Boots and Leather: Ugly Stick Saloon, Book 2 (17 page)

Luke let go of his grip on her pussy and backed up a step, allowing more room for big brother.

A thrill of adrenaline shot through Audrey, her core heating to molten hot. The twins were handsome with their dark Kiowa skin, high cheekbones and jet-black hair, and she wouldn’t mind making love to both of them. At the same time. But Jackson…

She sucked in a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. This was a man’s man. Strip him down to a loincloth and he’d fit right in with his ancestors, hunting buffalo, fighting wars and making love with his woman. His broad shoulders flashed in and out of the strobe, the light casting shadows, emphasizing the distinct muscular definition of his chest and arms.

Her gaze dropped to the top button of his jeans, flipped casually open as if he’d been in the process of undressing when she’d begun her little dance.

She drew him near and flicked the other three buttons from their bindings with quick, desperate strokes. As the last button poked through the hole, his cock sprang free, slipping easily into her palm.

“Knew you weren’t immune to Kiki.” Luke laughed. “Hey, Mark, check out that boner.”

Jackson jerked back, sliding out of Audrey’s grip.

Mark swung a wooden stool into the center of the floor and shoved Jackson toward it. “Sit. And no jerking off.”

He sat and growled at his brothers, his hands going to his open fly and the shaft jutting straight upward.

Luke cranked the music volume up a notch and danced toward Audrey. “Now that you have the birthday boy in position, let me help you out of that shirt.”

It wasn’t what Audrey had in mind, but the angry frown on Jackson’s face gave her the courage to taunt him more, show him what he was missing. A little foreplay was just what he needed to make him eager to join the fun.

Audrey tied the tails of her shirt beneath her breasts, a good start for a strip tease.

“Did I give you permission to dress?” Luke shook his head and stalked her. “You know what the Gray Wolfs do to naughty girls?”

Her body quivered as she backed away from Luke and into Mark’s chest.

Jackson lunged forward.

“Down, boy.” Luke clamped a hand on Jackson’s shoulder and shoved him back on the seat. “You’ll have your turn. We want to get her ready for you. This is your show, brought to you by the brothers Gray Wolf. Sit back and relax.”

Jackson growled again, his arms crossing over his chest, hands fisted. “Relax…hmph.”

Luke grabbed the lapels of Audrey’s shirt and yanked it upward, extending Audrey’s arms high over her head. There he twisted the fabric, knotting it tightly around her wrists. She stood in the bikini thong, chaps and her prettiest black lace demi-bra, her breasts pushed up, ripe for the tasting, should any man in the room care to go for it.

Audrey’s skin stung where the shirt sleeves had scraped across, the slight pain even more titillating than she’d imagined. She wanted more. “Hey, what if I want to play too?” She tugged, but couldn’t free her hands. As a woman who’d been in control for the past two years, she was struck by this new sensation. These men had her at their mercy, a place she’d rarely allowed herself to be. A place she’d sworn she’d never go to again. But damned if she didn’t want more. She’d play along, just a little.

Luke wagged a finger at her. “We are the masters. You don’t have a choice. Submit or suffer punishment.”

Master. A wash of juices rushed through her pussy. Audrey had been submissive once. What had it bought her? Bruises, broken ribs and heartache. Her ex had shown her the worst side of a Dom-sub relationship. With Luke towering over her, her hands tied in front, her knees shook, but not out of fear. They were liquid with desire, her core tightening, her body screaming for release. Her mind rocked with the realization, her mouth watering for another taste of what was happening to her. How could she be so ready to fall back into that trap?

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Kiki.” Jackson’s voice cut through the jumbled fog of her thoughts.

“I am my own master,” she whispered, her throat dry in anticipation.

“Not in this house.” Mark crossed his arms over his chest. “If you don’t like it, you can leave.” He jerked his head, indicating the exit.

Audrey’s gaze skittered toward the door, her breaths now coming in short, rapid succession. She didn’t want to go. “No.”

Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “All you have to do is say the word and I’ll kill them.”

“I know my limits.” Her chin rose. “If I want you to stop, I’ll let you know.”

Luke crossed his arms, much like Mark. “How?”

“I’ll say crackerjack.” She laughed, reminded of the little boxes of caramel-coated popcorn. As a child, she’d had so much of the sticky-sweet, candied corn, she’d gotten sick. Could she have too much of a good thing by letting all three of the Gray Wolf brothers touch her? Last time she’d been surrounded by men lusting after her, she’d been stripping for her rent money, unwilling to let her customers touch her. When she’d bought the bar, she’d sworn never to wear the mask, chaps and boots of her alter ego Kiki again.

Never say never.

Desire as reckless as a fighter jet in freefall…and just as dangerous.

Double Down

© 2012 Katie Porter

Vegas Top Guns, Book 1

As part of the 64th Aggressor Squadron, Major Ryan “Fang” Haverty flies like the enemy to teach Allied pilots how not to die. The glittering excess of the Strip can’t compare to the glowing jet engines of his F-16. But a sexy, redheaded waitress in seamed stockings? Now
she
gets his blood pumping.

Cassandra Whitman’s good-girl ways haven’t earned any slack from her manager ex-boyfriend, or prevented a bad case of frazzle from holding down two and a half jobs. She sure wouldn’t mind letting the handsome Southern charmer shake up her routine.

Their wild weekend lives up to Sin City’s reputation. Especially when they discover a matched passion for roleplaying. For Cass, it’s an exciting departure from her normal, shy persona. But for Ryan, it triggers memories of a time when his fetish drove away the woman he loved—leaving him reluctant to risk a repeat performance.

Except Cass refuses to settle for ordinary ever again. She’s about to show the man with hair-trigger hands that she’s got a few surprise moves of her own.

Warning: This book contains dirty-hot roleplaying, featuring an all-alpha fighter pilot and an ambitious waitress with a fabulous imagination. Also: dressing-room sex, a plaid schoolgirl skirt, and a sprinkling of spankings.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Double Down:

She assessed her appearance in the bathroom’s full-length mirror. For the hundredth time. No change. She still looked like a naughty fantasy.

A French maid. She should’ve guessed.

Her grin took on a distinctly sexual edge, which she didn’t mind at all. The blush too felt right—a little self-conscious, a little anxious. Already the temperature in her blood upped toward scalding.

“You greedy slut,” she whispered to her reflection, the grin broadening. “One great time wasn’t enough.”

Her nerves stretched and stretched as she waited. She’d ordered room service and managed to take a quick shower. Her hair was still wet, but she’d bound it in a sleek bun at the base of her neck. A light application of the cosmetics she’d snagged during a two-minute run through a store in The Paris’s lobby had done wonders to hold back the look of fatigue.

Ryan’s knock, when it came, sped her heartbeat. If she played the French maid, she wondered what he would be. A bedraggled traveler who’d had the buttons yanked off his shirt? A down-on-his-luck gambler?

And just how far would she push this? Cass had spent the last hour trying to get inside his head. There was a huge gulf between a bit of dress-up and full roleplaying. She was almost surprised at how much she wanted it to be the latter. Something that tipped over, deep inside. Something had
unlocked
. She could be anything, say anything, do anything.
 

The worst he would do is laugh, maybe flash that pulse-pounding smile and tell her to drop the act. He might merely be a guy after something different to look at, but that didn’t feel right, not for Ryan. She had a guess as to what he liked, and she was willing to give it a shot.

His knock was more insistent the second time. Good. She didn’t like to think that he’d give up on her.

Cass took a deep breath and opened the door.

Ryan stood at the threshold wearing a fantastic dress uniform. The dark blue did marvelous things for his healthy tan, and the braided silver trim looked impressively realistic. Navy? No, that wasn’t right. Air Force, maybe?

More than the color and the authenticity of the costume, she loved how it was exactly tailored to his body—tall and lean, long and strong. Only a slack, bewildered expression gave away his response to her maid’s outfit. Otherwise he embodied everything impressive and sexy about a man in uniform.

“Oh!
Monsieur
Haverty,” she said in her best French accent. A year spent studying art in Paris would finally prove good for something. “I hadn’t expected you so soon.
Merci
, come in.”

He hesitated for only a second. Then the reality of what she’d done and said—how she sounded—seemed to click in his brain. “Thank you. I didn’t expect to be kept waiting.”

“My apologies,
monsieur
. I was only just finishing up.”

“I don’t appreciate sloppy service.”

She nibbled her bottom lip, daring to glance up from beneath lowered lashes. He surveyed the hotel room with the air of a man who expected perfection and found it lacking. A curious heat bloomed in her stomach, reveling in his command of the moment.

She’d been right. The man wanted to play.

“Your room-service order is waiting for you in the bedroom,” she said, pitching her voice toward conciliatory. “As you requested.”

“Oh?” He lifted his brows. “I’m curious if you managed to get that right, at least.”

She ushered him into the bedroom where a rolling silver-tone cart was topped with a plate of fresh fruit and a bottle of champagne on ice. She’d ordered the items no matter the sticker shock, figuring they’d sort out paying for it later. Tonight was about living a fantasy.

Ryan strolled to the cart. His expression verged on haughty as he surveyed the assortment. “Good enough.”

“I’m pleased,
Monsieur
Haverty.”

“It’s Major Haverty, actually.”

“Major?”

“Yes. And you are?”

“Cassandra,” she said, briefly shaking hands. That same electric zap they’d shared from the first moment reappeared, only stronger. She almost dropped character. Ryan’s teasing grin made a brief reappearance, as if he too was tempted to laugh.

Then it was gone. He was Major Haverty again.

“Where are you from, Cassandra?”

“Montparnasse, in Paris.”

Dear Lord, he was unbelievably handsome in that uniform. She wondered again where he’d picked it up. Had he returned to the sex shop? Or someplace else? He stood with his shoulders back, his posture firm and solid. The thought turned her on in funny, unpredictable ways. The roleplaying was easy to indulge when he fit the part so perfectly.

“What do you do in the military? Is it the Air Force?”

“That’s right,” he said. “I fly fighter jets. F-16s.”

Cass’s jaw dropped. He could do that all day, adding facts to his character that would’ve seriously jeopardized the absorbency of her panties—had she been wearing any.

No matter how fabulous Ryan looked, her hands were restless for wanting to see him stripped. Something about his expression, however, told her he’d be the one giving orders.

Yes, sir.

“Well, I should finish up my duties.” So breathless now, she heard her accent slipping.

She turned to leave the bedroom, but he called out, “Miss? Could you help me first?”

“My pleasure,
monsie
—I mean, Major.”

He seemed to stifle a private smile. “This coat.” He began undoing the buttons. “It’s too hot in here for it. I won’t be able to get comfortable.”

“I should think not.” She crossed the floor, her knees shaky. “Here, let me help.”

He dropped his arms to his sides as she undid the remaining buttons. Her breath was coming in fitful gulps, but she forced herself to concentrate.

Calm down.

By the looks of how they were playing this hand, they would take their time. She needed to get herself under control or she’d wind up begging for a quickie down on the carpet to cut the tension. What she loved about their game was what would rip her up inside. The waiting. The deliberate buildup.

She pressed her hands flat against his body, right above his ribs. Slowly, slowly, she smoothed them up the inside of his coat, making love to his chest with her palms and her fingertips. His shoulders were tense. Corded ropes of muscles bunched and relaxed beneath her touch. She eased the dress coat over his shoulders then down his brawny arms.