Ten
Ransom
The energy was high, the closer it got to the moment that Stolen would be seen in the starting gate of the Breeders’ Cup Classic.
We’d already had a family win today. One was a Hughes horse, which was typical.
But they didn’t have a horse in the Classic.
None of the branches of the family did but us.
They all knew Stolen had been nominated, and they’d all declined.
Stolen had been Crosby Cash’s horse. Bane, his older brother, had been working with the trainer and Stolen since Crosby’s death, and he’d won several races or come in the top three. But this was the Breeders’ Cup Classic, and Crosby had wanted him in this one.
The hand that ran down my arm caused me to jerk in response.
I’d been so fixed on the television coverage in Del Mar that I didn’t hear anyone come up behind me.
Glancing down, I realized it was Sonya—a brunette I’d fucked around with at Locke and Gathe’s house a few times.
I thought she’d gone to school with Gathe and Than, but I wasn’t sure if that was her or not. I didn’t care either.
“You’re strung tight,” she purred, leaning into my arm.
Gathe had a blonde in his lap and his hand between her legs while he watched the coverage, and Forge had taken the redhead who was topless outside.
With all the couples absent—including Oz and Winslet, who were watching the races at his parents’—things were back to the way they used to always be.
We’d moved the wilder parties where tits and ass were involved to the Bowens’ house after Bane hooked up with Halo.
Having one here again would be fun if it wasn’t for the ones missing.
But they had gone and gotten cock-whipped, and the fuck parties were dwindling.
“Yeah, I am,” I agreed and went to unzip my jeans with one hand while grabbing her wrist with my other and pulling her around in front of me. “Knees,” I told her and pushed down on one of her shoulders as she did as directed.
The sofa I was standing behind blocked her from the view of the rest of the room, but it would be obvious to anyone who looked back what was happening. Not that I cared. It wasn’t like we hadn’t all gotten sucked off in front of the others before.
Her hand was cold when her fingers wrapped around it, but I didn’t react.
She let out a practiced moan as she filled her mouth with my dick.
Her tongue flicked over the ring through my pubic piercing.
She had liked that one when I fucked her before.
But most females did. It would swing as I thrust and hit their clit, sending them into second and third orgasms.
Reaching for her hair, I grabbed a handful and fisted it.
I always came harder when I controlled the mouth on me.
Pulling and pushing her head back and forth to the rhythm that I wanted, I glanced down at her a few times to watch her eyes water as I went deep into her throat.
The moaning might be fake, but the tears weren’t, and that made it hotter.
“That’s it,” I groaned.
The sight of painted red lips around my cock had always been a thing for me. I liked the way it looked, and I especially liked it when I smeared the lipstick around their mouth. It gave them a used-whore image.
She lifted her eyes to gaze up at me, and they were brown.
Not gray. Fuck, that annoyed me. For many reasons.
Closing my eyes, I shoved her down harder on it and pictured another set of lips.
Fat pink ones with that gloss she liked to wear.
Tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, that perfect face staring up at me as I took her mouth.
My ball sack tightened, and the tingle of warning that I was close hit me fast.
“Fuck, that’s good.” My voice was a hoarse whisper.
Noa’s wavy golden locks were gripped tightly in my hand. She moaned as I fucked that sweet mouth.
“AH!” My release shot down her throat as I held her there, looking like a goddamn angel with a mouth full of dick. I shuddered at the thought and faintly heard the gagging in the distance.
When I finally opened my eyes, I saw brown hair and let it go, stepping back immediately. Sonya smiled, then coughed while wiping the tears from the sides of her face.
“You trying to kill her with that monster dick of yours?” Gathe asked, amused.
I put myself back in my boxer briefs and pulled up my jeans. “Don’t be jealous.”
He chuckled. “I’m fine with the size of mine. Yours can scare a bitch off.” He kissed the neck of the one in his lap, whose tits were now bare and was riding his hand, breathing hard. “Isn’t that right, darlin’? You like taking my dick, don’t you?”
She nodded and moaned.
“You got her all worked up with that performance. She keeps this up, she’s gonna have to get on my dick and get me off,” he said gruffly.
Sonya stood up and began pulling off the halter top she was wearing.
I glanced at her tits, then back at the television.
They were nice. Real even. Maybe a handful, with dark nipples and little pale triangles of skin where her bikini top had covered them.
But with the image in my head that was now taunting me, I had another set of tits that I wanted to see bare.
“Fuck me,” she begged as she went to pull up the short skirt she was wearing.
No panties. Not surprising.
I wasn’t sure I could get it up that fast. I tried to get turned on by the sight of her pussy on display. She lifted a leg and opened up, stretching it out on the back of the sofa like a ballerina. One red painted nail slid down between her cunt lips, and she was wet.
“I want your monster cock to stretch me.”
Eh, it wasn’t going to stretch her that much. I’d fucked her before, and she had left her virginity behind many years ago. She was already pretty worn in. But if she wanted to pretend, then I’d go with it.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I reached for it, pulling it out, already knowing who I wanted it to be.
I’d not texted Noa today on purpose. Just to prove to myself I could go without texting her for one day.
I’d watched the app on my phone to see where she was several times—okay, at least twice an hour—and I might have listened to the wire I had in her apartment.
All I heard was the tapping of the keys on her computer mostly.
She muttered a few times, which made me grin.
And she hadn’t left her apartment in two days.
I’d be concerned, but she was writing, and this seemed to be her routine.
Shakespeare: Did you know ketchup was once sold as medicine?
I grinned and turned to walk away from the room, not wanting anyone to see my phone.
Me: What the fuck did it heal?
“Who is it?” Gathe called out.
I kept walking and didn’t answer.
“You’re gonna just walk out on that?” he asked incredulously.
On what?
I paused and glanced back to see Sonya and her open legs. I’d forgotten.
My phone vibrated, and my eyes swung back to see the response.
Shakespeare: Indigestion in 1834.
“Dude!” Gathe shouted as I left the room.
“She’s all yours,” I told him, then went into the game room and closed the door behind me.
Me: Why do you know this?
I hit Send and sat on the edge of the pool table.
Shakespeare: Research. The things I look up when writing can be crazy. For example, I also learned today that Harry Styles has four nipples. I had to see a picture of it, and, well, he pulls it off well.
I frowned. How did one pull off having four nipples?
Me: What in the fuck were you googling to find that out?
Shakespeare: What it’s called when you have more than two nipples. Don’t ask. I was down a rabbit hole. It happens.
I chuckled.
Me: Your day sounds like it was fascinating.
I was regretting not putting cameras in her apartment. I’d like to see what she was wearing, if she had all that hair in many shades of gold pulled up in a bun with a pen sticking through it.
Shakespeare: You have no idea. My terry-cloth robe has a tomato soup stain from my lunch, and my parakeet keeps telling me to shut the fuck up.
Me: What did you eat with your soup?
My cheeks hurt from the fucking big-ass grin on my face as I sent it.
Shakespeare: Grilled cheese. I’m not an alien.
And again, I laughed. The tension that the blow job hadn’t eased was gone.
Damn, I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not.
I mean, on one hand, hadn’t this always been why I texted her?
Held on to the girl from my youth via text because she always distracted me when I needed it?
Just because she wasn’t sitting in a dirty bathrobe with a squawking bird didn’t mean it changed things.
Okay, yes, I had just fantasized about her sucking me off while another woman was doing it, but guys did that. It was normal.
Me: Did you get a new editor?
I’d felt somewhat guilty over shipping off the editor she had always worked with while she was in the middle of a book, but he was a dick, and she needed him out of her life. That took the guilt away.
Shakespeare: Yes, they reassigned someone to me as a trial run. To see if we work well together. I like her as a person, so I’m hoping we’re a good fit.
A female editor. I liked that.
Me: Good.
The door swung open, and my head snapped up as I glared at Gathe.
“Ten minutes. They’re gonna have them in the gate soon,” he told me.
Stolen was about to race in the Breeders’ Cup. I nodded and motioned for him to close the door, then looked back at my phone.
Shakespeare: You’re watching the Breeders’ Cup, I’m assuming.
Me: Yeah. Crosby’s horse is about to race.
Shakespeare: Which one is it?
Me: Stolen. Are you watching it?
Shakespeare: I am. I have money on it. Wish I’d known about Stolen though.
She bet on a horse? What the fuck?
Me: When did you start putting money on races?
Shakespeare: A couple of years ago. I don’t with every race. Just the big ones.
Me: Who did you put money on this time?
Shakespeare: I always pick the prettiest one.
Chuckling, I replied, not needing her to tell me the name. There was one horse that a woman would think was the prettiest in this race.
Me: Bad idea, Shakespeare. Smoking Wheel is not good on this track, and besides that, he doesn’t have good odds.
Shakespeare: But he’s a pretty silverish-gray color.
I paused and debated sending what I was thinking, then figured, What the hell? It was friendly. We were friends.
Me: Almost like the color of your eyes.
She read it, but no little dots appeared.
I glanced at the time and saw it had been five minutes since Gathe had come to warn me. Getting up, I headed back to the door and into the great room. Forge had come in from outside, along with the female he’d taken out there. Locke was back in the room as well with Sonya now perched on his lap.
My phone buzzed, and I quickly lifted it up to read her response.
Shakespeare: I’ll be cheering for Stolen.
She’d never known Crosby. I doubted he’d ever spoken to her.
Hell, there was a good chance he’d said something hurtful about her at some point.
He wasn’t cruel, but he had been a teenage boy who didn’t think about others’ feelings.
But she was cheering on his horse regardless, and I knew it was because of me.
And, dammit, that made my chest warm or some weird shit—I didn’t know.
Turning my attention back to the screen, I watched as the announcers talked about the odds, and we already knew that Stolen came in third with the lineup of who was predicted to win.
But that didn’t matter. I’d seen some not in the top five take the win.
My hand gripped the phone tighter as the room went silent, except for my heart hammering in my chest so damn hard that I was afraid it might do damage.
I tried not to think about Than right now and how he was handling this. He was a big boy. If Stolen didn’t win, he’d survive. Just like he’d made it through the darkest days of our lives. After Crosby was killed.
The gates flew open, and I stopped breathing as I gripped the edge of the sofa, watching as the horses shot out.
Gathe sucked in a breath so hard that it was audible.
I didn’t take my eyes off the sofa to see why.
I knew why. Stolen was coming around the number one pick to win.
Neither was out front yet, but they were real damn close.
Bane didn’t believe in a jockey taking a horse to the front of the pack right out of the gate.
Even if the horse had the ability to, he went with holding them back just a touch until it was time to allow the horse to break free.
The final stretch. The announcer calling out names and positions over the television faded away as my eyes stayed on Stolen. Hooves beating down on the dirt track seemed to keep the same pace as the beating in my chest.
Stolen and Running Board were nose-to-nose as the voices on the television grew louder.
“And Stolen does it in the Breeders’ Cup Classic!” was the last thing I heard over the television before Gathe let out a loud, “Hell yeah!” jumping up from the sofa.
Forge was the only other one sitting, and he, too, sprang up with a fist in the air and a loud shout.
I sucked in a deep breath as relief rushed through me. When I glanced over at Locke, he grinned and nodded his head once. He was quieter, but he had been feeling it as hard as I had. For Bane’s sake mostly.
Gathe turned around, his eyes slightly shimmering with emotion. “I swear I might fucking cry,” he said as he laughed.
My phone buzzed as other phones began to ring and go off.
Shakespeare: Congratulations!
Me: Thanks. Sorry you lost money. Ask me next time before you go throwing money on a horse.
Shakespeare: Oh, I might have fibbed a little about that.
Smirking, I replied.
Me: So, you didn’t bet on a horse.
Shakespeare: No, I did. But I bet on Stolen. I’ll be buying myself the Louis Vuitton I’ve had my eye on for the past month. I work too hard to toss my money out on a horse just because it’s pretty.
Me: And why did you pick Stolen?
I asked even though I had an idea I already knew.
Shakespeare: You’re the reason I started betting on horses. Might as well bet on the ones that are connected to you.
I stared down at her words, liking them entirely too much.
Forge slapped me on the back as he walked past me. “Come on, man! Skinny-dipping in the pool. No one tell Bane.”
I glanced up and nodded, although I wasn’t feeling like it. I’d rather go back to my room and text with Noa. Admitting that had me turning and heading for the patio door. I wasn’t looking at my phone again tonight.
Boundaries, Ransom. You need to set some mental fucking boundaries.