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

by Sawyer Bennett

  And goddamn traitorous body of mine, another fucking groan rips out of me as I feel the tight, wet heat surrounding me. I have a moment where my mind actually sort of blanks, and the overwhelming need to rip her clothes off and bury my cock deep inside her makes me go dizzy with confusion. In this moment, I've never wanted to fuck someone so bad in my life.

  Blinking a few times, I try to clear my head. I focus in on Maggie's delicate neck that's bare and exposed as her head is thrown back and pressed hard into the cushion. Mouth parted, she's panting like she just ran a marathon. Her eyes are squeezed shut tightly, and her teeth are pressed down into her lower lip.

  The expression is as clear as day that she's dying for me to make her come.

  I'm dying to give it to her.

  Leaning my head down, I press my lips to the middle of her throat as I start to pump my finger in and out of her slowly. Maggie makes a strangled sound that has my lips curling into a smile as I graze them to the side and move lower until I'm just above her collarbone.

  Lifting my mouth briefly from her skin, I ask her, "Want to come, Mags?"

  "Y-e-e-e-s-s-s," she stammers, and then screams when I pull my finger out of her pussy and start to circle it around her clit.

  So goddamn responsive.

  Goddamn her.

  I give her an openmouthed kiss at the side of her throat near the base, and then I suck against her tender skin while I alternate between finger fucking her and stroking her clit. I suck against her neck like a goddamn vampire, but not with the need to draw her blood. More with the insane need to mark her in some way.

  Maggie starts thrashing, hips moving so violently against me that she's doing most of the work and riding my fingers. I lift my mouth from her skin and look down at her face again. Eyes are still shut tight, but now she's biting down on her knuckle in an effort to not scream.

  It's sexy and fucking adorable and just... goddamn her.

  I push my middle finger back in her, feel her reflexively tighten around me, and then pull it out. I shove two back in and she grunts... which shouldn't be, but it's fucking adorable too.

  Pull both of those out, put three together, and push them inside, feeling the stretch of her tender skin and wondering what that would feel like against my cock, which is now in utter agony. I fuck her with those fingers, knowing the fullness feels good because she writhes and thrashes harder as she moans.

  "So close," Maggie pants, her hand falling away from her mouth but her eyes staying closed. "So close. Please, Bridger."

  God, I want her to come, and I want her to say my name again when she does. I'm immediately disgusted with myself for wanting something so... so... ultimately useless to me.

  So as I pull my fingers from her tightness to circle back around her clit, I lean forward and kiss her hard, my teeth knocking against hers in a desperate attempt to distract her from saying my name when she comes and keeping me protected from this foolishness.

  My tongue overwhelms and captivates her mouth, so when I flick my thumb against her clit and she starts to break apart on me, any word that could possibly resemble my name gets swallowed down my throat as she cries out. Maggie bucks against my hand as she starts to shake from the force of her orgasm. I work her clit through the downfall, gently circling the edges until she comes all the way back, all the while kissing her in a more leisurely but no less dominating fashion.

  When she finally stills under me, I lift my mouth from hers and pull my hand from her pants. Maggie's eyes flutter open, immediately capturing mine, and she gives me a tremulous smile.

  Raising a hand, she places it against my chest and whispers, "Let's go to your room."

  My cock jerks in agreement and my chest aches, but I shake my head, pushing up and rolling over her to get off the couch.

  I don't look back at her as I walk to the door. "You need to get some sleep. We've got a big day ahead of us."

  "Bridger?" she calls to me, clearly perplexed and hurt.

  I don't turn around, knowing that will hurt her even more, but I do issue a gruff, "I'll be back later."

  "Bridger?" she calls again, this time in desperation. The tiny quaver in her voice causes my chest to squeeze with brutal force.

  I ignore her and walk out the door, shutting it behind me. Without thinking, I trot down my porch steps and get in my Corvette, cranking it up and doing a quick turn around on my double concrete driveway so I can head down the long, paved road that leads back out to the main highway.

  My hands grip the steering wheel tight as I think about Maggie calling my name, and the way she thrashed like a hellcat just from my fingers and fuck... I can smell her on my goddamn fingers and my cock starts hurting again. It's still hard as a rock and with a growl of frustration, I slam on my brakes and come to a screeching halt. After slamming the gearshift into neutral and pulling up violently on the emergency brake, my hands immediately work at my jeans to get the fly open.

  Then my cock is out and in my hand. I'm stroking hard with pure agony that it's not Maggie's hand on me but with relief I can make this pain go away pretty quickly. I jack myself viciously, twisting hard at the top and when I close my eyes, I remember how wet Maggie was and the way she begged me to make her come. My balls draw up tight and start to tingle, and with three more pumps of my hand, I'm barking out a hoarse cry of release as I shoot my wad all over the steering wheel of my car.

  Fuck, that felt good. Way better than the blow job Carina gave me, but not as good as it would have been to fuck Maggie. Poor, abused, and frightened Maggie. Dropped on my doorstep and wiggling her way into my worries. Beautiful Maggie with the curvy body, tight pussy, and a mouth that was made for kissing.

  I look around my car helplessly for something to clean the steering wheel and myself, seeing nothing in sight. I watch the pearly cum sliding down over the Chevy symbol, and I feel utterly defeated.

  Because for the first time in my life, I want something I can't have, and I can't have it because I don't deserve it.

  Chapter 10

  Maggie

  My finger absently strokes over the reddish-purple mark on the side of my throat. It's too high for my sweatshirt to hide it, but it's low enough a turtleneck would do the job. Sadly, I don't have one.

  When I saw Bridger this morning, having sleepily stumbled out of my room at six AM when he woke me up, I was cognizant enough to see his eyes immediately drop to the mark on my neck. I may have been imagining it, but I swear I saw a look of triumph in his eyes. Which is weird, because Bridger clearly doesn't want me. Not the way I clearly want him, and my face heats up with embarrassment as I think about the way he made me lose utter control in his arms before turning around and walking out on me.

  I struggle to suppress a tiny snort that wants to come out. Despite this strange and enigmatic man who I don't think I'll ever be able to figure out, I find it comical he left a bruise on me. A hickey really, and it doesn't hurt at all, but it is vivid. It's funny to me because as my other bruises left by Kayla are fading, he puts a practically neon sign on me that says, "Bridger Was Here". It also makes me want to laugh, because this man... who hands out pain to women with whips, left a mark on me that was neither painful nor scary.

  Talk about irony.

  In fact, his mouth on me felt too damn good. Even as he was sucking on my skin, I knew it would be visible to everyone, I couldn't find it in me to care last night. While his fingers were in me and on me, and his mouth was on my neck, I didn't have one single worry in my world. He made me forget everything.

  Except this morning, those memories are dulling and I'm left with the brutal reality that Bridger doesn't want anything from me in return. I was positive last night after the last rumbles of my orgasm faded, he'd fuck me... make love to me... whatever. It totally stung in a humiliating way that he walked out. I didn't wait up for him to return, knowing when Bridger draws a line in the sand, he sticks to it.

  It's been evident all morning as we drive northwest across Idaho. It's not been a sil
ent and tense ride so far, but it's been absolutely devoid of any conversation that would even remotely come close to what we did last night. I am too afraid to bring it up, and he's clearly not going to.

  Bridger had me pack an overnight bag as it is a good eight hours to Coeur D'Alene, Idaho where Aunt Gayle lives, and his plan is for us to stay the night after we pick up Belle before heading back. He ushered me into his sleek red Corvette I've seen but never ridden in, as I've been in hiding. We then drove a back road made of dirt and gravel that scraped on the undercarriage of his car, through the Double J Ranch, and came out at Woolf's house, which was a massive monstrosity set atop a butte.

  I stared at it with my jaw hanging open and asked, "I assume ranching is a profitable business?"

  Bridger gave a snort, not quite a laugh, and said, "Double J is the largest cattle ranch in the U.S. and he also owns oil fields. Woolf's pretty fucking rich."

  Woolf was waiting on the front veranda of the house, and he met us at our car when we pulled up. When we got out, he handed Bridger a set of keys. "It's in the first garage bay."

  Bridger grabbed our bags from the tiny trunk space in the Corvette and led me over to a detached garage done in pine logs that matched the house and held several bays. We walked in and Bridger went straight to a black Range Rover that was backed in.

  "We're taking Woolf's SUV, not only so we can fit Belle's car seat, but also because if someone's watching me, they won't be expecting it."

  "You think someone's watching us?" I asked tensely. "You mean Zeke?"

  He shrugged as he opened the door for me. "I don't think so, but last night, something about Kayla put me off. She saw Kyle and me talking to each other and looked skeptical about it. We're just being safe. There's probably nothing to worry about."

  And even as he said those words, he reached into his overnight bag and pulled a handgun out. Opening the glove compartment in front of me, he slid the gun in and snapped it shut.

  "Nothing to worry about?" I asked skeptically.

  He flashed me a tight smile. "Not with that gun I'm not."

  Bridger snaps me out of my memories by handing me his cell phone as he keeps one hand on the wheel. "It's a decent hour. Call your parents."

  I've been dreading this. I need to do it, but my relationship with them is complicated and messy. I haven't talked to them in almost six months. I send them periodic cards with pictures of Belle, but I never provide a return address because I'm too ashamed to have them see me living at some motorcycle compound with their only grandchild. They don't approve of my lifestyle--what little they know of it, anyway--and now as a new mother who understands the worry a parent has, I can't say as I blame them. My calls to them have always been stilted, awkward, and so very short. They always took the time to remind me of their disappointment, but they would also invite me back home. I never accepted, and it's probably something I'll regret for the rest of my life.

  My mom answers on the second ring. "Hello?"

  "Mom... it's Maggie," I say hesitantly, wondering what type of reaction I'll get. Surprised delight or resigned disappointment.

  "Maggie," my mom says, almost in disbelief, and then a long pause of silence before she says, "How are you doing?"

  "Not so well," I say in a tremulous voice, and I have to give a slight cough to clear my throat. Bridger's head swivels my way, but I don't dare look at him. "Um... listen... I'm in some trouble and--"

  "Honestly, Maggie," my mom says in a brusque voice, and it's clear I'm getting resigned disappointment today. "You're always in some sort of trouble."

  "I know," I say, and there's no hiding the shame in my tone as I look down at my lap. "But this time it's pretty serious, and it might involve you."

  "Oh no, you don't," my mom snaps. "We are not cleaning up a mess you've made. Are you in jail?"

  "No, Mom," I say with swift frustration, curling my free hand into a fist. "I'm actually in some danger, and so is--"

  "For heaven's sake, Magdalene," my mother says in that "mom" tone. "You can be so dramatic sometimes--"

  "Mom," I grit out, my voice rising slightly. "I need you to just listen to me for a minute so I can--"

  "Jim," my mom calls out to my dad. "You need to get on the line... it's Maggie. I'm not sure I can handle her latest--"

  "Mom," I yell at the phone. "This is serious--"

  "Maggie?" my dad says as he picks up on the other line. "What have you done now?"

  "She says she's in trouble," my mom interjects.

  "Well, of course she is, Cindy," my dad says dryly.

  "Mom... Dad," I say now in a pleading tone. "I really need you to--"

  "Let me make this clear, young lady," my dad says in a harsh tone. "You go months without contacting us, and when you do, you really have nothing to say. You keep our granddaughter from us, and you refuse to act like a responsible person."

  "That's not true," I whisper, but he rolls right over me. My hands start shaking.

  "We can't keep cleaning up your messes," my mom adds.

  "I've never asked you to--" I try to defend myself.

  But he cuts me off again, going off on a rant about personal responsibility and a failure for me to abide by my moral upbringing. I listen to my father laying into me when what I really want to convey is that he needs to pack up and get out of the house before danger comes knocking on his door, but he's on a roll now.

  My eyes mist up with tears at the futility of it, but before I can try to interject anything else into the conversation, Bridger snatches the phone from me while growling, "For fuck's sake."

  I turn to face him, my jaw hanging wide open, and he puts the phone to his ear. "Mr. and Mrs. Waylon... this is Bridger Payne. I'm a friend of Maggie's."

  His jaw locks hard when my father clearly interrupts him, but he can't get more than a word or two in because Bridger says, "With all due respect, Mr. Waylon... I need you to shut the fuck up and listen. Your daughter and granddaughter are in very real danger by a man who's being investigated by the ATF for all sorts of vile criminal activity. Now, you can save your soapbox rant on all the ways in which Maggie has failed to live up to your expectations for another time, but this call is just a courtesy to you to tell you that this man... who is the president of a very large and very dangerous criminal organization... could very well be on his way right now to extract whatever information about Maggie and her whereabouts that you may have. So, it would behoove you and your wife to heed this advice, pack a bag, and go somewhere for a few days. Hopefully, the ATF will be taking them down soon, and if you can just stay under the radar until then, everything should be okay."

  I'm astounded over the way in which Bridger has commanded this conversation, and the succinct way he gave my parents the relevant information they needed to know. Bridger listens for a few seconds, and then nods in agreement with whatever my mom or dad are saying to him. "That will work. I'll call you on your cell phone a bit later so you'll have my number. We'll stay in contact about the situation."

  Another pause, shorter this time.

  "I'll call you tonight," Bridger says, clearly winding the conversation down, but then he adds, "And for what it's worth... you need to cut your daughter a break. She's not the same woman she was when she left your home ten years ago. She's survived something incredibly horrific and she's an amazing mother, so you should really look at the positive things in your daughter for a change."

  Bridger doesn't wait for a response. He just disconnects the call, calmly setting the phone in a center console tray. He puts both hands back on the wheel and says, "Your parents are going to pack up and take an impromptu vacation to Florida until this dies down."

  I continue to stare at him, perplexed over his swift defense of me to my parents, because I have not been a good daughter. Fuck, I haven't been a good mother in all possible ways to Belle as I let her live her first two years in a shitty motorcycle club.

  "Why did you do that?" I murmur in confused wonder.

  He gives me a brie
f glance before turning back to look at the road before us. "Because you don't need to hear whatever shit they were handing you. You made mistakes. You're paying for them. You're moving on and making things right. They need to grow the fuck up and move past it themselves."

  "Well, thank you," I say hesitantly. "I've never had anyone defend me before."

  Bridger snorts but doesn't say anything, a clear indication he doesn't want to hear my gratitude, and I'm thinking that's because he wants to maintain the distance he put between us last night.

  "I'm going to call Aunt Gayle again," I tell him as I reach for his phone.

  I'd called her as soon as we hit the road a few hours ago, but there was no answer. I left a voice mail but we haven't heard from her, and of course, I'm imagining the worst.

  I shouldn't be though. There's no way Zeke could know about her if he hasn't talked to my parents, and that is where Zeke would go first. I don't have any siblings, so they would be the ones he'd want to pump for information. And the minute he applied any pressure to them--a thought that makes me nauseous because his pressure would hurt--they would give up Aunt Gayle.

  My great aunt Gayle is the one family member I do have who loves me unconditionally. Even during all those years I partied, fucked up, and got into trouble, she never gave up on me. When I was in between jobs and had nowhere to go, her home in Coeur D'Alene was always open to me. I'd stay for maybe a few weeks, vow to get my life together, and then let the lure of the next great adventure pull me away from her. She never chastised or judged me, but always accepted me back with open arms.

  It's why I knew she was the one who would need to keep Belle safe.

  I dial her number and listen to it ring, each successive one causing me more anxiety when she doesn't answer. My stomach flips when her answering machine comes on, and I have to leave another message for her. "Aunt Gayle... please call me as soon as you get this. It's really important."

  I rattle off Bridger's number and hang up, not leaving any more details than necessary.

  Placing the phone back in the center console, I turn to Bridger and say, "What if Zeke--"

  "Just stop," he says gruffly. "No way Zeke knows about her when he's not even been to your parents."