“Just think about it,” he urges me as his hand pulls me upward on my tiptoes so he can kiss me again. Just a whisper soft touch of his lips against mine. “Please.”
“Okay, I’ll think about it.”
Chapter 21
Woolf
I balance the three cases of empty beer bottles precariously in my hands, trying to hold as much weight on my forearms as possible.
“Boss… let me help you with that,” Brian says tentatively. He’s our newest bartender, not a member of the sex club portion of the business, but he has potential. I heard Stephanie fucked him last week and she said he had the biggest dick she’d ever seen.
“I’ve got it,” I reply tersely, turning my body so I can back through the swinging door to the storage area.
Why I’m here at The Wicked Horse, helping to move empty cases of beer, is beyond me? Okay, that’s not exactly true. I’m here because I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself. Callie doesn’t work for me anymore, so the office plain sucks. Callie won’t speak to me anymore, so my sex life sucks as well.
Maybe I’m here because subconsciously, I want to fuck someone brutally hard and bang Callie Hayes out of my mind. Stephanie would actually be a prime candidate except her shift starts in five minutes and she’s nowhere to be seen.
Figures.
So here I am—President and CEO of JennCo, a Fortune 100 company—moving empty boxes to make room for more boxes because I just don’t know what to fucking do with myself. I’ve been reduced to this pathetic shell of my former self.
“Are you sure I can’t help you with that?” Brian asks again, and because I’ve just been a real pissant lately, I let him have it.
“For fuck’s sake,” I snarl at him. “I fucking got it, okay?”
And just as I say the word “okay,” the top box tips precariously forward and I do a weird swaying motion with my hips and forearms to try to stabilize. In slow motion, I shoot a quick glance at Brian, who’s already starting to wince over the impending disaster, and I go ahead and let out a muttered curse as the top box falls.
It hits the floor with a resounding crash and thousands of tiny shards of brown, broken glass litter the floor behind the bar. As I look down at the smashed pieces, knowing exactly how those poor bottles feel, something inside of me just snaps.
“Fuck this,” I yell out to no one, even though Brian gets the brunt of it. I throw the other two boxes down, reveling in the smash of more broken glass, and turn to stalk out from behind the bar. I catch Brian scrambling for a broom and while I already feel guilty for taking it out on him, I certainly don’t spare him another glance as I stalk down to the office I share with Bridger.
Callie Goddamn Hayes has got me twisted up in knots, and I can’t fucking stand it anymore.
When I slunk out of her house after having unrivaled sex with her, I was optimistic we could work things out. Sure, it wasn’t ideal, the amount of sneaking around we’d have to do, but hey… wouldn’t that just make it more exciting? Maybe I could sneak into her room at night and fuck her while Governor Hayes snored just down the hall. That was kinky… right? We could sustain ourselves on stolen moments until we figured out something better. I was sure of it.
Callie said she’d think about it, but I’m not stupid, so I wasn’t all that surprised when she called me two days later and told me she just couldn’t do it. When I demanded to know why not, I could almost recite the reason before she gave it to me.
She had softly said, “I’m sorry, Woolf. But what you can offer me isn’t enough. I want more.”
I stewed over that for about three days, then I threw caution to the wind and decided to brave her father’s shotgun. I showed up at her house, surprised to find Governor Hayes not in residence, but a very stern housekeeper who wouldn’t let me in the front door. When I threatened not to leave until Callie came down to talk to me, she admitted that Callie had flown back to Connecticut, and I almost went apeshit on the woman. She looked all kinds of frightened and quickly assured me it was to collect her belongings and bring them back to Wyoming.
I had to bide my time until she returned and I got another crack at trying to get her to change her mind. My extended grapevine of gossip advised me Callie had flown back a mere two days after that, but it took me almost another five days to stalk her in an appropriate manner so as to have a few precious moments alone with her.
I caught her going in her doctor’s office.
I merely followed her in and took her elbow, told Janie Mitchell behind the receptionist desk that Callie would be a few minutes late for her appointment, and marched her right back out again.
She pulled away from me and growled.
Yes, little Callie Hayes dared to growl at the wolf.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, and Christ Almighty… I wanted to throw her up against the side of the building and fuck the hell out of her.
“Trying to talk some sense into you,” I threw back at her, admiring the way her cheeks were flushed with anger, her hair was all tangled from when she pulled away and spun on me, and her nipples were budded against her t-shirt. My cock hurt so bad, I almost wept from the frustration.
We ended up having a full-blown, yelling argument right there on the sidewalk until Ernie, one of the town deputies, pulled his car over and told us to both move it along… that we were disturbing the peace.
I kicked his tire in anger before stalking off, pissed as hell at how stubborn Callie was being.
Didn’t she see that what we had was good?
No, fucking fantastic.
Didn’t she even respect the fact that I gave her monogamy?
I mean… that’s a big fucking deal.
Why couldn’t she just bend a little and give this a chance? I was sure we could make it work, but still… deep down, there was a part of me screaming at myself that I was being a dick about this. I wanted her to give and I was offering nothing back.
I punch in the alarm code to the office and walk in on Bridger and Stephanie fucking.
Rolling my eyes, I ignore them, walking right over to my desk where I plop down. I tune out the sound of skin slapping, breathy moans, and deep grunts, and flip on my computer.
“Want in on this, bro?” Bridger asks, and my eyes cut over to him. “This ass is tight.”
I narrow my gaze on them for a brief moment, and yeah… that’s hot. He’s fucking her hard in her ass and Stephanie is loving every inch of it. My dick twitches but then it lays back down, totally uninterested. It’s pouting as hard as I am that we don’t have Callie.
Pulling up my email, I scan through the messages, finding it unbelievably easy to ignore Bridger and Stephanie. There are several from Marta, another from the candidate that will be running against Reggie in the next election (word sure travels fast that I’m no longer one of his supporters), and one from Tenn.
A loud crack makes me jump and I see Bridger’s left a deep red handprint on Stephanie’s ass, causing her to screech in pain. That fuels Bridger on and he slams into her a few more times, then pulls out, whips his condom off, and unloads all over her back.
Sadly, Bridger doesn’t know anything of the unmitigated greatness of releasing yourself deep inside some wet pussy, a tight ass or a sweet mouth because he doesn’t come inside of a woman.
Ever.
He’s not afraid of pregnancy, but rather the intimacy of the act. I believe it’s the only thing that Bridger is afraid of in this world, and just like the tattoos that he wears on his torso, there’s a much deeper story that explains his aversion to that type of closeness with a woman. I know a great deal about Bridger’s horrific past, because he shares with me most everything, just as I share with him. But while I know many things that make up Bridger Payne, I think there’s much I don’t know only because he wants to spare me the pain of listening to what my best friend went through when he was growing up.