Married To The Cowboy (Love In Collin's Ranch 3)

by Veronica Wilson

  She opened her mouth and said, “I want you to spank and fuck me.”

  He was pleased, that was easy to deduce by the gleam in his eyes and the sudden bulge on his pants. He drew closer and then he took his tie off. She didn’t understand what he was doing at first. Then he knotted the tie loosely around her face, leaving her blinded. Fear shot through her followed by a jolt of utter need.

  His hands stripped her clothes away and she shivered as his hands ran over her body, exploring every curve and turn. Her breath came in fast panting gulps.

  His body pressed against hers. The fabric of his shirt and slacks met her bare flesh, bringing fresh sensation to her body and skin. His hands slipped across her skin and then his mouth went to her breasts. His tongue moved across the tight peaks, licking and sucking until they stood up even higher. Her toes curled and she whimpered.

  Her hands went to his body. Even blindfolded she knew exactly how to find the button and zipper of his pants. His staff sprang free, filling her palm with thick meat and heat that left her crying out. She made a loose fist and ran it along the throbbing silky flesh, relishing the feel of the thick and rigid muscle below.

  His mouth met hers. His tongue darted in and out of her mouth, a slow but insistent thing that made her respond. Their tongues met and parted and she ground herself against him, feeling his erection, still in her palm, thicken and twitch with every slow rotation of her hips against his pelvis.

  He flipped her around. She ended up facedown, ass up on the sofa. Her arms went out over her head and she buried her face in the sofa’s expensive leather cushions as his hands kneaded and lifted her ass cheeks one by one. His thumbs pressed deep into that flesh, sending pain and pleasure streaking through her ass and up her spine.

  His fingers continued ot knead and massage her cheeks. Her ass switched from side to side as she tried to entice him to do itk to spank her already.

  His hands cracked down, both of them hitting each cheek with a sharp report and leaving behind a deep and aching sting that worked its way past the muscle and right into the tissues below. Her eyes, behind the tie, widened and she let out a muffled swear word.

  His hand came down again. That time he spanked her ass cheek on the right then he swatted the left, making her flesh jiggle. Fluids leaked from her body and her mouth opened and closed as she fought to stay steady, to take that pleasurable torment that he was dishing out so well.

  His fingers slipped between her legs. His fingertips ran up along the parted outer lips of her labia, dipped into her body so fast she barely had time to register their presence inside her before they were gone. She whimpered, her fingers clawing at the sofa as his fingers went further up, moving along her clit in a swift and heavy circles that made her hips thrust up and down in a hard pumping motion.

  She ground her pussy against the sofa, desperate for some relief. He chuckled and swung his free hand against her bottom again then he tweaked the flesh of her clit, pinching it just slightly. The response was immediate and intense pleasure that rolled through her body like a cresting ocean wave and left her clinging to what little bit of rationality she could find there in the darkness and beneath his clever tempting fingers.

  More smacks to her ass and then his fingers drove into her, two of them. He spilled her thick and sticky oils down her inner thighs every time he withdrew and the smell of her own arousal came to her nose, and made her wriggle with shame and need.

  She’d never experienced anything like that in her entire life. She was dripping wet, soaked and opened and so needy for the feel of his body, his every touch made her jump and cry out and took her one inch closer to what she knew would be the strongest orgasm she had ever had.

  Max’s cock pressed against the swollen entry to her inner folds. She thrust her ass upward and he filled her, just a bare inch. She cried out and he pumped his hips forward.

  His hard long cock filled her entire pussy, stretched open her walls and went deeper than anything she could have imagined going. He filled her in a way that she had never been filled before. Her body hung suspended by the twin threads of pain and pleasure as he slapped her ass once more then grabbed a thick chunk of her hair and yanked, hard, bringing her face off the sofa. She had to struggle for balance and she found it by pressing her upper body upward with her arms, putting herself into a vaguely yoga-like pose.

  He continued to stroke in and out of her body. Her inner thighs shook. Juices ran from her body and covered his condom encased dick. Her walls pulsed around him and she writhed, her hands sliding along the surface of the sofa.

  She came. Thick and sticky fluids poured form her body, beaded up around her clit and then ran across the thick and swollen member inside her body. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she managed to get her ass up one more time just as he gave one last and might thrust and then went rigid, the hand holding her hair clenching cruelly for a brief nanosecond before he released it.

  His cock pulsed and pounded inside her body. She knew he was right to wear a condom but for a moment she wished, wholeheartedly, that he wasn’t wearing one, that she could feel his hot seed splashing all over her inner walls, now stretched and slippery from his organ and her orgasm.

  He withdrew from her slowly then he rolled her over. He sat there, her head cradled in his arms. He removed the condom and threw it in a nearby trashcan and then he shifted her limp body so that she was lying across his body, staring up at his face.

  “How do you feel?”

  “My ass hurts but otherwise…great.”

  He started to laugh. She blinked. “What?”

  “You always say exactly what is on your mind, don’t you?”

  She nodded, “I do. I really need to learn some tact I guess.”

  “Yeah I don’t know about that. I like that you say exactly what you think and feel.”

  His hand smoothed her hair back from her forehead. The touch was so gentle, and in such sharp contrast to the way that he had touched her earlier that it soothed her into a drowsy and pleasant state.

  Max said, “So I have to tell you. I meant it when I said I go right after what I want and I don’t ever back down until I get it.”

  “I see,” she said with a small laugh.

  He looked down at her and said, “I don’t think you do. You see, what I really want is you. I usually go after things in a different sort of way. I am usually pretty careful. I don’t like to take high risks but this, this thing with you—this is as high-risk as it gets.”

  She asked, “Because we work together?”

  He said, “No, because I do believe you are the woman I have been waiting a very long time for. I knew there had to be a woman who would want everything I had to give. I know what I like in bed is dark and a little dangerous but I think you like it too.”

  She said, “I do. I don’t know why I do but I do. It’s…different, that’s for sure. To be honest with you I never met a man who made me feel like you do or who did the things you do either.”

  “I’m just warning you,” Max said softly. “I play for keeps.”

  Her eyes locked onto his. He was very serious. That was obvious. He did play for keeps, and he didn’t back down, not when it was something that he really wanted.

  She said, “You should know I don’t back down either, not when it is something I really want, and what I want is you.”

  “Then come get me,” he said with a teasing grin.

  Their lips met.

  BRAD

  An Alpha Billionaire Romance

  High Risk Passions

  Brad Draper is bigger than life and twice as sexy. He plays by his own rules and doesn’t care what anyone thinks. He earned his startup stake in Rogue Enterprises by street racing motorcycles and he’s known for taking chances with his life and money, but never his heart. Until now.

  When Brad first met Carrie he saw a plain woman, but then she fastened her big green eyes on his and smiled and he lost his head, and his heart. Finding out she was the daughter of his
biggest competitor couldn’t dim the fiery attraction he felt for her either. Brad’s used to risking it all, but being with Carrie is the biggest risk he might ever take because he isn’t playing with power or money, he’s playing for her heart—and his.

  Carrie Heeden doesn’t want anything to do with Brad. He’s irritating and far too gorgeous. He’s her father’s biggest competitor. He’s…sexy and charming and a heartbreaker playboy with too much of the player still in him.

  She’s sure her father will squash him if she dates him, and she’s equally sure he’ll break her heart to smithereens but no matter how much she tries to stay away from him he just keeps trying, and he’s a man who knows and gets exactly what he wants, and her self-control is always in danger every time he is around.

  In a world filled with high stakes business, and higher risks, Carrie and Brad will become players in the most high stakes game of all.

  Love.

  CHAPTER 1:

  The chromed-out custom bike slid to a halt at the curb. The man astride it was a vision of black leather, blonde hair made deliciously messy thanks to the wind, and scruffy sexiness highlighted by a faint stubble of beard on his strong jaw.

  Carrie, standing just inside the door of her tiny art studio, took an involuntary step back when he swung one long leg off the bike and headed toward her door. The sun glinted off his hair, and his lean hips, caught in a tight wrapping of denim, moved with an athletic grace that sent her heart into warp speeds.

  He opened the door, making the little bell over it tinkle. She gulped and said, “Good morning.”

  The aviator sunglasses slid down over his narrow nose. Two bright blue eyes peered at her quizzically. She knew what they saw. A woman who was slightly too tall and too thin; a mop of black hair cut short so its curls hung all around her elfish face; green eyes that were the best feature in an otherwise plain face.

  He said, “I need a gift, and the person I need it for adores your work, for some reason.”

  Wow. What an asshole. And a terse asshole at that. She forced a smile and told herself a sale was a sale, no matter how much of an asshole the customer was. She asked, “What of my work do they like the most?”

  He hooked a finger around the bridge of the glasses and moved them up onto the top of his head. One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I have no idea. They didn’t say.”

  Carrie sighed inwardly. He was probably in trouble with his girlfriend and trying to make nice. That was the likeliest scenario. Men like him, sexy and mysterious and obviously dangerous, were always in trouble with their girlfriends. And usually with good reason.

  “Are they a regular client?” Her words held a caustic trace.

  He said, “I would guess so.” He pointed to a lovely sculpture made of sand that had been turned into glass by a lightning strike and said, “Oh, that. I’ve seen something like that hanging around the office.”

  She turned her head, fighting back a rising tide of anger. Her work was important to her, and personal. He’d just managed to reduce it to a that, and it made her want to toss him out on the street on his ass.

  His tight, firm ass.

  Heat stroked her cheeks. Yes, he was definitely having to buy something for a girlfriend he’d pissed off. “That work is entitled Storm Chaser, and it is a natural work, not man-made.”

  That was true, to a point. She’d planted the lightning rods on the shingle of beach near her father’s summer home in Rhode Island just to get that sculpture, but she didn’t bother explaining that. It was nature at work, with a little help from her.

  “I see. How, precisely, did nature make it?”

  He spoke in a low and smoky baritone. It sounded like late nights and too much whiskey, and Carrie guessed that was exactly the cause that roughened the edges of his voice. She cleared her throat, trying to disregard the sudden heat that swept over her body at his words and the piercing stare he leveled at her. “It’s made from lightning and sand.”

  “So, glass.”

  Her lips compressed. “Yes. Glass, precisely. Only glass that was formed by lightning rather than—”

  “I’ll take it.”

  She bit her lip. “It’s four thousand dollars.”

  “Okay.”

  Okay? Wow. He must have done something really terrible. She moved past him. The scent of faded cologne, leather, and wind met her nose. Her body tingled all over. She picked up the heavy piece and said, “The register’s over there.”

  She walked toward it, trying not to look back. A new thought surfaced. What if he had just said he would take it to save face and was, at that moment, heading back out the door toward that growling and gritty bike of his?

  The bell didn’t tinkle, and when she stepped behind the counter he walked up to it, one hand going to the back pocket of those sinfully tight jeans. She asked, “How do you intend to transport it? I mean…” her eyes went to the bike on the curb.

  He sighed. “Shit. Sorry. Hadn’t even considered that. Do you deliver?”

  “I do, in a limited area.” Carrie’s eyes scanned along his body again as he turned back to the windows and the bike beyond it. His body was a study in sharp angles and lean muscle. There was real power in his movements, and she had a sudden dizzying vision of him naked and moving, arching and rising again over her body. She looked down to hide the expression on her face and to give herself time to cool down.

  “I need it delivered to Rogue Enterprise’s corporate building.”

  She looked up quickly. “Rogue Enterprises?”

  He asked, “Yes, you know of it?”

  Her lips curved upward in a wide smile. “The Four Billionaires of the Apocalypse? Yeah I know of it.”

  His lips twisted and then he burst into laughter. His laughter was warm and dark like melted fudge, and twice as seductive. “The Four Billionaires of the Apocalypse? Really?”

  Carrie shrugged. “Rogue Enterprises tore down a huge section of the downtown not so long ago. They did it knowing that the area housed a whole lot of artists and creators, who, unfortunately, could not afford the skyrocketing rents those assholes put into place when they bought up the whole street. They’re utterly evil.”

  He said, “You do know that they bought it to promote tourism?”

  “Tell that to all the people who had to move out and take their wares to a section of town where they are guaranteed to be able to afford the rent, but not make sales.” Her retort was dry. She was shocked at herself. She didn’t usually get so angry, and she didn’t usually talk to men who looked like him so easily either.

  He said, affably enough, “Yes, but if Rogue hadn’t bought it, their main competitor Heeden would have, and he’s a real shark.”

  She took two long breaths. “I see. So when would you like this delivered?”

  “Today. Around noon, if possible.”

  Carrie glanced at her watch. It was only nine, she had just opened the shop, and such an early delivery would mean having to close at lunch time. Then again, given how little traffic she’d gotten lately and the price of the sculpture, it was a pretty safe bet that she’d better say yes or risk losing what might be her only sale today. Or that week.

  “Fine.” She rang the sculpture and wrote out the receipt for delivery carefully. “Your total is—”

  He whipped out a credit card. She said, “I’m going to need some ID and I need to know who I am delivering to as well.”

  He pulled out a license and forked both it and the card over. Carrie looked at the name and went pale. She glanced at it again, just to make sure she hadn’t lost her mind, and then back at his face, which wore a smug expression.

  Brad Draper.

  One of the four partners of Rogue Enterprises. One of the Four Billionaires of the Apocalypse. And he had just ridden right into her life and her shop on a motorcycle.

  Oh, Jesus Christ.

  She swiped the card quickly, deciding the worst he could do now was dispute the charges. She handed it back. His fingers met hers, and a slow burnin
g heat ran along her skin. She said, “Thank you, Mr. Draper,” in as cool a voice as she could manage.

  His grin got wider. “Thank you, Miss…” He trailed off, his eyes going to her bare fingers and then back to her face. His smile got wider.

  “Heeden,” she supplied tightly. “Carrie Heeden.”

  It was his turn to go pale. He said, “I see.”

  She said, “Who am I delivering to?”

  His lips twisted. “Dante Sterling.”

  Then he turned around and walked out.

  CHAPTER 2:

  Carrie Heeden? Was it possible?

  Brad climbed aboard his bike and raced at a breakneck speed toward the office. He was late as hell this morning, and he knew Dante would be pissed at him. Brad had decided, at the last moment, to head out for a long ride to clear his head. The day had been great, and the wind had blown away some of the cobwebs that had seemed to be wrapped around his mind lately.

  He knew he needed to make some changes. His lifestyle—all parties, and women who wanted diamonds and sex (usually in that order) too much alcohol and way too many fast times—were starting to affect him.

  There’d been a gnawing emptiness in his gut lately that nothing seemed to fill, and after he and Dante had had a huge blowout, he had known exactly why he was so pissed at Dante—not that he could ever cop to that reason.

  Dante had fallen head over heels in love with Megan, their genius intern and recent hire, and everything between Dante and Brad had changed. Dante had stopped the partying and the good times so abruptly, it was like he had never known them at all. He was happier than Brad had ever seen him, and Brad had known right then that Dante had found the one thing that all of them had been missing in their lives: true love.

  Brad was jealous of it, and of Dante and Megan.

  He’d tried to cover that by being an ass to Dante and being rude to Megan. He’d partied harder than ever in an attempt to make Dante see what he was missing, but during that long ride out in the desert he’d realized that Dante wasn’t missing anything.