The Naughty List (10 page)

“If you have those ingredients, a saucepan, and popsicle molds
or
you could line paper cups with wax paper.” I paused and looked at Ben.

“I’ve got everything but the popsicle molds.”

“Eh, it’s not important. You can use paper cups.” I took another sip of bourbon and felt the vice on my head begin to loosen.

“So that’s it?” Ben’s eyes questioned me. “It can’t just be enough to have the right ingredients and pots and pans and instantly they’ll appear. I’ve tried that with a brownie mix it didn’t work. So how do I make them?”

“You’re serious.”

“Yes, I’m serious.” His tone was a bit snarky.

“Okay then, you put all your ingredients in a saucepan, bring it to a boil, whisk it.”

“Whoa, whoa, there. Wisk? Like the detergent?”

“Oh, my hell. No. Whisk. You know, to whip, stir, beat quickly in a rapid movement.”

A sly grin crossed his face. “I don’t usually do that in the kitchen.”

I slapped his forearm. “Knock it off. If you want to know how to make bourbon pops you’re going to have to learn to whisk.” I held up my finger. “In the kitchen.”

He smiled. “I know how to whisk, I was checking to see if
you
knew how to whisk.”

I exhaled. “You’re annoying.”

“It’s part of my charm. So after we whisk the ingredients together, then what?”

“Um…” I massaged my neck.

Ben set down his glass. “Turn sideways.”

“What?” I shook my head.

“Turn your back toward me.”

“
Why
would I do that?” I asked.

“Just for once don’t fight with me and turn your back toward me.”

I rolled my eyes and shifted in my seat. His hands gently touched my shoulders and began kneading the tight knots locked around my neck.

He leaned toward me. His breath on my skin. “Finish telling me your recipe—step-by-step.”

“Uh…” My heartbeat quickened, my pulse pounded, and my tummy tingled. “Oh-kay. Um… where was I?”

“You had just explained whisking.” The heat from his body radiated against mine.

“Oh, yeah. So… just before you pour the melted chocolate into the paper cups.” His hands worked their way into my hair. My head lowered submissively to his touch. “Uh, you stir in the bourbon. So use the good stuff. It’s not getting cooked out so you’ll want the flavor.”

His chest pressed against my back. It was forceful without being too intimidating.

“Good bourbon. Check.”

“So right after you stir in the bourbon, pour the mixture into the paper cups and place them into the freezer.”

“How cold should the freezer be?” His voice played upon the hairs on my neck.

Why not play the game?

“Oh, you know, cold.” I shook my head. My hair covered my face and the dreamlike state I was in. I couldn’t imagine his strong hands not touching me. “Freezing. The temperature should be set to freezing.”

He slid my sweater off one shoulder and the stubble from his chin brushed against my skin.
Hell, yes
. I wanted more.
Maybe I
will
join the mile high club.

I closed my eyes and let his touch guide me. He reached under my sweater and brushed my bra. His fingers slid across the sheer fabric, his hand gently gliding against my nipple engaging my senses, arousing my curiosity and sending my mind into a million different directions. Usually, I was the one initiating the game, taking control. But Ben held that power and I liked how he wielded it.

“Then what?” he said behind me. “What next?”

“Huh?”

His fingers held my nipple tautly. “Step-by-step instructions or I stop.” The authoritative tone to his voice made me quiver.

“Um, after the popsicles are in the freezer for about an hour,” I said.

He rubbed my nipple back and forth, sending waves of pleasure coursing through my body. My panties were wet, my thighs trembled, and if there were a way I could rip off my jeans and mount this cowboy, right here and right now, I would.

“Before the chocolate sets up,” I said. “Put a stick.” I reached behind me, grabbed his jeans and felt for him. His cock was hard and the heat that radiated between us was electric. I began to rub him through his jeans. “You have to put a stick into each cup.”

He grabbed my wrist and held it. “Why? You have to explain it before you can have it.” The force of his hold on me was unhindered. My body had already succumbed to his directive. If he asked me to strip naked and bake him a cake, I’d gladly spread my icing on top. But his edict wasn’t nearly as naughty as I imagined.

“Get the blanket from the overhead bin and my hat and sit back down.”

His hand disappeared from my sweater and I stood, grabbed a blanket and his cowboy hat and returned to my seat.

“Face forward,” he said.

I did but I continued to watch him. He put his hat on his head and nodded toward the blanket. “Drape it over us.”

I unfolded the scratchy blue blanket and placed it across my shoulder and onto him. He grabbed my hand and forced it into his lap. My body spiked in pleasure.
Maybe I’ll have
his
icing instead.

“Whisk it,” he commanded.

I slowly unzipped his jeans and gently removed his generous cock. Like any new kitchen tool, I held it in my hand and familiarized myself with each ridge, every rounded edge, and its full length. I grasped the base of his cock and began to stroke it, but it kept slipping out of my hand. Whisking was all about creating one fluid movement. And to execute that properly, I had to create a vacuum seal around him. But with his cock, that was quite an undertaking. His girth was larger than the width of my hand, but I managed to grasp his firm, luscious cock until it fit squarely in my palm. And then I slowly wrapped each finger around him, creating a custom fit, until it was as if my hand had always belonged enveloped around his cock. He leaned back in his seat, hat draped over his face, and a drip of cum oozed off his tip.

I had all the makings for a mouth-watering dessert. One that would satisfy any appetite. And I had no doubt Ben had satisfied many. I stroked his shaft in one, perfect fluid movement. Up and down. Fast and tight. Quick and steady. My hand took on a rhythm of its own. Whisk. Whisk. Whisk.

His thighs tightened and his voice again in my ear. Low, hushed, heavy. “Beat harder.”

I wrenched my hand around him and gripped his cock until I felt his body constrict beneath my touch. A low groan. Followed by warm, wet, cum that dripped down his cock and flowed through my fingers.

“Lick your hand.”

I turned and looked up at him. Beneath his hat, his eyes were penetratingly dark.

“I want my taste on your tongue. Slow, long licks,” he said.

I slowly sucked each finger and let my tongue trail the palm of my hand.

“When the plane lands in Denver, go to the ground terminal. Get on the tram headed toward concourse C.” He tilted his hat toward his face.

“That’s it?” My voice clearly mirrored that my body teetered on the edge of release.

He lifted his lid. “Is there any more to your recipe?”

“No.” My tone was now snarky. “Chocolate bourbon pops are super easy and extremely yummy.”

“Kind of like you,” he said.

“What?” If I had been in any dreamlike state looking into his bedroom eyes, I was clearly awake now.

“Oh, no,” he said with a hint of embarrassment on his face.

It was the only time I saw the clueless cowboy return.

“Not the easy part,” he said. “The yummy part.”

I shook my head. “You’re a moron.”

He gritted a smile. “Yeah, that came out wrong. I meant it to be a compliment.”

Though I had just gotten to know a lot more of Ben, I still barely knew him. The one fact I did know was that he was painfully truthful. If he meant it as a compliment, he had and his attempt had just fallen short.

“Let’s forget what I said and open this champagne before we land in Denver.”

“What about your taste…”

“Oh, it’ll still be there. Believe me,” he said with a rue smile. “And you’ll have more when we land.”

I threw back the last of my bourbon and held my glass toward him. The effervescent champagne flowed from the bottle and into my cup.

* * *

I stepped off the plane and spun around. Ben was directly behind me. His smoldering dark eyes peered out from beneath his black cowboy hat.

“What did I tell you to do?” The dominant cowboy returned.

“Um, go to the ground terminal and get on the tram. But what about our next flight?”

Ben spun me away from him and toward the corridor. The terminal for Denver International Airport was less than twenty yards away, but it seemed further. “What about Scott?”

“I think he headed to the men’s room.” Ben’s deep voice and hot breath was on my neck.

“Huh.” Despite my buzz, there was nothing sexy or romantic about a public restroom.
Nasty.

Ben directed me to the concourse and the electronic arrivals and departures marquee. Neon green streamed across the board.

“I can never make these things out,” I said.

“I can and it says our next flight is delayed.” Ben glanced at his cell phone.

“So we won’t be in the air at midnight?”
I won’t join the mile-high club?

“Afraid not,” Ben said. “We’ve got a little over an hour before we board.”

“Actually, more like seventy-five minutes.” Scott materialized behind us.

I casually looked over my shoulder.

Scott leaned toward me. “So did he bore you with all things ranch-related?”

I shook my head. “Nope, not at all.” I studied Scott’s hazel eyes. They favored shades of green more than brown. And while they were tantalizing, they paled in contrast to Ben’s sultry bedroom eyes.

“I thought about rescuing you a few times, but you looked like you were enjoying yourself,” Scott said.

“I was.” There was no embarrassment or shame in my response. Actually, the thought of Scott watching us sent my body into overdrive.

A cell phone chimed and Scott reached into the back pocket of his jeans. He glanced at the screen and then looked at Ben.

“It’s a text from J.P.”

Ben pulled out his cell phone. “Crap. I didn’t realize the time.”

“Who’s J.P.?”

“J.P.’s the owner of the ranch,” Scott said. “And Ben was supposed to call in with a progress report.”

“With all the different time zones we’ve been in.” Ben put his hands on his hips. “I completely forgot.” He held out his hand. “Give me your phone and I’ll talk to him. He’ll answer your call.”

“Ah, it’s no big deal. His text just came in, but it had to have been sent earlier when we were on the plane. You take Lucy to tour Denver and I’ll call J.P. Besides,” Scott said, “he just wants a progress report. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Are you sure?” A wave of relief washed away the hard edges and replaced them with a softer, kinder Ben. “You know I hate talking to the old man.”

Scott laughed. “That’s why he has
you
call in every night.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “He’s a tough old bird and I respect him. But you know I’m not a phone person.” Ben looked at me. “I’m not a phone person.”

“Shocking,” I said.

He shook his head and then held out his hand to Scott. They shook. “Thanks for taking care of this. I owe you one.”

“You do. And I won’t forget it,” Scott said with a grin.

Ben slowly rubbed his chin and locked his gaze onto me. “I was going to introduce Lucy to the underground tunnels and transit system. I think it’s time to show this So Cal girl a thing or two about riding the rails.”

* * *

“Are you sure we aren’t being rude?” I glanced behind me. “Scott’s phone call won’t last an hour.”

“Scott’s taking care of something else for me, too.” Ben grabbed my elbow and led me toward the escalator. He pressed into me. “Get on the tram and take off your panties.”

“I’m in jeans.” The words flew out of my mouth and Ben’s hold on me tightened.

“Figure it out.” Ben’s untamed personality was raw and dangerous.

When we descended the escalator, I spotted a boutique

I pulled away from Ben and ran toward the store.

I barely made it inside before the saleswoman approached the doors to lock them.

“We’re closing,” she said.

I leaned toward her. “I just need to buy a skirt. I had a minor mishap on my last flight and my jeans are…”

The saleswoman eyed my jeans.

“They’re dark so they don’t show…” I didn’t know what to say.

“Oh, I hate it when my period comes early.” She walked toward the center of the store. “I don’t have many skirts during our winter season, but I have a few wool ones.”

I grabbed a plaid wool mini-skirt “That’s perfect.” I looked around the store. “May I change?”

The woman carefully pulled the price tag off the waist of the skirt. “I’ll ring you up while you change outfits.” She pointed toward the back of the store. “They’re unlocked.”

I went inside, unbuckled my shoes and slid out of my jeans and the packaged condom fell to the floor. I was about to grab it when Ben’s hand appeared under the dressing room door and seized it.

“Lucy, hand me the skirt.” His voice sent a shiver down my spine.

I cracked the door in my black lace panties and angora sweater and handed him the skirt still on its hanger. His eyes roamed my body and settled on my panties.

“Show me.”

I didn’t even hesitate. I moved aside the lace material and stood in front of him, completely unencumbered of modesty.

“Grow your hair out more. I want it full and bushy.”

I nodded.

“Wear this.” He handed me a black wool pencil skirt.

I went to close the fitting room door and he stuck his hand out. “Keep it open.”

I slipped off my panties and dropped them to the floor. The skirt was silk-lined and glided on. The smooth lining felt cool against my bare skin.

He handed me a bag. “This is for your jeans,” he said. “I settled the bill.”

I smiled, stuffed my jeans into the bag and buckled myself back into my platforms. I quickly glanced in the full-length mirror. The skirt cupped my ass and stopped just above my knee, showcasing my better assets. I smoothed my sweater and turned toward him.