I can't take my eyes off him as he leans casually against the bartop looking so hot. My eyes wander over his ass and thighs, filling out the low slung dark jeans. The large belt buckle he's got his thumb tucked into draws my eyes to the bulge right beneath. Even from here it's impressive.
“You're up, pretty lady,” Andy, the guy that invited me to the game nudges me out of my trance.
I was waylaid by the memory of last night and seeing Shea in all his glory. How that kept me awake all night, imagining that huge bulge pressing between my thighs and forcing me open for him.
“Right,” I say and pull out of his orbit.
But not far enough away from the hungry stare he's giving my nipples that I know are erect and sticking out like a pair of marksman's bullets in the low-cut tee I wore thinking I'd get some attention. I got my wish, just with the wrong person. I'm really regretting agreeing to play with Andy, now that Shea's here.
I don't intend to make him jealous although if he was that would at least indicate some level of interest. He's not aware of my presence though, or he is and he's letting me know he doesn't give a damn. It rips a hole in the fabric around my heart that he really isn't tempted by a quick sinful tumble.
I line up a shot and Andy immediately tips his head to one side, wondering why I didn't take the more obvious play. He doesn't know that this way I get to bend over in full view of the bar—where Shea's standing. I arch my back just as far as it will go and tilt my ass up in the air, even though that sets Andy to drooling like a dog.
As I draw my elbow back to cue the shot, I come flying back from the table, jerked into the grasp of the most handsome man on the planet. Even spitting nails, Shea is gorgeous. And he looks like he wants to kill something, especially when he rounds on Andy with a ferocious glare.
“I'm taking you home,” he growls. His fingers gouge into my arm and he looks like a wolf ready to pounce. He's acting like he owns me all of a sudden. I rip my arm away but he restrains me easily. Which only gets me mad. He's ignored me and told me nothing can ever happen and now he's determined to stop me having any fun.
“I'm not a child,” I snip.
“You're underage,” he grits out.
“I am not,” I squeal. He's being so unfair I kick him hard in the shin.
He barely registers the hit, like I’m an irritating gnat. Then I'm flying through the air, hauled in huge hands to land over his shoulder.
“Put me down.”
I pound my fists into his back as he storms for the door. It's like slamming into the side of a barn, his muscles are so solidly toned. When I waggle my legs in an attempt to land another swift kick to the groin, he only holds me more firmly. One hand wrapped around my upper thighs, the other flat across my ass.
My breasts fill with craving at being pressed into his man flesh. His two hands on me make juices pour from me, soaking my jeans and underwear.
He kicks the door closed behind him and strides across to Cinders.
“Now, are you going to sit and ride quietly or shall I throw you over like a wanted woman taken by the posse?”
“Are you nuts? What are you doing? I haven't done anything wrong.”
“As you want,” he tosses me face down, over Cinders back and the horse looks around with a languid 'What now' expression.
Shea's massive palm is still resting on my ass and I'm about to come undone with the need for him to slip between my thighs right here in the lot. Then he removes it and I let out a yelp that he takes for resistance because it comes right back down again, hard on my cheeks. The horse does a little two step but is trained for breaking in wild animals, so she holds firm.
“You brute, I'm going to -”
“What Princess? What are you going to do to me?”
He brings his hand down on my cheeks twice more and I squeal and writhe in rising ecstasy. Then he steps across to the horse trough and fills the pan. For a moment I think he's going to douse me with the cold water but he sets it down in front of Cinders who laps thirstily. He caresses her neck with some soft words that make me wild with hunger to hear the same.
Seeing stars from the spank and the unbridled need for Shea between my legs, all I want to do is run from the humiliation. Sliding my belly down the horse's flank until my feet touch the soft ground, I take off across the yard toward the truck.
In my deranged state, I run to the passenger side of the cab, so have to dash around the front to the driver's. Just as I reach the door my arms are pinned flat to my side. A rope tightens around my chest until I'm held firm and then the load comes on the lasso and Shea pulls me toward him.
“You big old bully,” I shout. “You can't rope me, I'm not one of your wild animals.”
“You sure act like a little wild cat,” he says.