Wargasm

by Sosie Frost

  Damn it. I eyed his muscular, broad shoulders and the water dripping over his bronzed skin. “So are you.”

  “But I was in the dunk tank.”

  “And I was watching.” Why was I so honest with this man?

  His finger danced over my slit. “Liked what you saw?”

  The faint graze of his fingers was enough to ignite everything terrible, desperate, and utterly inappropriate in me. It weakened my knees. Weakened my resolve. Weakened my authority.

  I was supposed to be running a damn festival. Solving problems.

  Protecting my job.

  But I was lost with just a touch, a whisper, a mere promise of reckless pleasure. Julian teased my slit, and I panted against his strength. His arms tensed, letting me cling to his muscles as the world dizzied around me. I spread my legs, permitting his invading fingers greater access to my slick pussy.

  He circled my clit, watching as I shuddered. Two fingers slipped inside. I clenched over him, biting my lip as he stroked, tempted, and discovered every hidden secret within me.

  “You want me…” His voice rumbled, bouncing in my tummy and bundling tight where every other anxiety, fear, and unrequited thought knotted in sudden silence. “Just say it, princess. You’re worried about me. You’re thinking about me. You’re desperate for me.”

  I bucked on his fingers, suppressing a moan. “You should get on stage—I need a comedy act to open for Bupkis.”

  “You’d really want to share this?” He twisted his fingers against a perfect, knee-shakingly amazing spot. I fell into him. Kissed his bare shoulders. Dug my fingers into the taut muscles of his chest. “Or do you want to keep me to yourself?”

  “My…myself…”

  “Cause you know how easy I can make you come. It’s like these fingers know every inch of you.”

  He was brash. He was smug. He was cocky. And he was right.

  I ached for him, humping his fingers like a wanton whore. Forgetting the fair, the heat, the stuffy tent with the hundreds of fair-goers wandering the paths just outside. The quick, frantic pace of his fingers matched the raging beat of my heart, tightening and quaking me from the inside out.

  “You want to come, princess?” Julian whispered in my ear. “You need me that bad?”

  “Y—yes.”

  “Then I’ll prove my back is fine.” He pulled from me, taking a perverse, sensual delight in licking my cream from each finger. “On your knees.”

  The desire harshened my voice, but my words merely purred. “Here?”

  “Where else?”

  Julian spun me around, lifting my skirt as he unzipped his pants. I protested, grabbing his wrist, but the head of his cock had already found its prize. Within moments, his thickness pushed through my slit, and the full-rage of his cock slammed completely inside me.

  In a heartbeat, I lost my breath, my balance, and my mind.

  But Julian gave me everything else.

  More than pleasure. More than excitement. More than the thrill of finally taking a risk and doing something wild, unsafe, and irresponsible. None of this was planned. None of it was pro and conned, listed and debated, or plotted in advance. Julian lived in the moment, and time dragged still every blissful second I spent on my knees under him.

  I arched, desperate to take every thrust. He grunted like an animal. Squeezed my thighs in desperation. Filled me with every dangerous inch of his cock.

  And I needed more.

  My desire terrified me. The heat and desperation frightened me more than watching Julian writhe in pain, pretending his agony wasn’t real, debilitating, and consuming.

  But Julian refused to admit he was hurt. He pushed me into the grass and thrust his cock inside of me, rutting me with fierce, quick strokes to prove that he was healthy.

  He fucked me with a lie, but the pleasure was too overwhelming to dare stop. Instead, he took me hard, his rough, passionate strokes so deliriously sinful we forgot about everything and everyone except each other.

  The pressure built. My body trembled. My insides clenched hard against the welcomed invasion that sliced through every inhibition and left me addicted to this man.

  But more than an orgasm, more than a quick release and the comfort of his arms, his voice, his body against mine…

  I wanted honesty.

  I wanted him. The truth. A connection.

  Intimacy. Understanding. Trust.

  We came together, a rush of frantic lust and sweaty bodies. I couldn’t control it. Couldn’t refuse it. Couldn’t get enough of it. Grass tickled my knees, and the tent shook in the breeze. I arched to fill myself with his entire length, and all music, all voices, all fears faded into a pure instant of utter bliss.

  His arm wrapped over my waist, pinning my body onto his as the daze of pleasure milked every last bit of seed from him.

  I spread my legs and welcomed his final thrust, hating that he pulled away, and yet loving the heat and mess that remained. I didn’t move. His lips traced a gentle path along my back. He gently rubbed my tummy. Low. A caress to the baby we still hadn’t discussed and the plans we’d refused to make.

  And yet, he wouldn’t confess the truth about his injury. I craved honesty, but who was I to demand the truth? He’d followed my rules. Did as I had asked.

  Nothing more. Only sex. No strings. No complications. No plans.

  And absolutely no admitting that I was falling in love.

  15

  Julian

  The demolition derby ended before it began. The drivers launched from their uncrumpled cars, poured onto the muddy track, and demolished each other with a flurry of fists.

  The fight was quick, brutal, and thoroughly entertaining to all in attendance save for the head of the fair committee who watched the chaos from the hillside.

  Her expression darkened. Her lip pouted. Her eyes welled with tears.

  The woman looked for all the world like she’d lost hope.

  With a sigh, Micah grabbed her purse and stood, preparing to leave.

  “Come over and fuck me tonight,” she said.

  God, yes. “Never had a booty demand before.”

  She didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. Her voice hollowed as she walked away. “Come over if you’re interested.”

  “Why don’t I come now?”

  “Because you’re probably going to need to bail your brother out of jail first.”

  Son of a…

  Sheriff Samson ended the fight with a whistle, whack of his baton, and slip into the mud. Tidus and Reggie Reid tumbled too, fists flying in the muck.

  Christ. I’d only asked Tidus for one fucking favor. Drive a car in the derby. As Butterpond’s only reputable mechanic, I figured he’d want the goddamned business and free advertising. But Tidus never made it easy for himself or anyone else. Why would he miss the perfect opportunity to make an ass out of himself in front of the entire town?

  Sheriff Samson didn’t have the patience to deal with my brother, and he foolishly thought I did. He shoved Reggie towards the derby and handed my brother over to me.

  “Let an old man drink in goddamned peace,” Samson said. “Holy Christ. There’s always a couple jackasses who start shit at the fair. Well, not tonight. You’ve eaten your last corndog, son. Get your ass home before you spend the night in a cell.”

  If I’d known that was an option, I’d have left the bastard with Samson. I hauled Tidus away as the derby finally began to the cheers of the hundred or so people watching from the bleachers. Not much to watch though. The derby only had seven drivers, two of which couldn’t start their cars, three who instantly got stuck in a ditch, and one with four flat tires out of the gate.

  Micah was right to leave. She’d see more action in the parking lot than on the track.

  And now instead of following her home and delighting the lady with the skilled use of my tongue, fingers, and cock, I had the pleasure of fucking with my brother.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I shoved him into the shadows beside a deep-fr
ied pickle hut. “Can’t burn down the new barn so you gotta prevent it from getting built?”

  Tidus rubbed his bottom lip, spat blood, and swore. “That’s perfect. When you lose the chance to build the barn, you can blame it on me. Win-fucking-win.”

  “You’re supposed to hit Reggie with the car, dumbass.”

  Tidus scowled. “And Reggie isn’t supposed to beat Becky McCutchen black and blue.”

  “What?”

  “Caught him having a disagreement with his girl before the derby. Things got out of hand.”

  Shit. “Are you serious?”

  “But you’re right. I should have let the motherfucker beat on Becky for another five minutes while I warmed up the junker I fixed for the derby.”

  “Christ. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “What needed to be said? He slammed her down, so I knocked his skull in.” He shrugged. “But I suppose you would have resolved it differently, white knight that you are.”

  I didn’t need this bullshit. “Yeah, that’s me. Solving problems without my fists.”

  “Revolutionary.”

  “You should try it,” I said.

  “And be what? More like you?” Tidus snorted. “Parading around the fairground, groveling to that zoning officer, begging for a chance to rebuild the barn and make Daddy’s memory proud?”

  I’d split his top lip to match the bottom. “At least I’m trying. At least I’m doing something with my life.”

  “Doing what? Micah Robinson? Are you still banging the broad?”

  I stayed silent. My brother grinned.

  “Son of a bitch. Are you that bad at seducing her, or are you actually starting to like this girl?”

  Good fucking question. And I didn’t have a goddamned answer.

  I didn’t know what Micah wanted. What I wanted.

  Didn’t know what the hell to do about her, the baby, our agreement.

  Fucking Tidus.

  I scowled. “It’s complicated.”

  “Oh shit,” he laughed. “You’re getting more than the barn, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. I’m getting screwed.”

  “Lucky bastard.”

  Lucky?

  Hell no.

  Lucky would have been going home to get laid, sleeping in, then finishing the damn festival tomorrow night with no fistfights, unsanctioned animal breeding, pie conspiracies, or overturned porta-potties. Lucky would be closing the fair with a fantastic fireworks display courtesy of Four Men and A Pig Fertilizer that would so delight the town that Micah’s job would be safe for another year.

  But then what?

  I had no idea what to expect. What would happen when the fair was over, the barn was up, and we couldn’t hide the pregnancy any longer?

  I’d gambled enough with my life, risking my health and ruining the successes I might have had. My life—and with it, my family’s future—relied on the decisions I made now. Everyone depended on me to fix what I’d broken and solve problems that had no real solution.

  Nothing was easy anymore. I could do nothing to fix the past.

  But I could ensure a good future for me, my family, and for Micah and the baby.

  If she’d let me.

  I made it to her house before midnight, but she was still up. Not good hours for a woman so early in her pregnancy. Micah waited for me in a long t-shirt and nothing else, not even a scrap of panties to tease the secrets under the shirt’s hem. Her dark, perfectly sculpted legs teased me as she rubbed the back of her calf with those manicured toes.

  Micah bit her lip, hiding a million-dollar smirk that made me a richer man for earning it.

  “You should smile more,” I said.

  Micah arched an eyebrow. “And you should take off your pants.”

  “You’re beautiful when you smile. Beautiful always, but when you smile…”

  She awkwardly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “And you’re…handsome without the pants. Let’s go.”

  In another time, another world, another circumstance, I wouldn’t have needed the request. I’d have dumped her onto the couch, tossed her ankles behind her ears, and licked her puffy, exposed pussy until she trembled and moaned.

  But I didn’t move.

  And I had no idea why I’d fucked myself over by being honest.

  “We need to talk about the baby,” I said.

  Micah tugged at her shirt, grazing the curve of her ass. “Now?”

  “We should do it sometime.”

  She disagreed. “Jules, I’m tired. It’s late. We have one more day of the fair—”

  “We haven’t talked about it. At all.”

  “What’s there to talk about?”

  “Anything. Everything.” Us. The future. “Like…your doctors’ appointments. Baby furniture. Names.”

  Micah hesitated. “I have most of that already planned.”

  Of fucking course she did.

  She shuffled to her purse, awkwardly bending at the knees to prevent the shirt from exposing too much of her curves. She swiped her cell and opened a calendar app. The screen flashed. Dozens of color coded events populated in the day-by-day planner. Everything from monthly meetings in red, work related project deadlines in yellow, and her personal catalog in green of grocery trips, pay periods, and garbage days.

  Her life was entirely scripted from the moment she woke until the instant she went to sleep. And there, in bright pink, was everything baby. She tapped on another app to reveal the Doctor’s appointments, growth charts, items to purchase, budgets, potential names, and dates for scheduled discussions with me.

  I took her phone and flipped through nine fucking months of detailed planning, up to the day she’d decided would be her induced labor and the maternity time which followed.

  The weekends had a different color. My stomach twisted as I realized where I suddenly fit into this goddamned freak show.

  The dates in blue were custody arrangements.

  In all of her planning, all of her carefully scripted budgets and appointments and life goals, she hadn’t even considered raising the child together.

  “You don’t need to worry about anything,” Micah said. Was she actually proud of this bullshit? “I couldn’t sleep the past couple nights, so I worked out a plan.”

  “A plan.”

  “It seems actionable.”

  We were having a baby, not setting up a goddamned fair. She couldn’t just schedule in days for doctors and afternoons where we purchased the first of the supplies we’d need for the kid.

  Micah took all the fun out of waiting, wondering, and hoping for the future.

  And, even worse, she’d planned a future without me.

  “Don’t you see a problem with this?” I handed the phone back. Should have pitched it into the wall.

  Micah studied the calendar. “Did I forget something important?”

  Yeah, the father. “Think you should have asked my opinion on some of this?”

  She stilled. “I thought we’d agreed—”

  “This isn’t about sex,” I said. “This is about the baby. You have a sonogram in two weeks. You didn’t tell me.”

  “Did you want to come?”

  Jesus fuck. “Of course! You’re carrying my baby. Like it or not, our paths are gonna cross outside the goddamned bedroom.”

  Micah frowned. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “You’re not acting like it.”

  “Jules, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my life—” She flashed the phone again, highlighting the absolute chaos that was this week’s county fair. “My life is out of control. I’ve got more to worry about than a sonogram next month. The council is trying their damnedest to fire me. The mayor is meddling in my application process. The pie conspiracy has blown up and is now running their own Facebook group with three hundred members. There’s brownouts hitting the fairgrounds, there’s a damn monsoon coming tomorrow just in time for my fireworks, and I can’t keep two sheep from making baabies.” She covered her
face. “So, I’m sorry if I’ve been too busy to sign you up for a Lamaze class.”

  “You could let me help,” I said.

  “You are helping.”

  “Tossing haybales and coordinating senior citizen bingo isn’t helping. You’re keeping me at a distance.”

  Micah had nothing to say when I’d trapped her with the truth. Her expression crumpled, and her voice dropped.

  “Julian, I’m trying to save my job.”

  “I know.”

  “No. You don’t know. You have no idea how hard I’m working to make sure everyone is happy. The mayor. The council. The residents. You.” She sucked in an unsteady breath. “I have to keep this job. Without it, my life…my plans…they’re ruined.”

  “Forget the plan, Micah. We’ll make a new one together.”

  She refused to look at me, fiddling with her manicure instead. “I can’t do that. I need a clear-cut path for me to follow. I need a steady job. I need the experience that job can offer. I need the savings in the bank and the connections and networking it provides. That’s the only way to advance my career. If I lose this job…”

  Her hand fluttered to her tummy. Protective.

  I clenched my jaw. “Say it.”

  Micah met my gaze. “I need this job so I can provide for the baby.”

  And there it was. The truth. In all the planning and all the worry, she’d never once looked to the one man who might have made it easier for her. It was like the baby’s father didn’t exist.

  Like she wouldn’t let me get near.

  My voice hardened, a quiet insult. “You don’t think I’d help you?”

  “I can’t rely on you.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I won’t rely on you.”

  Micah’s shirt rode up and exposed her curves. It flustered her. Too revealing for the conversation. She stole the blanket from the couch and held it before her, shielding a body I’d already worshiped and memorized.

  “Cowboy, we’re not…”

  “What?”

  She couldn’t meet my gaze. “We’re having a baby, but we’re not together. We’re not a normal couple who could just plan these things together.”

  But we could be. If she would let me in. If she’d give me a goddamned chance.