The Wrangler (The Yacht Club #2)

Chapter 7

Seven

ALEX

“Hey, brother.”

I turn to face Gabe, freezing mid-swipe with my plaster. “S’up?”

“We’re ahead of schedule. I say we knock off early.” He’s probably missing his wife, Katherine.

Unlike me, he doesn’t have a reason to avoid going home. “You go ahead, I’m gonna finish this wall. I’ll catch a ride share.”

“You sure? I can stay.”

“No way. Katherine’ll beat me if she finds out I kept you late on a Friday for no good reason.”

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t like it.” Gabe nudges my shoulder. “All right. I’m outta here. Don’t stay too late or Larry won’t come for you.”

The one ride share driver in the area who will take me all the way back to Alabaster. “No worries. Like I said, just finishing this wall.”

Except that I keep going. I finish all the tape and texture for the entire room. As I’m cleaning my tools and trying to figure out how to get home or where to sleep onsite, headlights flash in the windows.

Stone comes sauntering in a few minutes later. He glances around the room. “Looks good. Ready to go?”

I dry my trowel and tuck it in my tool bag. With a nod I follow Stone out, locking the doors behind us. I’d ask how he knew I was there, and without a car, but that would be wasted breath. Stone knows shit and he never reveals his sources. I’ll ask Gabe on Monday.

We don’t get back to the Sunflower until after midnight. I’m too tired to eat but I could use a shower. Stone is already headed up the stairs and I drag my ass up behind him. His bedroom door closes as I hit the landing. The hallway looks forever long and I have to go by SJ’s room. I’ve been working every hour there is to stay away from her and all her questions because every minute I’m near her is torture. I have to mentally and physically restrain myself from pursuing her. She’s captivating. And delicate. And a risk to every barrier I’ve put in place to protect myself.

Her door is ajar. Unable to help myself, I peek in. She’s curled in a ball on top of the covers, her phone by her hand. It’s a protective position but she’s exposed, her top having ridden up to her ribs. An elaborate color tattoo covers the small of her back—an elegant butterfly with a heart as its body, wearing a crown and surrounded by tendrils of flowers, vines, and leaves. The vines have captured the butterfly.

Does she realize what this says?

Does it mean the same thing to her?

Or was it just an impulsive moment of ink?

The tattoo had to take hours especially with full color. Nothing about it was impulsive. The urge to go to her, offer comfort is so strong I place my hand on the door.

What am I doing?

Walking into a room with a sleeping woman, uninvited, unsupervised? Hell no. I move my hand down the panel and close the door gently.

In the shower, I can’t shut my mind off as easily as I shut her door. Images of her butterfly framed by my ropes, her flying in the air, her curled in a ball, not in her bed but in my restraints as I rail my cock into her welcoming body. I press my hands to the tile wall, rest my forehead between them, searching for control. My cock is not onboard with that plan. Hard and aching. It throbs with the need to fuck deep into her and never come out.

This intensity makes no sense. I don’t even know her. I don’t trust her. I can’t get her out of my head.

The soap is in my hand and I give up the fight. One slow long stroke from tip to root and I’m weak kneed and moaning. With each slide of my hand, the rope wraps around her naked body, framing her lush breasts, rendering her helpless to my control, her wrists tied behind her head, making her own wings, as I send her into flight.

Slowly, I increase the pressure on my cock, my rope sliding along her pussy, the knot right against her clit. My climax builds and I squeeze tight, holding back the release, my fingers wet with her juices coaxing her to explode, she softens, trusting my ropes, giving all the control to me.

She’ll float in my harness, secure in the knowledge I have her as I thrust my starved desperation deep inside her tight, fluttering walls. I pull out, hold my cock and spin her to a new position. She’s my flying creature, caught in my vines, begging me for a release only I can deliver. Faster she flies. I’m so deep in her, there’s no her or me. She ripples against my cock, squeezing me the way my ropes bind her. Warm wet splashes of her satisfaction coats my skin.

Come covers my hand. I turn to face the shower head. The lonely hot mess skulks down the drain. Shame and satisfaction war within. The ache to make my fantasy a reality despite the risk to me. To her.

How can I lasso this butterfly without breaking her wings?

There’s no way.

Is there?

God, I haven’t felt this strongly about a woman since I left Texas. Why now? Why her?

I haven’t been celibate, not completely. The bunnies at the St. Louis club were always willing to let me rig them up. The club asked me to do demos more times than I can count. And in some of those instances, I was so in the moment, I got my dick wet—well the condom. Brought the bunny to orgasm while I found release. Never in private and never without witnessed consent.

My grandpa used to say, “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

I ain’t no fool. Except, I’m feeling pretty foolish about SJ. Is it her red hair? Or her Texas twang? That sweetheart ass her jeans hug so expertly? Is it the wide-eyed stare when she watched the couple at the club? Her fascination? Or her innocence?

Innocence. She’s no virgin, but she’s not a bunny either. She doesn’t crave the ropes, to feel the squeeze again. She has no clue what it would feel like to be tied up. But her breath, her pulse, her exquisite concentration on the scene have wrapped me up in a fantasy. To be her first and initiate her into my web of pleasure.

Damn. I’m getting hard again, craving what I shouldn’t want. With a slap of my hand, I shut off the water. Dried off, I climb naked into my bead and wait for the strain of a long day of construction to drag me under. When I finally find peace, it’s wrecked with dreams of SJ and vine-wrapped butterflies.