Wicked Ride (4 page)

I don’t
respond but call out to Heather, one of the bartenders, who looks my
way. “Maker’s Mark… neat.”

“Must be tense,”
Bridger comments. “You don’t ever drink on work nights.”

“I might take the night
off,” I muse, trying not to get insulted by Bridger’s
snort of disbelief. Me coming to The Silo and not getting my rocks
off is just… unheard of.

“Seriously,” he prods
at me. “What’s up?”

Taking the drink, I slug back a
hefty swallow and set it back down, enjoying the burn. I shouldn’t
even bother to engage, and I’m better served by walking out of
here and staying away until sweet Auralie is sold off, but I can’t
fucking help myself.

“What’s the deal with
the virgin auction?” I say, carefully veiling my feelings by
not even daring to mention I know Auralie’s name. I mean, it’s
hard not to given that everyone is talking about her and her “owner”
Magnus—which is a seriously stupid fucking name—but I
don’t want him to see how affected I am.

Bridger’s
head swivels back to Auralie and Magnus, and my gaze follows. I
receive a jolt that makes my legs shake as I realize she’s
staring straight at me. Time seems to stand still as she gives me
that wistful look before turning away. Bridger looks at her for just
a moment more, and then turns back to me.

For a moment, I can’t
even move, but then I tear my gaze away from that pretty pink dress
and look back to Bridger, trying to seem unaffected. I’m met
with a highly arched eyebrow of curiosity.

“What?” I say with a
belligerent tone. “I’m curious about them, that’s
all.”

“Have you been fucking
her?” he asks in a low voice, leaning in toward me. “Because
if he’s advertising her as a virgin, someone’s going to
be disappointed.”

“No, I’m not fucking
her,” I mutter, but damn… I so wish I were fucking her.

“That look she just gave
you,” Bridger says knowingly. “It’s carnal.”

“I haven’t touched—”

“Maybe not carnal as in
physicality, but you two know each other in some way,” he
presses.

Yeah, if you give any credence
to silent, wordless communication, then sure…
I know her. I know she doesn’t belong here selling that sweet
pussy to someone, and that I should be the one to have her.

I think this all in a sullen tone
inside my head.

“You don’t have
enough money,” Bridger says flatly, but not unkindly. He’s
just trying to make me see reality.

Oddly, I do have some money if I
was so inclined to bid on a virgin, but no one here knows that and
besides… it’s probably not enough for the amount Auralie
will eventually command. So it will continue to sit in my savings
untouched… just as it’s been for the past two years.
As far as anyone here knows, I’m practically a vagrant who
wanders the country in search of the next big rush. I’ve landed
in Wyoming and stayed longer here than I have anywhere in the last
two years, mainly because I love my job as a fishing guide and I love
the unlimited sex that lets me have some measure of solitude. The
fact that I live on a permanent campsite in a small tin trailer with
wheels that I pull behind my beat-up old Ford truck lends to the air
that I’m pretty much penniless. And that’s really how I
exist. My income is nominal from my job, but it’s enough to pay
for my campsite, put good food in my belly, and clothing on my back
when I need it.

I don’t
respond to Bridger’s comment about money, but instead I ask,
“You sure she’s doing this of her own free will?”

“So she says,” he
responds. “I talked to her at length, and she was adamant that
she was.”

“So she’s selling her
virginity?” I ask incredulously. I mean, who does that? Fuck…
who still has their virginity at her age?

Which is?

“How old is she?” I
ask hesitantly.

“Says she’s twenty,”
Bridger says, and I wince. Christ… I’m thirteen years
older than she is. Not a huge difference, but enough to know we’re
probably worlds apart in our emotional mentality.

And she certainly could pass for
twenty.

But damn…
she looks like she sucks cock like a pro, and I remember what it was
like when a twenty-year-old would blow me. Most don’t know what
the fuck they’re doing at that age. Women are infinitely better
in the sex department as they get older and their confidence grows.

“If I can have everyone’s
attention please,” I hear called from across the room. The
chatter slowly dies down. I’m stunned the announcement comes
from Magnus, and he beams out to the patrons with a smarmy smile.

“What a tool,”
Bridger mutters, and this confirms what I had suspected.

He doesn’t
like the dude any more than I do.

“As you all know,”
Magnus says as he picks up a lock of Auralie’s hair and brings
it to his nose to sniff in dramatic fashion, “my pet here…
Auralie… is a young and fresh innocent. Smells so sweet.”

My gaze slides to Auralie. Her
face is tilted to the ground, her eyes shyly hiding from the
spectacle Magnus is creating. The crowd presses in a little closer to
listen to what he has to say.

“A select few of you have
felt the pleasure she can give the past few days, but I want to offer
up something different tonight. I’m going to choose one of you
lucky men tonight who want to get a crack at something so sweet and
pure that you won’t be able to think of anything else after. A
chance to feast between the lovely Auralie’s legs and see that,
although she may be virginal, she is more than ready to be pleasured
by someone.”

Auralie keeps her face down, but
I can see the pink tinge to her cheeks and the tightening of her jaw
as he’s just offered
her pussy up to someone’s greedy mouth. I involuntarily stand
from my stool, but Bridger claps a hand on my shoulder and growls,
“Stay out of it.”

But how can I?

When my mouth is fucking watering
at the chance to eat her out.

My dick starts to swell at the
thought. I give it a frustrated shove over in my jeans to get it out
from behind my zipper, but I refuse to sit back down on my stool.
Bridger’s hand falls
away from me, but he stands up on high alert. I think he’s
afraid I might run over to her, pick her up, and throw her over my
shoulder like a caveman to jet out of here with my virginal prize.

Instead, I pick up my drink and
slug the rest of it back, slamming the highball glass down on the bar
top. Heather walks over and looks at me with eyebrows raised.

“Another,” is all I
say.

In the meantime, Magnus, with his
captive crowd and blossoming beauty ready to be devoured, looks
around contemplatively at the potential customers he wants to milk
for semen and money. Finally, his eyes come to rest on Jacob Johnson,
a local lawyer who made a fortune suing pharmaceutical companies for
several years while he practiced in L.A. The rumor is his last
settlement yielded a twenty-million-dollar fee, so he retired and
owns several homes around the United States. He spends the summer
months here in Wyoming, fucking most nights at The Silo.

While he’s
generally a nice guy and we once got our dicks sucked together by the
same girl who alternated between the two of us while we shot the
shit, I hate him right at this moment as he steps up to Magnus and
shakes his hand with a grateful smile.

“How about you take her
into The Orgy room?” Magnus suggests with a sweep of his hand
that way.

There are only five people in
there right now. Two guys lying on a silk mattress kissing and
caressing each other, not in a hurry to get it on just yet. And a
threesome going at it… guy fucking a girl from behind while
she sucks another guy’s dick.

Been there done that.

Several times.

I watch as Jacob takes his hand
and wraps it behind Auralie’s
neck, giving her a subtle push toward the hallway that leads to the
back doorways to the rooms. He pushes her along, not roughly but with
command, as if he’s confident in his abilities. But I’ve
watched him eat pussy before. He’s sloppy at best and won’t
give her what she deserves.

My fingers itch to do something,
but I’m not sure
what.

Heather returns with my drink and
I take it from her, knocking it back in one long swallow that burns
my guts up but gives me a slight head rush. I don’t
do liquor very well anymore.

She starts to turn away, but I
say, “Hold up.”

Heather stops and looks
expectantly at me. I turn to Bridger, who is facing me again now that
Auralie has been led away. I tell him, “I
need to borrow Heather for a bit.”

Bridger just shakes his head with
a flat line to his lips, not denying my request but rather
empathizing with my poor, fucked-up head.

“Go ahead,” he says,
and Heather’s eyes light up.

She and I are very well
acquainted with each other, and she’s
a favorite fuck of mine. I jerk my head toward The Orgy Room and say,
“Let’s go.”

“Absolutely,” she
says with a grin as she walks toward the other side of the bar that
houses the swinging pass through so she can exit.

Auralie

Oh, shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

I cannot do this.

I. Cannot. Fucking. Do. This.

The man who Magnus called Jacob
keeps his hand firmly on my neck as he guides me to the back hallway
that leads to the entrances to the glassed rooms.

The Orgy Room?

My skin crawls thinking about
having a complete stranger do something so intimate to me. For
reasons that I’m
sure are completely fucked up, I found I could turn off my emotional
switch when Magnus made me blow those other two guys. That was a job
and nothing else.

It was acting at its
finest.

No different than pulling a
change-raising short con.

But now he’s
talking about letting a man—a stranger— attempt to
pleasure me in a way that I’ve never had done before. I’m
very aware as to how my clit functions, as well as its response to
stimulation. I’ve never had a man’s lips and tongue there
before, but I have a trusty vibrator that makes short work of me and
I’m terrified as to how I’ll respond.

I’ll
either be so wigged out that I’ll stay dry as the desert and
embarrass myself, probably ruining my sale value, or I’ll react
like a shrieking banshee because my clit is so sensitive, and I’ll
embarrass myself. It’s a no-win situation.

On top of that, the beautiful man
is here and I don’t
want him watching me. I can’t bear to have him watch me react,
or possibly not, and the humiliation will be awful.

Or, the worst of all things that
could possibly happen is that the beautiful man watching me could
cause me to have a reaction that would be unforgiveable. He’d
know I was more turned on by him watching me than what was actually
being done to me.

I just can’t.

“Wait,” I say
suddenly as he starts me down the perimeter hallway, which is dimly
lit with wall sconces about every ten feet.

“What?” he says,
using his grip on my neck to turn me to him.

We’re
completely hidden from the patrons on the interior of The Silo, as
well as the members of each room since the back wall of said rooms is
made out of concrete staves that match the exterior. I take a deep
breath, knowing Magnus is not going to be happy with me, and say,
“I’m on my period… you can’t.”

Total ballsy lie, but it’s
all I got. I hope to God he doesn’t ask for proof.

“You’re fucking
kidding me, right?” he mutters, his hand falling away from my
neck.

I shake my head a little too
enthusiastically, my voice raising an octave. “No…
it started this afternoon. I had no clue Magnus was going to offer
this to the men here, or I would have told him.”

I sort of expect him to be a
little more put out over the wasted opportunity, but instead, he
grabs me by the back of the neck again, not roughly but more in a
controlling way, and says, “No
worries. I’ll take a blow job. I was going to get one anyway
when I was done, right?”

Before I can respond, he starts
to push me down the hall again. The heels of my feet instinctively
dig into the concrete flooring, bringing me to a stop. “Wait—”

“For fuck’s sake,
what now?” he growls, his hand gripping me a little harder,
which causes my heart to start pounding.

“Is there a problem here?”
I hear from behind us, and I don’t even need to turn around to
know who it is. While I’ve never heard his voice before, I know
without a doubt it’s the beautiful man standing behind us.

Jacob whips around, spinning me
with him since he doesn’t
let me go. My first close-up look at the man who is softly washed in
the glow of the sconces is almost too much to take in. He’s
just perfection, and his eyes are pinned right on me. I vaguely
notice he has a woman with him… one of the bartenders, it
seems… and he’s holding her hand. But what I notice most
is the hard glint in his eyes and the way his jaw is locked so tight
that a tiny muscle jumps in the lower portion of his cheek. While his
gaze seems full of anger, I inherently know it’s not directed
at me.

This is confirmed when he slices
his eyes to Jacob and says, “I
repeat… what’s going on?”

“None of your fucking
business, McKay,” Jacob bites out, his fingers gripping me even
harder as if I’m his favorite toy and he’s afraid the
neighbor kid is going to take it.

And McKay? That’s
his name?

The beautiful man—McKay—drops
the woman’s hand
he’s with and takes two steps to bring himself almost toe to
toe with Jacob. His voice is low and commanding when he says, “She
looked like she didn’t want to go with you, and you know
Bridger’s rules… she has to consent.”

Oh, fuck.

I have no say in this really.
Sure, I had a very awkward
conversation with the owner, Bridger, a few days ago when he grilled
me for affirmation I was here of my own free will. Another fine
acting job was completed when he seemed to accept my lies.