The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (The Wicked Horse Series)

by Sawyer Bennett

  Auralie is back on her elbows again, watching me with keen eyes. I drop to my knees back on the mattress, my dick bobbing almost painfully. I take note of the flushed cheeks, tangled hair from her thrashing, and pebbled nipples, and I can’t wait another minute. Flipping my body around, I lay on my side with my face at her hips, which puts hers near mine as she rolls to her side. I can’t bear to look down at her, so I concentrate on getting my mouth back on that sweet pussy by taking her outer leg, picking it up, and maneuvering it onto my shoulder. I use the arm I’m lying on to snake around her back and press her toward me, using my tongue to prod through her wet folds and find the prize. When my tongue hits her clit, she jerks and moans. I fucking love that sound from her.

  Then her hand is on my cock and I’m the one who jerks, which mashes my mouth to her harder. I hold my breath for a moment that lasts for years, and then I can feel her hot, wet mouth on me. I groan against her pussy. And fuck… she takes me so deep my balls start tingling.

  I can’t see a damn thing because I’m face first into some sweet eating, nose, lips, mouth, and tongue deep into her snatch, and I think it might even be better I can’t see. Rather, I can imagine. Her cheeks hollowed out, her throat begging to be plowed. Her mouth so damn wet that she glides seamlessly up and down my shaft. She places a tentative hand to my balls and rolls them against her palm, and I feel the head of my dick bumping against the back of her mouth. Every time I put pressure on her clit, she moans, which vibrates against my aching shaft and shoots jolts of pleasure down to my nuts.

  She’s so fucking good at this, but I knew she would be.

  I just knew it.

  I’m so close to coming and the thought of her drinking me down starts sending me over the edge.

  I don’t want to leave her behind so I hit her clit hard with my tongue, flicking it quickly with increasing pressure.

  Both of us are so far gone, our hips pumping against each other. My head bobs between her legs as she gyrates and I ram my cock in and out of her mouth, entering the top of her throat.

  With a sudden heave of my body, I roll to my back, my arm around her, taking her with me so I’m on the bottom and she’s on top. Her mouth never misses a stroke. I use both free hands now to pull her down so she’s sitting on my face and my tongue is lashing at her pussy. Auralie is leaking all over my mouth and chin faster than I can lap it all up, and when I sense she’s right on the edge, I do something deliciously dirty to her that’s also not against Magnus’ rules.

  I reach a hand past her hip, over her lower spine, and push my fingers lightly down the crack of her ass. Pushing them past her tight hole, down to the base of her pussy where she’s dripping wet, I rub my fingers around until they’re soaked. Then back up again where I push the tip of my index finger right into her ass.

  Auralie shrieks against my cock and then tilts her pelvis so she’s grinding on my face, her entire body quaking as an orgasm rips through her. It causes my own to fire and I plant my feet on the mattress, punch my hips up, and start to unload what seems like buckets into her hot little mouth.

  I groan my relief against her pussy, pull my index finger out to the tip, and push it back in. Auralie cries out again, but it’s muffled because her mouth is full of cum and cock, still holding me so deep I can feel her throat swallowing against my overly sensitive head.

  When she’s given one last pull on my cock, she pulls her head back and I flop out of her. Her face falls and rests on my thigh as I pull my finger out of her ass, giving a slight push on her hips to lift off me. She’s practically dead weight and I’m barely able to breathe, but I also don’t want to lose the feeling of her against me.

  So I roll both of us to the side again, slipping my arms around her waist and resting my cheek against her pelvis as I try to get my breathing under control.

  Not once did I think about the crowd watching us, or if Magnus is pissed that was clearly a bit more than I’m sure he imagined happening, or even if Auralie’s mortified we did that in front of all those people. I don’t think of anything other than the fact that was my one and only crack at this gorgeous creature, and now I’ve got to figure out a way to move past this and put her out of my mind.

  Chapter 8

  Auralie

  I pull Magnus’ rental Porsche into a parallel parking spot just one block off the town square, almost giddy with excitement to have the opportunity to explore Jackson. To say I was stunned this morning when Magnus woke me up at the crack of dawn was an understatement. He burst into my room, telling me that I needed to drive him to the airport as he had an emergency back in New York he had to handle.

  There was no way I was going back with him because he wasn’t about to waste money on a plane ticket when I wasn’t necessary to him there, and he also didn’t want me having any face-to-face contact with my father. When I asked him what the emergency was, my stomach dropped when he said with icy menace, “Your father apparently can’t follow instructions. He’s going to cause everything to crumble if I don’t get there and settle things down.”

  Yeah, well, that’s what you get, Magnus, when you get a two-bit hustler to run a long con that’s completely out of his comfort zone.

  I worried, of course, for my father. Magnus may at most times project an air of civility and politeness about him, but that’s just part of him staying in character. I’ve seen the nasty side that gets out of control with blistering anger. While Magnus Albright could never be compelled to violence as he might hurt his prissy, delicate hands, he has enough goons on his payroll that his messages are always imparted with brutal clarity as to his seriousness.

  So Dad has screwed up apparently, and I’m worried for him, but I also have to remember that Magnus left me here and this game hasn’t been played out to his conclusion. He’s not going to do anything to my father that will send me running, so I’m just going to have to hope my dad didn’t fuck things up too badly and that Magnus can fix whatever it is.

  And then he can come back here, and we can get this finished. I can move on with my life then, which most definitely includes a plan to pay Magnus back for making me do this.

  But for now, I’m stuck in the picturesque town of Jackson. Although I’ve been here a week, I haven’t left the rented house I shared with Magnus except to go to The Silo. I was going stir crazy on top of plain old crazy because of this shit I’ve landed myself into, and now I’m going to spend a nice day just being a normal girl on a very abnormal vacation.

  Over the next hour, I walk in and out of various shops, most of them geared toward visiting tourists. I spend twenty minutes alone in the studio of a photographer who specializes in native wildlife, wishing I had time to go explore Yellowstone. Maybe tomorrow, depending on how fast Magnus is coming back. I assume he’ll call me at some point today and give me a tentative plan. Until then, he merely told me to stay out of trouble and to keep a low profile until he got back.

  I walk a few blocks off the town square, passing by a tattoo shop and wishing I had the time or extra money to get one. It’s always been a wish of mine, and I know exactly what I’d get.

  A pair of rolling dice on my inner forearm.

  My signature grift.

  I pass a novelty T-shirt shop with product hanging in the window that says things like “Wyoming: Where Men Are Men and the Sheep Are Scared” or “I Support The Right to Keep and Bear Arms” with a picture of a grizzly holding a rifle.

  Past a winter sporting store called Teton Ski and Snowboarding, which even though it’s still fairly warm out, it seems to have a ton of people inside as I pass by.

  To a shop specializing in cowboy boots—

  “Auralie?” I hear from behind me.

  Turning around, I freeze in place as I see Logan walking out of the ski shop carrying a small paper bag in his hand. His expression mirrors mine, I’m sure. I never thought I’d see you again.

  This we both knew was a truth because Logan whispered it to me last night. While we were getting dressed after that
incredible session in the Black Room, he said he wasn’t going to come back into The Silo until after I was gone. It was both a sweet and sad sentiment, and I understood his thinking without even asking him why. I was also grateful he wouldn’t come back, because I didn’t want him to see me on my knees before another man, nor did I want him involved in this farce any longer.

  “Hey,” I respond in a quavering voice, shaking as he walks toward me.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, his head swiveling left and right, I’m betting looking for Magnus.

  “He’s not here,” I tell him, and his eyes snap back to mine as his shoulders visibly drop into a relaxed posture. “He went to New York for a few days and left me back here.”

  The very second Logan comprehends that Magnus is gone and I’m here with no one to look over me, something flashes in his eyes that looks dark and dangerous and yet so alluring, a surge of adrenaline courses through me. I almost half expect him to grab me, pull me into a dark alley if such a thing existed in Jackson, and have his way with me.

  Instead, he reaches out for my hand and says, “Come on. Let’s go get some breakfast.”

  I don’t hesitate. Don’t even think to deny him. My hand lifts out and clasps his palm to palm because there’s nothing else I’d rather do in this moment. He turns and leads me back in the same direction I had just come from. We walk side by side in silence as he maneuvers us past tourists who clog the sidewalks, across a busy street when the walk sign says we can go, and down another sidewalk, which puts us back on one of the main streets that border the Town Square.

  He leads me with purpose. The long strides and the way he grips my hand strongly but gently tells me he’s determined to get me someplace where we can sit down and talk.

  Actually talk.

  No more intent meanings hidden within the depths of our eyes.

  While it was an excellent means to communicate when we couldn’t actually converse, I’m looking forward to just hearing more of his deep voice that has just the sexiest of rumbles to it.

  Logan leads me to a restaurant called “Frannie’s” that looks like a log cabin. It has a flat, wide porch across the front with several rocking chairs where customers can rock away the time while they wait for a table. It’s past the early breakfast rush, and there’s no one waiting outside. Logan leads me in, nods at one of the waitresses, and pulls me through the restaurant to the back where there’s a semi-private table in a corner by the kitchen. He only releases my hand to let me slide into my chair, and then he takes the one opposite me.

  With quiet speculation, Logan just stares at me, as if he can’t quite figure out what to do with me, except maybe feed me. I’m equally at a loss as to what to say, because talking about what happened between us last night could be extremely dangerous.

  So I pick up the paper menu before me and start to study it. I don’t look up at Logan, although I can feel the weight of his stare, but I’m also so flustered to even be in his presence that I really can’t see anything on the menu either.

  “Why are you letting Magnus sell you off?” Logan asks quietly, and my eyes lift until they peer at him over the menu. His visage is troubled and stormy, and I can’t have him incensed on my behalf. He could easily get me angry over the injustice of it all and convince me to run, and I just can’t do that.

  “How about we talk about something that doesn’t have to do with The Silo?” I say quietly.

  “So I can’t tell you how unbelievable last night was?” he asks, his eyes turning practically golden to match the heat of his words. “Since that happened in The Silo?”

  I squeeze my legs together and duck my head behind the menu again. My privacy from such an intimate question is short lived as his fingertips peek over the top and pull it down. I notice his fingers are rough and nicked with cuts and scars, a hazard, I would guess, of his job as a fly fisherman.

  My eyes reluctantly go to his, and reluctantly only because I’m terrified of the way he makes me feel. “We really should forget about it.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s an impossibility on my part,” he says dryly before leaning across the table so he can murmur. “And I know you can’t either by the way you’re squirming in your chair right now.”

  Damn.

  I immediately plant my feet hard on the floor and make myself stay still. “Logan… maybe another time—”

  “Okay, if we can’t talk about The Silo or the amazing orgasms we gave each other last night, how about telling me a little about yourself? Where are you from?”

  “Brooklyn,” I say, blinking in surprise at the abrupt change of subject, but with a lingering tingle in my lower spine over the mention of the orgasms. Because last night was the singularly most amazing thing that has ever happened to me in my life. I knew the power of what an orgasm felt like, but it never felt like that before.

  Never.

  “Your whole life?” he asks to clarify.

  “Yes. Born and raised. And you?” I ask politely, not really liking this stilted, demure conversation, but knowing we’re both better off not venturing from this path.

  “Chicago,” he says with a shrug. “Although I’ve lived in quite a few places since then.”

  “Like where?”

  He’s prevented from answering when a waitress comes to our table and places coffee cups before us without even asking if we want some, although she does ask, “Want anything else other than coffee?”

  Logan and I both shake our heads.

  “Know what you want to order?” she asks.

  Logan pushes his menu aside, clearly having eaten here before. “Three eggs over easy, hash browns, bacon—crisp, toast—white not wheat.”

  The waitress scribbles and then looks to me. “And you, honey?”

  “I’ll have the same,” I tell her with a smile, not because that’s the easiest thing to do but because that’s the normal breakfast I would order, except sometimes I’d get sausage instead of bacon.

  Seems our connection transcends to breakfast foods now.

  “So, where else have you lived?” I ask again after the waitress leaves. I occupy my hands by adding a little milk and sweetener to my coffee, although Logan apparently drinks his black since he doesn’t doctor his up, so I know there are ways in which we differ.

  “Several places really,” he says in a flat voice. “Texas. Spent a little time in Southern California. Then Washington and Oregon. Landed here a little over a year ago.”

  “And before you started traveling?” I ask, my elbows resting on the table and my coffee cup held before me with both hands.

  “I was in Chicago working a dead-end job,” he says, and the flatness in his voice goes so monotone, it’s almost difficult to distinguish the words from one another. There’s so much antipathy for whatever his life was in Chicago, that it’s clear it’s not a subject he wishes to discuss.

  So I remain quiet and take a sip of my coffee.

  “What did you do in New York?” he asks, attempting but failing miserably at the generalized conversation you might try if you were out on a first date. But we are well beyond that. Logan had his mouth on my clit last night, and I let him come down my throat.

  I shrug, playing it vague and loose with the real truth. “My father does some apartment management-type stuff, and I help him out with that. But I was in the process of looking at some local colleges I could go to.”

  “For what?” he prods, his coffee remaining untouched.

  I shrug again. “I don’t know. Not sure what I want to be when I grow up, but I figured I needed to get started, right?”

  “Depends,” he says neutrally. “How old are you?”

  I don’t even hesitate in my lie. “Twenty.”

  He lowers his head slightly and curses under his breath. “Fuck.” I can tell this displeases him. I’m not sure why, because I know Magnus has propagated the gossip grapevine at The Silo with my “age” and my sexual status—“virgin”. It’s common knowledge to everyone, so this sh
ouldn’t be a surprise.

  “I would have thought you were older,” he says to clarify.

  “Why’s that?” I ask, my head tilted.

  “You just have a wisdom about you that I can’t quite explain. I find most of the younger women I meet to be flighty… unsettled. And here you are, in a pretty untenable situation, and yet, you handle it with a solid backbone. You’re a strong woman, Auralie, and most twenty-year-olds don’t recognize that within themselves.”

  I hate that he’s so close to the mark, but he’s right. Growing up the way I did made me street smart and gave me wisdom I didn’t ask for at a very early age. But I could say that whether I was fifteen, twenty, or twenty-five years of age. I’ve been more mature than my age for as long as I can remember.

  “So I ask again,” he says, his voice going hard and demanding. “Why is a woman as strong as you doing this?”

  Emotions war within me. I’m pleased and warmed he cares enough about me to ask, but also affronted that he’s judging my actions. We may have some sort of connection that can’t quite be explained at this point, but he has no right to be piqued by my choices because he could never understand my motivation.

  It’s with irritation I snap at him. “You mean debasing myself by sucking unknown men’s’ dicks and letting another stranger eat me out in front of a crowd of sexual deviants?”

  He jerks back with true surprise on his face, before clarifying in a voice low and rumbling with dissatisfaction over my answer. “I’ll let the stranger comment pass. I’ll also let it pass that you failed to mention I made you come harder than I guarantee you ever have in your life. And if you enjoyed what you and I did, that was in no way debasing yourself. Plenty of people get off on that type of thing, and there is nothing wrong if you enjoyed it. So, again… I’d really like to know why a woman such as yourself—who is strong, confident, and smart—feels the need to do this? And I want to know this because I want to know if I can help get you out of this situation.”