Triple Daddy Heat

by Pepper Swan

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Meg 1

  Boone 2

  Meg 3

  Meg 4

  Vince 5

  Meg 6

  Meg 7

  Boone 8

  Meg 9

  Meg 10

  Vince 11

  Meg 12

  Meg 13

  Boone 14

  Meg 15

  Boone 16

  Tucker – Epilogue

  Sneak Peak at 3 Cowboys For The Bride

  Other Books by Pepper Swan

  Triple Daddy Heat

  Copyright © 2019 Pepper Swan

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity to a real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Meg 1

  It had happened again. I’d spent the night with Mike Crane after he’d sweet-talked me into believing he could go all night when in reality, one time and he was done… finished… spent, and as limp as an old carrot that’d been sitting in the bottom drawer of my refrigerator.

  Not that Mike wasn’t a great guy, a sweet guy, a guy I could call in the middle of the night and cry about almost anything and he’d listen, a guy who was loyal, steadfast, serious about life, a good man with a steady job. Then there were Mike’s good looks, eyes that could burn up my panties with one glance, a mouth that had been made for kissing, a tongue that he used like a blow torch, igniting flames in places I didn’t know existed. And that body, muscled and beautiful with a sprinkling of hair on his ripped chest, a small waist, a high round ass, and wood that would make most women falter.

  Mike was every single girl’s checklist of marriage material, and he should’ve been mine as well.

  But he wasn’t.

  I awoke with him wrapped around me like a blanket torn in all the wrong places. His hand had almost encircled my breast, but instead, it rested directly under it. His head pushed against my neck, his foot lay trapped between my feet, and the way his hard penis pressed up against the small of my back was about as sexy as lying on a skinny log.

  I told myself this couldn’t happen again, no matter how desperate I felt. It was time for me to move on, and the only way I could do that was to make a clean break.

  I peeled myself away, careful not to wake him, but with each movement, he stirred.

  It had been about four months now that I’d lived here in Lakeside Falls, Idaho, a small town just outside of Boise. I’d left my hometown of San Francisco looking for someplace a little slower paced and a little less big city. I’d found it in Lakeside with a population of less than three thousand.

  I’d been working as a waitress in a mom and pop restaurant where I’d met some nice people, and hooked up with Mike, a thirty-something elementary school teacher. He came in most days for the lunch special, and we’d chitchat while I waited on him at the counter. When he asked me out on a date, I’d eagerly accepted his invitation, hoping it would end in the bedroom… which it had.

  My bedroom.

  We’d done it two times that first night, and once more in the morning before he left for work. I thought things could only improve from there, but I was oh-so-mistaken.

  As it turned out, three times in any twelve-hour period had been Mike’s ultimate limit, a once-in-a-blue-moon moment, an anomaly of the highest order. Not that his limitation was a bad thing. Most couples thrived on less, much less… not me. On my absolute best night, my partner and I had gone through eight condoms in a ten-hour stretch. I was still hoping to beat that, but apparently it wouldn’t be with Mike, who wasn’t interested in that kind of marathon. Give him a bike or a running path and Mike would be all in. Give him a package of thirty-six condoms and two months later, he was still digging them out of the package.

  I’d broken up with eight-condom-a-night guy when I’d learned he was going through a nasty divorce. I didn’t want any part of the ups and downs of a pre-divorced man so I moved on, but eight-condom guy would always be my gold standard.

  Mike, well, he was a guy of a different condom, more of the two-condom guy variety, and that was on an especially good night. That kind of guy didn’t do it for me. But more importantly, underneath his lack of stamina, that deep attraction just wasn’t there for a whole host of other reasons, including his innate desire to see only the good in people.

  Not how I grew up.

  To me, most people were borderline shits until they proved otherwise. I was willing to give the new people I met the benefit of the doubt, don’t get me wrong, but I’d been disappointed, hurt and abandoned way too many times to take anyone at face value, including Mike.

  There was something not so wonderful that ran through Mike, I just couldn’t put my finger on it and didn’t want to hang around long enough to find out.

  Of course, my biggest reason for moving on from Mike had nothing to do with Mike per se. My movin’ on desire was, in fact, all about me.

  I wanted more sex, a lot more balls-to-the-wall, dirty sex that went on for hours at a time. Poor Mike was too tired to participate in that kind of long-haul drive.

  He was more into a drawn out one-time-and-I’m-finished kind of gig.

  I couldn’t seem to help it. I had a voracious sexual appetite, probably more so than most twenty-eight-year-old women, and a man who couldn’t keep up with me shouldn’t expect my loyalty… not that I ever cheated on Mike.

  I didn’t.

  That wasn’t my style.

  I simply needed more of him, a lot more than he was willing or had the ability to give.

  Most of the time, we’d have sex and after a bit of cuddling, he’d fall asleep. I didn’t want to stop, so I’d end up in the next room with my various vibrators, reaching one dizzying climax after another for the next couple of hours.

  I couldn’t help it. Once my body was turned on and my cunt shuddered that first orgasm, I wouldn’t stop until I reached complete exhaustion. And for me, that took a lot of action… down and dirty, bawdy action that couldn’t even be discussed with most guys because they couldn’t understand my needs.

  I wanted to love Mike. I really did. He was a true sweetheart. For the most part, he wanted to keep up with me, but he was only one man. There were times when I thought I might need two or three or even four men in my bed. Not only did I want them to satisfy my desires, but I wanted to satisfy all their needs and desires as well.

  Oh yeah, I’m a very dirty girl.

  “Is it morning already?” Mike asked, looking up at me with bedroom eyes as I finally slid out of bed. We usually slept naked after one of our nights together, and this morning was no exception. “Come back to bed and let’s have more sex.”

  “You really know how to charm a girl,” I said with a slight giggle.

  I knew I shouldn’t fall back into bed with him because I was going to break this thing off this morning,
now before we were dressed, but I couldn’t help myself. I quickly yanked the covers off him and climbed on top, ready for some glorious morning sex when his phone alarm went off.

  “Shit,” he said, reaching on the nightstand for his phone. “What time is it?”

  “Time for this,” I told him as I ran a hand up and down his rock-hard cock.

  “Damn!” he said, tossing me off of him, and jumping out of bed as if it were a sport. “That’s my third alarm. If I don’t leave here in fifteen minutes, I’ll be late.”

  I tried to lure him back into bed by striking an erotic pose. “But can’t you be a little late just this one time?”

  I could see the temptation lighting up his adorable face, but then just as quickly his forehead furrowed with his negative answer. “I’ve already been late two times this month. Once more, and they’ll suspend me. As much as I’d like to stay and play in your sandbox, I can’t.”

  He rushed off then, his bare ass shaking as he hit the floor running.

  Whenever this happened, meaning whenever we didn’t have the time for morning sex, I’d get up, slip on a robe, put on a pot of coffee for him and hand him a muffin as he rushed out the door.

  Then I’d go back to bed and play in my own sandbox for the next hour or so. I didn’t have to go to work until ten thirty, which gave me more than enough time for dirty deeds.

  Not this morning. Instead, I stayed right there and took care of my needs while I listened to him running the shower, imagining him walking in on me and throwing off his clothes to join me for a morning fuck.

  Of course, that didn’t happen. When he walked out of the bathroom, dressed and ready for the day as I lay there with my legs spread wide and my fingers on my clit, he simply said, “Have a nice day, babe. And don’t wear that thing out. Save a little something for me.”

  Then he dashed off to work.

  Oh yeah, it was time for me to move on.

  Boone 2

  This wasn’t the way I’d planned my night. Matter of fact, this wasn’t the way I’d planned anything, and I was the type of weekend cowboy who planned everything.

  All I’d wanted to do on this particular Saturday night was to get shitfaced enough to drown out all the crap that swirled around in my head. Once that happened, I could finally sleep, which I usually did at the inn right next door, an inn I owned along with my two cousins who weren’t as keen on getting shitfaced every Saturday night like I was. They preferred to help with the remodeling going on inside our insanely large ranch house or work around the sprawling, overpriced ranch we’d recently purchased that was mostly a wildlife habitat rather than a working ranch.

  I’d gone along with the idea simply because it was easier than not. I’d wanted a ranch when I was a boy, mostly because I loved Westerns, but as I grew up the reality of all that hard work soured my fantasy. I was more into the comforts of life rather than the hardships, and ranching came with too many hardships.

  All that physical labor made both Vince and Tucker happy, and happy business partners were essential to us moving forward. Therefore, I was all for it.

  We were more weekend cowboys rather than true cowboys or at least we tried to be. It had always been our dream to own a ranch, (mostly theirs) and now that our dream had finally come true, both Vince and Tucker couldn’t get enough of it. They’d been working remotely ever since the ink had dried on the deed, while I still drove into the office on Monday mornings. Most days I’d crash in our company condo, but I always drove back to the ranch on Friday night.

  Thus, the reason to get shitfaced on Saturday nights, way too much responsibility and reality on my shoulders and I hated carrying around all that essential weight.

  Mostly, we were tech nerds who’d created a new platform that competed with the tech Goliaths, and after years of hard work, and near bankruptcy, we were now filthy rich… and I’m talking dirty, filthy rich.

  Which in the scheme of stuff should’ve made me happy, but happiness always seemed to elude me. I didn’t really know why, other than my mom telling me I was born screaming and difficult, and I never changed.

  Being drunk made me happy. I’d been doing it ever since I’d turned twenty-one and Tucker took me out for my first bottle of beer to celebrate the momentous occasion.

  I didn’t think he intended for me to make a ritual out of it.

  Too bad… I did.

  Unfortunately, tonight my ritual had been disrupted, and I wasn’t too appreciative of that fact.

  It began when Rosie Hall walked into the bar, a woman I hadn’t seen in several months, maybe even a full year. I’d made the mistake of dating her, which went against my most fundamental principle: never date or sleep with a woman who works for you.

  Never!

  I not only dated her, but we’d had hot sex many times until I’d learned that she’d betrayed me with Tucker while she also stomped on Vince’s heart, then she spit us all out and disappeared with Milo Ambrose from accounting, a man old enough to be her father.

  How she found me in Last Call tavern in a postage stamp-sized town sixty miles outside of Denver was anybody’s guess. But the woman always did have an ability to find stuff, which was one of the reasons we hired her in the first place. She really knew her way around the internet.

  Rosie had stopped in the bar to tell me about Belle, the baby girl she’d given birth to a few months ago. What that had to do with me, I didn’t know until she said that Belle was mine or maybe Vince’s or even Tucker’s.

  She didn’t know and didn’t much care. All she wanted was a couple hundred dollars to get her through.

  At first, I thought she was kidding, that it was some kind of sick joke. I felt sorry for her, so I gave her almost triple that amount and expected her to take her impossible story and her baby, that couldn’t possibly be any of ours, and disappear again.

  Rosie disappeared all right, about thirty minutes ago, leaving me to cope with Belle who was now about as mad as a dog caught in a hornet’s nest as she wailed from her car seat that had been perched on the bar stool next to me. When Rosie had first arrived, asking for cash, I hadn’t even bothered to see if there was a real baby hidden under all the blankets. I figured it didn’t matter one way or the other. I’d give her the money just to get her to walk out of my life once again.

  Which she did, apparently, leaving Belle behind to shatter glass with her wailing.

  “Sorry, Boone, but you’ll have to do something about that. My customers are complaining,” Chris Smithers, the bartender said.

  Chris was a big, burly kind of guy in his mid-fifties. Never been married, had no kids that anyone knew of and absolutely no tolerance for anyone under the age of twenty-one, or so he’d told me on several occasions. If they couldn’t buy a drink at his bar, he had no use for them.

  I had a feeling this was one of those occasions.

  “I’m waiting for Rosie to come back from the bathroom,” I told him, wanting no part of the screaming little creature next to me. Rosie still had a drink sitting on the bar, so she was coming back. She’d never been one to leave an unfinished drink behind. Besides, I knew zilch about babies and would probably only make the situation worse. “Nothing I can do about it.”

  “If you mean the chick with the red hair that was in here,” the lanky cowboy next to me said. “She’s long gone. I saw her drive away with some gray-haired dude about twenty minutes ago and from the way they squealed out of the parking lot, no way were they coming back anytime soon.”

  “No. That wasn’t her,” I chuckled. “Couldn’t be. She wouldn’t leave her own kid behind. She’s in the bathroom,” I said, as a sinking feeling gripped my gut.

  I pushed myself away from the bar and hurried over to the bathrooms in the back. Without hesitation, I plowed through the Women’s door only to find the place completely deserted.

  I checked each empty stall and the tiny window that even Rosie’s baby wouldn’t have been able to sneak through.

  “No. No. No. Fuck! You didn’
t leave me with your baby!” I said aloud.

  A moment later, Meg Carter, a twenty-something waitress who I wouldn’t mind getting to know better, barged into the bathroom carrying the protesting infant who was still strapped into her car seat.

  “You really need to take care of her,” Meg said, trying to hand me the car seat.

  “She’s not mine. Rosie left her. Call the sheriff or whoever you call for an abandoned baby,” I told her over the ear-piercing wails. If nothing else, that child had a great set of lungs.

  “I overheard Rosie tell you that either you or your two cousins are the father, so she’s not abandoned,” Meg stated. “Besides, the sheriff is visiting his sister for the weekend, way over in the next county, almost forty minutes away. And from what I’ve seen of the deputy, he wouldn’t know what to do with a baby this late on a Saturday night. You’ll have to take her outside.”

  “Me? Why me? You take her outside.”

  She shoved the car seat into my stomach, and I had no choice but to take it. Of course, Belle continued to scream. “I’m the waitress, not the parent. Besides, I’m working and you’re not. Now man up and take your baby. She’s probably hungry or needs her diaper changed or maybe she just needs some loving. Whatever she needs, you’re the only one who can provide it. Take her!”

  “She’s not my baby!” I protested, but Meg had already walked out of the bathroom.

  “Shit. What the hell?” I said, following her out, feeling overwhelmed and sober. It was Saturday night and I was never sober.

  How the hell did this happen?

  As soon as I walked back into the bar area, Chris threw me a dirty look along with half of the other customers, but did any of them offer to help?

  Not a chance.

  I spotted Big Bart right then, the three-hundred-pound ex-linebacker, turned bouncer, walking towards me. His huge bulk coming right for me like a truckload of steel.

  “I’m going! I’m going!” I told him as I made my way for the front door with Belle still wailing.