Texas Tangle

by Leah Braemel

  He twirled the end of the tie over her nipple, watching it bead. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. I sorta have a hankering to use your reins to tie you up, but for now we can use these.”

  “My reins?”

  “Yup. Something about seeing you in leather makes me hard as a rock.”

  Her gaze dropped to his groin. When she saw proof of his words her breath stuttered, and the artery beneath her ear betrayed how her heart raced. Fear? Or excitement?

  “What do you think? Do you want to try a little bondage?”

  “Yes. I’m willing to try anything with you, Dillon.” As if the husky quality to her voice didn’t betray her desire, she reached up and helped him bind her left wrist.

  If this might distract her, he was willing to give it a shot. He wrapped the silk around her right wrist and then around one of the cannonballs of the headboard.

  He stood back and frowned. Was he doing this right? “Too tight?”

  “No.” Her eyes were wide, and her breathing had quickened. Wow, she was as turned on as he was. He’d been afraid she might think him a pervert.

  Satisfied he could proceed uninterrupted, Dillon dipped his head to one pale nipple and tongued it, then blew on it until it was a hard point. “Let yourself go, Nik. Feel what I’m doing to you.”

  He settled between her thighs, spreading them wide. Using his thumb to part her labia, he bent his head and swiped his tongue around her the hard bud of her clit. Her body shook beneath him, her hips lifting to meet his mouth. Dipping his head, he spent a long time licking her, enjoying her taste, watching her reactions so he could increase her pleasure. Once she was writhing beneath him, straining against her bonds, he inserted two fingers into her pussy and stroked deep inside. Her hips rotated with each stroke, and the little purr signaling she was about to come grew louder. She wasn’t going to last long if he kept this up, so he slowed his rhythm.

  Hell, he wasn’t going to last long if he kept this up. His blood pounded in his ears, a primitive drumbeat forcing him on.

  Her body tightening around his invading fingers, he pulled back to nuzzle her damp curls. The musky fragrance of her juices clinging to his chin and his upper lip were a heady elixir. He dragged his beard over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, marking her as his.

  He returned to her swollen cleft, lapping her sweet honey, keeping her on the knife edge of orgasm.

  “Dillon, please.” She lifted her head to stare down at him, her hair a corona of fire spreading across his pillow. Her hands clenched around the ties binding her to the headboard.

  “All in good time.”

  She arched up again, thrusting the taut bud into his mouth. He cupped her quivering pussy, her juices drenching him. His hips ground his cock into the mattress, his mind fighting his body’s need to bury himself deep inside her again.

  “Dillon.” A demand, not a plea.

  He captured her clit between his lips, lashing the swollen tissue with his tongue. He lifted his gaze from the beautiful dark pink folds to watch her as he thrust a third finger deep inside her tight channel. “Come for me, baby.”

  He swiped his thumb across her pulsing clit. That’s all it took to force her to climax. Her voice sounded like she was about to cry, but then her body shuddered. The headboard creaked from the strain as she pulled on her bonds, and a look of bliss filled her eyes. Sensuous, uninhibited. His.

  Before her orgasm died off, he’d wrapped his cock in a condom and sheathed himself to the balls in her slick pussy, the heated passage still rippling the remains of her orgasm.

  She writhed beneath him, her hands wrapped around the ties binding her to the bed, pleading for him to take her hard and fast. While he missed having her hands on him, digging into his shoulders, clutching his ass, something dark inside roused, some cavemanlike instinct that reveled in being in control of her, being completely in charge of her pleasure.

  The way her fingers dug into the silk bindings, the desperation in her voice, set his instincts aflame. He dipped his head to the curve of her neck and licked the salty taste of her sweat, her skin.

  He withdrew slowly, then pressed in just as slowly. His eyes closed in ecstasy from the pressure as he buried himself in her to the hilt.

  Another slow withdrawal, followed by a slow return. He felt the familiar warning at the base of his spine. He wasn’t going to last much longer, whether he went fast or slow.

  “Dillon, please.” Desperation filled her voice. “I need you.”

  How long had he wanted to hear her say that? Every day since he’d bought the land adjoining hers and had seen her riding along their shared fenceline. Longer. Since high school. Before she’d started dating that sorry-assed husband of hers. He’d let her get away once. Not again. If he had to leave her tied to his bed until she agreed, or wrap her in cotton wool to protect her, he’d do it.

  “You want this?” His voice was gruff as he thrust into her and held still. Her body trembled around him, her pussy clenching and releasing. She was so close to coming, taking him with her, and him not moving a damned muscle. “You want me?”

  “Yes. Please, Dillon. Move, damn it!”

  He stole her breath by catching her bottom lip between his. Her eyes fluttered closed as he withdrew and thrust in again, filling her completely.

  The sound of their flesh smacking together, of Nikki’s moans and his grunts each time his cock hit the end of her tight channel, filled the room. Everything else faded; his world reduced to the sensation of her pussy squeezing his cock, the feel of his sweat-covered body slipping over her soft skin, her gasps, his harsh breath. With a roar, he buried himself twice more before his balls completely tightened, and he pumped his release for what seemed like forever.

  Midnight had long since come and gone when Brett let himself into his apartment. His shoulders loosened, as did the knot that had formed in his gut. It was stupid. He’d already driven by the Double Bar and saw Dillon’s truck parked out front and knew there’d be no one here. Yet he’d expected to find Dillon waiting for him, even braced himself to have a knock-down-drag-out.

  Not that he’d done anything wrong. Yet. He hadn’t kissed Nikki, though he’d been less than a nanosecond away from giving in to temptation. So Dillon had no reason to beat him up again. But, shit, he’d come so close.

  It damned near killed him trying to pretend he didn’t want to drag Nikki up to his room and make love to her night after night. To pretend he didn’t need her cuddling him in the darkest hours of the night when the nightmares hit.

  He diverted to the kitchen and grabbed a beer, then padded into the living room. Stretched out on the couch, he pillowed his head with his arm and settled back with a sigh, using the television as his nightlight. He flipped around the channels, but gave up on finding anything good, so he switched on the DVD player.

  Instead of paying attention to whatever the hell crap movie was playing, his mind drifted back to his situation. He’d almost blown it today. Considering Nikki was very definitely in a relationship with Dillon this time, if he’d moved that half inch, if he’d given in to his fantasy, he’d have found himself cast from the Barnett family permanently. After Dillon had kicked his ass from here to kingdom come.

  He pounded his fist into the couch. What the hell had he been thinking, agreeing to stay at Dillon’s while Nik was there? Why the hell had he thought he could pretend he wasn’t still attracted to her?

  He’d paved the goddamned road to hell with all his good intentions, hadn’t he?

  The light from the television flickered over the ceiling as he stared at it. No matter how many times he replayed the afternoon, it still came back to him losing control, to him losing everything he cherished. His friendship with Dillon. His family.

  He flung his hand over his eyes. While it shut out the light, it couldn’t stop the feeling of failure flooding him. He hadn’t even had the balls to stick around until Dillon had come home. No, he’d run off and left Nik all by herself.

&n
bsp; Come on, if you’d stayed, you’d have had her naked and horizontal in another five minutes.

  No. That would never have happened. She’d told him no. She wasn’t the type to fool around. She’d proven that all those years she was married to Wade. What made him think he could have changed her mind?

  Stop your whimpering, you fuckin’ little bastard.

  He tried to protect himself from the coming blow, but he couldn’t move one of his arms. Had he been tied up again? Pain exploded in his head as his father’s fist connected with his face. He hadn’t done anything wrong, he wanted to argue. He’d gotten home from school on time, just like he’d been told. He’d kept quiet. He’d done his homework.

  Think you’re so fuckin’ good, don’t you, boy? Just like your mother.

  A blow to his stomach drove his breath from him. He gave up trying to stand and huddled in a ball on the floor, his working arm flung over his head trying to protect himself, like he’d done a hundred times before. Humming to himself didn’t drown out his father’s curses. Pretending he was at the rodeo on a bucking bronc didn’t ease the pain when his father hit him again and again and again.

  I’ll show you who’s the man around here, you little shit.

  The toe of his father’s boot pounded into his side, the pain excruciating, the crack of bone telling him he’d broken at least one rib. Another kick, another crack. So hard to breathe. Hurt so bad.

  Brett opened his eyes to blackness, his breath ragged in his throat, afraid to shout and draw more of his father’s ire. Yet afraid if he didn’t call out, he’d be left in that darkness forever. Forgotten. Alone. I’ll be good. I promise.

  Wait, it was soft beneath him. The couch, not wooden planks. His apartment, not the shed.

  Releasing a shaky breath, Brett sank back against the couch pillows. Sweat dripped down his forehead; his shirt clung to him in damp patches. Damn, it had been so long since he’d had one of those nightmares.

  He grabbed the remote and switched the television to one of the incessant talk shows. At least this one had a good musical guest for once. In a futile attempt to distract himself from the memories, he turned up the sound while Brad Paisley sang about being a guy.

  Surrendering to another night’s lost sleep, Brett headed back to the kitchen. He was just finishing the last of his second beer when someone pounded on his apartment door.

  Dillon. It had to be. Who the fuck else would be awake at five-fucking-thirty in the fucking morning?

  The door rattled on its hinges as a fist pounded it again.

  “Come on, buddy, open up.”

  Yup. Dillon.

  He walked to the door, but before his hand touched the lock, he hesitated and rested his head on the jamb. All hope for happiness drained from him, as if someone had pulled a plug.

  Get it over with.

  “Brett, open the door, will ya? Your car’s out in the parking lot, so I know you’re here.”

  He flipped the lock and, bracing himself, opened the door.

  Dillon pushed past him and glanced around the apartment, as if he’d never been there before.

  Not for the first time, he wondered why he couldn’t have been the one to drive past her that first night. To have bought the place bordering hers. Sometimes fate was a black-hearted bitch. “What do you want, Dill?”

  Dillon took off his hat and banged it against his thigh a couple times before he faced Brett. “I want you to explain what the fuck you’re doing sleeping here. You’re supposed to be stayin’ at my place.”

  Brett rubbed his hands over his face. “I felt like sleeping in my own bed, all right?”

  He realized too late that he’d left the bedroom door open, and Dillon could see for himself he’d not slept in the bed.

  Dillon tilted his head to one side, his eyes glittering obsidian in the dim light. “You look like shit. And Nikki was antsy tonight too. So you want to tell me what the fuck’s going on? Did you two fight or something?”

  Few other men would have heard the challenge in Dillon’s voice. So Nikki wasn’t just a casual fling to Dillon. There went that fantasy. “No, we didn’t fight. Didn’t you ask her?”

  “Yeah, she wouldn’t say anything. When you didn’t come home, I figured something may have gone on between you, and she was too polite to say anything. So what happened?”

  There was the opening. He should just admit he had a thing for Nikki still and get it over with. “She tell you about what she found out at the bank?”

  “About Phil cleanin’ out her bank accounts? Yup.”

  “Yeah, well, she was crying about losing all her stuff, and I—”

  Before he could get any further, Dillon interrupted him. “She was crying?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Shit!” Dillon ran his hand through his hair, spiking it in a half-dozen directions. “She’s not once cried around me.”

  “She’s trying to be strong, Dill. She thinks she has to prove something. That she has to handle things all by herself, or she’s failed or something.”

  Keep going. Tell him the rest of it. Go on, you coward.

  Shaking his head, Dillon tossed his hat on the chair and began to pace. “Why would she think that? She has me to lean on.” He waved a hand in Brett’s direction. “She’s got you too. She doesn’t have to do everything all by herself.”

  “She thinks she does.” Coward, coward, coward!

  But I didn’t kiss her, he argued with himself. You can’t charge people for something they were thinking about but didn’t do. It wouldn’t stand up in a court of law, so why ruin things between him and Dillon again? He cursed the equivocation, hating when his suspects tried such games. “Outward she’s comes across confident, but inside? She’s probably hearing everything her parents said to her, about her being stupid and such. She’s hurtin’ still, Dillon.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s why I want you to come back.”

  So I can act on my impulses? No fucking way. “You don’t need me there anymore. You didn’t before. Phil isn’t coming back. I’m the third wheel. I’m in your way.”

  “You’re just going to walk away? Leave her to do the morning chores all by herself. Just like Phil.”

  It was a low blow, but he deserved it.

  “I’ll get Matt to help her out in the mornings, before he heads to school. I got things to do. Responsibilities.” He walked to the door and opened it again. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything more about Nik’s stuff.”

  Dillon rocked on his heels for a moment. “What about your responsibilities to Nik?”

  “I’ve done what I can. It’s time to get back to a normal routine. To get on with life.” It’s too dangerous for me to go back there again. It hurts too much.

  “Huh.” The white hat banged against denim with a sharp snap before Dillon placed it back on his head and walked to the door. “Never figured you’d walk away from a promise. Your word used to be good for something.”

  Well, shit. Whoever said words couldn’t hurt didn’t know jack shit. Because he felt like he’d just been stabbed with a fucking bowie knife right in the chest.

  “Tell Nik…” Tell her I love her. “Tell her I’ll call you if anything new comes up on her stuff.”

  Chapter Seven

  Brett reached for Dillon’s front door then stopped. Why couldn’t Dillon have been home? At least that way he knew he could control himself. Even though he’d stayed away a full month, he still hadn’t gotten her out from under his skin.

  Get it over with. Give her the news, then stay far away.

  He lifted his hand and after a moment’s hesitation, knocked on the door. Maybe he’d get lucky, and she wouldn’t be here. Maybe she’d gone into town with Dillon.

  The door creaked open, and there she was, wearing one of the white shirts he’d left behind, a pair of cut-offs beneath. She’d left the top three buttons undone, giving him a tantalizing view of her cleavage. His cock punched against his zipper at the thought of unbuttoning the rest of the butto
ns, of spreading the fabric wide and tasting her nipples.

  Why didn’t he just cut off his balls and hand them to Dillon on a plate?

  “Brett?” She looked startled to see him. “Come on in.”

  He followed her into the kitchen, watched her fiddle with the coffee maker. Nikki never fiddled and, more importantly, she wasn’t looking at him. He made her nervous. Did she worry he might try something on her again?

  His fists clenched at the thought that he might have scared her, made her think he might take what she wasn’t willing to give.

  “I didn’t mean to drive you away.” She made a gesture of impatience. “I’m sorry, I’m being selfish. I just…I’ve missed you.”

  The heated blood racing through his veins headed south when she smoothed her hands down her front, tightening the fabric over her breasts, accentuating that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  Did she realize how beautiful she was with the color high in her cheeks when she blushed? Longing spun his senses until he felt like he’d been caught in a twister, especially when she turned those soulful eyes on him. The lost tone in her voice cut right through him, pierced defenses he didn’t know he’d erected. Shitdamnfuck, get control of yourself, Anderson.

  He closed his eyes and tried not to focus on the memory of how she’d softened in his arms, how right she’d felt cuddled up to him.

  I’ve missed you too.

  “Dillon’s missed you too,” she continued. Her head tilted to the side, and a strange look flickered over her face. “He’s starting to think you’re deliberately avoiding him. Did we do something to upset you? Are you mad at us?”

  “No. There’s just been a lot going on at work.” It was easier for me, less tempting to take you in my arms again. Though the ache in his chest that had formed as he’d driven away hadn’t eased at all.

  “Oh.” She took a deep breath and stared out the back door. “I take it since you’re here that you’ve got news about Phil?”