The Expert's Guide to Driving a Man Wild

by Jessica Clare

  “Brenna.” He sat down on the edge of the couch, near where her feet were. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

  “You should be. You hurt my feelings.” To her horror, tears started to form and she blinked rapidly, trying to quell the onslaught. “If I wanted a mount, I’d just buy a dildo. Understand?”

  He sighed and moved closer. “Don’t cry, Brenna. I never meant to hurt you. I was just . . . frustrated. And I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

  “I just . . .” She sniffed, then swiped at her nose with one hand. “I just don’t understand why we can’t do things simple. Why we can’t just enjoy each other without having to make it about more. I just like being with you. Why do you have to change that?”

  “We don’t,” Grant murmured, pulling her close. “I like having you around. I don’t want that to change. It’s just my nature to try and protect you.”

  “Can you be a little less protective and a little more open to less commitment?”

  “If that means we have to have wild, meaningless sex, then that’s what we’ll do.”

  She sniffed against his chest. “Good.”

  He stroked her hair. “Does this mean you’re coming back to bed with me?”

  “Is it a no-strings-attached bed?”

  “It can be.”

  “Then yes.”

  Grant grinned, brushing the backs of his fingers along her jaw. “Do you want to go to that no-strings-attached bed right now?”

  “I don’t see why not.” She tilted her head, as if pretending to consider things. “I’m already dressed for it.”

  “It looks like you’re dressed for a bath.”

  “I can fix that.” She stood up and shrugged the robe to the floor, then delicately stepped out of it. “You coming?”

  “Hell yes,” he said, following her behind the ladder.

  Brenna shimmied up the ladder to the loft, trying not to be distracted by how he reached out and caressed her ass repeatedly while she did so. By the time she made it to the bed, she was turned on, but wary. Was Grant really going to give her what she wanted, or was he going to hurt her feelings again?

  She turned to face him and noticed that Grant was still dressed, though he’d taken off his glasses and had tossed them onto a nearby bureau. “You going to get naked with me this time?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He began to unbutton his shirt, and she sat on the edge of the bed and watched him, waiting. She wanted to help him undress, but she needed to see that he was going to give her this much, at least. Their last sexual encounter still weighed heavily on her mind, when he hadn’t given her anything.

  Grant finished undressing and instead of folding his clothes like he normally did, he kicked them aside. Then he was naked in front of her, and she reached out to touch him, unable to help herself. Her fingers smoothed over his chest hair and rubbed down the light line of hair that led to his groin.

  “I’m glad you and I are better,” she told him with a soft, pleased sigh, her fingers cupping his balls.

  “Me too,” he murmured, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, dragging her close. One hand went to cup her breast, and he thumbed her nipple. “So, did you find any positions in that book that didn’t involve commitment from the partners?”

  “Hmm. Doggy style?”

  “I like doggy style,” he said, leaning in to kiss her.

  She tilted her face up for his kiss, and he brushed his lips over hers in a tender, almost butterfly-gentle kiss. He feathered his lips over hers, as if merely tasting her was enough, and the tenderness in the small caress was enough to make her toes curl.

  “I need to make up for what I didn’t give you last night,” he murmured against her mouth. His hand slid up to cup the back of her head and then he was kissing her deep, his tongue sweeping against hers in a kiss that claimed as much as it pleasured. She moaned and leaned into the kiss, feeling shivers run up and down her body. And he kissed her endlessly, as if nothing existed but her mouth and her tongue, and they were there simply for his pleasure. When the kiss finally broke an eternity later, she was left panting and breathless. “Better?”

  “Much,” she said with a sigh.

  “That was a no-strings-attached kiss.”

  “Mmm, those are my favorite kind.” Hell, she was so thoroughly kissed she doubted she could even stand up straight.

  He chuckled. “I figured as much.” His hand slid between them, caressing the mound of her sex. “Is this ready for some no-commitment cock?”

  “Oooh, it was born ready,” she purred. “Though I don’t mind if you keep giving it some no-commitment rubbing.”

  Grant’s fingers slipped deeper, rubbing her piercing and clit. “Better?”

  “Just like that,” she breathed. “You know just how to touch me, don’t you?”

  “I do,” he told her, an intense look in his eyes. “I watch everything you do. I see how you react. It’s how it teaches me what you like.”

  A man who thought about what she liked in bed? Novel. “And what do you like?”

  “Touching you.”

  “Oooh, good answer.” She shivered when his fingers rolled her piercing against her clit. “Really good answer.”

  He leaned in and kissed her again. “I need to get a condom.”

  She nodded, her own need building even as his hand slipped away. She couldn’t resist a small whimper of protest when he disappeared into the bathroom and emerged a moment later, condom in hand.

  He returned to her side and brushed a hand over her ass. “Get on the bed and on your knees. In a totally non-commitment way, of course.”

  “One non-committed pony ride coming right up,” she teased. She moved onto the edge of the bed and went on her hands and knees.

  Grant moved behind her. His hand slid between her legs and he began to rub her pussy again, until she was following the stroke of his hand and rearing backward with every touch.

  “You wet for me?”

  “As if you can’t tell?” She was so slick and wet for him.

  He slipped a finger deep and made a sound of pleasure. “Very wet.”

  She squirmed against his hand. “I need that non-committed cock inside me, Grant. Not your fingers.”

  “I can do that.” He slid his hands to her ass cheeks and pulled her thighs further apart, until she was falling forward on the bed. And as soon as her chin hit the blankets, he was pushing into her, his cock sliding home.

  Brenna moaned, clutching at the blankets. “Oh, Grant. That feels so good.”

  He pulled back, his hands clutching at her hips, and then he drove into her again. Then again, and again, until he was slamming into her with every quick, deep thrust. There was no control in his stroke, no leashed energy. He poured everything he had into each thrust into her body, and the intensity of the fucking made her toes curl.

  And then his hand slid to the front of her and he began to play with her clit, even as he continued to thrust raggedly and wildly into her.

  She came with a choked cry, her entire body tightening with the hard rush of need coursing through her. He bit back a curse and came as well, his strokes into her slowing down until he collapsed on the bed next to her. She could hear the snap of rubber as he took off the condom, and then he pulled her down next to him.

  They lay there, panting for a moment. That had been a quick and dirty fuck, Brenna mused, but a good one. She was pleased.

  “Well,” Grant breathed. “That was certainly meaningless, wasn’t it?”

  She giggled. “Completely and utterly.”

  His arm wrapped around her and he dragged her in for a hug, and she snuggled into his arms, her eyes closing in utter bliss and relaxation.

  • • •

  Well, at least now he knew how Brenna ticked, Grant mused as he held her against him while she slept. Her purple ban
gs tickled his chin, but he didn’t brush them away. She was sleeping soundly, her arms curled around him, and he’d be damned if he woke her up.

  Her in his arms? Felt right. Their fun but slightly edgy sex? Felt right. The fact that Brenna had been wounded because he’d given her exactly what she’d asked for—just sex? Meant that she felt things for him. Probably the same torrent of emotions that he was feeling.

  But instead of embracing them like he did, she preferred to pretend that they didn’t exist.

  Which wasn’t ideal, but at least now he knew how to handle things. For starters, he wouldn’t go around declaring that they should get married. Instead, he’d simply let Brenna call all the shots. His thumb brushed over one of her tattoos, grazing the soft skin.

  If she felt like she was in control of things, she wouldn’t get skittish. And if this thing between them continued to work out? They’d fall into a lifestyle so easily that Brenna wouldn’t realize that she’d fallen into a committed relationship until it was too late.

  Grant grinned. It was committed all right. He was crazy about her, completely and utterly crazy. The part of him that he’d thought was dead and gone after Heather had died? Wasn’t dead at all. It was alive and kicking and full of piss and vinegar, especially when Brenna was around. Just being close to her made his heart race and made his protective feelings come to the forefront. He was in love with her. She was easy to love, with her happy smiles and carefree attitude.

  But he couldn’t tell her that, of course. He’d just go on letting her believe that what they had was nothing but meaningless fun for him, too.

  Whatever it took to keep her in his arms? He’d do it.

  • • •

  Elise waited in the living room of the main lodge that served as the headquarters of the survival school. To pass the time, she checked her camera gear for the millionth time. It was a familiar and soothing sort of ritual, and was great for occupying her hands—and her gaze—when she was in uncomfortable situations.

  Not that this was an uncomfortable situation at the moment. There was no one in the lodge, so there was no need to be nervous, but she’d been left in here by herself long enough that she was starting to get anxious. Where had Brenna run off to? Her brother’s quirky girlfriend had mentioned something about finding her a test subject, and then had ran off, leaving her alone in the lodge.

  She said she hadn’t minded, but leaving her alone for an hour? She was going to lose the best light if they didn’t get started soon. Elise frowned to herself and moved to one of the large windows, judging by the clouds in the sky. The best time to start shooting would be soon, if they didn’t—

  “You lost, Little Bo Peep?”

  Elise gasped and turned, her hair whirling around her face. Someone was here. She saw the large, tattooed man who they’d just hired and her entire body shrank a bit. He was gorgeous and intimidating and looked just a bit wild—which meant that she wasn’t able to look him in the eye. She was bad about that sort of thing. “B-b-bo Peep?”

  He strode forward, and she was pretty sure he was smiling at her . . . or at least, she assumed that since she wouldn’t look at him. “Yeah,” he said. “You know. Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep and all that. Just kinda sprung to my head because you look all lost.”

  Oh. She didn’t know what to say to that. Nothing clever sprang to mind. So she did what she did best—stared down at her shoes and wished the floor would swallow her up. Stunning conversation there, Elise, she told herself. Just blow him away with your wittiness, why don’t you.

  But it was hard to be witty around beautiful men. As a photographer and an artist (at least, she liked to think of her photography as art), she had a healthy appreciation for beauty and form. The fact that this tattooed man was sinfully gorgeous and moved like a dancer? Only fed her fantasies. She tried to remember his name and drew a blank. Something exotic and strong and elegant, like him. She hadn’t thought to memorize it, though, because she’d figured she’d never need it.

  Men like him didn’t talk to girls like her. Self-conscious, she let her hair swing in front of her face and straightened her shoulders again, careful to tilt the left one higher.

  Silence fell in the lodge. Elise continued to stare at the floor, wishing that she could think of something to say to him that would be witty and clever, or outrageous and daring like Brenna. Heck, even something about the weather would be nice. But nothing came to mind at all, and so she began to pray for someone to return and distract him so she could admire him covertly from afar.

  No rescue came.

  “You’re scared of me. It’s obvious.” His voice was scathing.

  “I—” Her voice died into a squeak as she looked up at him. She wasn’t scared of him. He was just way out of her league. He was stunningly beautiful, and he’d never look at a girl like her twice. “I’m not scared.”

  “Then why won’t you look at me?”

  Because you might see my scars. She forced herself to keep her gaze on his face, since he seemed offended by any less. And her heart fluttered when his hard mouth curved a bit on one side, hinting at a smile. It tugged at the piercing on his lip in the sexiest way.

  “Not scared,” she blurted again.

  “You shy then, Bo Peep?”

  Shy was only the tip of the iceberg. But it was hard to describe exactly how she was feeling when her tongue was locked to the roof of her mouth. She averted her eyes again, only to have her gaze alight on those arms corded with dark tattoos. His entire look was one of roguishness and utter sexiness. Totally forbidden.

  Totally hot. He’d be in her dreams tonight, that was for sure, provided that she allowed herself to fantasize about a man like him being interested in a mouse like her.

  He chuckled. “I’m going to guess that’s a yes.”

  “Yes,” she said, and the word was so quiet that she cringed internally.

  “You don’t have to be shy around me,” he said easily. “I’m not anyone important.”

  Just the most stunning man who’s ever talked to me, she thought to herself, but said nothing aloud.

  The front door to the lodge banged, and Elise jumped backward a step, retreating away from him. Brenna wandered in.

  “Well, Elise,” she began, undoing the chin strap of her bright pink ATV helmet as she strode to her desk. “They’re all in hiding from me, so unless you want Pop, we’re going to have to do this thing without a model—” She stopped in her tracks at the sight of Rome and a beaming smile crossed her face. “Why, lookie there.” Her tone became sugary sweet. “Hello, Rome, you sweet thing you.” Brenna sashayed over, grinning like a madwoman. “Did Elise already tell you that she needs a man?”

  Oh no. Elise felt her face get hot. She stared at the floor again, wishing it would swallow her up. Did Brenna have to word it like that? It made her sound desperate and lonely.

  Not that she wasn’t, of course. She just didn’t want it to sound like she was.

  “A man, huh?” Rome’s voice sounded amused, but he wasn’t laughing at her at least.

  “For her photo shoot. She needs a male model and Dane and Colt are hiding out from us. You want to volunteer?”

  Volunteer? Elise wanted to protest. Rome made her too uncomfortably aware of who and what he was. She needed someone like Dane, who she’d known since grade school and thought of more like a brother than a grown man. Or Colt, who’d be all business the entire time and never make her feel uncomfortable. Not Rome with his gorgeous eyes and long lashes and dark tattoos and that sexy lip ring. She had to concentrate for her photos and if he was distracting her, she’d get nothing but lousy shots.

  And she really should have said some of this aloud. But her tongue remained glued to the roof of her mouth and she gave Brenna a mute look of appeal.

  “Is this part of my new job?” Rome asked. “Cause if so, I suppose I don’t mind.”

 
; “It is,” Brenna told him firmly, her voice cheerful. “We require all our men to strip down and oil up.”

  “This a survival business or a strip joint?”

  “Which one did you want it to be?” Brenna teased him.

  Elise stood by mutely, listening to their banter. Brenna was so easy with Rome—so easy with all the guys, actually. Elise was wildly jealous of her. Not only was she pretty, she was fun and outgoing. Elise was none of those things.

  Brenna could get a man like Rome. Not Elise. Boring, plain, unable to speak to men Elise.

  “You sure you want to take pictures of me? I’m not exactly clean-cut,” Rome said, and his hand went to his flat stomach and he idly scratched it.

  “You don’t have any scary tats, do you?” Brenna asked bluntly. “No obscene pickle-fucking or racist symbols or anything?”

  Rome snorted. “Hell no.”

  “I think we’ll need to see some proof,” Brenna told him, and moved to Elise’s side, elbowing her in camaraderie. “Right, Elise?”

  A small squeak that might have been assent escaped her throat.

  Rome looked over at her. “Was that a yes?”

  She looked back at Brenna with mute appeal. But when there was no help coming from that quarter, she turned back to Rome. “Um . . . okay?”

  “All right, then.” He reached for the hem of his tight shirt and pulled it out of his jeans, then dragged it over his head.

  Elise was struck dumb at the sight of him without his shirt on. Big, brawny shoulders framed flat pectorals and washboard abs. A large, dark series of lines covered the front of his chest, going from collarbone down to below his pectorals. Skulls, knives, and other symbols were woven into the intricate design. It wasn’t typical, but she was fascinated by it. And by him.

  “Hmm. I don’t know if that’s too much for the photo. What do you think, Elise?” Brenna turned to her.

  “Beautiful,” Elise said softly, still staring at those tattoos. They were a work of art all their own, the way they flowed together. That chest tattoo even flowed to the ones covering his arms, so they were almost like another skin on him. And they were done with the greatest of care—that much was obvious. She wanted to run her hands over the tattoos and the hot skin they covered, just so she could admire them with her touch.