BuckingHard (4 page)

“Let’s see how male you are.” Fingernails skimmed his
stomach, and before he could stop her, she cupped his dick through his jeans.

He stopped in his tracks, too stunned that she’d actually
touched his cock to keep moving. That, and if he moved, it would be to shove
his crotch against her palm.

Her eyes snapped up to his. “Mason, you have a hard-on.”

“I’m a man, Bradi. This is what happens when you talk about
sex.” Intent on pushing her away, he grasped the first thing his fingers
touched—her hair—but they turned traitor on him and drove deeper until the tips
grazed her scalp. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear himself
demanding that he push her away, remove her hand from his crotch and forget any
of this ever happened. Instead, all he could think about was how cool and silky
her hair felt sifting through his fingers and how much he wanted to wrap it
around his cock.

“But it’s for
me
.
I’m
talking about sex.
I’m
the one exciting you.” Jesus, she sounded almost giddy.

He reached for her hands, but suddenly they were everywhere.
Her body slammed into him, knocking him off balance and against the front
fender of his truck. Slender fingers plucked his shirt from his waistband and
tugged at his belt. Her lips grazed the side of his neck. Her tongue lapped at
his ear. She practically crawled up his body.

“Bradi, god, no.” He tried to catch her hands as he regained
his balance and pushed off the hood but they snaked around his neck and her
legs wrapped around his waist. “Don’t make me hogtie you and toss you in the
truck bed.”

Staggering a few feet, Mason wrenched open the passenger
door. The wildcat in his arms tilted to one side, nearly toppling them both. He
grabbed her ass to steady her only to fill his palms with warm pliable flesh. A
groan rose in his throat. The filmy dress had ridden to her hips, and she wore
no underwear, not even a thong, which meant…

“Mmm, yes.” Arching her back, she rolled her hips and ground
her naked pussy against his erection.

Even through the denim, her heat seared his cock. Jesus
Christ, he couldn’t take much more. He set her on the bench seat and grabbed
her legs to unlock them. Her heels dug into the back of his thighs.

“Tie me across the hood of your truck if you want, Mason.
Spank me hard.” She nipped at his earlobe. “And then fuck me harder.”

His mouth gaped at the perverse words coming from her mouth.
Words that made his gut clench, his blood pump faster and his dick throb. Words
that described a scene he would never have imagined with Bradi, but now that he
had…

“Touch me, Mason. I want your hands on me.”

The taut bead of her nipple grazed his hand and supple flesh
filled his palm. He wasn’t sure how his hand had come to rest on her breast or
when she’d untied the halter straps of her dress. His mind clouded and no
matter how hard he fought to deny himself, his hand squeezed, testing the
weight of her generous mound.

“Yes, squeeze harder. Pinch my nipple.” The button fly of
his jeans ripped open, and she snuck her hand under the elastic of his boxers.
Her fingers tightened around his shaft as her other hand shoved at his jeans.
“You feel so good, Mason. I need you inside me.”

Mason looked at his hand on her breast, the other breast
exposed, its plump pink nipple jutting upward, inviting him to taste. He
swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth. “No.” He shook his head. “No,
Bradi.”

Jerking his hand from her breast, he grabbed her wrists,
lifted both arms above her head and pressed her backward against the seat.
Wrong move. Her sweet body wriggled beneath him. Her breasts mashed against his
chest. Worse, the head of his cock rested at the opening of her hot, wet pussy.

“Mmm, yes,” she murmured in his ear. Her calves urged him
forward. Her hips bucked. Her inner muscles clenched, trying to suck him
inside, teasing his dick with the promise of a viselike grip. “Do it, Mason.
Now.”

“Shh, don’t talk. Don’t move.” He buried his face in her
hair and tried to breathe through the whirlpool of lust churning in his balls.
Her sweet scent, strawberries and vanilla, filled his head. Adrenaline pumped
through his veins. Sweat beaded his brow and his muscles burned as he struggled
to keep from thrusting hard and deep, just like she wanted it.

Fluid oozed from his dick. He was going to burst at any
second.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
No condom. His hips strained forward and he
shuddered as exquisite pressure surrounded the very tip of his cock head. God,
he wanted to fuck her.

And why should he worry about a condom? This was Bradi. She
was clean. And so was he. And if he got her pregnant…

“Bradi, I don’t have a condom.”

A slight nasal sound buzzed in his ear.
What the hell?

There it was again.

He lifted his head. Her face was turned away, eyes closed,
mouth open. Another snore sawed past those luscious pink lips. One leg slid
from his hip.

A car door slammed in the distance, reminding Mason where
they were. He bolted upright, smacking the back of his head on the doorframe.

“Shit.” He absorbed the pain as he jerked up his jeans and
buttoned them.

Jesus fucking Christ, he’d nearly fucked his best friend…in
a parking lot…while she was passed out. This was wrong on so many levels. He
was no better than Heath, taking advantage of her drunken state.

His gaze was drawn back to her lying half in and half out of
his truck, passed out and snoring like a bullfrog. Long slender legs spread
wide—one hiked high with her heel caught on the seatbelt, the other dangling,
both creamy white and toned from hours of hard work. At the juncture of her
thighs, a light dusting of blonde curls covered an otherwise bald pussy. Her
juices glistened, making him ache to taste them.

It’s Bradi, dickhead. Your friend, remember?

Hands shaking, Mason gently situated her farther into the
cab, made sure her dress covered the vital parts and slammed the door. Circling
the truck, he climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. He brushed
the hair from her face and then couldn’t help himself. He gathered her closer
so that her head rested on his lap. She looked so peaceful now and, other than
the makeup, like the Bradi he knew.

He shook his head, still confused by the sudden change.
She’d been like one of the broncs he used to ride—wild, fast and untamed. And
just as they’d bucked and spun and ridden him into the fence, desperate to get
him off their back, even at the cost of injury, Bradi had been determined to
get what she needed without a care for the possible danger she might encounter.
Yeah, this was her hometown. Yeah, everyone knew everyone. But half the men
inside the Lucky Draw wouldn’t hesitate to fuck her while she was unconscious.

And goddammit, he didn’t even want to speculate on what
could happen if she pulled this stunt in the city. Fear tightened his chest at
the thought of her putting herself in this situation again. Date rape was
common among the college crowd. Or she could be kidnapped and sold into the sex
slave market. Not to mention the perverts who wanted nothing more than to
torture young women.

Anything could happen, and there’d be no one there to
protect her.
He
wouldn’t always be there to keep her safe. She’d be
helpless.

Someone needed to teach her a lesson, to scare the holy hell
out of her so that she wouldn’t do something like this again. Unfortunately, he
didn’t trust anyone else to handle Bradi.

He was her best friend. It was up to him to give her one
hell of a wake-up call.

Chapter Three

Still in the twilight of sleep, Bradi fought consciousness.
Her head pounded like a son of a bitch. Her mouth felt as if it had been
stuffed with cotton balls. And she couldn’t move her arms.

Not the first time she’d passed out and woken up with numb
body parts. God, what had she done last night? Inhaling a long slow breath, she
tried to remember. The scent of citrus and musk filled her nostrils.

Mason.

Like a cold dunk in the creek in December, panic cleared the
fog and the memory of what she’d done sliced through her. No, she hadn’t
done
Mason. But she’d come close. Not as close as she wanted but…oh god, she’d so
screwed up.

She tried to roll from her stomach to her back but her arms
didn’t seem to want to listen to her brain. That last beer must have been one
too many. She tried again to rise to her elbow. Something around her wrists
bound her arms above her head.

She opened her eyes, her lashes scraping against silk. A
blindfold covered her eyes and blocked out all but a smidgeon of light. Her
heart began to pound, then just as quickly evened out. She wasn’t afraid. She
knew she was in Mason’s house. His grandpa wore horse liniment, and the house
always reeked of it. And she’d been in Mason’s room enough times when they were
younger and memorized everything about it, including the smell, which hadn’t
always been pleasant. But what calmed her most was his scent on the sheet
beneath her.

“Mason?” She lifted her head and listened for any hint of
his presence. “Are you there?”

Nothing.

Damn him. Where the hell was he? And what was he up to?

She lowered her head to the mattress and tried to draw her
legs under her so she could sit up. Her ankles were restrained, one to each
corner post, and a cool cotton sheet rustled over her legs, back and ass. Holy
fuck, she was naked.

Bradi moaned. He’d stripped her bare and shackled her to his
bed. One of her favorite fantasies come true.

She inhaled again, drawing in his essence, imagining his
touch, willing the fantasy to become reality. For him to come to her, to make
her tremble under his caress, to love her as much as she loved him.

A floorboard creaked near the door. The sound of his even
breathing seemed amplified with the blindfold stealing her sense of sight. She
held her own breath in anticipation of him touching her, then began to pant
when he didn’t. Surely he had plans to do more than touch her if he’d gone to
all this trouble.

Minutes that seemed like hours passed, and still he only
stood there. Knowing he watched her made her want to squirm but she remained
still. The beat of her heart filled her ears until she could no longer hear
him. Arousal flooded her pussy and trickled from her slit. She wanted to say
his name, beg him to end the torture, but she was afraid even the smallest
murmur, the least move, would put an end to whatever game he played.

And then she felt it, the slightest drag of a finger along
the back of her calf. An uncontrollable whimper passed from her lips, but Bradi
bit into her bottom lip, silencing her need. The finger continued its path up
the back of her knee and thigh. She wished he’d remove the damn sheet. She
wanted to feel him skin to skin.

He reached the underside of her ass and slowed. Her butt
cheeks clenched and hips moved restlessly. She jerked on her bindings, trying
to buck against him. His finger continued over the swell of her buttocks into
the dip of her lower back. There it stopped to gather the sheet. She felt the
material balling up, slipping over her flesh.

A rush of cool air swirled around her body as he ripped the
sheet from the bed. She squirmed, eager for the warmth of his bare hand. Her
nipples grazed the sheet beneath her and another whimper escaped, half sob,
half moan.

Then his finger began the slow journey in the opposite
direction, yet still he denied her his touch. Leather stroked her skin. Gloves?
Was Mason into BDSM?

A shiver shook her as she imagined him dressed in black
leather Dom gear. God, he’d look hot. She had fetishes, but she’d never
experimented in the realm of BDSM. She liked sex on the rough side, spanking
and biting, but if Mason had needs that took him deeper into BDSM, she’d gladly
follow.

The crack of a whip split the silence. Bradi flinched though
he hadn’t struck her. Heat coiled in her pussy and centered in her clit. The
tail of the whip teased across her ass then disappeared. Another snap stirred
the air near her shoulder and her hair fluttered across her back.

“Oh god, please,” she begged. Did she really just beg him to
strike her?

The bed dipped and she turned her face into the mattress.
Fingers fisted into the hair at her nape. He tugged hard, tilting her face to
one side. His breath tickled her ear. Would he finally say something? Talk
dirty? Make demands? What did he want?

Anything. I’ll give you anything. Let you take anything.

A phallic-shaped object—the handle of the whip?—traced the
crease of her ass. Back and forth, back and forth. The throbbing in her clit
intensified. She ground her pussy into the mattress to find relief.

He jerked on her hair and grunted. The sting rippled through
her scalp as the knob of the handle slipped between her legs and grazed her
clit.

Bradi arched her back and cried out, a breath away from
coming. He removed the handle and stilled. God, why did he stop?

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bradi.” He stood up and paced beside
the bed. “You’re fucking turned-on by all this.” He stopped and she felt the
heat of his gaze on her body, then he started to pace again. “Goddamn whip is
wet.
You’re
wet.”

A tremor of need shuddered through her at his words. “Yes.”

“You’re not supposed to be wet. You’re supposed to be scared
shitless.” More pacing. “Motherfucker.”

“Mason?” Bradi lifted her ass, inviting him to continue.
Scared? Why would she be? He wasn’t making any sense. “Please.”

“Shit, Bradi.” The bed dipped again, this time near her
feet. One ankle strap loosened then the other. He shifted to sit next to her
hip and his fingers tugged at the knot of her blindfold. “Just how far would
you have let me go?”