Unraveled- 8 Delicious Tale of Passion

by Fawkes, Sara

  to do when he was with her before.

  "But I'd like you to be mine right now." She crouched beside him and stroked her hand up his

  thigh.

  His eyes widened when he realized she was naked. But to her shock, he returned to typing on his

  keyboard. "I'm afraid I have to keep working."

  But the slight smile turning up Matt's lips tipped Kate off that he was toying with her. Not to be

  put off, she glided her hand over his crotch. The feel of the growing bulge under the fabric

  encouraged her. She stroked several times, then glided her fingers firmly along the sides of his shaft.

  The already large bulge grew even more. It was rock-hard under her fingertips.

  She grabbed the tab of his zipper and pulled it down slowly. The soft denim opened as she pressed

  her hand inside, then slipped it under the thin cotton boxers beneath until she found his hot, hard staff.

  Like molten marble.

  She drew it out and gazed at it. Long and hard. Thin veins pulsing on the sides. She stroked it,

  from base to tip, then back again. She glanced at his face. His lips were tightly compressed as he

  continued to concentrate on the screen.

  She shifted in front of him, shimmying under the desk since he continued to type. She leaned

  forward and pressed his big cockhead to her lips, then licked him. She thought she heard a groan, but

  when she glanced up, he was still staring intently at the computer screen. Her lips wrapped around his

  huge tip until it filled her mouth. She sucked and this time she definitely heard him groan. As she

  watched, he determinedly continued to type, but his fingers faltered as she glided down his hard shaft,

  taking him deeper. She squeezed as she glided away again, then sucked and licked the crown.

  She loved having his cockhead filling her mouth. Loved squeezing it inside her. The tip of her

  tongue glided over it, then toyed with the small hole, tasting a salty drop of pre-come. It was definite

  evidence that he was interested. Not that the huge cock in her mouth wasn't a dead giveaway.

  She drew it from her lips and stroked, his shaft warm and damp from her saliva. "I think you're

  ready for a break." Her lips curled up in a smile.

  He gazed at her, but shook his head. "No, I really have to keep working."

  If it weren't for the twinkle in his eyes, she would have been uncertain, but he was definitely

  toying with her. She drew her shoulders back in determination, then swallowed his cock into her

  mouth and began sucking in earnest. He swelled even bigger. She dove down as deep as she could,

  taking him down her throat, then she drew back. Down again, then back. Her fingertips found his

  balls and she stroked, then glided underneath and cupped them in her hand, all the while sliding his

  hard cock in and out of her mouth.

  His balls tightened and she knew he was getting close. She could just continue and suck down the

  fountain that was sure to blow at any second, but she didn't. Not with him still typing away, though

  quite erratically now.

  She grabbed the armrests of his chair and rolled it backward as she pushed herself out from under

  the desk. Then, holding his cock firmly in her hand, she turned her back to him and lowered herself

  until he pressed against her slick slit. Then she lowered herself the rest of the way onto his lap.

  Oh, God, that marble-hard shaft felt like heaven gliding into her. It stretched her like no other had

  before. It was so long and so freaking thick. She groaned when she finally rested on his muscular

  thighs, then tightened her passage around him.

  His typing had stopped, but then he had the nerve to start again. She glanced at the screen in front

  of them and smiled as she noticed everything he'd typed over the past few minutes was all

  gobbledygook. She took one of his hands and placed it on her naked breast, then pressed it hard

  against her. Her rigid nipple pressed deep into his palm. She took his other hand and pressed it to her

  mound, encouraging his finger to find her clit. His fingers moved frustratingly away and gripped her

  hips.

  "You've displeased me by interrupting my concentration. Now I need to punish you."

  She frowned. Really? For taking control this time? But the thought sent quivers through her. How

  would he punish her?

  He grasped her waist and lifted her from his lap. His hard cock dragged along her sensitive

  passage, nearly sending her over the edge. Then it dropped from her and bounced upward as he set her

  on her feet. He stood up and grasped her shoulders, then guided her around the other side of his big

  desk. He swiped his arm across the surface, knocking everything to the floor. Papers, pens, desk

  accessories. Even his empty coffee mug.

  Then he leaned her over the desk until her naked nipples pressed against the cold oak surface. A

  flattened hand on her back pressed her down harder, her breasts crushed against the hard wood.

  "You are a very bad girl, disobeying my wishes like that."

  He pressed his knees between her thighs and pushed her legs wider apart. His hand stroked over

  her behind, then slid between her legs. He stroked her wet slit several times, then she felt something

  hard and hot press against her. His cock pushed forward, and slid inside her.

  "Do you like that?"

  Oh, God, of course she did, but she wasn't sure if she should say yes or no. After all, this was to be

  a punishment.

  When she didn't answer, he coiled his hand in her long, auburn hair and drew her head back until

  her neck curved against his shoulder.

  "I asked if you like it?"

  "Yes," she responded.

  How To Choose A Cowboy by Daire St. Denis

  A Savage Interactive

  Copyright © 2013 by Daire St. Denis

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal

  Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of

  this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

  including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express

  written permission from the author / publisher.

  One word describes Daire’s Savage Tales...HOT!

  Check out what satisfied Amazon customers had to say about HOW TO BREAK A COWBOY - A

  Savage Tale

  “SUCH a turn on! Hot! - Best ménage story I've read hands down.”

  “Holy hotness! Quick, dirty, and tasty ménage. - This book is short and hot and manages to

  incorporate a good storyline too.”

  “Holy Hell!! - I don't even know where to start other than saying this was just freaking HOT!”

  Chapter One

  My name’s Tessa Savage and although I believe in monogamy—for the grey wolf—it sure as hell

  doesn’t work for me. I’ve tried. Let’s just say it was a failed experiment, a story for another time.

  Now I live my life according to my natural instincts, embracing the lifestyle of ninety-seven

  percent of all other mammals—you know, the ninety-seven percent who are poly-amorous.

  I’ve never been happier. Particularly today. Know why? One word...

  Cowboys.

  Oh yeah.

  I may be a city-girl through and through, but I love me my cowboys and the idea of spending a

  long weekend at a dude ranch has my tummy dancing and my girlie parts twitching. There’s just

  something about cowboys that drives me wild
. Their rugged toughness, their cool, implacable

  demeanor. All that mixed with just the right amount of chivalry? Mmm, chivalry. You know what it is

  about cowboys? They’re a reminder of simpler times, when men were men and women were women.

  It doesn’t hurt that the first man I ever fell in love with was a cowboy.

  Now, as I turn onto the long gravel drive of the Lazy L, it’s like I’ve driven onto some movie set;

  the Rocky Mountains to the west, dark and austere as the sun lazily begins its descent throwing golden

  light across the rolling hills of pastureland. Grazing livestock dot the fields amid clumps of trees

  ablaze in reds and golds of autumn. At the end of the drive sprawls a log house—no, it’s more like a

  chalet than a house, with a steeply pitched roofline and a wraparound porch—and around the bend is

  another rectangular log construct that I’m guessing is the guest lodge. There’s a smattering of cabins

  tucked into a copse of trees and to the west are the barns and outbuildings. Through my open window I

  can smell the sweet scent of country air: mown hay, horses and autumn crispness.

  A sign directs me to guest parking and before I have a chance to pop the trunk of my rental, I see

  the most amazing sight I’ve seen so far. I swear to God the Marlboro Man just stepped off a billboard

  and is ambling my way. He’s tall—holy hell is he tall—and he’s got his hat pulled low over his brow,

  showing only the hard lines of his jaw covered with a hint of shadow. He’s wearing one of those

  outback canvas jackets open at the neck and of course his ensemble is made complete with snug, well-

  worn jeans that look as if they were fashioned exclusively for him, showing off long legs, muscular

  thighs and a sweet package behind the fly. I’m so enamored of this walking advertisement that I don’t

  realize he stopped and is standing impressively and directly in front of me.

  He clears his throat.

  Oh God. I’m staring at his crotch. Sheesh! I’m so busted.

  However, I’m encouraged by the amused twinkle in a set of dark, dark eyes and my cheeks and a

  few other parts of me flush.

  “Tessa Savage?”

  “Yes,” I manage to say. “I’m Tessa.”

  He pushes his hat back, giving me a view of his face. Rugged, hard lines and full lips. Eyes that

  know how to sin. My God. I’m drowning and I just met the man. This is the problem with me and

  cowboys. It’s like the term is synonymous with hot sex and horny Tessa. What do I know about this

  guy apart from the fact he’s a mountain of heavenly hotness? Nothing. He could be married. He could

  be a complete jerk. He could be the worst sort of perv, for all I know. But does that stop me? No.

  These thoughts barely register as I flick my gaze back down to the front of his jeans.

  “I’m Wade Messing.” Stretching out his hand, he engulfs my small one in his large one.

  From the mere contact, I can tell an awful lot about the man. He’s strong, for one, because though

  he doesn’t crush my hand in his grip, I know it wouldn’t take much effort to make the bones in my

  hand pop. He works hard, as the calluses that line his fingers and palm can attest. And, I’d be willing

  to bet—by the way he holds my hand for the perfect amount of time with the perfect amount of

  pressure—that those hands are talented...in the sack. Yep. This Mr. Wade Messing knows just how to

  touch...stroke, caress, tease. I know he does, and my tight little clit throbs twice in concurrence.

  “Can I take your bag?”

  “Um, sure. Yes. That’d be great.” I ramble on as I fumble with my keys to open the trunk. I point

  at the two pieces of luggage—all the things I own in the world—and wait for him to pull them out. He

  picks up my bags as if they weigh next to nothing and carries them by their handles despite their very

  effective wheels, though I suppose they wouldn’t work so well on gravel.

  “I’ve got you in the Juniper Cabin. Todd Ascot stayed there last time he was here and he thought

  you’d like it.”

  “Sounds good.” Honestly? I’m not listening. Not really. My eyes are glued to the man’s ass as he

  strides effortlessly across the lot toward the cabins. My brain is busy making up illicit fantasies about

  what that ass might look like...beneath the denim. Beneath my hands.

  “You know Todd pretty well?” he asks over his shoulder. Did he catch me staring again? I hope

  not.

  Or, maybe I hope so because I’m pretty sure he smiled.

  “I’ve done some contract work for him and....” Oops, I’m staring again. I jog so that I’m in step

  with him. Eyes up ahead, Tessa. Be civilized...for once.

  “You work exclusively in the oil and gas sector?”

  “No. I work all over the world as a business analyst. Usually, the bigger the company, the better...”

  I glance up at Wade and my mind strays to the big bulge behind his fly. When I realize he’s stopped

  walking and we’re staring at one another, the skin on the back of my arms starts to tingle. I clear my

  throat and continue, “Todd hired me when he first set up Ascot Exploration. I come out once a year to

  do a check-up.” We start walking again. “Do you know him very well?” I ask.

  “We’ve been friends for years. Grew up together.”

  “Oh?” I try to imagine Todd and Wade hanging out as boys. The men are so different, I have a

  hard time picturing it. Todd is the epitome of metro-sexual. Slight, well-groomed, wealthy...as gay as

  they come.

  “The company’s doing well, I hear.”

  “It is. Todd’s a smart man. One of the things he’s really good at is assessing strengths and

  weaknesses, even his own. He’s one of the few CEO’s I’ve met who doesn’t try to do everything

  himself. He finds good people to supplement his strengths.”

  “Like you, for instance?” The words are said softly, like a caress across my cheekbone, and even

  though we’re talking business, I feel like we’re talking about something else.

  I touch my cheek and speak in a breathy voice. “He’s successful because he’s not afraid to get an

  outsider’s opinion.”

  “Well, he certainly respects yours. He told me to take special care of you this weekend.”

  I glance up, sharply. What does that mean? Does it mean what I hope it means? After working with

  Todd for so many years, he’s become more of a friend than a client. He knows me, knows my

  proclivities—my penchant for meaningful, short-term love affairs. But the cowboy isn’t looking at

  me, so it’s hard to read him.

  We’re on the porch of the largest of the cabins and he sets my bags down to reach in his jacket

  pocket, pulling out a set of keys. I sigh. I’m sure all he means when he says he’s going to ‘take care of

  me’ is that he’ll give me extra towels and a private tour of the ranch or something.

  It’s only me, with my dirty, dirty mind, that reads sexual connotation between the lines of even

  mundane conversation.

  “Here we are.” Wade unlocks the door, switches on the light and carries my bags inside.

  “Oh,” I say, making a slow three-sixty of the room. “It’s perfect.” By perfect, I mean wonderfully

  rustic and homey. Like most of the buildings, it’s log, and there’s a fire already crackling in the river

  rock fireplace, casting the walls in a warm, honey glow and filling the cabin with the scent of pine and

  cedar. In front of the fireplace is a sitting area with a lea
ther couch that’s well-worn and inviting like

  it could swallow you up and never let you go. There are a couple of fabric easy chairs patterned with

  southwestern designs, a kitchenette, table, four chairs and a book shelf.

  No TV.

  “This was one of the original cabins on the property. It’s been updated, new bathroom, kitchen.”

  He glances around. “I hope it will be okay.”

  I grin up at him. “It’s better than okay.”

  On the wall behind Wade is one of those animal heads, I think it’s a deer, or no...it’s something

  else. Caribou? Moose? I don’t know. I’m not much into stuffed animal heads and despite the cozy

  atmosphere of the cabin, the marbled-eyed stare of the stuffed critter gives me the creeps. I turn my

  back on it and that’s when I notice the gift basket on the table.

  “What’s this?” I ask, untying the ribbon and removing the cellophane.

  “It’s from Todd.”

  Inside the basket is a box of chocolates, two bottles of red wine—my favorite zinfandel—and

  some cheese and crackers. “He’s so sweet.”

  “He’s covering your stay too.”

  Shocked, I look at Wade. “No he’s not. I pay my own way.”

  “Too late. It’s already done.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “He said it was his way of saying thank you for all you’ve done for him. He speaks very highly of

  you.” Wade studies me for a second, like he’s trying to decide whether he should say something else

  or not.

  I keep my gaze glued to him, hoping to convey an air of openness to whatever he might want to

  suggest. My imagination quickly comes up with a sample scenario...

  “Ms. Savage, Todd mentioned your weakness for cowboys and I was wondering if I could offer my

  services to help you unpack, unwind...undress.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  But of course, that is not what the cowboy says or does, no matter how many telepathic signals I

  send him.

  “Dinner’s between six and seven in the Big House.” He tilts his head in the direction of the parking

  lot. “That’s the lodge where you drove in.”

  He slips his hand into the back of his pocket and I wonder if he realizes that in doing so, he has

  effectively pushed his pelvis forward, drawing my attention once more to the front of his jeans. Before