by Darah Lace
He’d nearly charged the floor earlier when she was dancing with Evan McNamara. She had no idea the kind of kink he was into. Mason did. He’d been friends with Clay long enough, roomed with him while traveling the rodeo circuit, and understood well the direction Clay had been headed. Bondage, ménage, Dominance/submission. Mason had played a bit during those days, but it wasn’t his scene. He liked his women free to give back as good as they got and he sure as hell didn’t like to share.
Mason had no doubt that if Evan was Clay’s friend, he was a decent guy, but Mason would lay odds he was also into the lifestyle. And from the interaction between the three, Mason would bet Evan was Clay and Lindsey’s third. Still, he’d be damned if he let the bastard near Bradi again.
“She’s having a good time.” Lindsey slipped into the chair to his right.
“Too good a time,” he muttered under his breath, not bothering to ask who she meant. He didn’t need any help noticing and he’d been content to brood about it alone.
“So what are you going to do about it?” Clay grabbed the chair on the other side of the table and swung it closer to Lindsey.
“Me?”
“You’re her friend, aren’t you?” The voice came from behind him as the last of the trio settled into the last vacant chair, confirming his suspicions they acted as a unit. “At least that’s what she told me earlier. That you were just friends.”
Mason ground his teeth at the words just friends and followed Evan’s gaze as he tracked Bradi and Heath heading back to the pool table. Heath handed her another beer.
Lindsey covered his hand with hers. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad she’s finally cutting loose, but I’d hate for her to regret it in the morning. And if I know Bradi, she’ll regret Heath.”
Not as much as Mason would. But he had no intention of letting things get that far. He just hadn’t figured out what to do yet. She hadn’t returned any of his calls or texts this afternoon and she’d avoided him all night.
Shit, he’d really fucked up this morning. First, he’d hurt her feelings because he couldn’t control his goddamn cock. Then he put her off when Deidre had shown up. Well, if she hadn’t been her usual stubborn self and taken off, he would have been there for her. But then again, it had taken him a good half hour to make Deidre understand he wasn’t interested.
As the four of them watched, Heath led Bradi back to the dance floor and proceeded to polish his belt buckle. Evan swiveled to face Mason, one brow cocked. “If you don’t do something, I will.”
“Fuck that.” Mason stood so fast his chair hit the floor behind him and, without another word, he made his way across the bar. He wove between the dancing couples, stopped behind Heath and tapped him on the shoulder.
The dickhead actually grinned at him. “Hey, boss. What’s up?”
“I’m cutting in.”
Heath opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue, then slowly clamped it shut and shrugged. “Sure, whatever.”
Smart man.
Bradi hadn’t lifted her head from Heath’s chest during the exchange, which told Mason just how far gone she was.
“Hey, darlin’.” Heath peeled her arms from around his neck. “Time to say good night.”
She raised her head and smiled up at him. “Good night.” Heath transferred her to Mason, and her grin grew wider as she melted against him. Her arms circled his neck and her hips undulated with the rhythm of the music. “Hey, Mace. What are you doing out here? You don’t dance.”
“Nope.” Mason fisted his hands at the small of her back to keep from palming her ass and grinding his cock into her belly. At least she wasn’t mad at him anymore. Guess he could be grateful she was a happy drunk. “Time to go home.”
“But I’m having fun.” Her body shimmied closer. “And you feel so good.”
And just his luck, a horny drunk.
Groaning, Mason backed away from Bradi and grabbed her hand. “Come on.”
“Wait.” She tugged on his arm. “I have to get my purse.”
Purse? She carried a purse now? He stopped at the edge of the dance floor. “Where is it?”
“Lindsey’s apartment upstairs. My keys are in it. Condoms too.” She started toward the back of the bar but he held tight to her hand and swung her toward the door.
“You won’t need either. You’re drunk and you need to go home and sleep it off.” With his hands on her waist, he nudged her forward. The sooner he got her home the better. And easy access to a condom was not a good idea. “You can come get your purse in the morning.”
“Wait.”
“What now?”
“Where’s Heath?”
Mason looked over his shoulder and shook his head with a combination of amazement, disgust and relief. Heath hadn’t wasted any time finding Bradi’s replacement. A pretty little redhead sat in his lap. “He’s busy.”
Bradi swatted at his hands and glanced in the direction of the pool tables. Her face twisted into a frown. “Seriously? I dance one song with you and…” She squinted. “Is that Jennie Crumb? He could do better.”
“Let’s go.”
She let him herd her through the crowd, but dug in her heels again just shy of passing through the door. “I don’t want to go home.” She shook free of his grip. “I want to have sex.” Heads turned and several men grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. “Good ol’ down and dirty, hot and sweaty sex.”
“God, Bradi.” Mason was beginning to wonder if he even knew her anymore. He clamped a hand over her mouth, picked her up by the waist and carried her out the door. Maybe some fresh air would sober her up and curb that motor mouth.
“Put me down.” Her words were slurred and muffled behind his hand as she squirmed against him. Her elbow connected with his ribs.
Grunting, he set her on her feet at the edge of the dark parking lot and backed away. He shook his head. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing lately,” she grumbled. “But I was trying to fix that.”
Was she trying to shock him?
“I’ll bet Jennie wouldn’t mind sharing. I’ve heard Heath has enough to satisfy both of us.”
Jealousy flared, and in the same breath, his balls tightened. No, goddammit, he wouldn’t think about Bradi having sex with another woman. “Just get in the damn truck.”
“You don’t understand. I really need to get laid.”
“What you need is a good spanking.” He swatted her ass and gave her another shove toward his pickup.
She moaned and rubbed her palm across her butt. “You have no idea.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re bad.”
“I want to be, but you won’t let me.” The glare she gave him was half sultry pout, half teasing promise.
Mason pointed at the truck twenty feet away, then fell in step beside her. Her long stride usually matched his, but in those sexy-as-hell sandals, she took two steps to his one. He slowed his pace. “Somebody’s gotta rein you in.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, just look at you. This isn’t like you. Drinking too much, hanging all over guys.” He waved at her feet. “Your fucking toenails are painted.”
“Oh my god, string me to nearest tree. I’m a painted harlot.”
“It’s not just that.” He drove his fingers through his hair, wanting to yank it out by the roots. God, she frustrated him to no end, and in more than one way. “I’m just saying that some men might take advantage of you when you’ve had too much to drink. You don’t understand the danger you’re putting yourself in.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Her steps wavered to the right, then back to the left. Guess he was right about her condition. “I haven’t had sex in too long and you can’t imagine how hard it is to masturbate with Mom and Dad in the next room.”
His head snapped up. “You masturbate?” Shit, he did not want to know the answer to that question, but she was turning out to be a talkative drunk, too, and he didn’t hold out much faith that she’d keep this bit of
information to herself.
“Doesn’t every woman?” She rolled her eyes and turned on him, hands on hips. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t see me as a woman.” Her index finger stabbed his chest. “Which would mean you shouldn’t have any problem understanding my needs ’cause, hey, I’m just like you. I’m one of the guys.”
“Believe me, after tonight I’ll never think of you that way again.” He’d go to bed every night with the image of Bradi pleasuring herself.
“Really?” A smile dissolved her frown and softened her features. Green eyes brightened in the dim light of the street lamp. Her tongue darted between parted lips, then disappeared, leaving them wet and shiny and so fucking edible. “’Cause I certainly don’t think of you as one of the girls. In fact,” her hands slithered up his arms and down his chest, “you’re about the most male man I’ve ever seen, Mason Montgomery.”
“Stop that.” He walked her backward. Only three more feet and he’d have her safely in the truck.
“Let’s see how male you are.” Fingernails skimmed his stomach, and before he could stop her, she cupped his dick through his jeans.
He stopped in his tracks, too stunned that she’d actually touched his cock to keep moving. That, and if he moved, it would be to shove his crotch against her palm.
Her eyes snapped up to his. “Mason, you have a hard-on.”
“I’m a man, Bradi. This is what happens when you talk about sex.” Intent on pushing her away, he grasped the first thing his fingers touched—her hair—but they turned traitor on him and drove deeper until the tips grazed her scalp. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear himself demanding that he push her away, remove her hand from his crotch and forget any of this ever happened. Instead, all he could think about was how cool and silky her hair felt sifting through his fingers and how much he wanted to wrap it around his cock.
“But it’s for me. I’m talking about sex. I’m the one exciting you.” Jesus, she sounded almost giddy.
He reached for her hands, but suddenly they were everywhere. Her body slammed into him, knocking him off balance and against the front fender of his truck. Slender fingers plucked his shirt from his waistband and tugged at his belt. Her lips grazed the side of his neck. Her tongue lapped at his ear. She practically crawled up his body.
“Bradi, god, no.” He tried to catch her hands as he regained his balance and pushed off the hood but they snaked around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist. “Don’t make me hogtie you and toss you in the truck bed.”
Staggering a few feet, Mason wrenched open the passenger door. The wildcat in his arms tilted to one side, nearly toppling them both. He grabbed her ass to steady her only to fill his palms with warm pliable flesh. A groan rose in his throat. The filmy dress had ridden to her hips, and she wore no underwear, not even a thong, which meant…
“Mmm, yes.” Arching her back, she rolled her hips and ground her naked pussy against his erection.
Even through the denim, her heat seared his cock. Jesus Christ, he couldn’t take much more. He set her on the bench seat and grabbed her legs to unlock them. Her heels dug into the back of his thighs.
“Tie me across the hood of your truck if you want, Mason. Spank me hard.” She nipped at his earlobe. “And then fuck me harder.”
His mouth gaped at the perverse words coming from her mouth. Words that made his gut clench, his blood pump faster and his dick throb. Words that described a scene he would never have imagined with Bradi, but now that he had…
“Touch me, Mason. I want your hands on me.”
The taut bead of her nipple grazed his hand and supple flesh filled his palm. He wasn’t sure how his hand had come to rest on her breast or when she’d untied the halter straps of her dress. His mind clouded and no matter how hard he fought to deny himself, his hand squeezed, testing the weight of her generous mound.
“Yes, squeeze harder. Pinch my nipple.” The button fly of his jeans ripped open, and she snuck her hand under the elastic of his boxers. Her fingers tightened around his shaft as her other hand shoved at his jeans. “You feel so good, Mason. I need you inside me.”
Mason looked at his hand on her breast, the other breast exposed, its plump pink nipple jutting upward, inviting him to taste. He swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth. “No.” He shook his head. “No, Bradi.”
Jerking his hand from her breast, he grabbed her wrists, lifted both arms above her head and pressed her backward against the seat. Wrong move. Her sweet body wriggled beneath him. Her breasts mashed against his chest. Worse, the head of his cock rested at the opening of her hot, wet pussy.
“Mmm, yes,” she murmured in his ear. Her calves urged him forward. Her hips bucked. Her inner muscles clenched, trying to suck him inside, teasing his dick with the promise of a viselike grip. “Do it, Mason. Now.”
“Shh, don’t talk. Don’t move.” He buried his face in her hair and tried to breathe through the whirlpool of lust churning in his balls. Her sweet scent, strawberries and vanilla, filled his head. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. Sweat beaded his brow and his muscles burned as he struggled to keep from thrusting hard and deep, just like she wanted it.
Fluid oozed from his dick. He was going to burst at any second. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. No condom. His hips strained forward and he shuddered as exquisite pressure surrounded the very tip of his cock head. God, he wanted to fuck her.
And why should he worry about a condom? This was Bradi. She was clean. And so was he. And if he got her pregnant…
“Bradi, I don’t have a condom.”
A slight nasal sound buzzed in his ear. What the hell?
There it was again.
He lifted his head. Her face was turned away, eyes closed, mouth open. Another snore sawed past those luscious pink lips. One leg slid from his hip.
A car door slammed in the distance, reminding Mason where they were. He bolted upright, smacking the back of his head on the doorframe.
“Shit.” He absorbed the pain as he jerked up his jeans and buttoned them.
Jesus fucking Christ, he’d nearly fucked his best friend…in a parking lot…while she was passed out. This was wrong on so many levels. He was no better than Heath, taking advantage of her drunken state.
His gaze was drawn back to her lying half in and half out of his truck, passed out and snoring like a bullfrog. Long slender legs spread wide—one hiked high with her heel caught on the seatbelt, the other dangling, both creamy white and toned from hours of hard work. At the juncture of her thighs, a light dusting of blonde curls covered an otherwise bald pussy. Her juices glistened, making him ache to taste them.
It’s Bradi, dickhead. Your friend, remember?
Hands shaking, Mason gently situated her farther into the cab, made sure her dress covered the vital parts and slammed the door. Circling the truck, he climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. He brushed the hair from her face and then couldn’t help himself. He gathered her closer so that her head rested on his lap. She looked so peaceful now and, other than the makeup, like the Bradi he knew.
He shook his head, still confused by the sudden change. She’d been like one of the broncs he used to ride—wild, fast and untamed. And just as they’d bucked and spun and ridden him into the fence, desperate to get him off their back, even at the cost of injury, Bradi had been determined to get what she needed without a care for the possible danger she might encounter. Yeah, this was her hometown. Yeah, everyone knew everyone. But half the men inside the Lucky Draw wouldn’t hesitate to fuck her while she was unconscious.
And goddammit, he didn’t even want to speculate on what could happen if she pulled this stunt in the city. Fear tightened his chest at the thought of her putting herself in this situation again. Date rape was common among the college crowd. Or she could be kidnapped and sold into the sex slave market. Not to mention the perverts who wanted nothing more than to torture young women.
Anything could happen, and there’d be no one there to protect her. He w
ouldn’t always be there to keep her safe. She’d be helpless.
Someone needed to teach her a lesson, to scare the holy hell out of her so that she wouldn’t do something like this again. Unfortunately, he didn’t trust anyone else to handle Bradi.
He was her best friend. It was up to him to give her one hell of a wake-up call.
Chapter Three
Still in the twilight of sleep, Bradi fought consciousness. Her head pounded like a son of a bitch. Her mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton balls. And she couldn’t move her arms.
Not the first time she’d passed out and woken up with numb body parts. God, what had she done last night? Inhaling a long slow breath, she tried to remember. The scent of citrus and musk filled her nostrils.
Mason.
Like a cold dunk in the creek in December, panic cleared the fog and the memory of what she’d done sliced through her. No, she hadn’t done Mason. But she’d come close. Not as close as she wanted but…oh god, she’d so screwed up.
She tried to roll from her stomach to her back but her arms didn’t seem to want to listen to her brain. That last beer must have been one too many. She tried again to rise to her elbow. Something around her wrists bound her arms above her head.
She opened her eyes, her lashes scraping against silk. A blindfold covered her eyes and blocked out all but a smidgeon of light. Her heart began to pound, then just as quickly evened out. She wasn’t afraid. She knew she was in Mason’s house. His grandpa wore horse liniment, and the house always reeked of it. And she’d been in Mason’s room enough times when they were younger and memorized everything about it, including the smell, which hadn’t always been pleasant. But what calmed her most was his scent on the sheet beneath her.
“Mason?” She lifted her head and listened for any hint of his presence. “Are you there?”
Nothing.
Damn him. Where the hell was he? And what was he up to?
She lowered her head to the mattress and tried to draw her legs under her so she could sit up. Her ankles were restrained, one to each corner post, and a cool cotton sheet rustled over her legs, back and ass. Holy fuck, she was naked.