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

by Sawyer Bennett

  At least, I don't think he took anything for himself.

  Bridger mutters a curse. Pushing up from his reclined position, he turns to me, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. His look is dismissive of my last question and that's verified when he says, "We need to have a serious talk about you and Belle."

  "What about?" I ask carefully, my heart now pounding that he's mentioned Belle. He's not asked me about her once since I told him of her existence and refusal to disclose where she is.

  "Zeke has all the Mayhem's Mission chapters out looking for you," Bridger says, and I go slightly dizzy at the implication. Not only is that a lot of fucking muscle going into this hunt for me, but it means he's pouring some serious dedication in retrieving his property. I know Zeke, and I know that means he will not quit until he has his hands on me.

  Before I can even think of a response, Bridger adds on, "Kyle thinks he might go after your family... to figure out where you might have stashed Belle."

  "Oh my God," I moan as I push off the couch blindly, fear making me dizzy. "I've got to warn them. I've got to get Belle."

  Bridger's hand shoots out, latches on to my forearm, and pulls me back down to the couch. I immediately go berserk, thinking he means to deny me my right as a mother to protect my child.

  I try to launch back off, crying out, "Let me go," as I slap at his hand on me.

  "Just calm down," he growls. That only infuriates me more. I twist viciously against him and launch a barefooted kick at his shin that only manages to send pain streaking through my bones.

  Bridger wraps his arms around me and pulls me down onto his lap. I squirm and wiggle, trying to get free.

  "Mags," he says roughly into my ear, tightening his hold. "Calm down. I'm going to help you get Belle."

  I immediately go still, his words penetrating my fear. I twist my neck to look at him as he shifts me sideways onto his lap. "You will?"

  "Yeah," he says earnestly. "If Zeke is going to do that, and assuming she's with someone your family knows, I think it's best to move her."

  "Then let's go," I say as I try to push up again, but he holds me in place.

  "Tomorrow," he says softly. "Well, later today since it's already tomorrow, but we need sleep. And Kyle's not even sure Zeke is going to do that; it's just a worry he has, but right now, no move has been made that way."

  "We should--" I start to say, but he cuts me off with another squeeze of his arms.

  "And I need to get a few things worked out," he continues on. "We'll take Woolf's SUV in case someone is watching me."

  "Do you think someone is?" I ask with panic.

  "No," he responds quickly and with a reassuring rumble. "I don't. But let's just be very safe about it, okay?"

  "So we'll go get Belle tomorrow?" I ask to make sure I understand.

  Bridger nods. "She close by?"

  "In Idaho... with a great aunt," I admit.

  "Then we'll go get her tomorrow. After that, I think we should come back here," he says confidently.

  "Back here? Near Zeke? We should run," I argue.

  "Mags," he says softly, another squeeze from his arms, and my heart trips madly as he uses that nickname for me. "It's the last place he'll expect. He'll expect you to run, and it will spread him thin looking for you. We keep you hidden until Kyle takes the club down, which hopefully will be very soon. I can keep you safe here until then."

  His reasoning makes sense, but I'm still terrified to bring Belle so close to Zeke. It's one thing if he gets his hands on me again, because after what I survived with Kayla, I know he'll never get me to break and reveal her whereabouts. The big question is--do I trust Bridger and that he can keep us safe?

  The answer comes to me clearly and swiftly.

  I trust this man with my life, but more importantly... I trust Belle's with him.

  "My family," I point out. "They need warned."

  "No sense in waking them up. You can call them in a few hours," Bridger says. He finally releases his hold on me, which makes me feel oddly naked and alone. I don't make a move off his lap, hoping for a reconnection.

  We stare at each other, but I still make no move to leave my perch. His head tilts at me curiously. "What's wrong?"

  I drop my gaze briefly to my lap, take note of my legs draped sideways over him, and think about the fact I'm sitting right on his...

  "Thank you," I blurt out as I look back up at him. "I don't know why you're doing this for me."

  He doesn't respond, just stares at me.

  "I mean... why are you doing this for me?" I press him.

  His eyes flick back and forth between mine for a moment before he answers. "I know a little something about being desperate for help. I had someone help me once, and it's time for me to pay it forward."

  It's not what I expected him to say. In fact, Bridger is so mysterious sometimes I figured he'd just play off his being a Good Samaritan. But his words are so sincere and full of gratitude, I'm a bit taken aback. In fact, I can tell by the tone of his voice that whatever his desperate times were, they were awful and his savior had a huge impact on his life.

  I knew there was something elusive I couldn't quite put my finger on that factored into my attraction to Bridger beside his obvious good looks and sexiness or the mere fact he saved me from certain death. But now I know it's because we share a past that includes something horrific that molded us into the people we are today.

  "What happened?" I whisper as I place my hand on his chest, right over his heart. I feel two steady thumps before the beat picks up and it starts to gallop away.

  "Nothing I want to talk about," he says, and there is no mistaking the coolness in his voice. He reaches up, takes my hand in his, and pulls it away from his body, then he starts to move to dislodge me from his lap.

  A desperate need to hold onto whatever fragile connection we have fuels me, because for some insane reason, I simply have to know what exactly Bridger Payne is made of.

  "Wait," I blurt out, my free hand shooting to his chest where I grab onto his t-shirt in a tight clutch.

  He stills, doesn't release his hold on me, and gives me a slight pause so I can continue. "You never answered my other question," I say in a lame attempt to keep this conversation going since he doesn't want to talk about his past.

  "What other question?" he grits out.

  "The woman tonight," I whisper, relaxing my grip on his shirt and flattening my palm back over his chest. "What did you do to her?"

  I brace, expecting him to dislodge me from his lap, but I don't get what I expect. In fact, I get something quite different in the form of an erection starting to grow under my butt.

  Bridger's eyes flicker with heat, his eyelids going to half-mast, and the corners of his mouth curving upward in a sensual smile. "Why... does that type of stuff turn you on?"

  His voice is taunting, and I realize even though he's getting extremely hard underneath me, he's annoyed with my question and is trying to shame me for it. He's daring me to give up this quest for information, and I have no doubt if I press him, what he'll share may not be pretty at all.

  But I'm desperate to understand this man who has cloaked me in his protection. "Maybe," I answer truthfully. "But I don't know because I can't envision it."

  His eyes gleam with what one could consider malice, and I know he's going to give me the cold, hard facts about his kinky life. I also inherently know he's doing this to push me away, thinking I'll be disgusted.

  I brace yet again when he says, "I stripped the woman naked and tied her down to a pool table with her legs spread wide. I then took a flogger and whipped her with it, not enough to draw blood but enough to leave some pretty nasty welts."

  Bridger pauses and studies my reaction, and I can see he's disappointed I'm not scrambling away from him. His eyes go a shade colder, and he growls, "She was so turned on by what I did to her that her pussy was dripping."

  Oh, God... his voice sounds so sensual that I can feel an ache start to form betwee
n my legs, even as the common sense within me knows this is him merely trying to turn me off rather than on.

  "Then I let all the men fuck her," Bridger murmurs, and I feel his cock actually jump underneath me. I have to control myself not to squirm on his lap. "They all lined up and fucked her mouth, her pussy, and her ass until she was raw and filled with loads of cum and covered with their sweat and spilled beer."

  I swallow hard and feel a tiny wave of nausea as I envision the scene. It disgusts me to think of that happening, and I'd seen other lewd shit happen at the compound during my years there, so I don't doubt what he's telling me is true. But at the same time, I'm turned on by the erotic sensuality of Bridger's voice and the thick shaft pushing against my butt, as it's clear he finds some beauty and appreciation in the scenario he's laying out to me.

  Almost as if he can sense my warring thoughts, he leans his face in close to mine and murmurs, "Turn you on, Mags? Or does it thoroughly disgust you what I do?"

  Both, I want to answer him, but I'm sidetracked by the swirl of colors in his eyes that tells me he might be torn too. Golden yellow competing with burned copper, which clues me in that he's just as conflicted. I'm further sidetracked by the feel of his breath on my face and his lips so damn close to mine.

  Without thinking to answer him, and without acknowledging he's pulling my emotions in a hundred different directions, I merely lean into him and place my mouth on his. I immediately feel his entire body stiffen in shock before his hands come to my shoulders to push me away.

  And I almost let him too... push me away, that is, but I also immediately feel his erection swell bigger and harder than I would have thought possible underneath of me.

  So I press my lips against his and open my mouth, forcing his to open in turn, and letting my tongue dart in for a slow swipe against his. A growl rooted deep in his chest rumbles. I think it's in approval, but then his hands tighten on my shoulders and he does, in fact, push me back so our mouths break apart.

  I stare at him in confusion, because I know he's turned on and I know he wants me. But it doesn't fit in with the chill in his gaze and his unwillingness to kiss me.

  "That stuff turns you on?" he asks coldly.

  I'm losing the connection and I can see him retreating, so I tell him the only truth I'm sure about right now. "You turn me on."

  Bridger stares at me, his eyes going from glacial to muddy confusion.

  "What do you want from me?" he practically croaks, and there's no denying the tinge of fear in his eyes.

  My heart plummets that I make this man scared because I was pretty sure he feared nothing. I want to cry because he's petrified that I want him and for the life of me, I can't imagine what happened to Bridger to make him fear a woman wanting him.

  "I want to kiss you again," I say breathlessly, wanting to push past his fears and have him give me something back in return. Something that lets me know I'm not the only one imagining this spark that's pulsing between us.

  Bridger's body seems to lock tight, and he glares at me like I'm a complete annoyance. But then... his eyes drop down to my lips and he lets out an almost wistful sigh.

  I hold my breath, waiting to see what he does.

  Chapter 9

  Bridger

  Goddamn her.

  Goddamn her for kissing me and making my dick hard and telling me she's turned on.

  Goddamn her summer eyes and luscious ass pressing on my erection; those sweet fucking lips that felt so good on mine I was on the verge of a major freak-out; and finally, goddamn myself for not pushing her off me and ending this catastrophe in the making.

  Push her off, Bridger. Just push her off, man, and put her out of your mind. You do not need this dangerous complication in your life.

  Goddamn her.

  My eyes stay pinned on her mouth and her words rattle around in my brain, taunting me. I want to kiss you again.

  My own lips fucking tingle from the brief touch she gave me moments ago, and my balls actually ache with the need to come. I think about that blow job Carina gave me last night and how long it took me to get relief, and I know without a doubt that if Maggie just barely whispered her lips against my dick, I'd fucking blow like an unruly volcano.

  I almost resolve in my mind to push her off my lap, then she does the unthinkable and nervously licks her lips. So now they're not only soft, but they're also shimmering... fucking begging me to have at them.

  "Bridger," Maggie whispers and my gaze slides up to meet hers. Expectation, hope, and desire swirl within those fern-green irises and the ache moves from my balls to the middle of my chest.

  Goddamn her.

  My body is not my own to command because rather than pushing her away, I use my grip on her shoulders to pull her to me, crushing my mouth down onto hers. Maggie's sweet moan strokes over my tongue, and I'm pretty sure I've never tasted anything as good in my entire life. I bet her pussy is even sweeter, and that makes me feel something I've never felt in my entire life.

  From a mere kiss, a low groan starts in the bottom of my chest as a shudder of desire shoots up my spine, and then tears free from my throat to explode in her mouth. The sound is guttural and tormented. It shames me because it clearly speaks to the depth of need I have for her right now, and I've never needed someone before.

  Never.

  But it doesn't shame me enough to push her away and end the kiss.

  How can I when it feels this damn good?

  I sure as hell have fucked a lot of women in my life, but I've never been much of a kisser. Never been much of a face-to-face kind of guy now that I think about it, preferring to stare at a woman's back while I fuck her or the top of her head while being blown. Rather look anywhere than in a woman's eyes because they'll inevitably morph into hers, and I'll read triumph and power in them even if that's not really what I'm seeing.

  I'm not sure what makes this different from any other woman I've been with, but for the first time, I get a pure thrill from the simple intimacy of kissing. It's as erotic to me as if I were to pull her onto my face and have her ride my tongue. Her sweet, soft lips and tiny moans, and the way her tongue tentatively swipes at mine but otherwise prefers to let me have my way with her mouth. Even her hands that are now both clutching onto my t-shirt as she twists in my lap makes this kiss seem like the best thing that's ever happened to me.

  Which is fucking ridiculous.

  I should stop it.

  So I kiss her deeper, one hand slipping behind her neck to hold her in place so she'll never go away.

  Fuck... fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm so fucking fucked.

  Maggie squirms some more, starting to pant. My cock turns so hard it starts to hurt as the backs of her legs and ass rub all over me. I bring a hand down to her thigh and grip her tightly, trying to hold her still, but that does nothing more than cause her to moan in protest. It's like torture to me that she needs something, and, apparently, I'm the one to give it to her.

  Ripping my mouth away from hers, I pull my head back so I can look her in the eye and tell her this cannot go any further. I am not going to fuck her, because if her kiss is this dangerous and has the power to cause me to lose all sense of myself, then what the fuck will her pussy do?

  Except her eyes are shut tight, brow furrowed in consternation. She gives a rumble of protest and slowly opens her eyes, which are fogged over with lust. It takes her a moment to focus on me, but when she does, her eyebrows draw in even closer with confusion. "Bridger? Why did you stop?"

  "We can't do this--"

  "Yes," she exclaims, her hands moving from my t-shirt to slide behind my neck where she holds me tight. Tilting her head to the side, she presses her lips to corner of my jaw before whispering, "We can do this. Please don't stop. I'm begging you not to stop."

  "Mags," I whisper consolingly, because the emotion and need in her voice slays me.

  She tilts her head back so she can look at me. With a swiftness I didn't think was possible, she grabs one of my hands and shoves it in b
etween her legs, spreading them so my palm presses right against her core.

  Heat sears my skin and I groan again... and what the fuck is up with the God-awful sounds of need that are popping out of me? I'm simply out of fucking control, and I hate it.

  "Please, Bridger," she whispers plaintively, and rather than sound annoying and whiny, it appeals to some deep-seated need within me to give this woman everything she craves.

  "Goddamn you," I mutter and rather than push her away, which would be the best thing for my self-preservation, I roll us until she's on her back and I'm on top of her. Her legs part willingly and my cock comes to rest right over her pussy. She gasps, rolls her hips, and starts to writhe in an attempt to create friction between us.

  I hiss... another fucking God-awful sound I apparently can't help but make when I'm touching Maggie, and because that felt too goddamn good and I have no intention of fucking her, I shift us to our sides so we're facing each other on the couch.

  Maggie mews like an abandoned kitten and tries to scoot closer to me, her hips flexing inward for contact.

  "Not going to fuck you, Mags," I tell her harshly. She goes still, her eyes flaring wide with surprise, and focuses on me intently. She opens her mouth to argue, but I beat her to the punch by shoving my hand between her legs and giving her pussy a rough squeeze.

  She cries out in almost pained pleasure, hips twisting and seeking more from me. She's so fucking turned on and rabid for me that I almost feel dizzy from wonder. No woman has ever responded to me like this, but granted... I've never kissed a woman the way I kissed Maggie.

  "Not going to fuck you," I reiterate as I slide my hand to the waistband of the stretchy-type pants she's wearing that fucking fit like a glove and make me hard whenever she's wearing them. "But I am going to take care of you."

  "What?" she says, her voice sound slightly slurred from lust and confusion.

  I don't answer. Instead, I show her, sliding my hand down the front of her pants, past her lace panties that I bought her, and right through the cleft of her pussy where my middle finger grazes over her clit on the way to the wetness I'll find just beyond.

  "Oooooohhh," Maggie cries out, her back arching hard, which causes her to press against my hand, making it so easy to sink my finger into her.