, but her rear end started to come down each time, pulling her legs and feet with it.

  “Here, let me help,” Travis said.

  Before Maggie could stop him, he’d shoved his knees into her lower back and grabbed her wrists. He pulled them over her head, bringing them to rest beside her foot on either side of her head. He leaned over to do so, up between her legs, pressing his weight against her.

  She was trapped beneath him. In a very naughty position that was obviously meant for a very specific activity. They were nose to nose and other parts to other parts, and his pajamas had developed a distinct tent.

  “Breathe, Maggie.”

  She’d been holding her breath. She let it out.

  “I can see where the spreader bar would come in handy right now,” he said. His blue eyes were so intense. They looked like they’d darkened at least two shades. “I could hold it with just one hand, which would free up the other one for…other things.”

  Maggie lost a
ll muscle control. She went limp.

  She’d surrendered.

  “Uncle Travis?”

  “Shit,” Travis said, letting go of Maggie and sitting up in the frantic and time-honored I wasn’t doing anything tradition.

  “What are you doing?”

  Henry’s hair was tousled, his eyes were puffy, and the likeliest reason for his wakefulness was spread across the front of his pajamas in a dark stain.

  “Aw, man, Henry. Did you wet the bed?”

  Obviously, he had, and there was no reason to fuss at him about it. Maggie stood up. “Let’s get you out of these wet PJ’s. Did you bring any extras with you?”

  “Nah. But what were you and Uncle Travis doing?”

  “We were reading a book.”

  “It didn’t look like you were reading a book. It looked like you were wrestling.”

  “It was a book about wrestling,” Travis said, standing. “Maggie, can we borrow a T-shirt or something?”

  “I’m not wearing a girl’s shirt,” Henry said.

  “You have to wear something, and your pants are wet.”

  “I’m not wearing a girl’s shirt,” Henry repeated.

  With a sigh of resignation, Travis did a glorious thing. He pulled his shirt over his head. And there it was. The tattooed chest and ripped abs. To think it had all been on top of her just moments before.

  “Excuse me,” Travis said, yanking her out of her daze. “I don’t mean to interrupt whatever it was you were just thinking about, but do you have a plastic bag for Henry’s wet clothes?”

  “You didn’t interrupt a darn thing,” she said, reaching under the counter for a grocery bag.

  “Uncle Travis, when we get home, I want you to read me that wrestling book.”

  “That ain’t gonna happen.”

  Travis slipped his shirt over Henry’s head. Then he scooped him up. “Maggie, this has been a very entertaining evening, and I’m sorry it had to end.” He glared a little at Henry, who seemed oblivious.

  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “I look forward to it,” Travis said with a wink. “I’ll, uh…let you know when that bar comes in.”

  The more she blushed, the bigger he grinned. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and carried Henry to the truck.

  She watched as they drove away, then she went inside and stripped the bed in the guest room. Before she even made it to the washing machine, she’d sent a text. Because a woman had needs, dang it.

  Hey, wolfie. Want to play?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Travis rushed into his bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him. Henry was sound asleep, hadn’t woken up even with the jostling of being removed from the car seat. He’d gone smoothly into bed without a problem, which was a relief, because Little Red Riding Hood had texted.

  He’d sworn not to play the Big Bad Wolf role again. But after reading that book and doing those things with Maggie, he was just so fucking lit up. And Maggie was, too.

  He’d looked straight into her eyes as she’d lain beneath him at his mercy—she’d wanted it. So bad.

  The wolf was going to give it to her.

  He’d pulled to the side of Peacock Road just long enough to text Get naked. Now he was finally in his bedroom. Did you do it?

  Yes. And freezing. You sure took your sweet time.

  Because he’d had to drive home from her house first.

  You better not have taken matters into your own hands.

  Although the idea of that excited him.

  It’s just me and Mr. Tatum.

  Who the hell was Mr. Tatum?

  ??

  My vibrator has a last name and it’s T-A-T-U-M.

  She named her vibrator.

  Whatever you say.

  First name is Channing.

  That sounded familiar. He Googled Channing Tatum. What he found brought up all his old insecurities. This is what turned her on? For a moment he felt like his old long-limbed, skinny, stuttering self. But then he remembered he wasn’t that kid anymore. He stood and looked at himself in the mirror. He was still shirtless. And he could give Channing Tatum a run for his money.

  He picked up his phone. She should put that damn vibrator away. Mr. Big Bad Wolf was on the scene now. On second thought…

  Just what are you doing with Mr. Tatum?

  Getting warmed up for my wolf.

  She’d called him her wolf. He wanted to be hers. And for her to be his.

  I thought you were cold.

  Not all of me. One part of me is very warm. And inviting.

  He swallowed. He knew damn well just how warm and inviting that particular part of Maggie was. Maggie. He couldn’t think of her as Little Red Riding Hood anymore.

  He’d give anything if he could have her right here in this room. But since he couldn’t, he’d have to let Mr. Tatum do the work for him.

  Set the timer on your phone for 30 seconds.

  Why?

  Because I said so.

  He knew she’d do it.

  Done.

  Now let Mr. Tatum tickle your right nipple until the timer goes off.

  From what he knew of her nipples and their sensitivity, thirty seconds was going to be a long time. He grinned. He was a very bad wolf.

  He busied himself with extremely filthy thoughts for the next thirty seconds. Then his phone finally pinged.

  You’re a horrible wolf. Don’t make me do that again.

  Now the left one. Thirty seconds.

  NO.

  Make that thirty-five seconds.

  Silence. It was going to be about thirty-five seconds before he heard from poor Little Red Riding Hood again. He stared at the ceiling, thinking about her rock-hard little nubs and how he could outmaneuver Mr. Tatum with his tongue if only he could get to them. He pulled the waistband of his pajamas down to let his aching hard-on get some air. He took it in hand and stroked firmly. He could taste Little Red Riding Hood—no, Maggie. Maggie with her legs spread wide and his tongue buried deep inside her wet—

  Ping!

  Breathing heavily, he let go of his cock and fumbled for the phone. There wasn’t just one text. There were three. How had he not heard them?

  Done.

  Hey, I said I’m done.

  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

  Shit. He’d been caught.

  I was in the bathroom

  That’s not sexy, wolfie.

  No kidding.

  I was slappin the salami.

  LOLOLOLOL

  Beating the bologna

  Stop

  Buffin the banana

  I’m dying

  Choking the chicken

  I get it! I get it! Did you choke the life out of it? Are we done?

  Nowhere near done. But you’re talking disrespectfully to your master and his choking chicken. Go get an ice cube.

  M’kay.

  She sure fell in line quickly. Good girl. He imagined her running naked through her cold house and struggling to get an ice cube out of the tray while Pop looked on quizzically. He laughed out loud.

  Got it.

  Now what did he want her to do with it? His face burned. He knew exactly what he wanted her to do with it.

  Put it in your mouth until I tell you to stop.

  A second or two passed.

  Ok. I’m sucking furiously because I want this thing as small as possible before you make me put it somewhere else.

  He swallowed at the words sucking furiously and then grinned over her realizing exactly what was going to come next.

  Right nipple. 5 seconds.

  You’re mean!

  10 seconds.

  He counted to ten.

  Left one.

  I have a completely numb nipple. Is that what you were going for?

  No, that was not really what he’d been going for. God, he’d love to warm it up with his mouth.

  OK 5 seconds on the left one.

  He counted to five.

  Still have ice left?
/>   Yes. Where is it going next?

  You know where to put it next.

  For how long?

  Until it’s gone. And put Mr. Tatum to work too.

  How long would it take? What if she got frostbite? Nah. It would melt quickly inside her hot—

  He couldn’t stand it. His hand went back to work. He groaned as the images took over. It wasn’t his own hand sliding over his painfully hard cock. It was Maggie’s hand. Maggie’s mouth. Maggie’s hot sweet—

  In his mind, she was on top of him, riding him hard. Then that vision morphed into her beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist, hands clawing at his back. Now he was behind her pounding it home and…Shit. His strangled groan of release was enough to wake the neighborhood. He lay there panting and listening—all was quiet. No rustling sounds of Henry rousing. All the stress seeped out of his body and he waited for relaxation to take over and turn his muscles into putty. But it didn’t. He was in anguish. He needed Maggie. Not this pretend relationship.

  Maggie. He’d forgotten about Maggie.

  Maggie? You still there?

  His mind snapped to attention before he hit Send. That was close. He deleted her name. You still there?

  Kind of. Partially. Sorry but I couldn’t wait. It was so cold and Mr. Tatum was so warm and everything was all melty and oh my god that was good.

  He wished they could melt into the warm afterglow together. He’d love nothing more than to hold her all night long, only to wake up in the morning and treat her like a queen. He’d bring her coffee and breakfast in bed, and then Henry would come in for some morning cuddles.

  Jesus. He was thinking in terms that could only be described as family. His pulse pounded. It should be coming down now, right? Not increasing?

  His phone pinged.

  Where are you wolfie? Not finished yet? Because I know what you’re doing you dirty dog.

  He laughed.

  I’m here. You drove me wild though. I’m crazy for you.

  He stared at the phone, waiting for a response. None came, so he added, You’re my moon. That was romantic, right? Poetic? Also, it was true.

  He got up and put on fresh boxers and a T-shirt. Then he peeked at Henry—sound asleep—and brushed his teeth. He checked his phone again before getting in bed. Maggie hadn’t texted back. And even though he was dead dog tired, he had a very hard time going to sleep.