The Very Bad Fairgoods - Their Ruthless Bad Boys: A Smoking Hot Southern Bad Boys Boxset

by Theodora Taylor

  He trusted her to hit him. And she trusted him not to hurt her when she unleashed all her pent up anger and rage.

  She wakes up in the morning feeling refreshed and brand new. Like a phoenix. Reborn from the ashes of her past.

  Which is why she’s surprised to find herself alone in bed. The open doors and windows are the only sign Mason was ever there.

  She puts on her nightshirt and goes to kitchen.

  He’s not there either. The windows are closed and sealed up, like they always are before Mason joins her and Jordan for breakfast. Only the door leading outside is wide open.

  Shivering in the morning cold, June pads down the short path between the house and the barn in her bare feet. She finds him in the barn, exercising. Chin-ups on an iron bar. Or pull-ups. She can never be sure of the difference. Only vaguely remembers not being able to do even one during her PE tests in that other lifetime.

  But there he is doing them at a steady pace, only his sweat-glistened shoulders giving any indication it requires any effort whatsoever. She watches, completely mesmerized by the display of his muscles and stamina, until he sees her and stops.

  “Hey,” he says, dropping down to the barn’s newly tiled floor. “Testing out the new chin-up bar I installed on Friday. It’s holding up good. Barn’s old, but not a total piece of shit like most buildings you see these days. It’s got strong walls.”

  Yes, very strong walls, she thinks, her eyes floating to his pecs. No bruises there. But she still remembers what it felt like to push against his unyielding muscles, only to have his chest drop down on top of hers. Crushing her breasts flat as he fucked her into the bed.

  Okay, okay…she thinks, her face heating up. She raises both hands with a nod. A clear signal that she’s happy to leave him to it.

  But before she can make good on her gesture, he says, “Hey…where you going? Get over here. I need you.”

  I need you. The words give her an unexpected thrill.

  “Stand right there,” he tells her, pointing to the wall right across from the chin up bar.

  Confused but game, she does as he says.

  Once she’s in place, he does another pullup. But not as fast this time. Slow and deliberate.

  He’s asked her to stand very close to him. So close, his body brushes against hers as he slides down and back up again. His dick is thick behind his black gym shorts, hardening as it cruises up her nightshirt. It only takes three incredibly slow chin-ups for her to grow hot and bothered. For her breasts to swell, and her sore pussy to ache.

  “Does it…bother you?” she asks.

  He arches an eyebrow. “Does what bother me?”

  “That you work out a lot.” Like a lot. “And I…don’t.”

  Mason comes back down. Shrugs. “Been thinking about putting a treadmill in here, too. You could start walking at least thirty minutes a day, now you ain’t going to be biking to and from work. Lotta heart disease in the old gang, and that shit’s a bitch. But as far as your body goes…I like fat chicks.”

  Uh, okay…wow…

  “That ain’t an insult,” he says, reading her mind again. “It’s a fact. And what else did I tell you?”

  June doesn’t respond. Though she does recall him saying something once about liking big women. It makes her wonder about his past. How many “fat chicks” has he been with? A sudden somber thought sinks her heart. How many fat chicks is he currently doing this with?

  “That’s ten—whoa, where you going?” he asks, dropping down in front of her again as she turns to leave.

  June doesn’t answer. Just looks away. And keeps her eyes averted when he gets in front of her face.

  “Look June, I ain’t trying to offend you,” he says with a chuckle. “But you may have noticed I’m a big guy. And rough as hell. Sorry if I don’t want to worry a girl’s going to break when she’s under me. What I’m trying to say is, I like your body just fine. More than fine, in fact.”

  “Okay. But what does that mean, exactly?” she asks. “Am I your fat chick in Arkansas? Do you have one in Tennessee, too? Maybe in West Virginia and California?”

  June stops when she sees how hard he’s grinning. “What?” she demands grumpily.

  “Never had anybody get jealous over me before. Ain’t going to lie. It’s a good feeling having you actually spit a bunch of words at me because you’re riled up at the thought of me with someone else.”

  “I’m not jealous—” she huffs, realizing what an obvious lie it is as soon as the words leave her mouth. “We didn’t use protection last night,” she points out instead.

  “Yeah, that was a first for me,” he admits, his grin turning sheepish. “I liked it. How about you? You like what we did?”

  Obviously, she liked it. But she crosses her arms under her breasts. Not yet willing to give him the satisfaction of a reply.

  “Yeah, me too,” he answers her silence with another lazy grin. “And trust me, if I had any other fat chicks tucked away in other states, they’d all have gotten a break-up call this morning. Only you…”

  Without warning, he steps forward, his large body trapping her between it and the wall behind her. He takes his hand in hers and brings it down to cup his large length. “Only you do this to me, sweetness. Make me feel this obsessed. Like I wanna be inside you all the damn time.” He moves her hand up to his chest and asks, “You think I got room in here for anybody else, crazy as I am for you?”

  He stares at her. Insisting on an answer.

  June thinks about it. Really thinks about it, and the feeling she wouldn’t admit as jealousy slowly fades as she shakes her head.

  Mason’s lazy grin returns, like a stamp of approval for getting the answer right. “Damn straight, there’s only you. Now turn around, sweetness.” His voice is muted, but it’s an order.

  Without protest, she does as he says, and sighs little inside when his large hand cups her sex, and two meaty fingers slip inside her. She pushes onto those fingers, already slick for him.

  “Yeah, we’re getting there,” he says, rubbing, titillating…but then he removes his hand.

  “Ten more of these, then I’m going to fuck you,” he whispers in her ear. “Hard.”

  Ten more? What, no…!

  June wants to protest as he lifts himself up again. His lengthy erection cruising over her butt and up her back this time. Before Mason, she wouldn’t have considered her back an erogenous zone. But now it feels like her whole body is on fire.

  One…two…

  Her pussy’s clenching and unclenching. Yearning. Helpless. It’s a strange feeling. Like she could come at any moment, but still might never be satisfied.

  “Please, Mason…” she hears herself begging, voice needy with desperation.

  “Seven more, sweetness,” he answers. His voice slow and lazy. He’s teasing her, and it feels grossly unfair.

  “No! You fuck me now,” she demands.

  “Sure, right after I finish these six—”

  “No, Mason. No.”

  She turns around, tugs at his shorts. It’s only supposed to be an insistent pull, but the shorts are looser than she thinks. One yank, and they fall to his ankles. Exposing his naked cock. Long and hard. Mason freezes at the top of the chin-up bar. Just hangs there.

  And then…

  He’s in her mouth, her lips wrapping around his shaft with unchecked curiosity. This is another thing she’s never done voluntarily. Mason makes her want to…taste him, like he’s tasted her. To explore her boundaries. He makes her feel…

  Safe. The word hits her like a surprise downpour. But it’s the right word. She takes more of him in her mouth. Loving his taste. The way he smells. Of sweat and denim and the faint whiff of the industrial soap he used hours ago before their date.

  “Sweetness…” a growled warning. One she ignores.

  Her head moves back and forth, taking in more and more of him with every push forward. Wondering how long he’ll last if she keeps going.

  “Fuck!” she hea
rs from up above.

  He roughly pulls himself out of her mouth, and drops down in front of her. Mason steps all the way out of his gym shorts, leaving them crumpled on the ground behind him.

  His lethal blue stare lands back on her. He inhales. One angry animal snort, before huffing out, “I said five more.”

  He’s huge. Intimidating. Strength and heat come off him in waves.

  Unnerving. That’s what he is, she thinks, remembering the first night at the cabin when he cornered her in the bathroom.

  But that was months ago. This is now.

  Something bold rises up inside her. Without fear, June reaches out, hands curling around his hard waist. Pulling at him as she answers, “And I said fuck me now.”

  Mason tenses, head dipping the way it did when he told Razo he didn’t care about his gun. For a moment, she thinks he’ll go back to his set. Or worse, kick her out of the barn.

  But instead he asks, “Is this the real you I’m seeing here, June? The woman who’s been hiding under all that silence—that who I’m talking with right now?”

  June nods, losing her words again for a moment. It’s true, she realizes. This is who she was in that other lifetime. Confident, bold. Not meek and scared all the time. And she knows this is who she is now.

  But maybe meek and scared is what Mason wants. Maybe he won’t like the real her. Razo certainly hadn’t.

  A slow smile spreads across Mason’s face. “Well, fuck me! I’ve sure been waiting a long time to meet you, darlin’!”

  But then he turns her around, crushing her breasts against the wall as he growls in her ear. “If you want this dick so bad, you take me and put me in you.”

  She doesn’t hesitate. Wraps her hand around his large cock, and guides it towards the back of her tunnel. Pulls it into her sopping wet heat—only to groan out loud when he pushes the rest of the way in.

  Mason’s thick forearm wraps around the front of her neck, while his other hand cups her pussy. I’m trapped, she realizes. Held so tight against his larger body that she can’t move. The knowledge constricts her breath, panic closes around her heart like a tomb, because she has no choice. She has no choice…

  But then he growls in her ear, “You like this? You like making me dominate you? Cuz I can’t control myself when I’m with you. You like the way you own me when I’m supposed to be the one owning you?”

  He provides her with another perspective of their current position, one that allows June to see the power she has. Over him. Over what happens next. She nods on low moan, unable to deny herself the pleasure of controlling a man rather than having him control her.

  “Yeah, you fucking know I’d do anything for you, and you had to go and prove it, huh? You want me to keep going? Want me to dominate you? Fuck you into submission instead of finishing these pull-ups?”

  Another helpless nod.

  She can feel his mouth curve into a wicked grin at the side of her neck. “Alright, sweetness. Take this dick. Take all of it.”

  He begins fucking her for real now, trapping her more tightly against the wall. But she’s not afraid. Can only feel the need. To be taken by him. Possessed by him within an inch of her life.

  “Fuck,” he curses behind her. “Can’t hold out much longer.”

  The large hand on her pussy starts rubbing with malicious intent. “Come,” he growls in her ear. “Come on this dick right now!”

  She does exactly that, crying out as the orgasm shudders through her.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he chants, right before letting loose. His cum load is so large, her pussy can’t hold all of it, and she feels his warm seed run down her leg.

  Mason’s hands are in a vice grip at her waist. And he’s cussing like she did something to him. Like she conquered him, even though it’s his jizz streaming down her thigh.

  When it’s over, he pulls out. But only to turn her around.

  “Good morning,” he says with a wicked grin, then pulls her in for one possessive and extremely domineering kiss.

  Just like it felt to him like he was finally meeting the real June, it feels to her like she’s meeting the real Mason. Domineering as all get out, without a gentle bone in his body. June should be scared, but instead, she feels protected, cherished. She sighs even further into the kiss. Safe. Somehow, in spite of everything, Mason Fairgood makes her feel safe.

  And that makes it a very good morning indeed.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Unfortunately, the good mood of the morning is soon disrupted when Jordan returns home. Not because they aren’t ready for him. They shower and dress ahead of schedule. So by the time Jordan arrives, Mason is back in the barn, working on another project, and June is removing the lasagna she’d promised to make two nights ago out of the oven.

  Right on time, she thinks with a smile when the boy bounds into the kitchen.

  “Lasagna, yes! Finally!” Jordan says as the smell of fresh baked pasta and melted cheese hit him. He must be really excited, because he goes to the silverware drawer and starts setting the table without having to be asked.

  After he’s done, he opens the side door, and yells toward the barn, “Mason c’mon! June made lasagna! Finally!”

  The whole situation would have been amusing…if Jordan didn’t take a seat at the table without removing his bulky coat.

  “Coat,” she reminds him.

  “No way,” he answers with a look like she’s crazy for even suggesting it. “You been outside today? It’s cold! And you know he ain’t going to let us keep the doors and windows closed like normal people.”

  Yes, Jordan’s right. June recalls her walk out to the barn earlier that morning. She’d definitely been cold…before a certain person warmed her up, that is.

  And to think it’s only October. Not even winter yet.

  “Mmm, that smells good.” Mason’s gravelly voice interrupts her thoughts. “And right on time. I’m starving!”

  She looks up to see him come through the side door—which he leaves wide open.

  “June makes good lasagna. The best,” Jordan, who she’s fairly sure has never had anyone else’s lasagna but hers, informs Mason. Then he launches into a list of all of June’s other culinary feats. Including: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, stovetop ravioli, and macaroni and cheese.

  June barely listens to Jordan as she watches Mason open the windows. It’s like he’s on auto pilot. The slave of a compulsion he can’t control.

  She sets the lasagna on the table. “Do you mind dishing this up?” she asks Mason, handing him the metal spatula.

  He seems startled. Probably because she rarely spares words for casual requests or asks him to do anything she can do herself. But he says, “Sure.”

  June holds back a tick, waits until he’s slicing out a portion of lasagna, before she does something unheard of.

  Back at the table, Jordan’s eyes widen. June shakes her head at him before he can open his mouth to ask questions.

  He clamps his lips shut, but his eyes follow her around the small room, watching her close all the windows.

  Mason, for his part, must be as hungry as he claimed, because three pieces of lasagna are plated before he looks up and notices…June closing the side door.

  He goes still. Very, very still.

  Before he can ask, or even worse, get up. She sits back down and takes his hand, holding it as tightly as she can.

  “Let’s eat,” she says. Ostensibly to the whole table, but really just to him.

  Silence. The tensest pause yet in a relationship filled with tense pauses.

  But she doesn’t let go of Mason’s hand. Resolute, even as she picks up her fork with her other hand.

  “So how was Danny’s?” she asks Jordan, her voice casual. Like small talk is something she engages in every day.

  “Good,” Jordan replies. Only his big eyes give away how disconcerting he finds the situation. “We played my new FIFA game, but then Danny made us switch to Viking Shifters because I kept winning. Ki
nd of pissed, since playing FIFA with him was the whole reason I got the game in the first place. It’s not like I got somewhere else to play it.”

  There’s a sudden clang of metal against wood. Mason’s dropped the spatula. His hand is reflexively opening and closing.

  Without missing a beat, Jordan moves his chair from the other side of the table next to where Mason’s seated. He wraps his much smaller hand around Mason’s large clenching one. A second anchor in the man’s rocky sea. Then Jordan begins eating with his left hand as if it’s no big deal.

  They eat like this for nearly a full minute, until Mason’s whole body quakes, and he rattles the table with a sudden rise from his chair. Only to stop halfway to standing, because both she and Jordan are still holding on to his hands, refusing to let go. If he goes any further, he’s going to pull the two of them out of their seats right along with him.

  “You’re safe, Mason,” June says quietly. “Your father isn’t here. Just me and Jordan. We won’t hurt you. He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe, Mason. You’re safe…”

  Mason shudders, tugging at their hands. For a split second, June wonders if she made a mistake. If he might throw her and Jordan off like paper bags, and make a mad dash to open all the windows. It would take zero effort for a man his size to shake the two of them off.

  But then the table rattles again when Mason falls back into his chair. A thin sheen of sweat breaking out across his forehead. His skin looks pale. And his body shakes, probably with the effort it’s taking him not to hulk out and open the windows.

  “I’m sorry,” he says gruffly. “Know this is fucked up. Know I’m a fucking mess.”

  Jordan and June exchange a long look. Yes, he is. But so are they. And this right here, helping him when he can’t help himself—it makes perfect sense to them. Even if it’s not a thing they can explain out loud.

  “It’s okay, man,” Jordan says for the both of them. “It’s okay. Eat the lasagna. It’s real good. Best one June ever made. I promise you.”

  To June, his words sound like something else. A promise to Mason that they’ve got his back. That he has nothing to fear here in this warm kitchen with her and Jordan.