Текст книги "Wicked Fall"

Автор книги: Sawyer Bennett

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Not a damn thing for me to do other than enjoy it, and while I had been struggling this week on whether or not to invite Callie, that decision just got firmly made all so I could prevent her from going out with Colton.

I’m such an asshole and yet I can’t find it within me to feel guilty about it.

I don’t want her, not in the way I’m sure she wants to be wanted, but I don’t want anyone else to have her.

It’s twisted and complex and I should back the fuck off.

But I’m not.

“Plan on being out at the Double J about mid-morning, okay Callie?” I say as I look at her. I want to gauge how she feels about me breaking up her date with Colton.

She gives me a brilliant smile, and I relax. Callie’s always loved this type of stuff. She’s going to have a blast, and that makes me feel good.

She then turns that sunny smile to Colton and says, “I’m sorry. Maybe we could go next weekend?”

And now Colton is smiling brightly at Callie. It’s all shining white teeth flashing around the room, and it makes me pissy. I frantically search my brain for something I need her to do next weekend, but I come up empty.

No matter. I’ll figure something out by then.

“Catch you later, Colton,” I say in dismissal and then head back into my office. Colton apparently gets the hint because I hear the front door open and close seconds later.

Thoughts of fucking Stephanie gone, I shut my door and walk over to the shelf where the architectural drawings for The Wicked Horse are still laying. I pull them out from time to time, survey the surrounding land, and figure out how we can grow bigger. But now I look at them with a bit of dread in my stomach.

Week after next, Tenn will be coming to visit, and I’m going to have to show him these plans. It’s time he learned his little brother also has plans that exist outside of the family business. It’s important I show him this because I’ve been thinking a lot lately about seeing if there’s a way for me to distance myself from JennCo. We had considered once taking the company public, but our overwhelming sense of familial obligation shot that idea down. Almost two years later, though, and I’m feeling the walls closing in on me.

The Wicked Horse will be a shock to Tenn. It’s going to cause some waves. Big, choppy waves.

But I have to at least start the communication about it and see where he stands.

Chapter 6

Callie

For a man that insisted I be here at the Double J mid-morning to help him, Woolf sure seems to be relaxing a lot. I look over at him sitting at one of the picnic tables set up on the east lawn beside the main house, lazily drinking a beer with his business partner, Bridger Payne. Woolf introduced me to him not long ago, and he’s an interesting man.

He’s big. I mean, bigger than Woolf, and Woolf is like a giant. Huge¸ muscled arms and a massive chest. It’s clear he works out seriously. He’s a little intimidating because there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t quite set right with me. Not in a dishonest type of way, but it’s more like he knows something about you that maybe even you don’t know yourself. Bridger also looks like the type of man who gets whatever he wants, and if it’s a challenge to get it, he’s going to knock you on your ass while he plows over you for the win.

What interests me the most about Bridger is actually my reaction to seeing him with Woolf. It’s clear that they are more than just business partners. You can tell they’re friends. Very close friends. It’s the natural way in which they talk with each other; it’s in the way in which they laugh together. Hell, I can even see it when they just sit there in silence with each other as they watch all the happenings going on around them.

I thought their friendship might make me a little bitter, seeing as how my brother used to be Woolf’s closest friend, but I found myself actually filled with a peaceful happiness for Woolf that he found someone in whom he could trust and bond like he had with Richard.

I busy myself at one of the many long tables covered with red checkered cloths and laden with food, starting to place some tinfoil over the bowls of side dishes as the first wave of people have gone through. While Woolf is having this party catered, I feel compelled to do actual work since he’s paying me. But so far, he’s not given me much to do so I’m trying to act busy.

I sneak another peek over at the picnic table, and both Woolf and Bridger are looking at me, their heads inclined toward each other. It’s clear they’re talking about me and a warm flush creeps up my neck. Never taking his eyes off me, Bridger murmurs something to Woolf and the look in Woolf’s eyes becomes focused with intensity. His eyes seem to be glittering across the way at me, and his jaw sets in a hard line. He even bites down roughly into his lower lip while Bridger continues to talk quietly to him, all while they are both staring at me.

I hastily avert my gaze, not able to handle the way Woolf is… eating me up? And what in the hell could Bridger have said to make him look at me like that? It’s like he was encouraging him… saying something to incite Woolf. I grab some napkins and start wiping up spills around the serving bowls, my pulse skipping madly for some reason.

The band Woolf hired starts tuning their instruments, causing my gaze to slide over there. I can see down past them to the branding paddock; the ranch hands are working on a few more calves, but most everything is done for the day. Everyone has plates of food and beers in their hands. People are laughing in celebration for a good, hard day’s work and a traditionally important rite of passage for the animals. I can remember coming to the Double J brandings all the time growing up. I’d watch Woolf, Tenn, and Richard help wrestle the calves to the ground, and I wanted to help too but my mother wouldn’t let me. It didn’t befit a young lady.

Or so she said.

The party afterward was always so much fun. Chasing fireflies when the sun set, listing to music and eating homemade ice cream until I was sick. Not much has changed, although I don’t intend to overindulge on the ice cream, but I do intend to enjoy the fireworks that will start up probably within the next hour.

I sneak one more peek over at the picnic tables, curious if Woolf and Bridger are still watching me. I’m not sure what it says about me that I’m actually disappointed they’re both gone. I scan my eyes around, but I don’t see either of them.

Sighing, I decide to go ahead and get a plate of food and a beer. My entire day of non-working has actually been quite tiring, and I’d like to get off my feet for a bit. Some barbeque, a little bit of pie, a little fireworks, then I’m heading home for a nice hot bath and maybe a good book.

As the fireworks start, I loop my purse over my shoulder and make my way toward the makeshift parking area. I drove my father’s truck, because even though he’s the governor, everyone in Wyoming has a truck and it just felt good to drive it. It made me feel like I was truly back home, and fuck the little BMW convertible Will had bought me to drive around in back in Connecticut. Those days were over.

I want to make a quick getaway as soon as the show is over, but I can’t resist watching the sparkling lights, so I pull the tailgate down on my truck and hop my ass onto it. Just as I shrug the strap of my purse off my arm, the first rocket goes off. I hear the boom first and then the rocket splits apart into a million fragmented blue and white crystals against the night sky. I can’t help the exhale of pleasure that escapes over the sight.

“What are you doing hiding back here?” Woolf says as he hops onto the tailgate beside me.

Startled, I jump slightly and cast a quick glance at him, but then pin my eyes back to the sky. I don’t want to miss a thing.

“I’m going to head out as soon as the fireworks are over so I figured I’d just sit out here,” I tell him as three more rockets go off.

Boom, boom, boom.

Three huge flowering displays pulsing outward. Man… these are spectacular and I know Woolf must have paid a fortune for this.

We sit in silence for a bit watching the show, and I can’t help but smile as I hear little kids oohing and aahing over the fireworks. I angle my body to look at Woolf, just briefly to see if he’s enjoying this as much as I am, but I’m caught off guard when I find his gaze is settled on me and not the sky.

I tilt my head at him with a curious smile. “What?”

He smirks at me… reaches out and grabs the end of one of the pigtail braids I have just barely hanging over each shoulder. Giving it a tug, he says, “Wyoming suits you, Callie.”

I hold his gaze for just a moment, and then turn my face upward again, causing him to let go of my hair. “I’m really glad to be home.”

Woolf bumps his shoulder against mine, vying against the fireworks for my attention. “Are you here to stay?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Maybe. I need to figure out who Callie Hayes is first.”

“You know who she is,” he tells me in gentle admonishment.

I leave the glow of sparkles behind and turn to look at him again. “You’re actually right, Woolf. I do know who she is. What I should have said is that I don’t like who Callie Hayes is… what she’s become. I need to figure out who I want to be, and I need to make those changes.”

I start to incline my face back upward, but I’m stopped by Woolf’s hand grasping my jaw. He holds me in place so I have to look at him. “You don’t need to change a damn thing about yourself.”

His voice is soft and soothing, almost as if he’s talking to a child. It pisses me off, and I jerk my face away from him. My words are calm but tinged in ice. “You have no idea what I do or don’t need. You try living in someone’s shadow for years, completely bending and twisting your life to fit his. You try giving up all your dreams to let someone else get theirs. You try to be what everyone expects, even though it tears you up inside. You do all that, Woolf, and tell me you don’t become someone you don’t like.”

My voice cracks… falters.

Woolf narrows his eyes at me.

“I’m so pathetically dull,” I say with a quiet but sure voice, “that my fiancé can only get his rocks off by having another woman gag and whip him. Try being that person and tell me you won’t want to change.”

I expect another admonishment from Woolf. Maybe a snort of disbelief. A look of pity.

Instead, his hands shoot out and take my face, jerking me toward him. He meets me halfway, putting his lips against mine and giving me a blistering kiss. Tilting his head, he pushes my mouth open with his own and then his tongue becomes a part of me. His fingers grasp me tightly as he kisses me deeply.

My head swims in confusion and lust.

My hands come up to grasp his wrists to hold him to me, afraid he might pull away.

And he does, but only slightly.

Only enough to look at me with simmering anger.

At me?

“If I ever hear you call yourself ‘pathetically dull’ again, I’m going to tan your hide,” he says and then he kisses me again.

And holy hell… Woolf Jennings is sitting in the back of my truck with me.

Kissing me.

With such force that in this moment, I would do whatever he asked of me.

I’d give him my soul.

Most definitely my body.

Woolf kisses me with all the surety of a man who knows what he wants. He nips at my lower lip, swipes hard at my tongue, and growls into my mouth. His kiss alone moves me so greatly, that I can’t help the deep moan I give as my hands snake around his neck.

His own hands drop to my waist and with an effortless move, he hauls me across the tailgate right onto his lap. No, correction… after maneuvering my legs, he makes me straddle his lap. This is made easy by fact that first, I have no hesitation in accepting this new position, and second, that I wore a flower-patterned dress and my cowboy boots to this shindig.

The boots clunk down on the truck bed and my skirt rises to mid-thigh, but I don’t care. I only care that Woolf wants to not only kiss me, but kiss me while I’m straddling him.

And then, oh my fucking God… his hands go to my thighs and he pushes me down onto his lap, grinding me onto what is an erection so large I can’t even fathom the possibility of it. My breath comes skittering out of my mouth, and I have no control over my body. My hips undulate, causing the most amazing friction between us.

The fireworks continue to go off with loud booms, followed by hisses and sizzles that periodically light up Woolf’s face. Sadly, I realize that once the fireworks end, so to shall this kiss.

I hope it’s a really long show.

Woolf’s hands slide up my thighs, pushing my skirt right along with it. The night air is getting chilly, and I can feel goose bumps breaking out in the wake of his touch. I continue to rub myself on Woolf while his kiss seems to take on an urgent quality. His breathing is harsh, and I can feel tension vibrating off him in waves.

And then… I almost combust just as loud and bright as the fireworks above us as Woolf fingers the edge of my panties just a brief moment before slipping under. I break the kiss because my head falls backward, seemingly unable to support itself.

“Oh, God,” I moan as his finger brushes against me, causing a shudder to rip through my entire body. “Someone might see us.”

His response?

He pushes a finger inside of me, and my head snaps up so I can look at him. His eyes burn into me while he pumps his finger in and out. I know what he’s thinking… he’s thinking about the last time he did this to me. I can see recrimination in his eyes that here we are… once again.

If I were a smarter woman, I’d scramble off his lap and run for the hills. While this feels amazing and oh so right, I know I’m probably on a one-way street to abandonment when he’s finished with me.

But I think I might rather be selfish instead, so I give a roll of my hips against his hand and a harsh breath hisses out of Woolf.

“Fuck yeah,” he murmurs as one finger becomes two inside of me. I put my hands on his shoulders and use leverage to push myself up and down, counter to his own thrusting.

I’m stunned to my core when Woolf takes the edge of my dress with his other hand and bunches it up, pulling it to the side. He looks down at what is now an unfettered view of his fingers in my panties… inside of me.

“Watch, Callie,” he commands in a hoarse voice. “Look at you riding my fingers.”

I don’t want to look. I’m afraid it might be too much. I’d rather look at the top of Woolf’s head, or maybe even sift my fingers through his hair. I rock my hips against him, moving faster and faster. My pulse is hammering madly.

But then I decide to look because I just can’t help myself. I don’t want to miss a single thing.

Letting my gaze slide down, I see Woolf’s fingers disappearing and reappearing with shiny slickness, I see the thick ridge of his erection pushing against denim just below, and I watch in utter fascination as he skims his thumb right over my clit and presses down on me hard.

I scream as my orgasm tears through me, but it’s cut off quickly as Woolf releases my dress and grabs me by the back of my head, pulling my face to his. His mouth covers mine, and he sucks down every bit of vocal gratification that comes rushing out of me. My hips buck in a frenzy against his hand, trying to draw out every single bit of pleasure that I can, even as I vaguely realize the fireworks finale is going on right now with resounding booms and the sky lights up like it never has before.

I finally still my movements, feeling utter exhaustion start to overcome me. Woolf pulls his mouth from me as he removes his hand from my panties. He smoothes my dress down but makes no move to push me off. Instead, he takes one finger and just skims it down my throat. It’s wet, and my skin tingles from the touch.

Woolf raises his eyes to mine, and he quietly reiterates to me the point of his lesson. “Don’t ever call yourself ‘pathetically dull’ again because that was single-handedly the sexiest, most exciting thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

I swallow hard and because I know he expects me to obey his words, I give him a nod of acceptance.

“That’s my girl,” he says.

Then he kisses my forehead and lifts me off his lap. When I’m once again seated on my tailgate, Woolf hops off and disappears into the darkness.

Chapter 7

Woolf

It’s Monday morning, and I’m late getting into the office. Callie’s car is already parked out front of the Double J office, but I expected it would be. She’s never less than punctual.

Unlike me this morning.

That’s called procrastination on my part, but I can’t put it off any longer. I have to get the confrontation with Callie out of the way so I can get back on track with my life. My gut churns, wondering what will be in her eyes when I walk in that door.

Will there be anger over what I did to her? Rejection I didn’t stay? Or even worse, hope in her eyes there will be something more?

Fuck… what in the hell had I been thinking? Finger fucking sweet Callie Hayes out in the open where anyone could have seen. Just the thought of it makes my dick twitch, and I mentally sneer at it to stay the fuck down and away from her.

And I would have left her alone too had it not been for Bridger and his fucking taunts. I made the mistake of admitting to my best friend in the world who I now could cheerfully kill, that I invited Callie to the branding party to prevent her from going out with Colton. Asshole thought that was hilarious and needled me all day about it.

When he sat down at the picnic table with me that evening as dusk was settling, he did what Bridger is best at doing.

He incited lust.

Pure, white-hot lust within me for Callie.

Just a few simple words.

Filthy really.

“You know what?” he taunted me with a deep, silky voice as we both watched Callie fiddling around at the serving table. “I know you think that girl is too sweet for the likes of you, but I’m telling you, Woolf… look at her spine. It’s all in the backbone… the way she holds herself. That girl is built for some raw and dirty fucking. She wants it, too. No wait… it’s more than that. She needs it. Yeah, that girl needs it, Woolf.”

Those words right there started my brain obsessing about Callie. Bridger was definitely trying to get a rise out of me, but I couldn’t dismiss what he was saying. Bridger is a man who can take one look at a man or a woman and tell you what makes them tick sexually. He knows how to draw out a person’s desires. He knows how to break and rebuild. I don’t doubt for a second if he says Callie needs something, she really needs it.

But Christ… why did I have to be the one to give it to her?

I’ve asked myself that over and over again since Saturday night. I chastised myself only to turn around and pat myself on the back. I cursed my weakness and high-fived my spontaneity. I looked in the mirror and told myself I was nothing but danger to Callie, and then smiled at my reflection and told myself I deserved to have her.

I wasn’t lying to her.

Callie Hayes riding my fingers, her face flushed, biting at her lower lip and then exploding all over me was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I didn’t get an orgasm out of the deal, and yet… it may have been the best sexual experience of my life. I know I certainly had no desire to head over to The Silo afterward. Sort of like the way I’ve had no desire for anyone else since Callie rolled back into town.

How is that humanly possible? I have fucked so many beautiful women, done so many filthy things, always pushing the envelope of my sexuality. I’ve done and seen it all. My sex life is that of a god’s.

And yet… just watching that woman have an orgasm was almost otherworldly to me.

I think there’s a chance I could be permanently and irrevocably fucked in the head.

Just before opening the door, I take a deep breath.

Just act cool and casual. Just another day at the office.

I open the door and brace myself, expecting the worst.

But Callie isn’t at her desk. I sigh with relief and step inside, shutting the door behind me. I figure she’s in the bathroom, so I hastily pour a cup of coffee and head into my office where I can shut the door and hide.

As soon as I enter, I can feel a vibration in the air that tells me something is wrong.

There Callie stands, hands planted on my desk, head bent down, looking at The Wicked Horse architectural plans. More importantly, at the one for The Silo which I had left lying there on top when I left on Friday, never once thinking about Callie possibly seeing it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She doesn’t even look up at me, although she knows I’m standing there. I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s seeing. Those plans have morphed over the months since they were first drawn up and have changed from just technical specs to almost a road map of our journey into the business of sex. She’ll see how we named The Silo rooms… BDSM, Fetish, Gang Bang, Ménage, Orgy. She’ll see handwritten notes by Bridger listing out the tools that he bought… cuffs, whips, ball gags, clamps, floggers, canes. This list is endlessly damning.

I hold still as a statue as I watch her stare at the plans before her. Her eyes roam all over, once she even takes a finger and taps it against the center.

Finally, she looks up at me and I get ready for a full-body cringe over the condemnation I’ll see on her face.

Except… it’s not there.

In fact, her face looks passively bland. It makes me relax just marginally.

“The Silo,” she says softly. Slowly. Carefully choosing her words. “Behind the nightclub. It’s a… sex club?”

I swallow hard and give a tentative nod.

Afraid to trust my voice.

Her gaze lowers to the plans again, and she slides a finger to the top corner… stopping over the words “The Wicked Horse”.

“This is your brand?” she asks hesitantly as she taps her finger on the image just below the words. A circle, an inner ring, seven compartments. So obvious.

“Yes,” I say softly.

“It’s modeled after The Silo?”

“Yes.”

“Because that’s sort of the cornerstone of your… your…”

“Sex club,” I provide politely.

She nods with flushed cheeks, but forges ahead since I’m answering her questions. “And what? Do people pay to go in there and… have sex with other people?” Her voice is timidly curious, but I note a slight tone of censure.

Sighing, I take my hat off and toss it on the wall peg. Since she’s standing behind my desk where my chair is, I take one of the guest chairs and sit down, kicking my legs out. This is not how I imagined my run-in with Callie would unfurl.

“Bridger and I wanted to open a club where people could live out their deepest fantasies without fear of judgment or condemnation. We wanted a private club where people could… be themselves, so to speak. To explore their sexuality in a safe environment.” I stop right there, let her digest what I’ve said. It’s the simple truth of what’s she seen. It’s not the full truth, but the simple truth and really all she needs to know.

“And you practice… um… like BDSM there or something?” she asks fearfully, her eyes holding what I think may be a bit of disgust in them.

Of course there would be disgust. I mean… after the way she found her fiancé and that judge.

“I don’t practice it,” I tell her swiftly. “I mean… some elements, yes, but I’m not hardcore. I don’t hand out pain.”

If I expected her to look relieved over those words, I would have been a fool. She looks overwhelmed with what she’s learned so far.

“So… what do you do there? You specifically, I mean,” she asks, her voice so slight and whisper soft, I can barely hear her.

It irritates me. The delicacy by which she’s discussing this. I’m pissed I have to sugarcoat things for a sweet girl. I’m pissed she was in my office even though I’ve never forbidden her from being in here, and I’m pissed she knows this about me.

“What do you think I do, Callie?” I taunt her in a low growl. I sit forward in my chair, press my elbows to my knees, and stare at her with naked honesty. “Same as anyone else. I fuck.”

Callie’s lips are drawn downward, her eyes bleak. It hurts to see her look at me like that, and for the first time in my adult life, I’m ashamed of my proclivities. For a fleeting instant, I feel the urge to call Bridger and tell him I’m selling out.

I stand up from my chair, because this is the point I expect Callie to be running out of my office, straight out to her truck to hightail it away from the filthy, pervy Woolf Jennings.

Callie’s gaze drops back down to the plans, maybe for one last disgusted look. She takes a deep breath, looks back up, and pins me with clear eyes. “I want to join the club.”

My jaw slackens, and my mouth drops open wide. I ignore the tingle in my groin over the thought of Callie in my club, and…

Did she just fucking say she wants to join?

“Please tell me this is a goddamn joke,” I grit out.

Her eyebrows furrow inward, and she keeps her gaze on me with bold challenge. “I’m not joking. I want to be a member.”

“No fucking way,” I snarl as I stalk over to the wall and grab my hat off the peg. I need to get the fuck away from this brand of insanity.

“At least take me there,” she says firmly to my back. “So I can see.”

I ignore her… open my office door.

“Take me,” she says ominously. “Or I’ll find someone who will.”

I snort and step out of my office. Good fucking luck with that. Bridger and I are the only two she knows associated with the club, and he sure as shit wouldn’t take her.

“Colton Stokes,” Callie calls out.

I stop dead in my tracks.

My blood turns to ice in my veins, and I pivot slowly to meet her stubborn gaze. “What did you just say?”

“Colton. Stokes.” She punctuates both words with relish and even gives me a sly grin.

How the fuck did she—?

“Colton Stokes is a member, is he not?” she asks sweetly as she walks out from behind my desk toward me.

I don’t affirm her suspicion. Because that’s all it is, right? Just a suspicion she has?

I stare at her hard, hoping to cow her with my death glare. I can feel an annoyed muscle ticking in my jaw from gritting my teeth so hard.

Callie walks up to me, no more than a foot away, and gives me a knowing smile. She primly clasps her hands in front of her and even sways back and forth like a mischievous schoolgirl. “I’m sure Colton would be more than happy to take me.”

Deep breath in… calm the fuck down, Jennings.

“What makes you think Colton is a member?” I ask neutrally as I lean my shoulder against the doorjamb and tap my hat against my leg. I hope my casual nonchalance doesn’t look too fake.

Callie arches an eyebrow at me and then snorts. She walks right past me out of my office, her shoulder brushing up against me. I turn to watch her strut up to her desk where she sits in her chair and picks up her cell phone from the desk.

She looks up at me and says, “It wasn’t that hard to figure out. You and Colton wear matching belt buckles. Well, not matching exactly. Different style but the engraving’s the same. A circle with an inner circle, eight lines creating seven spaces around the ring. It’s the same brand that’s on your drawing in there of The Silo. So, what is that… a secret code to get in or something?”

I squeeze my eyes shut hard, curse internally for a good ten seconds, and then open them back up. She smiles at me in victory.

I attempt to knock it right off her face. “Exactly. And you don’t have one so you can’t get in.”

“Bet Colton can take me in,” she says in a singsong voice.

“For fuck’s sake, Callie,” I yell at her in frustration. “Why would you ever want to go in a place like that?”

She studies me a moment. Almost as if she expects me to come to the answer on my own, but I’m fucking clueless. I have no idea what could possess her to want this.

“Come on, Woolf,” she says with a tinkling laugh. “I’m pretty transparent. I want to be different. I want to do something exciting and adventurous. I don’t want to be dull Callie who does what everyone expects anymore. I want to do what I want to do. And besides… it’s good enough for you but not for me?”

Christ… she had to lay that at my doorstep. The same exact little poor-me speech that worked very well on me Saturday night, inducing me to kiss her hard and then stick my hand in her panties.

I walk up to the edge of her desk and look down at her. In a voice as close to begging as I will ever come for any person, I say, “Callie… please. You don’t belong in a place like that. Trust me on this.”

She eyes me almost sympathetically. “You see, Woolf… I think I belong exactly in a place like that.”

Then it’s on.

We engage in a staring war. Her fern green eyes sparkling with excitement and sass. Mine leveled in a bitter scowl. My will against hers. My ego against hers.

“I can call Colton,” she prods me to action, poising her finger over the screen of her phone.

“Fuck,” I mutter and slam my hat back on my head. “I’ll take you, but that’s it. It’s just so you can see. Quick in and out.”

“We should stay for at least one drink,” she says with a happy grin.

“One drink,” I concede, my brain already spinning fast, trying to figure out all the ways it could go wrong by me bringing the governor’s daughter to a sex club.

“Tonight?” she asks with excitement.

I shake my head and pin her with serious eyes. “I can’t tonight or tomorrow night. But I’ll take you Wednesday.”

She looks like she wants to argue for a moment, but I’m not budging on this. Nope. I need some little victory over her in this battle that she just completely decimated me in. Wednesday happens to be the slowest night at The Silo, and more importantly, I know Colton Stokes will be out of town starting Wednesday. When we made plans to meet so I could look at his stock, we had to choose the weekend since he was going to be gone to a breeder’s conference in Vegas.

It’s going to be hard enough to pull this off, and I sure as shit don’t need Colton to see Callie at The Silo. I don’t want that fucker thinking he can have her in any way, and the dude is into her. I know that’s exactly what he’ll think and while I’m pretty confident this is just curiosity on Callie’s part, I don’t want to take any chances that she would ever want to avail herself of The Silo’s decadence. I know I sure as hell won’t indulge her in that way, but I’m not so sure Colton wouldn’t oblige her… and then I’d probably have to kill the man.