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

by Sawyer Bennett

  She's a stunning vision of elegant wealth. It's how I know she probably dressed most days of her married life to Samuel--in designer clothes and expensive jewelry. I've never seen her this way because whenever Samuel brought to her The Silo, she was dressed in leather, vinyl, or hardly anything at all. It didn't really matter what she wore through the doors, she was usually naked not long after that. Looking at her now as she walks toward me with a large, black purse slung over her shoulder and her sunglasses perched on top of her head, I'm having a hard time even imagining that this woman and I have ever fucked. Or done some of the really fucking dirty stuff we've done together. It's almost surreal.

  She waits patiently while I finish with the customer, her arms casually folded in front of her and looking at some of the design options framed on the wall. Once the dude leaves complete with his bandaged biceps because he had barbed wire inked around his pale, skinny arms, Cat turns to me.

  "Did you get the will?" I ask.

  She reaches into her purse with a grimace. "That asshole attorney made me wait for almost two hours."

  Cat pulls the thick document out. It is folded into thirds. She opens it as she steps up to the counter.

  I walk out from behind and ask, "Why did you have to wait so long?"

  She practically growls when she says, "I was being given the run around. At first, his secretary said he wasn't in, but I told her that was fine. I didn't really need to see him, just needed a copy of my late husband's will. Then she admitted he was in and would need to approve it, but was in a meeting and I'd have to wait. When he finally came out to the lobby, a fucking hour and a half later, he admitted he didn't have a signed copy on him. Just an unsigned copy that Kevin had given him."

  I come to stand beside Cat at the counter as she flattens the thick document out before us. Before she starts to read, she flips to the last few pages and sure enough, there are no signatures there.

  "If it's not signed, then it has no power, right?" I ask.

  "Supposedly, but the attorney said the signed copy's in Vegas."

  "And he never asked to get a signed copy before forcing you out?"

  Cat shrugs. "Guess not."

  We stand beside each other, our shoulders touching, and lean over the document. It's long and cumbersome, but within the first few paragraphs, we see the offending language.

  I, Samuel P. Vaughn, being of sound mind and body, do hereby will, devise, and bequeath my entire estate, including all real and personal property, in equal shares, to my sons Kevin Vaughn and Richard Vaughn, share and share alike.

  The next few paragraphs direct what do with his property if his sons predecease him, including distribution to his grandchildren as apparently, his younger son Richard has two kids. The real kick in the teeth is the next paragraph that states:

  I specifically make no provision for my wife, Catherine Lyons Vaughn, in this Last Will and Testament, other than her clothing and other personal effects accumulated throughout our marriage as well as any jewelry I have bought her through the course of said marriage.

  Cat makes a sound of disgust low in her throat and flips through the rest of the thick document. We can't see any other provisions that really apply to her and again, the last few pages are conspicuously bare of signatures.

  "This document means nothing," I say as I stand straight and turn to face her. "Without signatures."

  "Agreed," Cat says with loathing. "I'm thinking about calling Richard who lives in Vegas. Even though he's the youngest, he's the more 'reasonable' of the two brothers."

  "Where's Kevin?" I ask.

  "I think at the Jackson house. That's what the attorney said when he kicked me out. That I had to vacate because Kevin was coming to stay."

  "So he essentially told you to leave your own home without having a valid copy of a document giving him the power to do so, probably only on the word of Kevin Vaughn telling him one had been signed?"

  "Pretty much," Cat admits.

  "Yeah, that doesn't fucking work for me," I mutter as I grab the will off the counter and fold it back up. Handing it to her, I say, "Listen... you really need to hire an attorney. That's the best thing you can do at this point."

  Cat shakes her head, grim resignation evident. "I can't do that, Rand. I just don't have the money it would take. Maybe if I could get a job, I could save up or something."

  Well, fuck. She's between a rock and a hard place.

  Ordinarily, I'd see the damsel in distress, particularly one as lovely and alluring as Cat, and I'd step in to save the day. Jake teases me mercilessly because I have this inherent need to nurture, care for, and develop others. Not sure where that comes from, but it's something I can take to the excess sometimes.

  I should offer to loan Cat the money to hire an attorney, or maybe take it upon myself to do that. But I don't make those offers because, frankly, I don't think Cat would accept. She seems to have the art of "stubborn pride" down to a science if the fight over her sleeping on the couch is any indication.

  Besides, there is something I could do that's more behind the scenes.

  "You should feel free to go hang back at my apartment, or whatever," I say as I lean my elbow on the counter. "I've got about another hour here and then I'm heading over to The Silo. If you don't have any objections, I'm going to talk to Bridger about this and get his take on it."

  "Why Bridger?" she asks, her head tilted curiously to the side.

  "Because he's one of the smartest dudes I know. Plus, he's well connected. He'll probably know something about this attorney who forced you out of the house. If not, maybe Woolf will. Do you mind if I tell them about this?"

  She doesn't hesitate as she sticks the document back in her purse. "No, not at all."

  "Okay, good then," I say with a smile, reaching out and touching my hand to her shoulder, where I give a reassuring squeeze. "We'll get it figured out."

  As I start to pull my hand away, I'm stopped by hers coming up to latch onto my wrist. Her grasp is delicate, barely touching me, but it holds such power. Cat steps into me, her soft brown eyes shining with gratitude. She goes to her tiptoes, which isn't much more of a stretch given the sky-high heels she's wearing, and leans into me. Placing her lips against my cheek, she kisses me just barely and pulls away. "Thank you, Rand. For everything."

  Christ, she smells good. And that body is just inches from mine.

  She releases her hold, and my hand falls away from her shoulder. I want to grab her back to me and... what?

  Hug her? Fuck her? Tell her it will all be okay?

  Tell her to suck my dick?

  Please Cat, suck my dick?

  Instead, I turn away from her and walk behind the counter. "I probably won't be home until really late tonight, so I guess I'll see you then."

  "Okay," she says with a smile and starts to turn away.

  "Unless you're coming to The Silo tonight?" I throw out, hoping my voice doesn't sound anything more than casual.

  She gives a small shake of her head. "I don't think so."

  The weight of crushing disappointment hits me again. While I've firmly made up my mind I am not touching Cat while she's at my apartment because I've invited her there out of friendship, I'd reasoned in my mind that she was still fair game at The Silo. I mean, if you walk in those doors, it means you want to fuck. No-strings-attached sex to be precise.

  Right?

  So, if Catherine Lyons were to walk into that door tonight, technically she would be fair game.

  I think.

  But that apparently isn't happening.

  Chapter 4

  Cat

  I can't believe I'm here.

  I promised myself I wasn't coming back. Not after Rand found me sleeping in my car in the parking lot last night.

  Not ever again.

  Yet here I am, nervously smoothing down a simple black, form-fitting strapless dress as I stand outside the entrance door to The Silo.

  One of the most truthful things I've ever admitted to myself
is that my feelings for The Silo are complicated. It's a place I've loved and hated at different times.

  It's made me feel beautiful and ugly.

  Needed and abhorred.

  Powerful and weak.

  The times I've felt good walking out those doors were fleeting, the buzz and adrenaline of great sex already a cold, distant memory. The lingering happiness that filled me from being desired and needed by others soon fizzling into nothingness.

  But those times I've felt bad walking out... those stuck with me a lot longer. Usually through a scalding hot shower to wash away the sweat of others, while I sat on the tiled floor and chanted over and over again that this was what I needed to do to survive.

  Oddly enough, The Silo helped me survive the sick perversion Samuel was intent on forcing me to endure. It was the lesser of two evils, and so I made sure I put on quite the show whenever my husband brought me here so he could watch me get fucked and debased because that made him happy. He watched with clouded eyes from his wheelchair, his mouth twisted into a feral grin, and I made sure he believed I loved every bit of it, because it was one of the few ways I could assert my independence from him. It was also how I could hurt him, if even only a tiny bit, because he'd much rather believe I hated it.

  Sadly, sometimes I did love every bit of it. My lips curve upward as I realize, many of those times involved Rand. He's an amazing lover and he's adventurous. He is wide and varied in his kink, and even if he wasn't fucking me, I loved watching him get off with others.

  And that is the reason I'm here.

  Rand Bishop.

  A man I've fucked and sucked several times in the past.

  A man I am immensely attracted to.

  A man who has provided me unparalleled kindness in the last twenty-four hours.

  I want him, and I want him tonight. It has to be here because I get the sense he's deemed me to be off limits in his apartment. He wouldn't accept my body as payment to him for his generosity last night, but that's not what The Silo is all about. It's about people making free choices to get their rocks off in an environment with like-minded people. It's about sex with no strings or expectations, and pleasure as the only end goal.

  Taking a deep breath, I reach into my little clutch purse and pull out my security fob. I punch the digital code it provides me into the wall panel, and the door unlocks with a soft click.

  The Silo is the brilliant brainchild of business partners Bridger Payne and Woolf Jennings, although Woolf recently sold out. It's a round concrete building with a white-domed top that looks just like an authentic silo. It sits just off the back of Bridger's nightclub, The Wicked Horse.

  While it might look like a colossal bin to store grain in from the outside, the inside is a massive round space with glass-walled rooms around the perimeter. It's a sex club and all kinds of kinky, nasty, sexy stuff goes on inside this place. It's a no-holds-barred type of club and anything goes as long as it's consensual. Some of the things I've done in this club would make the devil blush.

  As I exit the short hallway that leads me to the center, I immediately spot Rand standing up at the round, black-lacquered bar that takes up the middle of The Silo. I ignore all the other activity around me as I've seen it before. Fully dressed couples mingle with cocktails in their hands. Naked couples in the glass-walled rooms, fucking in every way imaginable. It's all almost passe to me, because I've not only seen it all, I've done it all.

  Just last week, I let Bridger lock me in a stockade, effectively securing me around the neck and wrists, and then I invited several men to fuck me. Pussy, ass, mouth... didn't matter. Luckily, it was one of those nights that was a good one. I enjoyed it. I came several times, and when I walked out, I didn't feel degraded. That's because it was my choice to be there, not Samuel's, and I did what I wanted. I also called a stop to it all when I was done. And trust me, after the seventh guy, I was done because I was sore and my neck ached. My wishes were immediately granted, and I was treated with kindness and reverence by the men around me. Bridger was there to cover my body with a robe and lead me off to the bathroom where I could get cleaned up and dressed in privacy.

  Yeah, that was a good night.

  I'm hoping tonight will be better.

  As I take in Rand, I see he's wearing the same clothes he had on at the tattoo shop today. Faded jeans with a small rip in one knee, a thick, black leather belt, and a black Rage Against The Machine t-shirt that fits his chest extraordinarily well. His blond hair falls across his forehead and he pushes it back in what I recognize as a habit now, causing me to smile.

  He's talking to a woman, and I take a moment to size her up. I don't think I've seen her in here before, but honestly, I don't pay much attention to the women. I like cock, so the women never interested me much. Although one time, Bridger strapped me to the St. Andrew's cross and invited people to come in and eat my pussy. A procession of men took up his challenge, except one lone woman who came in as well. I don't remember much about her other than her lips were so soft, and frankly, she worked my clit better than any man ever has before. I'm going to have to assume she was a lesbian and damn... she really knew what she was doing.

  The woman Rand is talking to is pretty. Very pretty, actually, with caramel-colored hair streaked with golden highlights. Her skin is tanned and she looks to be about my age. I immediately figure either she's a bartender from The Wicked Horse with a limited membership here, or she's a lot like me... here with a rich sugar daddy of some sort.

  Rand doesn't look away from her. He seems to be totally interested in what she's saying, which I can tell is something flirty by the way she's standing in close to him and holding her drink so that her cleavage is squeezed for maximum display. She even leans in closer, goes up on tiptoes, and whispers something in his ear while resting a hand on his chest. My fingers curl inward, balling to tight fists when I see his hand drop to her hip. His fingers splay wide and while he does nothing more than grip her there, he does nothing to dissuade her from stepping in closer until her breasts brush against him.

  I don't hesitate a second. I walk through the minglers, sidestepping and nodding greetings here and there. I'm well known and get smiles from everyone. When I reach Rand and the woman I don't know, he turns to look at me, his eyebrows rising first in surprise, then with a welcome smile on his lips. His eyes roam down my body, lighting up with appreciation. It makes me immensely happy to see his hand fall from the woman's hip.

  She also turns to me, her lip curling in disdain while she shoots daggers at me from her eyes. I don't spare her another glance. Instead, I reach for Rand's hand that is closest to me. His fingers immediately thread with mine and he tilts his head in question.

  "Let's fuck," I murmur, turning to start pulling him away from the woman.

  He doesn't hesitate in the slightest, and I try hard not to laugh as the girl makes a loud sound of disgruntlement that she's being left so abruptly by a man she clearly had her sights set on.

  I lead Rand back across The Silo, down the short hall that heads back toward the door I had just entered in through. But rather than leave, I turn right into the hallway that runs the perimeter of the round building, behind the glass-walled rooms. Rand follows behind, his hand holding mine tightly, but not saying a single word to me. He doesn't need to say anything, but I know he's feeling what I'm feeling. The sexual tension is so thick that I can feel it coating my exposed skin like a blanket.

  "Which room do you want?" I ask as I walk in front of him, my hips swaying provocatively. I know... can just feel those green eyes pinned to my ass. "The black room... we can fuck on a bed of black silk and that woman you just left behind can watch your cock sliding in and out of me?"

  Rand doesn't say anything, but I know if I were to let go of his hand and reach backward, I'd find him hard as a rock.

  "Or how about one of the rooms where you can restrain me? Maybe the St. Andrew's cross, or even the stockade. Lock me up and do what you want to me."

  I think I hear a low
growl of need in Rand's chest, and it fills me with euphoria that he wants me so badly.

  "Or maybe one of the rooms with toys," I suggest silkily as we walk slowly along. "So many things you could do to make me come with toys."

  Rand moves so quickly, I give a startled yelp of surprise. His hands come to my shoulders and he spins me toward the outer wall, which is nothing but cold, gray concrete staves. I open my mouth to say what, I don't know, but then his tongue is twirling against mine while he presses me back into the wall.

  And I can't recall... has Rand ever kissed me before? I'm not sure. I think I'd remember something like this... so possessive and animalistic. Necessary. That's what it feels like... absolutely needful to him.

  We may have fucked before, but I don't recall kissing him, so I'm thinking we haven't. Such a personal act and one I don't do often. Usually it's because a man wants it and I oblige, no biggie.

  But this kiss with Rand?

  It causes my legs to go weak and my heart to skitter out of control. It makes me want to sag in relief over the warm feelings it produces in me, and I want nothing more than to stand in this hallway with Rand and just make out with him all night long. I think I'd be completely satisfied with just kissing him. It's that damn good.

  Yet, he has other ideas. Pulling his mouth away just enough to growl against my lips, he says, "None of the rooms. Gonna fuck you right here... keep you all to myself."

  He gives me no opportunity to respond because he steals my breath away with another fast but deep kiss before he's jerking my skirt up around my hips and then my panties down my legs. Squatting before me, he taps against the outside of my right ankle. I raise it so he can slip that leg free.

  "Other leg," he mutters. I lift that one, and then he's standing up with my panties in his hand. He orders me, "Get my cock out, Cat."

  I don't hesitate. I work his belt buckle with expert hands, only stumbling once when he pushes a hand between my legs and drags a finger between my folds. I can feel how ridiculously wet I am, but that was a given. Rand's take-charge ways are turning me on like nothing else ever has.

  When I get his belt freed and his zipper down, I push at the jeans a bit until his thick cock comes in to view. I reach my hand in, circle it around the girth, and gently pull it free. I'm confident this didn't hurt him and that the hiss of air that rushes through his teeth is merely because my hand on him feels good.