The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (+Wicked Bond [5])

by Sawyer Bennett

  "Oh, God... Oh, God..." she mutters over and over again, her head thrashing left and right against the mattress.

  Fucking sexy as hell.

  I pull my cock out of Sloane's heat. She's so far gone in the throes of a never-ending orgasm that she doesn't seem to notice. I grab the lube, flipping the cap with my thumb. A steady stream pours onto her pussy. "Lift your legs, baby. Spread them apart for me."

  Sloane raises her head from the mattress and looks at me with bleary eyes, but she complies. I stick my fingers under the stream of lube, catch a bit, and then toss the bottle aside. I smooth my slick fingers over her pussy, and she shudders again. I push my fingers down further, rub them over the tender skin from there to her tight hole, and gently massage in tiny circles.

  "Feels good," she murmurs, rotating her hips and bringing her hands underneath her knees to help hold her legs open. It's wanton and filthy looking, and my cock weeps from the sight.

  Speaking of cock... I fist it with lubed fingers, place one hand on the mattress, and lean forward. I guide the tip of my shaft right to her anus, rubbing all around it, and she mewls like a starved kitten.

  "Deep breath, Sloane," I urge her. She sucks in a lungful, drawing my eyes briefly from my cock against her ass to those perfect tits with pebbled nipples. "Let it out slowly."

  She does and my gaze drags back down to the erotic sight of my hard cock getting ready to plunder her ass.

  I grit my teeth, push forward... right through her tight ring that was mercifully loosened a bit from the plug. My eyes shoot up, seeing Sloane with her brow glistening with sweat and her lower lip between her teeth. She has her head lifted off the pillow, and she's looking down between our legs with wide-eyed curiosity mixed with apprehension.

  "Easy," I gentle her and push further in.

  "Oh... wait... ow," she gasps out. I still, looking up at her while she adjusts. I've got no more than the fat head of my dick in her, but I know she's struggling.

  "Want me to stop?" I whisper.

  She shakes her head frantically. "No. Feels way better than it hurts. Give me more."

  Oh, thank fuck... I don't think I can stop.

  Sweat beads along one temple and slides down my jaw. I push in deeper, one, two, three more inches. Sloane chokes out a pleasured sob as my cock slides along her delicate nerve endings inside. She's past the point of pain, and I know this because she lifts her hips, trying to get me deeper.

  I comply, and I slide completely in, bottoming out with a grunt of pleasure. "Oh, fuck, that feels good," I mutter as I drop the other hand to the mattress and just hold myself within her.

  Sloane's eyes are fluttering, on the verge of closing in uncontrolled ecstasy. I'm going to lose her soon, I know, so I make sure she understands something very important.

  "Sloane... baby," I say, and her eyes slowly open, eventually focusing on my own. "This ass is mine and no one else's. Ever."

  Her brows draw inward. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean... if you want us to play around again... with Bridger, Rand, Logan... I'm okay with that as long as no one ever touches this ass."

  "You still want to... do that?" she asks in astonishment, and while I'm not one who normally likes to converse during my cherry ass fucking, this needs to be said.

  "Maybe," I hedge. "We both have memberships to the club. I like kinky shit, and now I know you do too. I'm open to it."

  Because yes, Bridger held Sloane's job at The Wicked Horse, and while I don't think she'll work there forever, it means I could pull her over there for a quick fuck on our break if I wanted to. That thought causes my cock to jerk inside of her a bit, sort of chomping on the bit to let loose.

  And this is what she really needs to hear, because this is the most important part and really doesn't have a damn thing to do with us playing with others. "I trust you. Implicitly. I can separate out the kink from the love, so if you want to try some stuff at The Silo, you just tell me what you want and I'll deliver."

  Sloane's head comes further off the mattress as she peers at me, now seemingly oblivious that my cock is wedged deep in her ass. "Why do you trust me? How? After everything--"

  I cut her off with a punch of my hips against her ass, reminding her there is a big dick filling her up. She groans, but I ignore it. "Because of everything you risked and sacrificed. You put me above your career, your mother... you wanted me after I was a prick. I love you and with that comes complete trust. If you want something that's out of the bounds of normalcy, and it makes you feel good, I'll always give it to you."

  Sloane's eyes turn so tender that my heart actually starts thumping like a happy puppy's tail. She gives a slight shake of her head and says, "I think I'm going to pass on having any other men play with us. You're more than enough for me, but... I'm not averse to playing in the club with you."

  And that is something I can happily live with.

  "Sounds like a plan then," I tell her with a smile.

  She lifts her head up further, and I meet her mouth with mine.

  My life is complete.

  Epilogue

  Rand

  I walk through The Silo, turning the lights off behind me as I go. Normally, this would fall to Bridger or Cain, but neither one is around tonight. Bridger's attending some party out at the compound for the Mayhem's Mission motorcycle club, which translates into fucking some free pussy unassociated with The Silo. While this is Bridger's baby, sometimes I get the feeling that his "duties" here wear on him.

  Sometimes, it seems he actually hates "servicing" some people, but maybe I'm trying to read something into the situation. Regardless, he's not here and neither is Cain.

  He just flew back from Tennessee today and he's shacked up with Sloane, I'm sure still hammering out the necessary apologies that woman deserves from him.

  Cute couple though. I figured out of all of us dudes, he'd be one of the last to drop given his history with Rachel, but what the fuck do I know? I'm definitely unlucky in love, but I'm okay if it never comes my way. I've got friends, a great job, and all the kinky fuckery I could ever imagine.

  I snicker to myself, thinking about that.

  Kinky fuckery.

  Some chick said that the other night while Logan and I were both doing her, and we thought it was hilarious. She said she it was a term in one of her favorite books, but whatever.

  It totally describes what happens within the walls of this circular building.

  I make my way down the short hallway to the exit door, flipping down the switch of the sconce lighting and pushing the door open. The air is crisp and smells refreshing. Cleans the soul kind of good because sometimes when I walk out of The Silo, I feel like it's tainted by the things I do.

  But again, whatever. I might feel dirty at times, but some of the shit I dip my wick into also feels fucking amazing.

  I pull the door closed and ensure the lock is engaged. Security's become more important now than ever given that fuckwad Colton Stokes blabbing his mouth. Of course, on one hand, you could say it was a good thing because it brought Sloane Preston to our neck of the woods. Not only was she a fantastic fuck, and I hope Cain lets me in on that again, but it's also made my buddy super happy. So maybe Colton just deserved an ass whipping instead of the murder I'd like to dole out to him for threatening our existence.

  The parking lot is nearly deserted, The Wicked Horse having closed nearly an hour ago. The Silo is technically open 24/7 for any members who want to get debauched, but the bartenders go off duty at the same time The Wicked Horse closes down at 2AM. I'm the last to leave after getting a last minute cock-suck from Carol, one of the lovely purveyors of fine drinks. She toddled out not but fifteen minutes ago with a tart goodbye. I should have returned the favor to her, but she owed me the blow job because she lost a bet last week on the Yankees game. She's a transplanted New Yorker and I hate the Yankees, so I always bet against them, no matter the price of the potential loss.

  My eyes zero in on my Suburban parked up against The W
icked Horse in the space nearest the slate path that leads from the back door over to The Silo. I click the remote entry fob and the lights flash, indicating the doors are unlocked. I reach for the handle, pull it open, and just as I'm about to step in, my gaze falls on a white Mercedes coupe sitting two rows back and three spaces over. I start to turn away and then do a double-take as I realize it's Catherine's car.

  I know she left The Silo probably about half an hour ago after giving everyone a show tonight. Since her husband died last week, she's been at The Silo every night, indulging in every wicked sex act you can imagine. Not that she didn't indulge before, but for some reason, since the old fart's death, she's seemed a bit more free-spirited in her pursuits. Maybe even doggedly determined to outdo herself every time.

  Tonight, my tongue was hanging out of my mouth while she occupied a room all to herself and played with a variety of electrical and mechanical toys that Bridger's been collecting. She got right up against the glass wall and made sure everyone could see what she was doing. I bet I watched her come at least six times before she finally fell into a heap on the floor, panting with sweat-soaked skin and drowsy eyes. After she collected herself, she got dressed and sauntered out the door, waving goodbye over her head. I was so fucking horny after that, it took no time at all for Carol to wrench an unbelievable orgasm out of me. And strangely... I was imagining Catherine sucking my cock at the time, which is a bit weird.

  It's not like there's any mystery there. Catherine's deep throated me on a few occasions before, and I've fucked her on even more occasions than that. Didn't think she was really anything different from all the other sexual encounters I've had, but for some reason, it was her dark hair I imagined clenched in my fist rather than Carol's strawberry-blonde curls.

  Perhaps Catherine left her car here and went home with someone else. That must be it and just as I start to turn my eyes back to my vehicle, I see movement within the darkness of the interior of her car. I peer harder, willing the light from the nearest security post to reveal the inside, and if I'm not mistaken, the seat is leaned back and she's lying down. Perhaps having just turned from one side to the other.

  What the hell?

  I close my door and walk quickly across the lot to her car, my head tilted in curiosity. As I get closer, I can see better, and it is indeed Catherine lying in the driver's seat reclined all the way back. She's on her side with her hands curled up by her face, her back to me. Those long, dark locks are spread out over her back and shoulder.

  I tap gently on the window, knowing I'm going to startle her but not being able to help it. She jerks upright, looking at me with frightened eyes. When she recognizes me, I can see her give a sigh of relief. She raises the seat up and rolls the window down. It's then that I notice her car is running.

  "Hey," she says, her eyes darting around the parking lot.

  "What are you doing?" I ask, completely perplexed to find her sleeping in her car. I know she's not drunk because Catherine doesn't drink. At all.

  She does some crazy shit in the club, and she doesn't want anyone to ever think it's not of her own free will. She owns her kinky fuckery... and owns it good. I don't think she does drugs, so it's very confusing to find her here like this.

  "Um... I just..." Her voice trails off and her gaze falls down to her delicate fingers, which are intertwined tightly with one another.

  "Catherine... were you going to spend the night out here?"

  She lets out a huff of frustrated air. Looking back up to me with resignation in her eyes, she admits, "Yes."

  Nothing more.

  I cock an eyebrow at her. Catherine and her late husband reside in Vegas permanently, but he has a luxury cabin just outside of Jackson that they spent a lot of time at since he got her a membership at The Silo.

  "Is your car broken down or something?"

  She shakes her head and looks back down at her lap.

  "Then what the fuck?" I ask, exasperated and also damn worn out from the night's activities. I want to get home and get some shut-eye. Work comes early and I cannot miss it. I have to open the tattoo shop I work for at ten in the morning, and I need the few hours of sleep I can squeeze in.

  She's silent and I think she may refuse to answer me, but then her small voice reaches my ears and it stuns me. "I don't have anywhere else to stay."

  "What do mean? You have a seven-thousand-square-foot home not thirty minutes away."

  She shakes her head, that dark hair falling in a veil to hide her face. It's a gorgeous face, too. High cheekbones, exotic slant to her liquid brown eyes. It's a face that should be in movies or on magazines. A face beautiful enough that it landed her a wealthy husband on death's door and should have left her swimming in riches.

  "Catherine," I prompt, pulling on the handle to her door. It's still locked so I reach my hand inside, find the lock, flip it, and then pull the door open. I step in, squat down, and place my hand on her thigh. "What is going on?"

  She pulls in a shaky breath, lifts a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, which exposes her face again, and then turns to look at me with bleak eyes. "He didn't leave me with anything. Just this car, which he had titled in my name."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Samuel left everything to his two children, which I get he would leave them with something. But he always promised me he'd take care of me. I'd always have a place to live. His attorney showed up at the Jackson house two days ago with an order that I had to vacate. I was allowed to pack up my clothes, and that was it."

  My breath hisses out from between my teeth, and I wish that creepy fucker was still alive so I could pound his withered, crippled ass into the ground. That goddamn motherfucker.

  I stand straight and hold a hand out to her. "Come on. You can crash at my place tonight. I'll help you figure something out."

  "Seriously?" she asks, her eyes wide and her lips trembling. "I mean... we don't really know each other."

  "I've been balls deep inside you a time or two, Catherine. I think I know you a little bit," I say with a teasing smile.

  She blushes, and fuck... that's pretty. I've never seen Catherine blush, and she's done some things to make even the kinkiest of motherfuckers go red in the face.

  "Are you sure?" she hesitantly asks.

  "Positive," I say and push my hand toward her.

  She turns the engine off before taking my hand. Swinging those long legs bared from the black leather mini skirt she wore tonight out, she says, "I'll be glad to pay you. You know... in sex or something. I've only got about fifty dollars in cash left to my name."

  My cock leaps at the thought, because yeah... although I'm tired, I would not say no to fucking her tonight. But instead, I decide to be a gentleman. "You don't owe me anything. Let's get you to my place so you can get a good night's sleep. We'll talk about it more tomorrow and try to figure out how to take care of you."

  She blushes again and stands from the car. Her hand goes to my chest and she leans up on tiptoes, I think maybe to give me a hot kiss, but instead, she brushes her lips across my cheek. "Thank you, Rand. You're a lifesaver."

  Hmmmm... I like the sound of that.

  WICKED NEED

  (The Wicked Horse Series)

  By

  Sawyer Bennett

  Prologue

  Rand

  I walk through The Silo, turning off the lights behind me as I go. Normally, this would fall to Bridger or Cain, but neither is around tonight. Bridger is attending a party out at the compound for the Mayhem's Mission motorcycle club, which translates into fucking some free pussy unassociated with The Silo. While this is Bridger's baby, I get the feeling that his "duties" here wear on him sometimes.

  There are times it seems he actually hates "servicing" some people, but maybe I'm trying to read something into the situation that isn't there. Regardless, he's not here and neither is Cain.

  He just flew back from Tennessee today, and he's shacked up with Sloane. I'm sure he's still hammering out the necessary apologies
that woman deserves from him.

  Cute couple though. I figured out of all of us dudes, he'd be one of the last to drop given his history with Rachel, but what the fuck do I know? I'm definitely unlucky in love, but I'm okay if it never comes my way again. I've got friends, a great job, and all the kinky fuckery I could ever imagine.

  I snicker to myself, thinking about that.

  Kinky fuckery.

  Some chick said that the other night while Logan and I were both doing her, and we thought it was hilarious. She said it was a term in one of her favorite books, but whatever.

  It totally describes what happens within the walls of this circular building.

  I make my way down the short hallway to the exit, flipping down the switch of the sconce lighting and pushing open the door. The air is crisp and smells refreshing. Cleans the soul kind of good because sometimes when I walk out of The Silo, I feel like I'm tainted by the things I do.

  But again, whatever. I might feel dirty at times, but some of the shit I dip my wick into also feels fucking amazing.

  I pull the door closed and ensure the lock is engaged. Security's become more important now than ever given that fuckwad Colton Stokes blabbed his mouth. Of course, on one hand, you could say it was a good thing because it brought Sloane Preston to our neck of the woods. Not only was she a fantastic fuck, and I hope Cain lets me in on that again, but it's also made my buddy super happy. So maybe Colton just deserved an ass whipping instead of the murder I'd like to dole out to him for threatening our existence.

  The parking lot is nearly deserted, The Wicked Horse having closed about an hour ago. The Silo is technically open twenty-four/seven for any members who want to get debauched, but the bartenders go off duty at the same time The Wicked Horse closes down at two AM. I'm the last to leave after getting a last-minute cock suck from Carol, one of the lovely purveyors of fine drinks. She toddled out not fifteen minutes ago with a tart goodbye. I should have returned the favor to her, but she owed me the blow job because she lost a bet last week on the Yankees' game. She's a transplanted New Yorker and I hate the Yankees, so I always bet against them, no matter the price of the potential loss.