An American Bulldog

by Liz Stafford

  www.beautifultroublepublishing.com

  An American Bulldog

  Liz Stafford

  Copyright © 2011 by Liz Stafford

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including but not limited to: printing, photocopying, faxing, recording, electronic transmission, or by any information storage or retrieval system without prior written permission from the authors or holders of the copyright.

  This book is a work of fiction. References may be made to locations and historical events; however, names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), businesses, events or locales is either used fictitiously or coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

  Published by

  Beautiful Trouble Publishing, LLC

  PO Box 61

  Colfax, NC 27235

  www.beautifultroublepublishing.com

  Cover Art: Les Byerley http://www.les3photo8.com/

  Editor: Sonya Mott Young, http://legacyediting.com/

  Proofreader: Novellette Whyte

  http://authorgurunovellette.blogspot.com/

  Formatter: Jim & Zetta, http://www.jimandzetta.com/

  E-book Conversion: Jim & Zetta, http://www.jimandzetta.com/

  ISBN: (e-book) 978-1-61788-197-8

  Note about eBooks

  eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving away eBooks is a copyright infringement. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author or Beautiful Trouble Publishing.

  CAVEAT

  This work of erotica contains adult language and sexually explicit scenes, which are smoking hot. This book is intended only for adults, as it is defined by the laws of the country in which the purchase is made. Keep this book out of the hands of under-aged readers.

  Author’s Note

  Sometimes, just the right word is not 'available'. Consequently, the author likes to make up words now and then. In this case, a word was needed to describe the way one might look at a hunk, hence, the word droogle—drooling and ogling.

  Chapter One

  The vet clinic buzzed with activity today. Seemed like everyone’s pets needed shots all at once. Oh well, it was job security. Taryn checked the name written in magic marker on the tab of the manila file in the holder outside Exam Room Two. Oh God, not him again. Why was it, every time he came in, she was the tech on duty? Seemed like some kind of conspiracy.

  Bulldog. That wasn’t the breed. Well, it was, but it was also the owner’s name. His only name. Like Cher, or Meatloaf. But it wasn’t his name that sent her insides flapping and fluttering like laundry in the wind. It was everything else about him.

  Okay, okay. Suck it up and do your job. He’d be gone in ten minutes and she could go dry herself off. Taryn gripped the folder against her meager chest, stepped inside Exam Room Two, and closed herself in with two American Bulldogs. One was the kind you’d expect: white with brown patches and weighing around a hundred pounds. The other—he was white too, but no patches. At least none she could see. And he weighed far more than a hundred pounds, more than double that she guessed. Most of it was in his yard-wide shoulders. The defined curves of his abs showed through the tight yellow T-shirt. So did thick nipples—big enough for a mouthful—and standing at attention.

  “Good afternoon,” she said.

  “Good afternoon to you, too, Taryn B.”

  That voice. Like hot maple syrup. The actual words set her on edge. Why did he insist on mocking her? If she looked at him, he’d be smiling—a wide white smile set into a beefy, almost-handsome face that carried some extra weight in the jowl area, which always made her smile. It’s said that people tend to look like their dogs. Or was it the other way around? Either way, the chubby jowls made him look a lot like his dog, which was the reason they were both here.

  A rabies shot. For the dog.

  Taryn crouched beside the dog. “Good morning, Denver. Have you been a good boy since you were here last?” She ruffled his ears then scratched under his chin—the dog’s, not the owner’s—although, from the first moment he stepped into the examination room three months ago, Taryn had the idea he’d like to be ruffled and scratched, though probably in places other than his head. She wondered how he’d react if she did chuck him under the chin or scratch his tummy. Probably do the same as the dog and flop on his back twitching his—

  “What’re you laughing at?” Denver’s owner asked.

  Had she been laughing? Maybe. The image of him on his back sporting two twitching appendages was more than amusing. It was downright horny-inducing.

  “Sorry, Mr…” Taryn checked inside the file folder for the guy’s name. Maybe somebody had filled it in there. Nope. Still missing. Somebody was supposed to fill this in three months ago. “What’s your name?” Taryn asked him yet again.

  He thumped an oh-sooo-thick index finger on the file. “What’s it say?”

  “Bulldog. But—”

  “Then that’s what it is.”

  “How are we suppos—” She heaved a sigh. Let management take care of it. He obviously was playing games with her. But man, what a person to play games with. He had it all. Humor and intelligence. He’d demonstrated the intelligence the first visit when he talked about, oh gosh, what was that word now? Some kind of –esis. Taryn couldn’t begin to remember but it had been something scientific. He’d gone on about it, not in a boring way, but in that deep, I-want-to-suck-you voice that made her tingle all over.

  He didn’t wear a wedding ring. In today’s world, that didn’t a hundred percent mean he was single. A dozen times that first meeting, she’d almost asked him out. Her mouth opened and shut so many times he probably thought she was part goldfish. One thing holding her back was explaining him to her sister/roommate. How did she say she was going out with a guy named Bulldog? A white guy named Bulldog. A white guy named Bulldog who actually looked like a bulldog. Another sigh squeezed past her lips. Back to business.

  “Okay, Bulldog it is then. Let’s get on with the exam.”

  “Isn’t the doctor coming in? Or did you suddenly get a veterinarian’s license?”

  Why did he ask this every time?

  “I am a vet tech,” she explained. “I help the vet. In this case I will examine the dog, weigh him, trim his nails, etc.” To prove her words, she grabbed the trimmers from the drawer, knelt beside Denver and went to work.

  When Bulldog laughed she realized she’d been had. He shined a wide Chiclet grin down on her. Taryn went back to work on the dog’s feet.

  “Nice.”

  He drew out the word so long she had to look up—and realized he’d been looking down her shirt. Talk about embarrassing. The one day she couldn’t find a clean bra and went without one.

  Rather than go all shades of red, she nodded and said, “Same here.”

  Which made him realize he’d worn baggy running shorts—and no underwear.

  Oh God, oh god, oh god. He had red hair. She dropped the trimmers and lunged out of the room. The sound of baritone laughter followed her down the hall.

  Chapter Two

  Dolf Bulldog Brown threw back his head and laughed so hard the dog yelped in surprise.

  Man, what a doll she was. Doll was probably too tame a word. Dolls were plastic with synthetic hair. Nothing synthetic or plastic about that gal! From the top of that ebony black ’fro to the high—though small—dark points visible down the front of her shirt to the tips of those clunky, awkward looking blue
clogs.

  Nametag said she was Taryn B. Since the first time he came here, he’d wondered what the B stood for. Darned if he’d ask. No way she’d tell him since he gave her such a hard time about his own name.

  The door at the back of the small examination room opened. The shortest vet—well, the shortest woman—he’d ever seen came in the room. She couldn’t have touched five feet tall, but she was perfectly proportioned. “Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Tonya Lansing.”

  “Dolf Brown. Nice t’meetcha.”

  She went to reading the dog’s chart and he went to wondering how he could get Taryn back in here. If he told the vet she hadn’t finished trimming Denver’s nails, she might catch some trouble. And the only trouble he wanted that woman in was with him. Under him. On top of him. Or slapping skin-on-skin against that wall beside where the vet stood.

  “Something wrong?” the vet asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “You sounded like you were choking.”

  “No. No, I’m fine.”

  The vet tilted her head at him. He wondered if this perspective could give her insight into his psyche. Before he could ask, she righted herself and went on to give Denver what was known as a “comprehensive exam”—kinda like the physical he got last week. The wrestling commission required them every six months.

  Dr. Lansing straightened up and patted the dog on the head. “Good to see you again.” She shook Dolf’s hand. “Nice seeing you also.” The vet picked up the folder and dangled it in her fingers.

  “Ditto.”

  How to get Taryn B. back? He didn’t want another three months—or longer—to pass before he saw her again. He was pretty sure this was the one who’d bear his children, and sit beside him in a rocking chair. Damn, if the guys at the arena could hear his sissy thoughts, he’d be the brunt of every joke that came over the loud speaker. They’d bounce him off the ropes till he grew too dizzy to fight back. At the same time, the crowd would boo and taunt…

  “Um. Ma’am?” Yeah Dolf,—real intelligent conversation-maker you are. Be a real turn-on for Miss Taryn B.

  The vet turned, hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

  Why not try a dose of honesty, Dolf?

  Sure, tell her I want to shove the tech up against the wall and slide my dick between those glorious dark folds and push it up as far as her tonsils. Over and—

  Yup, she’ll run right out and order the woman back here. More likely she’ll send the SWAT team. Try again. “Um. I wondered if you’d ask Taryn to come back. I, er, wanted to ask her something.”

  “Any problem I should know about? She doing her job all right?” Vet Lansing tilted her head again.

  “Yes. I’m sure she—”

  The vet laughed. The sound said she was teasing—knew exactly what was going on. He chuckled, feeling heat rise in his face, something he thought only happened to women. He gave a two-shoulder apology. “If she’s got a minute, that is.”

  Dr. Lansing straightened her head—funky habit she had. “I’ll see if I can find her for you.”

  Chapter Three

  Taryn leaned against the inside of the employee’s bathroom door. Finally, her breathing returned to normal. Maybe she could go back to work now, but not to Exam Room Two. No, go on to the next client. Onward and upward. Wasn’t that what her granddad always said?

  She moved toward the sink to throw water on her face. Good thing too; her face was red as Christmas lights.

  That Bulldog guy must be thinking she was a nut case. Oh, what did it matter? The only time they saw each other was here, if the dog got sick or needed shots.

  Pretty sad really. Sad that she went home every night imagining him waiting in the kitchen with dinner on the table, and him wearing aluminum foil, or a layer of whipped cream on top of a layer of maple syrup—the real stuff.

  She wasn’t being entirely fair. She didn’t only imagine him in bed. She pictured them married, having coffee together then going off to work, and coming home exhausted to fall into each other’s—

  A light knock came on the door. Taryn crumpled the brown paper towel and heaved it in the trash. Damn sad life she had, pining after somebody who was probably married with ten kids. Okay, decision made, next time that janitor guy asked her out, she’d say yes.

  She twisted the knob and opened the door. But rather than step away to let her pass, the person moved into the bathroom, forcing her back against the wall.

  The door—her only escape—shut. And she was face to face with…

  Bulldog. The life-sized human version.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  “I asked the vet if I could see you.” He shot her a wide grin. “Pretty sure she’s playing matchmaker.”

  She squashed the urge to race around him screaming into the hall, because wasn’t this what she’d been wanting? Taryn crossed her arms and peered up at him. He took a step closer. His huge hands came up. Up. And cupped each breast. Shocks, like she felt on her granddad’s electric fence, bolted down her legs. They wanted to buckle but she willed them to stay stiff.

  His fingers tightened around her breasts. No pain, just wild sensations. Some came from his hands, others from the knowledge that they were in her place of work, and how embarrassing it would be if they were caught.

  She didn’t move. He did. He came closer, unbuttoned her shirt, all the way. Then he took a nipple in his mouth and sucked. Sucked so hard she felt it hit the roof of his mouth.

  One of them made a sound, like choking. Might’ve been her. Maybe not.

  Somebody knocked. Taryn’s knees gave out. Bulldog’s hands grasped her upper arms and kept her from sliding to the floor. All the while, his mouth kept that suction on her nipple.

  “Taryn, are you all right in there?”

  All she could do was squeak.

  Another knock. “Taryn?”

  “Y-yes? Yes, I’m fine.” Triple-time fine. “B-be right out.”

  Bulldog raised his head, licked his lips like a cat with a bowl of milk, then set to buttoning her shirt. “Ready to go?” he said.

  “Wh-where?”

  He thumped the dial of his watch. “It’s dinnertime.”

  Last thing she wanted to do was eat, but if that was what he wanted. Right now, anything he wanted was A-ok with her.

  He flicked a tear from her cheek and sucked it off his thumb. Then he opened the door and gestured for her to go first.

  They drove to Bulldog’s apartment, a high-rise in the middle of the city. She started to get out, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I’ll be right back.” He let the dog out of the back seat.

  She watched them prance up two stairs and disappear through a pair of glass doors. Wow, check out those calf muscles. She wondered what he did for a living that created such definition.

  Why didn’t he want her to go inside? Messy? Roommates? No wife. Her female radar said he wasn’t married. He must not live on the top floor because he was back in a flash.

  “Sorry, I thought Denver should stay at home,” he said as he climbed in.

  They stopped at a fast food chicken place for a bucket to go. He drove out of the city. Traffic thinned, and so did the road. Soon, they were on a narrow dirt road—on what planet, she had no idea. For the first time in her life, she didn’t care.

  Bulldog’s car was as big and strong as him—a green Suburban. She bounced on the passenger side like a marble in a can. Every time her bottom hit the seat, her pussy jingled, begged for something more. God, wouldn’t he stop the car? Or, better yet, wouldn’t the damned orgasm just come?

  Ha! Wouldn’t that be something if she began shouting and quivering before he so much as put those lips back on her? Serve him right for sucking her to oblivion back at the clinic.

  Finally, he pulled the car to a stop in a small clearing surrounded by tall trees. Dusk had fallen. Here in the cover of the trees, it was dark as midnight.

  Bulldog tapped her hand lying on the wide seat. “C’mon.” From the backseat, he flung a b
lanket over his shoulder and took up the bag of food. “Can you carry the drinks?”

  He thumped an arm across her shoulders and started along a root-strewn trail. She would’ve wrapped an arm around his waist, but needed both hands to carry the flimsy cardboard drink tray.

  They walked about a hundred yards through the pitch-darkness. Taryn couldn’t keep from being a tiny bit worried. Yes, she’d thirsted for this guy, but didn’t know much about him. Okay, she didn’t know anything about him. Then why did she feel this need to follow? Why did she want to bear his children?

  Chapter Four

  Bulldog could hardly walk. Stupid ass. Touching her breasts at the clinic had been his undoing. Surprisingly, she hadn’t clobbered him. He suppressed a grin. If she had, the boner would’ve sagged, at least enough to get them here.

  Since day one, he’d imagined the two of them in this place.

  The first part of his dream was coming true. Here was where they’d have their first date. It was the place he would, down the road, propose to Taryn B. The place they’d conceive their first child, and maybe their second.

  They strolled down the bumpy path toward Baxter Lake. He hoped she shared his opinion, that it was the most beautiful place on earth. Once they broke clear of the thick trees, the full moon would illuminate the narrow strip of beach, shine down on them as they ate their first meal together. And, if his luck held out, it would shine on them as they made love for the first time. But if the making love part didn’t work out tonight, that was okay.

  Taryn’s “oooh” said she agreed with his assessment of the place. She stopped in her tracks, her hand slid from his. He set the bucket of chicken on the sand, took the drink holder from her and set it alongside the chicken. Bulldog started to stand behind her, but realized his raging hard-on might be construed as a prelude to rape, so he stood beside her and dropped an arm around her shoulders.